#I don't remember the name of it tho so don't ask for it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soluversworld · 4 hours ago

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i can't take back my vote can i have the angst please many thank

ᴅᴇᴀʀ ꜱᴇᴀ ꜱᴀʟᴛ - ᴋᴏɪ! ᴍᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴅᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ x ɢ.ɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

14 DAYS WITH YOU is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!-

Words: long

Genre: Angst

If you find mistakes I'm sorry I did not proof read

(Reader is G.N)

Summary : You were a sacrifice to the ocean, that consumed your friend then why is the Koi God's features and movements represent him?

Trigger warnings

Death & Dying:

Grief & Loss:

Body Horror (Implied)

Unreliable Reality:

Existential Angst:

Poisoning:

Religious Themes (Sacrifice):

Violence:

Hopelessness & Despair

Most of the Koi fish! Lore was insipred from Momo's lore? It's there in discord I don't know if I'm good with angst so hehe...I hate this tho

A fairy tale’s supposed to end with something golden, something soft. Right?

Maybe.

…Oh my lord, Koi God.

Corland Bay is a town stitched together with salt and superstition. The sea takes, the sea gives back. Drop something screaming into the waves, and maybe—if it's feeling kind—it’ll spit out a miracle. Gills for lungs. Scales for skin. A promise that you'll keep breathing, long after you should’ve sunk.

You hate it. Have always hated it. But that's not something you say out loud. Violet chatters enough for the both of you, fills the silences you leave behind, swears she’s only doing it to keep you safe. Eleanor too, tucked behind her scripts, pressing the words into your hands so you won’t have to say them yourself.

But the village knows now. The weight of their eyes is a tide all its own. They ask why, but the answer’s got nothing to do with them. It never did.

You hate the Koi God. Always have. Always will. The village whispers it now, lets your name rot in their mouths like fish left too long in the sun. Blasphemy, they call it. Ungrateful. Foolish. But what do they know of grief? Of standing at the edge of a boat, wind cutting like knives, watching someone else drown in your place?

It was supposed to be you.

Not him.

But the sea doesn’t care for fairness. The village even less. They pried your hands from the wooden rails, from his wrist, from his shirt, from the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, and they let him go. You didn’t see him hit the water. Didn’t see him sink. Just the look in his eyes—blue, blue, blue—before he vanished into the maw of the waves.

He asked, once. Why the sea had to take. Why it couldn’t just be enough to live. You had no answer then. You have none now.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself that even now, with his name a ghost on your tongue. It’s nothing, nothing, nothing.

But you loved him.

Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe love isn’t the right word, because it feels too soft, too breakable, too far from the raw thing gnawing at your ribs. But you liked him. You know that much. And now he’s gone, and you’re still here, and the only thing left to hate is the god that took him.

The only thing left was the wedding bands. Small, golden, imperfect in the way only a child’s hands could make them. He made them for you—back when you were just kids, back when the ocean was still a place to play, not a thing to fear.

You never wore yours. Not the way it was meant to be worn. Just looped it through a chain, let it rest against your chest, where no one could take it from you. Where it stayed, long after he was gone.

Gone. Because his father gave him up.

Because the village needed someone, and a child was easier to swallow than a guilty conscience. Because when the hands dragged him to the boat, when the chants began, when he cried for someone—anyone—to stop it, his father didn’t. Didn’t fight. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even flinch.

You still remember the way he looked at you. Not at the village. Not at the sky. Not at the water that was about to devour him. Just at you.

Like he was asking something.

Like he was waiting for an answer you never found in time.

And maybe that’s why it still hurts. Because you were supposed to be the one to go. Because he should have had a choice. Because you still feel the weight of his band against your skin, heavier than it should be.

Because his father didn’t feel anything.

And you feel everything.

The morning felt heavier than usual. Like the air itself had thickened, pressing against your skin, making it harder to breathe.

You had to get ready. Today was… one of those days.

The village had its ways—its rituals, its rules, its sacrifices. And today, like every season before, someone would be chosen. Someone would be taken. Someone would be swallowed by the sea, and the rest of them would call it a blessing.

You pulled on your clothing with stiff hands, the wedding band against your chest warm from your skin. Too warm. Like it still held something of him, like it still remembered.

A knock at the door.

Violet stood there, cradling a potted plant in her arms, its leaves swaying with the breeze. She tilted her head. “Y/N…?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. She already knew.

“Today’s…” She trailed off, but you could hear the rest of the sentence in the space between her words.

Yeah.

You knew.

Your throat tightened as you swallowed. The whole village knew what today meant.

Violet shrugged, shifting the plant to one arm. “You should just stay inside,” she said, too casual, too light. “Call it a sick day. No one would blame you.”

You shook your head.

She sighed through her nose, giving you that same small, apologetic smile she always did. “Of course, Y/N.”

She didn’t push. She never did. Just glanced at you one last time before stepping off your porch. "Take care," she said, already walking away.

And then she was gone.

You were alone again. The silence pressed against your ribs.

Outside, the village was waiting.

Work was exhausting.

Today was one of those days—the kind where the air felt too thick, where everything reeked of seawater and incense, where magic scripts stacked high on your desk made your head pound. The village didn’t just throw someone into the waves and call it a day—no, it had to be done right. The words had to be written. The offerings had to be prepared. The ritual had to be perfect.

And you had to work through it.

You groaned under your breath, slamming your forehead against the desk, wishing—just for a second—that you could not care. That you could be like the rest of them, scribbling their prayers onto parchment with steady hands, believing the Koi God would keep them safe as long as they fed it enough bodies.

“Y/N…”

A soft voice. Gentle. A little nervous.

Eleanor.

You turned your head just enough to see her. She was right beside you, as always, a sunball of warmth wrapped in clumsy hands and hesitant smiles. She had ink on her fingers again—smudged across her palms, dotting her cheeks like freckles. She probably didn’t even realize it.

She fidgeted with her sleeves, eyes darting to the stacks of scripts. “It’s… a lot, huh?”

You groaned again. “Understatement of the year.”

She giggled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I—I could help! If you want…”

“You are helping.”

“Oh. Right. I just—” She tripped over her own words, biting her lip before trying again. “I just mean, um, I could take a little more. So you don’t have to do as much.”

You sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “You’re too nice, El.”

She turned pink. “I—I just—! It’s not—!”

You smirked. “Relax. You’re my favorite clumsy workmate.”

That only made her blush harder. She grumbled something under her breath, but you caught the tiniest smile tugging at her lips.

Yeah.

Eleanor was shy, fidgety, and a walking disaster when it came to handling anything fragile. But she was also your friend. Your workmate. Your gossip partner when the rituals were too much and you needed something—anything—else to think about.

suddenly, you heard a voice.

Its time?!

The village reeked of incense and salt. A hundred voices murmured their prayers in unison, a tide of empty words washing over the docks, begging the Koi God for another season of safety.

At the center of it all stood the village chief, old and bent but still carrying himself like his word was law. You hated him. Hated the way he grinned through yellowed teeth, the way he lifted his hands like he was something holy, the way he spoke of death as if it were a gift.

“This is a day of sacrifice and rejoicing,” he declared, voice carrying over the crowd. “One life given—one thousand lives guaranteed.”

A family stepped forward. A mother clutching her husband’s arm, sobbing into his shoulder. A father who looked away, jaw tight, unwilling to meet the eyes of the child standing between them.

A small thing. No older than seven. Wide, terrified eyes, choked-back sniffles, fingers curled into shaking fists.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s a child.”

The words were out before you could stop them, sharp and cutting, louder than the chief’s speech. The crowd turned. The chief turned. And when his eyes landed on you, they twisted in disgust.

“Oh,” he sneered. “It’s you.”

The crowd rustled with whispers. You knew what they were saying. Knew what they always said.

The God’s disrespecter.

The miracle that you were even still alive.

“Keep your mouth shut.” The chief’s voice was steel. A warning. A threat.

You felt the weight of the gold pendant against your chest, warm against your skin. You clenched your fists.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t swallow the anger. Didn’t choke it down and let the ritual pass.

You looked at the child.

And you refused.

“It’s wrong,” you said, voice shaking, raw. “Killing them—it’s wrong. That’s a child. They have a future.”

The chief laughed, low and mean, like he was humoring something pathetic. “Still crying over that one, are you?” His eyes gleamed, cruel and sharp. “If you cared so much, why didn’t you offer yourself back then? When he was pushed off the boat?”

The words hit like a fist to the ribs.

You swallowed hard. The crowd was watching. Waiting. Like a pack of hungry things, eager to see you snap, eager to see you break.

“The ones we offer,” the chief continued, voice thick with reverence, “are the reason our village thrives.”

You looked at them all—faces you had known since childhood, faces that had never once flinched at the sight of someone sinking into the sea, faces that would go home tonight and sleep soundly while a child drowned in the dark.

Something inside you twisted. Made you sick.

You wanted to kill him.

You wanted to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until he understood what it felt like to be powerless. To be small. To be chosen by someone else’s hands.

But you didn’t.

You pressed your fingers to the pendant at your throat, gold warm from your skin, and you breathed.

“Don’t do this,” you said.

The chief smiled, slow and vicious. “What’s wrong? Would you rather take their place?”

You exhaled. Steadied yourself.

Then you met his gaze—steady, cold, certain.

“Yes.”

Silence.

“I’d rather be the one than that child,” you said, voice unwavering, fingers curled tight around the pendant. “I’m tired of this village. Tired of all of you. Except maybe…”

Your breath hitched.

Maybe some.

You heard Conrad’s voice and a few others...—sharp, calling your name—but it was already too late. The chief reached for you, fingers gnarled like old roots, but you swatted his hand away with a sharp tch and walked past him.

Laughter followed. Low, smug. Like they had already won.

"Today’s bad luck will bring us fortune," someone jeered.

"Let us pray to the Koi God," another intoned, voice thick with mockery. "That their death is peaceful and safe."

That they die believing.

The boat waited, rocking gently against the dock. The men stood ready. The priests trailed behind, draped in ceremonial robes, their eyes hollow with practiced reverence.

You stepped forward. Dressed in white. Your own funeral clothes.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

A part of you almost laughed.

Ahaha.

How sad.

The boat rocked, slow and steady, carving its path through the ink-dark water. The priests droned their prayers, low and rhythmic, a hollow chant that meant nothing. The air smelled of salt, of something old and watching.

You clutched the ring. Gold, small, warm from the press of your palm. The weight of it dragged you back—childhood, his hands, the promise that should’ve been yours to break.

It should’ve been you.

Not him.

The memory split open in your chest, raw and aching. The boy’s face, his black hair damp with sea spray, his blue eyes wide—scared. But smiling, just for you, like it was okay, like it didn’t hurt.

You almost cried. Almost let the tears slip down your face. But the sea churned, restless. The priests prayed. The Koi God loomed, unseen but there.

You swallowed it all down.

You hated this. Hated them. The god, the sea, these people who had never once cared.

You hated it all.

The plank stretched before you, slick with sea spray, creaking under your weight. The priests droned on, their voices weaving a tapestry of empty reverence, of worship born from fear.

One of them—face obscured by his hood—stepped forward, pressing a small cup into your hands. Hydrangea, moonflower, teardrop. The name meant nothing. The liquid shimmered inside, dark and still.

“Drink.”

You did. No hesitation, no question. Maybe you should have.

It slid down your throat like silk, like rot. Your limbs turned heavy. Your breath slowed. The world around you dulled—sounds stretched thin, the air too thick to breathe.

Your feet carried you forward. Slow. Unsteady.

The plank creaked again.

Your memories flickered, bursting behind your eyes like dying stars.

The boy. Standing where you stood. A step away from the edge, the sea roaring beneath him.

His face. His eyes. That look.

You blinked hard, the weight in your chest turning unbearable.

Ah…? Ah…?

You almost felt—

Sad.

The sea took you like it always meant to. Cold fingers wrapped around your lungs, kissed the back of your throat, whispered lullabies in the form of salt and suffocation. You sank, hair fanning, arms useless—until something moved.

A shadow. A shape. A tail, slashing through the dark like a blade through silk.

Then—hands. Not human. Not quite. Webbed, strong, dragging you upward as if you weighed nothing, as if you weren’t meant to die today.

Your lips broke the surface just long enough to suck in air—just long enough to see the boat above, to hear the shouts, to taste the panic before—

THWIP.

An arrow.

Your savior jerked, pulling you down so fast the water split around you. Your lungs screamed. Your throat burned. Not again. Not again. Not again.

The sea swallowed you whole, and for a moment, you thought—fine. Let it. Let it take what it was always owed. Let it carve out your lungs and replace them with water, let it bury you alongside the boy who should’ve never left—

Except he did leave. He left, and you stayed.

You stayed. And you hated the Koi God for it.

But this? The hands gripping yours? The pale, glowing eyes staring into you like they already knew all your sins, all your grief, all your ugly, rotting thoughts—

This was the Koi God.

Wasn’t it?

A laugh—soft, amused—bubbled through the water. And oh, weren’t you stupid, weren’t you pathetic, weren’t you just another fool in a long line of fools who thought they knew how the sea worked?

The sea—hungry, howling, a beast with no teeth but endless, grasping hands—took. It took like it had always meant to, like it had been waiting, like it had let them have their rituals, their prayers, their thousand blessings, only to remind them—

It was never theirs to command.

You gasped—sputtering, shaking—pulled half onto the boat, the wood slick with salt and sin. The wind carried screams, choked and desperate, of men who thought themselves gods but were only ever bones waiting to sink.

They went down.

Their mouths opened for breath, but the sea poured in instead. Their hands reached for salvation, but only found the cold, merciless grasp of the deep.

And you?

You curled into yourself, small and shaking, a thing that should not have been spared, a thing that should have gone with them. The ring—warm from your skin, wet with salt and sweat—pressed against your palm, a whisper of gold in a world of dark water.

Your throat tightened. Your chest heaved. The air came in ragged, ugly sobs.

"Ahhhhhhh!!!"

It tore from you, raw, ripped-out, half-cry, half-curse.

The boat rocked—tilted—mocked you.

The waves lapped at its edges, gentle now, as if the sea had already finished its feast.

You cried.

The sound clawed its way out of your throat, ugly, jagged, raw—like something that had been ripped from you. Your breath came in panicked gasps, too fast, too shallow, choking on itself, on salt, on fear.

The screams were gone. Gone.

Only the water spoke now.

It lapped at the boat, mocking. Whispered in your ears, soothing. It had taken them—taken them all—just like it had taken him.

Your fingers dug into the wood—splinters driving under your nails—not enough, not enough to ground you. Your body trembled, useless, shaking so hard your teeth chattered. The night was warm. The wind was still. And yet you shook, bones rattling, lungs heaving, because you could still hear them.

The splashing. The struggling. The wet, gurgling gasps as their lungs filled with seawater. Their hands clawing at nothing. The moment their screams stopped.

You pressed your hands to your ears, shaking, shaking, shaking.

It didn't help.

The boat was too empty. The silence was too loud. The dark water stretched in all directions, vast, endless, and somewhere beneath it—they were still there.

Sinking.

Watching.

Waiting.

The ring dug into your palm, cold, solid, real. You clutched it so hard it hurt, biting into your flesh, as if holding it tighter would stop the way your body curled in on itself.

A hiccuping breath—too fast, too fast, too fast—you weren’t breathing right, weren’t thinking right, weren’t here anymore.

The waves rocked the boat, gentle now. Gentle.

Like hands lulling you to sleep.

The world was too bright.

Your eyelids peeled open like old paint, heavy, unwilling. The sky above you stretched vast and endless, blue as the ocean that should have swallowed you whole. It was too still. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt wrong.

You should be dead.

You weren't.

A hollow feeling curled in your stomach. Like something had gone wrong—like some unseen balance had tipped in your favor when it shouldn't have. The air felt too thick. Your breath sat heavy in your lungs.

You swallowed around the weight in your throat and dragged yourself upright, limbs sluggish, aching. The wood beneath you creaked as you stood, the boat rocking gently under your weight. The ocean stretched in all directions, gleaming in the morning light—so deceptively calm—like it hadn’t devoured an entire boat full of men the night before. Like it hadn’t taken them.

Like it hadn’t taken him.

Your hands curled into fists. You took a step toward the edge, knees unsteady, half-dizzy from exhaustion. You needed to see it. Needed to look. The water lapped lazily at the boat’s side, dark and endless and—

A ripple.

A shadow.

Then—eyes.

Pale. Ghostly. Blue as drowned lungs.

You froze.

The face that surfaced was eerily still, save for the dark strands of hair that clung to high cheekbones, waterlogged and dripping. A face carved from memory. A face shaped from nightmares.

A face twisted in anger.

Anguish.

The weight in your chest turned to ice.

You stared.

It stared back.

And for a moment—for one long, breathless second—you were a child again, standing at the edge of the boat, watching him sink..

The world spun in a blur of salt and storm.

You hit the water hard, the cold sinking into your bones like teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs before you could even gasp. The sea churned around you, dark and endless, clawing at your limbs with greedy hands. The emergency boat bobbed just within reach, but your arms felt weak—too weak. The weight of exhaustion dragged at your body, threatening to pull you under.

Then—hands.

Cold, smooth, unearthly.

They closed around your wrist, pulling, lifting—saving.

You thrashed on instinct, wrenching away with a strangled sound, kicking up a spray of seawater as you pushed yourself back. The storm raged above, but in the water, everything felt too still. The figure before you—half-hidden by the murk of the waves—watched in silence, their long, dark hair floating like ink in water. Red eyes burned through the gloom, glowing like dying embers, framed by fin-like ears that twitched at your rejection.

Ethereal. Alien. Unfamiliar.

And yet—not.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, your chest burning, your mind screaming at you to move, move, move—

And then they reached for you again.

Fingers wrapped firm around your wrist, gentle but unyielding, guiding you back to the emergency boat. You tried to resist, but your limbs were sluggish, the fight draining from your body with every second you spent struggling. The storm howled overhead. You gasped, choked on salt and air as you broke the surface again, your vision swaying, dark spots creeping into the edges.

The last thing you saw before collapsing onto the boat was their expression—soft. Sad.

Like they had been waiting for you.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling from exhaustion, from salt, from something far worse. The boat rocked beneath you, the storm's wrath quieting into an uneasy lull, as if the sea itself was waiting.

And then—movement.

A head breached the surface, slow and deliberate. Pale skin, dark hair slicked back by water, eyes red like dying coals. Fin-like ears twitched, droplets sliding down the golden chains draped over his shoulders, catching the dim light like shattered stars.

"Angel… are you okay?"

The voice—human? No. No, it couldn’t be. It was too smooth, too soft, slipping into your ears like the tide, whispering something familiar, something dangerous.

Your stomach twisted. You pushed yourself up on shaking arms, glaring down at the figure in the water with a face twisted in revulsion.

"The fuck are you?" The words came out hoarse, scraped raw from screaming, from swallowing too much salt, from choking on fear you refused to name.

He blinked at you, unphased. His gaze—deep, all-seeing—held only concern.

"Angel?"

Your breath hitched. A cold chill coiled around your ribs.

"Who's Angel?"

The name clung to you, sticky, like something dredged up from the deep, something long forgotten. It wasn’t yours. It couldn’t be yours.

His brows knitted together, like you had just wounded him.

"You are."

A pet name. An endearment. A claim.

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails digging into the flesh to ground yourself, to keep from slipping further into the madness of this moment.

"Don’t call me that."

The command was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

But he—it—only watched you, unblinking, unmoving. As if waiting.

The creature—the Koi God, the siren, the whatever-the-fuck-it-was—didn’t flinch at your words. But something in its expression flickered. A quiet sadness, subtle, like ripples spreading across still water.

It stayed there, half-submerged, red eyes never leaving you. The golden chains on its shoulders shimmered with each slow movement, and when it finally spoke, the voice was softer. Careful.

"Are you hurt?"

You scoffed. "Am I hurt?" The laugh that left you was bitter, nearly a snarl. "You fucking drowned me. Your stupid ocean tried to eat me alive. Your stupid people threw me in like a goddamn offering. And now you wanna ask if I’m hurt?"*

Its fingers twitched. Like it wanted to reach out.

You glared, daring it to try.

Instead, it lowered its gaze slightly, mouth pressing into something close to regret. Still gentle. Still kind. Like it thought kindness could fix this. Like it thought kindness could change the fact that you wanted nothing more than to wrap your hands around its throat and squeeze.

"Do you need anything?" it asked instead, voice as steady as the tide.

You clenched your jaw, bile rising in your throat. The audacity.

"Yeah." You sneered, leaning forward. "I need you to fuck off."*

Silence.

It didn’t react—not in anger, not in offense. Just looked at you. Through you. The sadness lingered in its expression, quiet and endless, but it didn’t turn away.

You hated it.

You hated those fucking eyes.

Hated that it wouldn’t leave.

Hated that you were still here.

You felt it before you saw it. A dull, seeping warmth pooling around your ankle, trickling down in sluggish, sticky trails. Your leg throbbed—probably got cut against the wreckage or a sharp edge of the boat. Whatever.

You ignored it at first. Didn’t matter. You’d deal with it.

But then it spoke.

"Please... your leg."

The voice was quiet, careful, like it already knew you’d bite if it came too close. You froze. Looked down.

Blood.

Dark red, spreading slow.

You hissed through your teeth, already tearing at the hem of your clothing, ripping a strip of fabric to wrap around the wound. Your hands were steady, but the Koi God—the thing, the siren, the freak—reached out before you could tie it.

"Let me help."

You recoiled on instinct.

"The fuck do you mean, ‘let me help?’”

It didn’t answer. Just waited. Held its hand out, palm up, as if asking for permission. As if you owed it anything.

You hesitated. Only for a second. Only because the wound was worse than you thought.

Slowly, reluctantly, you moved your leg forward.

The Koi God exhaled—relief?—before lifting a hand to its own skin. Its fingers traced over the smooth surface of its arm, right where the dark, koi-like scales merged into its starry patterns.

And then—

It pulled one off.

You flinched.

The scale shimmered between its fingertips, reflecting a color you couldn’t name. The Koi God pressed it gently to your wound, and warmth surged through you.

Not burning. Not painful. Just—healing.

The bleeding stopped. The sting faded. You felt the skin knitting back together.

Your breath hitched.

Your stomach twisted.

Your eyes snapped up to meet its own.

The Koi God stared back, eyes heavy with something unreadable.

And in that moment, the realization slammed into you.

This wasn’t just some fish.

This wasn’t just some siren.

This was the Koi God.

The very thing you hated.

The very thing that shouldn’t be touching you.

Yet here it was. Holding you together.

"Go away."

You muttered it between bites, shoving a spoonful of cake into your mouth without looking at the Koi God. The chocolate melted on your tongue—dense, sweet, a little stale but still good. You barely even liked sweets, but this? This was cake. A rare find in the middle of nowhere. Probably belonged to one of the priests. One of the bastards who drowned you.

You chewed slower.

Tastes better knowing that.

Another bite. Then another. You ate like you had something to prove.

Then—

"Is that… c-cake?"

The voice wobbled. Soft. Hopeful.

You turned, spoon halfway to your mouth, only to see the Koi God’s head breaking the surface again. Wide, pale eyes flickered between you and the food.

"Must be delicious…"

He was floating, bobbing slightly with the movement of the waves, but there was something awkward about it—like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t bring himself to. Kept dipping below the water, then rising again. His tail swished beneath him, sending little ripples out toward the boat.

You stared.

Your grip on the spoon tightened.

Something about it—about him—itched at the back of your mind. A memory. Distant. Small.

A tiny hand reaching out.

A piece of candy, bright red, pressed into a dirt-smudged palm.

A boy looking up at you, hesitating—before breaking into the widest goddamn smile you’d ever seen.

Your stomach twisted.

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed a chunk of the cake—more than you meant to—and shoved it toward the Koi God.

His eyes went huge.

"Ah—w-wait, I—"

You hissed, turning away.

"Just take it before I change my mind."

He hesitated. Then, slowly, carefully, he took it from your hand.

Held it like it was something precious.

Took a bite.

Then another.

His expression lit up.

"Oh—" He covered his mouth, eyes practically glowing. "It's… really good!"

The way he said it—like it was the first time he’d ever eaten something sweet—made something crawl up your spine.

You scowled, shoving another bite into your mouth, pretending you didn’t just share food with the thing you were supposed to hate.

"When are you going to kill me?"

Your voice cut sharp through the silence, cold and flat, like you were asking about the goddamn weather.

The Koi God blinked. His chewing slowed. Then stopped.

"What?"

You glared. "Kill me. When?"

A beat. Then he swallowed the last bit of cake, tilting his head like you’d just asked him to solve the meaning of life.

"Why would I—?"

"Like you killed all those sacrifices." Your fingers dug into the edge of the boat. "Each year. One by one. You think I don’t know?"

The Koi God’s expression flickered, confusion melting into something deeper.

"Isn’t it the priests who drop the people into the water?" he asked, voice careful, measured, like he was picking his words piece by piece.

You scoffed. "What’s the fucking difference?"

"The difference is—" He hesitated, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "I never killed them."

Your blood went hot.

Bullshit.

"Oh, so they just drown for fun?" Your nails scraped against the wooden edge of the boat. "You think that makes it better? They die because of you, because of this stupid goddamn ritual—"

"Because of them," he corrected. "Not me."

Your breath hitched.

Your anger wanted to lash out, wanted to scream that he was lying, that none of this changed a damn thing.

But something—something—itched at the back of your skull.

You clenched your teeth.

"People still died because of you," you snapped.

The Koi God’s lips parted slightly. Not to argue. Not to fight.

Your fingers tightened around the ring. The metal was cold, almost biting against your skin, and the more you stared at it, the more the rage twisted inside you, hot and pulsing.

"His life was cut short." Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper, but packed with every ounce of fury you could manage. "Because of you."

The Koi God didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t defend himself. Just looked at you—looked—like he was sinking into something deep and silent.

Then his eyes flickered.

"What’s around your neck?" he asked, voice soft.

You exhaled sharply. "I just told you. A ring. One of the victims who died."

His expression shifted, something sad creeping into those pale blue eyes.

"What...features does he have?" he asked, hesitant, as if the answer mattered more than anything.

You scowled, barely thinking before answering. "Black hair. Blue eyes."

Silence.

Then—

"Angel?"

Your whole body locked up.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you swore the ocean itself stilled.

You snapped your head toward him. "Stop calling me that."

His gaze didn’t waver. His face was unreadable, but his lips parted slightly, like he was holding something back.

"Did you read my mind?" Your voice was sharp, accusing. "Is that it? You fucking with me?"

His hands clenched. He still looked so—so—sad. But then—

Then he giggled.

Soft. Delicate. A little broken.

"Ah, Angel... are you slightly dense?" he murmured.

Your chest tightened.

"It’s okay," he mumbled, half to himself. "It’s okay."

The Koi God looks at you like you are the moon, like you are a dream, like you are the answer to every question he never asked. It is sickening. It is cruel. It is fond.

And it aches.

It burns in the places where your anger lives, where your bones remember the weight of water and your lungs still scream with the memory of drowning. It burrows under your ribs, sharp and unbearable, because there is no reason—no reason—for him to look at you like that. Like you are his. Like he has found something lost.

Like he has missed you.

You want to spit in his face. You want to tear that softness from his eyes. You want to demand why—why, why, why—but your throat locks, because you already know he will answer in riddles and silence and that unbearable, aching gaze.

And gods, it is disgusting. It is unbearable. It is—

—making your eyes sting.

(And isn’t that the worst of it? That you cannot look at him without feeling something shake loose inside you? That his stupid, tender, infuriating eyes feel like a hand pressing against your chest, gentle and knowing and far too kind?)

Your nails dig into your palm. Your voice comes out raw, trembling on the edges of something ugly. "Stop looking at me like that."

But he just smiles, just tilts his head like the ocean is whispering to him, like your words mean nothing at all.

"Angel," he says again, like a promise, like a prayer.

And you hate him for it.

The words come out like knives, jagged and shaking, ripped from the deepest part of your chest.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The air splits with your voice, raw and cracking, trembling with something too big to hold. You don’t know if it’s rage or grief or the sick, spiraling ache in your ribs—but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because he’s looking at you. Looking at you like you’re something precious, like you’re worth something more than the salt in your lungs or the prayers that drowned you.

And that? That is unbearable. That is wrong.

"I’M DISGUSTED—" your breath shatters mid-scream, fists clenching so hard your nails bite deep— "DISGUSTED TO LOOK AT THE FACE OF YOU—OF YOU—"

The Koi God flinches. Just barely. A twitch, a ripple across the stillness of his face.

Then, quietly—softly, so soft it almost drowns in the waves—

"I’ll leave now."

The ocean shifts, the wind pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t look away. Not yet.

"If you want anything…" He hesitates, words caught like shipwrecks in his throat. "Please let me… know."

And then he goes.

Just like that. No fight, no resistance—just fading into the water like he was never there at all. Like he has always known his place. Like he has always expected this.

Like he always knew you would hate him.

And you—

You crumple. You break, shaking, gasping, collapsing in on yourself because you can’t—can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop.

And the name—oh, that name—

"REDACTED—"

It rips from your throat like a sob, like something torn straight from your soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Your voice drowns in the waves. The wind. The space he left behind.

You curl in on yourself, clawing at the aching, empty hollows of your chest.

"I want to—"

Your breath shudders.

"I want to play again with you…"

And somewhere—deep, deep beneath the waves—

A boy with black hair and blue eyes stirs.

The words come out like knives, jagged and shaking, ripped from the deepest part of your chest.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

And that? That is unbearable. That is wrong.

"I’M DISGUSTED—" your breath shatters mid-scream, fists clenching so hard your nails bite deep— "DISGUSTED TO LOOK AT THE FACE OF YOU—OF YOU—"

The Koi God flinches. Just barely. A twitch, a ripple across the stillness of his face.

Then, quietly—softly, so soft it almost drowns in the waves—

"I’ll leave now."

The ocean shifts, the wind pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t look away. Not yet.

"If you want anything…" He hesitates, words caught like shipwrecks in his throat. "Please let me… know."

And then he goes.

Just like that. No fight, no resistance—just fading into the water like he was never there at all. Like he has always known his place. Like he has always expected this.

Like he always knew you would hate him.

And you—

You crumple. You break, shaking, gasping, collapsing in on yourself because you can’t—can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop.

And the name—oh, that name—

"REDACTED—"

It rips from your throat like a sob, like something torn straight from your soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Your voice drowns in the waves. The wind. The space he left behind.

You curl in on yourself, clawing at the aching, empty hollows of your chest.

"I want to—"

Your breath shudders.

"I want to play again with you…"

And somewhere—deep, deep beneath the waves—

A boy with black hair and blue eyes stirs.

"I want to steal those strawberry puddings with you… I want to play… I want to sob—"

Your voice is unraveling, spilling out in choking, gasping breaths, curling in the empty space where he should be.

"AHHHHHH—WHY—"

Your nails dig into your skin, knuckles white, trembling.

"WHY DID YOU DIE?!"

The ocean doesn’t answer. The waves don’t care. They keep whispering against the boat, lapping against the wood like hungry mouths, like greedy hands—like the same hands that pulled him down.

You remember—oh, you remember—the way his fingers had curled around yours, desperate, slipping, slipping—

"Please—"

You shake your head, bite down on the memory until it bleeds, but it doesn’t stop. It never stops. The salt in your throat tastes like prayers, like the ones the priests chanted when they held you down, like the ones they spat as they dropped him in.

(And the Koi God—he had watched. Hadn’t he? Hadn’t he watched and let it happen?)

Your chest heaves, a sob clawing its way up, twisting, ugly, raw—because you don’t know.

You don’t know if the Koi God had let him drown.

You don’t know if the Koi God had even touched him.

But you know this. You know that your friend is gone, and you are here, and there is no justice, no balance, no fairness in this wretched, drowning world.

Only you. And the monster in the water.

And the ring in your hand—cold, pressing, circling your finger like a shackle, like a memory, like the weight of the dead.

The dream comes slow, thick, like water filling your lungs.

It starts with a boy—black hair, blue eyes, a lopsided grin sticky with stolen candy. His laughter, bright and clear, tangles with the summer air, with the rustling of leaves, with the hurried footsteps of two little criminals making their getaway.

You had grabbed his hand—run, run, run!—and he had laughed like you’d just given him the world.

But then—

Then—

The grip of hands too strong, too cold, wrenching him away from you. The priests, faces carved from stone, voices thick with empty prayers. His eyes, wide, wild, terrified—

And you—helpless. Screaming. Thrashing. Watching.

The boat. The water. The way he had stared at you, betrayed, heartbroken, furious, as they pushed him off the edge and the sea swallowed him whole.

The way you had reached—too late, too late, too late.

Your chest jerks, gasping, choking on saltwater that isn’t there, on a name you can’t scream—

And then you wake up.

The boat is quiet. The ocean is still.

Your face is wet.

You touch your cheek. Tears.

Your breath comes in sharp, broken pulls. The dream is still clinging to you, crawling under your skin, sinking into the marrow of your bones. You shake, curling in on yourself, pressing your forehead to your knees.

It’s just a dream. Just a dream. Just a—

The water ripples.

A head slowly surfaces.

Dark hair. Pale blue eyes, glowing soft in the moonlight. A face you know, a face you hate, a face you—

A voice, hesitant, careful.

"Angel…?"

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Your scream rips through the night, raw and jagged, shaking the fragile silence. The boat rocks beneath you, but the ocean—calm, endless—does not care.

"No, no, no—" Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your hands clawing at your chest, your throat. The salt in the air tastes like the salt of your tears.

And him. Him.

Dripping, glowing, not quite human, not quite monster—familiar.

Too familiar.

Black hair, heavy with seawater. Blue eyes, soft, searching, too gentle for something that should not be. For something that cannot be.

"Angel…?"

The name scrapes against your ears, against your ribs, against the walls you’ve built inside yourself.

You shake your head, shaking, shaking, shaking. No. No, no, no.

"Don’t call me that." Your voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, but he flinches like you’ve struck him.

But you can’t stop looking. You can’t stop seeing.

The curve of his face. The softness of his features, delicate yet sharp, familiar yet impossibly wrong. The way his mouth quirks—nervous, hopeful, aching.

The way he used to look at you.

Before the temple. Before the sacrifice. Before—

Before you watched him die.

You feel sick.

"Why do you look like that?" Your voice is shaking, thin, breaking apart. You can barely hold it together, barely hold yourself together.

He stares, eyes dark with something heavy, something ancient.

He does not answer.

And somehow, that tells you everything.

You wake with a sharp inhale, air burning in your lungs like you've been drowning, like you are drowning, like you never stopped.

The world is too still. The ocean stretches, vast and empty. The sky is too blue. The air is too quiet.

And he is gone.

"Koi fish…?" Your voice wavers, raw from sleep, from screaming. You push yourself up, hands clutching the boat’s edge, scanning the water. Nothing. Nothing.

"God…?" The word tastes bitter, acid on your tongue, thick with something you don't want to name. The waves lap against the wood, gentle, unbothered. The wind hums. No answer.

A breath trembles out of you, shaking your ribs. Your fingers dig into your palm, nails pressing hard enough to hurt. He's gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.

Why does that hurt?

Your grip tightens around the ring—his ring, their ring, the ring of someone who died for this wretched ocean. For him.

It isn't fair.

You swallow. Swallow the lump in your throat, the pressure behind your eyes, the horrible, gnawing ache in your chest. You try to force the words out. The name. The name you haven't said in years. The name you buried in the salt and waves, along with everything else.

You hold your breath. You whisper.

"REDACTED…?"

The ocean stills.

A ripple, slow, deliberate, breaking across the surface. The water shifts, something moving beneath.

And then— a head, breaking through the quiet.

Black hair, slick with seawater. Blue eyes, wide, unreadable.

Your breath catches.

"Ah… ah?" His voice is hesitant, almost uncertain.

You choke on the sound of it. Choke on everything crashing into you at once.

"You're…?" You can't finish.

You don’t know what you were going to say. You don’t know what you’re looking at.

The ocean between you feels like a lifetime.

You cry.

"Why…?" Your voice shatters like glass against the waves. "Why do you look like the Koi God…?"

Your throat burns, your chest tightens, and the world tilts—no, you tilt—your knees buckle, the boat lurches—

And you fall.

The cold slams into you, salt filling your mouth, your lungs, drowning the sob that rips from your throat. Your limbs feel sluggish, heavy, but before you can sink, hands—his hands—grasp you, steady, firm, pulling you up.

The ocean spits you both out, the sky spinning above you. His arms are strong around you, holding you as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. You wish he would. You wish he wouldn’t.

"Don’t cry," he breathes, voice so soft, so pained. Like your grief is a knife in his ribs.

But you do cry. You sob against his shoulder, choking on gasps and salt, and he just holds you, his warmth steady against your shaking frame.

You clutch at him, fingers digging into the damp skin of his back, real and solid. Not a memory, not a ghost.

And slowly, through the blur of your tears, you see—

His eyes aren’t the empty, soulless gaze of a god.

They are warm. They are human.

You weren’t crying in despair.

You were crying in salvation.

And he realizes it at the same time you do.

The arms around you tighten, and—hesitant, uncertain—he buries his face in your hair.

You cling to him.

And this time, he does not let go.

"REDACTED… REDACTED…!"

You choke on the name like it's something sacred, something broken, something you were never meant to speak again.

But you do.

And he is there.

Your body shakes, sobs wracking through you, curling inward like you're folding in on yourself, like if you make yourself small enough, you can wake up and this will all be some cruel trick of the waves.

But the warmth against you is real.

His arms around you are real.

"You—" Your voice splinters, breath hitched and gasping. "You didn't die…"

The weight of it crushes you, presses down until you're sinking, but his grip is strong. Keeps you afloat.

He doesn't speak. He can't.

But his hands tighten on you, holding, steadying, grounding.

He doesn’t let go.

And you sob into his shoulder, into the space where his name used to be.

You sniffle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you climb onto the boat, the wood slick beneath your trembling fingers. Your chest still heaves from crying, but there’s something lighter in it now—something warm.

Your eyes land on another slice of cake. Chocolate again. Maybe meant for that bastard priest, maybe not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You grab it without thinking, turning back toward the water.

Redacted blinks up at you, hesitant. He hasn’t moved from where he’s floating, his hands just barely gripping the side of the boat, half-submerged. His long, dark hair fans out in the water, slick against his shoulders, the scales of his tail shimmering beneath the surface.

He looks at you like he doesn't quite believe this is real. Like he doesn't believe you are real.

You roll your eyes. Dumb fish.

Without a word, you tear off a piece of the cake and lean forward, holding it out to him. His eyes flicker between you and the dessert before he opens his mouth slightly, letting you place it on his tongue.

You expect him to take it carefully. Instead, he hums—a soft, pleased noise muffled by the food—and his cheeks flush. His finned ears twitch, and the way his tail flicks behind him is almost cute.

You giggle. Giggle. What the hell?

Redacted looks up, startled, mid-chew. You blink at him, then at yourself, then at the cake in your hand.

When you look back at him, his lips curl into the smallest, softest smile you’ve ever seen.

And just like that, for the first time in forever, you smile back.

"Redacted… Redacted…!" Your voice trembles, hands gripping the side of the boat as you stare at him, really stare at him. His face—so familiar, so achingly familiar—framed by dark, wet strands of hair, those pale, ethereal eyes full of something that hurts.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just watches you with that same look, something in his throat bobbing as he swallows. He looks afraid.

"I don't… know," he finally whispers, voice hoarse. "Before I—before I died, I felt something. And then…" He exhales shakily, looking down at himself, at the glistening koi tail where his legs should be. "I woke up like this. Maybe the other Koi God chose me. Maybe the ocean just didn’t want to let me go."

Your fingers tighten on the wood. "Then why didn’t you—" The words come out too sharp, too raw. You inhale. "Why didn’t you look for me?"

Redacted flinches, guilt flashing across his face. His lips part, but it takes a moment before any words come.

"I tried." His voice is so soft, so small. "I swear, I—" His throat tightens, and he looks away. "I wasn’t… doing well. With oxygen. I couldn't stay near the surface long enough to search. I kept blacking out. I don’t even remember how much time passed before I could move properly. But I tried, Angel."

That name—that name.

You glare at him through the burning in your eyes.

"Don't call me that."

His shoulders tremble. He bites his lip, nodding. "Okay." But he doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t apologize for saying it.

You watch him carefully, the way his fingers grip the side of the boat like he’s afraid you’ll push him away again.

"...You really tried?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips.

His pale eyes lift to yours, red-rimmed. "So much."

And for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe—

The ocean stole him from you, too.

You hold his face in your hands, the cool dampness of his skin against your warm palms. He blinks up at you, wide-eyed, mouth slightly parted like he can’t believe you’re real—like he’s scared if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear again.

"You’re my best friend, Redacted."

For a second, something in his expression cracks. His breath stutters. His lips press together like he’s biting back a reaction. And then—gone. He smooths it over with a soft, too-soft smile, but you saw it. The way his shoulders tensed. The way his fingers twitched against the boat. The sadness that flickered through his face like a ghost.

Oh.

Were you dense?

You stare at him. He stares back. Neither of you move, the ocean gently rocking between you, filling the silence with soft ripples.

Your gaze flickers down—to his hands, to the ring still looped around your neck. You remember how carefully he had made them. The way his fingers trembled when he handed them to you. The way he looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

You swallow. "Hey, um…" You clear your throat. "Why did you make these rings, anyway?"

Redacted stiffens. The tips of his ears—his **fin-like ears—**darken slightly, the gradient shifting warmer, redder.

"It's just…" He rubs the back of his neck, looking away, looking anywhere but at you. "I… wanted to."

Silence.

Just that? Just that?

His tail flicks beneath the water, his nervous energy bleeding into the surface ripples.

You stare at the ring in your palm. The realization hits like a truck. Oh. Oh. OH.

"IM SO SORRY, REDACTED!!!"

You explode into apologies, full-blown wailing, gripping his face tighter as you sob, forehead pressed against his.

"WAHHHHHHH, REDACTED, I’M SO STUPID, I’M SORRY!!!"

His ears are so red. His tail smacks the water. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"Angel, w-why are you crying—"

"BECAUSE I’M SO DENSE, I’M SO—" You hiccup. "WAAAAHHH—"

He snorts. Actually snorts. And you—still sobbing, still hiccuping—squish his cheeks.

You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. But at least you’re idiots together.

You throw your arms around him, burying your face against his damp, cool skin. Redacted freezes. Every muscle in his body locks up, his tail flicking wildly beneath the water, absolutely malfunctioning.

You don’t care. You don’t even notice. You’re just—happy. You sob into his shoulder, clutching him close like he might disappear if you let go.

"You’re really here," you whisper, voice shaking. "I—" You hiccup. "I thought I lost you forever."

Boom. Redacted explodes. Not literally, but inside? He is gone. Launched into orbit. He wants the earth to swallow him whole. He wants the sea to drag him under. He doesn’t know how to handle this—**you—**holding him like he means something. Like he’s real. Like you love him—no, no, don’t think about that. His tail flicks frantically, trying to vent the absolute wildfire inside his chest.

But then—your grip loosens. Your breathing shudders.

"Angel?" He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes darting over your face. You're pale. Too pale. A light sweat clings to your forehead, and—

You sway.

"Angel—"

You shake your head. "I’m just dizzy." A weak smile. "You should go for now. I’ll call you back later."

He hesitates.

He doesn't want to.

But you’re looking at him like that, with that same stubborn determination, and he’s always been weak to you.

"Okay." His voice is soft. Too soft. Like it hurts him to say. "I’ll come back soon, okay?"

You nod. He sinks into the water, those blue, blue eyes lingering on you until he disappears beneath the surface.

And then—

Pain.

A gut-wrenching pain tears through you. Your stomach churns. Your vision blurs. You stumble forward, gripping the edge of the boat as your throat tightens, burns—

You vomit.

The taste of metal floods your mouth. Red. Too much red. It splashes against the wood, thick and glistening in the dim light.

Your breath catches. Your hands shake.

Blood.

Your blood.

You cough, more spilling past your lips, your body rejecting whatever's inside you. And then—realization strikes.

The cake. The moonflower.

Your fingers tremble against your lips.

"No… no, no, no, no, no—"

Your vision tilts. Your knees buckle.

Somewhere beneath the waves, Redacted stills. Something is wrong. He can feel it. The ocean around him hums with unease.

And then—

A sound.

A choked, desperate sound that sends ice through his veins.

Your voice.

"No… no, no, no, no—"

You wipe your mouth. Your hands shake. Your body feels wrong—too heavy, too cold. But you force yourself to move, force yourself to clean up, force yourself to breathe.

You don’t sleep. Not really. Just crying until exhaustion steals you away.

And when morning comes, you wake up with a splitting headache, your throat raw, your stomach aching. The taste of blood still lingers in your mouth, copper and regret.

You don’t think about it.

You won’t think about it.

Instead, you sit up, take a deep, deep breath, and call out:

"Redacted?"

Silence.

You swallow down the bile, the fear, the everything.

"Redacted," you say again, voice steadier. "I wanna talk."

The water stirs. A ripple. A presence. And then—his head breaches the surface, those too-blue eyes locking onto you, scanning you, worried.

"Angel—"

You smile. Bright. Carefree. Fake.

"Aren't you gonna show me your new house?"

His expression flickers. Uncertainty, hesitation—hope.

You don’t let your smile falter. Not even once.

You just got him back.

You are not losing him again.

Even if your body is eating itself alive.

Redacted hesitates. His tail flicks beneath the water, slow, uncertain. His blue eyes search you, drinking you in, memorizing you, as if afraid you might disappear again.

"You can't breathe underwater," he says, voice gentle, almost apologetic.

You tilt your head. "Can I turn into a fish, then?"

He blinks. Startled.

"Like you."

He frowns. Lowers his gaze. "It’s... not possible."

"But you—"

"If you die," he interrupts, softer this time, barely above the waves.

Your breath catches.

"What?"

"If you die and you’re... unsatisfied with it—if your soul still lingers, if you refuse to pass on—you can turn into something like me." His fingers ghost along the water’s surface, uncertain, nervous. "But if you die happy... you won’t become anything at all. Just... pearls. Salt. The sea takes you."

You stare.

Your stomach twists.

Not in fear. Not in horror. But in—something else.

"Angel," he says, voice steady, determined. "It's okay. We'll do something about you. I won't let you die."

A foolish, impossible promise.

And yet... you smile.

"You won’t?"

"I won’t."

"Then," you say, grinning despite the ache in your bones, "I guess I better spend as much time with you as I can, huh?"

He explodes.

Not literally. But visibly, wholly, entirely.

His face burns red, his tail flicks so fast it nearly splashes you, his hands fumble over absolutely nothing.

"I—" he sputters.

You laugh.

You laugh so freely, so lightly, so happily that for a moment, you almost believe you’re okay.

"Redacted? Can you show me around your new house..?"

"But Angel, you're a human.."

"Shit, I forgot-" Redacted tore a piece of his scale and gave you.

"Do you trust me Angel?"

"...Of course."

"Keep this scale to your heart...and think, you will entre your celestial soul form..." You just have to sleep and let your soul free..

The ocean cradled you like a lullaby.

Your body felt weightless, untethered, like drifting silk in a current. You reached out, and the water didn’t fight you—it embraced you, pulled you further, deeper.

And then—him.

Redacted stood before you, but not as the koi god you had known. His face was sharp, elegant, almost inhumanly perfect, with glowing, pale eyes that pierced straight through you. His long, dark hair swayed like it was alive, dancing with the water.

You stared.

Your breath (if you even had any) hitched.

His fin-like ears twitched as he tilted his head. The delicate gold chains draped across his upper body shimmered, catching the light of the deep sea like stolen stars. His arms, patterned like the night sky, flexed slightly as he reached out, and you caught a glimpse of the koi motif on his flowing attire. The reds, the whites, the blacks—it was beautiful.

"You're—" the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

His gaze flickered to you, expectant.

"Beautiful."

For a moment, he froze.

Then he huffed, sharp and flustered, before schooling his expression into something obnoxiously smug.

"Oh? Am I?"

You rolled your eyes, but grinned as you reached out, patting his head.

He sputtered.

"What are you—"

"Good boy," you teased.

Instant regret.

His eyes widened, his face burned, and he nearly choked on the water surrounding him. You had never seen a fish have a full-body reaction before, but you swore you just did.

His fingers twitched before suddenly gripping your hand. Firm. Unwavering.

Your chest squeezed.

"Let's go, Angel," he said, voice lower than before, quieter, yet no less full of feeling.

And then—the world opened up before you.

You turned, and for the first time, you saw the ocean as he did.

A vast, endless abyss of color and life.

Schools of shimmering fish swirled past like liquid silver. Towering coral formations stretched toward the surface like cathedral spires. Bioluminescent creatures pulsed with eerie, dreamlike light, guiding your path deeper and deeper.

It was magic.

It was unreal.

It was his home.

And right now, he was sharing it with you.

The ocean trembled.

Redacted's hand tightened around yours.

"I like dreaming with you," he had whispered—just moments before, just before your fingers had brushed, just before the world had torn itself apart.

You had been floating together, weightless and timeless, like the moon and the sun caught in a silent eclipse. He had tilted downward, his luminous gaze locked onto yours, and for a fleeting second, the ocean had felt smaller, quieter, softer.

Then—pain.

A pit of red bloomed from your arm, rupturing the moment like a knife through silk.

And the voices came.

"There's that koi god who betrayed us!"

"He didn't give us anything this year!"

"The sacrifice failed!"

You gasped, the sting in your arm spreading like fire. The surface above was dark with the silhouettes of ships, and the water around you was stirring with motion, with hatred, with something ancient and heavy pressing against your chest.

The first arrow shot through the water like a vengeful whisper.

You barely had time to register it—because Redacted moved first.

He was in front of you before you could even blink, a dark shape in the water, all sharp motion and unwavering resolve. The arrow embedded itself into his shoulder.

His body jerked. His grip on your hand slipped.

"RUN, ANGEL!" His voice was fierce, desperate. "DON’T LOOK BACK!"

You couldn't move.

Another tremor wracked your body, and this time, you coughed—a deep, wet sound.

Blood.

It spilled from your lips, dark and viscous, twisting like ink in the water.

"The priest gave the poison!" A voice sneered from above.

"They'll die soon enough."

And then—they turned on their own.

A single scream cut through the waves as one of them—**the one who had struck Redacted—**was seized by cruel hands and hurled into the sea.

He sank.

Fast.

The weight of the ocean swallowed him whole, pulling him into the endless blue below.

And just like that—the boats were gone.

Leaving only you and Redacted.

Your vision blurred. Your limbs felt heavy.

The poison was working.

"No," you whispered, reaching for him.

But he caught you first.

Your body shuddered violently.

Each cough rattled your ribs, sending fresh waves of pain through you. Blood dripped from your lips, curling like ribbons in the water.

And yet—you smiled.

"Angel—" Redacted's voice wavered.

You could feel his arms tighten around you. Desperate. Shaking.

"No. No, wait—" He pulled you closer, pressing you against his chest. His heartbeat was frantic, hammering like war drums beneath your fingertips. "Angel, don't—don’t do that. Don't smile like that."

Like this was the last time.

Like you already knew.

Like you had already accepted it.

You blinked slowly, warmth pooling in your chest at the way he held you like you were everything.

"I just—" You tried to speak, but your voice cracked. A new, violent cough tore through you, and Redacted flinched at the fresh burst of red.

Panic flashed across his face.

"W-What? Angel? Angel, stop—"* He sounded breathless, like he was forcing himself to breathe for both of you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. "Why are you hugging me like that...?"

Like you were saying goodbye.

"I guess..."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, carried away by the water between you. You coughed again, more blood curling into the sea, staining the soft glow of Redacted’s scales.

His arms tightened. Desperate. Unwilling.

"Stop talking like that." His voice shook, but he tried to keep it steady. To keep you here. With him. "You— You’re not dying, Angel. You’re not—"

You smiled weakly.

"I thought I’d die with regret." Your fingers curled into his golden chains, gripping just tight enough to feel real. To feel something.

"I tried to feel regret." You blinked slowly, the edges of your vision softening like a dream. The ache in your chest felt far away now, drifting.

"But… there’s nothing to regret."

Redacted sucked in a breath. His pale eyes flickered, wide, frantic—his hands trembled as they held you, trying to pull you back.

"No," he whispered. "No, don’t—"

You let your head tilt forward, resting gently against his shoulder. His warmth, his presence.

"Your arms…" Your voice was so quiet, so soft, as if the ocean itself were swallowing your words. "Inside your arms feels safe."

He shook against you, his grip fierce.

"This is what peace feels like, huh?" A small, dazed chuckle left your lips. "Peace to know that you’re alive… I never expected that."

You felt him shudder. His nails dug into your back, as if holding you tighter could keep you from slipping away.

"Then don’t leave." His voice cracked. "Stay with me, Angel. Just— just stay."

You coughed again. This time, it left a sharp sting in your throat.

"To die in your arms..." Your breathing was slower now. Softer. Lighter.

"There’s nothing to regret."

"I can't feel regret."

Your voice was soft—too soft. Like the final breath before the tide carries everything away.

Redacted felt his chest tighten. His hands trembled against your skin, gripping, holding, as if he could keep you here, anchor you before the current stole you from him.

And then—

You kissed him.

A fleeting press of warmth—salted with blood and tears—a whisper of something that could’ve been, something that never got the chance to bloom. But it was real. Real enough that his breath hitched, real enough that he froze, real enough that it shattered everything.

"I love you...?"

It was a question. A dream. A confession that came too late.

Maybe—

"Maybe in another life."

His world collapsed.

You collapsed.

Your arms, once weakly wrapped around him, began to slip—disintegrate. Like grains of salt melting into the sea. Like foam dissolving against the shore.

"No—"

His breath hitched—his hands clawed at you, desperate, shaking, trying to hold you together. Trying to stop what was already happening.

"Angel—!"

But you were slipping—breaking apart.

His hands closed around nothing.

His arms, once wrapped around you, were suddenly empty.

He gasped, choked on his own breath. His eyes burned. His vision blurred.

He looked down—his hands trembled. Nothing. Nothing.

The water around him shimmered, glistening under the light—not with blood. Not with pain. But with something soft, something almost beautiful.

Sea salt.

The ocean had taken you, swallowed you whole, made you a part of itself.

You were gone.

Redacted’s body trembled as he let out a shaking breath. His throat was raw, his chest a gaping wound that no blade had caused.

And then—he sobbed.

He sobbed harder than he ever had.

His arms curled around himself, holding nothing, and he let the waves crash into him.

You didn't die with regret. No, you cradled peace like a prayer, let it kiss your throat and call it mercy. Not a tragedy, no—not a tragedy if you chose it, if you embraced it, if you let the sea sink its fingers into your bones and name you soft, name you gone.

What a love it is. What a love to die in the arms of someone who trembles. To leave behind tears that taste like salt and let them pretend it’s the ocean. To press a final breath into his lips and watch him break apart, piece by piece, like a slow-burning housefire.

You didn’t die with regret. You died knowing he would carry you. Died knowing he would scream your name into the deep and wait for the echo. Died knowing he would call for you, call for you, call for you— and the only thing that would answer is the tide.

But did you realize, oh dear you, that the man you left behind would never move on? Did you think, in your final breath, that peace was a gift you could press into his hands like a parting favor?

You died gently. Softly. Like a whisper into the tide. But for a man who only ever loved you, only ever saw you, moving on isn’t a possibility. It’s not even a concept.

He still reaches for you. Still calls for you. Still sinks in the same ocean where you crumbled into salt, into nothing, into something he cannot touch.

He isn’t alone. Not really. Because if he’s alone, then you’re truly gone, and that—**that—**is the one thing he won’t allow.

You were supposed to be safe in his arms. Alive in his arms. But all he has left is the phantom weight of you, the ghost of your warmth, the cruel reminder that he held you only to lose you.

"Maybe in another life..."

And then— a voice.

Soft, uncertain. Cutting through the salt-heavy air like a dream you’re not ready to wake from.

“Excuse me? Are you okay?”

He saw his Anel, He signed a deal with the Witch for this moment/j

The world rushes back in, too bright, too loud. Water clings to your skin, the last remnants of something— someone— slipping away. And before you, a man.

He’s staring at you, wide-eyed, breath catching like a fishhook in his throat. His hand trembles as it touches his face, fingers ghosting over his cheek like he’s checking if he’s real. Or maybe if you are.

You know that look. Recognition.

Like he’s seen you before. Like he’s held you before.

And then, under his breath—so quiet you almost miss it—

“I won’t lose you this time.”

The words drip like a curse, like a promise, like the first notes of a song sung at the bottom of the sea.

And when he looks at you again, there’s something in his eyes—something deep, something ancient, something that remembers.

You don’t know why, but your heart beats like a wave crashing against the shore.

Like it knows.

"Are you looking for any books?"

#14 days with you redacted #14 days with you x reader #14 days with you ren x reader #ren 14 days with you #14 days with you ren #14 days with you #14dwy ren #14dwy #14dwy redacted #14 days with you redact #14dwy x reader #14dwy ren x reader #14dwy redacted x reader

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serenhob · 1 month ago

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Idk about other peoples opinions but I really hate the phrase 'differently abled'

Like disabled isn't a slur it's a description.

And I'm not 'differently abled', just cause I can't walk without my cane doesn't mean I can fly or smth

And I swear its always Able-bodied, neurotypical people that are saying this. Especially Mums of neurodivergent kids (specifically young ones like they have an autistic 6 year old), I swear they are always saying it like its a superpower, its just a state of existence Cathy I'm not superman.

I am disabled, I require aids and accommodations to functions at a lower standard than the average able bodied neurotypical person. I'm not saying being disabled or disability is a bad thing, a lot of times disability is neutral as long as you have the tools you need to adapt to a non disabled friendly society. There are positive and negative parts of being disabled and sure you can develop skills because of your disability but it doesn't mean that you are suddenly 'differently abled'. As well every disabled person, no matter if they have the exact same disability, will experience it differently and have varying opinions on it.

And I do get its mostly to combat this idea of disabled=inferior but we don't need to have that association. Just because there are things I can't do doesn't make my life less valuable, same for any other disabled person. Disabled doesn't mean less, it is a description and I think we need to remember that far more than calling disabled people 'differently abled'. Idk, it just feels like really weird advocacy that just pushes an ableist idea that disabled people can't just be disabled, you have to prove you have other worth otherwise you are worthless.

If you do use and like the term 'differently abled' for yourself or anyone you know uses it, I'm not saying that's bad. You can self identify that way, I just don't like it when people use it to describe me because it feels inaccurate and kinda performative. <3

#disabled #actually disabled #'Differently abled'#Don't like that term #Idk. I call myself a cripple a lot and maybe that worse but I hate this term #Tbf to me tho I was technically crippled by my condition. I can't walk without a mobility aid so at least its accurate #Also loads of random people on the street call me that me so why can't I?#(I say it in a jokey way tho and Im not calling anyone else that)#Anyway #One of my profs said that coca cola makes people have 'autistic tendencies'#And i truly don't know what she meant by that #Not gonna ask #Been thinking about ableism a lot lately cause I reread 'Of mice and men'#Love that book but I remember doing it in class and people saying that Lennie and the dog that got shot were similair #And the reason was that Lennie is as clever as a sheep dog and good for manual labor #And i was sat there horrified #They also just enjoyed screaming cripple across the classroom #Calm down #High school was terrible honestly #Like in R.E we were talking about prejudice and oppression #And we started talking about job discrimination against disabled people #And one kid started screeching my name #Yes I know I'm disabled calm down #Honestly scary

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beastsovrevelation · 10 months ago

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I had another Good Omens fanfiction dream this morning.

Basically, Crowley was due to give birth. You might ask, Pestilence, what's with you and Crowley being pregnant?.. The answer is, I don't know, and neither does my therapist.

So, Crowley's due to give birth, he's scared and in pain. Beelzebub shows up, along with a few other demons (I guess I'll look through the Key of Solomon, I remember a few have to do with healing). She told him they'll support him. I have a feeling, the dream adhered to my idea that Crowley and Beelzebub are siblings (in spite Beelzebub looking like she does in S2, so Indian).

Crowley had to change to his snake form, because while his human form was male (so he couldn't give birth without surgery, which was too dangerous), his snake form was female. The demons put him in a whelping box (genius idea). Crowley gave birth to either 4 or 6 baby snakes (apparently, they're called snakelets). It was a live birth, which, fun fact, some snakes do give (i think boa constrictors, and snake Crowley kind of looks like one, aside from the colouring). The baby snakes then morphed to human form. I don't think Crowley nearly died, but he lost a lot of blood, and got extremely exhausted. No, it probably wasn't realistic to how snakes actually give birth.

(They were far larger, though)

Oh, and at some point, Aziraphale found out, but someone (possibly Beelzebub) forbade him from coming, because an angel's presence would distress the babies, and they wouldn't take human form. They could also die.

No, I don't think Aziraphale was the "father". The babies were demons, while, according to my headcanons, when an angel procreates with a demon, the baby's an angel, as it's the original form (though, they do retain some demonic features). Maybe, Crowley mated with an actual snake, or something... It would be very Greek and Norse god of him, but what the Heaven, dude... I guess, Beelzebub could act as the litter's she-father, once the two had reconciled. Which, is a word I use for maternal figures who, traditionally, would be considered more paternal. You know, kind of emotionally detached, more provider than carer, often absent, that sort of deal.

This is incoherent, but I only remember fragments. I guess, I will put it down in my notes for the future. I already did. (I'm kind of tempted to write the birth scene, I like writing birth scenes, they're brutal).

Don't you just have a love/hate relationship with when you are already swamped with WIPs, but the Fanfiction Gods send you another vision?..

Also, don't you just hate it when you give birth to a litter of snakelets, with the help of your coworkers, and your estranged sister.

What the Hell do you even name that many damn whelps...

#yes it's not the first mentioned the previous one but just in passing that it's very heavy... it's also crossover w legion #this is unhinged i am unhinged #diary pages #dream journal #idea archive #i'm making notes #good omens #good omens fandom #good omens fanfiction #crowley #snake crowley #good omens crowley #good omens beelzebub #good omens aziraphale #i'm just... adding as many tags as i can so i find this when i need it #i can't remember if idea archive was my tag for this #story ideas #pregnant!crowley #i learned some information about snakes #beelzebub is always female in my works and always looks like shelley bc she's pretty #crowley ending up w she-fathers for his/her children is becoming a trope #first michael then... his sister i guess this is kind fo the crowley x beelzebub inc*est au #not the crimson peak one tho #seriously who in the hell is the snakelet daddy for once as isn't the accidental deadbeat #crowley did you go all loki my dude were you creeping on animals like some greek gods #i think beelzebub asked him whom he mated but i don't remember the answer #wtf now that beelzebub's pretty she's no longer the enemy to protagonists but their relationship softens most times #having 4-6 children now that's an actual nightmare #i have fankid names for crowley's kids but they aren't this damn litter #just name them after heathen gods or musicians or something

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luvcaleb · 2 months ago

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SHH... WE CAN'T GET CAUGHT.

nsfw (18+). includes fingering, breast play, dirty talk, huge cock, unprotected sex, creampie, fwb relationship (it's pretty obvious you like each other tho), mentions of your first time experience with caleb (and other times after that), having sex when another person is just a few rooms away, too much cum, slight praise kink. filthy, filthy, filthy smut from top to bottom. likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!

“Shh... you don't want Gran hearing us, do you?”

You're covering your mouth to stifle your whimpers, but there's no hiding the wet squelches beneath the blanket. You wrap your hand around Caleb's flicking wrist, his fingers buried deep inside your cunt. When he adds another digit, a loud cry of his name is pulled out of you.

Caleb presses a soft kiss against your nape. You're both turned on your sides, your back against his solid chest. “As much as I like hearing you say my name, it'd be a problem if someone came to interrupt us. Remember the last time?”

The last time he's referring to is your risky tryst from a few days back; Caleb joined you in your bath, claiming he wants to “wash your back” for you. As expected, 20% of your time was spent in a relaxing soak where he massaged your shoulders and washed your hair, and the remaining 80% was spent with his head between your legs, coaxing out wave after wave of cum with his fingers and tongue.

The tip of his cock was already inside you when a knock on your door interrupted you, your grandmother asking if you knew where Caleb went because he wasn't in his room. Needless to say, you had to stop what you were doing and Caleb had a difficult time sneaking out of the bathroom.

“That... mmph... and this... is all your fault...” you struggle to say while biting back your moans as he grinds his fingers against a good spot, his thumb flicking at your clit. Caleb has always been too good with his hands. “You always—ah!—do this even when there are other people around...!”

“You wanna know why?” Chuckling, Caleb leans closer to whisper to your ear, lips brushing over your soft skin. “You squeeze me so fucking tight when we're about to get caught.”

You gush around his fingers as he mouths on the shell of your ear, moaning into the palm of your hand. He hums in satisfaction, pulling out his hand from your panties to admire the stringy release between his fingers. “You always cum too fast, pipsqueak. You pent up these days?”

How on earth could you possibly be pent up when you've been fucking Caleb at every opportunity? Every time you're left alone at the house, he fucks you against any flat surface he can find—the door when he's too impatient to go to your room, the bathroom sink because he likes making you watch yourself in the mirror when he's fucking you stupid, and even ate you out on the kitchen countertop at some point.

But the thing is, Caleb is undaunted by the possibility of being caught. So even when your Gran is around, he sneaks into your bedroom to fool around, just like what he's doing now under the pretense of “we watched a horror movie today, aren't you scared to sleep alone?”

Evidently, Caleb has no intention of letting you sleep tonight. He fondles your tits beneath your shirt, the tent in his sweatpants grinding against your clothed ass. “Don't pretend like you're innocent,” he mutters, making you yelp when he pinches your nipple. “You strutted around all day wearing my shirt without a bra, bending down in front of me on purpose... Did you know how hard it was to hold back from fucking you on the spot?”

“T-that was...!” Your cheeks flush with warmth. Sure, you were kind of riling him up on purpose, but that was under the assumption you'd be alone tonight.

“This ass...” he rubs you above your shorts, groaning as he palms at the soft flesh. “...was in my mind the entire fucking day. I held myself back until now, but I can't hold back anymore, fuck.”

He strips you off of your clothes, only leaving his shirt scrunched up above your breasts. He pulls down his sweatpants, and you feel his huge cock slap against your lower back, his pre-cum smearing across your skin. He holds the back of your knee to raise your leg, positioning his cock to your soaked pussy.

“Been waiting for this for so fucking long... Oh, shiiit,” he moans, long and drawn out and dirty as he slides right home, the tip of his dick pounding at your cervix. You squeal into your hand, your cunt clamping down on his cock so tightly but it doesn't deter his fast pace at all.

He reaches so deep like this, hitting spots he normally couldn't when you're in missionary. His huge cock feels like it's carving its own space into your body, coring you out from the inside, and it feels so good that you can't hold back your voice at all.

“Nn... Don't do that,” Caleb pulls away your hand from your mouth when he notices you biting down on your skin to hide your moans. He replaces it by putting his fingers in your mouth, cooing softly to your ear, “Suck. You're going to hurt yourself.”

You suck on his fingers, eyes rolling back to your head as he continues to pound you, fucking your pussy so good. Only Caleb knows how to make you feel so much pleasure to the point you can't think properly anymore. Your fingers could never hope to reach the places his cock touches.

It's how this twisted relationship started in the first place, Caleb catching you touching yourself when you forgot to lock your door. He taught you how to make yourself cum because you didn't know anything, until all you knew was him and his cock. But he was too big the first time you took him in that he had to fuck you loose with four fingers, sucking and licking at your pussy to make you wet enough to accept his thick girth and length. Now, he could slide inside you easily, your body having taken his shape.

Caleb stares at your messy face, utterly endeared. “Fuck, you're so fucking cute...” He takes out his fingers from your mouth, using them to tilt your jaw to meet his lips. He kisses you sloppy, no finesse as you slide your tongue against his, moaning into each other's mouths. “Mm... open your mouth more... yeah, that's it, baby... good fucking girl...”

“Ah, fuck, Caleb!” you sob, desperately rocking against his cock. “I'm gonna cum, cumming, I can't anymore...!”

“You're gonna cum?” Caleb stops thrusting, making you whine and attempt to move yourself, but he holds onto your hips and pushes you into the mattress, laying you flat on the sheets on your front. He settles behind you, using his weight to pound you to the mattress harder. “Then fucking cum.”

You moan uncontrollably into the pillows, completely forgetting you're meant to stay quiet. Caleb fucks his cock harder, faster, deeper, failing to hold back his own grunts as you tighten up around him, wet heat melting around his dick. “Shit, I'm gonna cum too... I'm gonna cum hard in your slutty fucking pussy... fuck, I'm cumming!”

You squirt around his cock as he fills you up with cum, your fluids making a mess between your bodies and the sheets. You don't realize you're crying out up until Caleb grabs your chin and kisses you once more, muffling the lewd moans you're letting out while he's still cumming inside you, hot and thick. He gives you tiny, slowing thrusts, cock still spurting out semen. “Oh, baby, you did so good...” he sucks on your bottom lip, staring intently at your orgasm face. “Such a good fucking girl for me...”

“So... full...” is the only thing you can say, feeling the sheer volume of one load of his cum in your pussy, warming you from the inside.

“Not full enough, baby.” Caleb peppers your face with kisses. It is then that you realize—with no small amount of fear and arousal—his cock hasn't softened at all. “I still have a lot to give you.”

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace x reader smut #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader smut #caleb x reader #lads smut #lads x reader #lads x reader smut

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crescenthistory · 4 months ago

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It's Nice To Have A Friend

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Synopsis: Remus' childhood best friend is the only person he is comfortable showing unrestrained affection towards – until he one day gets in his own head about it.

Words: 14.4k

Warnings/tags: there are some suggestive remarks, brief references to "shagging" and implied underage drinking, but i would classify it as safe for minors! fem!reader, use of y/n, childhood best friends to lovers (thus you grew up in wales and use welsh terms, but you aren't said to be welsh), you are in ravenclaw (only for one plot point, not personality), platonic physical affection, romantic physical affection, kissing, "it was revealed to me in a dream" trope, some miscommunication trope, deep yearning, remus' pov (meaning loads of self-loathing and overthinking), panic attack-ish, remus cursing like a sailor and joking about jumping, kind of shy/reserved!remus, some angst, happy ending ofc, background jilypad

Note: phew this was intense but sosososo much fun to write. it is very much a fluffy fic tho, don't be worried<3 i fucking love this story/dynamic so much

a blurb about their happily ever after

It is an ill-kept secret that Remus John Lupin struggles with romantic public displays of affection.

It was something his best friends had teased him relentlessly for since the first time he was given a Valentine Day’s card in year two by a boy that he didn’t even have a crush on mind you, and became a stuttering, spluttering mess. He could still hear James and Sirius’ barks of laughter the second that Hufflepuff was out of view and could still feel the bench shake from when Peter fell off it, clutching his stomach. Remus had been sure his cheeks would be permanently dyed red from the shame.

His one friend who did not betray him in such a manner was his oldest, namely you. Remus’ sweetheart, as Sirius called you, his childhood best friend from back home who he broke the statute of secrecy for when he was too young to realise what that meant, but who thankfully turned out to be a witch too. Something you both wept tears of joy for, as you did not have to be separated when he went off to Hogwarts.

On that horrid day, you only pinched his darkening cheeks and laughed quietly – still teasing, but in a way that felt more like admiring and less like humiliating. He faintly remembers scrunching his nose at you in response, a look you immediately mirrored before you went to hide him in the crook of your neck and gave the others a faux scolding for “embarrassing poor Rem when he is wholly capable of doing so himself”.

His makeshift pack of friends kept that routine up for the rest of his school years, consisting of James and Sirius poking constant fun, Peter enjoying it all a tad bit too much, and you “protecting” him while laughing all the same. His affliction only worsened throughout his time at Hogwarts, but if one of his afflictions were to be the butt of a joke, he supposed he was grateful it was this one.

In moments like these, it was a tad bit difficult to keep that sentiment up, though.

“You should have seen the look on his face, doll!” Sirius made out through a laugh as the group made their way back from Hogsmeade.

He was recounting Remus’ dance on the Three Broomsticks dancefloor with one slightly-more-rowdy-than-normal Emmeline Vance who all but dragged him out there despite his quiet sputters. You had been off on some endless errands that Remus had passionately attempted to join you for before Sirius all but bolted him to the bench because “you owe me a round, you mangy wolf”.

“I believe I have seen it many a time, Siri,” you laughed out, yelping slightly when Remus pinched your side from where he had his arm around you. “Hey!” you scolded him half-heartedly, point diminished by your grin.

“Cheeky minx, don’t side with the devil!” Remus conspired with you through a stage-whisper while glaring at Sirius, whose laughter only doubled in intensity.

“You can’t ask me to lie for you, del,” you replied in the same tone of voice, leaning up to kiss his cheek as if to apologise for your treachery. An apology that was wholly accepted as Remus tugged you closer into his side and allowed for the laughter around him to continue with a sigh.

Because therein lies the one exception – Remus Lupin was pathetically incapable of public displays of affection, unless they were with you.

His problem with these displayals was the insinuation behind them and the attention that was brought to him because of it. If Emmeline dances with him, leaving a scandalously little amount of room between them, he knows what she wants from him and everyone else does, too. If his current romantic partner kisses him in the hallway, it is a glimpse into something that otherwise occurs behind closed doors, a reveal of his private life that he does not enjoy. He wants that part hidden, and embarrassment flares through him like a rocket at the thought that others bear witness to it – and then the flames are stoked when they notice that he knows and has enough dignity to be embarrassed, which just fuels an eternal evil cycle.

You, however – your wonderful self he has known all his life, you who refused to ever leave his side despite his lycanthropy and subsequent grumpy, isolationist persona, you who are his absolute better half and light of his life – there was no reason that affection should be hidden. There was nothing secretive nor fragile in your relationship, it was the purest thing he had ever had the pleasure of having.

There was nothing insinuative or blasphemous about it, there was nothing to be held against him. He would hold you, hug you, even kiss your shoulder, cheek and forehead, because he and all else around knew that it meant nothing more. It was nothing out of the norm, nothing for others to point out and bring attention to. There was no glance into something hidden away, there was no line being overstepped. It was just two best friends, aware and proud of how much they meant to one another.

So Remus never had any hesitations about leaning into your touch, about seeking yours out, about lips identifying exposed skin and staying there for a moment or two. It was something he began doing before he truly knew what embarrassment entailed, it was muscle memory as much as instinct these days.

And if others did not understand it fully, that was an issue Remus for once felt no confinement to public opinion on. If people made assumptions or threw glances, it held no importance to him. Even his Marauders, Sirius especially, raised their eyebrows at your proximity when you all first met, but they understood the routine of it all quickly. That these two first years before them were a package deal in every form of the word. It was quickly accepted within your little pack, albeit fondly commented on every now and again. James had Sirius in that same unrestrained way, bodies strewn across each other at any given opportunity, so why couldn’t Remus have you? Why wouldn’t he?

Never mind that Sirius was officially brought into James and Lily's relationship at the end of last term.

“Well, James would hug anything that moved and seemed like it might need it.” Sirius had argued one night many years ago, not needing to add the and I need it.

“And isn’t that lovely for Prongs,” Remus had drawled in return. “But I need a few years to get there, and Y/N happened to be more strategic than you lot.”

“By knowing you first?”

“Precisely. Also, she’s lovelier than you.”

It had earned him a snort and a pillow to the face, but it was accepted without further questioning. With the exceptions only occurring in a drunken babble here and there from Sirius, alone in their dorm after a party. Remus is quite certain he couldn’t string together a coherent sentence if his life depended on it in those states, and so he never took it to heart.

Remus revelled in having something of his own, someone only he understood on that level, and his heart always warmed when he thought about how lucky he was that that someone was you.

He subconsciously pulled you even closer at that thought, content and comfortable to do so whether that be around his marauders or in front of the whole Great Hall; there was nothing more to it to be embarrassed of. It was just you; just Y/N and Remus. Like always.

“You occluding yourself away from your menace of a dorm mate?” you whispered to him then, and he angled his chin down slightly with a smile to find you looking at him curiously.

“Oh, yeah,” Remus agreed with a solemn nod. “Must prepare for being locked up in a room with him all night. It’s tedious work, you know?”

“Most certainly.” You attempted to match his faux severity, but a giggle escaped you nonetheless – a beautiful one that Remus decided to mentally save for the night, should Sirius become unbearable.

Speaking of; “I take great offence to that,” Sirius proclaimed from the few strides ahead he was, pointing his finger in Remus’ direction without turning around. “Dog-like hearing, Moony, don’t think you can get away with badmouthing me here!”

“Dog-like he says,” Remus whispered to you, earning him an indignant “oi!” as Sirius finally turned around.

“Gorgeous, would you tell your worse half to knock it off?”

“I sure will,” you declared, turning your body more towards Sirius in Remus’ grasp. “Siri, sweetheart, would you knock it off?”

Within the second, Sirius’ offended expression transformed into one of giddiness. “Awe, princess, you think of me as your other half?”

“Worse half, Pads,” James interjected, looking over his shoulder bemusedly.

“Do keep up,” Remus added with a half-hearted glare.

“Irrelevant!” Sirius threw his hands up and spun around in celebration. “I have won the title of her other half, you can get lost Moons.”

Remus used his arm around your shoulders to angle you back away from Sirius. “I think not. I’ve been keeping this friendship for so long, she’ll need a lawyer to get rid of me,” he stated matter-of-factly, looking down at you at the last bit. “Capiche?” He tilted his head at you.

You hummed through a poorly-withheld smile, as if you were considering it. “Sure thing, cariad. Meet with our lawyers tomorrow after lunch?”

Remus gasped as you ripped out of his grasp and stuck your tongue out at him. Flashbacks of your younger days chasing each other down dirt roads came to his mind and widened his grin as he saw you back away from him, eyes trained on his expression.

“Minx,” he breathed out through a laugh just before you sat off running away from him; Remus hot on your heels, laughter escaping him freely. Sirius began running with you, though he was slowed as he twirled around and hollered, surely waking the entirety of the mountaintops surrounding the castle.

James had been minding his own business for once as he engaged in quiet conversation with Lily and Pandora, but his eyes twinkled as he eyed his three running friends, exchanging a knowing look with the redhead.

“Young love,” Pandora sighed dreamily, though James could never be certain if she was looking at the loud, carefree forms before them or at something entirely different.

Remus saw you stopped running while still some dozens of metres away from the castle, still facing away from him, but arms opening to accommodate for the impending crash of his body against yours. It does something funny to his heart to think about, but he just lets it widen his smile as he did exactly as expected – let his arms loop around your waist and twirl you around as he caught up to you.

Your out-of-breath giggles permeated into his ears as his face was tucked in between your neck and shoulder as he slowed down, laughter calming in his own chest.

“Caught you,” he whispered through his own breathlessness. “Happy now?”

You turned in his grasp, squeezing at his shoulders both to show affection and seemingly to steady yourself as your chest still heaved; Remus held you tighter to help you in the latter endeavour. “Shook off Sirius for a bit, so yeah, I am. As should you be.”

He dropped his head laughing at that, glancing behind him through his hair to see Sirius bent over, hands on his knees as James had already caught up to him and was patting his back in sympathy. Any other time of the month, Remus would likely have been right there with him, but this was a good week and you always seemed to be able to find some semblance of energy within him, even if he thought he had none.

“I take back my calling you minx, then.” He looked at you with a smile. “That was strategic.”

“Are you saying minxes can’t be strategic, Loopy?” You raised your eyebrows at him teasingly, pulling slightly out of his grasp to breathe better.

“I’m saying– don’t call me Loopy.”

Your smile became almost taunting at that, and Remus knew his comment likely only worsened the likelihood of you using that nickname now. “I just remembered how I used to call you that the other day actually,” you mused, putting on an innocent smile. “I don’t remember why I stopped, I just forgot about it. I think it might be time for a renaissance.”

“I think I’m too out of breath for you to say things like that. I can’t chase you any further, but that deserves to be chased.”

You shoved lightly at his shoulder at that. “You’re getting too old, you’re no fun.”

“I’m super fun. Textbook definition,” Remus harrumphed, gleaning when you rolled your eyes through a burst of laughter.

“No one who references textbook definitions is fun, Moons!” James called from where the group was catching up to you two, finally within earshot.

Sirius was practically draped across James’ shoulder, breath still coming heavy. He pointed yet another accusatory finger, this time at you. “You’ll be the death of me, dollface. Merlin’s tits.”

“Don’t blame me for your own inadequacy, gorgeous,” you quipped back. It made Remus rather proud, especially when Sirius groaned dramatically in response.

“Time to get some beauty sleep then, yeah?” James coaxed, giving Sirius’ cheek a peck as he continued effortlessly dragging him in through the entrance of the castle.

Lily hummed in agreement, poking one of her boyfriends in the side. “Yeah, Sirius seems to need it.”

“You think I’m so sexy, Red, don’t lie to yourself,” Sirius mumbled, petulantly remaining worn out over James’ shoulders.

Remus smiled at his friends, hand reaching out behind him blindly, knowing you’d find it. Surely enough, your fingers intertwined with his own and gave him a little tug to hasten his gait down the hallways.

Moving up the staircases with surprisingly little trouble, the group finally found themselves outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, ready to split up with you and Pandora heading to Ravenclaw and the rest clambering inside.

You made your goodbyes, quick hugs and kisses on cheeks with Lily and James and a kiss to the hand from Sirius who had decided to lay down dramatically on the floor. When you turned to Remus at last, just a tad bit away from the others, he enveloped you in a warm hug, breathing you in as he settled his chin on your shoulder.

“Let me walk you?” he asked, already knowing you would say no.

“Nice try Loopy, but I’d rather you go inside to the warmth and head to bed,” you murmured into his neck. “Thank you, though.”

You always said no. He always asked, anyway. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly protective or otherwise missed you too much, he’d go with you anyway. Today he decided to respect your wishes.

“Tell me again why you had to be an independent person and get sorted into your own house?” he grumbled against you, smiling when he felt your chest rumbling beneath him. That same smile softened when your grip on him grew just the slightest bit tighter.

“Something tells me you’ll survive.”

He tightened his hold on you in turn, one arm around your waist and the other stabilising your neck, before he spun your body around twice, twirling along the hallway. He relished in the laughter that escaped you and ensured to stamp a proper kiss to your hair before he released you back down to the floor.

“Sleep well, dove.”

“Goodnight, cariad,” you said through a soft smile, giving him and the others a small wave before turning around to where Pandora was waiting, grabbing her hand as you two all but skipped down the hallway together.

With his eyes still glued on your disappearing form, Remus nearly yelped as James’ hands came up to settle roughly on his shoulders – albeit somewhat careful of his joints – steering him through the now-opened portrait, who was rambling on with complaints about students taking up the space in front of her for too long.

“Funny that,” James started.

Remus gave him a puzzled look. “What, Prongs?”

“Just that you danced with one Ravenclaw at the Three Broomsticks for two minutes and gained the colour and conversational skills of a tomato; but when you twirl and kiss this Ravenclaw, all you’re left with is that goofy grin of yours.” James’ comment seemed off-handed, said over his shoulder as they walked through the empty common room.

“First of all, it’s Y/N we’re talking about and not some Ravenclaw,” he started, confusion laced in his voice. In the meantime, James and Sirius kissed Lily goodbye, the latter giving her bum a light tap as she moved up the stairs to the girls’ dorms. “Secondly, it’s Y/N. She’s my best friend, and one of yours, mind you. What’s there to go all tomato for?”

“Some would argue, there is never any reason to go all tomato,” Sirius taunted, ducking the smack Remus aimed towards him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” James laughed, literally waving it off. “Just pointing out the parallel. Ironic, innit?”

“Don’t see why it would be,” Remus grumbled petulantly in return. Sirius reached up to ruffle his hair somewhat roughly before entering their dorm, where Peter was already waiting for them, tucked into bed.

“What’re we laughing about tonight, fellas?” he questioned without looking up from the magazine he was reading through. Remus was fairly certain he had seen Mary reading through that very same magazine last week.

“Oh just at Remus’ peculiarities with birds.” Sirius felt emboldened with his comment from where he was crouched behind his bed – ample distance to protect him from Remus, he surely gathered.

“So, nothing new? Nice.” Peter returned his attention to the magazine it never really left.

“Yeah, don’t worry Pete – your friends are just as big arseholes as on any other day.” Remus bent down to pat the boy on the shoulder before moving over to his own bed, between Peter and Sirius’.

“Hey, I don’t mean to be an arsehole,” James complained with almost a full pout across his lips within a second of Remus’ comment. “We’re just having a bit of fun psychoanalysing you, s’all.”

“Which, of course, is a generally accepted polite thing to do.” Remus nodded as if he was gravely understanding, only flipping James off when the other boy didn’t catch his sarcasm.

“No, Remmy, what would be rude is to point out how you are desperately–” Sirius began with taunting mirth plastered all over his face, but he was cut off as James all but jumped on him to cover his mouth.

The black haired boy looked up at his boyfriend first with some offence and then a look Remus didn’t want to witness.

“How about we leave poor Moony alone for the night, huh baby?” James questioned, moving his hand away from Sirius’ mouth as the other boy nodded almost dumbly, still staring up at him.

“Who’s turning red now?” Remus whispered to himself as he looked through his trunk for his pyjamas. He barely had the reflexes to catch the pillow Sirius hurled at him, tossing it back with a loud laugh that was quickly reciprocated by his best mates.

As if a miracle had been awarded them by some forgiving gods, the boys’ dorm room quieted down fairly quickly after that. Sirius and James settled in Sirius’ bed for the night, barely fitting themselves onto the mattress that was almost too small for one boy, let alone two. Once in each other’s arms, however, it was an easy thing to drift off. Peter was asleep before the other three had even brushed their teeth.

Remus was the only one tossing. Not unusual, but he couldn’t really understand why that was tonight.

His sleep cycle often closely followed the moon’s, and he was almost two weeks away from the full moon, a perfectly decent time for falling and staying asleep. Tonight, though, his body was once more fighting him. He kept replaying the night, the conversations, the interactions, trying to pin his unrest on something. He supposed that dance with Vance had been unexpected and the adrenaline spike of all the attention following it might still linger and make sleep evade him.

Despite what his dismay for public romantic displays might indicate, Remus was no prude. As a matter of fact, just as Sirius had before he was locked down, Remus was no stranger to making his rounds at the occasional common room party. Rarer was it that he shagged anyone back home, as he spent most of his time with you, but it had happened here and there too. Vance and him had even spent a night together once at a quidditch afterparty, but he had no significant interest in her apart from a mutually understood night of fun. He never really did, even when his partners were great in all capacities. It just didn’t seem that romance was an object for Remus – and good riddance, if the struggles of dealing with it so far was any sign.

Perhaps that was it then, dancing with Vance had rehashed something for him. Though the idea didn’t settle well in his bones, Remus also knew that he would never settle if he didn’t give his mind an excuse for his sudden restlessness.

After checking the time with a hefty sigh, he decided to throw in the towel and took a small sip of a sleeping draught potion he had at the ready in his bedside table at all times. If sleep would not come to him, he would hunt it down damn it. His friends’ playful mockery and a dance he didn’t even want to partake in would not cause him any more torment.

As Remus slipped into the land of dreams, he may come to regret that sentiment, if but a bit.

There are warm bodies pressed uncomfortably close to him – the warmest of which has her arms around his neck, one hand scraping through his hair. It should feel good, Remus enjoys when his hair is played with, but this feels sharp enough to draw blood. Emmeline’s laugh is all he can make out over the chatter and stomping around him, but it feels wrong, scratchy like a record player. Her fingers on him are cold, unlike anything else in the room.

It is spinning. The room, that is. Remus is unfocused, as if he had been shooting vodka and not butterbeer earlier. He can’t quite make out any of his friends, or anyone really, Emmeline’s features bleeding out into the background.

For some reason his heart is pounding the way it does before his transformation. Everything feels painfully wrong and he is aware of every inch of his body where Emmeline is touching him.

She is still laughing and Remus is sure it would make his ears bleed, which only confuses him further because Emmeline is truly a nice girl. Just not one he wants to feel flush against himself at the moment.

He reaches a hand up to touch his ear – realising only now that his arms are hanging limply by his sides, the only static thing in the otherwise spinning room – and when he retracts his hand to look at it, his fingers are coated with blood.

His breathing grows ragged as he feels the blood running down the side of his neck. He has half a mind to tell Emmeline, to shout for help. He doesn’t. Nothing comes out when he tries to open his mouth, all control of his body ripped from his grasp.

With no warning he realises the wetness on his neck is not blood, but someone’s open mouth smearing kisses down it with reckless abandon. His stomach ties in knots and he wants to push Emmeline off of him, still to no avail.

Her grip on him tightens painfully, and Remus swears he feels a bone break. He would know.

The flurry behind her has just become a swirl of colours and sounds to him and Remus feels himself drowning in a moment he desperately wants away from. He shuts his eyes hard, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

He feels a warmth in his chest, starkly different from the heat around him, that slowly, like thawing ice, begins to spread throughout him. He hums the melody you sang to him during his first ever panic attack, the sweet one that always lulls him to sleep, and the warmth spreads faster.

With his eyes still screwed shut, Remus begins to regain the feeling in his legs first, noticing them swaying back and forth to some calmer, unknown rhythm.

The feeling in his hand returns too, and it’s clasped around someone else's. Theirs is also warm, light and fits much better in his, though he’s not quite sure what he’s comparing it to.

The front of his body is warmer than the back as he’s pressed up against someone, swaying with them in a slow dance that would never have worked in the middle of Three Broomsticks. It flows with his soul.

At last, Remus can hear again, as if coming up from water. He hears that it was not him humming, but rather a soft figure tucked under his chin, humming the vibrations of the melody against the side of his neck.

When he tightens his arms instinctively, he does not need to open his eyes to know it is you.

He does anyway, looking down at you, standing in his arms, swaying together in an empty Gryffindor common room. There is a lazy smile on your lips as you look up at him, cheek against his chest, eyes twinkling like the starlight.

Remus feels right. Remus feels good. His thoughts are honey, sweet but slow, coating over any coherent reactions he might have to standing here with you like this. He escaped and he is with you and all is right once more.

Have you danced like this before? Did it feel like this then?

You seem unpuzzled, relaxed. The warmth settles in Remus for good.

“Hey handsome,” you whispered, as if you were sharing a secret with him before angling your face more up towards his.

Remus is not in charge of his body when his neck dips down and lets his lips meet yours halfway, casual and expectantly, a habit as much as a wish. You taste like yourself. You smell like yourself. Remus is surrounded by you, cornered by your smile against his lips.

You pull back all too quickly, furrowing your brows at him. Dream-Remus has no hesitation of removing the hand from around your back to thumb at the furrow, brushing away any negative thoughts from you. He kisses the spot between your eyebrows.

Everything is right.

When his eyes meet yours again, the concerned look in them has not changed. You reach a tentative hand up to his cheek, thumb swiping over his cheekbone as you hold him with what he irrevocably knows to be love.

“It’s time to wake up, cariad,” you said with a small sad smile.

The last thing Remus remembers is the feeling of the floor disappearing beneath him.

Remus sat up with a gasp, and for a rare moment in time he was speechless.

He was not a stranger to invasive, questionable or downright spiritual dreams, a side effect of both his connection with the moon and the tons of potions he has taken over the years. Usually, he is present in his dreams and acts as his own little commentator during and after them, narrating what happens and what he thinks of it.

It was not uncommon for him to think “I think I will remember this one” as the final thought in a dream. Or when he wakes up in tears, his first thought was often “that was a bit dramatic of you, calm down”.

Now, he had nothing. Now, he was speechless.

Worse yet, usually when he wakes up with a jolt, it is in the middle of the night – but now, as his senses began to trickle back in, he could hear the commotion around him that only could mean the boys are at various stages in the process of getting ready.

Remus Lupin had just had a life-altering, earth-shattering dream, and James Fleamont Potter was repeatedly knocking his knee into his nightstand as he jumped around while tying his shoes on, instead of sitting down to do it like a normal person would.

He thought James was saying something, and maybe even to Remus specifically, but he could still hear the blood rushing through his head. Beneath that again, he could hear your humming.

With a groan, Remus let himself topple over from his sitting position to land face-first into his duvet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck?

“Oi!” Remus finally heard, as what felt like a rolled up pair of socks hit his head. “What in Godrick’s name has gotten into you, mate? You good?” It was Sirius voice calling, seemingly from across the room.

Remus just groaned in reply. His eyes were wide open as he stared directly into his sheets, feeling both freezing cold and like his brain was slowed by a fever.

“You okay, Moons?” Peter’s voice came gentler from beside him. Remus thought his hand might be hovering near him, as if he was considering consolingly patting him but was unsure if he should.

Another groan.

“Okay, what about this: groan once if this is Moony mooning over something and twice if you’re in actual crisis,” James suggested, not unkindly.

A singular groan, though it sure did feel like two.

“Groan once if you’re a prick and twice if you’re insufferable,” Sirius felt the need to comment.

Instead of making any further sounds, Remus wrangled his arm from beneath the blanket to show Sirius how he felt about him in the moment with a gesture.

“Fantastic!” James exclaimed. “You have class in 35 minutes, Moons, and breakfast now, so best get a move on.” Remus heard the telltale sound of James leaving – as in, James’ heavy footsteps moving across the floor and Sirius scrambling like a dog to follow after him. At the complete lack of sounds in the rooms after that, he assumed Peter moused after them as well.

At last Remus sat up with a sigh and stared emptily in front of him, mind moving too fast for him to catch a thought but too slow for him to properly process anything.

What does this mean?

Except Remus could no longer deny that he knew what it meant. That the instant your humming caressed his ears, he knew what it meant. That his subconsciousness wanted to replace a girl who saw him as a romantic prospect in a place Remus felt queasy in with you in a place he considered home. That is no coincidence.

And that when you kissed him–

Except you did not kiss him. Remus shook his head at that, as if the thoughts could just tumble out of his ears. You did not kiss him and he did not kiss you. Because this was a dream, it was not real and Remus must just be really, really unwell.

He felt unwell, but not in the way he was trying to convince himself.

Taking one deep breath, Remus looked to the awning of their little dormitory and shot out a silent prayer for any higher power to listen.

Put me back together, I cannot fall apart like this.

Bury this back down deep, I cannot feel like this.

It was going to be a long day.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

By the time Remus had made it to the entryway to the Great Hall, feeling frazzled and less put together than he had an excuse to, he saw his group of friends making their way out.

“Rem!” It was you who caught sight of him first, and immediately beelined towards him, the others following closely behind, wearing varying degrees of concern and confusion as they looked him up and down.

Your face was by far the most concerned, as you immediately brought your left hand up to cup his cheek. “Are you alright, cariad?”

For the first time in your almost two decades of friendship, Remus was painfully aware of your physical proximity.

He always knew, of course, but it never really registered with him – it was completely natural. Right now, nothing about him felt natural. You stood flush with him and he felt you against him like a fire, skin singeing beneath his clothes. Your eyes seemed so big looking into his that he could get lost in them, his only internal monologue being a dreamy sigh and a long string of curse words at the absolute madhouse chaos that his mind was becoming. As he looked at you, it was like he could see his version of you from his dream as well, how you looked at him with so much love and admiration, how your lips inched closer to his.

“Mate?” Remus realised then, that he had been staring at you for far too long, not answering your question, to the point where James had to try to catch his attention.

“I– uh,” Remus sputtered, eyes flickering wildly all over your face, panic rising in his chest as he realised he could not think clearly with you so close.

He took a step back without thinking, just barely out of your grasp but still close, and shook his head. “Sorry, yeah, no, yes, I just feel a bit… off today.”

The furrow between your brows deepend, and once more his mind flashed back to his dream. His hand twitched. It seemed like you weren’t even aware of it when you took a step closer, to be back by his side, reaching your wrist up to place it on his forehead to feel his temperature. “You’re feeling poorly?” you whispered so quietly and so lovingly Remus thought he might faint.

Was it always like this? It was always like this. Why was he freaking out about it then? He was freaking out. What the fuck was wrong with him?

With horror, Remus realised that a slight blush was creeping up his neck, and he fought hell to keep it down as he cleared his throat. “Just a little, uh, dove, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Do you want to go lay down?” You began what he knew would be a string of suggestions for things to do to make him feel better, and he could not stand watching you be so concerned when he was lying to you.

Almost like a flinch, he pulled back out of your arms – properly this time, taking several strides backwards away from the group. It barely registered with him that James and Sirius were looking at him with some confused amusement while Lily looked sympathetic.

“I, erm, will be fine, yeah? Nothing to worry about.” Without properly looking, he reached an arm out to grab Peter by the shoulder and all but manhandled him to his side. “Peter and I have Herbology now, but uh, I’ll catch you later?”

Remus hated how everything he said sounded like a question, like he was running a lie by you for you to confirm if it was believable. Remus hated that he couldn’t tear his gaze away from your face for more than a few seconds and most of all he hated that he was spiraling under the weight of your gaze in turn. A horrible combination.

“Take care, Rem,” you whispered as he all but ran away from you, hauling Peter along.

You stood looking after him for a moment, only turning your head when you felt Lily’s reassuring hand on your shoulder to find a small smile on her face.

“What in the buggering hell was that?” Sirius questioned, looking mostly at you for an answer.

“I don’t know,” you said, honestly. Had you known, you might still not have told him, though, if you thought Remus wouldn’t want you to. “I usually always know about his moods before they come, but this has me stumped,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

“He woke up weirdly,” James mused, rubbing his hand across his chin. “I guess we’ll just see where the day goes, yeah?”

The four of you nodded at each other, but you still gnawed on your lip in concern, glancing over your shoulder to where he disappeared.

Whatever it was, you hoped he would come talk with you about it when he was ready.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Remus only had one hour to compose himself during Herbology before he had Charms with you. Sharing most of his classes with you was something he had always considered a blessing, and while that sentiment would likely never fade, it was also causing him some distress as he almost toppled the work desk with his jittering.

Peter didn’t question him, but Remus’ obvious nerves were apparently contagious for the anxious boy who jittered right along with him, casting him the occasional glance.

Letting his elbows fall heavily on the desk, Remus put his head in his hands and ignored the instructions Professor Sprout was walking them through – he would let Peter pick up the slack for once and then subsequently accept the lower marks. Right now, Remus had to think and get his shit together.

He breathed his way through some panic exercises and pictured you in his mind. It almost brought a smile to his lips in an instant and for the first time, he let the realisation of how irrevocably wrecked for you he was.

Has it always been like this? Why have I never put this into words before? How can I revert back?

In that moment, Remus decided two things. Firstly, there was no possibility of you returning his feelings nor would he ever expect you to. It was true that you accepted and loved him in a way he never could quite believe himself deserving of, but that in itself is testament that it couldn’t be any more. What you gave him was already too much, it would be unthinkable for you to harbour even deeper feelings for him.

Second, and most importantly, he could not lose you. Remus has made many mistakes in his time, but he could not live with himself if he lost you. It would be too much. Because regardless of the fact that he now knew he was– that he now knew what he knew, the friendship between you was the most important thing. It was Remus and Y/N, right?

He could not be weird and sputtering, he could not make you uncomfortable. Meaning, he could not withdraw from you despite his instinct to run and hide. Shame burned within him at the thought that even if he could withdraw he didn’t know if he could fight his want not to. You were muscle memory.

Remus opened his eyes and slowly dragged his palms down his face in resolution. He would have to act as if nothing was wrong, and he would have to lie through his bloody teeth to explain away whatever bodily reactions he has.

If he starts stammering, he will have to shut up and lie that he is tired. If he becomes an embarrassing shade of auburn, he will have to cough and lie that he might be coming down with a fever. If he shakes, it is because of lack of sleep. If he, Merlin forbids, cries, he will have to claim he must be coming down with some odd moonsickness. You will surely follow him to Madam Pomfrey and maybe it will be easier when you’re alone.

Or maybe it will be worse.

No matter which it was, Remus would have to soldier it, for your sake. You did not deserve his imposing infatuation, but you also did not deserve to lose what you thought to be a loyal friend.

When him and Peter packed up the barely-used desk and mumbled a goodbye to a disapproving Sprout in the door, Remus made it his mission to focus on his breathing again as he almost ran down the hallways to where your friend group always met up outside the Charms classroom.

Be normal, be normal, be normal.

Your eyes found him the second he rounded the final corner, almost as if you had been watching it, waiting for him. A beautiful smile lit up on your face as soon as you saw him, albeit a bit dampened by the worry in your eyes – he simultaneously wanted desperately to soothe you while also berating himself for it being there. His fault.

“Hey dovey.” He forced his words to be casual, his smile to be measured as he strode up beside you.

This is where he is supposed to drag you into a sideways hug, squeezing your hips while dropping a kiss on the top of your head, causing Sirius to make some quip about “you were literally just gone an hour. He stood beside you perhaps a beat too long before he began to do so with shaking hands, and he felt your burning look as you studied him. Remus made it all the way up to where he would kiss your head before he chickened out due to the tornado screaming in his stomach.

“Hi, Rem,” you all but whispered, your words just for him. You opened your mouth to say more, but he was afraid of what it would be.

“Waited long?” he asked to distract you from it.

“Nah,” you said and leaned further into his side. “But I’m glad you’re here now. How’re you feeling?”

At that, he saw Peter, Sirius, James and Lily – who had been stuck in their own little world – look up and try to hear what he has to say. Remus crumbled under their watchful gazes, knowing they knew him well enough to pick apart his every little reaction. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t really know,” he settled for. “My head’s murky, didn’t sleep well.”

You made a soft cooing sound and started rubbing circles on the side of his hip from where your arms were circled around him. It knocked a wave of dizziness into him that made him want to take a step back to lean against the cold stone wall behind you. In replacement he settled for holding onto you tighter; it only made it worse.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go lay down? Merlin knows we won’t be missing out on anything with the way Flitwick rambles away any sense he might have.”

This is where Remus would laugh heartily at your obvious disdain for the professor that he never truly understood. Instead, his mind zeroed in on one word you said.

We. We, we, we, we.

Circe’s tits, did he want to take you up on that.

He swallowed, acutely aware that you must have heard the sound when stood so close to him, though you didn’t give away any reaction. To buy himself a moment to collect his thoughts, Remus finally dared tilt his chin downwards to kiss the top of your head. It might have been too slow, too tentative, but his heart was beating so fast the rest of his body felt too slowed down in comparison. He hoped you thought the kiss was a thank you for caring and not the nervous stall it was. He hoped he wouldn’t be eternally damned for breathing in the scent of you.

“I’m quite alright, dove,” he murmured instead, furiously avoiding the surely questioning gazes of his other friends. “Thank you, though.”

You grumbled some but didn’t push him on it. He silently thanked you for that, too.

His throat was too parched to partake in the silent banter amongst his friends as you walked into Charms, too focused on where your bodies brushed as you walked, too deafened by the sound of your laughter.

You sat down in your regular spots, you and Remus side by side in the front, with Sirius and James behind you and Lily and Mary to your right. This was normal, this was alright. Flitwick droned on about the theoretics and debates around the charms you learned last lesson, it went in one ear and out the other.

Absentmindedly, you had grabbed Remus’ hand lightly between yours and were tracing soothing circles along his wrist and palm. You meant so well, and this would have cured likely any other ailment Remus struggled with, but right now there were fireworks going off in his head.

Taking advantage of the notice Dumbledore had given all of his professors to not call Remus out on sleeping in class, he folded his arms and laid his head down on them, carefully not to take his hand away from you. If he could shield his face, he could probably talk himself down before class ended.

In the solitude of his arms, he could picture it was just the two of you, sitting in the treehouse you built between your houses as children. If he focused enough, he could smell the apples that grew around him and feel the rough wood beneath his stomach. There, your hand would still be in his, maybe even your cheek on his chest, and it would be alright. It would all be alright because it was just you, and Remus could play dumb and he would never have to realise his feelings and fuck himself over.

It almost worked. Until he was interrupted.

“Psst! L/N?” The whisper was laced with a laughter Remus knew too well and did not care for.

You clearly ignored it – Remus could practically see the eye roll you surely threw his way – but that wasn’t enough to stop his theatrics.

“L/N!” Barty called once more from a couple seats behind you to your right, voice threatening to alert Flitwick to your inattention. “What’s wrong with your dog?”

“What?” you whispered back in equal parts confusion and irritation.

“Your puppy, Lupin,” Barty said, as if it was obvious. Unfortunately, Remus could picture his eye roll too, though his stomach was turning for a wholly different reason. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Remus is quite alright, Junior,” you hissed back, hand tightening on Remus’ at the same time as he loosened it. “And don’t call him a dog.”

Remus slowly lifted his head from his arms and took back his hands to wipe harshly at his face, still not looking towards Junior who barked a low laugh.

“Follows you around like one. Wouldn’t surprise me if you had some invisible leash going on–” Barty quipped, cutting himself off before you could respond and turning to Evan Rosier sitting beside him. “Oooooh, an invisible leash is a marvellous idea, Rosie.”

It was clear you had lost his attention, but Remus’ face still burned painfully as he shifted in his seat. With a harrumphing sound, you turned to look at him. He didn’t meet your eye, couldn’t.

“Ignore him.” Remus always marvelled at how you manage to convey your frustration and care at the same time.

He just hummed in the affirmative, still wiping a bit harshly at his face. If he treated it harshly enough, could he blame his violent flush on it?

“Cariad,” you mumbled, gently taking his hands away from his face, clearly spotting his efforts.

He saw your furrowed eyebrows looking at him, and that was the end of what he could take for the lesson. As you opened your mouth, surely to inquire about how he is, like the beautifully kind person he knows you to be, he pushed his chair backwards.

“I think I should probably listen to you and go lay down, dove,” he murmured, avoiding your gaze. Before you could shoot in and say you would come with him, he continued. “Can you please take notes for me in Transfiguration after this?”

An indirect rejection, a plea for isolation. He didn’t look at your face as he gathered his things, waiting for you to respond instead.

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” you said carefully.

What I want is you.

“Yes, please.” Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and pressed a parting goodbye kiss to your cheek, tradition. “Thank you, love.”

Then he was sneaking his way out around the desks, barely catching a murmured voice he knew to be Sirius’, likely leaning forward to ask you about him. His lips singed.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Remus hid away in his room for two hours, actually being truthful and trying to get a nap in. The dorm room felt serendipitous, being swept up in rare silence and a grace of darkness as he trickled in and out of consciousness. If he dreamed more of you, he would not admit it.

Any semblance of reprieve he might have chased down was ripped away from him by the creaking of the door and the wall of sound that followed his three favourite boys who always got on his last three nerves.

“Oi, Moons!” Sirius exclaimed, far too cheerily. “You know the rules!”

Remus propped his head up on his elbow from where he was sprawled on his stomach, looking blearily at the three figures as they situated themselves within the dorm. “The rule to not wake a sleeping sod? Yes, I’m the only one who knows that rule it seems.”

Sirius took off his sweater as he discarded his uniform and used it to swat at Remus. “Nope! No wallowing on your own. Sharing is caring.”

“‘M not wallowing,” Remus grumbled as he let his head fall back into his pillow.

Letting his guard down was undoubtedly a mistake because the second Sirius was out of sight, he had the audacity to jump into Remus’ bed, nearly flinging him off from the impact. Both Sirius and James were laughing boisterously as Sirius collapsed on top of Remus and ruffled his hair when he tried to shove him off. “Not anymore, no, we won’t let you.”

Remus hated that he loved them.

“Precisely,” James added as he pointed at Remus from where he was changing into his non-uniform clothes as well. “So either speak your mind or perk up, buttercup.”

Remus groaned but let Sirius drag him up into a sitting position. “Can a poor lycanthrope not have one off day without you lot getting your knickers in a twist?” Despite his best efforts, there was no ire in his voice.

“Nope!” James said, popping the p. “Not on our watch.”

“Life is simply miserable without our Moony,” Sirius said, clutching his chest as if he was ailing. “And do you have any idea how weird it is to see your sweetheart without you by her side? It’s like watching a cut up picture.”

All humour that had been creeping into Remus’ expression was washed away in and instant as he swallowed harshly, suddenly averting his gaze from Sirius. Instead, James caught it, who looked at him with big eyes behind his glasses, cocking his head to the side. He looked far too much like the stag he is, before his mouth opened in a small gasp. “Oh,” he whispered softly.

Remus’ heart was beating painfully hard at the look of realisation that crossed his face, turning back to Sirius who had a similar knowing, almost pitying look in his eyes. No, no, no, no.

“I’ll be fine, you, erm, won’t have to live without me much longer,” Remus tried to volley back, just a few seconds too late, tongue feeling heavy at being found out.

If his best mates could see through him that quickly, then you probably already had. He had half a mind to take you up to the Astronomy Tower like old times, so he could apologise and then jump off as an act of redemption.

Sirius gave his shoulder a rough squeeze, shaking him a little as if he knew what was going through his mind. “Fantastic. Then you’ll join us for our free periods, yeah? And the party later tonight?”

Still somewhat sputtering, Remus’ eyes widened to an extent he was sure was comedic. “The pa– the party?”

James smiled at him. “Yeah, Moons. Gryffindor half-term party? That we have talked about all week?”

“Merlin, maybe Pomfrey needs to go easy on the potions she gives you,” Sirius teased, getting up to finish changing.

“Or she could give me more,” Remus whispered hopefully, earning him a round of chuckles.

“You’ll be fine, Rem,” James said, with an undertone Remus did not care for. “If you’re still feeling… off throughout the day and night, you can always snuggle up with a book and ignore us hooligans.” Then, almost as if he was testing the waters. “I’m sure Y/N would love to join you.”

Remus didn’t deign any of that with a response, but he suddenly thought he should get out of his bed so his face didn’t seem so red in contrast with the white sheets.

“I have some essays to knock out, so yeah, I’ll join you to study,” Remus relented. He opened his own trunk to get changed, but decided to half-ass it and just take off his tie and replace his uniform wool with one of his own patterned jumpers.

“And for the party later!” Sirius corrected, ensuring Remus didn’t think he could back out.

“Sure, sure.” He ruffled his own hair so it was Remus-messy and not Sirius-messed-up-my-hair-messy. “Let’s just go.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Considering the extent to which he could fuck this up for himself, Remus reckoned he had been doing fairly good keeping his shit together throughout the day.

If he mentally cursed more than normal, contemplated the murder of each one of his friends including himself and generally couldn’t breathe, well, that was merely part of it.

The whole lot had shacked up in the library for the triple free periods you had back to back on Fridays. While you doted concernedly over him for the first thirty minutes, you eased up once you seemed to decide that this wasn’t Remus shoving down some lycanthropy-struggles and avoiding support and help.

As always, the two of you sat in the love seat, your legs sprawled over his lap as you read through your textbooks in the oddest positions. This was usually something he might chide you for – “your neck will hurt if you hang over the edge like that, love” – but today he buried his face into his textbooks with all his might to not seem like he was aware of your body. He was, of course, you burned over his skin and lit up his heart, and Circe’s tits was he the stupidest sod in the whole castle.

Nonetheless, he made it through all three hours, engaging in comforting banter and low laughs with his best mates. When you teamed up with him to mess with Sirius, he at least knew that you weren’t upset with him in any way, even though he was being a lunatic today, even though he most definitely would have deserved it.

What Remus knew would be his breaking point was the Gryffindor party.

It was a laid back event, a party thrown for all of Gryffindor, though it was mostly the upper years who were encouraged to attend. They arranged it halfway through every term to celebrate making it through and engaging with each other. Meaning, most people didn’t get shitfaced but there was some good bubbling energy maintained throughout the whole night.

You and Remus had a tradition for how you dealt with parties – just as you had a tradition for pretty much everything, he had come to notice. Gods, he lov– Stop it.

Neither one of you were necessarily fond of large crowds, but you both were incredibly loyal and fond of your friends and wanted to spend time with them. Thus, you attended the parties, but you always did so together. The more uncomfortable you got, the closer you would get to each other, and if one ever needed a break, they would tap the other three times and they would make up an excuse to usher them out of there.

It had never felt so unnerving to be so known.

Throughout the whole party he had been jittery, head rushing with thoughts. He desperately tried not to take in your outfit and then he desperately tried not to read into it when you seemed disappointed he didn’t compliment you for it like he usually did. Why did he have to be such a sweet best friend normally? Remus can’t keep up with himself.

It did not help him in the slightest that others around the party seemed to focus on your outfit much more openly than he could dare. It made him gravitate even closer to you, tighten his hand on his hip, momentarily rest his chin on the top of your head – and then his actions made him want to kick himself. Possessiveness was the last thing he could be engaging with when he was already betraying you in such a manner.

Leave it to Remus to fuck up something beautiful.

To say you didn’t seem to notice that he was troubled would be taking it too far, but at least you didn’t seem to notice why. You kept him close to your side and would at random points stroke his back soothingly. He wondered if you just thought he was uncomfortable with the party.

You were chatting with Pandora by the drinks table when Barty and Evan strolled up to you both with cheshire cat grins.

“There he is, back on his leash,” Junior said through a menacing laugh, ignoring Evan’s slight elbow to his side. “Feeling better, darling?”

“What brings you to the lions' den, Junior?” Remus asked carefully to divert the topic.

“Well. Y/N’s going so Pandora’s going so Evan’s going, and thus–” he did a small flourishing spin “– I’m going.”

“You’re impossible,” Evan murmured, while Pandora just smiled happily.

“Is he feeling better, then?” Barty asked once more, this time looking at you.

“No, actually,” you said with a small smile Remus knew not to be genuine. “He is absolutely devastated you’re not in the Slytherin common room right now. He had big plans for you there, you know.”

Remus tried to choke down his laugh as Barty looked torn between glee and irritation. Somehow he made both work. “Sorry to soil your plans then, Lupin. Better luck next time.”

Then he stalked off in almost a hurry and Remus couldn’t help but hope he was going to Slytherin to check if you were telling the truth.

He looked down at where you were standing beside him and squeezed your shoulder lightly. “You really are a minx,” he whispered conspiratorially.

That turned out to be his undoing. You turned your head to the side to look up at him with mirth playing around in your enamouring eyes, a soft tilt to the corner of your mouth. And your face was oh so painfully close to his.

Remus became acutely aware that he could easily lean in and catch your smile with his. That the air he was breathing had been close to you in some of the only ways he had not yet. That he must look like your boyfriend when you’re standing essentially pressed up against each other like this.

That he most certainly has been looking at your lips for far too long.

When he flicks his gaze back up, he sees a slight furrow between your brows again as you seem to take in his reaction, and suddenly he goes from having butterflies in his stomach to needing to throw them all up. He took a sudden staggering step backwards, almost crashing into James who was engaging in some animated discussion with Marlene.

“I, uh,” Remus said and dear Godrick he was stammering. “I’ll get us some drinks and we can sit down, yeah?” He didn’t wait for you to respond, instead spinning his back to you and hoping you pick up conversation with Pandora again.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t be a bloody arse.

He hoped he had steadied himself enough by the time he plopped down in his favourite grandfather chair near the fire. He placed both of your drinks on the table in front of him, vowing to touch his as minimally as possible to make sure he keeps whatever wits he has left with him.

A dumb smile takes over his face as his breathing quickens when he sees you make your way over to the seating area, after having listened to his desperate silent plea and finished your conversation with Pandora. Pushing his luck, he shoots another silent prayer that it will be smooth sailing from here, which is apparently promptly ignored as you happily sit down in his lap.

Fuck.

This, he reminds himself, is also normal for the two of you. Especially at parties, especially if you have reason to believe he is unsteady in any sense of the word, which he most certainly has given you plenty of reason to believe.

You give him some form of greeting he can’t quite catch and isn’t sure if he reciprocated as you settle down, putting majority of your weight on his right thigh as you lean your body sideways against his. One of your arms snuck around his shoulders, fingers winding up playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, while the other is stabilising yourself on his knee. Majority of your close friends had followed your lead by sitting down in the small gathering, chattering amongst themselves. He was half-aware that you were rambling on about something to him, something he probably really wanted to listen to, but it felt like his head was underwater.

Unsure of what else to do, he lowered his face into your shoulder and took deep breaths there.

You seemed wholly unbothered, fingers continuing in his hair as your soothing voice carried him through what he feared might become a panic attack. He was almost there, when the cocoon you two had in your chair was burst by the presence of your other friends.

“You alright there, Moons? You’re not going to go all vampire on poor Y/N?” Sirius’ tone was lighthearted and teasing, but Remus felt as if he might actually die.

“Oh, he’s quite alright,” you answered for him with a smile before he could embarrass himself, immediately switching over to engage in conversation with the friends sitting closest to you. Your hand on his knee squeezed reassuringly.

Fuck, how could he not love you?

He loved you.

Remus almost had to fight crying as he hid in the crook of his neck, overwhelmed by his own emotions and the surely watchful gazes of those around him – the latter of which was why he couldn’t.

With a deep breath he let his desire win for just one second and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before emerging from his hiding place. He shifted you carefully to be more comfortable, so that your back was against him and he could rest his head on the shoulder he just kissed.

He did fairly good, partaking in conversation, engaging with the others, albeit more quietly and less than usual. He laughed and he smiled and you were so soft against him, as if you had melted. Remus was in heaven while being tortured.

Marlene wolf whistled quietly from where she was sat on the floor, eyeing Remus with mirth. Though he still did not know why, he was already turning red, the tips of his ears burning.

“Hi, Remmy.” He heard the soft voice say beside him and he turned his head to see Emmeline giving him a somewhat sly smile. “The dance floor’s picking up. Want to go for another round?”

Remus’ stomach churned. Emmeline was such a sweet girl and he never could say no to her, the only thing that felt worse than the embarrassment from his friends’ teasing was the thought of embarrassing her – though Remus was sure even thinking like that made him into an even bigger arse.

Sirius and James had told him multiple times that he could say no. As had you, reminding him how important it was to have boundaries, even while you were sitting practically on top of him at the time. He just could never bring himself to.

Yet his mouth seemed to move on its own accord before he could think, arms tightening around you. “No, not tonight Emmeline, sorry. Knock yourself out, though.” He tried to give her a warm smile, but his movements seemed to be outside of his control at the moment, breath sucked from his lungs.

He realised with a sting that he should have given her more credit all along when she beams back at him. “No worries, enjoy your night!” she cheered before twirling towards the dance floor herself.

Remus let out a shaky breath and turned to his friends who were almost staring him down. James’ mouth was even open in shock, which he thought was a bit dramatic.

“Hold on, what just happened?” Sirius guffawed. “Has our little Moony learned to say no?”

Remus flushed even further. “Shut up, Pads.”

“Don’t think I will,” his mate replied with a wolfish grin turning to look to the others for support. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“What’s inspired this change in you?” Mary asked thoughtfully, propping her head into her hands as if she was settling in for a lengthy response.

All eyes were back on Remus and he felt like the mask he had been clinging to all day was crumbling. The nerves that shot through him like lightning now was not his usual humiliation from being in a charged spotlight – no, this was fear. Genuine fear that if he didn’t get his head screwed back on within two seconds, he might say something too revealing, or his face would do it without him having to open his mouth. That his fiery ears would somehow spell out I am in love with my very best friend and I realised it too late and am making it everybody else’s problem. He had no idea what to do.

In his time of despair, with Mary’s big eyes staring up at him, Marlene and Lily already snickering between them and Sirius raising an expecting brow, his instincts knew of only one way out.

His finger on your hip lifted. Tap, tap, tap.

Almost as if a switch had gone off, you made a soft gasp and turned to look at him in his lap. “Gods, Rem, speaking of Emmeline, I totally forgot our gift for Sirius in my dorm room in Ravenclaw!” you exclaimed, putting your all into the act. Your excuse seemed to be a good one as Sirius’ head immediately picked up, not unlike that of a dog’s if you said the word ‘treat’ around them. “We have to go get it before the party’s over.”

You elegantly hopped up and out of his lap, dragging him behind him with a grip on his elbow. Remus stumbled and scrambled behind you, tossing a sorry don’t know what that’s about look to the others over his shoulder. He barely caught sight of what he could only classify as a knowing exchange of smiles between James and Lily.

Before he could truly process your rescue mission, he was standing outside in the cool hallway breathing heavily, portrait closed behind him.

Before him, you stood with your hands on your hips, scanning his face thoroughly, making him almost cower beneath your gaze. You seemed to make up your mind about something as you took his hand once more and walked with him down the hall in silence, rounding the corners until you reached one of the deep windowsills, the kind the two of you would always sit in and read.

You jumped to lift yourself into it and once you were sat with one hand on each side of your body, you levelled him with a look.

“Okay, spill,” you said, directly but not unkindly. “What is going on with you?”

Remus did not think this through. He needed help and so he called upon you for it like he always does, not thinking to consider that that might very well make this worse for him.

“It’s…” he began, picking at straws in his mind for an excuse. “It’s nothing, dove. Really.”

“When’s my birthday?” you asked then, to his surprise. He furrowed his brows at you and told you the date. You smiled a bit smugly. “Exactly. So you know I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He genuinely laughed at that, even if it was at his expense. He let his body do as it wished and took a small step closer to you. Not enough for your bodies to touch, but enough to feel like he was in your space. Safe, even in his panic.

“Remus,” you said softly, painfully gently. You rarely used his first name, and now when you did, it was laced with an undertone he couldn’t stomach. It was beginning to sound a bit like hurt. “What is going on with you? Why… why are you acting this way towards me?”

Because you are the one thing I have never had to question and now I’m questioning everything. Because I’m a bloody prick who has one dream and ruins his life over it. Because my mind is running a mile a minute and your lips feel like magnets and I swear I am losing control in a way I only do during full moons.

“I don’t know what to do,” he ended up whimpering quietly, cowardly.

You looked around the hallway as if the answer would be written on any of the walls and moved your arms slightly to gesture around you. “About what? I can’t help you unless I know what it is, cariad.”

He scrunched his face for a moment, looking away from you. “Can we not do this? It’s nothing you can fix, dove.”

You seemed to grow even more confused at that, almost frustrated. “Why not?” He realised then that the two of you had always helped each other through everything. Being locked out must hurt. He wanted to kick himself, but he didn't know what else to do. “What’s wrong, Remus, please I just–”

Remus is besieged by the power of someone much more reckless, driven by desire to alleviate you of your confusion and him of his pain.

He cut you off with a kiss.

He took a large stride forward to slot himself in between your thighs, eliminating the space between you within a second, bringing both hands up to cup the sides of your face and bring it towards him. His eyes were shut tightly, furrow in his brows as his lips all but smashed against yours in a kiss that felt sacrificially sacred. Your lips are just as soft as in his dream, as is the small gasp that escapes you as you tense in his grasp.

Remus has never felt better and he has never felt worse.

The kiss lasts for about 10 seconds before he pulls away in even more of a flurry. His hands lost their grip on you first, hovering over your cheeks briefly, as if considering going back in before thinking better of it. He still had you captured in the kiss, hanging on to it for as long as he could deign himself, knowing it was his last opportunity to do so, all the while kicking himself over it.

Backing away, he put double the distance between you. He felt drunk, stumbling slightly as he all but scrambled away, a stinging sensation behind his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I don't know why I did that. I didn’t mean to,” he breathed out, reeling at his own impulsivity. “That,” he said through a shaking voice as he looked anywhere but your face, “is my problem, and Y/N, I am so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For the shortest second, he lets his eyes flicker quickly over your face before rushing back to stare at a statue on the wall beside you. Your face was blank, eyes wide. Your fingers were barely touching the lips he had just enclosed in his own.

You must be disgusted. You must be horrified. You must feel violated and Remus wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the earth and rid you of this undying problem.

He was every bit the beast you had tried to convince him he wasn’t.

“Why…” you began, voice but a whisper, before you trailed off.

Remus had to shut his eyes at that, tilting his head slightly to the side. If he breathed through his nose, he might not cry. He was sitting before the highest court he knew, and you were about to ask him to explain himself.

“Why are you sorry?”

The words floored him a little, enough to make his eyes snap open and land back on your face. You looked deeply concerned, brows tilted upwards as you seemed to take his face in. “Remus,” you whispered now that you finally had his eyes on you. “Why are you sorry?”

He shook his head in confusion, feeling every bit like the boy he was. “I shouldn’t have done that.” It was all he could get out through his hoarse voice. He also had no idea how to answer that question in a satisfactory way.

You took in a short sharp breath and then lowered yourself onto the ground to stand before him. With your hands held out in front of you, almost as if you were ready to lunge out and catch him if he was to run – an idea that was becoming increasingly enticing to him – you took a small step towards him. “Why?” There was a growing spark in your eye, dimmed only by your worried frown.

“Y/N.” He didn’t know what else to say, eyes trained on you.

“Cariad,” you replied in the same tone, and a tear slipped down his left cheek. You took another measured step towards him, enough to reach out for him if you wanted to – but of course, you wouldn’t want to, not anymore. “It’s alright.”

He felt dizzy at the lack of the scolding or disgust he had braced himself for, realising how stupid he was for even fearing that from you. No, you would reject him sweetly and kindly, and his heart would never be mended from it. That felt worse, somehow.

“It’s not,” he whispered. “Please don’t say it is.”

You smiled ruefully and took another small step towards him. He could feel the warmth eminating from you. Tentatively, you reached up a hand to wipe at the tear still sitting on his left cheek. He held his breath and fought the urge to lean into your touch, but when you pressed your palm more firmly against his cheek, he couldn’t anymore. A soft sigh escaped him and he let his eyes fall shut as your touch supported him. “It is, my sweet boy,” you whispered with an urgency that almost convinced him. “Remus, can you answer me honestly?”

His body tensed once more as his eyes fluttered open to find yours, reverent. Most parts of him were still screaming at him to run away, to shut up, to do anything but this. His heart seemed to be in charge for the moment, though, and he nodded slowly. Trusting you with his world even as he felt like a traitor in yours.

“All this, today… has it been because you have realised you’re… in love with me?” You seemed to be piecing it together as you said the words out loud, eyes carefully searching his face for his reaction.

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and you quickly caught it with your other thumb, both hands now cradling his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said once more.

“You’re not allowed to be,” you whispered, giving him a half-smile, almost as if you were indulging him in a secret of yours. “Please answer the question?”

It was now or never. “Yes.”

To his utter surprise and deep-seated confusion, the smile on your face grew genuine, settling into the one he always searched for. He almost opened his mouth to question it before he was cut off.

No words can describe the sensations that bloomed in his chest, the butterflies that flitted in his stomach, when you used your hands on his face as leverage to pull him towards you for another kiss.

You kissed him. You kissed him. You were kissing.

His mind was threatening to take off like a rocket and captiulate, but his hands had never been more steady as they circled around your waist, splaying out over the small of your back as he dragged you closer. You sighed against him, smile still evident over your lips, and Remus dared – like the bastard he was – to mirror it.

You were warm against him, but wholly different than you had been in his dream. This felt distinctly real. And just as right.

When you pulled away, your hands had migrated to the back of his neck and you kept your forehead leaned against his. “Good,” you murmured with your eyes still closed. “Because the feeling is mutual.”

He almost reared his head away from you, but managed to only pull back a few centimetres to stare at you in awe. Remus opened his mouth, but no words came out; he could find none intelligent enough to verbalise how utterly gobsmacked he felt.

You seemed to understand him just as well, going by your breathy laugh. There was still that spark in your eye, now shining brightly in the absence of your worry. Had the worry been for him?

“I know I don’t say this enough, but you really are quite an idiot, aren’t you?” you laughed and he slowly felt his heart start beating again.

“Spent too much time with Sirius and James, clearly,” he muttered, half expecting the joke to land flat and you to remember how disgusting he was. Instead, your laugh intensified and you leaned your body further against his. It emboldened him to ask, “What do you mean the feeling is mutual, dove?”

You let your arms glide further up, crossing behind his neck and over his shoulder, bringing him impossibly closer. “Remus John Lupin,” you whispered sincerely. “I am madly in love with you. Romantically. Genuinely. Any thoughts you have that explain that away are false and you mustn't listen to them. I thought you knew by now that I’m always right.”

Even as the grin involuntarily established itself on his face, his eyes were shining with unshed tears. He looked at your face, truly studied it, and he could feel his mind ever so slowly calm down. “You are.”

“What am I?” You were testing him, and he allowed it wholeheartedly.

“Right,” he confirmed. Albeit a bit more hesitantly, he knew better than not to add, “and… in love with me?”

“Two points to Gryffindor.” You reached up to give his lips a soft peck. It felt so natural, like it was already habit for you. He desperately wanted it to be.

“I’m sorry, I’m still reeling from this, dovey,” he confessed, trying to process everything.

There had never been any judgement to be found in your face. “Which parts are you struggling with the most?”

Your eyes were full of understanding, your face scrunched up in concentration. Remus indulged himself in an old habit by reaching up with one hand to thumb the furrows away. It made you smile just like he wanted it to, and gave him a minute to think. “I don’t understand how I didn’t get it before now. I don’t understand how or why you put up with me. I don’t understand how to keep all these feelings inside such a small heart.”

Your hands were stroking his back carefully as you considered his words. “Well, firstly I would argue your heart isn’t small at all, though I get what you mean. You’re not meant to keep all the feelings inside, you know? That’s when you get all sputtery and jittery and start avoiding your best friends.” You gave him a pointed look and he almost shied under your glance. “Sharing them before you bubble over is always a good thing. We’ll work on it together. As for why I put up with you; I don’t. There’s nothing to put up with, I just enjoy you like we always have.”

Your eyes had trailed off into the distance as you thought, but you brought them back to him with a small smile as you added the final part. “I don’t know what did make you realise, so I can’t help you much there. All I can say is, sometimes we don’t see what is right in front of us.”

Remus nodded along to your words, feeling peace spreading within in that manner only you could inspire in him. He truly was an idiot, wasn’t he? “How long have you known?” he asked then, curiously.

“About you or me?”

“Both?” His smile was becoming closer to his standard sheepish one, and you seemed to preen at the sight.

You bobbed your head side to side as you considered. “It’s hard to pinpoint an exact date – it wasn’t an overnight discovery you know?” Remus did in fact not know nor relate. “But I realised we were in love, not either one’s feelings. It just sat calmly within me.”

“You mean you didn’t freak out to the extent where all students and professors alike were worried about you?”

He grinned at the small giggle that drew from you as you decidedly said, “No. Definitely not.” You studied him for a minute more. “I think I realised about five months ago, but I didn’t feel any real need to rush anything. It felt less like being given a to-do list and more like being revealed the plot twist in a movie before it happens, if you understand? The two best friends get together in the end, don’t tell anyone.”

He ducked his head at that. While he could not relate, your explanation and experience was so wholeheartedly you that it endeared him to no end. “Does that mean we should just ignore it for five more months or…?” His grin turned cheeky as you lightly swatted his shoulder.

“Nah,” you chuckled. “I reckon we’ve waited long enough, yeah?”

He sighed with a smile. “Yeah.”

You both leaned forward at the same time, as if to seal the deal with a kiss. Remus could feel it like electricity in the tips of his fingers, and he understood what you meant about knowing. Now that he was no longer in a constant state of panic, he felt incredibly calm about the whole ordeal.

Or maybe that’s just how he feels around you.

“Should I ask you formally to be my girlfriend, or are we just skipping straight to marriage?” he whispered against your lips.

Remus felt almost wolfish when you barked a loud laugh, throwing your head back and tightening your hold on him instinctively. “I think girlfriend’s enough for now, yeah cariad?”

“If you insist.” He kissed you through his grin, realising that this was all he wanted to do now.

Like he had so many times before, he tightened his arms around your waist and twirled you around in a few circles, legs flying out behind you. Except this time, your giggles were not hidden in his neck but pressed against his lips, and he tried to capture as many kisses as possible while he spun you.

When you landed with a breathless giggle, he kept one arm firmly around your waist as the two of you slowly made your way back to the Gryffindor common room. He wondered if maybe he could grab some blankets and bring you up to the Astronomy Tower so you could be alone without his friends’ meddling. Yet, he wanted to see them as well, ready to volley back any quips about “took you long enough” and “I fucking called it”. Plus, you argued that you should prove that he was in fact alive and sane.

When he walked the halls back to the Gryffindor common room with your body against his, everything felt right. When you entered together, and everyone read what had happened written clearly across your faces, resorting to their usual hoots and hollers, arguably louder than ever before, it never stopped feeling right.

Remus being Remus, flushed deeply and averted his gaze, as he would continue doing under any uncalled for attention – but your arms squeezing him around the middle brought him right back down and your kiss to his shoulder soothed the burn of their gazes.

“What’s my gift then?” Sirius later asked salaciously as he eyed you two up and down where you cuddled together right back in the same chair, as if nothing changed. Maybe nothing really did.

You grinned widely and cleared your throat. “I honourably present to you,” you said and opened your arms towards Remus with a flourish. “A Moony who is no longer mooning.”

The little group erupted in even more cheers, celebrating the massive feat of taming their brooding boy. Remus couldn’t help but laugh along, even at his own expense. His cheeks were red but it was equally due to the exertion of laughing as it was a tinge of embarrassment. When he hid his face into the crook of your neck again, he didn’t feel nearly as guilty when he pressed a few kisses to the bare skin he found there – even less so when you melted against him with a sigh.

It felt as if a permanent smile had been sown onto his face where he sat, more content than he believed he had been while inside this castle.

Despite Remus Lupin’s disdain for public displays of affection, he had held you publicly many times before this. They all paled in comparison to the feeling of you in his arms now.

It had always been significant to him in its casualty, just as you have always been significant to him long before he had the mind to put the feeling into words. He will always treasure every moment of your existence in his orbit. Yet the way you melted into his skin now, growing roots in each one of his aching bones – no, nothing could compare to it.

Yes, Remus Lupin ailed from public displays of affection. But you were his cure.

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tonycries · 7 months ago

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A ranking of JJK men from best to worst during your period (absolutely no one asked for this):

Nanami - Are you kidding me? In what world would this perfect husband NOT be number one?? Doesn't even need that lil' app on his phone to track your periods, bro remembers. He has it mapped out in his brain AND on his calendar. You don't even have to tell him when it starts, he'll be home with chocolates, your fav movies, and enough heating pads to last a lifetime going, "Hi, my love, I hope m'not too early but I got you these." He's never too early. Never.

Geto - Bro has been through the whole process twice already with his daughters. He KNOWS exactly what's going down when you get just a lil' too sensitive, when your cravings become just a tad sweeter. Would lay you down and give you the most soothing massages whispering about how it'll "all be over soon" and "his girl can tough it out." 10/10 is so patient, even has a period tracker on his phone.

Choso - Y'know he's a lil' confused but he's got the spirit. Curses don't have periods so trust he'll be MAD confused wondering whether you've somehow developed the same jujutsu technique as him. When you teach him though, he's gonna be the sweetest babygirl. Let's you cuddle and use him all you want, throw him around to your hearts content until you have the perfect pillow!! Only minus points would be for that little intrusive thought in his brain that just wants to.....experiment......with his technique....

Gojo - Now, you'd be confused about who has the period - you or HIM? Which, honestly if distraction is your go-to then it works out pretty well. Every cramp you get, Gojo just hates to see his pretty baby in pain, so he'd be crying out. He'd be right there moaning and groaning along with you until you're crying tears of laughter because what the fuck?? Extra points because he's a sweet connoisseur and knows ALL the best places to get you everything you want. Trust, bro doesn't skimp out either he'd be diving IN to that Gojo Estate old money just to get you more than everything you need. Much more.

Toji - Now, hear me out it's not that man doesn't know what to do. It's just that he doesn't want to. Not to bully his cute girl, but does he really have to get out of bed and walk the treacherous block down to the convenience store to get you extra pads? Really? He'd much rather stay in bed cuddling you and kissing every inch of your face he could reach - seriously, his old bones are creaking at the very thought of moving. But, eventually, when you do bribe him with a dollar convince him to go, he'd be pampering you and more with your own money.

Sukuna - Bro definitely tells you to "just suck it back in wtf." -3878473 aura for him, but at least Uraume is on your side and gives him a good whack to the head. When he realizes a bit tho would be a bit softer than usual, at least he'll stop calling you his usual names after your sensitive self tears up at them. Mhm, definitely take him to try out a cramp simulator, though he deserves it.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #geto x reader #tonythirsts

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keeps-ache · 2 years ago

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stuffs and things!! :DD

#just me hi #SO let me talk my fingers off now :333 #//I GOT MY EYE EXAM YESTERDAAAAY :DDDDDDD #SO happy!! and it was my first exam and the doctor's assistant said i did a Good job so :DDDDD #i'll have my glasses in a week or so!!!!! how cool!!!!!!!!!#/also i might like having doctor's visits more than i should Hbvdshv #the people there so nice what the heck!! the assistant was very nice and explained the things she was doing and Yea :DDD #/also bc i've been like. pretty nearsighted for like 5 years i'm apparently Super good with reading the Blurriest Letters on the Planet #and i confused the assistant a Lot hfvbsh ;ᗜ;#/and i'm 100% Not colourblind so GUESS who KNOWS what the colour red looks like !!!!! [<- artist in a 2 week-long debate with their mother]#/i didn't like the air puffs on my eyes tho. not very good hfbvhs #// i Also got a water bottle yesterday!!#why is this so cool? because it has a little sip-straw #why is that So neat? because i can't have cups in the room because i'm rly forgetful and might spill them (personal rule lol)#and i'm really bad at remembering to drink water!! but i noticed i have some sort of nervous habit where i like to just Sip Liquids! (don't #ask why it took so long for me to figure this out KJFVH) so the Sipper [<- water-bottle with straw's name] was the most sensible thing to #own rn Hfvshf #i've drank So Much water today. i'm so proud of myself :333 #//also i have some redesign stuff for p1nk space and not.a.z.f so !!!#very excited for Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat :DDDDDD #//OH and my skates are coming soon!! dunno when but every time i think of them i get Super happy so ehehehe :DDDD #//NOW. off and about !!

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ogwintersmind · 2 months ago

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Bakugou Katsuki headcanons

When you first meet:

He HATES you. He hates everyone, but something about you just really makes his blood boil.

Everytime Aizawa forces him into a group with you he complains nonstop about how "stupid" and “annoying” you are and now he'd much rather do the project/assignment himself.

He hates it when Kiri or any of his other friends talk to you because he doesn’t understand now anyone could hold a conversation with someone as annoying as you.

Dare I say he finds you more annoying than Deku? (No that's impossible… right?)

After he gets to know you:

He's learned to tolerate your presence these days, though he still finds you annoying.

He'll attempt to have conversations with you over text but he ends up forgetting to respond most of the time.

He “helps” you with your homework while throwing insults about how stupid you are out the whole time.

He also doesn't mind you talking his "friends" anymore.

When he starts catching feels:

He tolerates your presence even more now, dare I say he loves it? (Winkie wink).

He initiates conversations with you first over text and in person, the name calling doesn't stop tho. It’s just apart of who he is.

He’ll offer to help with your homework and training and gives his own... Katsuki compliments. (though you swear they're just less harsh versions of the usual insults he gives others.)

Kirishima is the only one who has conformation that katsuki likes you, everyone else definitely has their speculations.

After you guys start dating:

He listens to you ramble about whatever it is that's on your mind, whether it be good or bad. (He doesn't even insult you!)

If he goes to the store he'll pick up items he knows you like and things that remind him of you.

If you don't respond to his message(s) quick enough he'll think you hate him and text kiri a bunch asking what he should do and if he's a bad boyfriend or not (he's not.)

When listening to music he adds songs you like to his playlist so when you're around you two can enjoy the playlist together.

He holds your backpack/purse for you even if you don't ask.

After you marry:

He was nervous to propose ... What if you say "no" what if you didn't like the ring???

Good thing you said yes and loved the ring.

The wedding was a small intimate event with close friends and family, kirishima as his best-man.

You two buy a nice sized home together and a cat (he swears he hates "that damn thing” but it's really his best friend.)

Housework is 50/50 you clean, he cooks, etc.

After a few months of marriage you're begging for babies and so... He gives them to you.

The end.

Hi friends!! I hope you enjoyed reading! I haven't wrote in a longgg time so its rusty I'm sorry lol..

This post is not proofread so sorry for any grammar mistakes!

Thank you for reading, have a good rest of your day/afternoon/night!

XO - winter.

(I really rushed the end because I bored sorry)

Dividers not mine (i don't remember who i got them from sorry )!

#mha x reader #mha headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou fluff #bakugou fic #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x you #mha fanfiction #mha x y/n #mha bakugou #bakugou smut #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #mha fluff #mha fic

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alllgator-blood · 4 months ago

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FINISHED THAT ONE COMIC I POSTED ABOUT ALMOST 30 FULL DAYS AGO?? I FINALLY REMEMBERED IT EXISTED AND FINISHED IT. I HAVE SO MUCH I WANT TO SAY ABOUT MY LAMB NOW THAT THEY'RE FINALLY THE MAIN CHARACTER IN A LONG COMIC, BUT it went on forever so I put it below the cut.

While we're above the cut, I have a bunch of REALLy good asks I'll be trying to draw for soon. But keep an eye out for a poll coming up soon...cause now that this is out of the way, I want another big project to have in the background and I have Big Ideas for Big Angst Comics........

OH YOU CLICKED THE THING, NICE. OKAY. SO:

Have I ever talked about how my lamb works?? I need to do more with them but I'm a bishop enjoyer to an obsessive degree. The lamb operates on the same kind of level as kallamar did during the breakdown comic, but on a more permanent, more stable level. After being told to hide for their whole life, to never show their face and not even being given a name......being beheaded by four gods and recruited by a fifth forgotten one who claims they're the Chosen One just made the lamb think "OH! None of this is real. My brain wanted me to feel important before I died, and this is my dying vision. Okay, I'll play along >:)" and now they're the equivalent of when you beat a game and replay it while picking the funniest/worst options to see what'd happen.

USUALLY their decisions are clouded by the assumption that nothing they do actually matters, but they're still......a person who held things dear and had standards while they were alive. So they love hijinx, but aren't like leshy who launches people out of catapults for fun, or kallamar who sees mortals more as lab rats than people living their own lives. They'll do some things for the lolz but their humanity definitely shows through when dealing with someone like shamura.

I think they went into the bishop slaying quest wanting to hate shamura, assuming they were an irredeemable antagonist that deserved to be vanquished. They were told by narinder that shamura was the big bad, so they figured there was nothing to it beyond that. But then they actually MET shamura, who wasn't at all what they were expected to be. Every other bishop is just like "RAHH I'LL KILL YOU" when you meet them, and then shamura is the only person who actually tells you about what happened, speaks to you like a person and not an obstacle, and doesn't seem bothered about the fact they're going to die. So that got them thinking....hmm...perhaps these people are slightly more realistic than I anticipated. Still gonna kill them tho

I'm not sure the lamb hates the bishops, especially after the realization that they're a fucked up family acting out in desperation rather than logic. When you're born into circumstances you know will eventually doom you (like being a sacrificial lamb destined for slaughter) you kinda...lose the ability to care after a while. They don't really *forgive* the bishops for the slaughter of their people, and definitely enjoy bullying them and kicking them around now that they're powerless mortals- but the initial horror of being born to die has subsided. Now that they're presumably in some kind of afterlife, and have better, more fun things to move onto now that they're the ruler of everything- it's not worth it to hate those five forever.

I think *because* the lamb has only been a god very briefly and still remembers mortality well, that's why they're the one god who does things "because they're funny" but also is respectful of people like shamura. It's like when you're playing GTA V and you accidentally drive over a dog while trying to pull over and look at it closer. Is it a real dog?? No but you're still gonna feel bad!! So like I said, in the lamb's mind they have NO reason to care about any of these people or show them mercy, but the fact that they're not as detached from mortality as the bishops were makes them a benevolent god. I'll be doing a comic about this very subject in the future and it WILL be depressing >:)

Also. Unrelated. But if you read this far, I feel the need to justify why heket and leshy suddenly have boobs in this comic. I'm sure it's obvious that I headcanon the gods don't have sex characteristics cause like...why would they need those. I don't want to draw that. But as MORTALS they would probably need to have all their organs intact to function properly, so pour one out for shamura + leshy who probably completely forgot they were transgender until they woke up in mortal bodies. NOT SURE HOW KALLAMAR WOULD REACT, I think they're more just horrified they lost all their tentacles

I debated doing another silly comic about the concept but I don't want this blog to get too raunchy, so instead have this epic ms paint art (I CAN MAKE THESE JOKES, I'M AFAB TRANS I DESERVE THIS ONE THING)

#cult of the lamb #cotl bishops #lambert #leshy #heket #narinder #shamura #kallamar #comic

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lovecla · 2 months ago

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MAKE IT TO THE MORNING ; JACK HUGHES

PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader

SUMMARY being jack hughes’ girlfriend comes with a lot of hardships— but in the mornings, you realize it is all worth it.

WARNINGS unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), rough sex, p slapping, cockwarming, dirty talk, jack is lowkey a little shit, reader loves him tho, inspired by the song “make it to the morning” by partynextdoor. freaky af!!!

WORD COUNT 2,3k

FROM ME TO YOU a little late (literally, it’s like 3am for me), but this is my thank you gift for you guys because today i woke up with 700 of you!! i’m still too in shock to say anything besides thank you so much. i was celebrating 600 followers like a month ago and now this. i’ll keep working hard to give you guys good content <3 ily and pls enjoy

𖧷

don't scream or shout, i'm workin' my way down

girl, you gettin' loud, now put it in yo' mouth

THE SOUND of your heels clicking against the marble floor was enough to piss anyone off. It was annoying, repetitive and even you were starting to get tired of the little tec tec sound, but you couldn’t stop.

Dating Jack Rowden Hughes was not for the weak. And you knew that, more than anyone else. Being his girlfriend of three years— the longest time he has ever been in a relationship, mind you—, you knew that the prize was good, but the job of keeping it was tiring.

You stared at him across the room, talking to some random fans who definitely didn’t know what being a fan was, since they were all over him, with their hands on his arms and shoulders.

He eyed you from time to time, blue eyes making it hard for you to stay one hundred percent mad at him— truthfully, you knew that all it would take for you to forgive him for his playboy behaviour would be a single kiss and an aggressive make out session.

“It isn’t so fun watching from here, huh?” Quinn’s new fling, or whatever the girl standing beside you was, said, approaching you quietly. “Trust me, I know how it feels.”

You hummed, not engaging with her. You knew Jack wouldn’t actually do anything, but still, it didn’t feel nice to get painted as the dumb girlfriend who has to watch her famous boyfriend laugh and take pictures with hundreds of girls while she stands in the back.

“I’m lucky my Quinn isn’t as nearly as talkative as he is,” she continues, despite your silence. “But you know, Jack is everyone’s favorite.”

You turned your head to the side, watching the girl next to you eye Jack the same way she eyed Quinn, hungry and suggestive, and that was enough for you.

“Sorry,” you interrupted, putting your wine glass down— it had been empty for at least ten minutes— and smiling apologetically. “I have a terrible headache, so I think it’s time for me to head out.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” she pouts, and you can feel your eyes twitch. “It is pretty late too, so you must be tired.”

“Mhm.” You nod, looking at your phone. 3:46a.m.

“Do you want me to call Jacky?” She asks, expectantly, and the way she says his name makes you want to smash her face against the crumbles of cake sitting on the buffet table.

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry,” you play dumb. “It was nice seeing you…”

You forgot her name. It was probably something like Olivia or Madeline, but still. You didn’t remember.

“It was nice seeing you, too!” She says, apparently clueless to your lack of memory— and interest. “I’ll text you later so we can talk more.”

“Sure thing, yeah.” You walk towards Jack with long, careful steps. “Hey, babe.”

His eyes are on you immediately, his hair moving around with his abrupt move. He smiles, stepping out of the little circle the girls had made around him to wrap his arms around you.

“If it isn’t my favorite girl,” he says. “Hi, baby.”

You can feel the girls’ eyes on you, burning your skin like the fictional fairies’ whenever they touch iron. It is a feeling you are used to already, but you feel yourself shivering either way.

“Can we go?” You ask, bluntly ignoring the other women there. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, we can,” he nods, turning his head back to his little girl group before smiling at them. “See ya, ladies.”

See ya, ladies?

“Bye, Jack.”

“You’re the best!”

“See ya next time!”

You can’t hide your pout on your way home— you don’t even try to. You have your arms crossed in front of your chest as you sit in the front seat of Jack’s absurdly expensive car, listening to the quiet hum of his air conditioner and the annoying noise whenever he turns on the turn signal.

“You’re not mad… are you?”

His voice is tentative, almost as if he’s scared of asking the question.

“Are you kidding me? You spent half of that ridiculous party talking to women. Tell me I can’t be mad about that.” You hiss back, not looking at him. You know there are high chances of you folding bad if you do.

“Baby, I already told you, it’s all business,” he says, once again, because he has, indeed, told you that several times before. “I can’t have them saying I’m a rude guy, can I?”

“Sometimes I can’t believe the shit you say,” you scoff. “You literally told a reporter to fuck himself last week, on live. Talk about being a nice guy now, Jack.”

“Come on, you’re not being fair!” He exclaims, and you can hear the pout on his voice. “He talked shit about you. He was lucky I didn’t punch him in the face.”

You rolled your eyes, biting your lips to hide your smile.

Little does Jack know you jumped out of the couch when you saw the transmission and giggled while you sent texts to your best friend about how you would have to be the mother of his children.

You stayed silent, looking at the dark streets, briefly forgetting about your anger to notice how beautiful your city is. There weren't many people in the streets at that hour— it was summer, yes, but it was almost four a.m and it was still Monday, and a lot of people were still working.

When you got to your and Jack’s apartment— a two bedroom penthouse with plenty of space and a kitchen you still fell in love with every time you looked at it— you didn’t waste time before heading to the guest bathroom shower, a clear sign that you didn’t want Jack to join you, which you knew pissed him off.

You were quick even though you weren’t sleepy, washing the soap off your body under the lukewarm water; happy because it was your favorite scent.

You got out of the stall, opening the bathroom door after you wrapped the towel around your body, deciding to change inside your bedroom.

Or at least that’s what you thought you would do.

“Y/n.” Jack calls you, sitting on top of the bed.

“Fuck, Jack,” you grunt. “You scared me.”

“I can’t have you mad at me, baby,” he says, getting up and walking towards you, only stopping when your covered chest is touching his. “You know those women mean nothing.”

“Jack,” you sigh. “We’ve been here before. You can’t just say that every time you flirt with other women.”

“I wasn’t—” he starts, but interrupts himself mid sentence. “You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?” You ask, holding the towel tighter. “You damn well I’m not.”

“Listen,” he says. “I’m not proud with the way I acted but I already told you—”

“It’s all business. I know, you know, we all know.” You roll your eyes, stepping back and moving forward so you can leave the room. His hand finds your waist almost immediately, locking you in place. “Jack—”

“You’re so full of complaints, baby,” he whispers. “Every time we go out you complain about something.”

“I wouldn’t complain if you didn’t give me reasons to.”

He clicks his tongue, running his fingers over your naked arms. You shiver slightly, hoping he doesn’t see it. “You want more?”

“More what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“More reasons to complain,” he continues, chuckling as he lowers his head and hides it in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Real reasons to complain.”

“Wha—”

“Because I’ll give them to you, if you want to,” he licks your skin, and you can feel yourself start to malfunction. He’s a little shit, you think, as you slowly start to give in. He’s a little shit and I’m in love with him. “Or I can keep your mouth full so you can’t complain anymore.”

He stands up straight again, staring at you while his fingers move to where you were holding your towel.

“What’s your pick, baby?” He whispers, removing your grip from the soft fabric around your body, letting it fall on the floor, like a puddle of water on your feet.

You’re fully naked, and he can’t even pretend he’s not looking— he is. He always is.

Jack kisses you with hungry, tender lips. He holds your neck while he licks your lips with his tongue, hot and messy. He tastes like beer and you hate it, but you cannot get enough.

You wrap your own arms around his neck, holding him so close to you you could feel his heartbeat. Kissing him never got old, and if you were to write down your top ten favorite things about Jack Hughes, his kiss would definitely be number one.

You breathe in his scent, your favorite ever since you met him, and you can feel your legs start to give in, just like the rest of your body. It’s late at night, almost morning, your body can’t keep up with your mind and you want to tell Jack to fuck off.

Yet.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers against your lips, as he guides you to the bed, laying you down with your hips on the edge of it. “Let me give you something to make noise about.”

That’s the only warning you get before he gets his knees on the floor and separates your legs, leaving you open and exposed. You feel his fingers spreading your lips open, and when his tongue finds its way to your clit, all of your previous complaints are gone.

You close your legs around his neck, holding him in place, while he puts on a show for you, his fingers tracing the wetness pouring out of you.

You let out a soft moan, holding his hair with your hands, not bothering to be gentle. His tongue found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, circular motions.

“Jack.”

You trash under him as he flicked your sensitive nub with his mouth, the wet noises making you want to disappear. Jack always seemed pleased to go down on you, but you still aren’t used to this fact about him.

“So sweet, baby,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his words sending shivers down your spine, as he dives in again.

He has you curling your toes and arching your back, moaning his name loud and proud, but still, he doesn’t stop. He slides his arms under your thighs, holding you in place by gripping your waist, hard.

He has you coming in under five minutes— it’s a shame it’s over so soon, but what can you do, really. He looks up at you between your thighs, and the sight alone has you moaning, desperate for something else.

You pull his hair, gently, signaling to him that you wanted him up, closer to you, and so he does. He kisses you again, and you get to taste yourself on his lips, moaning loudly inside his mouth when you feel his dick trapped between his body and yours.

“Jack,” you whisper again, placing both of your hands on his cheeks. “I need you.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” He says, chuckling as he gets off you and removes the rest of his clothes.

He slides inside you with no hesitation or whatsoever, knowing too well that your inside’s have his print all over it. You both moan loudly, louder than you should be moaning at four something in the morning, but you can deal with the complaint letter later.

He holds your legs together, pressing them against your chest, almost folding you in half. He is being rough, something you absolutely want to kill him for, but you let yourself enjoy the roughness for a moment; you can scold him later.

You can feel him deeper now, as your body gets dragged up and down against the mattress, making you want to scream.

“You’re wet,” he says through his teeth and you can tell he’s also giving in. “Y/n, fuck.”

You’re clenching around his length as he strokes your G spot, dragging his dick against your walls, once again making sure you can take everything he gives you.

“Harder.” You hear someone ask, probably yourself, and you also hear his low chuckle. “Not enough.”

“Still complaining?” He asks, but doesn’t give you time to answer. Instead, he removes his right hand from your waist and does the one thing he knows it will have you drooling and begging under him.

He slaps your pussy. The wet, loud sound that fills the room makes you squirm, unconsciously trying to remove yourself from his hold. But he’s stronger, always has been.

“Take it, baby.”

He then slaps you again, and again, and so many times you stop counting. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, and his rough slaps against your clit is enough to make you come, leaving you almost lifeless under him.

“Good girl, Y/n,” he says, kissing your lips, briefly. “I’m gonna come, fuck.”

“Inside, please,” you hear yourself mumbling, and you’re not even sure if Jack hears it.

“What was that, baby?” He asks, his thrusts getting sloppy.

“Inside?”

“Fuck,” he curses. “I’m—”

He cums inside you, the familiar feeling making you sigh with bliss. You are both panting, the room smells of sweat, alcohol and sex, and you swear you can see the sun start to rise through the bedroom’s floor to ceiling windows.

You’re just about to tell Jack you want to go to sleep when you feel him start to pull out, which has you protesting, immediately.

“No, I— sleep inside, please?”

His blue eyes are staring down at you, and now, there’s a hint of a smile plastered on his face. He nods once, manhandling you around until you’re under the sheets, with your back glued to his chest, and his length still nestled inside you.

“Well, if you’re still mad at me,” he whispers. “At least we made it to the morning, huh?”

“Shut up,” you whisper back, barely hiding your smile. “If you keep talking, there won’t be any other morning.”

He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Very well, then.”

𖧷

NHL MASTERLIST. JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST

#jack hughes #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes au #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine #new jersey devils x you #new jersey devils x reader #new jersey devils fic #new jersey devils #jh86

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adamsrcnan · 9 months ago

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every single day. every. single. day. i'm haunted by that one iconic tumblr post about kevin's perfect match being some random person he meets at the grocery store who doesn't know a thing about exy. (I'm pretty sure that's the gist of the post it's so old and i can never find it)

like i'm never not thinking about it.

sooooo

imagine a kevin day in his late 20's ???? he doesn't ever go shopping. can't remember the last time he did but he's restless before a big game. he's craving a healthy protein filled snack. it's like 1am. he goes to the 24 hour grocery store. he's got his hood up. if anyone catches him here he'll be swarmed. his pr managers will have his head. he's reaching for his snack. someone speaks up behind him. says something like "the peanut butter ones are the best ones" kevin, with an eye roll and a scoff ready to fall from his lips, turns to the stranger. then he pauses. he's cute. curly hair. glasses. a sweater vest. he notices kevin's tattoo. says "nice tattoo" kevin freezes. oh no, here it comes. then the stranger drops a random historical fact about chess. he's baffled. he's pretty sure he said the exact same thing when he was sitting in the chair at the tattoo parlor half drunk all those years ago. but he takes too long to respond. so the stranger smiles awkwardly and says "see you around" and leaves. kevin can't stop thinking about him. may or may not make one too many midnight trips to the grocery store. he finally see's him again. this time he drops a historical fact on the guy about the veggies he's buying. he laughs. kevin short circuits at the sound. then the man is giving him his number. he doesn't text for days. afraid he's a crazy psycho fan. but then he see's him again. the man looks a little embarrassed when he apologises for being so forward. he's walking away when kevin says "you don't know who i am?" the man looks totally baffled. "should i?" he says back. now kevin is the one baffled. so kevin texts him. they talk about history. kevin doesn't talk about exy. turns out the stranger is a history teacher. kevin is enamoured. but the man still doesn't know who he is. kevin strangely wants to keep it that way. but the little bubble bursts eventually. the kids at the man's school are talking about exy. he's heard of it of course, but isn't a sports guy, so never paid attention. then kevin's name is dropped. and then history teacher is googling kevin. and it's him. it's grocery store kevin. his kevin. he goes a little ghost. he doesn't wanna date a professional famous world star athlete. takes him a couple days but kevin catches on. texts him saying "you figured it out..." they don't talk. they see each other at the grocery store again weeks later. they sit outside in the parking lot at night. history teacher asks him about exy. he doesn't know much or anything. kevin goes off on one. history teacher likes how passionate he is. takes a chance. they keep talking. history teacher listens to kevin talk about exy. kevin listens to him talk about history. they go on secret museum dates. kevin takes the man running even tho he hates it. the man falls in love. kevin falls in love. kevin wakes up one day, and he is finally happy in love.

#as much as i love every kevin x aftg character ship #this will always be my favourite #kevin day #all for the game #aftg #the sunshine court #tsc

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siolixz · 4 days ago

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'*•.¸♡ FATHER FIGURE ♡¸.•*'

Being Lucy's sister came with a lot of perks: good food, nice places to stay at- a rich handsome multimillionaire falling madly in love with you. Did I mention the rich handsome multimillioanire?

pairing: harry castillo x reader (Lucy's sister)

part2

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

context: just fluff and romcom scenarios, older man x younger woman, everyone is over 18 and fully consenting; words: 3k I hope you will enjoy and pls tell me if you like it or tell me if you don't- I will probably write a part 2 with smut if it is well received. ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ I will probably write the smut anyways tho loll Yes i have put a George Michael song name as the title put me in jail or whatever. Also I have no idea if his name is Randy or Harry so oh well, who cares hes so sexy.

It was a beautiful day in New York that welcomed you right back here in this city, looking across the cafe for your Lucy.

You slept in today, after a long plane ride and a longer ride to your sister's apartment you had to get your rest for the days ahead- and for the wedding. Because of spring break and because she received a plus one invitation to one of her glorious matchmaking results- her ninth to be more precise, you just had to join her in New York for the week ahead. You didn’t have anything else better to do, plus, you missed her.

She smiled at your sleepy face as you sat down in front of her.

As the coffee arrived you finally had some time to catch up on life, on your school and on her job. More importantly, how could John ever break up with her? She’s successful, she's beautiful and she’s brilliant. You told her that you were hoping she could finally get a guy who actually deserves her.

“I hope your wedding will be the tenth-” you started.

“Maybe it will be yours princess, did you think of that?” She smirked at you, clearly enjoying the banter you two were so used to having.

“So that’s why you called me here- to set me up with someone?” you leaned across the table “Because I’m taking the first plane back to college if that's the case.” There’s nothing more embarrassing than your own sister setting you up, I mean you could get a date if you tried but the boys back at school are, lacking.. certain qualities you were hoping for in a man.

She laughed at your expression, knowing you were being sarcastic and joking but also not really. You could hardly hear each other anymore as more people came into the cafe.

She grabbed the hand you had on the table as she said: “You’ve grown so much- I’m so happy you're here with me.”

All day long you walked across New York City, first it was dress shopping- you probably tried on like 10 dresses before picking a gorgeous green floor length dress and your sister a blue dress. She covered everything like the great older sister she is and on you went towards Sephora to get everything you might need or just plain wanted- perks of having an older sister with money- and then it was take out time back home; feet sore and exhausted. You loved and hated being in this city, but you could clearly see why Lucy wanted to live here. So many people, so many stories to tell. You two took a nap and then by late afternoon you were out again for dinner with some of her friends and then for a walk in central park.

“You know, I think tomorrow is going to be really special.” she linked your arms together as you passed people.

“Really?” you turned the upper part of your body towards your sister as you walked. “In what way may I ask?”

“Like in a good way; maybe you’ll meet someone.” she whispered the last part “Or maybe in a bad way.” She turned away from you like she was thinking. “Last time we were at a wedding together, you were very little- remember you got that stomach bug-”

“Ugh don’t remind me Lucy” you grimaced at her macabre reminiscing while she laughed in your face “We just ate-”

The wedding was truly beautiful, the bride and groom looked great together and the food was completely out of this world. The groom was a finance guy, so it made sense that the wedding would be held in a grandiose style, I mean they had a chocolate fountain for god sake. And free gifts for people- free gifts!

You and Lucy talked with some people, ate some food from the candy bar while gossiping and danced a little bit but you had to take a break as ‘Cupid’ herself was socializing with acquaintances. You texted some of your friends, one from childhood and two from college- all ecstatic about the amazing things there. You had to remember to get Maddy a necklace as her birthday was coming up and Mark asked if you could get him a lucky cat doll and also-

“Is this seat taken?”

You looked up at the owner of the voice, “Um, no- no it’s not.”

Um, yes it was, your sister was seated there- who even is this?

The stranger sat on the chair, turned his whole body to look at you and placed his hand under his head- like he was engaged in the most passionate discussion.

From this position you could finally see the man up close- this must be the groom's best friend. Your sister told you as you sat down during the ceremony, even if you were seated far away, you could remember him now. He was right next to the groom.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you-”

“No, it’s okay-” Now you’re interrupting him, please stop.

He smiled at you, endeared by your attempt at alienating his worries. His smile reached his eyes and the corners wrinkled, like a testament of this strange man’s seasoned life. He looked at you in an almost parental fashion like he already knew you- wait, do you know him?

Your sister has a bunch of friends and acquaintances around New York, maybe you did know him. “Do we know each other?”

“No, I don’t believe we have met.”

He had this air about him, like he was so comfortable and sure of himself. He smiled again at you, like he knew something you did not, was there something on your teeth?

“My name is Harry, it’s nice to meet you, miss…” You told him your name and he repeated it.

Why was your heart beating so fast? Maybe because he was very, very handsome.

“Would you like a drink?” he said your name again and you forgot all about the phone buzzing in your hand.

“Um..”

You looked across the ornate ballroom for your sister for a second.

“Wait, you’re old enough to drink, right?” His smile faltered for a second but he quickly regained it as you reassured him that you were indeed, old enough to drink.

He ordered a cosmopolitan for you and an old fashioned for him and while you chatted, he asked about what you were doing in New York and how you knew the bride and the groom.

“You’re the matchmaker’s sister.” he pointed at you and you teared your gaze away from his beautiful brown eyes to notice the green ring on his finger.

“I am.”

He must’ve noticed you looking at it as he too, looked at it- then at you and remarked:

“Green is my favorite color.”

This handsome man was clearly hitting on you, but why? You haven’t chatted with anyone this evening besides your sister and some basic chit-chat with the bride. He must’ve singled you out of the crowd as only a man with experience could have probably. Well it wasn’t going to end how he hoped, with you in his bed and him never calling you again. You weren’t born yesterday nor were you that desperate, no matter how handsome he was nor how tall and big he was compared to you-

No, you’re not going anywhere with him, you’re here for and with your sister. Speaking of which-

“I see you’ve made some friends.” She smiled as she came closer and introduced herself to Harry. Harry. What a beautiful name.

As he turned his head towards her you looked at the curls he had at the base of his neck and thought you could never look at someone more handsome- his face looked like it was sculpted!

She made some polite conversation and It wasn’t long before she had to excuse you two in order to introduce you to some people there.

So in about 2 minutes- you said your goodbye’s and you left him there, silently hoping that maybe he could call out your name as you walked away or run after you and tell you he is madly in love with you ‘please don’t go’ - you audibly giggled next to your sister as you walked away, amused entirely by your schoolgirl-like-dreams as she gave you an odd look.

It was the cosmopolitan’s fault, you were sure.

As the night wore on you tried to see him again but to no avail; he must’ve left with some pretty model or gorgeous woman- the thought left an emptiness in your stomach you couldn’t shake for the whole night.

You were woken up by the sunrays on your face and by an immense amount of thirst that left your throat feeling like you scratched it all night long. You grabbed your phone instinctively and after about 30 minutes of coming back to life you finally got up.

As you entered the living room you saw your older sister on the phone and gave her a small wave.

She nodded her head at you as you walked into the kitchen to grab some ice cold water.

Why was everything so hot in this apartment?

After she finished her phone call you could finally debrief with her about last night's events, the most important of those things was definitely her meeting up with John again.

“Life just finds a way I guess.” you told her as she grabbed a coke from the fridge.

“Yeah, I guess.” She opened the can, took a sip and said “By the way, I have a surprise for you.”

“Yeah, what?” You couldn’t deny the way your heart jumped a little bit- maybe a bit more.

“I have a date for you.”

“Lucy, no..” you groaned. Was it with him? God let it be him.

“Hear me out, ok? I have to be at a girlfriend's house this evening and I want you to go, I would hate for you to be inside while I go have fun- plus you don’t have to go on a second date or anything, this is just for fun- no expectations, ok?” She pleaded with her eyes at you.

“I can’t say anything about this guy, but you have a lot in common, he is also a student like you- maybe you can bond over that.”

The day dragged on until 5pm when you had to get ready, you were hoping this guy wasn’t some snob or insufferable, but you trusted your sister. A short red dress and heels would suffice, as you were going to quite a fancy restaurant on the upper east side. When you arrived you said your name to the waiter and sat down at one of the beautiful velvet booths and ordered a glass of water for yourself. Being alone in a place as fancy as this, you did feel quite out of place a little bit.

On to wait for that guy to show up, even though you arrived on time.

Traffic in New York is horrible, so maybe he is fashionably late.

He was not fashionably late as 45 minutes had passed and you were still alone, you could see people glance at you between the sounds of silverware- pitying you.

Or maybe no one cared, it was hard to tell- especially because you were so embarrassed.

Your fingers itched for your phone, to text Lucy a 'I told you so'. Netflix and pajamas sounded infinitely better than this empty booth and the pitying glances. God you wish you were home right now, not dressed so fancy and looking so good only to be stood up.

The waiter came back, probably to ask you if anyone is coming.

No, no one is coming.

“Is this seat taken?”

You looked up in bewilderment and met the gorgeous brown eyes of last night's enamourment. Harry was looking down at you, an amused look in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, almost too loud in this fancy setting. “No, no it’s not.” Your heart started beating fast as he sat down in front of you, he looked even more handsome in the dimmed yellow lights of this restaurant.

He took off his dress jacket and placed it on the chair, you couldn't help but stare at the way his big arms looked, he was a very big man, so handsome too-

“I was having a meeting with my business partner and I looked across the room and there you were. “ He smiled at you like he did last night.

You were happy to see him, very happy.

“What are you doing here, Cinderella?”

“I was waiting for someone, some guy my sister set me up with- he didn’t show up.” You leaned across the table so only he could hear what you said, not the old couple next to you two as well.

“What an idiot.” He leaned close to you as well and you could smell his cologne “Well it’s good I am here now, right? We can carry on last night's conversation.”

As you two ordered food, he asked you what you were studying.

“Psychology. I have a scholarship.”

“So you’re beautiful and smart.” He placed the napkin he received across his lap and you felt your ears get warm- you hoped the lights in this restaurant would dim the blush on your face as well. “Do you like what you are studying?”

“Yes I do. I truly want to start my own clinic back home and help people.” You must’ve talked for like some full minutes about your degree and dreams while he asked you questions. He seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying, like he wanted to learn as much as he could about you.

He told you he would like to be your first pacient when you do become a psychologist and you laughed.

Harry was a funny man, very charming as well, though he had a way of turning a phrase to escape any sort of mention towards his private life, you wondered why that is.

“Can I ask you a question?” you played with the short hem of your dress under the table.

“Of course, anything you want.” He took a sip of his drink as he looked at you. His hands looked so big around the glass.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but may I ask how old you are?” you could find in his eyes a touch of mischief, like he was thinking of something funny to say so he could see you smile.

“24.” he said. With the most monotone voice he could muster and with a straight face.

“24?” you asked, knowing he was messing around with you but deciding to play into his game.

“Yes, I lived a rough couple of years as you can see. What’s so funny?” he asked you, faking being angry at your smiling face.

“Nothing.” you tried to hide your smile.

“You better not be laughing at my life story.”

“I’m really not.” you put on your serious face.

A man came by your table as the waiter started bringing dessert, and Harry got up to greet him, the man shook Harry’s hand and thanked him, before he left he gave you a polite smile and a ‘good night’ to both of you as he exited the restaurant with his wife or girlfriend.

“Old friend.” Harry said as he sat back down again “He just bought an apartment complex.”

“Wow, he must be rich.”

“Very rich indeed.” he took the spoon from next to the plate and cut through the lava cake he was brought. “Like this chocolate.”

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to dance with me yesterday” He looked at you again and you wanted to die inside when you remembered that you left him. "You missed out," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm quite the dancer."

"Oh, really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t worry. I'm a fast learner. I won’t let you get away twice"

"Is that a threat?" you asked.

"A promise," he corrected you as he took a bite of the dessert.

Harry asked for your number by the end of the night and you gave it to him, of course you did.

As he told the waiter that he should put the dinner on his tab you protested, but he would have none of it. He said that this was the most fun he had in a while as he got up and watched you exit the booth.

“Let me take you home-” He started as he let you walk ahead of him; you tried to ignore the way he looked at you; like he was still hungry.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, I’ll call an uber.” He helped you put on your jacket before he opened the door for you.

A soft breeze danced around the streets of the city at this late hour- you hugged your jacket closer to you. You didn’t want your meeting to end, but it had to.

“Nonsense, let me take you home, c’mon.” He climbed the steps before you and turned around so your eyes could meet at the same level. His dark hair, with its natural waves, framed his face and the silver streak in his hair reminded you of something- he was so handsome, how was he so handsome? He smelled great too.

You smiled at him, maybe the drink you had inside made you this courageous.

“You never told me how old you are.” Everyone passing by you two must think you were drunk by the way you were smiling at each other. He grabbed your hands in his much bigger ones and pressed them close together, like one might do to a child to make them listen- butterflies danced across your stomach again because of the sudden intimacy.

Harry’s smile faltered slightly and he adopted a more serious expression before lowering his voice and telling you: “I’m 49 years old.”

His deep brown eyes searched your face, like wanting to remember it before you start showing any signs of discomfort.

You wanted to say something, before he interrupted you “If you are uncomfortable, I promise, I’ll take you home and I’ll never say-”

“And If I am not?” you spoke over him.

His eyebrows relaxed back on his face as relief washed over his expression and a smile slowly started spreading across his lips. His eyes twinkled under the light above you two from the entrance of the restaurant and he looked at you like he wanted to kiss you.

“I’ll take you home then.”

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this for you and for me. I hope you have a great day and wish u de best.

If you are one of my long time followers, I just wanna say im sorry that I havent written anything in quite a while, but life got in the way and I just couldn't find any inspiration to give you something actually good. But I am back now! And to stay for good this time unless stated otherwise. ILY

#pedro x reader #harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x you #materialists #pedro pascal fic #harry castillo fanfiction #pedro pascal #materialistics movie

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iamnotmereally · 2 years ago

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It's been a decade and i can't let go :/

#I shouldn't. Be in agony abt it in the first place is the thing. Idk if it was wrong what that person did. i mean.#I can't ask anyone about it. Id have to tell them what happened and. I can't. I'll tell ppl something has happened and they always assume #The worst and. I feel guilty as if i am lying.#I regret telling my mother btw. I wonder if she even remembers. She does but yknow. The way she just said his name as if it was nothing in #Front of me one day. Well that's that. So it's not that big of a deal he didn't really do anything. He was as old as me now back then lol a #Scared of myself. Why did he do any of that omg. He could think right he was way older you were an adult i was barely 8 fuck i don't need #This. I am worried if i am blaming someone without ground. What if what he did was normal. Idk what's right and wrong #Some girl told me that. sa victims were putting others in danger by not letting the concerned know what happened to them which first of all #Wrong. And she clearly didn't get that i was uncomfortable. but i am not always in a mental state to understand that and it's like i am #Clawing for excuses to be despairing i haven't been like that in a while tho.#I feel like i am faking it you see? I don't know what's real. I don't know what's right what i feel or what i should feel.#Vent tw ig #sa tw #Not really. I don't know. I don't really know

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moon7jay · 1 year ago

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TEMPTATION (p.js)

best friend!jay x fem!reader

Warnings : non consensual, dubious consent, manipulation, smut, loads of masturbation, jay is a freak, anal sex, obsessive behavior, mentions of violence, Morally gray plot and characters obviously, read at your own risk. Not proofread, there might be some errors.

Wc : 8.6k

a/n : reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated so much, please, please don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts, it makes my entire day<3

Candid.

You were too candid for your own good.

Jay doesn't remember when it started to get this bad. you have always been someone who spoke their mind, but he never expected to be witnessing it first hand, and definitely not like this.

As he watches you deep throat the popsicle, your glossy lips wrapped around it so deliciously,the lustrous sheen reminiscent of morning dew on rose petals; he thinks he's in one of his wet dreams. The gloss you're wearing today is not the same as yesterday; they're both shades of dark red but Jay can tell the difference. How? Don't ask him. It's not like he spent most of his time staring at your lips or anything. He isn’t obsessive (he is). He most definitely doesn't look up the same glosses you wear online, or order them to use them for some ulterior motives. so yeah, don’t ask him why or how he can tell what the raspberry red on your lips tastes like.

Your twinkling eyes meet his, the ice pop coming out of your mouth with a loud squelch, and you smile.

"What do you think?" you ask, and Jay doesn't remember what you're asking, or what you were talking about before that pink popsicle came into the picture.

He stares at you dumbly, eyes transfixed on the allure of your saliva coated lips. Oh, he so badly wants to-

"Jay, are you even listening?" your voice interrupts the not so decent direction his thoughts were headed in.

"Huh?"

"I'm asking you, what do you think about my throat game?" your eyes shine, and Jay gulps.

This. This is exactly what he's been dealing with for the past few months.

You both have been best friends since sophomore year, and he understands that as people get closer, they start sharing all types of thoughts and secrets. Even the most intimate and inappropriate ones. Right?

Wrong.

Because jay doesn't remember sexual questions and indecency being a bonding activity among best friends. Sometimes he wonders, do you even consider him a man? Because what man is immune to these sinful thoughts, no matter how hard he tries? Were you really that unaware of the impact your words have on him or did you do it on purpose?

Jay just wasn't mentally prepared for this phase of your friendship. He blames it on his sex crazed brain.

"It-it's good" he mutters, praying that you don't notice the shakiness in his voice. or the reddening of his ears. or the sweat trickling down his neck. or the way he keeps the cushion tightly situated on his lap. Oh fuck it, there's no way you don't notice.

You giggle. You giggle, and the sound goes straight to his chubbing up cock.

"thought so, I've been practicing you know? Heeseung is so lucky, I don't even have a gag reflex" you excitedly brag about your sexual prowess, and Jay can't feel his legs. In fact, all his focus is zeroed in on one place, just like the blood rushing to his dick.

His fists clench at the familiar name and he grits his teeth to stop the throbbing in his jaw.

If Jay's life was a coming of age comedy, you were definitely the main character, and heeseung; even thinking of his name leaves a bad taste in jongseong's mouth, would be your potential love interest. Matter of fact, he seemed to be everyone's love interest.

Jay tho? He wasn't even a supporting character. You just kept him around.

You had pranced into his life in sophomore year, all wide smiles and bright eyes. When he had moved away from his home for college, he had accepted the fact that he would probably spend all of his college life alone.

Because, one, jongseong was awkward. And two, jongseong was awkward.

His awkwardness stemmed from having two friends for most of his life; they were the only two people he could talk to like a normal human being. So, when he left them behind, he left his ability to make proper conversations with them.

But you didn't need him to talk. Nope. You did all the talking for him.

He'd been minding his business, cramming up the notes for upcoming end sem exams , when the chair beside him had been pulled out and you had plopped on it in all your glory. He remembers that you had smelled like ripe cherries, and it didn't take long for jeongseong to get addicted to that fragrance.

Extrovert adopting an introvert, was the basic description of your friendship with him.

But he doesn't know where his obsession with you fits in the dynamic, doesn't know where his need to inject you in his veins stems from.

"Y-yeah, H-he's so fucking lucky" he admits, eyes shaking. He knows he sounds nervous and distressed, but if you notice, you don't mention it.

He watches as you smile proudly and go back to sucking on the popsicle, without a single care in the world. Your red tongue pokes out to lick along its length, before you start suckling on its tip.

oh, how he wishes he was that godforsaken popsicle.

It happens again on a leisure evening. Jay had rented out the movie you so desperately wanted to see, but somewhere in the middle, you got bored. Honestly,he should’ve sensed it coming; from the weary sighs leaving your lips, to the way you were reclined on the couch, it couldn’t have been more obvious.

"It's so hard being single I swear, my fingers don't do it for me and i am so fucking frustrated right now "

Jay thinks he has developed hearing impairment. If not that, then maybe brain damage, because he's sure he's making this all up in his head somehow. there's no way you're talking to him about masturbation right now. This has to be one of his lucid dreams, there's no way you're that comfortable around him.

oh but you are. Your eyes rest on his, curious, inquisitive, as if waiting for a response. But jongseong has lost his ability to formulate coherent sentences.

"Oh" he blurts.

that's it. That's all that he can come up with.

It's an essential mercy that you don't particularly seem to care for his response, just needing a signal to rant more.

"Yes. oh. and i swear Jay, sometimes I'll try to get my fingers in there, but it's so fucking tight and they only go half way in, it's so frus-"

Jay tunes the rest of the conversation out. His mind latches onto the word "Tight ". His throat becomes parched and his palms sweat profusely where they rest against his thighs. His eyes travel down your body, drinking you in. The moles on your collarbone are so fucking tempting, he wonders if someone has told you this before. The way your skirt pools around your thighs has him gasping for air, too much skin, his palms itch to grope.

He feels like a fucking creep, because the creases on your forehead and the heated movements of your hands as you emphasize your point, makes it clear that you are just rambling.

He's your best friend and you're sharing your issues with him, like normal friends do. except Jay is not normal. At least, not when it comes to you.

He knows that you've not had much experience, knows that you've never even been fucked good, and he can't stop his imagination from running wild as he pictures you under him right now. Right on the couch that you've got your pretty ass seated on.

He wonders what your cute moans sound like, wonders if you're a screamer, or do you like to deep throat on fingers to keep your voice down. Wonders what your face looks like when you're cumming. Wonders if your nails will scratch his back red while he stuffs you full of his cum, or will you beg him to pull out.

he shouldn't be having these thoughts and yet, he just can't help it.

"What about you?" you ask, disrupting his inner monologue.

"Me?" he falters, shifting a little, sneakily adjusting his aching length.

"Yeah, are you getting some? or do you just jerk off like other losers? " There's a teasing glint in your eyes as you ask him the most intimate question one can ask someone.

Jay chokes on his own saliva. Thankfully, before he can muster up the courage to stutter an embarrassing attempt of an answer, your phone rings and you're making your way out of his house. A family emergency, you tell him, and Jay can't even bring himself to ask you about it, his mind too preoccupied with the conversation you both just had.

What would you have said if he had told you about all the girls that he fucks, imagining that they were you? Would you have been disgusted, or would it turn you on?

or about all the nights he spends wanking off to your most innocent pictures on his phone; would you think he's creepy, or would you ask him to show you how?

He can't help slipping his hands inside his pants once you're gone, can't help the pathetic moans that fall from his lips while he imagines how 'tight ' you must be. Fuck. Would you clamp around his throbbing length? would your cute little pussy suck him right in?

His movements get faster, more desperate, palms getting slick with how much precum he's leaking as he jerks himself off to the thoughts of your cunt. He flicks his wrist, the friction of his rough palm against his sensitive dick driving him insane.

He needs it, he needs you.

His grasp on his leaking cock becomes firm; tighter, wetter, softer, your thoughts send him right over the edge just in a few more dreamy strokes. The act of cumming inside his boxers is so fucking filthy, the wet spot forming on the front of his pants being a testament to his perverted desires.

"fuck, fuck baby" he groans, gulping harshly while he comes down from his high, his cum covering his palms and thighs , some of it splattering onto his stomach.

God, if only you could see him right now. If only you knew what a mess you make of him.

You're drunk.

He can see it in the way you're starting to slur your words, the sentences no longer making any sense. Your eyes are glassy and droopy, almost on the verge of passing out. He should stop you. He should snatch the bottle away from your wobbly hands and yet.

He doesn't.

Maybe if he was a better man, he would have, but jay is not that man.

Jay watches you take another swing and anticipation builds up in his chest. You're unaware, blinded to the fact that he came here with a purpose tonight; multiple bottles of rum, the particular brand that gets you groggy in a few sips, the game cards, the setting, everything was planned.

When you told him that your roommate was gone for the night, he saw the perfect opportunity to set his sick scheme into motion. And like the naive little girl that you were, you didn't even question him about his odd idea of getting drunk on a weekday, or why you were the only one getting drunk while his glass sat untouched between you both.

Your head lulls to the side ,and within a few seconds, you plop onto your back, mumbling a few intangible words, spread out on your bed like a fucking feast.

Jay inhales harshly, his tongue flicking out to lick over his dry lips. He looks around frantically, as if someone can see what he's about to do. As if someone can peek into his sick and twisted mind. There's no one here though, and his patience is running thin.

Jay crawls over your limp body, his dark eyes devouring you, memorizing every feature up close. Your hairs are splayed around your head like a halo, some strands falling onto your forehead. your lashes flutter slightly, still in between the phase of being passed out and somewhat awake. Your luscious lips keep mumbling words that he's sure even you don't understand. there's a red flush on the apple of your cheeks, enhancing the contours of your face, and Jay just wants to take a bite.

His hungry eyes travel lower,drinking your beauty in like a famished man, watching in rampant awe at how your chest rises and falls, your tank top giving him an eyeful of your soft cleavage. well damn.

His throat bobs, taking in the way your tank top rides up your stomach, exposing your entire midriff to his lustful eyes. You're so, so innocent like this, so naive. How could you trust him so easily? He was a man, it didn't matter that he was your best friend,he was a man regardless.

you really have zero survival instincts.

But Jay is glad that it's him and not someone else. Jay would never harm you, Jay would never do anything wrong to you. He just wants to love you.

His hand moves instinctively, and he's groping your soft thighs, eyes flickering up instantly to watch you with a bated breath. When you don't show any signs of waking up, his movements get harsher, his hold sliding up,grabbing a handful of your ass. A groan falls from his lips at the feeling of your soft skin against his rough palms, his dick hardening inside his pants. Your shorts are too thin to leave anything to the imagination.

Before he knows, his hands are roaming and exploring your curves freely, caressing every inch of your naked skin that he can find. God you're so soft, so fucking soft. He doesn't overdo it tho, doesn't grab you as harshly as he wants to, aware that he can't leave any marks. He leans down and bites on your lower lip inadvertently, eyes closing in delight when your taste overwhelms his senses. You're sweeter than he imagined, and he automatically presses further into you. He moves his lips, tries to kiss you, but your lack of reciprocation irks him to no end. Fueled by his desperation to taste you, his hand comes up and he's cupping your plushy cheeks, making your mouth pucker up like a fish, the little peek of your red tongue from inside drives him up the fucking wall. Without thinking, he dives in, his tongue meeting yours, licking into your hot mouth messily, slurping in your saliva like a freak.

It's too much, the feeling of your body so close, your taste, the fact that this was wrong on so many levels, it all just added up to his arousal.

He trails his lips downwards,kissing and licking every inch of your tempting flesh.

As if a switch is flipped inside his head, Jay pulls back hurriedly and unzips his pants. his hands shake on the zipper, high from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His dick throbs against his boxers, begging for some sweet relief. His breathing is deep, the fact that he is finally about to act on his perverse fantasies hitting him hard. As he pulls his leaking dick out of the confines of his boxers, shoving them unceremoniously down to his knees, he leans back over your figure again, supporting himself with one palm resting beside your head.

He hisses painfully through his teeth, the feeling of his palm wrapping around his cock being too much.

Jay wants to see your pussy, god, he wants to taste it, he wants to fuck it till you're screaming, but not yet. He knows his limits. He knows that once he gets a peek of the treasure you hide between your legs, he might not be able to stop himself from pounding your limp body into the sheets; and so he controls the itching in his loins, resists the temptation. That can wait for another day. Right now though, he just wants to cum.

He pulls down your tank top impatiently, exposing your bra clad tits to his starving eyes. Lace, of course you wear lace.

"fucking slut" he grunts. Fuck, the way your boobs spill out of the cups, your nipples peeking through the sheer fabric makes his dick twitch. Without further ado, He wraps his palm around himself and starts stroking.

"fuck baby, look at what you do to me" he groans, leaning down to kiss your plump cheek, nuzzling his nose into your warm flesh.

His bottom lips is tucked between his teeth, his grip tightening around his leaking shaft, moving his rough palm up and down languidly. As much as he wants to take his time enjoying your body, he knows he can't take a risk. On top of that, he's too pent up to be able to drag this out, he can already feel the familiar tingling in the pit of his stomach. Too good,everything feels too good.

He whines as his thumb rubs over his engorged tip, the pleasure driving him insane.

"are you tight baby? fuck, I bet you're so fucking tight, would make my dick feel so good won't you?" He gasps into your skin, brows furrowing as his movements become harsher, faster. His abs flex and his hips jerk forward into his tight fist, imagining it's your pussy that he's fucking into.

“god it feels so good to finally fuck my fist” he pants, his warm breath fanning your flushed face.

His thighs tremble and he leans his body into yours, pressing himself flush against your unsuspecting figure. He slots his throbbing cock between your plush thighs and starts humping against you eagerly. He just can't help it. It's all your fucking fault.

"Mhmm, baby, baby, fuck you feel so good" He whimpers, fingers digging into the fat of your waist, nose buried inside the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You smell so fucking intoxicating, and he feels his sanity slipping away. God, how he wishes he could thrust inside of your wet heat right now. How he wishes he could jerk his cock off using your tight little cunt.

Its getting wet and messy, the squelching sounds coming from his cock moving back and forth against your flesh are downright filthy.

A strained moan slips from his throat and the knot in his stomach tightens. He's so fucking close.

Jay gathers a copious amount of saliva in his mouth and spits in his hand, rubbing it all over his dick, lubricating it for more pleasure, flicking his wrist faster.

"wish I was inside you right now, look how hard you make me baby, gonna cum so much f’ you-mhmnp-fuck-fuck" His whines become louder, groans get breathier, indicating the approach of an impending orgasm.

The heat inside his loins becomes unbearable and he needs contact. Direly.

Naked skin, soft flesh rubbing against his sweaty body while he jerks himself off, that’s exactly what he craves. He lets go of his cock momentarily and strips his shirt off, throwing it aimlessly across your room. He pants while he slides your bra down your chest, letting your boobs spill out in the open. The sight so lewd, he could come from this alone.

His pupils dilate, sweat trickling down his neck in effort and desire. he leans forward and presses his nipples against yours, hissing harshly, gasping in pleasure at feeling his naked chest rubbing against yours. Is this what sex with you would feel like? Sweaty bodies rutting against one another, chasing carnal pleasure?

Jay pants, and starts to jerk off furiously, wanking his dick like a mad man, palm moving back and forth while he thrusts his tongue inside your open mouth again. A groan escapes his lips, it really does feel like he is fucking you.

"God I wish you could see me right now baby, using your body for my pleasure, just like it's supposed to be" He grunts into your mouth, coating your lips with his saliva.

His hand picks up speed, he's so fucking close, his hips jerk into his own touch, chasing that friction like an animal in heat.

"God yeah, oh fuck yeah baby, gonna cum so hard for you" He groans, squeezing his eyes shut while he spurts long strings of cum onto your naked skin, hot pants fall from his mouth into yours. He squeezes his dick, tugging at it a few more times, cumming so much that it doesn't seem to stop.

"oh fuckk yeahhh, just like that" he moans, rolling over and falling onto his back beside you, rubbing his dick raw. He pumps himself shallowly, milking himself for all that he's worth, his breathing getting slower, sighs of contentment falling from his lips.

Fuck. That was so good.

He looks over at your mess of a body and quickly gets into action, getting dressed haphazardly and adjusting your clothes while he tries his best to clean every drop of cum from your skin and clothes.

The next morning when you whine about a headache, he pretends to be worried, and when you hiss in pain, telling him that there's a painful redness in your inner thighs, he tells you that it might be from your sheets rubbing against your soft skin, and that you should probably buy new ones.

If his dick twitches as he remembers rutting in between your flesh like an animal in heat, that's between him and God

Jay is thoroughly convinced that he's losing his goddamn mind.

With each passing moment, He can feel himself descending into madness.

Nothing feels good, nothing feels worth it, time thoroughly stops if he's not constantly touching you or moping around you.

After that night, he did not get another opportunity to have you alone, and it was promptly causing havoc in his brain. It was fucking him up from the inside.

He wonders if you notice the lack of proximity between your bodies every time you both hang out together lately. But if you do notice the small lingering touches he leaves on your skin here and there, you don't mention it.

"fuck, j-just shut the fuck up" he growls, pushing the woman's head further into the pillows while he continues to plow her from behind.

Ever since he got a taste of you, Jay has found it harder and harder to find pleasure in anything or anyone else. He fucks and fucks but deep down, he knows that no pussy can ever feel like yours.

The cunt wrapped around him is warm and wet, it feels good, making hot pleasure run across his abdomen, but every time he feels his high approaching, the glaring realization that this isn't you underneath him, hits him hard. Fuck.

Jay grits his teeth and closes his eyes, remembering the taste of your soft lips on his, reminiscing the addicting feel of your nipples pressing into his hard chest; his hips pick up pace. He's fucking the woman underneath him brutally, her screams echo in the entire room, her body flailing to get out of his grasp; but Jay can't seem to stop.

"G-gah God just-take it" He groans, hissing in relief when the knot in his stomach snaps, his hips plowing at an animalistic pace, riding his high against the warm pussy in which he's buried.

"fuck fuck fuck" He chants, sighing in hot pleasure, eventually loosening his grip on the slut's body. As soon as he does tho, she pushes him off of herself, turning to him with tears streaming down her red face.

"You're a fucking animal you know?" She spits, sniffing and sobbing as she limps to her feet, his cum running down one of her legs. She collects her clothes and throws a dirty look over her shoulder towards him before she leaves.

Jay scoffs and runs an exasperated hand over his sweaty face. Refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room. All that talk and she didn’t even satisfy his dick.

What the fuck is happening to him? This type of aggression isn't typical of him and yet, he can't seem to control his emotions in the heat of the moment.

Before he can get immersed too deep into his self reflection, his phone rings, your face glowing like an angel on his lock screen.

You. The bane of his existence.

His dick twitches as he swipes right.

"Jongieee" you squeal, going on a tangent about your eye contact with heeseung across the hallway. The visible vein in jay's forehead throbs, as if all the blood's being pumped through that one particular artery in order to give him the strength to cope.

He's going to fuck heeseung's pretty face up. The rage that fills him up at the thought of another man touching you is insurmountable. It wasn't always like this. But somewhere in the middle of your budding friendship, the dynamic shifted drastically.

At first it was a stupid crush, he thought he was in love with you. But he isn't so sure now. This isn't love, no. This is beyond love. A vile, dark version of it. This is an obscene obsession. Jay is fucking obsessed with you. The need to attain you weighs heavy on his conscience.

As he hears your voice, he focuses on the sweet melody and drowns out the words. This makes the throbbing in his dick return ten fold.

He wraps a shaky hand around his slick shaft and starts to stroke it. Real nice and slow. Just how he likes it. Just like he knows your small hands will do to him.

He bites on his lower lip to prevent any sounds from escaping, and he continues to jerk off to your voice. The veins running along his cock throb in his tight grip, the swollen tip squirting precum onto his moving palm.

"Hmm yeah? Tell me more" he whispers, hoping that you don't notice how breathy his voice sounds, or how pure lust drips from his panting breaths.

The slick squelchy sounds from his palm moving up and down his leaking length echo loudly in the room. A part of him wishes that you catch him in this filthy act, relishing in the surprised and scandalized gasp that would leave your lips when you realize what he is doing.

Fuck.

His hand picks up pace, his second orgasm getting closer and closer the more that your sweet voice rings in his ears.

"Jay?" you ask, obviously confused as to why he hasn't said a single thing yet.

Jay, on the other hand, mutes his side of the mic and groans loudly.

"fuck yeah baby, say my name" He whimpers, his hips thrusting up into his tight fist.

He's jerking himself furiously now, closer, closer, he can taste the sweet release at the tip of his tongue,

"Yeah, shit y/n, make me fucking cum" his mewl fades into a high pitched moan as he shoots thick strands of cum after cum into his own fist, watching with hooded eyes , how it spurts everywhere, his abs contracting at the immense force.

God you drive him batshit crazy.

He hangs up on you, ignoring your voice calling out to him, not trusting his own voice enough to talk to you like a normal person, right after he wanked off to you like a perverted freak.

He shoots a quick message to you in explanation tho, getting his cum all over his screen in the process.

"can't hear you, network issue I think. Call u later?"

Later when Jay lets the hot water of the shower run all over his spent body, his mind drifts off to you and the events of the last few months.

He needs to fuck this madness out of his system, he decides.

Maybe once he gets his dick inside of you, he might be able to get you out of his mind.

You look beautiful.

You always look beautiful, but something about the way that tight little red dress hugs your curves tonight has every man in the room salivating. You're like a piece of meat that's dangling in front of a pack of hungry wolves. And Jay is sure that he's the hungriest of them all.

When you had called him that afternoon, your voice sweet and pleading, begging him to accompany you to yeonjun's party, he didn't know what it would entail.

"Please, please come with me Jay, you know it's my best chance at getting heeseung to notice me" your words had been whiny, travelling straight between his legs.

He had clenched his jaw and hummed in response, not having it in him to refuse your offer. As much as it enraged him that you would take another man's name when he was right there, he also knew that his time would come.

"I love youuu, you're the best" you had squealed, making his heart do weird flips inside his chest. Yeah, he was the best. And he was going to make sure that you knew it too by the end of the night.

He's sure he's drooling, eyes tethered to the way you grind your hips on the dance floor.

It's sexy, you're so fucking sexy. Your lips are stretched into a small smile, as if you know that all eyes are feasting on you. He loves how you thrive in it, loves how you're eating up all the attention.

What he doesn't appreciate tho, is the sight of heeseung's figure making his way towards you on the dance floor. Jay's body works faster than his brain, his nostrils flaring as he makes his way towards heeseung, red hot rage propelling him forward.

Sweat trickles down the valley of your breasts and the air feels stuffy. You need a drink. Right now.

You're mildly disappointed when you don't find heeseung anywhere in sight, all that show that you put on, and for nothing?

You sigh dramatically and make your way to the kitchen, recognizing jay's hunched over figure in the corner, doing God knows what.

"Jay? " you call out to him. His figure freezes upon hearing your voice, he turns his head to meet your eyes and shoves his hand inside his pocket without a second's delay. His behavior makes you furrow your brows "what?" you ask him incredulously. Why was he behaving like a child who'd been caught sneaking where he shouldn't be sneaking.

He shrugs his shoulders and turns fully to face your approaching form.

Jay knows that he's staring, but he just can't help it. Not tonight.

You pick up the drink from the counter and swirl it, looking around the kitchen, scrunching up your nose adorably at the intense make out session near the sink.

Jay follows your line of vision and almost groans. Did you have any idea, how badly he wanted to recreate that scene with you.

"Where's heeseung?" you question, your curious eyes looking back at him.

Jay hopes you don't notice the way his jaw immediately locks up, his mood dampening at another man’s name. Jay likes you best when you’re calling his name, he decides.

"He left" He quips, reaching for a drink with his free hand that isn't buried inside his pocket in a meticulous manner.

You look at him heatedly, and Jay sighs.

"He left, or you made him?" your voice is angry, irritated when you ask him that, and Jay feels his own anger flare up at your tone.

Not wanting to cause a scene, he grabs your hand and drags you inside the bathroom instead, grateful when you don't resist.

The way you free your wrist from his grasp to create some distance between you two, is what he doesn't like.

"What did you do?" You demand, folding your hands across your chest, pushing your boobs up in the process. Jay's eyes flicker down to your beauties and the heat in his head travels all the way down to his groin. He needs to have you, now.

You watch in horror as Jay retrieves his hand from the pocket of his pants. The cuts and bruises all over his knuckles make you gasp. Your hands fall to your sides and you look up into his eyes disbelievingly.

"I-w-why? Jay? What the fuck is wrong with you?" you ask, disbelief and anger making way for concern.

"You! you are what's fucking wrong with me!" Jay bellows and it makes you flinch, terror filling up your viens , because this isn't your Jay. Your Jay was calm, and so, so quiet.

Raging eyes look into yours as he stalks towards you. You don't see it coming when he cups your cheek in his hands and thrusts his tongue inside your mouth. Your hands come up to bang against his chest but it only propels him to pull you further into his chest. Fuck, it feels so fucking good when you move against him.

You whine while his tongue tastes your hot mouth hungrily, forcing it deep inside the crevices of your cavity.

Mustering up all the strength that's left in your body, you push him away, heaving heavy breaths as he stumbles back by a few steps.

Your watery eyes look at him in horror and disbelief, refusing to believe that your best friend just forced himself upon you.

"You're insane" you whisper, your voice hauntingly quiet.

He pulls your body closer to himself and kisses you again, diving into your taste desperately "for you, so fucking crazy for you" he murmurs between kisses, continuing to make out with you, making a mess at how forcefully he sucks your tongue into his mouth.

You hit against his chest, thrashing your body in his hold. He pulls back a little and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes are crazed as they look into yours. A string of saliva connects your mouth to his famished one.

"Let me fuck you" He pants.

His words hit you like a slap across the face. What the fuck.

Your head feels dizzy, too much was happening for you to process. Using all the force you could, you push him away from you again.

"Stop acting like this jay!" you cry, just wanting your best friend back. But from the looks of it, he's nowhere in sight.

No, no, no. This can't be happening to you

"Come on, you know you want this" Jay hisses, malice dripping from his eyes.

Your lips wobble and you can do nothing but shake your head, it lolls on your neck lifelessly. You want to say something, but words feel foreign, as if not knowing how to bend your tongue to make the syllables sound quite right.

The bathroom is a tight space, not much expanse for you to run or hide. You see the door from your peripheral and it gives you some hope. If you can get the door to open up in time, you can scream. Maybe someone might hear you through the bass boosted music thrumming in the house.

You stumble back a few more steps but before you can stretch your hand towards the bathroom door, he pounces on you, a sharp whoosh leaving your mouth as your back thumps against the wall behind. He buries his nose inside the crook of your neck, gliding it's slope across the expanse of your soft skin, humming in desire.

His hands run all over your body, cupping your boobs through your dress, making you mewl as he twists your nipples painfully.

"it's about time we had sex baby" he whispers in your ear, biting and nibbling on your earlobe sensually.

"J-jay p-please think about this" you plead, your voice small and frightened, tremors covering your entire figure when he starts to unbuckle his jeans impatiently.

"Think? Oh sweetheart, you have no idea how much I've thought about this do you? " His eyes stay on yours, maintaining eye contact while his fingers unzip his pants. Jay had forgone boxers, too impatient to take his time undressing. His sole purpose was to get his dick inside your stomach tonight.

"This is all I've been thinking about for the past year baby, your cute little cunt is all i fucking think about" He grits.

His dick plops out of his pants, hitting his abdomen, smearing a blob of precum on his happy trail. Your eyes widen and water further, little sobs start to wrack your body. Your eyes take in the view of his uncut cock, curving upwards in sexual need.

"Too big?” he asks, tone mocking your deer caught in the headlights expression, his body presses closer to yours while he works to slide your tight little dress up your thighs, exposing your panty clad pussy to his eyes , fuck yeah.

“I'll make it fit" he groans, running his fingers over your vulva, pinching your clit in the process. You sob and start flailing in his hold, your fists coming up to hit against his chest.

"Jay please, please,no" your voice shakes urgently when he tears your sheer panties apart in pieces, his tongue coming out to lick over his dry lips.his eyes are wide and unseeing, they terrify you.

"Fuck, this pussy has been driving me fucking crazy" he pants, taking a hold of his dick and running it's bulbous head along your slit, coating it in his precum. His eyes come up to momentarily look in your terrified ones and he bites his lower lip, gaze famished and hungry, drinking up all your reactions.

He pops his head in between your silky folds and his knees buckle at the delicious feeling, his free hand coming up to rest against the wall behind you, as he cages you against it.

"fuck, you're tight, gonna have a field day forcing myself inside" he tuts, amused.

His words make you sob, an inexplicable heat spreading across your pelvis when he bullies more of his throbbing shaft inside, satisfied moans leaving his mouth in stuttering gasps.

He wraps your leg around his waist and without warning, buries himself inside your cunt in one harsh thrust, doubling over in pleasure.

"Oh fuck yeah baby, shit" He growls, resting his forehead against yours, his hot breaths falling on your wet cheeks.

You wail and scream but Jay doesn't stop moving, your small fists do nothing to deter his movements, his hips starting to pick up pace instead. His brows furrow in pleasure and he moans into your mouth, urging you to cry more as his cock pumps deep inside your guts.

"Tight little slut, this is what you fucking wanted didn't you? Fucking cock tease" he hisses, throwing his head back in extreme ecstasy, pounding his hips rapidly into yours. The feeling of your nails scratching the skin of his neck makes him groan in pleasure.

"Yeah baby, you wanna fight? let's fucking fight like this" He whispers silkily, grabbing your ass in his big palms, groping your soft flesh painfully, digging his own nails into it.

"h-hurts so much Jay, stop please, p-please" you sob, tears blurring your vision, the stretch from his cock being too much for your tiny little pussy. The way your nails dig into his shoulders, you're sure that if he was naked, you would break his skin.

Jay scoffs and presses your body further into the wall, snapping his hips faster into yours, fucking desperately into your wet, hot cunt.

"Yeah? But your cunt is sucking me in baby, looks like you like what we're doing"

You throw your head back at his words, unable to stop your hips from gyrating against his thrusts. Pleasure was starting to cloud your mind.

"fucking finally, feels so good to be buried in this pussy, should have forced myself in it a long time ago" He pants, taking your lower lip in his mouth while he increases the intensity of his rut. You moan into his mouth when he digs his teeth in your plump flesh, his actions barbaric.

The squelching sounds start filling up the small cubicle, the filthiness of the whole act only working to fuel your desire more.

Before you can get submerged in pleasure tho, Jay pulls out of you with an embarrassing ‘plop’ and forces you to your knees instead; ignoring how you hiss in pain at the feeling of the rough tiles scraping against your bare knees.

He penetrates your mouth with his cock and starts fucking, plowing it like it's your cunt, moaning and groaning in pure pleasure.

You dig your nails into his thighs but he ignores your pleas to breathe, pushing your head further against the wall instead. He digs his fingers in your hairs and grinds his hips into your plump mouth, his dick hitting the back of your throat mercilessly.

"God yeah, just like that, jerked off so much to you baby, suck my dick like you fucking mean it" His whiny voice travels straight between your legs and you moan. The vibrations of your throat make his dick twitch inside your mouth and he pulls out with a groan.

He rubs his cock head against your lips and buries himself to the hilt inside your throat again, pressing your nose against his pubes while his cum filled balls slap against your chin.

The lack of gagging makes him chuckle in disbelief “no fucking gag reflex, god your throat is just like a fucking cunt”.you mewl and rub your thighs together at his words.

"Fucking hell, should have done this before, we could have been fucking so much" he grouches, kneeling down and forcing your body onto the floor. It's a tight fit, but jay doesn't seem to care. He folds your body in half and thrusts inside your pussy again. His movements are so impatient and hurried, you aren't used to being desired this way.

"mhmnm yeah, pussy feels so good" He growls, his hold tightening further around your legs that rest against his shoulders and he starts to rut into your tight heat again. This time it's more desperate, downright filthy. He's panting on your face, letting a string of saliva drip from his mouth into yours when he sees your mouth open in a silent scream. You choke on it and he laughs, condescending, hissing through gritted teeth.

"Get used to this baby, we're gonna be fucking so much after tonight, gonna keep my cock buried in your fuck hole" he groans, bullying his cock into your hole over and over again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and start grinding into him, staring back into his eyes to let him know that you want this.

His eyes widen upon feeling your hips thrusting upwards, humping his cock, hot pleasure running down his spine.

"Yeah baby? fuck, you like this? fucking slut, you did all of that on purpose didn't you? wanted to drive me fucking crazy for this pussy?"

You nod in pleasure, all rational thoughts leaving your mind. All you know is, that his dick feels a little too good when it rams against your cervix.

You are close, way too close, your body convulsing in carnal lust as your orgasm washes over you all of a sudden.

Moan after moan of his name falling from your red bitten lips.

He laughs as he feels your cum trickle down his thighs, drenching his balls in your juices.

"fucking slut" He moans, throwing his head back as he enjoys the clenching of your throbbing cunt on his leaking shaft.

He feels himself close to his high, but he doesn't want this to end. Not yet.

Jay pulls out and rests his back against the wall, patting his thigh for your spent figure as you lie on the floor.

"Come sit on it " He breaths, his voice strained due to how much effort it takes for him to not start jerking off to the sight of your sticky cum running between your pussy lips.

So fucking hot. He wants to obliterate your pussy.

He watches with hooded eyes as you get up on your knees and crawl towards him, eyes trailing down to his hard dick. Jay groans at your hungry gaze, fuck yeah. You want him. You want his dick.

This singular thought forces him to wrap his palm around his leaking prick. Your eyes widen and a small mewl escapes your lips as you watch him stroke his length slowly, wet sounds resonating between the space between your hot bodies.

Jay bites on his lower lip and starts to stroke faster "yeah you like this? This is how I jerked off to your thoughts baby, rubbed my dick raw every night, imagining it was your pussy instead of my fucking hand" He pants, cupping his balls with his other hand, the double stimulation driving him insane.

The sight in front of you is so lewd, it makes your pussy drip. The way his pants are not all the way off, resting against his ankles, hanging on him unceremoniously is so hot, your cunt clenches around nothing.

Without a single thought, you close the gap between your bodies, straddling his lap while you maintain a hungry eye contact with him. He looks famished as he watches you replace his palms with yours, tugging on his throbbing cock a few more times before you guide it to your wet hole.

"Yeah baby put it in, come on, put my dick inside" He groans, his hands coming up to wrap around your waist, pulling you down onto his length impatiently. You both let out gasps of pleasure when his dick slips inside, buried in you balls deep.

"f-fuck" you moan and he hums, throwing his head back in pleasure. The itch in your pussy starts to intensify and your hips start moving on their own, looking a way to satisfy it.

"Yeah, ride it, ride it like you fucking want it" he moans, thrusting up into your hole. You gasp and hold onto his shoulders, slamming yourself up and down on his shaft. The sex feels too good. So hot and so messy. It makes you wonder why you were resisting it in the first place.

Your hot, sweaty bodies rutt against one another desperately, feeling your highs approaching at a rapid pace.

"Bounce on it baby, come on, make me cum, wanna fill this pussy up" He pants, digging his nails into your thighs as he begins thrusting up at a rapid pace. You squeal at the sudden action but bury your face inside the crook of his neck in pleasure. Too good. Fuck it's starting to get too hot.

Desperate gasps escape his lips when your cunt starts clenching around him again, he's close, so close. Fuck yeah. He can’t believe he is finally gonna cum in your cunt, and just the thought of it was enough to make the knot in his stomach snap.

"Just like that, oh yeah, oh fuckkkkkk" he growls, humping upwards as he holds your body down and squirts his cum into your womb, thrusting rapidly into your swollen pussy, making you cum again.

You moan and whine when he doesn't stop moving, his hips pick up pace without break and your head gets dizzy. The over-stimulation getting to your head.

"can't stop fucking, let's do it again yeah? let me pound this cunt again I'm so fucking hard"

Before you can protest, he is flipping you around, pressing your body against the bathroom floor, your boobs squished against the cold tiles. The tiles were so dirty, probably because of the number of couples before you both, who couldn't wait to get down and dirty. You wonder, how many people fucked in this cubicle before you, and your back arches on its own. You feel his body mounting you and he envelops your sweaty body with his meaty arms.

You gasp upon feeling his thumb prodding at your asshole, dipping in and out experimentally.

"Jay not there please please I've never-" your begging gets cut off with a shrill scream as his entire head bullies inside your sphincter.

Jay's eyes roll back in pleasure and he moans, the sound so pornographic that it makes hot lust run through your womb.

"fucking hell baby, it's tighter than your pussy, gonna fuck it so hard"

Your legs flail but Jay doesn’t stop dicking you down, he thrusts his entire length inside your virgin hole and groans in ecstasy, it is the tightest hole he's ever been buried in. His hips start moving, plowing into you at a rapid pace. He puffs and huffs like a dog in heat, the stimulation around his dick pushing him closer to the edge again. Your hole stays tight as a clamp around his meat.

You, on the other hand, wail in pleasure mixed with pain. It hurts, it hurts but God does it hurt so good. His balls slap against your ass cheeks painfully.

Skin slapping sounds fill up the bathroom and you push your ass back against his dick, moaning and bucking back, needing it deeper inside your stomach.

"That's right baby, fuck back on me, gonna cum so hard again" His plaintive groans indicate his arousal, lust drips from the frantic movements of his hips.

He thrusts inside you wantonly, his desire to nut overpowering all other senses.

The desperate rut and stimulation of your hole sends you tumbling over another orgasm, your legs quivering as you come with a pleasured moan, chanting his name in a prayer.

The tight clamping of your two sphincter muscles on his fully engorge cock send jay over the line. He bellows loudly, cursing and grunting as spurt after spurt of his pent-up sperm paint the inside of your fuck hole

Finally satiated, Jay falls onto your limp body, kissing your earlobe, mumbling lazily about how he's gonna fuck you again and again till he erases heeseung's name from the forefront of your mind.

You don't tell him that there is no heeseung anymore. You don't tell him how every cell of your body only craves his touch now, aching to be plowed by his dick alone.

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