summary: while you and sirius try to shield harry from the reality of remus’ lycanthropy, the boy’s curiosity breaks through every precaution. on a rough night, harry toddles into remus’ lap, seeking comfort and warmth.
warnings: wolfstar + reader raising harry au, harry is 6 in this, mentions of lycanthropy and transformation, blood, worry and parental anxiety, mild language, family fluff, protective behavior, and hurt with lots of comfort.
For the past five and a half years, ever since you took Harry in and moved with him and Sirius and Remus into the little cottage tucked far from the wizarding world, life has fallen into a rhythm. It is unspoken, yet meticulously followed, shaped around the inevitability of the full moon.
Every month, without fail, Sirius takes Remus out, far from the cottage, and illegally shifts into Padfoot so he can be with him through the transformation. It is the closest mirror to what you all once did in your Hogwarts days. But here, there are no Whomping Willow roots to pin him down, no Madam Pomfrey to brew potions, no safety nets.
And unlike before, you cannot be there to help, because leaving Harry alone in the house would be unthinkable.
So, for five years, Sirius alone has accompanied him. For five years, you have waited by the door until the sun rose, watching Sirius return with Remus leaning heavily against him, bloodied and exhausted but alive. And for five years, though the routine has been established, you have never grown used to it.
The worry claws at you every time. Tonight is no different.
You are seated on the couch, eyes fixed on the door, fingers twisting nervously in your lap, when you hear soft footsteps behind you.
You turn quickly, forcing a smile, and see Harry in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, his small frame swallowed by his pajamas. His hair sticks up in messy tufts, and there is a pout on his face.
“Harry, baby, what’s wrong? Why are you awake?” you ask gently, opening your arms.
He shuffles over, wordless, and climbs onto the couch beside you. With a small yawn, he lays his head against your side. His voice is muffled against your shirt. “Why are you sitting here in the dark? And where are Moony and Padfoot?”
You swallow hard, keeping your tone calm. “They went out for something important, love. I’m just waiting for them to come back.”
He shifts uneasily, his small hand curling into the fabric of your sleeve. “I don’t like it,” he whispers.
You kiss the top of his hair, pulling him close. “There’s no need to worry. They’ll be back before you know it.”
Harry shakes his head stubbornly. “I want to wait.”
You sigh softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Let’s go back to bed. I’ll stay with you, and I’ll even read you a story if you’d like. How about that?”
He looks tempted, but exhaustion is written all over his little face. He rubs his eyes again, fighting another yawn. “Only if you sleep with me,” he bargains.
“Of course,” you promise. You rise, guiding him up with you. He clings to your hand, his steps slow with drowsiness. You’re just leading him away when the sound of the latch turning makes your blood run cold.
The door creaks open.
Your eyes snap to it. Sirius is standing in the threshold, half-carrying Remus. The sight knocks the breath from your chest. Remus leans heavily on Sirius, his clothes torn, dried blood staining his shirt. His face is drawn with pain, his body trembling from exertion. He looks half-dead.
Before you can react, before you can shield Harry’s view, a small whimper escapes him. “Moony?”
The word carries weight in the air.
Both men freeze. Remus’ head jerks up, his expression twisted with horror the moment his eyes land on Harry. Sirius stiffens, his grip on Remus tightening, and then his gaze flashes to you.
His voice is sharp, panicked. “What is he doing here?”
Remus’ face is pale, stricken, his eyes wide with a shame that cuts you to your core. It is the look of a man who never wanted to be seen this way, not by the child he loves.
You act quickly, crouching down to shield Harry from the sight, your hands gentle as you cup his face. “Harry, love, come on. Let’s go to bed, yeah? I’ll sleep with you, and I’ll read you that story we talked about.”
His lip trembles. “But Moony—”
“I know,” you whisper, brushing his hair back tenderly, “but Moony needs to rest now, and so do you.”
You gather him into your arms, holding him close, and force your voice to remain steady despite the panic clawing at your chest. Behind you, Sirius is still supporting Remus, both of them silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of you.
Just as you start pulling Harry away, he immediately slips from your grasp, shaking his head fiercely. “No!” he insists, his small fists clenching at his sides.
You kneel, trying to keep your voice calm, though exhaustion is creeping through your bones, and you speak gently, “Harry, love, you need to understand. Right now, Remus is very tired. He needs to rest. You can’t wake him.”
Harry blinks up at you, eyes wide and sharp even in the dim light, and you feel the alarms in his little mind going off. Why are you awake at nearly four in the morning? Why are both of his adoptive fathers missing? And most of all, why does Remus look like he’s in pain?
He shakes his head again, stamping his foot lightly. “No. I want to see him.”
You let out a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, trying to find a way out of this. You had spent five years keeping Remus’s condition hidden from Harry, and while both you and Sirius had assured him countless times that it wouldn’t change how Harry saw him, Remus had always been insistent that he should never be seen like this.
Yet here he was, stubborn as ever, refusing to listen.
You kneel closer, speaking softly, coaxing, “Harry, I promise you, Remus is being taken care of. Sirius is with him. He just needs to rest. If you go back to sleep, he’ll be okay. I need you to trust me.”
“No!” Harry insists, shaking his head. “I want to see him. He’s my dad. I want to be here.”
Your exhaustion threatens to overwhelm your patience, but you steady yourself, trying again. “Please, come on. Let me tuck you in.”
Sirius’s voice drifts from the hall, low and frustrated as he drags Remus toward the bedroom, “Come on, Harry. Go back to bed. Moony needs to rest. You can see him in the morning.”
Harry crosses his arms stubbornly, his little jaw set, but after patient coaxing and gentle reminders that everyone just wants him safe and cozy, he finally allows himself to be led to his room.
You guide him carefully, letting him clutch your hand for reassurance, your chest tightening at the responsibility of keeping him calm. Once inside, you help him slide under the covers, smoothing his hair back from his forehead and tucking the blankets snugly around him.
You pause a moment to brush a stray curl from his eyes, and he gives a small, sleepy sigh, leaning against you.
“Try to sleep now, okay?” you whisper, your voice soft enough to soothe him but firm enough to signal it’s bedtime.
He nods, but just as your chest eases from tension and you think he’s drifting off, a small voice interrupts. “I can’t sleep. I’m thirsty. Can I have water, please?”
You let out a soft, exasperated sigh, a mixture of relief and amusement. “Of course, baby. I’ll go get it for you.”
You rise from the bed, careful not to wake him further, and head toward the kitchen, the quiet of the night punctuated only by your footsteps. You fill a cup with cool water, listening to the distant creak of the floorboards and the muffled rustle of the wind outside.
Returning to his room, you expect him to be waiting, tucked back under the covers. Your eyes widen, and a long sigh escapes your lips, when you find the bed empty. “This little shit,” you mutter under your breath, placing the cup on the bedside table.
Heart racing, you rush down the hall toward your shared room with Sirius and Remus, hoping to intercept him before he climbs into something he shouldn’t.
When you enter, your heart clenches. There stands Harry, over the bed where Remus is lying, while Sirius looks frustrated, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed with the situation.
Harry glares at Sirius, unmoved by his protests, and with a small grunt of determination, he climbs into the bed and pulls the covers over himself. He curls up beside Remus, tucking close, his tiny body pressing warmly against him.
“Harry, would you please listen to what we say,” Sirius huffs, hands on his hips, leaning over the bed. “Remus needs rest, he’s been through a lot tonight, and you just cannot—”
“But I won’t bother him, I promise!” Harry interrupts, his little voice firm, but not defiant, eyes shining as he looks up at both of you.
Remus exhales softly, a hand resting lightly on Harry’s back. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, his voice low but warm. “Let him stay. He can be here tonight.”
Sirius freezes for a heartbeat, staring at Remus, before letting out a reluctant sigh. “Fine,” he mutters, shaking his head with mock exasperation.
“But you must sleep, Harry,” Sirius says firmly, pointing a finger at him. “No staying up. It’s already way past your bedtime. Don’t nag Remus’s ear off.”
You glance at him and nod, whispering, “Come on, let’s grab those blankets and pillows for him.” You and Sirius quietly slip toward the linen closet, careful not to disturb the soft, rising breaths from the bed.
From beside Remus, Harry mumbles quietly, half to himself, “I don’t even nag.”
Sirius, just reaching the doorway, turns back and shouts, “I heard that, you wanker!”
Remus chuckles softly at the exchange, shaking his head as you both head off to fetch the extra blankets and pillows, the house calm except for the faint echo of laughter and the soft hum of the heating.
You move quietly through the halls, carrying the soft pile of linens, while Sirius methodically makes his rounds, checking the locks on every door and window, ensuring the house is secure.
As you move back toward the bedroom, you hear a small, tentative voice. “Does it hurt?” Harry’s words are so soft they barely reach your ears.
You freeze for a moment, heart tightening, before catching sight of him sitting up slightly, wide-eyed, gazing at Remus with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Remus shifts slightly beneath the covers, surprised by the question. His chest rises and falls slowly as he exhales. “A little,” he admits quietly, his voice low and measured, “but I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”
Harry seems thoughtful for a moment, his small forehead creasing. Then he murmurs, almost as if to himself, “I think you’re really brave. The bravest dad ever.”
Remus feels a sharp pang in his chest, a mix of disbelief, awe, and something deeper he doesn’t quite have words for.
He turns his head slightly, looking down at Harry, eyes wide and shimmering in the dim light. Harry’s gaze is already half-lidded with sleepiness, his little yawn punctuating the quiet room as he nestles closer to Remus’s side, the warmth of his small body pressing gently against him.
The emotions crash over Remus in a tidal wave he isn’t prepared for. Relief, love, pride, and a bittersweet ache mingle together.
He had always feared Harry seeing the weak, vulnerable parts of him, the parts left raw and open after the full moon. And yet here he is, cradling his adoptive son, feeling that trust and admiration, and it overwhelms him.
This tiny human, his Harry, doesn’t fear him. He sees him as brave. He sees him as someone to be loved.
The sight before you makes your chest swell—Remus, arms wrapped gently around Harry, his face softened in a way that only vulnerability and love can bring, and Harry, asleep against him, chest rising and falling peacefully. A small, almost invisible smile curves your lips.
Sirius emerges from the hallway then, stretching slightly and whispering, “Oh, he’s finally asleep, yeah?”
Remus tilts his head slightly, still cradling Harry. “Yeah,” he says softly, voice still hushed with awe. “He’s asleep.”
Sirius glances at the scene, amusement softening into warmth. “Good. We’ve earned it.”
You tuck a blanket around Remus and Harry, careful not to disturb the delicate closeness, while Sirius moves closer, muttering an incantation. The bed stretches gently, magically accommodating the three of you with ease.
Remus adjusts slightly, letting Harry settle fully against him, and you slide in beside them, feeling the weight of safety and warmth envelop the four of you.
As you nestle into Sirius’s arms, he leans over and whispers to Remus, voice soft, tinged with tenderness, “I hope you know that he isn’t afraid of you at all.”
Remus’s chest tightens, a mixture of pride and relief welling up inside him. He squeezes Harry just a little closer, letting out a quiet, exhausted sigh. “I know,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “I know.”
For the first time in a long while, Remus lets himself breathe, letting the weight of the moon and the pain of transformation ease, watching the three people he loves most asleep around him. You cuddled up to Sirius, with Harry nestled in his arms.
Somewhere deep in his chest, Remus feels whole again.
Though one thought crosses his mind before sleep claims him: Oh, how much Harry reminds him of James.
Pairing: Cassian x Rhysand x Azriel x Feyre x f!reader
Summary: You’re posed, exposed, and they can’t stop tracing the lines of your body.
Warnings: nsfw, smut, rough sex, teasing, unprotected sex, foreplay/oral female and male receiving, girl on girl, multiple men, MMMFF group scene
Word Count: 2,212
Day 20 | Kinktober Masterlist | Day 22
“Can you tilt your head back a bit more?” Feyre asked, biting her lower lip, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
Heat rushed to my cheeks as I rested my head against Rhys’s bare chest. His skin was warm and firm beneath my cheek.
I still don’t know how they convinced me to do this. I don’t know why I agreed so quickly.
Her gaze flicked from the canvas to us, and my hands started to sweat.
“Cass, move your hand higher,” she murmured, her brush pressing against the canvas in short strokes.
Cassian’s hand slowly slid up my inner thigh. His body pressed more firmly against one side of me, all heat and muscle.
“Az, put your hands on her knees.”
Azriel’s scarred hands moved to my knees as he knelt before me. His grip tightened just enough to make my breath hitch.
I swallowed, eyes closing as I tried to calm my heart pounding in my chest.
Why did I agree to this?
Why did I say yes to sitting here, barely clothed, pressed between them?
Now here I was, pressed between three of the most handsome men in all of Prythian, dressed in nothing but sheer fabric, heart pounding, skin tingling, all because Feyre wanted to paint live models.
Cassian’s thumb grazed the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Azriel’s hands gently pressed my knees apart. Rhys’s hands tightened on my shoulders.
The room grew brighter as the fireplace cracked. I felt warm, too warm, burning alive with the touch and smell of them.
Feyre’s eyes lingered on the way my nipples peaked beneath the sheer fabric.
I could smell the arousal in the air, the unmistakable scent of desire. I felt Azriel inhale deeply as he scented the same thing I did.
“Rhys,” Feyre said, her voice trembling slightly. “Place your hands on her jaw. Keep her head tilted back.”
My head tilted back against his lower stomach, looking up into Rhys’s eyes as his hands cupped my jaw, my pulse pounding beneath his touch.
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk as his thumb brushed along the line of my jaw.
He knew exactly what he was doing to me. I looked up at him, pleading. I couldn’t take this much longer.
I heard Feyre’s breath hitch as I looked up at her mate.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I shouldn’t be feeling like this.
But her eyes darkened, her brush moved faster across the canvas, and I realised she was enjoying this.
“God,” I whispered beneath my breath as Cassian’s hand slid even higher.
His fingertips traced the spot where my thigh met my hip. I watched Rhys’s smile widen before he nodded once, a silent command passed between the three men without words.
I felt Azriel’s hands pressing my knees further apart, spreading me open before him.Rhys's hands stayed still, forcing me to keep eye contact with him.
My lips parted, maybe to ask for something I shouldn’t, maybe to whimper something desperate and pathetic, instead his thumb brushed across my lower lip.
My tongue darted out without thinking, licking his thumb, and my cheeks blushed a deep red.
His smirk turned into a grin, slow, predatory, satisfied. His thumb pressed past my lips, slipping into my mouth, and I looked up at him as I sucked and swirled my tongue over him.
I could hear Feyre’s brush moving frantically across the canvas.
I felt Azriel shift beneath me. Cassian’s hands helped me to the edge of the lounge chair.
I should have pulled away. I should have said something, done something, been stronger than the desire burning between my thighs.
Azriel pressed wet, hot kisses to the inside of my thigh. A soft whimper left my lips as my eyes fluttered shut, as Azriel’s mouth pressed higher.
Cassian pulled away the sheer fabric, his fingers finding my nipples. Pulling them just as Azriel’s mouth pressed fully against me, his tongue licking a long, slow line from my entrance to my clit.
I groaned as my lips parted, arching against Rhys. Rhys slid two fingers into my mouth, smiling as I squirmed.
Azriel’s tongue was relentless, circling my clit with precise strokes that made my vision blur.
Cassian’s fingers twisted and pinched my nipples before he soothed them with his mouth. His tongue was hot and wet as he grazed my nipples with his teeth.
I heard Feyre let out a gentle sigh, the sound of her brush strokes filling the room between my moans and the sound of Azriel’s soft grunts as his tongue tasted me.
Rhys’s fingers finally left my mouth, covered in my saliva. The palm of his hand tapped against my cheek.
“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice low.
My head fell forward, finally able to see the two men whose mouths were devouring me.
Cassian’s mouth was attached to one breast, his hand massaging the other.
I groaned, my eyes flickering to Feyre as she watched me.
Her brush was still clutched in her hand, though her chest heaved with rapid breaths, and her gaze, fixed on Azriel’s face buried between my thighs.
Rhys moved behind her, his hands sliding slowly up the sides of her body before squeezing her breasts through her shirt.
He whispered something in her ear, her cheeks flushing pink as she leaned back into him.
I opened my mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but Azriel chose that moment to slide a single finger inside me.
The sound that tore from my throat was raw.
He immediately found the spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. His mouth closed around my clit, sucking gently as his finger moved in a slow, devastating rhythm that had me begging.
“Please,” I gasped, my voice cracking on the word. “Please, I need—”
Cassian’s teeth grazed my nipple as Azriel added a second finger, stretching me.
My moan echoed through the room as I clenched around his fingers, desperate for more.
“Look at how pretty she is,” Rhys murmured in Feyre’s ear, his fingers tugging at her clothes.
Cassian left hot kisses from my breasts to my mouth, his mouth claiming mine in a rough kiss.
His fingers continued to pinch my nipples as I whimpered against his mouth, my body trembling between the two men.
“Look at you,” Cassian whispered, his lips trailing from my jaw to my throat. “Making a mess all over Azriel’s face.”
My cheeks flushed red, but I couldn't deny it as the wet sounds of Azriel’s fingers inside me filled the room.
I glanced over at Feyre, Rhys’s hands squeezed her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples between his fingers. She arched into his touch, her paintbrush discarded on the floor.
Azriel’s fingers curled deeper inside me, Cassian’s teeth marked my throat, as Feyre’s moans began to fill the room.
I looked over at her. Rhys’s hand was between her thighs.
I came before I could stop it, my pussy clenching around Azriel’s fingers as Cassian swallowed my cries, his tongue down my throat.
Azriel slowly withdrew his fingers as he and Cassian guided me onto my hands and knees on the rug.
I felt the head of Azriel’s cock press against my entrance, while Cassian knelt before me, his cock hard, glistening with pre-cum.
“Open,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.
I obeyed, taking him into my mouth. Forcing my throat open around him, I gagged as he pressed deeper. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I tried to breathe through my nose.
“That’s a good girl,” Cassian said, his hand tangling in my hair and forcing his cock deeper. “Take all of it.”
He held me there, my nose pressed against the base of his cock.
Azriel filled me in a single thrust.
I moaned around Cassian. The vibration made his grip tighten in my hair.
I turned my head as much as I could with Cassian’s cock in my mouth, watching Rhys lift Feyre onto a table, her legs wrapped around his waist as he stood between her thighs. His cock was already pressing into her.
Cassian thrust into my mouth as I watched Rhys pull all the way out of Feyre, the head of his cock glistening with her arousal, before thrusting deep within her again.
Azriel mirrored his movement, withdrawing until only his tip remained inside me before slamming back in.
I moaned around Cassian in unison with Feyre’s cries. Azriel’s cock hit that spot inside me that had me trembling. Cassian filled my mouth, as my saliva dripped down my chin.
“Such a pretty mouth,” Cassian groaned, his hips thrusting faster. “Made to be fucked.”
Azriel’s hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, his thrusts becoming harder and harder.
Each impact drove me forward onto Cassian’s cock, forcing him deeper into my throat.
Feyre’s moans grew louder and more desperate as Rhys maintained a relentless pace.
Azriel’s hand found my clit, rubbing tight circles that made my thighs shake. I whimpered around Cassian, the sound vibrating through his cock.
“That’s it,” Cassian groaned.
Feyre cried out, her body going taut as her orgasm crashed over her.
Azriel’s thrusts become erratic, his fingers pressing harder on my clit. Cassian’s grip in my hair tighten painfull.
I came undone, my entire body shaking as pleasure crashed through me. My pussy tightened on Azriel’s cock, as he groaned behind me.
I felt him pulse inside me, his release filling me.
Before I could take a breath, Azriel flipped me onto my back, and Cassian settled between my thighs.
He buried himself inside me, and the sound that tore from me was a scream and a sob.
Cassian’s cock pushed Azriel’s cum deeper, forcing it further into my body with each brutal thrust of his hips.
“Fuck,” Cassian groaned, as my head rolled from side to side.
Each thrust forced my breasts to bounce, my hands clawing uselessly at the carpet. The pleasure was painful, almost violent, bordering on too much.
I watched as Rhys helped Feyre to her feet, his hands steadying her as she swayed.
“Let me taste him, please,” I whimpered, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.
Cassian’s laugh was dark and breathless. He slipped his arm beneath my knee, lifting my leg higher, angling his hips to go deeper.
The new position had tears fall from my eyes, my back arching off the floor as he hit something inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes.
Feyre straddled either side of my head. Her thighs trembled as she lowered herself; her pussy hovered just above my mouth.
My tongue licked a long, slow line from her dripping hole to her clit. I groaned into her, my hands reaching up to wrap around her waist, pulling her down onto my mouth.
She was shaking as my tongue pressed deeper, licking every drop of Rhys’s release.
“God,” Feyre moaned, her hips rolling against my face. “Please. Please don’t stop.”
Cassian’s fingers found my clit, pressing down in tight circles as he fucked me. I whimpered into Feyre’s pussy, the vibrations making her cry out above me.
My tongue traced every fold to her clit, flicking it with the tip of my tongue. Her breath came in short, desperate gasps, and I could feel her body tensing.
“I’m, oh god, I’m going to—”
She pressed herself harder against my mouth, and I felt her release flood my mouth and chin. I followed her, my walls clenching down around Cassian’s cock.
I felt him pulse inside me, his own cum adding to the mess inside me.
We stayed like that for a moment, me beneath him, Feyre still trembling above my face.
Cassian withdrew from me slowly, the sensation making me whimper as I felt their cum leak from my body.
Feyre didn’t climb off me as I expected. Instead, she bent forward, her hands reaching for the back of my thighs, and I felt her warm breath against my sensitive pussy.
My pussy was swollen and aching, still pulsing from my orgasm, and the feeling of her tongue was too much, overstimulating me.
“Feyre, I can’t, it’s too—” I gasped.
She didn’t stop. Her tongue pressed into my entrance, tasting every drop of cum that dripped from my body.
I came fast and hard, my face burying into her soaking pussy as my body arched.
The scream that tore from my throat was muffled by her pussy, my hips grinding against her mouth.
Her tongue continued its torture until I lay beneath her, whimpering and broken, coated in her release and Rhys’s, my body trembling.
Finally, she climbed off me, collapsing beside me. My hand reached for hers, our fingers intertwining as my eyes met the others.
Azriel sat with his back against the lounge chair, his face still glistening with my wetness, his cock hard in his hand.
Cassian sat beside me, his chest rising and falling heavy, his own hand working his cock in lazy pumps.
Rhys leaned against the table, his eyes watching us, hungry and predatory.
My breath hitched as I watched three men stroking themselves, knowing that the night was far from over.
Hi! I love your fics! Please can I ask for a Azriel x reader smut where he rescues reader (similar to when him and feyre saved Elain) and it makes the mating bond snap into place for them and as soon as they're back in Velaris he whisks her to his room? Thank you in advance!!
reaper’s reckoning
pairing: azriel x reader
cw: MDNI, mentions of injury and violence, smut, p in v, cunnilingus, mating bond snaps into place
wc: 5.4k
a/n: i let my imagination run wild w this one lol
@ninehargreeves i hope this is what you wanted! i wrote this as the reader is a warrior too; az’s equal, but let me know if you meant more of a damsel in distress trope rather than this. happy to write that too <3
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You had gone four days of battle unscathed. Sure, you had scrapes and scratches here and there, but you had sustained no fatal injuries.
Until the fifth day of battle.
Cassian and Azriel had warned you through gritted teeth not to leave the safety of the battlements. Had pleaded with you to stay and shield Rhysand with them, who was decimating the enemy from behind the battlements, as to not risk both his and Feyre’s lives by entering the battlefield. He would have if you’d let him, but between you, Az, and Cass, he’d have a much worse battle to fight if he so much as set one foot into the warzone.
But you hadn’t listened to your own advice. The reapers that had entered through some portal and currently terrorised the northernmost courts of Prythian could only be killed by bloodbane. And by the time the arrows and harpoons fired from the battlements reached the reapers, the bloodbane slathered on the blades had already worn off.
Weapons without the bloodbane could only maim or injure, but not kill such creatures. You knew the only way to get through a significant number of these demons was through hand to hand combat with a bloodbane tipped sword. Their blood kept the poison wet enough to maintain its lethality. So long as you kept melee killing; one after the other, without so much as giving the bloodbane a second to dry, you were able to make your way through a substantial amount of demons.
You always saw love as an evolutionary fault. As a hindrance to survival. And yet it chased you, no matter how hard you tried to run away. And you had been right. Love would cost you your life.
You loved your friends.
Your last mistake was taking one last look at them.
Hazel eyes met yours and softened briefly, before horror quickly filled them as a poisoned arrow buried itself in your ribcage, and you were plunged into darkness as a sheet was thrown over your head.
Azriel thrashed against Cassian and Lucien’s grips as he watched one of the demons throw a black burlap sac over your limp frame and drag you away with it.
Death, he thought, would have filled him with more ease than wondering whatever the reason they had only wounded you rather than killing you. Whatever the reason was, it would certainly be less pleasant than death.
For a split second, he considered listening to the distant bellows of his High Lord to stand down. Telling him that you made your own choices and you knew the risks.
Yet Azriel knew he would do no such thing. His entire body burned with the urge to go after you; he felt it to his very core. He let his body ease up for a moment, filling Cassian and Lucien with a false sense of security.
The moment they loosened their grips, the Shadowsinger shot into the skies and after the swarm of reaper demons that had scuttled away with you—or whatever was left of you.
The sheer amount of them that encircled you had led them to cover a lot of ground quickly, yet they were no match for the Shadowsinger’s speed and endurance.
Yet with the way your retreating figure seemed to tug his own towards you, he could have made the journey spent and unfit.
He landed deftly onto the ground and rolled stealthily behind the trees closest to where you were being taken. Once he was sure he hadn’t been followed or spotted, he unsheathed twin swords from his back, and spilled bloodbane all over them.
And then the Shadowsinger unleashed hell upon its very descendants.
You couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours. Your eyelids felt heavy, and the pounding in your head that you awoke with had you knowing you’d been sedated. Your hands were limp and heavy as you tried to lift them to push away whatever was covering your eyes.
But suddenly, someone did it for you. And you knew your time had come.
Until you realised, the gaze that met yours wasn’t empty and soulless. It was hazel, and it burned brighter than ever.
“Azriel,” You breathed. “You came.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’m offended you believed in an existence where I wouldn’t.” He spoke lowly and slowly.
His breathing began to turn laboured, as though he had ran twenty miles. He began to extract whatever serum had been on the arrow that struck you, and you hissed in pain.
His expression immediately softened. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I have to.”
Black dots swarmed your vision, but only a minute later you came to.
Clenching and unclenching your fists, you looked up at Azriel with relief. You had no pain, and you had regained full control of your limbs.
But the relief slowly slipped out as you looked around you.
No more war cries. No more sounds of swords clashing. No more canons being fired.
“It’s over?”
“Yes.”
“How many did you kill?” You whispered.
“Every last one.” His breathing became laboured.
You felt your face pale. “You didn’t get any of the intel we needed, then.” A statement, not a question.
“No.” Azriel affirmed, his eyes wide and fixated on you as his chest began to heave up and down. His hazel eyes had become burning embers, and something unfamiliar had spread over his face. “You were more important.”
“Azriel.” You murmured softly. “You don’t mean that.”
He gripped my wrist and inhaled sharply. “You don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t mean.” He ground out.
You frowned, placing a hand on his forearm. It felt hot to the touch, despite the freezing climate. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t respond, and you rubbed at your chest as an unfamiliar feeling began to spread. Likely from the arrow.
“I think there might be venom left. Or poison. Or whatever it was.” You whispered, rubbing idly at your chest.
His gaze did not leave yours; his breathing did not slow as he said, “There is none left.”
He was panting now, and you stared at him in alarm.
“Azriel, what the fuck is the matter with you?” You cried, rubbing more harshly against the weird forming feeling in your chest. As though somebody had tried to sew you back together.
He finally looked at the floor. “I—I can’t.” He rasped, shaking his head.
“You’re not making any s—.”
“You’re my MATE.” He bellowed, and the beads of sweat on his forehead became visible, his flushed cheeks glowed, and suddenly something deep inside of you felt a lot clearer.
The incessant itch on your chest was no itch, but a phantom string. A cord connecting you to another.
“What?” You swallowed hard.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I—I should go.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll call Cass to come fly you back.”
You placed a hand on his thigh. “No.”
His eyes squeezed shut as he faced the sky. “Sweetheart. You don’t know what this bond does to males. You don’t…you don’t understand.” He shook his head, eyes still tightly shut as he braced his fingers behind his head and tilted his head back to face the sky.
You brushed off the dirt from your clothes and slowly rose to your feet.
“I understand.” You said softly.
His eyes flew open in alarm. “What?”
“Azriel.” You stepped closer, and he flinched.
“Don’t do that.” His voice was hoarse now.
“I said,” You hissed. “I understand.”
This time understanding shone in his eyes of what you were saying. What you were offering.
He shook his head slowly. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” His jaw clenched.
You stepped closer, your chests now flush against one another. “Who says you know what you’re getting into.” You trailed your hand up his torso with tantalising slowness. The thread in your chest was unmistakeable now, and despite the fact you’d only just been healed from having an arrow pierce your chest…he was the only thing on your mind.
His eyes darkened and you felt your temperature rise as you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.
“I’ll break you.” He shook his head, his voice almost a whimper.
You draped your arms over his shoulders, clasped your fingers behind his neck and inclined your head towards the spot on your chest where the arrow had been as you whispered, “You’re the one who put me back together.”
That was it. That was his undoing. He leaned down and his lips came crashing onto yours. Both of you chapped and scarred and dehydrated from battle, yet neither of you cared.
You couldn’t help the strangled sound that escaped your throat when he slid his tongue into your mouth, and he groaned in response. His hands slid down your waist and cupped your backside, before he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.
“I need you to tell me you want this.” He was breathing hard, and you could hear his heart pounding.
“Of course I fucking want this.” You hissed, desperate for his touch.
“No,” he shook his head. “You need to understand,” He swallowed hard. “That when you say yes to me, it means you say yes to everything. I can’t hold back. I can’t.” He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain.
Your hand slid from behind his neck to grip his jaw hard, and his eyes flew open in surprise. His lips parted slightly, as if he was holding back a gasp.
“You,” You purred, angling his jaw down to look directly into your eyes. “Have no idea what I can and can’t handle. And I want to show you.”
He didn’t respond, instead he just scooped you into his arms and began to spread his wings. You narrowed your eyes. You didn’t want to wait an extra second.
“Why,” you panted. “We’re hidden here.”
He frowned as if you had offended him, but then his expression eased and he leaned down to let his lips graze your ear.
“Sweetheart,” he began, as if composing himself. “I want you in my bed, exactly how I imagined having you since the start.” He paused, collecting himself. “Hair spilled all over my sheets and pillows. I want your scent in my bed. I want our mated scents in my bed.” He almost growled. “I want you to come for me exactly where I imagined it.” He whispered, putting his forehead against yours.
You felt your legs go weak at his words, even though he was carrying you. “You’ve imagined it?”
He closed his eyes and inhaled hard, an almost reverent expression on his beautiful face. You had an urge to reach out and touch it, just to make sure he was real. “You don’t want to know how many times.”
“Well stop fucking wasting time.” You snarled, and he glared at you in response, before you were engulfed in darkness.
Your stomach lurched, but it was soon over and you found yourselves back in the House of Wind, in a bedroom you had seen many times, yet never in this context.
You could feel Azriel bracing himself, walking slowly and carefully towards his bed, as if you were a china doll he was scared to drop and fracture.
You placed a hand on his chest. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” He swallowed.
“Don’t coddle me. Treat me like glass. Have me how you fucking want me.”
He began panting hard, and before you knew it, your back hit the soft bed and he was crawling over you.
His face was so beautiful, so Azriel, and yet not at all. This was a predator staring down at you now, and you were more than elated to become his prey.
You gasped as he kneed your thighs apart hard, and pressed himself up against you. Your eyes almost rolled back in your head at the delicious friction between your hips, feeling how rock fucking solid he was where he wanted you the most. You pushed your hips up and whined; you wanted him there the most too.
“Not yet,” He shook his head and an almost wicked glint shone in his whiskey coloured eyes. “Not for a while.”
He slowly grazed your stomach with his fingers as he began to lift the hem of your tunic. He leaned his head down, pressing soft kisses against your rigid, battle hardened abdomen. “My warrior.” He whispered, like a prayer as he moved further up with the hem of your shirt. His fingers hovered at the bandaged material you had bound your breasts with for easier mobility while fighting. His eyes flicked up to yours in silent ask.
“None of that.” You whispered. “I’m fucking yours.”
His eyes almost rolled back and his lashes fluttered. “Say that again.” He whimpered.
“I’m your mate, and I belong to you.” You breathed.
He reached up, and pinned both your hands either side of your head.
“You, my darling, do not belong to anyone.” He breathed against your ribcage. “But tonight, so help me Gods, I’ll be the master of your fate.”
He bit into the bandage with his teeth and pulled it off. The friction of it coming undone so fast almost burned you, and yet you didn’t feel a thing.
He didn’t bother pulling your tunic above your head, no, he ripped it into two pieces and threw it behind him along with your chest bindings. He then groaned as he leaned down and put his hot, beautiful mouth around your nipple and sucked. Your back bowed off the bed and you mewled quietly.
“Oh,” Azriel breathed shakily. “So responsive for me, and I haven’t even been inside you yet. What pretty sounds will you make for me when I touch you in places you’ve never even seen yourself?” His tantalisingly hot breath fanned your breasts.
“Azriel.” You moaned, not from pleasure but from the need to have him in you. The mating bond was behaving in full effect now, and it was as if there was a whole being, a whole entity glowing between you, binding you together. You wanted to scream and cry and moan and feel fucking everything at the sensation.
“Sweetheart,” He rasped. “Don’t say my name like that, unless you want me to come undone while I still have my clothes on.”
“So what if you do?” You gave him a wicked smile, and his jaw clenched.
He moved further up, abandoning your breasts and kissing the column of your throat. “I wish to save myself. All of it, for you.”
You groaned in response and wrenched your wrist free from his hold beside your head to slide into his hair and tug. The further up he’d come, the more you felt his bulge rub against your thighs.
“Take off my leathers.” You groaned. “Or at least take off your shirt.”
He withdrew from your throat at that, and gave you a cunning smile. “So needy for me.” But he pulled off his own shirt without further word.
“You’re my mate.” You breathed hard. “I can’t take it anymore.”
He shook his head almost sympathetically. “Unfortunately for you, I always pictured taking my sweet time with you.”
“Please.” You whined, and you lifted your legs to wrap around his still clothed hips.
“Fuck,” he ground out, and he couldn’t help himself as he rolled his hips against yours.
The friction was fucking delicious, and both of you knew it.
“Fuck this,” Azriel spat, moving further down the bed and hooking his fingers into your leathers. “Fuck you. Always fucking up my plans.”
In one swift movement that should have been impossible for such tight leather pants, he yanked them down your thighs and pulled them off completely. He began to kiss down the expanse of your stomach once more, stopping before the waist band of your underwear. His eyes flicked up to you to see how you were reacting, but he couldn’t. Your head was thrown back against the bed, and all he could see was your chest heaving.
He dragged a finger down your still clothed centre, and he watched the way your knees shook while you groaned loudly.
“Please,” You rasped. “Please.”
He inhaled sharply, unable to process all of this at once. “Oh, how divine you sound when you beg for me, Princess.”
“Please,” you said once more, your voice barely a whisper.
But he has shown you enough mercy tonight.
He continued his slow, torturous ministrations up and down for half a minute more, before you finally felt him slide your panties to the side. Expecting his callused hands, you gasped when you felt him press a soft kiss against your core. And another. And another.
“Fuck this.” He swore, before ripping them off entirely and claiming the most intimate part of you with his mouth.
You mewled as your back arched, as he began to worship you with his mouth. A low groan vibrated against the bed from his chest as he feasted.
“Gods, you taste so fucking good.” He moaned loudly.
“Even after sweating and getting dirty in battle?” You somehow managed to impertinently grind out, and he growled loudly in response.
“Shut your mouth.” He snarled. “Now’s not the time.”
You were silenced, but not by his words, but by the graze of his teeth against the bundle of nerves at the apex of your core; the most sensitive part of you.
He bit gently, and you wailed as you had never felt anything like it. “Gods,” you hissed through gritted teeth.
“They can’t save you from me.” He growled back, flattening his tongue against your slit before dragging it back up and circling the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue.
“No,” You moaned. “They can’t.” You slid your fingers back into his hair and tugged, your knees clenching involuntarily around his head. The tip of your toe accidentally grazed the soft membrane of his right wing, and his entire body shuddered.
“Oh, you cruel, dirty playing thing.” He looked up from you with a snarl etched onto his face, before sliding two curled fingers inside you.
Your back arched off the bed and the sounds escaping your throat were far from voluntary. His lips closed around your clit once more as his fingers worked you in tandem, and you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.
His pace quickened, and he looked up once more without stopping any of his ministrations. He delighted in the way your face contorted in pleasure, the sounds that fell from your beautiful mouth; all because of him. He thought he might actually come from just the sound of you enjoying yourself at his mercy.
You began bucking your hips up, chasing the high from his face as much as he was desperate to give it to you. He flattened his palm against your hip bone, holding you torturously in place.
“Fuck,” You whimpered. “I’m actually close.”
He chose to ignore whatever you meant by actually, as he continued to feast on you and pump his fingers inside you, deep but not too deep. Quick, but not tactlessly.
A few moments later a beautiful, wailing song fell from your lips as you climaxed, the shudders and convulsions spreading through your legs up your spine as his name escaped your mouth again and again.
“Please, Azriel,” You were panting from your high. “I can’t fucking wait any longer.”
“You will. What did you mean by “actually close”?” He glared up at you, and you cringed as you saw how much his mouth glistened from your arousal. He caught your stare, and licked his lips slowly.
“I just didn’t..think it would happen so f—.”
“Grave, grave mistake.” He cut you off with a whisper, as he began to climb up over you. His hips settled in between his legs and he rolled them against yours a few times. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head.
“There is nothing, sweetheart,” he breathed, wiping soaked strands of hair from your dripping forehead. “That I can’t give you; that won’t be the best you’ve ever felt.”
You sneered. “Arrogant bastard.”
His hand flew to your throat and closed around it in response. “I don’t take kindly to name calling from my mate after I just made her see stars.”
“Yet you couldn’t be more of an arrogant bastard, I mean ‘see stars’ really?” You rolled your eyes, but he pushed his hips, his throbbing hardness against your core and you clamped your mouth shut.
“I’ve half a mind,” He began with a snarl. “To bind and gag you for your insolence.”
“Why don’t you?” A wicked glint shone in your eyes this time.
“Because you need to be able to talk. Because you’re going to beg this ‘arrogant bastard’ to fuck you.” He hissed, leaning down to press a long, hard kiss under your jaw. When you mewled in response, he sucked hard and let his teeth graze your neck, and you couldn’t help the way your back arched.
“Azriel.” You whimpered. “Please.”
“Beg.” He snarled.
“What the fuck else am I doing?” You propped yourself up on your elbows and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look you in the eye. Your demeanour instantly changed. “No, I won’t beg.” You shook your head. “You need to fuck me. You need to fuck me so bad I think you’ll die if you don’t. I don’t need to beg.”
“Shut your pretty little mouth before I put it to a lot better use.” Azriel pushed you back down, hovering over you once more.
You watched his face suddenly soften, as he took in your features. Watched the way your chest rose and fell. Watched the way your cheeks were sprinkled with crimson at his ministrations, and he knew exactly what he felt in his chest.
“Beautiful.” He murmured.
You were taken aback at the sudden change in demeanour, yet your heart melted. The invisible string between you didn’t seem so invisible anymore, and you could have sworn there was a real glow between you.
“Mate.” You said softly.
“Mate.” He agreed quietly, before taking a deep breath and moving off you and standing to pull off his leathers.
You admired his chiseled torso. Next time, you vowed to put your mouth all over it. Oh, you were going to get him back. But not now. Now it was your turn to sit back.
And then, he was completely bare before you. You licked your lips as you watched him pump himself a few times, his bottom lip between his teeth as he came to move over you once more.
He watched you with a softness in his eyes, as his hand found yours and interlaced your fingers beside your head. His other hand rested on your hip, his thumb stroking your stomach softly.
“My mate,” He purred, lining himself up with your entrance.
You gasped softly as you felt him drag the tip up and down the slickness a few times, closing your eyes in silent prayer. “Please,” You whispered.
And this time, Azriel obeyed.
He slid into you slowly, and you groaned as you felt yourself adjust around him. You opened your eyes to look into his, and placed your free hand on his jaw.
“You,” you whispered, biting back a gasp as he slowly slid further in, “Are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on.”
An expression you didn’t recognise was etched on his face, as he stared down at you with a rawness you couldn’t name.
He couldn’t respond, so he responded by gripping your hip slightly harder and sliding back out. And then slowly pushing in.
“Please.” You begged quietly once more. You would not beg again. “Give me all of you.”
That was enough for him. He began moving his hips at a faster pace, rolling them with every thrust, making sure he reached the deepest parts of you.
Tears of white hot pleasure pricked your eyes as your back bowed off the bed involuntarily, and this angle made him rub against that innermost rough patch inside of you that made you scream.
“Fuck, Azriel.” You panted. “I never knew it could—I didn’t know..”
“Shhh.” He kissed the tears from your face, biting back his own whimpers. “I know.” He rasped, letting his forehead rest against yours as he moved inside you with a reverent grace. “I know.”
And so your bodies danced together, the eternal thread between you glowing radiantly as you moved against one another. You clenched around him gently, and yet even this small gesture drew a ferocious groan from a deep part inside him.
“Baby,” he rasped. “I won’t last long inside you.”
You nodded frantically, biting back your own panting and whimpering. “Don’t try to. Just feel it.”
“I just feel you.” His hand left your hip to stroke the side of your face, and the tenderness made you almost fall apart inside. His thumb stroked your bottom lip and you opened for him, letting him in in every sense of the phrase. He was inside you, in more way than one. He was part of you. Forever.
Your name fell from his lips as he came hard, his hips jutting and spasming as he spilled everything he had into you.
A mere minute later, his head was back between your legs, and it wasn’t long before his name was the only thing you could remember. The only thing that mattered.
Your mate. The one who saved you from the reapers. The one who was terrified of breaking you, yet had no idea he was the one who put you back together.
Kinktober 2024: Day 2 - Somnophilia - Azriel x Reader
TW: sexual themes including overstimulation and dubcon
word count: 1.48k
NSFW under the cut
The sharp wind and misty rain pelted Azriel’s face as his long flight back from the Continent came to a close. He spent the last week surveilling Koschei’s lake for any useful intel and had unsurprisingly come home with nothing. After 8 straight hours of flying, all he wanted to do was collapse in his fluffy bed and sleep for a whole day.
He neared the House of Wind, feeling the drowsiness and pull to his bed grow even stronger as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Finally landing, his tense and taut muscles were able to gradually start relaxing. As he slowly wandered down the hallway towards his room, his ears perked up at the sounds floating towards him from a few doors down. Muffled moans and something that suspiciously sounded like a headboard striking the wall. Cassian and Nesta must be at it again.
He slowly opened his door and was dismayed to find an obstacle in between him and his comfy bed - you, laying on your back, starfished right in the middle of his bed. You were dead asleep despite gripping an open book in your hand. Knowing he was set to come back tonight, you had done your best to wait up for him but evidently couldn’t resist the coziness of his bed.
A soft smile ghosted his lips as his shadows softly shut the door behind him. He pried the book from your hands, setting it on the nightstand before softly kissing your forehead and heading to the restroom. He quickly shed his sweat-soaked leathers before running a quick bath. His sore muscles sang in relief at the warm water. As he lay in the bath, the light and sweet smell of your arousal drifted through the open door.
His shadows slinked back into the restroom, whispering to him the name of your book. It was one he and Nesta had been reading a few weeks earlier in their secret smutty book club. Knowing exactly what his sweet little mate had been reading had his blood swiftly rushing to his cock. He had intended to just quickly wash off and curl around you as best he could and go to sleep, but he suddenly found himself changing those plans.
Azriel hurried to dry himself off and slip on his sleep clothes before wandering back into his bedroom. The forceful waves of your arousal nearly knocked him over. You were still in a deep sleep with a blissful smile on your face. The skimpy camisole you were wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination, showing off your perky nipples. Azriel’s gaze raked over your chest and down to your high-waisted shorts that barely covered your ass. He inched closer and closer to you, feeling his now hard cock straining against his sweatpants.
He crawled between your legs, soaking up the smell of your need as you continued dreaming. Azriel slowly gripped your shorts and pulled them down your legs. He was almost on the verge of drooling at the sight of your slick, pink pussy bared in front of him. He trailed up your legs, leaving warm open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Azriel placed a soft peck on the tip of your clit before licking a slow strip up from your entrance. His rough hands reached up to pull your thighs further apart, spreading your cunt for him.
Azriel softly suckled on your clit, sending a new wave of slick sliding down towards your entrance. He shifted down and dove into your pussy, licking up your syrupy arousal. A gentle moan slipped from your mouth as your hips shifted up and chased his mouth. He moved back up and his lips wrapped around your clit while he slipped two fingers inside you. He felt your body shifting above him as he pumped his fingers inside you, stretching you out for him. A small hand landed on his head and laced through his damp hair.
“Well, this is certainly a way to wake me up.”, your rough, sleep-ridden voice drifted down towards him. Azriel glanced back up at you from between your legs, finding you propped up on your elbows. His free hand grasped your wrist and moved your hand to rest on your stomach. Azriel sent some shadows to weave through your hair and rest around your neck and shoulders. “Go back to sleep, my love. Just let me make you feel good.” He gripped your thigh and dove back into your inviting cunt. Releasing a needy moan, you laid back on the bed and swiftly drifted back to sleep.
Your slick continued to drip between your legs, soaking Azriel’s face and the sheets below you. Even while asleep, his skilled mouth quickly brought you to your first orgasm of the night. Your back arched and your breaths quickened into soft pants as you came in his mouth. The intoxicating taste of your release had his hips bucking up, grinding his swollen cock into the edge of the bed, desperate for a sliver of relief.
Azriel groaned into your heat as he felt his precum drip down his cock. His fingers inched further inside of you, pressing against the spot that always made you see stars and beg for more. He glanced up at you and grazed his teeth against your sensitive clit when he heard your breath hitch. He promptly brought you to your second and third orgasm until your legs were shaking around his head. Your hand drifted back down to his hair and softly pulled him up from your cunt. Drifting in and out of consciousness, you managed to string together a mumbled plea. “Too much, Az.”, your soft voice lowly murmured.
He rose up and trailed his hands over your body, taking off your camisole in the process. Azriel hovered over you and rested his head on your bare chest. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to get carried away,” You sleepily hummed and cradled his head in your hand. His head drifted up and he nosed into the crook of your neck. “But I think you can cum one more time for me, yeah?” You roughly bit your lip and rapidly nodded against him. You whined at the anticipation of feeling him again. The Mother had certainly given you the horniest male in existence for a mate.
His scarred hands gripped your hips in the way he knew you loved as he gently flipped you onto your stomach. Azriel crawled off the bed and stood at the foot of the bed. He outright moaned as he loosened the laces of his pants before pulling them off to release his leaky cock from its confines. He couldn’t hide his smile at the sight of your head resting on top of your arms, already asleep again.
Azriel loved many things about his sleepy girl, particularly how cuddly and pliant you get. But this, this was something you had always talked about doing that Azriel hadn’t been lucky enough to experience. You both loved the idea of him taking you as you slept, letting him use you solely for his pleasure. His cock bobbed in the air as he stared at your supple ass, debating about how he wanted to take you. He crawled on top of you and sat on your thighs a few inches behind your ass. He gripped your cheeks before using one hand to guide the tip of his member through your soaked folds. Azriel angled your hips up towards him before sliding into you and sheathing his cock fully inside of your warm, welcoming heat.
You both groaned at the stretch, Azriel much louder than you. He didn’t even need to give you time to adjust as your body was relaxed enough by your previous slumber. He grasped your waist and pulled his hips back to thrust into you. He had been so pent up over the past week that it didn’t take him much to get close. Getting lost in his own pleasure, he roughly took your tight cunt. Your light moans could barely be heard over his hips slapping into your ass.
Azriel felt his abs straining as he started to approach his release. He shifted his legs further up the bed and caged your torso under his chest. His thrusts started to get harder and erratic as he felt you tighten around them.
Azriel bit down a moan as his hips stilled and he spilled into you, your walls spasming around him as you came for the fourth time. After taking a few minutes to catch his breath, he slowly clambered off the bed and slipped his pants back on before laying down next to you. He gingerly turned you onto your side and pulled you into his chest. Not even five minutes later, he found his chin resting on your shoulder and felt himself pulled into sleep by your comforting warmth.
For @sjmsapphic ! So sad it’s coming to an end but so excited to be catching up over the coming days :3
a/n: another one for thqc! This one is set relatively early on in reader’s time under Amarantha’s care, but is fine to be read as a standalone!! <3
synopsis: Summer Court, [?] years into Amarantha’s reign.
Every bath the High Queen has taken since arriving in this sweltering land she has left dark, and heavy with blood. She swims in pools, and dries herself beneath the sun—bare and delightful. You’ve been double the use to her, as of late.
warnings: blood/canon typical violence; oral (Amarantha receiving); scratching; kind of d/s dynamicss; not proofread
word count: 3,678
~~~~
The High Queen entered her chambers soaked up to her lashes in blood. She exits her bathing quarters pristine, pathing a trail of wet footprints across the floor as she makes her way to the sunlight. The marks of her feet are interspersed with tiny droplets that have slipped from the wet length of her hair—dark as blood, and stuck across her pale shoulders and spine.
Without a word of greeting or acknowledgement, she settles her naked body along the leather-padded chaise that is positioned in the centre of a fattened sunbeam that’s pouring in from between pale linen curtains. Her hair catches the light—glittering like berries, or the seeds of sweetened jam as she lays it over the back of the chaise. Water continues dripping, dampening the butter-pale rug beneath her.
Yellow rug, brown leather, and a queen of red and white.
Wet, and bathing in sunlight to dry.
It would be nice if she enjoyed her personal chambers with the same freedom—bare skin, and ease. It’s not been long here, you don’t think. Though this is the fourth time your queen has returned to her chambers steeped in blood. This time wasn’t even the worst of it.
At least it was just blood, this time.
Amarantha is facing away from you, reclining beneath the sunbeam when she calls for you. She sounds tired—exhausted. Her voice lacks that severity she usually carries.
Lethargically, you roll to your side, tipping from the mattress but landing on your feet as you wind your way over to her. Brush against the cool stone pillars separating bed chambers from balcony. The balcony makes you wary—wrapping all the way around the tower, highest in the castle. You ease your bare back to the stone, sliding down to settle on the floor in her view, itching the skin you can’t reach.
One dark eye slides open a fraction, marking your presence at the chamber’s perimeter.
“Do you know where we are, pet?” She drawls softly, arms lazing at her sides as she settles deeper against the chaise. Her hair shines with the movement, glowing like metal fresh from a forge where it catches the sun’s glare.
You pull your legs to your chest, leaning over your knees. “Summer?”
“Almost,” she murmurs. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Shifts her arms. “It’s called the Summer Court.”
You hum, peering cautiously through the stone balustrade that runs around the balcony’s edge. Beyond, the sea is almost the colour of the sky, and the further out it goes the more you struggle to find the line where up and down meet. They seem to roll into one, ongoing script. Like you’re cushioned within one of those scalloped shells.
“And do you know why we’re here, pet?” Amarantha asks, saving you from the start of something dizzying.
You turn to face her, mischief curving the corners of your mouth. “Because you miss the sun on your skin, and desire the freedom to be naked and warm?” You ask, crawling the short distance to her chaise, kneeling at her side. You cross your arms over the wet leather, laying your cheek against your wrist to peer up at her. “It’s too cold for you, being underground all the time…”
“I’m warm enough,” she counters, her sun-lit eyes gazing across the blinding white clouds speckling the sky. Her gaze slides to you. “Is that your guess?”
You tilt your head, fondness in your lips. “Is it wrong?”
“You’re not very bright, are you.”
“Not underground, I’m not,” you reply.
The High Queen’s dark eyes study you, not a trace of amusement to be found. Her expression usually seems to be drawn in the direction of severity when she’s not before her court. Her pale lips pursed, brows tight and drawn.
Her arm lifts, and fingers push hair from your face. Nails ghost down the outer shell of your ear, and you shiver. Lips part on a breath, and the rest of the world blends and blurs as she draws your focus. Like water circling a funnel, she inexplicably pulls you in.
It’s not often she touches you without harm in her fingers.
Heavy footsteps thunder in the hallway, the sounds of a commotion ringing out as metal clangs, and the hiss of steal cuts through the air.
Amarantha tips her head back against the leather cushioning and sighs, her eyes falling shut for a moment of peace. Then she nods in the direction of her chambers’ entry, “Go see what it is.”
Her fingers release the pinch they had on your ear, and her arms returns to rest as her side; her attention in you has been taken. You glance over her once more before gathering yourself to your feet, padding across the rug and back into the shadows of her chambers, unbolting the black-iron lock.
In the hallway beyond, blood has already been shed.
A male has been forced to his knees, teeth bared, lips curled. His eyes hold enough power to drown the castle and all of its inhabitants beneath the weight of the sea, and yet he shivers there on his knees, features contorted in rage. A soldier with warm red skin, clad in scaled iron keeps the kneeling male’s arms constricted, while another points a spear to his chest.
There’s blood in his white hair. Blood on his hands, beneath his nails, staining the once-pristine fabrics he’s clothed in.
“Let me see her.” The male bellows, breathing hard beneath the oppressive hands and sweltering heat. His skin gleams with sweat, eyes wide and red. His turquoise irises almost seem to glow. “Come out here, Amarantha,” he snarls, and the vibrations thunder through your chest. “I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. Speak with me.”
You glance to one of the soldiers who are stood to the sides of the double doors, its eyes hard, and hungry. “What is this?” You ask, “The Queen wishes to know what disturbs her.”
“This lord thinks he rules the castle,” it snarls, eyes on the male. Red irises glitter. “This lord thinks he has a say in whose blood is shed.”
“These are my people,” the male growls, features twisting further into fury. “These are my people and they will always-”
The guard pushes the tip of the spear hard against the male’s chest, and blood bursts beneath, spilling fresh marks over already bloody clothing. The male’s eyes squeeze shut in pain, but his head doesn’t bow. He doesn’t cower, and when he lifts his head again, the storm has quietened in his eyes and manifested within the rest of him. A smooth-surfaced ocean with a raging tide beneath.
“These are my people,” he growls, lower now, “and they will always be my people.” Blood weeps from the centre of his chest, flowing through fibres down to his stomach. “Amarantha knows that too, or else she would not go to such lengths to weaken an already vulnerable citadel.” He bares his teeth, “why worry when there is no threat?”
Fury in his eyes, but pain too. Anger, from hurt.
“Until you yield to me, Lord, Summer’s blood will continue to flow,” the High Queen announces, having appeared at your back. You step aside, parting the doors for her. A white robs wraps her figure, linen pooling on the floor, lace patterning the sleeves with a collar that slides up over her nape. Wine-red hair flows down her back, and she peers down her nose at the male on the floor.
“Am I not on my knees before you?” He asks, and there’s pain and blood and anger in his voice. “Do I not come here, to you, to beg for you to put an end to this bloodshed because I cannot?” His voice is rough, turned hoarse at the end. The male’s nostrils flare, and his chest heaves. Turquoise irises sear against his reddened eyes, “I have nothing left to give, nothing left to yield.”
“If that is what you insist upon, then your people will continue to pay.”
“What is there to give?” He asks, and the spear is again pushed to his chest.
Another set of footsteps sound in the winding stairwell—hurried, heavy breathing. A second male—also dressed in finery, also bloody, also sweating and distraught—appears in the archway. His eyes find those of the kneeling male’s and he makes to run to him but the guard aim their spears to his chest, blocking his path. His skin, though flushed from heat and exertion, drains upon spotting the Queen.
The male on his knees shakes his head. “Return to the hall. You are needed there.”
“No,” the High Queen declares. “Let him pass. I imagine our Lord may be too weak to stand. Better he has company.” She tilts her head, angling her jaw—how lucky you would be to press your mouth to such a throat. “Better he learn his lesson now, if he wishes to save his people.”
The male stares at her, and perspiration shines on his brow. Now there is something like fear in his eyes, contained in the smell of his sweat. Amarantha inclines her chin, and the guard removes his spear, the butt of the weapon clanging against the ground as the soldier returns to attention. Dark eyes flick to the guard holding the male in place, and he steps away.
Still knelt on the ground, the male does not plead for her to reconsider, but neither does he look at his companion as he slides a clean arm beneath a bloodied shoulder, helped to his feet, a fresh wash of blood dousing the heavily stained shirt. The male’s jaw tightens beneath the strain.
The High Queen looks the two of them over: bloodied, sweaty, panting.
Amarantha tilts her head in silent command, then turns to you, murmuring an instruction for you to draw her another bath, before disappearing into her chambers.
The males eye the guards, the Lord giving you a cursory glance before following after her.
You observe the fresh blood on the floor, wondering if it’ll be gone the next time you step out here, then move to return to your Queen’s side, the guards pulling the door shut at your back while you slide the bolt into place.
~~~~
The bath the High Queen had requested is pool carved into the next chamber’s floor, tilted over and smooth. A slab of red-brown rock is placed beside the water’s edge, dips and divots hewn for towel stacks and glass bottles. Each one smells more interesting than the last, and it’s a treat to know where these upper scent layers are coming from when you taste them in your Lady’s skin.
Amarantha had bid you to stay with her, while the mess next door was tidied away. Flesh stuck beneath her fingernails, your mouth bloodied. The second male had managed to clasp his hands around your throat before Amarantha had torn him away, and promptly disabled him.
The Lord had watched, silenced and producing a stench.
Amarantha takes a palm-full of liquid and begins rubbing it into her hair, nails pushing at her scalp, grazing her nape, scratching behind her ears. You watch quietly from the pool’s edge, sat atop a cushion you’d lazily pulled from the cupboard. The High Queen tips her head back into the cool water and rinses out the suds, dipping her hair in and out of the pool. She catches something, and a frown tightens her brow as she examines her nails. Then she turns, and wades back through the water to pluck a clump of bristles stuck into a narrow block of wood from the stone slab, scrubbing beneath her nails.
You pull your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your knees and laying your chin atop your forearms. “For how much longer are we staying here?”
Amarantha swaps the brush over, scrubbing the nails on her other hand. “At most another week. I’ll see how the Young Lord handles himself.”
You peer at the water rippling around her waist, the slightly iridescent bubbles littering the sweet skin of her stomach. “And how long is that?”
“Not long,” she replies.
You lay down across the tile floor, hips cushioned by the pillow. It’s so…warm everywhere. Like there are invisible fires scattered throughout the castle that no one is talking about.
It’s a nice change.
Dark eyes flick over you, and a flicker of excitement sparks to life beneath that appraisal. You push upright, resting your upper weight on your palms. “My Lady?”
Amarantha beckons you over, and you shift to the edge of the pool. “Take this,” she instructs, pushing the brush into your palm. “I won’t have you touching me with filth on your hands.” Her gaze lifts to your face, and her brows narrow. “You cleaned your mouth properly?”
You incline your chin and open your mouth, tongue laying over your lower lip. All the blood is gone—you made certain. She won’t use you if you’re dirty.
The High Queen furrows her brows. “You need better training.”
You cock your head to one side, tongue pulling back into your mouth.
Amarantha’s eyes glint. “Did I say ‘close’?”
Heat pools between your thighs and you press them close together, back curving as you incline toward her, exposing your throat as you open your mouth for her.
A sharpened nail points to the soft skin of your sternum, slowly scraping up. Between your collar bones, over the column of your throat, scratching the tenderness just below your jaw. Goosebumps brush up your spine, resigning yourself to her touch. She tilts her head, and huffs something like a laugh.
Her breath touches your lips like a kiss.
Something swells in your chest, but she’s turning away, leaving your skin surprisingly cool.
“Don’t close that mouth,” she warns, as she steps out from the pool onto clean, sun-warmed tiles. You peer at her patiently, but with need steadily liquefying between your thighs. Anticipation concentrating your growing arousal.
The edges of the High Queen’s eyes come close to a smile as she walks the pool’s edge, trailing back around to you. Fingers graze the top of your head, like she’s preparing to sink her nails into your hair and guide you to where she wants you. Instead she licks her lips, teeth biting on the way back in. “Kneel.”
You obey without question, pulling your legs onto the cushion, pulling yourself onto your knees before her.
She strokes the crown of your head.
“Now, wait,” she instructs, passing behind you to unfurl a towel from its placement. “Be good.”
The white fabric drags across her skin, touching everywhere you’d like to with your tongue, but drying instead of wetting. Her hair remains black as blood while its wet, but dripping clear onto the tiles.
An ache works its way up between your thighs, and you consider shifting your hips’ centre to align with the heel of a foot—something to grind on, to give release to the growing tension. Watching the fabric gently abrade your Queen’s skin is…it’s something more pleasurable than torture. Drawn-out, and teasing. Playful, in a way that she isn’t Under The Mountain.
You can’t resent pleasure being withheld when it’s for her benefit.
The sun has trickled across the pool tiles, warming the small of your back by the time she’s done—towel pooling on the ground as she hold your eyes and walks forward. Slowly; lithely. Trailing wet footprints over the floor. Marks she could leave on your body if she walked her way up to your mouth.
Amarantha pauses, the tips of her feet settling just under your knees.
You peer up at her, mouth dry from having been kept open in waiting.
Once again her touch skims the crown of your head. “Up,” she instructs, lightly. You lift higher onto your knees.
Her arousal whets your appetite. Makes you eager, and desperate—more so than before.
Amarantha takes a hold of you, and guides your mouth closer to her hips. Saliva pools below your tongue, eyelids growing heavy as you breathe her in. Close enough to nose at the skin of her inner thighs, her hips, her abdomen. Your fingers trail reverently up the backs of her legs, steadying yourself as your head goes a little light. Dazed. Robbed of sense.
She pulls you closer, and the undisturbed curls between her thighs deliver moisture to your mouth. Droplets soaking down across your tongue, and she holds you there—mouth parted for her to use as she pleases.
Her scent is what you need, and right now it’s all around.
You wait for the order to come.
It doesn’t.
Opening your eyes, you peer up the strong plane of her stomach. You can’t meet her eyes from how close you are, but tilt your head upwards all the same. The sharp points of her nails rake through your hair, and your mouth waters, arousal gathering at the thought of her dragging them across your back. Itching behind your ears, scraping gently down the sides of your throat.
A whine builds in your chest, tongue ready to soothe the wet of her heat.
Amarantha slides her hand to the back of your head and, guiding one leg over the curve of your shoulder, presses you closer to the wet heat of her cunt. Her arousal brushes against the inside of your lower lip, so close to dripping into your mouth, and yet still the order does not come.
Instead the muscles in her leg flex, making it near impossible for you to move any closer.
The High Queen cants her hips, dragging her cunt higher, tilting your head back until she can almost sit. The combination of heat, and the resistance she’s dealing with in this land seem to be drawing out something lazy—almost indulgent in her.
A breathy sigh releases from above you as she gently rocks her hips.
Preoccupied; in her own world.
It’s a pleasure to facilitate the trip. To be the thing her ecstasy hinges upon.
“Bed,” she murmurs through a soft breath, unhooking her leg from your shoulder. A string of arousal beads from her cunt to your lower lip, and now you’re detached from her you’ve the pleasure of swiping your tongue out, bringing that taste into your mouth.
You’re swift to adhere yourself to her bed, pressing your bare back to the mattress, head near the foot, feet near the pillows.
The Queen trails closer, nails raking delicately across the beaded sheets, prowling up onto the mattress. Dark eyes glitter and gleam as they rove over you—the facilitator of her pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less.
Amarantha settles one knee over your waist, seating her weight atop your hips. You’re pinned to the bed beneath her, sinking down into the cushioning. Arousal smears across your abdomen as she rolls her hips, the wet curls between her thighs smudging slick across your skin. Her hands press to your sternum as she leans forwards, damp strings of hair swinging forward—wine-red at the roots, black as blood at the ends. The scent of arousal mixes with the fragrances from her bath, cushioning you within the harmony of scents. Something light, and citrusy.
Heat simmers from the stone flooring, curtains fluttering as a breeze courses through the chambers, allowing the dark tips of her long hair to paint wet cuts across your skin. Nails curve into your skin as she drags her hips over your stomach, turning the expanse slick as she glides across. Teeth pull on your lower lip, need burrowing deeper into your bones.
“Amarantha…” you breathe, a pleading note entering your voice.
Dark, glittering eyes slide open—a knot in her brow.
She leans forward, her hand parting between her thumb and index finger to cover your mouth. It hurts your skin, but…
A moan is caught beneath her palm, low and breathless. Pleading for more.
Your thighs press together, hips shifting atop the mattress.
Amarantha leans her weight forward, pinning you to the bed before pushing away, giving a final roll of her hips before languidly shifting further up your body.
Your mouth waters.
The High Queen’s knees settle a little higher than your head, before finally taking her seat atop your mouth. Arousal smears across your lips, chin, and cheeks, spreading across your skin as she rolls her hips, and push out your tongue to glide through the curling mess between her thighs.
Heat rolls from her skin in waves, soft and cushioned by her legs, pressed between the delightful comfort of the bed and the heaven of her skin, and scent. Breaths pant from her chest, and she is worked up enough to release moans through the room, unabashed and indulgent. Decadent sounds.
She flutters on your tongue, pleasure pulsing through her body as her hips buck, and you’ve your eyes closed as you bask in her ecstasy. Nails rake across your scalp as she tugs you against her cunt, scratching through your hair in a way that sends shivers down your spine.
The smell of sweat and tangerine zest clings to her skin, heavy and blossomy as her chest rises and falls.
Another breeze sweeps through her chambers, playing with her hair as Amarantha crawls off of you, settling herself sweet and comfortable against a small gathering of pillows. Basking in the aftermath of her high.
There’s a faint trace of smoke in the air, and the sharp tang of blood brought in from the outside. Able to reach you, even so high up.
You crawl to the top of the bed, settling close to her side but not touching—she doesn’t like to be touched when resting.
It’s only recently she’s allowed you to stay at all, not immediately being returned to your own dark quarters.
Maybe one day she’ll allow you to stay watch as she sleeps, too.
sorry to be a broken record every month but christ menstruation is a stupid concept. oooooh excuse me for not getting pregnant, why the fuck is there goo falling out of me about it? grow the fuck up and reabsorb that shit for nutrients.
summary: twelve years after remus saved you from being killed in the underground, you’ve built a life beside him, james, and sirius at the center of one of the most powerful mobs in the country. but during a high stakes event, everything shifts when you become a target, and suddenly the life you’ve fought to keep is put at risk. ( 7.5k words )
tags: mafia au, reader has she/her pronouns, established relationship, angst, violence, blood and injury, murder, gun violence, fight scenes, kidnapping, hostage situations, torture, drugging, childhood trauma, starving kids, poverty, slut shaming, mentions of scars, healer reader, creepy snape, panic, fear, morally gray characters, remus centric, happy ending
a/n: this was written months ago and i just rediscovered it buried in my docs. might turn it into a mini series because mafia poly marauders has no business being this hot masterlist
You met Remus way before anyone knew his name, before the respect he earned and the reputation that made people step aside without thinking about it.
Back then, he was just another kid surviving off whatever the underground world didn’t manage to take from him.
Too thin, clothes hanging loose like they belonged to someone else, eyes dulled by exhaustion but still alert in a way that didn’t match the rest of him; no family, no one waiting, nothing tying him to anything except the instinct to keep going.
He didn’t beg, didn’t waste words, didn’t draw attention unless he meant to, which was rare. Most people passed him without noticing. The ones who did never looked long.
The first time you approached him, it wasn’t out of kindness. You were a starving teenager, and he looked worse.
You’d found half a sandwich behind a closed diner, warm and edible, something you should have kept. You meant to. But he was there, slumped against a rusted pipe, fighting sleep like it might take more from him than rest ever could, and before you let yourself think twice, you stepped forward, pressed the food into his hands, and walked away.
Remus never forgot you after that.
The next time you saw him, it was your blood soaking into the ground.
A group of men had him cornered deep in the tunnels. Even then, he knew how to fight; quick, efficient, and already dangerous in a way that came from necessity rather than skill, but there were too many of them and numbers always tipped the scale.
You moved fast despite your weak form, grabbed the nearest man, sank your teeth into his forearm hard enough to feel skin break, kicked, clawed, made noise, anything that would pull them off him long enough to save Remus.
It worked for a moment. Until one of them turned and drove a knife into your shoulder, clean and deep.
After that, everything blurred. Movement, sound, the sharp pull of breath you couldn’t steady; by the time your eyes could focus again, the men were dead, two at Remus’ hands, the third barely managing to crawl before the blood loss killed him.
Your parents didn’t make it either, they were both killed by an underground gang.
You weren’t given the chance to grieve them properly—not with your arm throbbing and your body struggling to stay upright.
Remus didn’t speak. Aside from a scatter of bruises and shallow cuts, he’d come out of it mostly intact—steady enough to catch you before your knees gave out, his arm firm at your back as he pulled you upright and kept you moving.
You went with him because there was nothing left to stay for, your weight leaning into him more with every step, the pain in your shoulder turning sharp and distant all at once. He took you deeper into the underground, to a man no one trusted unless they had no other choice—unreliable, difficult, but capable enough to keep people alive when it mattered.
Remus stayed.
Through all of it. While the man worked, cutting into your shoulder to get the bullet out, stitching what he could, wrapping the rest, Remus didn’t step away, didn’t look elsewhere, didn’t leave you with it alone
The days blurred into each other after that.
You spoke less, kept your head down, learned quickly what not to react to; blood stopped meaning anything beyond whether it needed to be dealt with. Remus didn’t offer comfort, not out of cruelty, but because it wasn’t something he knew how to give, and you didn’t ask for it.
What he did know was survival.
How to move without being noticed, how to find warmth when the tunnels turned unforgiving, how to take what was needed without drawing the wrong kind of attention, how to end a fight before it had the chance to turn against him.
So he handled it, for both of you, without making it into something worth mentioning.
He considered teaching you, once or twice. You could see it in the way his attention lingered when you tried to handle anything, but it never went further than that. You were small, your strength unreliable, your hands unsteady even with something as simple as a rusted pipe, and he wasn’t careless enough to pretend otherwise.
The idea dropped, without discussion. Instead, he made sure you didn’t need to fight.
And in return, you learned how to keep him standing.
Every time he came back injured, you were there. Your hands weren’t steady at first, and you didn’t always know what you were doing, but you worked through it anyway; gathering scraps of cloth, heating water when you could, learning piece by piece until it became routine.
You never asked where his injuries came from.
Pain was something he understood, something he carried without complaint. You didn’t have that same tolerance for it. Those early years wore you down in ways he couldn’t ignore, even if he didn’t know how to fix them.
You got sick often—lungs too weak, body too fragile for the cold and the damp—and there were nights when the coughing didn’t stop, when it dragged on until breathing itself felt like work.
He never tried to soothe you with empty words. Instead, he stayed, sitting beside you in the dark, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead as if that alone could tell him what to do next. It never did, but he didn’t leave.
For a while, that was enough.
Things held together, barely, until they didn’t.
The fight came out of nowhere and everywhere at once, built from too many nights without food, too little sleep, too much pressure sitting unspoken between you.
You had given away part of your food, not much, just enough to quiet the whining of a stray dog that had been trailing you for days. You hadn’t thought of it as a decision that needed weighing. Remus had.
He had already been worn down by a horrible day full of fights, his patience stretched thin, and when he realized what you’d done, the reaction came horribly.
He told you that you couldn’t afford choices like that, that you were careless, that keeping you alive was costing him more than he could sustain, and even if the dog had been the trigger, it wasn’t the reason. You understood that much without him saying it.
You didn’t interrupt him. You didn’t argue, didn’t raise your voice to meet his, didn’t give him anything to work against.
You stood there and let him finish, quiet in a way that should have forced him to hear himself, to stop before he crossed the line he was already approaching. He didn’t stop. By the time he was worn out from his lash out, he turned away from you as if it had been nothing more than another conversation, laid down, and let sleep take him without a second thought.
By the time he woke up the next morning, you were gone.
Your clothes were still there, your blanket exactly where you’d left it, the tin box of stolen medicine untouched. Everything remained in place except you. There was no note, no sign that you had planned it beyond the fact that you had followed through. The absence said enough on its own.
He understood immediately what he had done and what it had cost without needing to search for another explanation.
The realization hit hard, and there was no way around it. This was on him. By the time he was on his feet, he wasn’t thinking about anything else except finding you.
He searched anyway.
Weeks of it, moving through every part of the tunnels he knew and plenty he didn’t, cutting sleep down to nothing, food to whatever he could grab without slowing himself. Every girl he passed made something in his chest tighten; every still body in a corner forced him to look twice, just in case.
Remus found you five months later, by accident more than anything else.
You were sitting slumped against a wall outside a supply depot near the edge of the underground, so thin you barely looked alive, clothes caked in dirt, head tipped forward like holding it up took more effort than you had left.
He almost didn’t recognize you. Almost kept walking. He looked again, properly this time, and the moment it clicked, everything in him went still.
He crossed the distance in a few quick steps, dropped into a crouch in front of you, said your name to try and pull you back. When he reached for you, there was no reaction at first. Then, slowly, your head lifted, your eyes found his, and recognition settled in with a kind of silence that hurt more than anything louder could have.
You looked away.
He didn’t give you the choice to leave again.
When he pulled you to your feet, you didn’t fight him. There wasn’t enough strength left for that, your weight giving easily as he steadied you, lifting without hesitation when it became clear you couldn’t manage it yourself.
He took you back without saying a word.
You didn’t speak for three days.
Most of the time you stayed where he left you, too exhausted to move unless you had to, your body giving out in short stretches of sleep that never lasted long. You avoided lying down, staying upright even when it hurt, as if the effort of lowering yourself was more than you could afford.
Remus handled what needed handling.
He cleaned the dirt from your skin, worked through the worst of it carefully, fed you what little he had, kept watch without scaring you away. He didn’t ask where you’d been or what had happened.
“I didn’t think you’d care if I left,” you croaked out a week after he rescued you.
Remus had just handed you a tin of soup. He froze.
“You told me it’d be easier without me,” you added, eyes fixed on the wall. “So I made it easier.”
He stared at you for a long time before answering. “If I say anything like that again,” he said quietly, “don’t listen. Just hit me, beat me up if you have to. Don’t walk away, don’t leave me again.”
That night, for the first time, he cried in front of you. Quiet, broken tears that traced the scars littering his arms and chest, each mark a story you’d never heard. He pressed his forehead to yours, voice trembling. “I might be a monster, but I cannot live without you. You can’t leave me again. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”
It wasn’t an apology, not in the way words usually are, but it was everything. That night, you promised him that you wouldn’t. And it was a promise you meant to keep.
After that, things changed.
He kept you close. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was different after losing you. Sharper, more alert and dangerous. He fought harder, stole more, built a name for himself in places where kids like him usually didn’t survive long enough to earn one.
And you stayed. You learned. Your hands stopped shaking when you cleaned wounds. You taught yourself pressure points, bone breaks, ways to stop bleeding when there was no thread.
You became someone people trusted when they had nowhere else to go. A healer in a place that didn’t believe in healing.
Almost exactly a year after Remus had pulled you from that alley, he returned with two new faces behind him.
The first was Sirius Black; lean, loud, reckless. His body was thin and covered in faded lash marks, evidence of a life spent running. He had cut ties with his family and spent the last two years with the wrong crowd, dealing drugs and learning violence the hard way.
The second was James Potter. He looked more put together but had clearly been through hell. Broad-shouldered, tanned, with dark curls falling over his forehead and striking brown eyes hidden behind glasses.
Despite their differences, the two of them stuck together almost like brothers (ironic now that you think about it, because they’re anything but brothers). They both needed shelter, both needed someone to keep them alive, and though you had no idea why Remus had saved them—he never trusted strangers—you knew one thing: if Remus trusted them, so did you.
And just like that, the four of you were no longer alone.
You had no idea, then, how much they would come to mean. But you knew, in your heart, that your life had changed the moment Remus found you.
And it was about to change all over again.
It is almost too easy now, twelve years later, to understand the extent of their protectiveness.
Years have passed, yet their vigilance has only deepened with time. You have come to know each of them in entirely different ways, loved them not in halves or fragments but in full, as they are, as they choose to be in the shadows of a world that demands more than loyalty. It demands blood.
Their devotion to you doesn’t come from anything gentle. It comes from the same place that taught them how to shoot, how to lie, how to kill with their hands and walk away without blinking.
So now, as you sit beneath a gilded chandelier in the grand ballroom of an estate that smells of wealth and corruption, it is easy to forget, just for a moment, what tonight really is.
On the surface, it appears to be a charity gala. People are laughing into fluted glasses, dressed in fabrics worth more than most make in a year. But beneath the satin and the small talk, tonight is a congregation of power. The five most dangerous syndicates in the region have gathered in this single room, each dressed in their finest.
And you are seated alone, at a table cloaked in cream linen, with your back to the far wall and your eyes on the men you came with.
You spot James first, standing near the eastern archway. He is speaking with a man you don’t recognize, a thickly built figure with twitching fingers and a smile that does not touch his eyes. James is smiling too, but it’s mostly a facade.
Remus stands a few feet behind him, arms crossed, eyes trained not on the conversation, but on you. He offers a small smile when your gaze meets his. You return it without thinking.
A sudden warmth at your side draws your attention.
Sirius appears beside you without warning, already close enough that you feel him before you properly see him. He slides into the chair next to yours in one easy motion, then pulls you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one arm settling firm around your waist, keeping you there.
His suit fits him too well, dark against the soft gold of the room, his hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck, eyes scanning the crowd before dropping back to you. He leans in and presses a brief kiss to your temple.
“There you are,” he murmurs, voice low against your skin. “Been looking for you. How’s my girl holding up?”
You let out a slow breath, fingers catching lightly on the edge of your dress. “Tense,” you admit, eyes still moving over the room. “I hate these things, Sirius. One wrong move and everything turns into a mess. There’s too many of them here tonight, too many people who don’t trust each other pretending they do. It’s unpredictable.”
He hums, his grip on you tightening just slightly, thumb brushing absent circles against your side. “Yeah, it is,” he replies. “But you know Remus. Strongest one in the room, and he’s watching everything. Place is locked down, including entrances, exits, security—we’ve got eyes on all of it. Nobody’s getting close without us knowing, love.”
You shift against him, a quiet, uneasy laugh slipping out. “I know. It just… doesn’t stop me thinking about it. I hate that you’re all targets half the time, even if I know you can handle it.”
Sirius tilts his head slightly, studying you, his hand coming up to rest more securely at your waist. “All I want is for you to sit, relax, look pretty, and enjoy yourself. Once we’re back home, I promise, we’re gonna make it worth your while.”
You glance toward James, scanning his posture across the room, and then back at Remus, whose calm presence seems to hold the room in balance. “How are they holding up?” you ask, a little edge of concern in your voice.
“James is fine,” Sirius says with a slow breath, almost smug. “He’s in his element. Man could sweet-talk a corpse back to life if he wanted. Remus, on the other hand, is playing the long game. He didn’t like the Russians showing up uninvited, or Malfoy bringing his own security.”
Your stomach tightens at the thought, a low thrum of nerves threading through your chest. “So what am I missing? What’s really going on?”
Sirius’s jaw tightens slightly, the playful edge fading into seriousness. “There’s a leak,” he says quietly. “Someone’s feeding intel to the other families. Names, operations, schedules. Remus thinks it’s someone close, someone he’s trusted. He’s been tracking it quietly, trying not to spook anyone.”
You shift slightly in his lap, glancing up at him. “And that’s why you came over here? To check on me?”
He lets out a quiet scoff, like the answer should be obvious, his grip on you tightening as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder. “You think I’m only here for that?” he murmurs against your skin, voice dipping back into something lighter.
You huff a small laugh, shoulders lifting as his lips brush over your shoulder blades, the tension easing despite yourself.
Sirius hums softly, pulling back just enough to look at you. “We’re not leaving you sitting here alone while half the room’s watching us,” he adds, tone still easy but edged with something firmer underneath. “Remus didn’t want you worrying before we knew for sure, but that doesn’t mean we’re not paying attention. You’re covered. Always.”
You nod, though it barely soothes the knot in your chest, your eyes drifting back over the crowd, catching Remus’s faint nod across the room. You let out a slow breath, trying to sink into it, even as the tension continues to hum beneath your skin.
And then, as Sirius gently squeezes your shoulder and mutters something about needing to get back, a man in a waiter’s uniform approaches.
He’s smiling politely as he sets down a champagne flute in front of you with a subtle bow. You take a slow sip, the cold rim brushing your lower lip with familiarity.
In a life this precarious, where every shadow might hold a loaded gun and every handshake could be your final one, you've long known the value of perfection.The kind drilled into your bones by men who love you too much to be soft with you.
Remus taught you that lesson first, years ago in the blood-soaked corridors of the underground when he pulled you out from hell with his bloodied hands.
Mistakes weren’t small back then, and they certainly aren’t now. One slip can cost not just a life, but all the lives tethered to it.
And you do not make mistakes.
But sometimes, it's not about what you do. It’s about what you don’t notice. What slips through the cracks. What you forget to question.
And as the sip slides down your throat, smooth as liquid gold, something cold settles in your gut before the poison even begins to work.
You never ordered a drink.
And that realization alone is enough to make your spine lock. Your eyes flicker down to the flute still in your hand, now far more weapon than refreshment.
You force your breath to steady, to remain as it was, because movement—any movement—before confirmation could draw the very eyes you need to avoid.
You twist sharply, eyes scanning the floor, the servers, the crowd, until your gaze lands on the back of the waiter. It’s not his face that gives him away. It’s the hair. Slicked close to the skull, but a single braided rat’s tail hangs just above his collar.
Your breath catches as something hot coils low in your spine and spreads too quickly to ignore.
Your hand trembles, fingers curling in on themselves before you can stop it, your muscles tightening, then loosening in a way that feels wrong. You’ve felt this before. You recognize it immediately, even as panic tries to push in.
Paralysis. Fast onset. Your throat tightens, chest burning, your body slipping out of your control piece by piece. You force yourself to stay focused, to think through it instead of giving in.
Tetrodotoxin.
You know it from case studies and forensic files Remus made you read when he was teaching you how to recognize a killer’s fingerprint. Extracted from the pufferfish, odorless, tasteless, and lethal in micrograms. You have maybe—if you’re lucky enough—two minutes before your diaphragm stops working.
You turn, slowly and painfully, to the only three people who matter in this room. James, still mid-conversation, nodding at some low-level syndicate boss as if he doesn’t already know more than the man’s own mother. Remus, watching the exchange, smiling faintly with Sirius.
You try to get up.
That’s when the hand lands on your arm.
It’s firm, a companionable touch, like a friend leaning in with a secret or a lover about to steal a kiss. You brace, pivoting toward the stranger, only for his voice to drop into your ear, rich with condescension and amusement.
“Don’t make a scene, darling.” the command is low, velvety, and utterly sure of itself.
“You can’t fight it. Not anymore. And you don’t want to get anyone’s attention, now do you?”
Your hands twitch, useless. All you can do is turn your eyes toward him, only to meet a face you’ve never seen before. Which is far more terrifying than a familiar one.
He smiles, soft and tight. “There it is,” he murmurs, not unkindly.
You try to speak. Try to scream, but your jaw is already locked.
“You’ve been such a good girl,” he says, almost sweetly, as his hand snakes under your arm and gently lifts you to your feet like a dance partner. To anyone watching, it looks like nothing. A tipsy beauty and her suitor. “Let’s not ruin that now. Come on, walk for me.”
You barely register the way his hand tightens around yours, guiding you out of the ballroom step by step.
Your knees buckle more with each stride, your vision wobbling like water over glass. You catch a final glimpse—three suits like shadows across the marble floor, three sets of eyes scanning, unknowing. And then—
The sound falls away first, the chandeliers blur, and just before the velvet curtains swallow you whole, the world blurs away.
The last thing you think, before everything goes dark, is that you’re about to break the promise you made to Remus twelve years ago; you weren’t supposed to leave him again.
*******
James tilts his glass to his lips without really tasting the whiskey. He’s still engaged in meaningless diplomacy, his tone all faux charm as he converses with a Russian arms dealer too rich and too drunk to be useful.
His glass is untouched in his hand, his eyes flicking instinctively across the ballroom in search of you—just a habit by now. You were standing near the orchestra moments ago. Laughing and smiling in Sirius’ lap.
But you’re not there.
His smile falters.
James’s body goes still, the easy grin on his face freezing just slightly. His hand twitches. "Remus."
"Remus," James mutters again under his breath, turning toward the other man without taking his eyes off the spot. "Where’s she gone?"
"What?"
"I asked where she is." There’s a steel edge to his voice now. “She was just by the pillar.”
Remus follows his line of sight, frowning as he glances past the crowd. A cold flicker passes over his features when he doesn’t find you either. "I saw her not two minutes ago—" His words cut off. His eyes are moving faster now.
James doesn’t wait. "Sirius."
Sirius’ eyes snap up, finding James first, then Remus, then the empty space where you should be.
In an instant, he crosses the room eyes scanning, chest tight, every step measured for speed and control.
James is on his heels a second later. "Where the fuck was she standing?!” he hisses, scanning the crowd for the flash of your dress, your hair, anything.
“She didn’t leave through the front,” Remus mutters behind them. He’s pulled his earpiece into place, one hand disappearing inside his suit jacket. “James. Sirius. We lock this place down, now.”
There’s a subtle click beneath the music as James draws his sidearm and tucks it to his hip beneath his coat. His other hand lifts to press a button on his comms. "Code black. I want every single exit fucking sealed. No one moves unless I say. Shut the gates. Clear the floor. Confirm visuals on her—last seen by the east arch, ten minutes max."
The line crackles.
Remus’s voice crackles into the comms again, louder now, sharper. "Sweep the perimeter. Search every hallway, every service corridor. If someone touches her, I want them in pieces. James, Sirius—stay close.”
*******
Your world returns in pain.
Your head is forced downward, plunged into a basin of cold water with such force your teeth slam together. The water floods your mouth, shoots up your nose. You can’t breathe. Your lungs flare in agony. Your mind screams for air.
You are yanked back just as abruptly, choking and sputtering, water gushing from your lips as you cough uncontrollably. The sensation of drowning clings to your skin, your ears ringing with pressure, your throat raw from the violent intake.
Your blindfold is ripped away.
Light, white and sterile, floods your eyes. You blink rapidly, gasping, vision swimming as you try to adjust. Shadows dance around you until one shape sharpens into a man—tall, angular, hair black as oil slicked back from a pale, skeletal face.
Severus Snape.
You recognize him instantly. The face from every intelligence file you have flipped through, the name whispered in your boyfriends' meeting rooms like a curse.
"Ah. Welcome back," Snape says, his voice cold and composed, as if greeting an old patient. He circles you slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "Forgive the method of revival. I don’t usually favor theatrics, but you were quite... unresponsive, and I needed you awake."
You glare at him, throat burning. "You sick fuck. Let me go!"
He tilts his head, eyes assessing, almost bored. "No. I don’t believe I will."
"You don’t know what you’ve done," you hiss, struggling against the ropes. "You have no idea what they’ll do to you."
"On the contrary," Snape replies, and now there’s a flicker of amusement in his tone. "I know exactly what they’ll do. That’s the entire point, little mouse. They won’t come to negotiate or discuss business. They only come when something is taken."
His gaze drags over you slowly, taking his time, like you’re something he owns already. “So I took you.”
“It isn’t personal,” he continues as he steps closer, close enough that you can feel his breath against your skin. “From what I’ve gathered, you’re valuable. A truly skilled doctor, too. Useful in ways most people down here never manage to be. That alone would have made you worth taking.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying you, then lets out a low, dry laugh. “A loyal—” he cuts himself off, the word turning into something ugly in his mouth. “No. No, that’s not right, is it?”
“Wouldn’t call you loyal when you’re spread between all three of them like a whore, would I?”
You try to spit at him, but it barely makes it past your lips, your body too weak to follow through.
“Lupin, playing leader like he’s holding everything together. Black, the poor little traitor who ran from his own family. And Potter…” His voice tightens on the name, real hatred slipping through this time. “Fucking Potter.”
There’s something off in the way he says James’ name, it makes you wonder why he might hate him so much.
“Tell me, do they take turns, or do you let them share?” His mouth twists faintly. “Or do you just not care who you crawl into bed with as long as they keep you safe?”
Your hands curl against the restraints, anger cutting through the weakness. “Go fuck yourself.”
He smiles at that, slow and thin. “There it is.”
You yank against the ropes, the fibers digging into your skin hard enough to sting. “You’re a coward.”
Snape doesn’t react the way you expect. If anything, he seems calmer, like he’s enjoying it. “I’m alive,” he says quietly. “That’s more than most people who cross them get to say.”
You twist again, fury rising, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Let me go, you fucking—”
He moves faster than you expect, the blade already there, resting flat against your pulse.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice low and almost bored. “You strike me as smart. Don’t ruin that by acting stupid.”
The knife shifts just slightly, enough for you to feel the edge bite. "You speak again, and I will open your jugular so cleanly you’ll bleed out before you even scream. Don’t test me."
You freeze. The metal remains against your skin for several seconds, the threat humming louder than your own heartbeat. Then it lifts. He tucks it back inside his coat with maddening nonchalance.
You scan the room with your eyes now, desperate for anything; an exit, a weakness, something to exploit. But the room is concrete, windowless, reeking of mildew and damp. The only door is behind him.
He flips a small device in his pocket, eyes glinting as he tilts his head.
“Well, well, look who’s finally here,” he says slowly, savoring each word, letting the pause hang. “Your little fuckers, coming to save their precious whore.”
Your heart lurches. For a moment, hope flares like a match. Then his eyes meet yours again, and he laughs. A slow, cruel laugh.
“Oh, don’t look so relieved,” he says. “You think they’re heroes, don’t you? That they can just walk in here and snatch you back? They’re idiots. All of them.”
He crouches slightly, letting his eyes roam your face. “Lupin, the big-hearted fool. Black, the reckless little shit. And Potter… Potter, you little whore, I’ve never hated anyone like him. Tell me, mouse, do you even know why I hate him so much?”
Your throat tightens.
“You’ll see soon enough,” he continues, voice low, almost a hiss.“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to vanish into the walls. Your lovers are going to come storming in ith their guns, fists, whatever pathetic courage they have. They’ll think they’ve got you. They’ll think I can’t touch them. And you’ll sit there, pretty little bitch, tied up, watching and listening.”
He crouches to your level. Tilts his head. “But right as they let their guard down—right when they’re stupid enough to save you—I will paint the walls with their blood. And then, when they’re all dead, you’ll watch me slit your pretty throat.”
You scream and kick and thrash until the ropes cut into your skin. You scream again, hoping someone will hear, hoping your voice can reach through concrete and steel.
Snape sighs. "I don’t want you ruining my plans, little miss smarty-pants." He walks over, pulls out a strip of duct tape, and tears it slowly, the sound slicing through the air like a warning.
"You’ll sit still, you’ll stay quiet, and you’ll watch. That’s all you’re good for now."
He slaps the tape over your mouth with brutal finality, pressing it hard against your lips until your screams become useless muffled noise. You sob through it, chest heaving, vision blurring with tears.
And then he’s gone. Slipping into a hidden passage behind a shelf of crates. You’re left alone. Chair bound, gagged, and shaking with fear—not for yourself, but for your boyfriends.
You hear the door bang open a minute later, and for the first time, you don’t feel saved.
Remus is first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning—walls, exits, angles of light, you. Then Sirius. His breathing is ragged, like he ran the entire way. Suit jacket open, shirt wrinkled, hair falling into his eyes. Then James.
All three freeze the moment they see you.
Remus lowers his gun just a fraction. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Sirius swears under his breath, rushing forward to tug the tape from your mouth, hands shaking, careful not to hurt you more.
James doesn’t move. He just stares, like his brain can’t process the sight of you bound, shaking, soaked in blood.
And in that moment, you realize something horrifying.
Snape was right.
You want to scream, to tell them to run, to leave you, to not play into whatever trap this is. But you’re still bound, still gagged before a word can escape.
The door slams so hard it nearly tears off its hinges. Gunshots echo. Another. And another.
Gunshots, gunshots, gunshots.
You jerk violently in the chair, chest heaving, throat burning behind the tape. Your eyes sting from tears and the harsh light, but all you can see is them.
James is the first to reach you, dropping to his knees so fast the floor cracks beneath him.
“Oh god, you’re okay—” His voice is breaking. His hands fly to the ropes, fumbling over the knots, muttering under his breath. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Fuck, baby, breathe—just breathe—”
You shake your head violently. The chair rattles with you. Your legs are trembling uncontrollably beneath the restraints, eyes wild, trying to scream past the suffocating gag.
“James!” Sirius’s voice cuts through from the other side of the room, sharp, gun cocked. “Is she okay? Is she—”
“She’s not hurt! No blood—she’s clean, just panicking. Fuck, her wrists are bruised—” James’s hands work faster, snapping one of the bindings with a hiss. “I’ve got you, baby, just—just keep looking at me—”
The last restraint comes loose. James reaches for the tape around your mouth and peels it back slowly, trying not to hurt you.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now, we’re here, baby, just talk to me—”
Your breath starts hitching harder, your chest seizing with sobs so loud they echo off the stone walls. You’re gasping like you're drowning, eyes darting wildly behind them.
“No—n-no—no, y-you—Remus—Remus, pl-please—” Your voice is torn raw, barely recognizable.
“Sweetheart—” Remus is beside you now, crouched so close you can smell the blood on him. His hands hover, unsure where to touch. “Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts. Look at me, love, please—what did they do to you?”
“I—I—y-you h-have to l-leave—” You clutch his shirt, shaking like a leaf. “N-not safe, n-not s-safe—he’s—he’s still—Remus, h-he’s still here—he’s here—”
Remus freezes.
James looks back sharply. “What?”
You’re clawing now, sobbing harder, shaking your head. “P-please, you h-have to run, y-you have to go—you can’t be here—he said—”
“No. No.” Remus’s voice drops, low and cold. “We’re not leaving you. I’m not fucking leaving you.”
“Y-you don’t understand!” You scream, or try to, but your throat cracks halfway through. “He’s—h-he’s watching, he’s going to—he said he’ll kill you!”
“Where is he?” Sirius growls, eyes scanning the room. “Where the fuck is he?”
“H-he said—he said you’d think y-you saved me and then—then—” You choke on your breath. “Then he’d kill you. A-and then me—he said that!”
“She’s not making sense—” James starts, but Remus’s hand shoots up.
“She is,” he says, eyes narrowing. “It’s a trap.”
Remus’s hands cup your face now, gently, firmly, grounding.
“Where is he?”
You’re sobbing too hard to answer. Words collide in your throat, hopeless. Your gaze flicks to the far corner, to the shadows. Remus follows it instantly.
A slow click echoes.
“DOWN!”
The next moment erupts. A shot tears through the air, a scream splits the room, and a flash blinds you. Remus throws himself over you. James shoves the chair sideways to shield you. Sirius spins, firing three sharp rounds into the darkness, each shot precise.
Your ears ring, your body curls sideways, half-tied, half-broken, blinking through smoke and tears. And somewhere in the haze, a voice laughs.
“Touching,” Snape drawls, slow and deliberate. “Really. I almost cried.”
Gunfire tears across the room again, louder, relentless. James and Sirius react instantly, weapons raised, moving with practiced precision.
Snape steps out of the shadows, his crooked smile chilling, his hand lifted as if conducting an orchestra of violence. “You didn’t think I’d come alone, did you?”
Triggers click overhead. From the mezzanine and behind stacks of rusted machinery, a dozen men emerge, rifles trained on all of you. Every angle accounted for.
James clenches his jaw, scanning the upper levels. “Sirius, floor two, west side. At least eight.”
Sirius shifts smoothly, eyes sharp. “I see them. Left flank’s mine.”
Shots snap through the air. Steel and wood splinter under fire. One of Snape’s men screams and drops. You barely register it, trembling, pressed behind the crates where Remus left you.
Your hands shake so violently you can’t lift yourself upright, body rattling with leftover adrenaline. Then he’s there again, dropping to his knees behind you, chest pressed close, shielding you from debris.
“Look at me,” Remus says, voice low, tight, controlled. He cups your face, thumbs brushing your tears, grounding you. “Look at me, love.”
You cling to him without thinking, sobs shattering out in broken bursts.
“Hey,” he murmurs, brushing your cheeks. “No tears, not now. Don’t cry, dovey. You’re safe. We’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just hold on a little longer, alright?”
You shake your head hard. “N-no… Remus, you don’t… you don’t get it, he’s—he’s going to—”
“I know,” he cuts in gently, trying to soothe you, but you pull at his shirt harder, and your voice finally rips out in a scream, muffled by the roaring gunfire.
“You have to go! Please Remus—go! It’s not safe, he has more—he has more upstairs! Take Sirius and James—RUN!”
Remus flinches, his body jerking ever so slightly at your words, as though you’ve struck him with something sharper than any bullet. He goes still, staring at you, chest heaving, eyes dark with hurt, fear, and anger all tangled together.
“I’m not leaving you,” he finally says, there’s an edge that makes it clear your words wounded him. “Don’t say that. Don’t ask me that again.”
“But, you’ll die!” Your voice cracks, choking on fear. Your fingers dig into his blood-soaked shirt as though you can hold him in place. “Please—please—I can’t—I can’t lose you—I can’t—”
He grabs your face, pressing it closer until your foreheads touch, his eyes locked on yours, burning with certainty. “You’re not going to,” he growls, voice thick and fierce. “Hear me? You’re not. I’ll make it out. James will make it out. Sirius will make it out. And so will you. I will never let anything harm you or them. Ever.”
“You hear me?” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours tighter. “I’ll burn this whole fucking place to the ground before I let that happen.”
His hands tighten at your jaw, grounding you, keeping you here, alive. “You stay hidden behind these boxes. Don’t move and don’t peek. I need you safe while I make sure Sirius and James are okay, alright?”
You nod, your panic subsiding just enough as you watch him lift, ready to move, and the thought of him protecting your other two keeps the knot in your chest from tightening completely.
Your breath is hiccuping. He kisses you like he’s grounding himself in it, fast and firm, like there isn’t time to mean it properly.
Then the crates behind you shudder violently and Sirius stumbles around the corner, one hand clutching his shoulder, blood running down his arm, teeth gritted against the pain.
“Got tagged,” he mutters. “Upper right. Took five down but I think there’s more.”
Remus doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you tighter to his chest for one last second, then shoves you gently toward Sirius. “Take her. Get the fuck out. Go now.”
Sirius looks at him, reluctant to leave James alone there, but understands that he has to get you out. “We’ll meet you outside. You better make it out with James.”
“We always do.”
You’re lifted up before you can resist. Sirius drags you around the crates, one arm firmly around your waist. Outside the warehouse, backup has arrived. You can hear more engines now. You don’t dare look back. You just cling to Sirius, face buried in his neck, heart hammering.
And then you see the black SUV parked at the far end of the lot.
The door slams shut behind you and Sirius. He barely wastes a second before throwing himself into the front passenger seat to unlock the back door and drag you inside, arms looping around your waist with a trembling urgency.
You’re half-limp from exhaustion, adrenaline still flaring in bursts, barely even noticing the click of the seatbelt as he fastens it over your chest. The world outside feels like a blur of motion and noise. You can hear the shouting, the echo of gunfire, the rush of footsteps behind you.
Sirius is breathing hard. You can see it; the subtle shake in his shoulders, the way he stares out the tinted windshield toward the warehouse as if sheer willpower alone could summon James and Remus out from that inferno. His hands are clenched tight, white-knuckled, and for a moment you’re afraid he’s going to jump out and go back in.
“Sirius,” you whisper, voice hoarse and dry like ash in your throat.
His head whips around instantly, his eyes bloodshot and wide as he turns in his seat to look back at you. “Fuck. Baby.”
He’s already unbuckling. A second later, he’s in the backseat with you, one hand cradling your jaw, the other holding the side of your neck as if to steady himself more than you.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and the words are not casual. They carry fear, guilt, and desperation. “Are you hurt? Did they—fuck, did he do anything to you?”
“I’m okay,” you say, the words fragile and barely convincing, but they are all you can manage.
His thumb grazes your cheek. “Then why are you crying, huh? What’s all this, baby? Look at me.”
Your breath catches, and you struggle to put it into words. “I… I thought I was okay, I really did. But when everything happened—being trapped, Snape, the fire—I just… I panicked. I couldn’t stop thinking what might happen to you and… everyone.”
Sirius’s jaw tightens. His voice drops low, dangerous and raw. “You were gone. You disappeared, and I swear, I thought I was losing my mind. We didn’t know if you were alive. I couldn’t…” His tone softens suddenly, almost breaking.
You flinch at the intensity, and he notices immediately. He presses a hand gently against your cheek, grounding you. “No, no, no. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not mad. I just… Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
“I… I didn’t know my drink was drugged,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I didn’t see it coming until it was too late.”
Sirius leans closer, pressing a reassuring shoulder to yours, wrapping an arm around you. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. You’re here now, you’re safe, and that’s all that matters. Nothing else matters as long as you’re safe.”
Your eyes flick to the mirror, catching the orange flicker of the warehouse fire outside. A new surge of panic hits. “Remus… James…”
“They’re dealing with Snape,” Sirius says. “They’ll be fine. Most of our men went for backup, it’s more than enough to take down Snape. That piece of shit’s going to wish he never touched you.”
Sirius pulls you into his lap, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, pressing you close. Your ear rests against his chest, and the steady thump-thump of his heart slows the frantic rhythm of your own. His hand rubs small circles along your back as he speaks quietly into his phone, checking on the others.
You watch the fire fade in the distance, each pulse of his heart a quiet promise: they’re all alive, they’re all okay.
Minutes later, the doors slam open.
James throws himself into the driver’s seat, blood streaked across his shirt, breath coming fast. Remus climbs into the passenger beside him, eyes sharp. Both covered in ash and smoke. The warehouse burns behind them, glowing orange in the distance, and the SUV shudders with the weight of escape.
“What the fuck are you doing hunched in the backseat like a goddamn cryptid?” James snaps, spinning the wheel sharply as the tires scream against asphalt.
Sirius glances up, still crouched beside you. “I was making sure she’s okay!”
James looks into the rearview mirror, his gaze locking on you. “You alright, love?”
You nod, still breathless. “I am. Are you both okay?”
“Yeah,” James says, driving like a mad man. “We’re okay.”
Exhaustion hits you fully. You bury your face into Sirius’s chest, letting yourself feel safe for the first time in hours. He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, steady and unyielding.
From the front seat, you hear the faint rasp of a lighter. Remus leans out the window, cigarette igniting, smoke curling into the night air. Behind it, the faint echo of James laughing, Sirius whining about wishing he’d been there to see Snape bleed out. The words are distant and unimportant.
All that matters is the warmth pressed into your body, the steady rhythm of Sirius’s heartbeat beneath your ear, and the eyes of Remus in the mirror, soft with love. You know now that despite the violence, the blood, and the scars each of them carries, there is enough love in the four of you to fill every corner of the world.
The last thing you see before you let your eyes close, finally for sleep, is Remus’ smile, gentle and full of adoration, as he exhales smoke from his cigarette.
Summary: biker!azriel decides to take you on a smooth ride to his special spot for a little special fun👀
Warnings: 18+, SMUT, MDNI, biker!az, biker!azriel, modern au, dirty talk, semi public, fingering, clit play, vibration, squirting, praising, teasing, dating app, hook up, slight dom&sub, slight marking, he owns a bike & unfortunately also your self control
This wasn’t the first date. Nor the second. It was the sixth date between you and Azriel. When you downloaded that god-awful dating app your friends had you get, you never expected to match with someone so mysterious yet gentle in unexpected ways.
A quiet blade sheathed in silk.
However, what wasn’t quiet was the rumbling motorcycle engine beneath you two as he drove toward the lookout spot.
His secret, special spot. Azriel mentioned it to you through texts and the thought of something so secretive to him enticed you. Of course, you said yes.
“Closer—“
A demanding tone. Yet it held a sense of carefulness to it. You scooted yourself closer to the male. Your arms locked around his waist tighter while he leaned into the final turn like he trusted the road itself.
The bikes roar simmered as he came to an easy stop. Placing both boots flat on the ground, turning his head to look at you. “Wow… Az, this is breathtaking…” A mere whisper fluttering through your lips as you took the scene in.
From the cliff, the city lights gleamed brightly in the distance, and the stars twinkled ever so perfectly above both of you.
“Isn’t it?”
His voice purring lowly, sending a shiver down your spine as you stared over at him. But Azriel? He was looking at you. Drinking in your beauty. The view that was simply you.
“It’s so sweet of you to bring me here…”
You felt the apples of your cheeks shade into a deep crimson. His intense gaze burning into yours. And for a moment you felt your heartbeat pick up. Perhaps the one between your legs as well.
A sly smirk twitched onto his lips as he hopped off the bike and onto the gravel road. Leaving you straddled on it. “You deserve it. A special spot for a special girl-“
Butterflies filled your belly. So sweet yet so damn smooth. You felt yourself staring at the handsome man, getting lost in those hazel eyes of his. But Azriel? He was doing the same, yet the amber specks were slowly darkening. “W-what? What is it?”
A breath. A tension growing between you both. Feeling a pull to him. That same sly smirk only seemed to spread wider across his features.
“Every time I look at you…I want to touch you…”
So smooth yet again. Warmth ran throughout your entire body as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear. Fuck it. He was gentleman enough. It had been a few dates. You needed him. Fucking craved him.
“Then… touch me.”
The whisper hardly left your mouth before you felt his soft lips slam to yours. His body pressing firm and tightly against your own while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.
Heated. The kiss was instantly turning into one of seduction. Azriel repositioned you, turning you to face him as you sat on the bike. The vibration from the engine only building up that arousal between your legs more so.
“God— I’ve been waiting to taste you.” He growled, his hand snaking down from your cheek to your breast. Firmly grasping it before slipping lower to the hem of your flowy sundress.
You smiled through the kiss. “And? How do I taste?” Teasing Azriel, a small groan emitted low from his throat. “Absolutely sensational.” He husked into your mouth, his hand now massaging the inside of your thigh.
A soft little whimper slipped through your lips, only giving him that approval even more. He traced over your dampened lace panties. “Got you soaked already, hm?”
That damn domineering tone. You managed a breathy “yes—“ before he yanked your panties to the side. Taking his pointer finger and running it along your slit to tease you.
Your breath hitched as he moved his mouth down to your jaw, kissing until he got to the delicate side of your neck. “You gonna be a good girl for me, beautiful?” Again, you gave a quick and eager head nod.
With that, Azriel thrusted two fingers inside of you. The cool feeling of his silver rings only adding onto the pleasurable sensation. “F-fuck!” you cried out while he smirked against your subtle skin.
“You can’t control yourself, can you? Feels too good already?”
He chuckled under his breath before pulling his head back to stare into those submissive eyes of yours. “So good, Az— fuck. You really know what you’re doing.”
“I know I do.”
His thick fingers moved in such ways that it could only be described as otherworldly. A come here motion with both of them before he stretched his thumb out to press on your swollen little bud.
All the sensations were making you melt for the male. But what was really getting you now? When Az reached over with his free hand, twisting the throttle which only made the seat vibrate harder. The motorcycle purring along with you.
“You like feeling the bike's vibration while I finger fuck this slit?” He asked as your body jolted, a sea of moans effortlessly slipping through your now swollen lips.
Again, you nodded eagerly. Euphoric sensations only rising more so. “Y-yes. I do- god it feels— fuck!- it feels so good—“
A mess. You were slowly becoming a mess for Azriel. God did he adore this sight of you. And this was just some foreplay. Nothing crazy. But god, you couldn’t even imagine how great the sex would be with him.
“You feel how close you are to cummin’ from just my fingers? Imagine my cock-“
Azriel moved his head swiftly, dropping his lips back to the crook of your neck. Kissing, biting, and sucking as he pleased. Leaving his mark on his new beautiful conquest. You.
“God— I’m really close. Really fucking close.” Your entire body started to quiver. But the biker used that same free hand to twist the throttle yet again. The vibration from revving up the engine sending you right over the edge.
“I know, sweetheart, I know… That’s a good girl- Fuck— cummin’ on my fingers like that.”
Az talked you through an intense and pleasurable orgasm. His darkened gaze falling to watch as your juices squirted out onto his hand and rings. Drenching the saddle of his bike.
Once you started to catch your breath, you felt your eyes flicker between his. Heart racing as the tension grew. “Az, that was—“ Your words cut off when suddenly bright headlights were zooming in your direction.
“Fuckin’ Hell! Hop on, babygirl-“
Low and demanding yet again, you quickly obeyed. listening to him as you adjusted yourself. Both of you repositioned on the motorcycle before he took off.
Some random people were driving around the spot. You didn’t want them to see anything. And Az? He didn’t want anyone to see you in such a vulnerable position. Because that was only for his eyes.
Possessive and jealous already, though he wouldn’t say that aloud. Not yet at least. He craved you like no other. And even though he didn’t get to feel your walls stretch around his cock tonight, he knew he would soon. Especially hearing the little noises you made for him.
But getting this little teaser? Fuck it made his imagination run wild until the next time he’d see you…
Ahhh first biker!az fic🥹 love making au’s come to life! Hope yall enjoyed this one, plenty more to comeee
I hate that when you’re stressed enough your body just starts falling apart. I think it should realize you’re already stressed and don’t need that and start functioning better actually
