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Why doesn't the world just make more ATJ's 😞
I ask myself the same question every day 💔 the world would certainly be a better place. although I wouldn't complain if there were more Evan Peters too
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WHEN AARON SMOKES 😍
I feel like a complete hypocrite answering this question, because I hate the smell of cigarettes, but Aaron smoking... oh God
that scene of him in Anna Karenina... I have no words to describe it
don't smoke, it's bad <3
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I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOU, MY DEAR LOVELY - I'm the one crying with these beautiful words
Paint Me Yours
Dave Lizewski x f!reader
Summary: You would be the death of Dave, and honestly, he’d die happy. It was a little embarrassing how often he caught himself thinking about you—the way you smiled, brighter than the fucking Sun itself, or how you always smelled like a field of flowers. He knew he was doomed the moment he laid eyes on you.
Warnings: fluffy, language, veteran!reader/freshman!Dave(two years difference), suggestive, college au, first kiss, no use of y/n
A/N: I know that each uni has its own hazing, but here is what happened at mine - a paint bath to celebrate approval
My dear love @gingerteafairy, thank you very much for giving me this idea, I hope you like it <333
Masterlist
You would be the death of Dave, and honestly, he’d die happy. It was a little embarrassing how often he caught himself thinking about you—the way you smiled, brighter than the fucking Sun itself, or how you always smelled like a field of flowers. He knew he was doomed the moment he laid eyes on you.
It was the first day of university, and he was a little lost—okay, very lost, actually. The campus was huge, and there were so many people that the place looked like an anthill. That’s when you appeared, dazzling, and asked if he was one of the freshmen. Dave needed a second or two before he stammered out a yes, watching your smile widen before you started guiding him.
During the welcome party organized by the upperclassmen, Dave could barely take his eyes off you—off your pretty mouth. The way you smiled while answering other freshmen’s questions. At some point, your gaze landed on him—maybe you’d felt his eyes boring into you—and your lips curved into a smile. Dave looked around, unsure if that smile was actually meant for him, but then you laughed, saying goodbye to the people around you before walking toward him.
“Hi,” you greeted, that smile still wrapped around your lips. “Dave, right?”
He nodded, feeling his heart stumble, not trusting his own voice to respond. He barely noticed he’d been holding his breath when you bit your lip, and God, what wouldn’t he give to be the one to do that? They looked so soft and plump—he suspected they were sweet, too.
“Are you enjoying the party?”
Dave blinked, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of your words. “Uh… yeah, sure. Everything looks great.” He wanted to slap himself. Damn it, fighting criminals was fine, but talking to a pretty girl? Impossible.
You didn’t seem to mind his lack of tact, though. In fact, you looked amused. “I’m glad,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
Was it too soon to reveal that he wouldn’t shut up when it came to something he liked? Probably, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “Depends. I can be exhausting sometimes.”
A laugh bubbled from your lips, and he knew he could start rambling if it meant hearing that laugh again. “That’s a little hard to believe.”
Dave stared at you, lips parted in surprise. No, that definitely wasn’t flirting. Absolutely not. Or was it?
Before he could respond, you quickly changed the subject. “You should grab one of the donuts before they’re gone, you know? You’ve barely moved from that corner since you got here.”
“You, uh… noticed me?”
You paused for a moment, as if only now realizing what you’d said. But the surprise on your face was quickly replaced with a relaxed expression.
“I kind of have to. It’s part of my job as an upperclassman, you know—guiding freshmen and all that. So, have you tried one yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, we need to fix that right now. Come on,” you said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the table where the donuts were. You handed him one with pink frosting and colorful sprinkles, your eyes shining with anticipation. “Try it.”
He raised his hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the donut. Maybe he blushed under the intensity of your gaze—just maybe. When he took a bite, he closed his eyes, letting out a hum of approval. The dough was soft, and the frosting was perfect.
Your smile widened, if that was even possible. “So?”
Dave opened his eyes, finding you leaning closer to him. He drank in your image—the way the light illuminated your eyes, the soft curve of your mouth, how painfully beautiful you were. He wondered if you could hear his heart pounding furiously in his chest.
“I think it’s pretty girl—” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “Good! Pretty good. I think it’s pretty good.”
He didn’t dare look up. What the hell was wrong with him? Christ, why couldn’t he act like a normal person?
Hearing the soft sound of your laughter, he exhaled deeply, lifting his gaze hesitantly, only to find a playful smile dancing on your pretty mouth. The weight on his shoulders lifted slightly at your reaction. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t ruined everything just yet.
“Dave,” you said, shaking your head slightly as you tried to stifle your laughter, “you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Almost reflexively, a sheepish smile curved his lips. “Sometimes.”
From that first encounter, Dave Lizewski knew he was screwed.
The weeks that followed were a blur. He kept himself busy trying to adapt to his new reality, but every time he crossed paths with you on campus, it was like being struck by lightning.
You always smiled at him, asking one question or another, which Dave took forever to answer because he was too distracted admiring you. He became especially distracted when you wore those spaghetti-strap tops that highlighted your bust. Marty once jokingly told him to wipe the drool off his face while he watched you from across the hallway.
Today had been surprisingly light. There were still a few hours until sunset, and classes had ended a few minutes ago. Dave was walking among the other students in his class, heading out of the building, when he noticed the murmurs around him. He pulled out one of his earbuds, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to catch snippets of the conversation.
"Did you hear? There's a stash of paint in the lockers," someone said, and it didn’t take long for the other person to reply with a smirk, “I think today’s the day. I mean, it’s been almost a month since classes started.”
But it wasn’t until Dave reached the entrance of the building that he realized what was about to happen. The upperclassmen were gathered, and there was a dizzying amount of tempera paint in sight.
However, that wasn’t what caught his attention. You were there, radiant as always, but today you looked like you were ready to give him a heart attack. The only things covering your body were shorts and a thin top. He swallowed hard as his eyes lingered on your legs, on how soft they looked. It wasn’t hard to imagine how it would feel to settle between them. The image popped into his mind as clear as the waters of a pristine lake. You riding him, your face clouded with pleasure, the sounds you would make. The intensity of the thought made him blush, and he quickly buried his indecent ideas before they caused trouble in his pants.
You, oblivious to his thoughts, continued organizing some of the paint. The memory of your own hazing was still fresh in your mind. It had been epic—there was no other word for it. You didn’t have to think twice before agreeing to do the same for the freshmen.
Hearing the commotion, your eyes lifted just in time to catch sight of Dave. A small smile curved your lips without your permission. That was the effect he had on you, one you were definitely fighting against. He was a freshman, probably two years younger than you, and you had never been with a younger guy before.
The very thought brought a feeling of unease.
But it would be a lie to say he hadn’t been occupying your thoughts more frequently. It was hard—impossible—not to be drawn to those eyes, as bright as sapphires, and those dark curls that constantly fell over his forehead. They were adorable. How many times had your fingers itched with the urge to push them back from his handsome face?
And it wasn’t as though you didn’t know you had some effect on him. It wasn’t arrogance—Dave just wasn’t very discreet. He always blushed and seemed to struggle to find the right words. It was genuinely cute.
Without thinking, you headed toward him.
Dave didn’t notice you approaching right away. He was too busy trying to act casual, which only made him look even more awkward, staring at the ground, his earbuds now hanging around his neck. But when he finally sensed your presence, his whole body tensed, as if the air around him had turned into static electricity.
“Hi, Dave.” Your voice was soft but carried something he couldn’t quite place—a warmth that made his stomach flip with nerves—and something else he didn’t want to name.
He looked up, and seeing you so close rendered him momentarily speechless. The late afternoon sun lit up your face, highlighting every detail—the curve of your lashes, the soft shape of your lips, the delicate line of your jaw. It was impossible not to be captivated.
“Hi,” he finally managed to mumble, his voice rougher than he would’ve liked.
You tilted your head slightly, your eyes locked on his with a playful glint. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He tried to smile but ended up with something awkward instead. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I mean, you just showed up out of nowhere.”
“Did I?” You laughed, and the sound seemed to echo inside him. “Or maybe you were just distracted.” Your voice lowered slightly on the last word, almost as if you were teasing him. And it worked. Dave felt his face heat up instantly.
Without hurry, you took a step closer, invading his personal space. “Are you staying for the hazing?”
He blinked, surprised, his eyebrows rising. “Hazing? Uh… I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on it.”
You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning into something that looked like a challenge. “Oh, come on, are you really going to tell me you’re not joining? It’s nothing scary, I promise.” Your voice was persuasive, carrying something that made him want to say “yes” to anything you asked.
He hesitated for a moment, but something in the way you looked at him—like you were challenging him, but with a sweetness that made him want to impress you—made him nod. “Alright. What do I have to do?”
“First,” you started, pointing to the small group of freshmen gathered a little ahead, “leave your backpack over there with the others. You won’t need it right now.”
Dave followed your gaze and saw the other freshmen dropping their bags near a makeshift bench, some already with their arms and faces painted in bright colors. They were laughing, exchanging jokes, their energy light and full of the excitement of new beginnings. Dave sighed, adjusting the strap on his shoulder before finally moving to do the same. He placed his backpack down carefully, as if the act itself carried more significance than it seemed—a small gesture of belonging.
When he came back to you, he seemed more relaxed, but you couldn’t ignore his posture. It was hard not to notice—the way his shoulders stayed square, his arms defined even without him trying to show them off. He was fit, very fit, and you found the words a little harder to get out as you tried not to make it too obvious. Still, the idea of touching him, even under the innocent pretense of the prank, made your heart beat a little faster.
“You’re going to need to take off your jacket,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even as your heart pounded in your chest.
Dave hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded, unzipping it slowly, the sound of the metal seeming louder than necessary in the silence between you. He shrugged the jacket off his shoulders with a natural ease that felt almost rehearsed, folding it carefully before setting it on a nearby bench. The white shirt underneath seemed simple at first glance, but now, with him more exposed, you noticed how perfectly it fit him—highlighting his chest and arms in a way that made it impossible to look away.
“Do I need to roll up the sleeves too?” he asked, already pulling one sleeve up to his elbow before you could respond.
You only managed to nod, pretending to be deeply focused on grabbing the paint. But it was impossible not to notice his movements—the firm way his fingers gripped the fabric, the casual way he folded each side, leaving his forearms exposed. And oh, those forearms. The muscles flexed slightly with each fold. Heat rose to your face, and you quickly lowered your eyes, forcing yourself to focus, clearing your throat.
“Green,” you blurted out suddenly, as if the words slipped out without thinking. He stopped, looking at you with a curious expression.
“What?”
“Green suits you,” you explained, gesturing toward the row of paints. Your voice came out firmer than you expected, but the truth was that having him so close was starting to mess with your ability to form complete sentences.
Dave raised an eyebrow, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “Does it? Why?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “It just does. I’d guess you belong in Slytherin.”
He frowned, feigning indignation. “Slytherin? Are you serious?”
You laughed, enjoying the playful tone in his voice. “Yes.”
“I’m definitely a Gryffindor, for your information,” he replied, crossing his arms, though the amused curve of his lips remained. “Lions are better than snakes.”
“Oh, I see.” You laughed again, grabbing the pot of green paint and carefully opening it. “But today, you’re going to be a Slytherin, sweetheart.”
He smiled, but you could see the faint flush creeping up his ears, something that made him look even more endearing. Would he mind if his cheeks were bitten? You blinked, forcing that thought away.
“Now stay still,” you said, dipping your fingers into the cool paint. “I’ll start with your arms.”
Dave obeyed, keeping still, but you could feel his full attention on you. Your fingers touched his skin, sliding carefully as you began drawing soft lines and delicate strokes along his forearm. The warm texture of his skin contrasted with the fresh paint, and you lost yourself for a moment in the simple act of tracing each curve.
He was quiet, but you could feel his breathing change—slightly heavier, as if he was aware of every touch. When you glanced up to check if he was okay, you realized he was looking too. Not at his arm, but at you.
His gaze was intense, his blue eyes fixed on your face for a few seconds before dropping, almost accidentally, to the neckline of your shirt. The movement was so quick that he blinked, shifting his focus back to his arm, but the blush rising to his cheeks was impossible to miss.
“I... uh, you’re pretty detail-oriented, huh?” he tried, his voice slightly lower than before.
You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your face too. “I like to do things properly. Now your forehead.”
He blinked, surprised. “My forehead?”
“It’s a prank, Dave,” you replied, laughing. “The arms are just the beginning. Come here.”
He tilted his head hesitantly, letting you get closer. Your fingers were covered in paint, and as you began to glide the tip along the contours of his forehead, you realized just how close you were—so close you could catch the subtle scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy.
The silence between you grew heavy, charged with something that felt electric. Each breath seemed synchronized, every move you made met with his gaze. When you finished the drawing, your fingers lingered, still lightly brushing against his skin. It was Dave who broke the silence, laughing softly.
“Now that you're officially painted, I think you're ready to be a proper freshman,” you joked, trying to ease the tension hanging between you.
You stepped back, tilting your head to evaluate your work. He already had some green marks scattered across his arms and forehead, but somehow, he still looked surprisingly... neat. That wouldn’t last long, of course.
“Time for a picture,” you said, raising your phone. “We need to capture this ‘tidy’ phase,” you explained, stifling a laugh. “Because soon, my friend, you’ll be unrecognizable.”
He chuckled, a bit shyly, and nodded. “Alright.”
You winked, adjusting the angle of your phone. He stood there with a small, reserved smile, proudly displaying the name of his course and the university's initials, but with an ease so natural that you didn’t need to ask for anything else. “Look here,” you directed, snapping the photo. “This one’s good. Now, give me a serious face or something.”
He attempted a more serious pose, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow, but the effect was ruined when he started laughing—soft and full of life.
“You’re terrible at this, you know that?” you teased, laughing along. “Alright, last one. Just smile this time.”
He complied, and this time his smile was brighter, more carefree—something so genuine you already knew it would be your favorite. “Done. Immortalized.”
“Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” he said, still smiling.
Before you could respond, one of the upperclassmen clapped loudly to grab everyone’s attention. “Alright, freshmen! Everyone, listen up!”
Dave turned toward the voice, and you used the moment to pocket your phone, staying close as the upperclassman explained what would happen next.
“Now that you’ve all been properly christened, it’s time for the fun part of initiation. Everyone is going to form a line, holding hands, and we’re going to walk from here to the main engineering building over there,” he pointed to a building about a 15-minute walk away, “leaving a trail of paint behind us. Along the way, we’re going to throw paint at you. A lot of paint. And just so you know: if any of you freshmen try to fight back, you’ll get an extra soaking. Got it?”
The freshmen murmured their agreement, some chuckling nervously. Beside you, Dave seemed amused, his easy smile firmly in place. That was when you realized your role was about to begin: as an upperclassman, your job wasn’t just to watch—it was to dive into the colorful chaos and make sure no one got out unscathed.
You turned to him, a playful glint in your eye. “You know, Dave, I think you should take your glasses off.”
He blinked, surprised. “Take my glasses off? Why?”
“Trust me,” you said, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “The paint will get everywhere, and you don’t want to ruin the lenses.”
He hesitated, clearly unconvinced. Then, with a sigh, he slowly removed his glasses and handed them to you. “Fine. But if I trip over someone, it’s your fault.”
You laughed, holding the glasses carefully. “I’ll guide you, don’t worry. Can you still see anything?” Your voice came out softer than you intended, almost with genuine concern.
Dave tilted his head, that small smile appearing again. “I think I can... enough to know you’re still there.”
Your laugh was a bit nervous, but you covered it by glancing away. “Well, that’s enough.”
He laughed too, that light sound contagious. And before you could respond, the upperclassmen started moving, organizing the freshmen into a line. “Take good care of those,” he said, pointing to his glasses. “I’m trusting you.”
“You can trust me,” you replied, waving the glasses before stepping away.
Dave joined the line of freshmen, falling into place among them. You watched as he took the hands of two other students, looking both relaxed and a little eager. The upperclassmen began circling the group, armed with bottles and squirt guns filled with colorful paint.
“Alright, everyone!” one of the upperclassmen yelled, a mischievous grin on his face. “No mercy!”
You grabbed your improvised weapon—a bottle filled with vibrant blue paint—and walked alongside the freshmen, your eyes inevitably searching for him in the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find him; it was as if your eyes were drawn to him naturally. His smile was still there, as if he was genuinely enjoying the impending chaos.
Music started playing—something upbeat and lively from a portable speaker someone had brought. It was the perfect soundtrack for the moment, and you couldn’t help but laugh as the energetic rhythm set the tone.
As the group began to move, the upperclassmen launched their attack. Paint flew in every direction, splattering onto laughing freshmen who tried—and failed—to dodge the colorful assault. You aimed for Dave, squeezing your bottle and hitting him square on the shoulder. He stopped, pretending to look offended as he laughed.
“You did that on purpose!” he accused, pointing at you, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Of course I did!” you shot back, unable to stop laughing. “What, you thought I’d spare you?”
He shook his head, still grinning, and kept walking. But you weren’t done yet. At every opportunity, you squirted more paint at him, streaking blue and green across his arms and back. Other upperclassmen joined in, but you got the sense that he was far more aware of your attacks than anyone else’s.
The soundtrack kept playing as the group moved forward slowly, everyone fully immersed in the fun. Dave, now almost unrecognizable with the amount of paint covering his hair and clothes, still seemed to be having more fun than anyone else. But amidst the chaos of colors and laughter, something glimmered in his eyes—a kind of challenge. Before you could prepare yourself, he took two quick steps toward you, his paint-covered hand reaching straight for your arm.
"Dave!" you exclaimed, trying to step back, but it was already too late.
His fingers left a streak of green paint across the light fabric of your shirt, staining it mercilessly. You froze, staring at the mark with a skeptical expression, then at him, who was unsuccessfully trying to hide his mischievous grin.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," you said, disbelief dripping from your voice. "I loved this shirt."
"Oops," he replied, with the most insincere tone of regret you’d ever heard, raising his hands in a gesture that didn’t convince anyone. "But hey, I think green suits you, too."
You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms as you glared at him. "Are you serious, Dave?"
Before he could answer, a nearby upperclassman noticed what had happened and raised their voice, laughing. "Hey, everyone! Looks like we’ve got a bold one here!"
That was enough to grab the attention of all the other upperclassmen around. In seconds, it seemed like everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at Dave, who now seemed a little less confident—but surprisingly, no less amused.
"Retaliation, huh?" someone shouted, already starting to fill a bucket with a deadly mix of paints. "This won’t go unpunished!"
You took a step back, watching the scene unfold. Dave opened his mouth to protest but didn’t have time. The first splash of paint came from the left, hitting him square on the shoulder. Then, it was as if the heavens had opened, but instead of rain, there were buckets, bottles, and tubes of paint being thrown at him from every direction. Red, blue, yellow, pink, green, purple—a whirlwind of colors determined to turn him into a walking masterpiece.
You stood there with your arms crossed, watching as the upperclassmen laughed and shouted, the background music amplifying the chaos. Dave, however, seemed… completely unfazed. He raised his hands in surrender, but the grin was still there—a wide, bright smile as if he was having way too much fun.
When an entire bucket of blue paint was dumped straight over his head, he shook his hair, sending splatters everywhere—including onto you. "Seriously, Dave?!" you complained, but the laughter in your voice betrayed the fact that you weren’t really upset.
He wiped the excess paint dripping down his forehead and looked at you through the chaos. His smile was different now, a little softer but just as captivating as before. "Worth it," he said simply, as if the storm of paint had been a small price to pay.
You sighed, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that slipped through. "You’re impossible."
He shrugged, finally extending his hands to the sides, as if accepting defeat with dignity. "Maybe. But at least I’m not the only one covered in paint now."
The group, a walking rainbow, finally reached the other building, still laughing and making comments about their utterly destroyed—but hilarious—appearances. Clothes that had once been normal were now completely unrecognizable, and many people’s hair dripped paint like oversized brushes. You couldn’t help but laugh as you noticed how Dave seemed to lead the pack of the most wrecked ones, completely covered from head to toe.
"I look like an exploded paint can," someone commented, eliciting even more laughter from the group.
The upperclassmen began organizing everyone for a group photo. "Come on, everyone! I want to see everyone squeezed in here!" one of them shouted, waving a red paint tube like a microphone.
Dave laughed beside you, leaning in to whisper, "I think there’s still time to escape."
"You’re the last person who can say that," you shot back, glancing sideways at him. He was drenched in paint, but his eyes sparkled brighter than ever, and something about the way he smiled made your stomach flip in that uncomfortable—but addicting—way.
The freshmen started lining up, bumping into each other and trying to find space in the tight group. You ended up being pushed to the front, practically pressed against Dave as he positioned himself behind you. "Looks like this is going to be pretty snug," he remarked.
"That’s the spirit of teamwork," you replied, trying to maintain your composure, though you were very aware of how close he was.
"Teamwork, huh?" he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice without even looking.
Just as the photographer positioned themselves, you felt movement right behind you, and before you could process it, Dave’s arm slid around your waist. It was a gentle touch, almost casual, but the way he did it—firm yet hesitant, as if waiting for your reaction—made your heart race.
You looked at him, surprised. “Dave…” you began, but your voice got lost amidst the chaos around you. He looked back at you, the smile still on his face, but now there was something different—an intensity in his eyes, a glimmer that seemed to say more than any words could.
“Just to make room for everyone,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. You weren’t sure if it was because of the noise or the way he seemed to look directly at you, ignoring the rest of the world entirely.
You tried to think of anything relevant to say, but your mind was a complete blur, the words tangling together as he stayed so close. The touch of his arm around your waist was a constant reminder, a warm pressure that sent shivers through your skin, even under the layer of paint covering you both.
Someone shouted, “Smile!” and you forced a grin for the camera, even though your thoughts were far from where they should be. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dave lean slightly forward, and his closeness was overwhelming. He smelled faintly of paint mixed with something uniquely him, and it was ridiculous that you were noticing that at such a moment.
When the photo was finally taken, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Dave, still with his arm around your waist, looked at you with a satisfied smile. “I think this will be a photo to remember,” he said, his voice low, and the way he looked at you almost made your knees buckle.
“I hope you’re right,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the weakness in your voice gave everything away.
As the photo group began to break apart, the laughter faded. A few freshmen tried unsuccessfully to scrub the paint out of their hair and clothes, while others seemed resigned to heading home in their messy state. You watched the scene unfold, the sound of footsteps and chatter echoing through the space. The energetic buzz of the event still lingered, but exhaustion was beginning to creep in.
Dave stood near you, a mix of tiredness and contentment on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, now stiff from the paint, and let out a soft laugh. “I think it’s going to take me two weeks in the shower to get all of this off.”
You laughed, reaching for your bag and unzipping it. “I think you’ll need more than that. But luckily, I came prepared.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued, as you pulled out a small packet of wet wipes. “It’s not going to fix this entire disaster,” you said, holding it up for him, “but it’ll help with the basics. Here.”
He looked at you, his smile widening. “Are you always this prepared, or is this just for me?”
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re full of jokes today, huh?”
He chuckled but didn’t take the wipes from your hand. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if challenging you. “So, are you going to help me, or are you just going to stand there holding that?”
You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing at the way he was looking at you—direct, playful, but with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Fine, but stay still and cooperate.”
He took a small step closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. Dave lowered his head slightly, making it easier for you to reach his face. Your hands were steady as you pulled out a wipe, but the same couldn’t be said for your heartbeat, which pounded wildly as you leaned in.
The first touch was light, almost hesitant, but soon you were carefully wiping away the streaks of paint from his forehead. His skin was warm under the wipe, and you could feel every tiny movement as he stayed still, his eyes fixed on you.
“Does this hurt?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.
“No,” he replied, his tone rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “If anything, it’s the opposite.”
You tried to ignore the weight of his words, but it was impossible. Each second seemed to stretch the space between you. Your fingers, holding the wipe, brushed lightly against the side of his face, and he took a deep breath, as if steadying himself.
His eyes never left yours, and there was something about the vibrant blue that made you feel lost, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. “You’re all cleaned up now,” you murmured, but you didn’t step away.
“Am I?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he knew more than he was letting on. “Because I think there’s a spot here…” He pointed to his cheek, though it felt more like an excuse to keep you close.
You laughed softly but obliged, wiping the spot he indicated. “There. Happy?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and when you finally found the courage to look at him again, the smile had disappeared, replaced by something deeper. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was filled with everything that wasn’t being said.
His hand rose for a moment, almost as if it were going to touch yours, but then stopped halfway, falling back to his side. “I am. Quite a bit.”
You felt the weight of his words, the raw honesty hanging in the air like a thick, tangible cloud. That I am seemed to hold more than he was willing to say out loud. His breath was heavy, not from the physical effort of the day, but from the tension that seemed to pulse between you like a rope about to snap.
Without thinking much, as if your fingers had a life of their own, you brought a hand to his face again. His hair was messy and still wet with paint, some strands stuck to his forehead, others falling to the side, blocking your view of his eyes. “Stay still,” you murmured, almost apologetically, as you brushed the wet strands back carefully.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if the simple touch of your fingers was enough to disarm him. When he opened his eyes again, there was something different in them, something more intense, more vulnerable.
You took a deep breath, and before you could hesitate, you began to clean the paint still staining his jawline, your fingers gliding along the strong line of his jaw. The texture of his skin under the wet wipe, warm and slightly rough, made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t control.
“Do you have any idea how much you got dirty today?” you tried to say, but your voice came out weaker than you intended.
“Maybe,” he replied, and the hoarseness in his voice made you feel the impact in your chest, like a muffled thunder. “But you seemed to be having fun.”
You chuckled softly, trying to relieve the growing tension, but it was a useless effort. Your fingers slid from his jaw to near his lips, and you hesitated for a fraction of a second before gently passing the wipe over the corner of his lips.
His eyes followed every movement of yours, and when you looked back, his gaze seemed to beg for something he didn’t have the courage to ask for. His mouth was slightly open, and his breath brushed against your fingers so tangibly that you almost felt the heat on your own skin.
“All done,” you said, but your voice sounded different now, as if it carried everything you didn’t want to admit.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured, and the smile that played on his lips was as soft as it was dangerous.
“I am,” you replied, but your hand didn’t move. It was still there, dangerously close to his mouth, as if it were impossible to pull away.
“Are you sure?” he teased, his tone barely audible, and you knew he wasn’t talking about the paint anymore.
The silence that followed was deafening. The proximity between you was almost painful now, each inch filled with electricity that had your whole body on high alert. His eyes dropped for a moment to your mouth, and when they returned to yours, there was something there that made your heart beat so fast you thought he could hear it.
Your hand, still near his mouth, wavered for a second, and it was all he needed to take a step forward, closing the distance between you even more. His breath mixed with yours, and you knew, you knew you were on the edge of completely losing yourselves.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, his voice a little firmer now, but still low enough for only you to hear. “And I’m tired of pretending I can.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with raw honesty that seemed to steal all the air around you. Your throat went dry, and you could feel the conflict building inside you, fighting against what already seemed inevitable.
He was younger. A freshman. And you knew you should have some sense here, some logic screaming for you to pull back, to remember the differences, the line that separated you two. But your hands were still on him, your fingers still brushing the paint-stained skin of his warm face, and you just couldn’t let go.
“Dave…” Your voice came out in a trembling whisper, carrying all that you were trying to hold back — the hesitation, the disbelief, and above all, the desire you had been trying to bury since the moment he looked at you that way, completely enchanted, for the first time.
He leaned in imperceptibly closer, his eyebrows furrowed, the intensity in his blue gaze fixed on you. “Tell me what’s holding you back,” he asked, almost pleading, but his tone was still soft, patient, as if he was trying to find his way to you.
You opened your mouth, but the words seemed to dissolve before you could even form a sentence. He waited, his proximity a temptation, and you felt as if you were being pulled toward him, against all the logic you thought you had.
“You’re…” you started, but hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You’re younger. A freshman. That…”
He laughed, low and hoarse, and shook his head slightly. "You think that matters to me?" He tilted his head, his eyes darkening with the intensity of his gaze. "I don’t care if you're older. Do you think when I look at you, that’s what I see? Because I don’t. I only see you. You, with that habit of looking at me like you’re trying to push me away, but you can’t."
Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. He looked so vulnerable and so certain at the same time, and that made something inside you tremble.
"I don’t know if I can do this..." you murmured, the hesitation weighing heavily in each word.
"I know you can," he shot back, his voice firmer now, but still low, almost reverent. "Because if you didn’t want to, you would have already walked away. And you’re still here."
His words hit you like a punch, because he was right. You were still here. Your hands were still on him, and the closeness between you was so small that any movement could close it.
His fingers slowly moved until they lightly brushed your wrist. It was such a subtle touch, but it electrified everything around you, as if the world had stopped to observe that moment.
"Tell me you don’t want this," he said, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking any louder would be dangerous. "Tell me you don’t feel this too, and I’ll stop now."
But you couldn’t say it. You couldn’t pull your hands away, couldn’t ignore the way he looked at you, as if you were something he didn’t know he needed until the moment he saw you.
"You don’t know what you’re asking, Dave," you murmured, but your voice came out weak, with no conviction.
"I know exactly what I’m asking," he retorted, his eyes fixed on yours, as if each word was a promise. "I’m asking for you. And I know you’re trying to find a reason for this not to happen, but there isn’t one."
And in that moment, you knew he was right. That it didn’t matter the logic, or the differences, or the doubts you were trying to hold on to. He was here, and you wanted him. God, how you wanted him.
Your gaze fell to his lips, then rose back to his eyes. He was so close that you could feel his breath, and there was something so vulnerable in his expression, so open, so surrendered, that you simply couldn’t hold back.
Without thinking any further, you closed the distance between you, your hands moving to his face as your lips met his. He responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as if he’d been waiting for this since the moment he saw you. And maybe he had. Maybe you had too.
His lips were warm against yours, firm yet hesitant, as if he feared that it could all disappear in the blink of an eye. You felt his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressed to yours in a way that made the whole world disappear.
His touch was both reverent and desperate, as if he didn’t know if it was real, but was determined to imprint every detail in his memory. His hands slid over the curve of your back, stopping at the base of your waist, before moving up again, his fingers brushing the exposed skin that the light fabric of your blouse didn’t protect. It was electrifying, each touch, each movement, and you felt your heart beating so hard it seemed to echo in every cell of your body.
He pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his eyes meeting yours as if searching for some kind of certainty. "Is this... real?" he murmured, his voice hoarse, cut off. He seemed lost, his blue eyes shining amidst the remnants of lilac and green paint on his face, as if you were the only thing he could see.
You laughed softly, breathless, but didn’t pull away an inch. "Yes," you answered, your voice soft but full of something you couldn’t hide anymore. "It’s real, Dave."
He let out a shaky laugh, a mixture of relief and disbelief, and then his lips were on yours again, this time more certain, hungrier. His hands moved up to your shoulders, then slowly slid down your arms, his fingers tracing the path as if he wanted to memorize every detail, every curve, every inch of skin.
"You have no idea..." he murmured against your lips, his breath hot on your face. He stopped, just enough to find your eyes again. "How much I’ve dreamed of this. Of you."
You felt the weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze, and something inside you broke and rebuilt itself all at once. "Dave..." you started, but he shook his head, interrupting.
“No,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I need you to know. From the first day. From the moment you spoke to me, from the moment you smiled at me… I knew. I knew it was you.”
Your breath faltered, and you felt his hands rise again, this time stopping at the sides of your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw until they brushed the corner of your lips. He seemed so sure, so lost in you, and at the same time so fragile, as if this moment could be taken from him at any second.
“Dave…” you repeated, his name coming out as a whisper, almost a secret. You held his wrists, your fingers gently tightening against his skin. “You have no idea…”
“Tell me,” he insisted, his voice still hoarse, but laden with something so raw, so real, that it made the air around you feel heavier.
You swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “That I thought about it too. That I wanted this too. You. From the beginning.”
The words hit him like a blow, and he let out a short laugh, almost disbelieving, as he pressed his forehead against yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he needed that instant to collect himself, then whispered, “You’re messing with me, right?”
“You think I’d do that now?” you replied, the teasing in your voice mixed with the weight of the truth.
He opened his eyes, and there was something almost glowing in them, something that made you lose yourself completely. “God, you’re gonna kill me,” he murmured before pulling you in again, the kiss more intense, more urgent this time.
His hands slid down your back, tracing the curve of your hips before stopping at their base, as if he needed to hold you there, as if he feared you might slip away. You pressed even closer to him, feeling his heat, the smell of paint mixed with his scent, and nothing had ever felt so right.
When you finally pulled away, breathless, he gave a small smile, his lips still red from the kiss. “So… is this it?” he asked, his voice soft but playful. “Can I stop torturing myself now?”
You laughed, your fingers still tangled in his shirt, and shook your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I like seeing you like this,” you replied, the teasing clear, but your eyes still filled with everything you were feeling.
He laughed, tilting his head as he looked at you. “If that means I can kiss you again, then torture me as much as you want.”
He tilted his head to the side, a crooked, utterly charming smile playing on his lips as he looked at you. “If that means I can kiss you again, then torture me as much as you want,” he repeated, but there was something else in his voice now, something that sounded like a challenge.
You laughed, short, still breathless, and pushed lightly against his chest, but not enough to create any real distance. His hands stayed firmly on your waist, and it was impossible to ignore the streaks of paint he’d left there—a deep blue staining the pale pink of your blouse. His fingers had drawn an impromptu map on your skin and the fabric, and you knew that, even without a mirror, it was visible.
“Look at what you’ve done,” you commented, trying to sound indignant as you looked down at your blouse, but it was impossible not to smile. “My blouse is ruined.”
Dave laughed softly, his thumbs sliding along the curve of your waist before tracing their way back, as if he wanted to emphasize the mess. “You should’ve walked away while you could.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, sure, because you would’ve let me go, right?”
He smiled wider now, his face still covered in paint, but somehow it only made him more irresistible. “Not for a second,” he confessed, with a tone that was both light and serious, like everything he did.
You shook your head, but couldn’t help the laugh, even as you tugged at the fabric of your blouse to examine the stains more closely. “And what do I do with this now? This is beyond saving, you know?”
Dave let out a dramatic sigh, pulling away just enough to look at you properly, but his hands remained firmly on your waist, as if he couldn’t help it. “Okay, I’ll admit it was a fashion crime,” he began, his eyes dropping to the stained fabric before rising back to your face. He looked so carefree and yet so intensely focused on you at the same time, it was almost unsettling. “But, look, you could… I don’t know, keep it as a keepsake.”
You raised an eyebrow again, his mischievous look signaling he had more to say. “A keepsake?”
“Yeah,” he continued, his smile growing. He raised one of his hands, covered in paint, and his thumb lightly brushed against the strap of your blouse, where a small paint stain was already printed. The touch was casual, but you felt a shiver run through you as if he had done it on purpose. “Every time you look at it, you’ll remember today. Me.”
You tried to roll your eyes, but it was impossible to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. “Oh, sure, because I’d want a ruined blouse to remember you by,” you teased, but your voice came out quieter than expected.
He tilted his face a little closer, his fingers still idly playing with the strap of your blouse, as if he were testing his own limits. “You will,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but with that sweet tone that made your heart race. “Because I know you won’t forget me, with or without the blouse.”
You let out a short laugh, trying to hide the effect his words had on you, but it was useless. “You’re really confident for a guy who’s covered in paint,” you commented, pointing to his face.
Dave laughed again, tilting his head to the side as he ran one hand across his own face, spreading even more paint without realizing. “Oh, seriously?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And who was it that left me like this, huh?”
“You weren’t exactly trying to avoid it,” you replied, crossing your arms, but it was impossible to keep up the defensive posture with him so close, so absurdly adorable.
He took a step back, pretending to examine himself, before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, it’s pretty bad,” he admitted, pointing to the stains on his face, neck, and arms. But then he looked at you, a mischievous smile returning to his lips. “But, you know what? Totally worth it.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but the smile on your face betrayed any attempt to seem serious. “Really worth it?”
“Totally,” he said, giving that half-smile that seemed dangerous and irresistible at the same time. He took a step forward again, closing the distance, tilting his face until it was only inches from yours. “Wanna know why?”
You barely had time to respond before he continued, his voice low and heavy with something that made your breath falter. “Because now, I know what it’s like to kiss you.”
And with that, he smiled, so completely satisfied, so completely in love, that it was impossible to say anything. And you knew he was right: you’d never forget this. Or him.
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This is SO incredibly cute and thoughtful, thank you so much sweetheart, this hit my heart right in the feels💖💖🫂
i wish ao3 allowed people to give kudos per each chapter. These 100k word NOVELS need more love than 200 tiny digital hearts ☹️
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Paint Me Yours
Dave Lizewski x f!reader
Summary: You would be the death of Dave, and honestly, he’d die happy. It was a little embarrassing how often he caught himself thinking about you—the way you smiled, brighter than the fucking Sun itself, or how you always smelled like a field of flowers. He knew he was doomed the moment he laid eyes on you.
Warnings: fluffy, language, veteran!reader/freshman!Dave(two years difference), suggestive, college au, first kiss, no use of y/n
A/N: I know that each uni has its own hazing, but here is what happened at mine - a paint bath to celebrate approval
My dear love @gingerteafairy, thank you very much for giving me this idea, I hope you like it <333
Masterlist
You would be the death of Dave, and honestly, he’d die happy. It was a little embarrassing how often he caught himself thinking about you—the way you smiled, brighter than the fucking Sun itself, or how you always smelled like a field of flowers. He knew he was doomed the moment he laid eyes on you.
It was the first day of university, and he was a little lost—okay, very lost, actually. The campus was huge, and there were so many people that the place looked like an anthill. That’s when you appeared, dazzling, and asked if he was one of the freshmen. Dave needed a second or two before he stammered out a yes, watching your smile widen before you started guiding him.
During the welcome party organized by the upperclassmen, Dave could barely take his eyes off you—off your pretty mouth. The way you smiled while answering other freshmen’s questions. At some point, your gaze landed on him—maybe you’d felt his eyes boring into you—and your lips curved into a smile. Dave looked around, unsure if that smile was actually meant for him, but then you laughed, saying goodbye to the people around you before walking toward him.
“Hi,” you greeted, that smile still wrapped around your lips. “Dave, right?”
He nodded, feeling his heart stumble, not trusting his own voice to respond. He barely noticed he’d been holding his breath when you bit your lip, and God, what wouldn’t he give to be the one to do that? They looked so soft and plump—he suspected they were sweet, too.
“Are you enjoying the party?”
Dave blinked, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of your words. “Uh… yeah, sure. Everything looks great.” He wanted to slap himself. Damn it, fighting criminals was fine, but talking to a pretty girl? Impossible.
You didn’t seem to mind his lack of tact, though. In fact, you looked amused. “I’m glad,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
Was it too soon to reveal that he wouldn’t shut up when it came to something he liked? Probably, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “Depends. I can be exhausting sometimes.”
A laugh bubbled from your lips, and he knew he could start rambling if it meant hearing that laugh again. “That’s a little hard to believe.”
Dave stared at you, lips parted in surprise. No, that definitely wasn’t flirting. Absolutely not. Or was it?
Before he could respond, you quickly changed the subject. “You should grab one of the donuts before they’re gone, you know? You’ve barely moved from that corner since you got here.”
“You, uh… noticed me?”
You paused for a moment, as if only now realizing what you’d said. But the surprise on your face was quickly replaced with a relaxed expression.
“I kind of have to. It’s part of my job as an upperclassman, you know—guiding freshmen and all that. So, have you tried one yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, we need to fix that right now. Come on,” you said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the table where the donuts were. You handed him one with pink frosting and colorful sprinkles, your eyes shining with anticipation. “Try it.”
He raised his hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the donut. Maybe he blushed under the intensity of your gaze—just maybe. When he took a bite, he closed his eyes, letting out a hum of approval. The dough was soft, and the frosting was perfect.
Your smile widened, if that was even possible. “So?”
Dave opened his eyes, finding you leaning closer to him. He drank in your image—the way the light illuminated your eyes, the soft curve of your mouth, how painfully beautiful you were. He wondered if you could hear his heart pounding furiously in his chest.
“I think it’s pretty girl—” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “Good! Pretty good. I think it’s pretty good.”
He didn’t dare look up. What the hell was wrong with him? Christ, why couldn’t he act like a normal person?
Hearing the soft sound of your laughter, he exhaled deeply, lifting his gaze hesitantly, only to find a playful smile dancing on your pretty mouth. The weight on his shoulders lifted slightly at your reaction. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t ruined everything just yet.
“Dave,” you said, shaking your head slightly as you tried to stifle your laughter, “you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Almost reflexively, a sheepish smile curved his lips. “Sometimes.”
From that first encounter, Dave Lizewski knew he was screwed.
The weeks that followed were a blur. He kept himself busy trying to adapt to his new reality, but every time he crossed paths with you on campus, it was like being struck by lightning.
You always smiled at him, asking one question or another, which Dave took forever to answer because he was too distracted admiring you. He became especially distracted when you wore those spaghetti-strap tops that highlighted your bust. Marty once jokingly told him to wipe the drool off his face while he watched you from across the hallway.
Today had been surprisingly light. There were still a few hours until sunset, and classes had ended a few minutes ago. Dave was walking among the other students in his class, heading out of the building, when he noticed the murmurs around him. He pulled out one of his earbuds, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to catch snippets of the conversation.
"Did you hear? There's a stash of paint in the lockers," someone said, and it didn’t take long for the other person to reply with a smirk, “I think today’s the day. I mean, it’s been almost a month since classes started.”
But it wasn’t until Dave reached the entrance of the building that he realized what was about to happen. The upperclassmen were gathered, and there was a dizzying amount of tempera paint in sight.
However, that wasn’t what caught his attention. You were there, radiant as always, but today you looked like you were ready to give him a heart attack. The only things covering your body were shorts and a thin top. He swallowed hard as his eyes lingered on your legs, on how soft they looked. It wasn’t hard to imagine how it would feel to settle between them. The image popped into his mind as clear as the waters of a pristine lake. You riding him, your face clouded with pleasure, the sounds you would make. The intensity of the thought made him blush, and he quickly buried his indecent ideas before they caused trouble in his pants.
You, oblivious to his thoughts, continued organizing some of the paint. The memory of your own hazing was still fresh in your mind. It had been epic—there was no other word for it. You didn’t have to think twice before agreeing to do the same for the freshmen.
Hearing the commotion, your eyes lifted just in time to catch sight of Dave. A small smile curved your lips without your permission. That was the effect he had on you, one you were definitely fighting against. He was a freshman, probably two years younger than you, and you had never been with a younger guy before.
The very thought brought a feeling of unease.
But it would be a lie to say he hadn’t been occupying your thoughts more frequently. It was hard—impossible—not to be drawn to those eyes, as bright as sapphires, and those dark curls that constantly fell over his forehead. They were adorable. How many times had your fingers itched with the urge to push them back from his handsome face?
And it wasn’t as though you didn’t know you had some effect on him. It wasn’t arrogance—Dave just wasn’t very discreet. He always blushed and seemed to struggle to find the right words. It was genuinely cute.
Without thinking, you headed toward him.
Dave didn’t notice you approaching right away. He was too busy trying to act casual, which only made him look even more awkward, staring at the ground, his earbuds now hanging around his neck. But when he finally sensed your presence, his whole body tensed, as if the air around him had turned into static electricity.
“Hi, Dave.” Your voice was soft but carried something he couldn’t quite place—a warmth that made his stomach flip with nerves—and something else he didn’t want to name.
He looked up, and seeing you so close rendered him momentarily speechless. The late afternoon sun lit up your face, highlighting every detail—the curve of your lashes, the soft shape of your lips, the delicate line of your jaw. It was impossible not to be captivated.
“Hi,” he finally managed to mumble, his voice rougher than he would’ve liked.
You tilted your head slightly, your eyes locked on his with a playful glint. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He tried to smile but ended up with something awkward instead. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I mean, you just showed up out of nowhere.”
“Did I?” You laughed, and the sound seemed to echo inside him. “Or maybe you were just distracted.” Your voice lowered slightly on the last word, almost as if you were teasing him. And it worked. Dave felt his face heat up instantly.
Without hurry, you took a step closer, invading his personal space. “Are you staying for the hazing?”
He blinked, surprised, his eyebrows rising. “Hazing? Uh… I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on it.”
You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning into something that looked like a challenge. “Oh, come on, are you really going to tell me you’re not joining? It’s nothing scary, I promise.” Your voice was persuasive, carrying something that made him want to say “yes” to anything you asked.
He hesitated for a moment, but something in the way you looked at him—like you were challenging him, but with a sweetness that made him want to impress you—made him nod. “Alright. What do I have to do?”
“First,” you started, pointing to the small group of freshmen gathered a little ahead, “leave your backpack over there with the others. You won’t need it right now.”
Dave followed your gaze and saw the other freshmen dropping their bags near a makeshift bench, some already with their arms and faces painted in bright colors. They were laughing, exchanging jokes, their energy light and full of the excitement of new beginnings. Dave sighed, adjusting the strap on his shoulder before finally moving to do the same. He placed his backpack down carefully, as if the act itself carried more significance than it seemed—a small gesture of belonging.
When he came back to you, he seemed more relaxed, but you couldn’t ignore his posture. It was hard not to notice—the way his shoulders stayed square, his arms defined even without him trying to show them off. He was fit, very fit, and you found the words a little harder to get out as you tried not to make it too obvious. Still, the idea of touching him, even under the innocent pretense of the prank, made your heart beat a little faster.
“You’re going to need to take off your jacket,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even as your heart pounded in your chest.
Dave hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded, unzipping it slowly, the sound of the metal seeming louder than necessary in the silence between you. He shrugged the jacket off his shoulders with a natural ease that felt almost rehearsed, folding it carefully before setting it on a nearby bench. The white shirt underneath seemed simple at first glance, but now, with him more exposed, you noticed how perfectly it fit him—highlighting his chest and arms in a way that made it impossible to look away.
“Do I need to roll up the sleeves too?” he asked, already pulling one sleeve up to his elbow before you could respond.
You only managed to nod, pretending to be deeply focused on grabbing the paint. But it was impossible not to notice his movements—the firm way his fingers gripped the fabric, the casual way he folded each side, leaving his forearms exposed. And oh, those forearms. The muscles flexed slightly with each fold. Heat rose to your face, and you quickly lowered your eyes, forcing yourself to focus, clearing your throat.
“Green,” you blurted out suddenly, as if the words slipped out without thinking. He stopped, looking at you with a curious expression.
“What?”
“Green suits you,” you explained, gesturing toward the row of paints. Your voice came out firmer than you expected, but the truth was that having him so close was starting to mess with your ability to form complete sentences.
Dave raised an eyebrow, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “Does it? Why?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “It just does. I’d guess you belong in Slytherin.”
He frowned, feigning indignation. “Slytherin? Are you serious?”
You laughed, enjoying the playful tone in his voice. “Yes.”
“I’m definitely a Gryffindor, for your information,” he replied, crossing his arms, though the amused curve of his lips remained. “Lions are better than snakes.”
“Oh, I see.” You laughed again, grabbing the pot of green paint and carefully opening it. “But today, you’re going to be a Slytherin, sweetheart.”
He smiled, but you could see the faint flush creeping up his ears, something that made him look even more endearing. Would he mind if his cheeks were bitten? You blinked, forcing that thought away.
“Now stay still,” you said, dipping your fingers into the cool paint. “I’ll start with your arms.”
Dave obeyed, keeping still, but you could feel his full attention on you. Your fingers touched his skin, sliding carefully as you began drawing soft lines and delicate strokes along his forearm. The warm texture of his skin contrasted with the fresh paint, and you lost yourself for a moment in the simple act of tracing each curve.
He was quiet, but you could feel his breathing change—slightly heavier, as if he was aware of every touch. When you glanced up to check if he was okay, you realized he was looking too. Not at his arm, but at you.
His gaze was intense, his blue eyes fixed on your face for a few seconds before dropping, almost accidentally, to the neckline of your shirt. The movement was so quick that he blinked, shifting his focus back to his arm, but the blush rising to his cheeks was impossible to miss.
“I... uh, you’re pretty detail-oriented, huh?” he tried, his voice slightly lower than before.
You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your face too. “I like to do things properly. Now your forehead.”
He blinked, surprised. “My forehead?”
“It’s a prank, Dave,” you replied, laughing. “The arms are just the beginning. Come here.”
He tilted his head hesitantly, letting you get closer. Your fingers were covered in paint, and as you began to glide the tip along the contours of his forehead, you realized just how close you were—so close you could catch the subtle scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy.
The silence between you grew heavy, charged with something that felt electric. Each breath seemed synchronized, every move you made met with his gaze. When you finished the drawing, your fingers lingered, still lightly brushing against his skin. It was Dave who broke the silence, laughing softly.
“Now that you're officially painted, I think you're ready to be a proper freshman,” you joked, trying to ease the tension hanging between you.
You stepped back, tilting your head to evaluate your work. He already had some green marks scattered across his arms and forehead, but somehow, he still looked surprisingly... neat. That wouldn’t last long, of course.
“Time for a picture,” you said, raising your phone. “We need to capture this ‘tidy’ phase,” you explained, stifling a laugh. “Because soon, my friend, you’ll be unrecognizable.”
He chuckled, a bit shyly, and nodded. “Alright.”
You winked, adjusting the angle of your phone. He stood there with a small, reserved smile, proudly displaying the name of his course and the university's initials, but with an ease so natural that you didn’t need to ask for anything else. “Look here,” you directed, snapping the photo. “This one’s good. Now, give me a serious face or something.”
He attempted a more serious pose, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow, but the effect was ruined when he started laughing—soft and full of life.
“You’re terrible at this, you know that?” you teased, laughing along. “Alright, last one. Just smile this time.”
He complied, and this time his smile was brighter, more carefree—something so genuine you already knew it would be your favorite. “Done. Immortalized.”
“Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” he said, still smiling.
Before you could respond, one of the upperclassmen clapped loudly to grab everyone’s attention. “Alright, freshmen! Everyone, listen up!”
Dave turned toward the voice, and you used the moment to pocket your phone, staying close as the upperclassman explained what would happen next.
“Now that you’ve all been properly christened, it’s time for the fun part of initiation. Everyone is going to form a line, holding hands, and we’re going to walk from here to the main engineering building over there,” he pointed to a building about a 15-minute walk away, “leaving a trail of paint behind us. Along the way, we’re going to throw paint at you. A lot of paint. And just so you know: if any of you freshmen try to fight back, you’ll get an extra soaking. Got it?”
The freshmen murmured their agreement, some chuckling nervously. Beside you, Dave seemed amused, his easy smile firmly in place. That was when you realized your role was about to begin: as an upperclassman, your job wasn’t just to watch—it was to dive into the colorful chaos and make sure no one got out unscathed.
You turned to him, a playful glint in your eye. “You know, Dave, I think you should take your glasses off.”
He blinked, surprised. “Take my glasses off? Why?”
“Trust me,” you said, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “The paint will get everywhere, and you don’t want to ruin the lenses.”
He hesitated, clearly unconvinced. Then, with a sigh, he slowly removed his glasses and handed them to you. “Fine. But if I trip over someone, it’s your fault.”
You laughed, holding the glasses carefully. “I’ll guide you, don’t worry. Can you still see anything?” Your voice came out softer than you intended, almost with genuine concern.
Dave tilted his head, that small smile appearing again. “I think I can... enough to know you’re still there.”
Your laugh was a bit nervous, but you covered it by glancing away. “Well, that’s enough.”
He laughed too, that light sound contagious. And before you could respond, the upperclassmen started moving, organizing the freshmen into a line. “Take good care of those,” he said, pointing to his glasses. “I’m trusting you.”
“You can trust me,” you replied, waving the glasses before stepping away.
Dave joined the line of freshmen, falling into place among them. You watched as he took the hands of two other students, looking both relaxed and a little eager. The upperclassmen began circling the group, armed with bottles and squirt guns filled with colorful paint.
“Alright, everyone!” one of the upperclassmen yelled, a mischievous grin on his face. “No mercy!”
You grabbed your improvised weapon—a bottle filled with vibrant blue paint—and walked alongside the freshmen, your eyes inevitably searching for him in the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find him; it was as if your eyes were drawn to him naturally. His smile was still there, as if he was genuinely enjoying the impending chaos.
Music started playing—something upbeat and lively from a portable speaker someone had brought. It was the perfect soundtrack for the moment, and you couldn’t help but laugh as the energetic rhythm set the tone.
As the group began to move, the upperclassmen launched their attack. Paint flew in every direction, splattering onto laughing freshmen who tried—and failed—to dodge the colorful assault. You aimed for Dave, squeezing your bottle and hitting him square on the shoulder. He stopped, pretending to look offended as he laughed.
“You did that on purpose!” he accused, pointing at you, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Of course I did!” you shot back, unable to stop laughing. “What, you thought I’d spare you?”
He shook his head, still grinning, and kept walking. But you weren’t done yet. At every opportunity, you squirted more paint at him, streaking blue and green across his arms and back. Other upperclassmen joined in, but you got the sense that he was far more aware of your attacks than anyone else’s.
The soundtrack kept playing as the group moved forward slowly, everyone fully immersed in the fun. Dave, now almost unrecognizable with the amount of paint covering his hair and clothes, still seemed to be having more fun than anyone else. But amidst the chaos of colors and laughter, something glimmered in his eyes—a kind of challenge. Before you could prepare yourself, he took two quick steps toward you, his paint-covered hand reaching straight for your arm.
"Dave!" you exclaimed, trying to step back, but it was already too late.
His fingers left a streak of green paint across the light fabric of your shirt, staining it mercilessly. You froze, staring at the mark with a skeptical expression, then at him, who was unsuccessfully trying to hide his mischievous grin.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," you said, disbelief dripping from your voice. "I loved this shirt."
"Oops," he replied, with the most insincere tone of regret you’d ever heard, raising his hands in a gesture that didn’t convince anyone. "But hey, I think green suits you, too."
You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms as you glared at him. "Are you serious, Dave?"
Before he could answer, a nearby upperclassman noticed what had happened and raised their voice, laughing. "Hey, everyone! Looks like we’ve got a bold one here!"
That was enough to grab the attention of all the other upperclassmen around. In seconds, it seemed like everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at Dave, who now seemed a little less confident—but surprisingly, no less amused.
"Retaliation, huh?" someone shouted, already starting to fill a bucket with a deadly mix of paints. "This won’t go unpunished!"
You took a step back, watching the scene unfold. Dave opened his mouth to protest but didn’t have time. The first splash of paint came from the left, hitting him square on the shoulder. Then, it was as if the heavens had opened, but instead of rain, there were buckets, bottles, and tubes of paint being thrown at him from every direction. Red, blue, yellow, pink, green, purple—a whirlwind of colors determined to turn him into a walking masterpiece.
You stood there with your arms crossed, watching as the upperclassmen laughed and shouted, the background music amplifying the chaos. Dave, however, seemed… completely unfazed. He raised his hands in surrender, but the grin was still there—a wide, bright smile as if he was having way too much fun.
When an entire bucket of blue paint was dumped straight over his head, he shook his hair, sending splatters everywhere—including onto you. "Seriously, Dave?!" you complained, but the laughter in your voice betrayed the fact that you weren’t really upset.
He wiped the excess paint dripping down his forehead and looked at you through the chaos. His smile was different now, a little softer but just as captivating as before. "Worth it," he said simply, as if the storm of paint had been a small price to pay.
You sighed, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that slipped through. "You’re impossible."
He shrugged, finally extending his hands to the sides, as if accepting defeat with dignity. "Maybe. But at least I’m not the only one covered in paint now."
The group, a walking rainbow, finally reached the other building, still laughing and making comments about their utterly destroyed—but hilarious—appearances. Clothes that had once been normal were now completely unrecognizable, and many people’s hair dripped paint like oversized brushes. You couldn’t help but laugh as you noticed how Dave seemed to lead the pack of the most wrecked ones, completely covered from head to toe.
"I look like an exploded paint can," someone commented, eliciting even more laughter from the group.
The upperclassmen began organizing everyone for a group photo. "Come on, everyone! I want to see everyone squeezed in here!" one of them shouted, waving a red paint tube like a microphone.
Dave laughed beside you, leaning in to whisper, "I think there’s still time to escape."
"You’re the last person who can say that," you shot back, glancing sideways at him. He was drenched in paint, but his eyes sparkled brighter than ever, and something about the way he smiled made your stomach flip in that uncomfortable—but addicting—way.
The freshmen started lining up, bumping into each other and trying to find space in the tight group. You ended up being pushed to the front, practically pressed against Dave as he positioned himself behind you. "Looks like this is going to be pretty snug," he remarked.
"That’s the spirit of teamwork," you replied, trying to maintain your composure, though you were very aware of how close he was.
"Teamwork, huh?" he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice without even looking.
Just as the photographer positioned themselves, you felt movement right behind you, and before you could process it, Dave’s arm slid around your waist. It was a gentle touch, almost casual, but the way he did it—firm yet hesitant, as if waiting for your reaction—made your heart race.
You looked at him, surprised. “Dave…” you began, but your voice got lost amidst the chaos around you. He looked back at you, the smile still on his face, but now there was something different—an intensity in his eyes, a glimmer that seemed to say more than any words could.
“Just to make room for everyone,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. You weren’t sure if it was because of the noise or the way he seemed to look directly at you, ignoring the rest of the world entirely.
You tried to think of anything relevant to say, but your mind was a complete blur, the words tangling together as he stayed so close. The touch of his arm around your waist was a constant reminder, a warm pressure that sent shivers through your skin, even under the layer of paint covering you both.
Someone shouted, “Smile!” and you forced a grin for the camera, even though your thoughts were far from where they should be. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dave lean slightly forward, and his closeness was overwhelming. He smelled faintly of paint mixed with something uniquely him, and it was ridiculous that you were noticing that at such a moment.
When the photo was finally taken, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Dave, still with his arm around your waist, looked at you with a satisfied smile. “I think this will be a photo to remember,” he said, his voice low, and the way he looked at you almost made your knees buckle.
“I hope you’re right,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the weakness in your voice gave everything away.
As the photo group began to break apart, the laughter faded. A few freshmen tried unsuccessfully to scrub the paint out of their hair and clothes, while others seemed resigned to heading home in their messy state. You watched the scene unfold, the sound of footsteps and chatter echoing through the space. The energetic buzz of the event still lingered, but exhaustion was beginning to creep in.
Dave stood near you, a mix of tiredness and contentment on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, now stiff from the paint, and let out a soft laugh. “I think it’s going to take me two weeks in the shower to get all of this off.”
You laughed, reaching for your bag and unzipping it. “I think you’ll need more than that. But luckily, I came prepared.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued, as you pulled out a small packet of wet wipes. “It’s not going to fix this entire disaster,” you said, holding it up for him, “but it’ll help with the basics. Here.”
He looked at you, his smile widening. “Are you always this prepared, or is this just for me?”
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re full of jokes today, huh?”
He chuckled but didn’t take the wipes from your hand. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if challenging you. “So, are you going to help me, or are you just going to stand there holding that?”
You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing at the way he was looking at you—direct, playful, but with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Fine, but stay still and cooperate.”
He took a small step closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. Dave lowered his head slightly, making it easier for you to reach his face. Your hands were steady as you pulled out a wipe, but the same couldn’t be said for your heartbeat, which pounded wildly as you leaned in.
The first touch was light, almost hesitant, but soon you were carefully wiping away the streaks of paint from his forehead. His skin was warm under the wipe, and you could feel every tiny movement as he stayed still, his eyes fixed on you.
“Does this hurt?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.
“No,” he replied, his tone rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “If anything, it’s the opposite.”
You tried to ignore the weight of his words, but it was impossible. Each second seemed to stretch the space between you. Your fingers, holding the wipe, brushed lightly against the side of his face, and he took a deep breath, as if steadying himself.
His eyes never left yours, and there was something about the vibrant blue that made you feel lost, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. “You’re all cleaned up now,” you murmured, but you didn’t step away.
“Am I?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he knew more than he was letting on. “Because I think there’s a spot here…” He pointed to his cheek, though it felt more like an excuse to keep you close.
You laughed softly but obliged, wiping the spot he indicated. “There. Happy?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and when you finally found the courage to look at him again, the smile had disappeared, replaced by something deeper. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was filled with everything that wasn’t being said.
His hand rose for a moment, almost as if it were going to touch yours, but then stopped halfway, falling back to his side. “I am. Quite a bit.”
You felt the weight of his words, the raw honesty hanging in the air like a thick, tangible cloud. That I am seemed to hold more than he was willing to say out loud. His breath was heavy, not from the physical effort of the day, but from the tension that seemed to pulse between you like a rope about to snap.
Without thinking much, as if your fingers had a life of their own, you brought a hand to his face again. His hair was messy and still wet with paint, some strands stuck to his forehead, others falling to the side, blocking your view of his eyes. “Stay still,” you murmured, almost apologetically, as you brushed the wet strands back carefully.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if the simple touch of your fingers was enough to disarm him. When he opened his eyes again, there was something different in them, something more intense, more vulnerable.
You took a deep breath, and before you could hesitate, you began to clean the paint still staining his jawline, your fingers gliding along the strong line of his jaw. The texture of his skin under the wet wipe, warm and slightly rough, made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t control.
“Do you have any idea how much you got dirty today?” you tried to say, but your voice came out weaker than you intended.
“Maybe,” he replied, and the hoarseness in his voice made you feel the impact in your chest, like a muffled thunder. “But you seemed to be having fun.”
You chuckled softly, trying to relieve the growing tension, but it was a useless effort. Your fingers slid from his jaw to near his lips, and you hesitated for a fraction of a second before gently passing the wipe over the corner of his lips.
His eyes followed every movement of yours, and when you looked back, his gaze seemed to beg for something he didn’t have the courage to ask for. His mouth was slightly open, and his breath brushed against your fingers so tangibly that you almost felt the heat on your own skin.
“All done,” you said, but your voice sounded different now, as if it carried everything you didn’t want to admit.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured, and the smile that played on his lips was as soft as it was dangerous.
“I am,” you replied, but your hand didn’t move. It was still there, dangerously close to his mouth, as if it were impossible to pull away.
“Are you sure?” he teased, his tone barely audible, and you knew he wasn’t talking about the paint anymore.
The silence that followed was deafening. The proximity between you was almost painful now, each inch filled with electricity that had your whole body on high alert. His eyes dropped for a moment to your mouth, and when they returned to yours, there was something there that made your heart beat so fast you thought he could hear it.
Your hand, still near his mouth, wavered for a second, and it was all he needed to take a step forward, closing the distance between you even more. His breath mixed with yours, and you knew, you knew you were on the edge of completely losing yourselves.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, his voice a little firmer now, but still low enough for only you to hear. “And I’m tired of pretending I can.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with raw honesty that seemed to steal all the air around you. Your throat went dry, and you could feel the conflict building inside you, fighting against what already seemed inevitable.
He was younger. A freshman. And you knew you should have some sense here, some logic screaming for you to pull back, to remember the differences, the line that separated you two. But your hands were still on him, your fingers still brushing the paint-stained skin of his warm face, and you just couldn’t let go.
“Dave…” Your voice came out in a trembling whisper, carrying all that you were trying to hold back — the hesitation, the disbelief, and above all, the desire you had been trying to bury since the moment he looked at you that way, completely enchanted, for the first time.
He leaned in imperceptibly closer, his eyebrows furrowed, the intensity in his blue gaze fixed on you. “Tell me what’s holding you back,” he asked, almost pleading, but his tone was still soft, patient, as if he was trying to find his way to you.
You opened your mouth, but the words seemed to dissolve before you could even form a sentence. He waited, his proximity a temptation, and you felt as if you were being pulled toward him, against all the logic you thought you had.
“You’re…” you started, but hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You’re younger. A freshman. That…”
He laughed, low and hoarse, and shook his head slightly. "You think that matters to me?" He tilted his head, his eyes darkening with the intensity of his gaze. "I don’t care if you're older. Do you think when I look at you, that’s what I see? Because I don’t. I only see you. You, with that habit of looking at me like you’re trying to push me away, but you can’t."
Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. He looked so vulnerable and so certain at the same time, and that made something inside you tremble.
"I don’t know if I can do this..." you murmured, the hesitation weighing heavily in each word.
"I know you can," he shot back, his voice firmer now, but still low, almost reverent. "Because if you didn’t want to, you would have already walked away. And you’re still here."
His words hit you like a punch, because he was right. You were still here. Your hands were still on him, and the closeness between you was so small that any movement could close it.
His fingers slowly moved until they lightly brushed your wrist. It was such a subtle touch, but it electrified everything around you, as if the world had stopped to observe that moment.
"Tell me you don’t want this," he said, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking any louder would be dangerous. "Tell me you don’t feel this too, and I’ll stop now."
But you couldn’t say it. You couldn’t pull your hands away, couldn’t ignore the way he looked at you, as if you were something he didn’t know he needed until the moment he saw you.
"You don’t know what you’re asking, Dave," you murmured, but your voice came out weak, with no conviction.
"I know exactly what I’m asking," he retorted, his eyes fixed on yours, as if each word was a promise. "I’m asking for you. And I know you’re trying to find a reason for this not to happen, but there isn’t one."
And in that moment, you knew he was right. That it didn’t matter the logic, or the differences, or the doubts you were trying to hold on to. He was here, and you wanted him. God, how you wanted him.
Your gaze fell to his lips, then rose back to his eyes. He was so close that you could feel his breath, and there was something so vulnerable in his expression, so open, so surrendered, that you simply couldn’t hold back.
Without thinking any further, you closed the distance between you, your hands moving to his face as your lips met his. He responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as if he’d been waiting for this since the moment he saw you. And maybe he had. Maybe you had too.
His lips were warm against yours, firm yet hesitant, as if he feared that it could all disappear in the blink of an eye. You felt his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressed to yours in a way that made the whole world disappear.
His touch was both reverent and desperate, as if he didn’t know if it was real, but was determined to imprint every detail in his memory. His hands slid over the curve of your back, stopping at the base of your waist, before moving up again, his fingers brushing the exposed skin that the light fabric of your blouse didn’t protect. It was electrifying, each touch, each movement, and you felt your heart beating so hard it seemed to echo in every cell of your body.
He pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his eyes meeting yours as if searching for some kind of certainty. "Is this... real?" he murmured, his voice hoarse, cut off. He seemed lost, his blue eyes shining amidst the remnants of lilac and green paint on his face, as if you were the only thing he could see.
You laughed softly, breathless, but didn’t pull away an inch. "Yes," you answered, your voice soft but full of something you couldn’t hide anymore. "It’s real, Dave."
He let out a shaky laugh, a mixture of relief and disbelief, and then his lips were on yours again, this time more certain, hungrier. His hands moved up to your shoulders, then slowly slid down your arms, his fingers tracing the path as if he wanted to memorize every detail, every curve, every inch of skin.
"You have no idea..." he murmured against your lips, his breath hot on your face. He stopped, just enough to find your eyes again. "How much I’ve dreamed of this. Of you."
You felt the weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze, and something inside you broke and rebuilt itself all at once. "Dave..." you started, but he shook his head, interrupting.
“No,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I need you to know. From the first day. From the moment you spoke to me, from the moment you smiled at me… I knew. I knew it was you.”
Your breath faltered, and you felt his hands rise again, this time stopping at the sides of your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw until they brushed the corner of your lips. He seemed so sure, so lost in you, and at the same time so fragile, as if this moment could be taken from him at any second.
“Dave…” you repeated, his name coming out as a whisper, almost a secret. You held his wrists, your fingers gently tightening against his skin. “You have no idea…”
“Tell me,” he insisted, his voice still hoarse, but laden with something so raw, so real, that it made the air around you feel heavier.
You swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “That I thought about it too. That I wanted this too. You. From the beginning.”
The words hit him like a blow, and he let out a short laugh, almost disbelieving, as he pressed his forehead against yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he needed that instant to collect himself, then whispered, “You’re messing with me, right?”
“You think I’d do that now?” you replied, the teasing in your voice mixed with the weight of the truth.
He opened his eyes, and there was something almost glowing in them, something that made you lose yourself completely. “God, you’re gonna kill me,” he murmured before pulling you in again, the kiss more intense, more urgent this time.
His hands slid down your back, tracing the curve of your hips before stopping at their base, as if he needed to hold you there, as if he feared you might slip away. You pressed even closer to him, feeling his heat, the smell of paint mixed with his scent, and nothing had ever felt so right.
When you finally pulled away, breathless, he gave a small smile, his lips still red from the kiss. “So… is this it?” he asked, his voice soft but playful. “Can I stop torturing myself now?”
You laughed, your fingers still tangled in his shirt, and shook your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I like seeing you like this,” you replied, the teasing clear, but your eyes still filled with everything you were feeling.
He tilted his head to the side, a crooked, utterly charming smile playing on his lips as he looked at you. “If that means I can kiss you again, then torture me as much as you want.”
You laughed, short, still breathless, and pushed lightly against his chest, but not enough to create any real distance. His hands stayed firmly on your waist, and it was impossible to ignore the streaks of paint he’d left there—a deep blue staining the pale pink of your blouse. His fingers had drawn an impromptu map on your skin and the fabric, and you knew that, even without a mirror, it was visible.
“Look at what you’ve done,” you commented, trying to sound indignant as you looked down at your blouse, but it was impossible not to smile. “My blouse is ruined.”
Dave laughed softly, his thumbs sliding along the curve of your waist before tracing their way back, as if he wanted to emphasize the mess. “You should’ve walked away while you could.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, sure, because you would’ve let me go, right?”
He smiled wider now, his face still covered in paint, but somehow it only made him more irresistible. “Not for a second,” he confessed, with a tone that was both light and serious, like everything he did.
You shook your head, but couldn’t help the laugh, even as you tugged at the fabric of your blouse to examine the stains more closely. “And what do I do with this now? This is beyond saving, you know?”
Dave let out a dramatic sigh, pulling away just enough to look at you properly, but his hands remained firmly on your waist, as if he couldn’t help it. “Okay, I’ll admit it was a fashion crime,” he began, his eyes dropping to the stained fabric before rising back to your face. He looked so carefree and yet so intensely focused on you at the same time, it was almost unsettling. “But, look, you could… I don’t know, keep it as a keepsake.”
You raised an eyebrow again, his mischievous look signaling he had more to say. “A keepsake?”
“Yeah,” he continued, his smile growing. He raised one of his hands, covered in paint, and his thumb lightly brushed against the strap of your blouse, where a small paint stain was already printed. The touch was casual, but you felt a shiver run through you as if he had done it on purpose. “Every time you look at it, you’ll remember today. Me.”
You tried to roll your eyes, but it was impossible to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. “Oh, sure, because I’d want a ruined blouse to remember you by,” you teased, but your voice came out quieter than expected.
He tilted his face a little closer, his fingers still idly playing with the strap of your blouse, as if he were testing his own limits. “You will,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but with that sweet tone that made your heart race. “Because I know you won’t forget me, with or without the blouse.”
You let out a short laugh, trying to hide the effect his words had on you, but it was useless. “You’re really confident for a guy who’s covered in paint,” you commented, pointing to his face.
Dave laughed again, tilting his head to the side as he ran one hand across his own face, spreading even more paint without realizing. “Oh, seriously?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And who was it that left me like this, huh?”
“You weren’t exactly trying to avoid it,” you replied, crossing your arms, but it was impossible to keep up the defensive posture with him so close, so absurdly adorable.
He took a step back, pretending to examine himself, before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, it’s pretty bad,” he admitted, pointing to the stains on his face, neck, and arms. But then he looked at you, a mischievous smile returning to his lips. “But, you know what? Totally worth it.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but the smile on your face betrayed any attempt to seem serious. “Really worth it?”
“Totally,” he said, giving that half-smile that seemed dangerous and irresistible at the same time. He took a step forward again, closing the distance, tilting his face until it was only inches from yours. “Wanna know why?”
You barely had time to respond before he continued, his voice low and heavy with something that made your breath falter. “Because now, I know what it’s like to kiss you.”
And with that, he smiled, so completely satisfied, so completely in love, that it was impossible to say anything. And you knew he was right: you’d never forget this. Or him.
#romance#dave lizewski#dave lizewski x y/n#dave lizewski fanfiction#dave lizewski x you#dave lizewski x reader#dave x you#dave x reader#writers on tumblr#ao3 writer#aaron taylor johnson#fluffy#atj#fanfiction#atj x reader#kick ass#kick ass x you#kick ass x reader#writing#fluff#college au#college!dave lizewski#suggestive
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Aaron in nosferatu OH GOD 😩
OH GOD really I'm completely devastated because I haven't watched the movie yet, but I saw some (many) gifs of it and I fell pathetically in love. God, it's impossible not to fall in love with it and I want to watch the movie so badly, I need to have a fic of it to call my own😭!
look at this😮💨
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What's your fav colour? :3
Ohh, thanks for the ask! I'm terribly indecisive and my favorite color depends on the moment. But in general, I definitely like blue, the same blue as a cloudless day. If my damn astigmatism didn't stop me from looking at the light, I would spend hours looking at the sky. Although I don't like blue food (sorry, Percy) What's the complete opposite with red. Any red food becomes even tastier. Watermelon juice, sauce with lots of tomatoes… I love it And white, I love wearing white clothes. But not that snow white, but a pearly white Although I love forest green, when I'm traveling, I'm enchanted by the green of the trees that line the road. It's so absurdly beautiful And I couldn't stand being without my pink highlighter for notes, it's a basic survival item and my God, that should have been a direct answer and I ended up writing a lot, so sorry
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just wanted to say that ily and your part 2s. you’re such a beautiful writer ♥️
ohh that's SO sweet, thank you so much for that message, sweetheart — that hit my heart right in the feels 💞💞
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I am absolutely speechless, I can only say thank you thank you thank you a million times, that is SO kind and sweet of you, I don't know enough words to thank you adequately ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১
Wasn't it obvious?
Dave Lizewski x f!reader
Summary: For a moment, Dave stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused. “Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?” You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question. “I... I didn’t know.” “But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious."
Warnings: mention of sex (not explicit), insecurity, est. relationship, hurt comfort, a little angst
A/N: anon, I hope you can like it <333!!
Masterlist
The room was still bathed in the dim light of morning, with the curtains barely drawn, letting streaks of sunlight spill across the space. You woke up slowly, feeling the warmth of his body still so close. Dave’s breathing was soft and steady, the rhythm of someone deeply asleep. A heavy arm lay draped over your waist, a silent reminder that he had no intention of letting you slip away anytime soon.
Your eyes wandered around the messy room, clothes scattered on the floor—your shirt precariously hanging off the edge of a chair, his pants on the rug, half-hidden under the bed. You knew you needed to leave. There were commitments, schedules, things waiting for you out there. But the weight of that moment, of his warmth, seemed to beg you to stay.
“You awake?” Dave’s husky voice broke through your thoughts. He didn’t open his eyes right away, but the grip around your waist tightened slightly. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were clouded with sleep, dark curls falling a little over his forehead. “Stay a little longer. It’s still early…”
“I have to go,” you murmured, even as his fingers lazily traced the curve of your arm. His touch was so light, as if he wanted to draw out every second.
“No, you don’t.” He smiled in that way that always made your resolve waver—that small, crooked smile, almost boyish, but filled with something he probably didn’t even realize he carried. Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked straight at you, his eyes shining even in the faint light. “Who’s gonna care if you skip, huh?”
You laughed softly, knowing he was teasing, though there was a hint of truth in his words. Dave had this way of making you feel like the rest of the world didn’t matter, like that moment—just the two of you, tangled in messy sheets—was the only thing that did.
“You’re not going to make me stay,” you warned, but your voice didn’t sound as convincing as you’d intended. He seemed to catch on, because his smile grew wider.
“What if I hold you down right here?” He stretched his arms dramatically, trying to pull you closer, but you slipped out, laughing again.
“Stop it, Dave,” you said, trying to get up, though you could feel the weight of his gaze following you. You grabbed your shirt first, pulling it off the chair, and started putting it on with your back to him, all too aware of his eyes on you. When you turned around, he was still there, propped up on his hand, his hair messy, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made warmth creep up your face.
“You’re really gonna leave me here all alone?” His tone was playful, almost pouty, but there was something else beneath it—something that was always there in the spaces between words, something you never quite dared to name.
“I am,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though something inside you tightened. You knew he wasn’t holding you there, that you were free to leave. But you also knew there were unspoken things between you, things that made moments like this harder than they should be.
He let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the pillow, though his eyes never left you. “Fine. But only because I know you’ll come back.”
You paused for a second, still holding onto the waistband of the pants you’d just pulled on. His gaze seemed to carry more weight than his words. But, as always, you let it pass.
“Maybe,” you said, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. And before he could respond, you grabbed your things and started moving toward the door, feeling his eyes on you until the very last second.
“Hey,” he called out, just as your hand touched the doorknob. You turned to look at him one last time. He looked so at ease there, so comfortable, with his messy curls and that smile that always made your heart race. “You look amazing in the morning, you know that?”
“See you later, Dave,” you said, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat, and left before he could trap you with another comment.
The café was just busy enough that the hum of conversations and the clinking of cups against saucers created a constant noise, but not so much that it stopped you from relaxing for a few minutes. You sat near the window, the warm coffee cup in your hands, trying to organize your thoughts. There was so much to do, so many things you were trying to ignore—and one of them seemed to have a face framed by dark curls and blue eyes that took up far more space in your mind than you cared to admit.
"Hey, is that really you?"
The familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and when you looked up, it took a second to recognize the person standing in front of you.
"Katie?" The surprise was clear in your voice, but a smile quickly appeared on your lips. It was her, without a doubt—the same Katie Deauxma from high school, though now her features seemed more mature. Her hair was a bit shorter, but the easy smile she always had was exactly the same.
"Yeah!" Katie laughed, looking just as surprised to see you there. "Wow, it's been ages! How are you?"
"I'm good. Wow, it really has been a long time," you said, standing for a quick, slightly awkward hug. She seemed as comfortable as ever, and the conversation flowed naturally as the two of you sat down together.
Katie asked about college, what you were studying, and shared a bit about her own courses and what she'd been up to since high school. It was pleasant, even nostalgic, talking to someone who knew you from before.
Until she asked, casually, "So, are you dating anyone? Or just enjoying the single life?"
You hesitated for a second that felt like an eternity. The words formed in your mind before you could fully think through their weight, slipping out before you could stop them.
"Actually… I am dating someone."
It was a lie. Or wasn't it? You didn’t know anymore. But the sound of the word in your mouth brought an instant pang of guilt, something that tightened in your chest as Katie’s smile widened.
“Oh, really? That’s great! Who’s the lucky one?”
“Dave Lizewski,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. Katie blinked, surprised, before letting out a short laugh.
“Dave? Wow! I haven’t talked to him in ages. We dated, remember? Back in high school.”
You nodded, feeling your stomach sink. Of course you remembered. Everyone remembered. Dave and Katie had been the cute couple in school, the kind everyone thought was improbable, even cliché—the nerd with the popular girl.
“He was so sweet. A little awkward, but always so thoughtful,” Katie continued, oblivious to the storm of emotions building inside you. “You two must make a great couple, I’m sure.”
You smiled, or tried to, and murmured something vague in response. But all you could think was that she was right. Dave was sweet. He was thoughtful, even with his goofy comments and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. He held your hand in public. He made a point to walk you home when he could.
But he had never called you his girlfriend.
And now you were sitting here, listening to Katie talk about what he was like when they dated, and something inside you was breaking into pieces you didn’t even know existed. You remembered them together—how she’d hold onto his arm in the school hallways, how happy he looked next to her. And suddenly, you couldn’t help but wonder if he looked at you the same way he looked at her.
You finished your coffee as quickly as you could, saying goodbye to Katie with a smile that felt increasingly forced. She hugged you again before leaving, promising that you should meet up again sometime.
When you were alone again, the noise of the café felt louder, like it was echoing inside you. The empty cup in front of you felt like a weight holding you there, while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.
Girlfriend.
You’d said it. And now the word felt like it was haunting you, something far too big to carry. You never wanted to be this person, the one who lied or twisted things to fit into something that might not even be real.
But you couldn’t help it.
Because deep down, you wanted it to be true.
Thursday nights always held a special weight. It was an unspoken tradition between the two of you. No matter what happened during the week—piles of work, tough exams, or tight deadlines—Thursdays were reserved for you two. And no matter how hard you tried to focus on something else, the memory of your encounter with Katie had been pounding in your head ever since you left the café.
You had tried to shake it off with a stack of required reading, loud music through your headphones, and even a spontaneous apartment cleaning spree, but nothing worked. Katie's voice kept echoing, her smile, the way she talked about Dave. The way she referred to him as someone who used to be hers, as if there was still a part of him trapped in the past that might never belong to you.
And then there was you. And the lie. Or was it the truth? You didn’t even know anymore. The weight of the words that had slipped out before you could stop them—they felt heavier now, like stones sinking in your stomach. You said it because you wanted to believe it was real. But what about him? What would he think if he knew?
The sound of the doorbell yanked you from your thoughts. It was him.
You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the chaos inside, and opened the door. Dave stood there, as he always did, with his messy curls and a small smile that grew wider just for you. He held a plastic bag with a pack of fries and two sodas—the kind of thing he always brought because he knew you loved it.
“Hey,” he said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping inside. His touch was warm, familiar. But tonight, it felt harder to relax around him, like the storm in your head was keeping you from grounding yourself in the moment.
“Hey,” you replied, closing the door as he made his way to the kitchen, putting the sodas in the fridge without even asking. He’d been doing this for so long that it was second nature.
“You okay?” Dave asked, opening the bag of fries and tossing one into his mouth. He looked at you with those blue eyes, his forehead creasing slightly with concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answered quickly—maybe too quickly. He noticed. Of course, he did. Dave had always had this uncanny ability to sense when something was off, even when you tried to hide it.
“Are you sure? You seem kind of...” He gestured vaguely with his hand.
“I’m fine,” you insisted, a bit more firmly. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“Okay.” He shrugged, but the way he kept watching you while munching on a fry made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Wanna watch a movie or something? I brought that one you said you wanted to see...”
“I’m not sure I feel like watching a movie tonight,” you replied, trying to keep your voice neutral as you grabbed a glass of water for yourself. It was a small response, almost insignificant, but the tension was already starting to build.
“Alright, so what do you want to do?” He leaned against the kitchen counter, his gaze calm and his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the knot tightening inside you.
“I don’t know, Dave!” The words came out sharper than you intended, and the tone in your voice made his eyebrows lift.
“Okay, easy,” he said slowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was just asking. No need to bite my head off.”
You sighed, guilt starting to creep in. But instead of stopping, the words began spilling out before you could catch them. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just... I don’t know. I’m tired. I had a rough day, and then you show up with your fries like everything is so simple, like... like I just need a movie, and everything will be fine.”
He blinked, visibly confused, but his tone remained calm. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t know you were feeling so... like this.”
“Like this?” You crossed your arms, the tension in your stance growing. “What’s that supposed to mean, Dave?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, but now there was something in his tone that suggested he was trying to keep his patience in check.
“Actually, I don’t,” you shot back, your voice rising. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt the sting of tears welling in your eyes, and the lump in your throat that had been forming all day was now nearly unbearable.
Dave noticed immediately. Of course, he did. He might not have been great with words, but he never failed to pick up on when something was wrong with you. His expression shifted in an instant, confusion giving way to a concern so genuine it made you feel even more vulnerable.
“Hey, hey,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “What’s going on? Are you crying?”
“I’m not,” you lied, turning your face away, but he didn’t buy it.
“Yes, you are,” he insisted, and before you could step back, Dave was already close enough to gently take your hands in his. “Look at me.”
You hesitated but finally lifted your gaze. His blue eyes met yours, filled with so much concern it was almost impossible to hold the contact.
“Talk to me,” he said. It wasn’t a command; it was an invitation. “Please.”
The weight in your chest felt like it was about to explode, and the words came out before you could stop them.
“I ran into Katie.”
Dave blinked, visibly surprised. “Katie?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed, trying to look away, but he stayed close, holding your hands with almost unbearable tenderness. “We bumped into each other by chance. Talked for a few minutes.”
He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, now a mix of curiosity and concern. “And?”
“She asked about you,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “And I... I told her I was your girlfriend.”
Dave went quiet for a moment. Not the heavy silence of judgment, but the kind of pause he always took when he was trying to fully understand something.
“Okay,” he began cautiously. “And... why does that seem to be hurting you?”
“Because I don’t know if it’s true!” you burst out, the confession hitting with a force that made you flinch. “I said I was your girlfriend, but I didn’t know if I was lying. We’ve never talked about this, never put a name on what we have. And now all I can think about is whether I said something that wasn’t real.”
For a moment, he stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused.
“Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?”
You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question.
“I... I didn’t know,” you admitted, your voice weak, barely a whisper.
“But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious. I mean, we see each other all the time, spend nights together, you steal my shirts...”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” you cut him off, frustration mixed with nervousness. “People do that all the time without dating, Dave.”
“But I don’t do that with just anyone,” he countered, his blue eyes locking onto yours, as if he wanted to make this point crystal clear. “I do that with you because I want to be with you. Because I thought... well, I thought it was obvious.”
“But you never said it,” you argued, feeling the tears starting to return. “And I never said it either. And that’s what’s been driving me crazy. I didn’t know what we were.”
Dave sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked like he was processing everything all at once, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he stepped closer until he was near enough to hold your hands again.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Then let’s make it clear now.”
His tone was calm but firm, and when he spoke again, it felt like every word had been carefully chosen.
“I’m with you,” he said. “And I thought that was obvious, but if it wasn’t, I’m saying it now: I want to be with you. Just you. And if that means we’re dating, then yeah, I guess we’re dating.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.
“But...” you began, the word almost lost in the lump in your throat. “What about Katie?”
He frowned, clearly caught off guard by the change in topic.
“What about Katie?”
“She was your first girlfriend,” you continued, your voice cracking slightly. “And I remember how you two were. Everyone thought you were perfect together. And now, seeing her again, I can’t stop thinking that...”
“That what?” He tilted his head, his blue eyes filled with concern.
“That I’ll never be good enough,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Dave was silent for a moment, but before you could say more, he shook his head with a soft, incredulous laugh.
“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice full of almost overwhelming tenderness.
You looked at him, confused.
“I broke up with Katie years ago,” he said, as though reminding you of something obvious. “And yeah, it was important to me. She was my first girlfriend. But that doesn’t mean anything now. She’s part of my past, that’s all. You’re my present. And my future, if I’m lucky.”
You tried to process his words, but the lump in your throat only seemed to grow.
“But what if I’m not enough?” you asked, your voice trembling.
“You already are enough,” he answered immediately, without hesitation. He stepped closer, so close that you were almost nose to nose. “More than enough. And you don’t need to compare yourself to Katie or anyone else. Because no one comes close to you, got it? No one.”
His eyes were so intense, so full of emotion, that you felt tears slipping down your cheeks.
“I’m here because I want to be here,” he continued, his voice now softer. “Because you’re who I want. And nothing—absolutely nothing—is going to change that.”
You closed your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it was impossible. When you opened them again, Dave was already pulling you into a tight embrace, wrapping you in a tenderness that felt both overwhelming and comforting all at once.
Dave’s arms tightened around you as if he were trying to shield you from the outside world—or maybe from yourself. The warmth of his body surrounded you, and for a moment, the only sound you could hear was the steady beat of his heart, like a reassuring rhythm that seemed to absorb all the anxiety that had consumed you until then.
“You’re more than enough,” he repeated, his voice low and steady, as if it were something he needed you to believe more than anything else. And you wanted to believe it.
Minutes passed like that, in a cocoon of quiet comfort, with him holding you as if the whole world had disappeared. And you stayed there, letting yourself surrender to that sense of relief, of not needing to worry about anything else. Just the present. Just him.
Finally, you lifted your head, your face warm and your eyes still a little teary but calmer. You looked at him, and he looked back at you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were being seen in a way no one else ever could.
“Do you really think I’m enough for you?” you asked, your voice softer now but still tinged with uncertainty. You knew he’d answered, but you needed to hear it again, to be sure.
Dave smiled, a smile that made his eyes shine with a mix of affection and certainty. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lightly grazing your skin, and answered with a tenderness that warmed your chest.
“I don’t just think,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I know. And if you let me, I’ll show you that every single day. Because to me, you’re everything. And nothing, no one, can change that.”
His words echoed softly but with a force that was impossible to ignore. And in that moment, with your heart racing and your breath unsteady, you finally understood what he was trying to tell you. It didn’t matter what had happened in the past or the insecurities you carried. What mattered was what he was offering you now. It was real. And you wanted to believe it. Wanted to allow yourself.
You gave a small smile, the tears still falling but now accompanied by a growing sense of peace that began to fill the spaces left by doubt. “I don’t want to compare myself to anyone,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But sometimes it’s hard.”
Dave gave a small laugh, gently cupping your cheeks. “I get it,” he said. “But never forget: you’re who I chose. And you don’t need to be like anyone else. You’re unique to me, and that’s all I need.”
He pulled you closer again, and this time, instead of insecurity, the embrace was filled with something softer yet stronger—a sense that you’d found your place, a safe place full of care.
Time passed slowly, and you felt calmer, as if his words had cleared the chaos in your mind. When you looked into his eyes, you no longer saw doubt or fear—just certainty. And you felt it too. The certainty that, with him by your side, everything would be okay.
“I love you,” you whispered, not thinking too much, but with a truth that burned through your skin and filled your chest with something so profound that words couldn’t fully translate it.
Dave smiled, that genuine, happy smile of his. “I love you too,” he replied, before leaning in for a gentle kiss that made the world seem to pause for a moment. A kiss that needed no explanations. A kiss that said everything about who you were—and everything you were still about to become.
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I think you'd like "Uncle upon a dream" "cinnamon girl" and "Margaret" (maybe overall ocean bldv album) from LDR! :]
THANK YOU SO MUCH for the suggestions, that is SO thoughtful of you
I will definitely listen to each and every one of them, thank you very much ࣪ 𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃
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I share the same feeling, I want this 😭
Lullaby
dad!Remus Lupin x mom!reader
Summary: The quiet cry woke him. Remus approached cautiously, leaning over her. “Hey, my little star, it’s okay. Daddy’s here,” he whispered, his voice so soft it almost got lost in the sound of his breath.
Warnings: fluffy, est. relationsh, no use of baby name, no war au, no use of y/n, after hogwarts (obviously)
A/N: just because i couldn't stop thinking about dad!remus
Masterlist
The quiet cry woke him. It wasn’t a loud or desperate sound, just enough to cut through the silence of the early morning and pierce the few seconds of peace the house seemed to hold. Remus slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the dimness of the room, and looked at you. You were still fast asleep beside him, your face relaxed, one hand gently resting on the pillow. He stayed still for a moment, contemplating the calm on your face, before carefully getting up. He didn’t want to wake you.
He walked down the hall, his bare feet making almost no sound against the wooden floor. The cry had faded to a low whimper, but it was still there, insistent, as if the baby knew he was coming. Pushing open the slightly ajar door to her room, the soft light from the nightlight revealed the small form in the crib. She squirmed restlessly, tiny fists clenched, her eyes still damp.
Remus approached cautiously, leaning over her. “Hey, my little star, it’s okay. Daddy’s here,” he whispered, his voice so soft it almost got lost in the sound of his breath. With a skill he never imagined he’d have before becoming a father, he lifted her into his arms, holding her with the tenderness she seemed to require, as though she were made of fine glass.
She was so small, so absurdly small, that he always found himself wondering how something so fragile could exist. He adjusted her little body against his chest, feeling her tiny fingers close around one of the folds of his shirt. As he rocked her gently, he looked at her face, the features still so delicate, so full of possibilities. “Do you have any idea how loved you are?” he whispered. “No, of course not. But you are. So much it almost hurts.”
He continued rocking her softly, his large hands contrasting with her little body. Every movement felt like a miracle. He looked at his own hands, marked with old scars, the uneven lines crossing the skin like memories of another life. A life where he never could have imagined being here, in this house, holding his daughter in his arms. “You know, sometimes I still think this is a dream. That I’ll wake up and all of this will just be something I made up to feel less alone.”
He let out a low laugh, almost humorless, but the little one responded with a soft sound, as if trying to talk to him. “Ah, so you are really here, huh?” he said, squeezing her a little tighter against him. “You and your mum… you’ve made everything so real. So much better.”
His thoughts drifted to you, sleeping in the room next door. He remembered so many nights when you simply held him, even when he tried to hide the shadows in his mind. You always seemed to know. Always seemed to understand. “She’s amazing, you know?” he confided in the baby, as if she could understand him. “Your mum. She loves me in a way I never thought possible. And you? You’re proof of that. Proof that I’m not alone anymore.”
The baby began to relax, her little body growing heavier in his arms. He sat in the rocking chair beside the crib, adjusting her so she could rest against him. The room seemed wrapped in a bubble of calm, only the light sound of her breathing and the creak of the chair filling the space.
He looked at her one more time, admiring the fine lashes, the perfect curve of her cheeks. How could someone so small carry so much love? It was almost overwhelming. He leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You’ll never need to doubt that, you know? How much you are loved. I promise.”
The almost imperceptible sound of the door creaking made him raise his head, his senses still sharp from the restlessness of the days following the full moon. For a moment, his body tensed, but then he saw her. You were there, standing in the doorway, your face softly lit by the light of the nightlight. Your eyes held concern, but also something else—something he recognized, and that made his heart tighten: pure love.
“You should be resting,” you said, your voice soft to not disturb the little one.
He smiled, that smile that always seemed to hold a world of unspoken stories. “And so should you,” he replied, gently rocking the chair while keeping the baby nestled against his chest. “I heard her little cry, and I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.”
You moved closer slowly, your eyes fixed on him and the sleeping baby. Each step seemed filled with care, as if you, too, didn’t want to break the magical stillness of the moment. When you reached them, you crouched beside the chair, your hand gently touching his thigh. “Remus…” you began, hesitating but with a voice full of affection. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. It’s been so few days since the last full moon. You need to rest.”
He let out a low laugh, almost inaudible, as he looked at you. “I’m fine,” he said, but the way his eyes darted away for a brief moment gave him away. “Besides, look at her…” He tilted his head to look at the little one in his arms, a soft glow in his eyes. “How could I want to be anywhere else?”
You smiled, but there was a tender weight in your expression. “I heard what you said,” you murmured. He lifted his gaze to you, confused for a moment, until he realized what you were talking about.
“You heard?” he asked, and there was something vulnerable in his voice, something he rarely let show.
You nodded, your eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears. “About how you think this might be a dream… About how you love us. I just want you to know that this is real, Remus. We are real. I am real. And I love you more than anything in this world.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned a little forward, until their foreheads almost touched. “I know,” he whispered, his voice so full of emotion it barely came out. “It’s just that… sometimes it’s hard to believe. Not because I doubt you, but because I never thought I deserved something like this. You. Her. All of this.”
Your hand reached up to touch his face, your fingers gliding gently over the stubble that was beginning to form. “You do deserve it, Remus. And I’ll remind you of that every day, if I have to.” Your voice was firm, but full of sweetness, as if each word was a caress.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, before opening a small, genuine smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”
“Someone has to take care of you, since you insist on taking care of everyone,” you replied, the softness turning into a hint of teasing. He chuckled quietly, and the sound warmed his chest.
“So… do you want to hold her?” he asked, shifting slightly in the chair to lift the baby with care.
You nodded and opened your arms, accepting her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. And, of course, she was. When you held her, she made a soft sound, something between a sigh and a grunt, before snuggling comfortably against you. You looked at her with an expression of pure adoration, your fingers gently stroking her back as she fell back asleep.
Remus watched for a moment, his eyes fixed on you as you rocked the baby with such tenderness that it seemed impossible for it to be anything mundane. It was as if every gesture of yours was a deliberate act of love, something he never failed to notice, even after all this time together. He reached out and adjusted a strand of hair that had fallen across your face, the touch delicate, almost reverent.
You were so close that the space between you seemed to dissolve. He let his arms rest around your body, pulling you gently closer, as if he needed this contact to anchor his own feelings. You leaned against him, the warmth of both of you creating a bubble of comfort around the little one, who was now completely peaceful, nestled in your arms.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just looked at her, your faces so close that your breaths mingled. The light from the night lamp bathed the room in a soft glow, making everything even more intimate. The baby moved her little hand, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh, and both of you smiled at the same time, as if it were the most extraordinary thing you had ever witnessed.
Remus tilted his face to the side, his lips brushing lightly against your temple as he whispered, “Thank you.”
The word was so simple, but the weight of it made you close your eyes for a moment, absorbing everything it carried. It wasn’t just a thank you for that moment. It was for everything. For you being there, for her existence, for everything he had never dared believe he could have.
“Why?” you asked softly, turning your face just enough to meet his eyes. There was a soft gleam in them, something that made your heart race even after so many moments like that.
“For this,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion. “For you. For her. For us. I still wonder how I got so lucky… how the universe was generous enough to give me something like this.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t find the words to express what he felt. “I never imagined I could be this happy. This complete.”
You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips against his in a light kiss, but one full of meaning. “I feel lucky too, you know? Every day. For you, for her, for everything we’ve built together.” Your voice was soft, but every word carried the weight of an unshakable truth.
You stayed like that for a few more minutes, his arms around you, his hands covering yours as you still held the baby. The world outside seemed distant, almost nonexistent. Everything that mattered was right there, in that room.
When the little one finally fell completely asleep, you and Remus exchanged a knowing glance, as if you both knew exactly what to do without needing to say anything. He leaned in to take the baby back with all the care, holding her against his chest while you adjusted the blanket in the crib. Both of your movements were synchronized, a perfect reflection of the partnership you had built.
As he placed her in the crib, he lingered for a second longer, his fingers gently brushing her cheek. He let out a soft sigh before straightening up, passing his arms around you again as you both pulled away.
“I love you both,” he said, his voice low but so full of feeling that it made your eyes burn. You rested your head against his shoulder, your arms around his waist, as if you wanted to hold him as close as possible.
“And we love you, Remus,” you replied, squeezing him a little tighter. “Always.”
You stayed there for a while longer, just enjoying the comfortable silence, each other’s presence, and the little miracle you had before you. Everything felt so right, so perfect in that moment, that neither of you wanted to break the magic.
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and I can't stop smiling at your words, tysm <333 !!
I'd like to make a little request...Maybe reader teaching Dave how to ice skate? Like he SUCKS at it and when she's teaching him he slips and instinctively grabs her and they both fall down and he gets really worried and panicked that he accidentally hurt her but she ends up laughing and he laughs too and FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFY FLUFF :D
Ice Skates
Dave Lizewski x f!reader
Summary: "Want to go ice skating?" "Not a chance," he said with a sleepy laugh. You planted kisses all over his face. First on his cheek, then along his jaw, and finally on the curve of his bottom lip, teasing him enough to draw a smile from him. "You play dirty." "And it works." You smiled.
Warnings: none
A/N: anon, hope you like it <3333
Masterlist
You had invited Dave to spend the weekend at your family’s winter house. It was far from the city, and the snow covered everything like a private paradise—and the best part? There was a frozen lake! It was barely dawn when you sneaked into the room where he had spent the night, walking on tiptoe so your parents wouldn’t wake up. Luckily, you knew where the floorboards creaked and avoided every single one of them.
When you opened the door, you found the dark and silent room, Dave still asleep, lost in the blankets. His chest rising and falling with calm breaths. A smile spread across your face—at moments like this, he seemed even more adorable. With his dark curls falling over his forehead, chapped lips, and so painfully beautiful it should’ve been a sin. Without making a sound, you closed the door and walked over to the single bed, sighing as the warmth enveloped you the moment you crawled under the covers, curling up against his chest.
"Dave?" You whispered, trying to wake him gently.
Dave mumbled something incomprehensible when you called his name, his sleepy voice sounding sweeter than it should. He didn’t even open his eyes, but his arms moved instinctively, pulling you even closer. His face found refuge in the space between your neck and shoulder, his nose brushing against your skin as he let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"Hmm, you’re cold..." He grumbled, his voice muffled against you, wrapping his arms around you like a human blanket.
"And you’re warm." You countered, smiling against the messy curls that touched your forehead. Your fingers, already acting on their own, tangled in his soft hair, lazily stroking the strands.
"If your father finds me like this, he’s gonna kill me," Dave murmured, a playful tone hidden in the roughness of his voice.
You laughed softly, your lips brushing the top of his head. "We won’t let him find out, then."
"Great plan," he replied, his mouth curving against your collarbone. "Just let me sleep a little longer..."
But you had no intention of letting him fall back asleep. Your fingers trailed down to draw lazy circles on his neck, and you tilted your head to whisper in his ear, "There’s a frozen lake outside, Dave."
"Hmm," he murmured, clearly still fighting sleep.
"Want to go ice skating?"
"Not a chance," he said with a sleepy laugh. "I’m terrible at it. I’ll fall flat on my face. You’ll laugh. I’m not risking that kind of humiliation."
"You haven’t even tried and you’re already so pessimistic?" You teased, planting kisses on his face, each one lingering longer than the last, savoring how warm his skin felt under your lips. First on his cheek, then along his jawline, and finally at the curve of his lower lip, teasing him enough to pull a smile from him.
Dave tried to resist, but he gave in, letting out a soft laugh before turning his face to find your lips. The kiss was slow and lazy, just how winter mornings should be. When you pulled away, he sighed. "You play dirty."
"And it works." You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again.
He dramatically huffed before giving in, pulling you against him one last time before finally murmuring, "Fine, but if I break something, it’s your fault."
"You’re the best," you said, your lips finding his in a burst of kisses as thanks, amidst muffled laughter and shared glances.
"Yes, but only because you asked." Dave buried his face in your hair, and for a few moments, you both stayed exactly where you were, tangled in each other under the covers. The warmth between you felt like a perfect shield against the cold that dominated the world outside. His fingertips lazily traced circles on your back while your hand played absently with his curls, twisting them and letting them go. The comfortable silence was broken only by the sound of your synchronized breathing. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to move, as if the universe had paused so you could savor this moment a little longer.
"I still think your father is going to kill me," Dave murmured suddenly, his voice muffled by your hair, making you laugh softly.
"Only if he finds out what we did before we got here," you replied, your face warming at the memory of what you’d done in your room while you should’ve been finishing packing.
After a few more minutes like this, you both finally convinced yourselves to leave the blanket nest. The cold air from the room immediately enveloped you, and you shivered, pressing yourself against him for warmth. Dave laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both made your way downstairs to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
Sitting at the table, you shared a toast with jam and laughed about how he seemed even more clumsy than usual with his cold hands. Every few minutes, Dave would glance nervously at your dad, who was in the corner of the kitchen reading the newspaper but clearly keeping an eye on the two of you. Every time your gazes met, your dad seemed to squint his eyes, sending a silent yet clear message: Be careful with her.
"He really likes me," Dave murmured to you sarcastically as he set his coffee cup down.
You shrugged, holding back a smile. "He just wants to make sure you’re not going to drop me on the ice."
"No pressure, then," he replied, rolling his eyes playfully.
After getting ready, you both headed outside, ready to face the cold. Dave adjusted the scarf around your neck, his fingers careful and almost reverent before intertwining his hand with yours. The path to the frozen lake was absolutely magical, with the ground covered in soft snow and the trees around you adorned with ice crystals. With every step, Dave squeezed your hand as if he needed to make sure you weren’t going anywhere, his smile on his face showing just how happy he was.
"You’re not going to fall, right?" he asked, teasing in his voice.
"I’m amazing at this," you replied, pulling him by the arm to quicken your pace.
"Great at many things, actually," he commented, almost distracted.
"Was that a compliment?"
"That was an observation," he corrected, smiling sideways as his eyes dropped to you.
When you reached the lake, the ice shimmered like glass under the weak sunlight, reflecting the trees around. Dave opened the backpack to grab the skates, and while you sat on a snow-covered log, he knelt down to tie yours.
"I can do this, Dave," you said, but he shook his head.
"No way. If the lace isn’t perfect and you fall, your dad will bury me in the snow," he replied, his tone playful, but his hands focused as he carefully adjusted the laces.
When he finished, Dave leaned up and looked at you, his blue eyes shining against the white backdrop of winter. "All set."
"You didn’t have to do that," you said, but he shrugged, the smile almost embarrassed.
"I like taking care of you," he admitted, his voice quieter as his eyes briefly dropped to your lips. Before you could respond, he leaned in to kiss you, the gesture soft but full of affection, warming your heart.
"Now it’s your turn," you said, smiling as he sat beside you to put on his skates.
When he finished with the laces, you leaned in to steal a kiss on his cheek, the gesture so natural it felt like part of the winter around.
"If I fall," he started, holding your hand to get up, "you promise not to laugh too loud?"
"I promise I’ll save you before I laugh," you replied, squeezing his hand tightly before pulling him toward the lake. The ice gleamed beneath your feet, smooth as glass, and the air around was cold, but fresh, bringing an almost magical energy to the moment. You moved first, gliding with a grace that made Dave let out an involuntary sigh.
He was completely mesmerized. You looked so natural, so free, your hair swaying softly with the movement and your cheeks flushed from the cold. He knew he’d never be able to describe it properly, but in that moment, he was certain of one thing: you were amazing, and he was completely in love with you.
"Are you just going to stand there staring, or are you going to try to catch up?" you teased, a mischievous smile on your face as you spun lightly.
"I’m trying not to fall before I take the first step," Dave replied, nervously laughing as he tried to imitate what you were doing. He slid one foot forward, then the other, but the movement was awkward, and he almost lost his balance before you grabbed him.
"It’s okay," you said, laughing softly. "It’s easier than it looks. Trust me."
He huffed, his eyes full of affection as you pulled him, guiding him with patience. He was stiff at first, his shoulders tense and movements hesitant, but the touch of your hands seemed to ease any insecurity. Slowly, he managed to glide beside you, his steps clumsy but enough to keep up.
"Look at you, you’re doing it!" you exclaimed, pride clear in your voice.
"Of course," he replied, his tone ironic, "it’s easy when you have a girlfriend who looks like a pro."
But then, the inevitable happened. When he tried to take another step, his balance disappeared, and the world around him seemed to spin. He stumbled, pulling you with him, and the two of you fell with a soft thud onto the ice. He took most of the impact, cushioning your fall.
"Are you okay?!" he asked, panic evident in his voice as he checked your face. "I didn’t hurt you, right? Please tell me you’re okay."
You couldn’t help but smile at how worried he was. His expression was a mix of guilt and desperation, his brows furrowed and eyes wide as he waited for your response.
"Dave, calm down," you said, placing a hand on his face to reassure him. "I’m fine, I swear."
"Are you sure?" he insisted, his eyes scanning you as if looking for any sign of pain.
"I’m sure," you replied, laughing softly as you leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. "Actually, that was fun. Falling is part of learning, you know?"
"I’d prefer to learn without knocking you down," he murmured, but the worry began to give way to a shy smile as you laughed.
"You protected me," you said, your voice soft. "And besides, it was a pretty cinematic fall. You actually know how to do a good romantic scene."
"Smartass," he replied, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.
You stayed on the ice for a moment, laughter filling the cold air around you. Dave ran a hand through your hair, pushing a strand away from your beanie. "You’re so beautiful," he said, almost without realizing he was speaking aloud.
The unexpected comment made your heart race, and you blushed, but quickly leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was warm and gentle, a perfect contrast to the cold around. When you pulled away, he smiled goofily, just like he always did when he was near you.
"See? Falling wasn’t so bad," you said, caressing his face.
"Maybe not," he admitted, "but I only liked it because you were with me."
You laughed, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. "So, next time you fall, I’ll be here to catch you. Or at least, fall with you."
"Sounds like a good plan," he replied, his blue eyes shining with affection as he stole another kiss.
After a few minutes, you finally got up, with Dave still holding your hand as if he feared the ice might pull another trick. And even with the intense cold around, everything felt so incredibly warm and comfortable. After all, you were together, and that was enough to make any moment perfect.
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Thoughts on Lana Del Rey? :)
Ohh, I think the first thing I think about her is how beautiful she is, painfully beautiful
I know some of her songs, but I haven't really followed her career, so my knowledge is pretty limited
Young and Beautiful is definitely my favorite
Just look at how beautiful she is
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Whispers of the Sea
dad!Remus Lupin x mom!reader
Summary: Remus looked at her with a mixture of wonder and reverence. It was as if no matter how many times he held her like this, the miracle of having her there never ceased to amaze him. "Look at that, my little star," he whispered, his voice low and filled with tenderness. "Do you see how the sea seems endless? It's as big as the world waiting for you."
Warnings: flufy, est. relationship, no war au, no use of a baby name, no use of y/n, after hogwarts (obviosly), Remus was born to be a dad
A/N: I hope the quality hasn't dropped here
Masterlist
The salty breeze of the beach was gentle, carrying with it the rhythmic sound of waves breaking on the sand. The sky was painted in soft shades of blue and gold, and the sunlight danced lazily over the water, creating a scene so serene it felt like a dream.
Remus walked slowly, each step sinking slightly into the warm sand. In his arms, his daughter was nestled, her curious little eyes taking in everything around her. She was leaning against his chest, one tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt as if that small gesture could ensure she would never drift away from the safe harbor he provided.
He looked at her with a mixture of wonder and reverence. It was as if no matter how many times he held her like this, the miracle of having her there never ceased to amaze him. "Look at that, my little star," he whispered, his voice low and filled with tenderness. "Do you see how the sea seems endless? It's as big as the world waiting for you."
She didn’t respond, of course—she was still too young to understand his words. But the way her eyes sparkled, reflecting the infinite blue of the sky and sea, said she was absorbing it all in her own way. Remus smiled, leaning slightly to let the breeze touch her tiny face.
"Can you feel that?" he asked, his voice almost like a shared secret. "That’s the wind, sweet girl. It comes from places you don’t know yet, but one day... one day you’ll explore every corner of this world. And when that day comes, I’ll be here, helping you find your way."
The baby made a small sound, something between a sigh and a murmur. Remus gently ran a finger over her little face, brushing away a strand of hair that the breeze had stuck to her cheek.
"You know I’d do anything for you, don’t you, my little star?" he murmured, as if making a promise. "I’ll always be here. Always."
She responded in the only way she knew—letting out a soft sound that resembled a giggle and reaching out her tiny hand toward his face.
Watching the two of them from a distance, you felt a sweet ache in your chest. The scene was so full of love it was impossible not to be moved by it. Remus was completely absorbed in his daughter, his movements slow and careful, as if holding her was the most sacred thing in the world. But he noticed when you approached, and the smile he gave as he lifted his eyes was enough to make your heart skip a beat.
"Someone’s eavesdropping," he teased lightly, his tone still filled with that softness he reserved for the two of you.
"How could I not?" you replied, closing the distance between you and placing a hand on his arm. "You speak as if you’re reciting poetry. It’s hard not to be enchanted."
Remus chuckled quietly, but the laughter faded quickly as he looked at you. "It’s just... sometimes I still wonder if all of this is really real." He lowered his eyes to the baby, now distractedly tugging at the fabric of his shirt. "Having you two... it’s more than I ever thought possible. And yet, here you are."
Your hand moved to his face, your fingers gently stroking his cheek. "We’re here, Remus. And we’re not going anywhere."
He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning slightly into your hand as if that simple gesture could ground him. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze locked onto yours, intense and filled with emotion. "I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m going to spend the rest of my life being grateful."
He leaned forward slightly, and you closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that seemed to convey everything he hadn’t yet put into words. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing deeply.
You kept your hand on his face. "You do deserve this, Remus. You deserve so much."
When he opened his eyes again, you couldn’t help but notice the details that made him who he was. The soft curve of a scar running across his jaw, a reminder of the battles he faced every month. His tousled brown hair, with a few prematurely gray strands, the result of stress and pain he had carried for so long. But to you, every detail was perfect. Each mark told the story of the man he was—strong, resilient, and so full of love that it seemed impossible he had ever doubted himself.
You smiled, your eyes tracing every familiar inch of his face. "You know how beautiful you are, don’t you?"
Remus chuckled softly, the sound almost disbelieving. "Beautiful, huh?" He shook his head, but a slight blush colored his cheeks.
"Yes," you said firmly, letting your hand slide from his cheek to his neck, where your thumb traced a small circle. "And not just because you gave me her." Your gaze shifted to the baby, still nestled in his arms, her rosy cheeks and curious eyes darting between you and him.
As if she realized she was the topic of conversation, the little one began babbling something unintelligible, her chubby hands reaching determinedly toward you.
Remus looked at his daughter, his smile softening even further, if that were possible. "Oh, you want to go to Mommy, little star?" he asked, his voice brimming with pure adoration.
He adjusted her in his arms with care, moving with the ease of someone who had performed the gesture countless times, and handed her to you. As soon as you held her, she snuggled into your embrace, one tiny hand gripping the fabric of your blouse as if to ensure you wouldn’t go anywhere.
"Well, I guess I’ve lost my spot," Remus joked, crossing his arms and watching the two of you with a satisfied smile.
"Maybe," you replied with a playful grin. "But only because she knows where the best lap is."
"She’s smart," Remus agreed, marveling at his daughter’s tiny hands with a look of fascination. "She knows exactly where she wants to be."
You laughed, gently stroking the baby’s soft hair as she gazed at Remus, clearly still expecting his attention. "She knows she has the best dad in the world," you said, smiling at him.
Remus ran a hand through his hair, the gesture slightly self-conscious, but the light in his eyes gave away how much your words meant. He stepped closer, leaning in to kiss his daughter’s forehead and then pressing his lips softly to yours. "I have the two most incredible people in the world," he murmured, his voice low but full of sincerity.
Remus wrapped his arms around the two of you, holding you in an embrace that seemed to promise that no matter what happened, you would always be home to each other.
"She’s mesmerized by the sea," he remarked, looking at the baby in your arms, now blinking drowsily as if the motion of the waves and the gentle rocking of the sea breeze were lulling her to sleep. "I think someone’s going to have sweet dreams tonight," he murmured, his voice full of affection.
And you knew he was right. Because with him, all dreams—hers, yours, and his—had found a safe place to exist.
#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x you#remus x reader#remus x you#remus lupin drabble#remus lupin fanfiction#remus lupin#remus lupin x y/n#no use of y/n#remus x y/n#remus j lupin#remus john lupin fanfiction#remus john lupin#dad!remus#mom!reader#writers on tumblr#fanfiction#romance#moony x you#moony x reader#monny#fluffy
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Wasn't it obvious?
Dave Lizewski x f!reader
Summary: For a moment, Dave stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused. “Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?” You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question. “I... I didn’t know.” “But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious."
Warnings: mention of sex (not explicit), insecurity, est. relationship, hurt comfort, a little angst
A/N: anon, I hope you can like it <333!!
Masterlist
The room was still bathed in the dim light of morning, with the curtains barely drawn, letting streaks of sunlight spill across the space. You woke up slowly, feeling the warmth of his body still so close. Dave’s breathing was soft and steady, the rhythm of someone deeply asleep. A heavy arm lay draped over your waist, a silent reminder that he had no intention of letting you slip away anytime soon.
Your eyes wandered around the messy room, clothes scattered on the floor—your shirt precariously hanging off the edge of a chair, his pants on the rug, half-hidden under the bed. You knew you needed to leave. There were commitments, schedules, things waiting for you out there. But the weight of that moment, of his warmth, seemed to beg you to stay.
“You awake?” Dave’s husky voice broke through your thoughts. He didn’t open his eyes right away, but the grip around your waist tightened slightly. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were clouded with sleep, dark curls falling a little over his forehead. “Stay a little longer. It’s still early…”
“I have to go,” you murmured, even as his fingers lazily traced the curve of your arm. His touch was so light, as if he wanted to draw out every second.
“No, you don’t.” He smiled in that way that always made your resolve waver—that small, crooked smile, almost boyish, but filled with something he probably didn’t even realize he carried. Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked straight at you, his eyes shining even in the faint light. “Who’s gonna care if you skip, huh?”
You laughed softly, knowing he was teasing, though there was a hint of truth in his words. Dave had this way of making you feel like the rest of the world didn’t matter, like that moment—just the two of you, tangled in messy sheets—was the only thing that did.
“You’re not going to make me stay,” you warned, but your voice didn’t sound as convincing as you’d intended. He seemed to catch on, because his smile grew wider.
“What if I hold you down right here?” He stretched his arms dramatically, trying to pull you closer, but you slipped out, laughing again.
“Stop it, Dave,” you said, trying to get up, though you could feel the weight of his gaze following you. You grabbed your shirt first, pulling it off the chair, and started putting it on with your back to him, all too aware of his eyes on you. When you turned around, he was still there, propped up on his hand, his hair messy, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made warmth creep up your face.
“You’re really gonna leave me here all alone?” His tone was playful, almost pouty, but there was something else beneath it—something that was always there in the spaces between words, something you never quite dared to name.
“I am,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though something inside you tightened. You knew he wasn’t holding you there, that you were free to leave. But you also knew there were unspoken things between you, things that made moments like this harder than they should be.
He let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the pillow, though his eyes never left you. “Fine. But only because I know you’ll come back.”
You paused for a second, still holding onto the waistband of the pants you’d just pulled on. His gaze seemed to carry more weight than his words. But, as always, you let it pass.
“Maybe,” you said, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. And before he could respond, you grabbed your things and started moving toward the door, feeling his eyes on you until the very last second.
“Hey,” he called out, just as your hand touched the doorknob. You turned to look at him one last time. He looked so at ease there, so comfortable, with his messy curls and that smile that always made your heart race. “You look amazing in the morning, you know that?”
“See you later, Dave,” you said, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat, and left before he could trap you with another comment.
The café was just busy enough that the hum of conversations and the clinking of cups against saucers created a constant noise, but not so much that it stopped you from relaxing for a few minutes. You sat near the window, the warm coffee cup in your hands, trying to organize your thoughts. There was so much to do, so many things you were trying to ignore—and one of them seemed to have a face framed by dark curls and blue eyes that took up far more space in your mind than you cared to admit.
"Hey, is that really you?"
The familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and when you looked up, it took a second to recognize the person standing in front of you.
"Katie?" The surprise was clear in your voice, but a smile quickly appeared on your lips. It was her, without a doubt—the same Katie Deauxma from high school, though now her features seemed more mature. Her hair was a bit shorter, but the easy smile she always had was exactly the same.
"Yeah!" Katie laughed, looking just as surprised to see you there. "Wow, it's been ages! How are you?"
"I'm good. Wow, it really has been a long time," you said, standing for a quick, slightly awkward hug. She seemed as comfortable as ever, and the conversation flowed naturally as the two of you sat down together.
Katie asked about college, what you were studying, and shared a bit about her own courses and what she'd been up to since high school. It was pleasant, even nostalgic, talking to someone who knew you from before.
Until she asked, casually, "So, are you dating anyone? Or just enjoying the single life?"
You hesitated for a second that felt like an eternity. The words formed in your mind before you could fully think through their weight, slipping out before you could stop them.
"Actually… I am dating someone."
It was a lie. Or wasn't it? You didn’t know anymore. But the sound of the word in your mouth brought an instant pang of guilt, something that tightened in your chest as Katie’s smile widened.
“Oh, really? That’s great! Who’s the lucky one?”
“Dave Lizewski,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. Katie blinked, surprised, before letting out a short laugh.
“Dave? Wow! I haven’t talked to him in ages. We dated, remember? Back in high school.”
You nodded, feeling your stomach sink. Of course you remembered. Everyone remembered. Dave and Katie had been the cute couple in school, the kind everyone thought was improbable, even cliché—the nerd with the popular girl.
“He was so sweet. A little awkward, but always so thoughtful,” Katie continued, oblivious to the storm of emotions building inside you. “You two must make a great couple, I’m sure.”
You smiled, or tried to, and murmured something vague in response. But all you could think was that she was right. Dave was sweet. He was thoughtful, even with his goofy comments and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. He held your hand in public. He made a point to walk you home when he could.
But he had never called you his girlfriend.
And now you were sitting here, listening to Katie talk about what he was like when they dated, and something inside you was breaking into pieces you didn’t even know existed. You remembered them together—how she’d hold onto his arm in the school hallways, how happy he looked next to her. And suddenly, you couldn’t help but wonder if he looked at you the same way he looked at her.
You finished your coffee as quickly as you could, saying goodbye to Katie with a smile that felt increasingly forced. She hugged you again before leaving, promising that you should meet up again sometime.
When you were alone again, the noise of the café felt louder, like it was echoing inside you. The empty cup in front of you felt like a weight holding you there, while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.
Girlfriend.
You’d said it. And now the word felt like it was haunting you, something far too big to carry. You never wanted to be this person, the one who lied or twisted things to fit into something that might not even be real.
But you couldn’t help it.
Because deep down, you wanted it to be true.
Thursday nights always held a special weight. It was an unspoken tradition between the two of you. No matter what happened during the week—piles of work, tough exams, or tight deadlines—Thursdays were reserved for you two. And no matter how hard you tried to focus on something else, the memory of your encounter with Katie had been pounding in your head ever since you left the café.
You had tried to shake it off with a stack of required reading, loud music through your headphones, and even a spontaneous apartment cleaning spree, but nothing worked. Katie's voice kept echoing, her smile, the way she talked about Dave. The way she referred to him as someone who used to be hers, as if there was still a part of him trapped in the past that might never belong to you.
And then there was you. And the lie. Or was it the truth? You didn’t even know anymore. The weight of the words that had slipped out before you could stop them—they felt heavier now, like stones sinking in your stomach. You said it because you wanted to believe it was real. But what about him? What would he think if he knew?
The sound of the doorbell yanked you from your thoughts. It was him.
You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the chaos inside, and opened the door. Dave stood there, as he always did, with his messy curls and a small smile that grew wider just for you. He held a plastic bag with a pack of fries and two sodas—the kind of thing he always brought because he knew you loved it.
“Hey,” he said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping inside. His touch was warm, familiar. But tonight, it felt harder to relax around him, like the storm in your head was keeping you from grounding yourself in the moment.
“Hey,” you replied, closing the door as he made his way to the kitchen, putting the sodas in the fridge without even asking. He’d been doing this for so long that it was second nature.
“You okay?” Dave asked, opening the bag of fries and tossing one into his mouth. He looked at you with those blue eyes, his forehead creasing slightly with concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answered quickly—maybe too quickly. He noticed. Of course, he did. Dave had always had this uncanny ability to sense when something was off, even when you tried to hide it.
“Are you sure? You seem kind of...” He gestured vaguely with his hand.
“I’m fine,” you insisted, a bit more firmly. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“Okay.” He shrugged, but the way he kept watching you while munching on a fry made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Wanna watch a movie or something? I brought that one you said you wanted to see...”
“I’m not sure I feel like watching a movie tonight,” you replied, trying to keep your voice neutral as you grabbed a glass of water for yourself. It was a small response, almost insignificant, but the tension was already starting to build.
“Alright, so what do you want to do?” He leaned against the kitchen counter, his gaze calm and his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the knot tightening inside you.
“I don’t know, Dave!” The words came out sharper than you intended, and the tone in your voice made his eyebrows lift.
“Okay, easy,” he said slowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was just asking. No need to bite my head off.”
You sighed, guilt starting to creep in. But instead of stopping, the words began spilling out before you could catch them. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just... I don’t know. I’m tired. I had a rough day, and then you show up with your fries like everything is so simple, like... like I just need a movie, and everything will be fine.”
He blinked, visibly confused, but his tone remained calm. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t know you were feeling so... like this.”
“Like this?” You crossed your arms, the tension in your stance growing. “What’s that supposed to mean, Dave?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, but now there was something in his tone that suggested he was trying to keep his patience in check.
“Actually, I don’t,” you shot back, your voice rising. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt the sting of tears welling in your eyes, and the lump in your throat that had been forming all day was now nearly unbearable.
Dave noticed immediately. Of course, he did. He might not have been great with words, but he never failed to pick up on when something was wrong with you. His expression shifted in an instant, confusion giving way to a concern so genuine it made you feel even more vulnerable.
“Hey, hey,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “What’s going on? Are you crying?”
“I’m not,” you lied, turning your face away, but he didn’t buy it.
“Yes, you are,” he insisted, and before you could step back, Dave was already close enough to gently take your hands in his. “Look at me.”
You hesitated but finally lifted your gaze. His blue eyes met yours, filled with so much concern it was almost impossible to hold the contact.
“Talk to me,” he said. It wasn’t a command; it was an invitation. “Please.”
The weight in your chest felt like it was about to explode, and the words came out before you could stop them.
“I ran into Katie.”
Dave blinked, visibly surprised. “Katie?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed, trying to look away, but he stayed close, holding your hands with almost unbearable tenderness. “We bumped into each other by chance. Talked for a few minutes.”
He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, now a mix of curiosity and concern. “And?”
“She asked about you,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “And I... I told her I was your girlfriend.”
Dave went quiet for a moment. Not the heavy silence of judgment, but the kind of pause he always took when he was trying to fully understand something.
“Okay,” he began cautiously. “And... why does that seem to be hurting you?”
“Because I don’t know if it’s true!” you burst out, the confession hitting with a force that made you flinch. “I said I was your girlfriend, but I didn’t know if I was lying. We’ve never talked about this, never put a name on what we have. And now all I can think about is whether I said something that wasn’t real.”
For a moment, he stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused.
“Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?”
You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question.
“I... I didn’t know,” you admitted, your voice weak, barely a whisper.
“But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious. I mean, we see each other all the time, spend nights together, you steal my shirts...”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” you cut him off, frustration mixed with nervousness. “People do that all the time without dating, Dave.”
“But I don’t do that with just anyone,” he countered, his blue eyes locking onto yours, as if he wanted to make this point crystal clear. “I do that with you because I want to be with you. Because I thought... well, I thought it was obvious.”
“But you never said it,” you argued, feeling the tears starting to return. “And I never said it either. And that’s what’s been driving me crazy. I didn’t know what we were.”
Dave sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked like he was processing everything all at once, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he stepped closer until he was near enough to hold your hands again.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Then let’s make it clear now.”
His tone was calm but firm, and when he spoke again, it felt like every word had been carefully chosen.
“I’m with you,” he said. “And I thought that was obvious, but if it wasn’t, I’m saying it now: I want to be with you. Just you. And if that means we’re dating, then yeah, I guess we’re dating.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.
“But...” you began, the word almost lost in the lump in your throat. “What about Katie?”
He frowned, clearly caught off guard by the change in topic.
“What about Katie?”
“She was your first girlfriend,” you continued, your voice cracking slightly. “And I remember how you two were. Everyone thought you were perfect together. And now, seeing her again, I can’t stop thinking that...”
“That what?” He tilted his head, his blue eyes filled with concern.
“That I’ll never be good enough,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Dave was silent for a moment, but before you could say more, he shook his head with a soft, incredulous laugh.
“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice full of almost overwhelming tenderness.
You looked at him, confused.
“I broke up with Katie years ago,” he said, as though reminding you of something obvious. “And yeah, it was important to me. She was my first girlfriend. But that doesn’t mean anything now. She’s part of my past, that’s all. You’re my present. And my future, if I’m lucky.”
You tried to process his words, but the lump in your throat only seemed to grow.
“But what if I’m not enough?” you asked, your voice trembling.
“You already are enough,” he answered immediately, without hesitation. He stepped closer, so close that you were almost nose to nose. “More than enough. And you don’t need to compare yourself to Katie or anyone else. Because no one comes close to you, got it? No one.”
His eyes were so intense, so full of emotion, that you felt tears slipping down your cheeks.
“I’m here because I want to be here,” he continued, his voice now softer. “Because you’re who I want. And nothing—absolutely nothing—is going to change that.”
You closed your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it was impossible. When you opened them again, Dave was already pulling you into a tight embrace, wrapping you in a tenderness that felt both overwhelming and comforting all at once.
Dave’s arms tightened around you as if he were trying to shield you from the outside world—or maybe from yourself. The warmth of his body surrounded you, and for a moment, the only sound you could hear was the steady beat of his heart, like a reassuring rhythm that seemed to absorb all the anxiety that had consumed you until then.
“You’re more than enough,” he repeated, his voice low and steady, as if it were something he needed you to believe more than anything else. And you wanted to believe it.
Minutes passed like that, in a cocoon of quiet comfort, with him holding you as if the whole world had disappeared. And you stayed there, letting yourself surrender to that sense of relief, of not needing to worry about anything else. Just the present. Just him.
Finally, you lifted your head, your face warm and your eyes still a little teary but calmer. You looked at him, and he looked back at you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were being seen in a way no one else ever could.
“Do you really think I’m enough for you?” you asked, your voice softer now but still tinged with uncertainty. You knew he’d answered, but you needed to hear it again, to be sure.
Dave smiled, a smile that made his eyes shine with a mix of affection and certainty. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lightly grazing your skin, and answered with a tenderness that warmed your chest.
“I don’t just think,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I know. And if you let me, I’ll show you that every single day. Because to me, you’re everything. And nothing, no one, can change that.”
His words echoed softly but with a force that was impossible to ignore. And in that moment, with your heart racing and your breath unsteady, you finally understood what he was trying to tell you. It didn’t matter what had happened in the past or the insecurities you carried. What mattered was what he was offering you now. It was real. And you wanted to believe it. Wanted to allow yourself.
You gave a small smile, the tears still falling but now accompanied by a growing sense of peace that began to fill the spaces left by doubt. “I don’t want to compare myself to anyone,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But sometimes it’s hard.”
Dave gave a small laugh, gently cupping your cheeks. “I get it,” he said. “But never forget: you’re who I chose. And you don’t need to be like anyone else. You’re unique to me, and that’s all I need.”
He pulled you closer again, and this time, instead of insecurity, the embrace was filled with something softer yet stronger—a sense that you’d found your place, a safe place full of care.
Time passed slowly, and you felt calmer, as if his words had cleared the chaos in your mind. When you looked into his eyes, you no longer saw doubt or fear—just certainty. And you felt it too. The certainty that, with him by your side, everything would be okay.
“I love you,” you whispered, not thinking too much, but with a truth that burned through your skin and filled your chest with something so profound that words couldn’t fully translate it.
Dave smiled, that genuine, happy smile of his. “I love you too,” he replied, before leaning in for a gentle kiss that made the world seem to pause for a moment. A kiss that needed no explanations. A kiss that said everything about who you were—and everything you were still about to become.
#dave lizewski x you#dave lizewski fanfiction#dave lizewski x reader#dave lizewski x y/n#dave lizewski#writers on tumblr#fanfiction#romance#aaron taylor johnson#atj#fluffy#atj x reader#writing#no use of y/n#kick ass x you#kick ass x reader#kick ass fic#kick ass#aaron taylor johnson x reader#hurt/comfort#light angst
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Finite Incantatem
Remus Lupin x f!reader
Summary: The days that followed the Patronus were a silent battle. You tried, with all the strength you had, to go back to normal. But what was "normal" when the silver stag continued to haunt your thoughts, even in the absence of its light? You did your best to convince yourself you were fine. And when you couldn’t, Remus was there.
Warnings: angst with a happy ending, no use of y/n, during hogwarts
A/N: anon, I hope this meets your expectations <333!!
Masterlist | Expecto Patronum
The days that followed the Patronus were a silent battle. You tried, with all the strength you had, to go back to normal. But what was "normal" when the silver stag continued to haunt your thoughts, even in the absence of its light?
James didn’t bring it up again, but something had changed about him. He knew, of course. He had seen the Patronus. He understood what it meant, yet somehow, he remained the same James—or almost. He still ruffled his hair with that careless intensity, still made jokes during dinner, still cared in that genuinely selfless way. But now there were moments of silence between you, brief pauses where he seemed to carefully choose his words, as if anything he said could hurt you.
He knew how much it hurt. Maybe because he was dealing with something he didn’t know how to fix either. James loved you. But not in the way you wanted him to. He wanted to see you happy, whole. And that was the cruelest part: he loved you enough to wish you would stop loving him that way.
You did your best to convince yourself you were fine. And when you couldn’t, Remus was there.
You found comfort in his arms, even when you hated needing that comfort. Remus never asked questions. He just knew, as he always had. He didn’t need words to understand you were on the edge of the abyss. He would simply appear, with that calm gaze and a presence that wrapped around you like a blanket in the dead of winter.
That night, after an especially hard day—seeing James and Lily studying together in the library, leaning over the same book, had been enough to crush the fragile control you had managed to rebuild, and you hated yourself for it—you went to the one place you knew you’d find Remus. He was in the common room, near the fireplace, a book resting on his lap and a forgotten cup of tea beside him.
He looked up the moment he heard your footsteps, and the book was closed without hesitation.
“Are you okay?” he asked, but it was rhetorical. He knew you weren’t.
You just shook your head, your eyes brimming with tears. He stood up immediately, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps, as if not to startle you. When he stopped in front of you, he didn’t say anything. He just opened his arms.
You walked into them as if pulled by some inevitable force. And when his arms wrapped around you, it was as if the world stopped spinning for a moment. There were no words, only the quiet sound of his breathing and the warmth radiating from his body.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered against his chest, your voice weak and broken.
“I know,” he replied, and there was something in his voice—a weight you couldn’t quite identify at the time, but it felt as full of emotion as your own. “I know.”
He held you tightly, one hand moving up to your hair while the other stayed firm on your back, anchoring you. The tears started to fall, slow at first, then in a torrent you couldn’t control. And Remus stayed there, steady, letting you fall apart without saying a word.
There was something comforting in how he didn’t try to fix you. He didn’t say it would be okay because he knew that wouldn’t help. Instead, he just stayed, bearing the weight you couldn’t carry alone.
After a while, as the tears began to slow, you realized how safe it felt to be in his arms. There was a calmness there, something so different from the overwhelming passion you felt for James. Remus’s touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were afraid of breaking you.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice low and rough, as if every word carried deliberate care. “I’m here. Always.”
You felt the weight of those words settle in your chest, not in an oppressive way, but in a comforting one. Like a soft reminder that you didn’t have to be strong all the time.
His face was close enough that you could hear the slight unevenness in his breathing, but what stood out most was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear. A simple sound, but in that moment, it felt like the only thing keeping you grounded.
“Thank you,” you murmured, the words difficult to get out past the lump still tight in your throat.
Remus didn’t respond right away. He just stayed there, his calmness seeming infinite. His fingers traced slow, soothing circles on your back, as if he were trying to convey through that gesture everything he wasn’t saying aloud.
And you stayed there, unmoving, feeling as though the weight of the world had finally eased just a little. The pain wasn’t gone—it was still there, a constant presence—but it felt more bearable. Less suffocating. Maybe because he was sharing that burden with you, silently.
“The world feels… a little lighter now,” you whispered, almost without realizing you’d spoken aloud. It wasn’t entirely true, but it was the closest you could admit.
You didn’t see it, but Remus smiled softly. “Sometimes, you just need someone to remind you that you’re not alone.”
There was something in the way he said it, in the gentle, understanding tone, that made your chest tighten. Not from pain, but from gratitude. Because no matter how messy and confusing life was, at least for now, you had a safe harbor.
Silence fell between you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. On the contrary, there was something almost sacred in that moment. You let your eyes close and focused on the little details: the firmness of his embrace, the warmth radiating from his body, the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat, still steady, still grounding.
The dormitory's silence was comfortable, like a heavy blanket muffling any noise from the outside world. You had stayed longer than you should, delaying the inevitable moment of stepping out and facing the day. You hoped, perhaps, that the common room would already be empty, that everyone had already left for Hogsmeade, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
But when you descended the stairs, you found Sirius lounging casually on the arm of one of the chairs, spinning his wand between his fingers with an expression of pure patience. He looked up the moment you appeared, a mischievous smile spreading across his lips.
"Finally! I thought I’d have to find a way to break into your room," he teased, standing up with his usual carefree grace and crossing his arms. "I thought we might lose you to the castle walls. Are you grounded, or just hiding from me?"
You stopped in the middle of the room, surprised to see him there. "I didn’t think you’d still be here. I thought everyone had already gone."
"I decided to wait," Sirius replied, a playful glint in his eyes. "I told myself, 'Sirius, you're irresistible, but maybe she needs a little nudge today.' So here I am. And before you say no, let me save you the trouble. We're going to Hogsmeade, and you're coming with us."
He stepped closer, stopping in front of you and tilting his head slightly, his dark hair falling over his shoulders. "It’ll be fun. We’ll buy some sweets, maybe one of those terrible teas James insists on drinking, and you’ll remember how good it feels to be with your friends."
You took a deep breath, a familiar tightness in your chest. "Thank you, Sirius, but… I don’t think I want to go."
For a moment, his smile faltered, but it quickly returned, as determined as ever not to take no for an answer. "Oh, come on, don’t make me beg. I’m terrible at begging. My dignity can’t take it."
"Sirius…" you began, but he raised a hand, cutting you off.
"Alright, alright. But just because you’re stubborn doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I’ll give you some time. I’ll be back before you know it. Keep an eye out."
He stepped back, raising his hands as if surrendering. The smile was still there, but something deeper lingered in his eyes — a genuine concern he tried to mask with his usual charm. "You know where to find us if you change your mind."
You simply nodded, and Sirius hesitated for a moment before turning and leaving through the common room entrance, leaving behind a silence that felt almost tangible.
Later, you found solace in wandering the castle. The emptiness of the hallways was almost comforting, the familiar walls seeming to hold your deepest thoughts. You were so absorbed in your own musings that you almost didn’t notice the tall, lean figure at the bend of a corridor.
“Remus?” The surprise colored your voice, pulled from a place you couldn’t quite control. “I thought you went to Hogsmeade.”
He turned, his disheveled hair catching a timid ray of light streaming through a high window. His smile appeared with that characteristic softness, a gesture so subtle it seemed to contain all the warmth of a sunny day.
“I didn’t go,” he said, with the simplicity that made everything about him feel so natural. “I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
You blinked, your eyes fixed on him, and felt your chest tighten in a familiar yet unexpected way. The words were so sincere they hurt. You opened your mouth, struggling to respond, but all that came out was, “You… you didn’t have to do that.”
Remus tilted his head slightly, a trace of amusement in his eyes. “I know,” he replied, his tone calm as always. “But I wanted to.”
Just like that. No room for doubt, no room for misunderstandings. He wanted to stay. For you.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried something deeper, something that seemed to hum in the air between you. Before you could respond, Remus took a step closer and extended his hand.
“Shall we?” he suggested, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You stared at his hand for a moment, taking in the long fingers, the slightly short nails as if he had a habit of biting them. Hesitant, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warm, surprisingly firm texture of his skin. When he closed his fingers around yours, the gesture was so natural and gentle that your heart stumbled over a beat.
As you walked together, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the empty halls, you couldn’t help but notice how his hand seemed to fit perfectly in yours. It wasn’t something you’d noticed before — the warmth radiating from him, the light but steady pressure of his fingers against yours. It was comforting, like a silent anchor amid the internal storm you’d been battling.
“Remus,” you began, but stopped, realizing you didn’t know exactly what you wanted to say. Maybe it was a thank-you, or maybe it was something you hadn’t yet found the words for.
“Hm?” He glanced at you sideways, his golden-brown eyes catching the soft light filtering through the windows.
You shook your head. “Nothing. Just… thank you.”
He smiled, and you felt something in your chest loosen, as if his presence made the air easier to breathe.
“You know you don’t have to thank me, right?” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “I’d do it anyway.”
Once again, you found yourself without a response. He was so simple in his kindness that it was disarming. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading through your chest with every small gesture of his.
His fingers tightened gently around yours, guiding you lightly as he turned into another hallway. You felt a faint shiver run up your arms, not from the cold, but from the strange realization of how natural his touch felt.
The castle felt different with him by your side. The weight you'd been carrying for weeks felt a little less crushing. And, even though you didn't know exactly what it meant, there was something about the way his steps stayed in sync with yours that gave you a new sense of comfort.
"Are you still reading that novel you borrowed from the library?" Remus asked, breaking the comfortable silence as you walked through a corridor bathed in pale morning light.
You smiled softly, thinking about the book that now rested beside your bed, the bookmark still stuck in the same spot where you'd left it days ago. "I'm trying, but I haven't been able to concentrate much lately. Maybe I should pick something lighter."
"Lighter?" Remus raised an eyebrow, that gentle teasing tone so natural to him. "Are you thinking about giving the Quidditch section a chance?"
You laughed, the sound softly echoing off the stone walls. "I said lighter, not guaranteed sleep."
He laughed too, and the sound was warm and inviting, like a mug of hot chocolate on a cold night. The kind of sound that made you want to keep talking, just to hear it again.
"But seriously," you continued, "I think I like novels because they have this… magical thing, you know? That feeling that anything is possible, even if only for a few pages."
"You mean happy endings?" Remus suggested, his playful tone softened by something more genuine.
"That too. But not just that." You hesitated, choosing your words. "I like how they describe… moments. Like a ball, for example. It always seems so… wonderful."
Remus glanced at you, his golden eyes shining in the light. "You've never been to a ball?"
"No." You shrugged, a slightly self-conscious smile escaping. "I wish I knew what it's like. I guess I've always wanted to experience it, but I never had the chance."
He stopped walking, gently pulling you to face him. "I think we can fix that right now."
"What?" You blinked, surprised.
Remus tilted his head as if considering something, then extended his hand to you with a nearly ceremonial gesture. "May I have the honor of this dance?"
The laughter escaped before you could stop it, but there was something in his expression—something sincere and kind—that made your heart skip a beat. "Here? In the middle of the hallway?"
"Why not?" he asked, his playful smile softened by a sparkle in his eyes that made you momentarily forget how to breathe.
Hesitant but unable to resist that look, you placed your hand in his. Remus's fingers wrapped around yours with an almost reverent gentleness, as if he held something as fragile as crystal but as precious as gold. He didn't rush the moment; instead, he let the silence between you speak more than any words could. Then, slowly, he lowered his head, keeping his eyes on yours until the last moment before bringing your fingers to his lips.
The touch was so soft it was almost a whisper, but it was enough to make your heart stumble, as if it had forgotten its rhythm for a brief second. It wasn't just the gesture itself—though there was something old-fashioned and almost poetic about it. It was the intention you felt behind it. As if, in that small act, Remus was trying to say everything he might not know how to put into words.
"Ready for the clumsiest dance of your life?" he asked, his voice low but laced with a touch of humor that brought an involuntary smile to your lips.
"As long as you don't step on my toes," you replied, the playful tone masking the wave of emotion the moment had stirred.
"I'll do my best," he promised, with a smile that made the world feel a little less complicated.
He placed his other hand on your waist, with a care that seemed almost hesitant, as if waiting for a signal from you to continue. When you gave a small nod, he took the first step. There was no music, only the sound of your steps softly echoing through the empty hallway, yet it felt perfect.
You moved slowly, almost as if testing the waters, until the awkward attempt at a waltz soon transformed into something simpler, more natural. Just the gentle sway of two bodies in perfect sync. He laughed when you missed a step, and the sound was so pure, so full of life, that you couldn't help but laugh too.
"I never said I could dance," he teased, lightly squeezing your hand as if to reaffirm the connection between you.
"But I said I trusted you," you replied, feeling your smile widen despite yourself. "Clearly, that was a mistake."
"This isn't so bad, is it?" he countered, feigning offense. "I think we're doing better than I expected."
You didn't answer but allowed yourself to be led. Before you knew it, your movements slowed, the laughter faded, and the dance became just the soft sway of two bodies in perfect harmony. And, at some point, without thinking too much, you rested your head on his shoulder.
It was a natural movement, as if it were the only place in the world you wanted to be. And when you did, you felt his chest rise and fall with his breathing, slow and steady, like an anchor bringing peace to your chaos. His heartbeat echoed against your ear, firm and rhythmic, and there was something incredibly comforting about it. As if, no matter how much the world seemed to be falling apart around you, there, in that moment, everything was exactly as it should be.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, absorbing his warmth, the familiar scent that always surrounded him—a mix of old books and something undeniably him. It was a place where you could simply exist, with no questions, no expectations, no pain.
And then, like a wave silently reaching the shore, the realization hit. You weren’t thinking about James. There wasn’t that heaviness in your chest, that constant ache that always seemed to be there, reminding you of everything that couldn't be. It was as if, for a brief moment, that pain had completely disappeared.
The realization was so sudden that your body tensed for a moment, a movement almost imperceptible, but Remus noticed. He slightly pulled back, just enough to look at you.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, but filled with concern.
"Yes," you replied quickly, not knowing exactly why you felt the need to deny it. "Just… just tired, I think."
He didn’t push. He just observed you for a moment longer, as if trying to decipher something he couldn’t fully understand, before nodding.
"Alright," he said finally, with a small smile that seemed to say he would accept whatever answer you chose to give. And then, with the same gentleness as before, he resumed the slow, soft steps, as if wanting this moment to last forever.
And, for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that it could. That the world could wait, and that, as long as you were there, in his arms, everything would be okay.
The night was particularly quiet, the castle's dim lights casting soft shadows across the empty corridors. You walked slowly, lost in thoughts that, lately, seemed to have a specific name: Remus. It was almost embarrassing how your mind gravitated toward him effortlessly. The way he smiled, the tilt of his head when he heard something interesting, even the gentle tone of his voice when he spoke about books or simple things. It was disconcerting, like a revelation that had come far too late.
You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they always seemed to return. How could you have been so blind? Years by his side, and only now were you realizing everything he was? Everything he meant? The fear of ruining anything between you grew with each passing day, like a shadow you couldn't escape.
"Are you lost in the castle, or in your own thoughts?" The familiar voice made you stop abruptly, and you turned to find James, casually leaning against a nearby wall. He wore that mischievous grin as always, but there was something softer in his eyes tonight.
“James,” you responded, surprised. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I should be asking you that,” he said, straightening up and strolling toward you with relaxed steps. “I thought you’d disappeared off the face of the earth. We haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks.”
You offered a small, hesitant smile. “I... I’ve been busy.”
“You mean you’ve been avoiding everyone,” he corrected, raising an eyebrow. “But I get it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable but rather heavy with mutual understanding.
“You seem... better, you know?” he commented, breaking the quiet as he crossed his arms, studying you like he was trying to read something in your expression. “Lighter, somehow.”
You laughed softly, the sound low and slightly nervous. “Do I?”
“Yeah,” he affirmed, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. “And I have a theory about that.”
“Oh? And what brilliant theory might that be?”
He took a step closer, a conspiratorial smile tugging at his lips. “I think it has something to do with a certain friend of ours. Quiet guy, likes chocolate, hides behind books.”
Your face immediately heated, and James laughed, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Ah, see? I knew I was right.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quickly, looking away, but that only made his grin widen.
“Sure, you do,” he countered, tilting his head slightly. “And it’s fine, you know? It’s kind of impossible not to notice. He looks at you like… like you’re the only thing that matters.”
Your heart skipped a beat, but for reasons that had changed over the past few months. The idea of Remus looking at you that way wasn’t something you knew how to process. And yet, it made something warm and unfamiliar stir within you.
James seemed to catch something in your expression because his smile softened. He stepped closer, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. “You deserve to be happy,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “And if he’s the one who makes you happy, then... don’t hold back, you know? Don’t overthink it. Just... go for it.”
You stared at him, surprised by the weight of his words, and realized something. James was truly happy for you. There was no tension, no awkwardness. He was just your friend, rooting for you, and that was all that mattered.
Before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, a simple gesture but filled with affection and familiarity. “You deserve it,” he repeated, as if he wanted to make sure you never forgot.
And that’s when you realized. His touch didn’t make your heart race. There was no longer that nervous anticipation, that yearning. It was just James, your friend. And for the first time, you wanted nothing more than that.
When he pulled back, there was a soft light in his eyes, like he was genuinely content with the change he saw in you. You watched him for a moment, a shy smile forming on your lips as you decided to say something you’d been holding onto.
“James?” you called, your voice quiet but enough to make him pause and turn back to you.
“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, looking curious.
“You deserve to be happy too.” The words came out with more conviction than you expected, but it felt too important to let it go unsaid. “And... Lily’s amazing. You two just... make sense. I think she’s good for you.”
He blinked, surprised, before a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “You really think so?”
“I do.” You nodded, feeling a strange lightness in saying it out loud. “You deserve someone who makes you smile that goofy smile you don’t even realize you’re doing. And she does, doesn’t she?”
James let out a short laugh, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, maybe I’m a bit obvious.”
“A bit?” you teased, smiling softly. “James, you’ve always been obvious.”
“Hey!” He feigned indignation, but the laughter escaped him anyway. He looked relieved, almost as if he’d been waiting for your approval without realizing it.
There was a moment of silence between you, one of those moments that didn’t need filling. You knew each other so well that words were sometimes unnecessary. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentler.
“I don’t want us to lose this, you know? You and me. We’ve always been a team.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture betraying a hint of nervousness. “Lily’s... special. But you’re still my friend, and that’s not going to change.”
“Not for a second.” You smiled, feeling entirely sincere. “Always a team, right?”
“Right.” He stepped closer, his eyes warm in a way that felt reassuring. “Now, go get some sleep, or Remus will blame me for your dark circles tomorrow.”
You laughed, the sound light, lifting the remaining weight in your chest. “Good night, James.”
“Good night,” he replied, waving as he began to walk away. “And think about what I said, okay?”
You stood there for a moment, watching where he’d disappeared, before finally turning around. There was no more heaviness, no more ache. Just a quiet gratitude for the fact that he had been—and always would be—a vital part of your life. And with that, you knew he’d always be there, just as you would always be for him.
The sun seemed different that day, as if it knew something special was in the air. The golden light bathed the land far from the castle, where an old blanket was spread out beneath the welcoming shade of a tree. It was the place you and Remus always chose to hide from the world, surrounded by books and an almost untouchable peace.
But today wasn’t about books. Not for you.
Remus was lying on the blanket, his arms behind his head, eyes closed as the sun kissed his skin. There was something so carefree in the way he rested there, his brown hair slightly messy and a calmness that seemed rare for him. You watched him with a restless heart, almost embarrassed by the intensity of your own thoughts.
He had always been beautiful to you, but now... now there was something more. Something that made your chest tighten every time he was near, something you knew you couldn’t ignore anymore.
You took a deep breath, trying to push away the anxiety that was growing inside you, and focused on the sight in front of you. He looked so relaxed, so different from the composed and disciplined Remus he showed the world. Without even realizing it, you began to lean closer.
Your eyes stopped on the scars that cut across his face, faint but impossible to ignore. They had always been there, but for some reason, today they seemed to scream for your attention. Before you could think better, your hand moved on its own, fingers gently brushing against his skin.
Remus startled at the touch, his eyes snapping open as he tried to pull away.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, his voice embarrassed and almost inaudible. “I... I…” Remus began, sitting up suddenly, his face already flushed with shame, as if he had made an unforgivable mistake by letting you get so close. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”
“Remus.” Your voice was calm but firm, cutting through the whirlwind of apologies before he could continue. He stopped, hesitating, his eyes downcast as if he were trying to hide the vulnerability that kept slipping out.
“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice as soft as the touch of your fingers still hovering in the air between you.
He hesitated again, the discomfort visible in the furrowing of his brows and the way his hand instinctively went to his face, trying to cover the scars he clearly thought were something to hide.
“I... I know they’re ugly,” he murmured, the words almost lost in the breeze. His voice was so quiet, so filled with silent pain that it squeezed your heart.
You shook your head slowly, feeling your throat tighten, and before you could stop yourself, your hand rose again. But this time, you didn’t stop. Your fingers touched his cheek more firmly, a deliberate caress that made him freeze.
“Remus,” you began, your voice steady but full of tenderness. “No scar of yours would make me love you less.”
He blinked, his eyes wide as his hand stayed where it was, the palm feeling the warmth of his skin. The confusion mixed with disbelief in Remus’s gaze made him look even younger, even more vulnerable than you already knew he was.
“I…” He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, as if they were stuck in his throat.
“You don’t have to hide,” you continued, your fingers tracing the line of one of his scars almost reverently. “These marks tell your story. And every part of it makes you who you are.”
Remus let out a tremulous sigh, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He didn’t say anything, but you could see it in his eyes—a storm of emotions he couldn’t contain anymore.
“I…” you started, but the words died before they left your lips. Your heart felt like it was beating so loudly that he must have heard it. The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was thick, laden with everything you had been feeling, with everything that was about to overflow.
Remus waited, his eyes fixed on yours, saying nothing, but you could see the concern in him. As if he was more worried about what you couldn’t say than about the silence itself.
“Sorry,” you murmured, averting your gaze for a moment, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I just… I don’t know how to say this.”
He tilted his head, his hands still firmly on the ground beside the blanket, but not intrusive. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice low, almost a whisper. “You can tell me whatever you want, in your time.”
That gentleness, that patience... it was exactly what had always been there, right in front of you, but it had taken you so long to see it.
“That’s it,” you finally said, your voice more rushed than you intended. “That’s it. You’ve always been this way, Remus. Always so…” You took a deep breath, summoning courage. “So kind, so patient, so... you.”
He blinked, as if he didn’t know where you were going, but the light blush that colored his cheeks showed that he was starting to understand.
“I…” You looked away again, your fingers instinctively tracing an imaginary line on the fabric of the blanket. “I feel so stupid. For so long, everything I needed was right here. And I was blind. Blind to you. To us.”
Remus opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand, stopping him. “Please, let me finish.”
He nodded, his gaze now so intense it felt like it was piercing you.
“I never understood why you were always so close,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly. “Even when you didn’t need to be. Even when I was so… stuck on something that was never going to take me anywhere.”
Remus lowered his eyes for a moment, as if he was protecting something he didn’t want you to see.
“But now I see,” you said, your voice softening. “I see it was you. It was always you. And I don’t know how I never realized it before, but... I see it now.”
He raised his eyes again, and the intensity in his gaze took your breath away. There was no rush, just a sea of emotions you could barely decipher.
“I’m in love with you, Remus,” you whispered finally, the words coming out like a secret you barely dared to reveal. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”
The silence between you was absolute, but not uncomfortable. It was as if the whole world was waiting, holding its breath with you.
Then, slowly, he lifted a hand, hesitant but steady, and placed it gently against your cheek. The warmth of his touch made your heart stumble.
“I’ve waited,” he said, his voice hoarse but full of emotion. “I waited because you’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it.”
His eyes burned with tears you hadn’t known you were holding back, but you couldn’t speak, because at that moment, he leaned in, closing the distance between you.
When his lips met yours, it was as if all the pieces finally clicked into place. The kiss was slow, tender, filled with everything you both were feeling. There was no rush, just the certainty that this moment was exactly where you belonged.
The world seemed to stop in that instant. All that existed was the warmth of his fingers against your skin, the brown eyes looking at you with a tenderness so overwhelming it made your heart race. You had never felt so seen, so understood.
“I’m yours,” he repeated, almost in a whisper, as if those words carried a weight he was relieved to finally share.
A soft smile spread across your lips, and you tilted your face slightly against his hand, savoring the touch. “And I’m yours, Remus,” you replied, your voice almost breaking with emotion. “I always have been, even when I didn’t know.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he needed to focus to process it all. When he opened them again, there was a different shine there—something that blended relief, happiness, and a calm yet intense joy.
You lifted your hand, your fingers hesitating as they traced the line of his jaw, outlining the small imperfections that seemed to tell stories you knew he rarely shared. “I want to take care of your heart,” you said softly, your voice filled with a promise that came from the depths of your soul. “The way you’ve taken care of mine.”
He laughed, a low, almost disbelieving sound, but not in mockery. It was the sound of someone who had finally received something they had longed for so long. “You already do,” he said, his voice thick. “You always have.”
You moved a little closer, until your foreheads were touching, and the world around you completely disappeared. “I want to do this forever,” you murmured. “With every part of me.”
His lips found yours again, this time with a softness that was almost reverent, as if he wanted to hold onto that moment forever. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a meeting of souls, a silent exchange of everything you both felt.
When he pulled away, just enough to look at you again, there was a smile on his lips that seemed to light up his whole face. “I never thought I could be this happy,” he said, the sincerity in his voice almost taking your breath away.
You laughed softly, touching his cheek with affection. “Neither did I,” you confessed. “But now I know. I know it all makes sense because it’s with you.”
He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, and this time, it was he who hid his face in the curve of your neck. “I won’t let you go,” he murmured against your skin. “Never.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” you replied, your fingers weaving through his hair.
You stayed there, in each other’s arms, as the soft wind played with the leaves around you, the warmth of the sun heating your bodies. It was so simple, yet so perfect.
Remus leaned back just enough to place a brief kiss on your forehead, then another on the tip of your nose, and another on your lips. Small gestures, full of affection that seemed to overflow from within him.
“I love you,” he said softly, looking into your eyes as if he wanted to imprint that moment in his memory forever.
Your heart tightened, but this time it was a good tightness, filled with emotion. You pulled him into a quick kiss, feeling his smile against your lips. “I love you too.”
You didn’t need any more words. It had all been said, it had all been felt. What mattered was what you both knew, right then, in that instant: that together, you were complete.
The cold breeze of the Forbidden Forest surrounded you as you stood alone in the same place where so many things had changed. Time seemed to have passed too quickly since that day with Remus, since the moment when everything in your life had transformed. Now, you were together, and you still wondered how it had taken you so long to see what had always been right in front of you.
But, in that moment, something different occupied your thoughts.
The wand was firm in your hand, although your fingers trembled slightly. You knew what you wanted to do, but the fear still hovered over you like a shadow. What if the stag appeared again?
You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, letting the gentle sound of the wind and the distant song of birds calm your nerves. Remus wasn't there now, but just thinking of him, something inside you filled with courage.
He was your home.
With your heart pounding, you opened your eyes, raised your wand, and, with firmness in your voice, you spoke:
“Expecto Patronum.”
The silvery light burst from the tip of the wand, strong and vibrant, illuminating the space around you with an almost ethereal beauty. You held your breath, your eyes wide as the shape began to materialize.
It was no longer a stag.
Before you, a delicate silver fox took form, its movements graceful like a dance as it walked around, its eyes shining like stars. The long, elegant tail swayed gently, and, for a moment, the fox stopped, looking directly at you as if it knew exactly who you were and what you represented.
Your heart leaped.
The fox was perfect. Strong, yet agile. Clever, yet full of charm. Delicate, but able to defend itself. And, somehow, you knew it was a reflection of who you had become, of who you had always been — someone who found strength in delicacy and courage in love.
Tears filled your eyes, but you smiled. It was as if that moment closed a cycle, as if everything had finally found its place.
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