#and then I kept remembering and laughing about it through the day

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Oh oh I can tell you how I handle this!

First, I must acknowledge that epithets are hard. When writing in a specific character's POV, you have to be careful about describing another character only using descriptors that they would use or it'll feel awkward and weird. (I don't generally think about my sister's height relative to mine and therefore wouldn't refer to her as "the tall one" or even "the taller one", for example, unless it's relevant in the moment. Talking? Not relevant. Her hitting her head on a ledge that I missed? Relevant. That wouldn't be true of someone I just met. If you're tall[er than me] I'm probably noticing it and don't have other ways to differentiate you from other strangers.)

Luckily, I don't usually have to resort to epithets in writing, because readers can generally follow pronouns and support way more proper name uses than you might expect! Pronouns by definition are placeholders for proper names. Where writing gets confusing is when it feels like the pronouns are floating free and unmatched. Reconnecting the proper noun and the pronoun is all you need to reset.

Within a paragraph, use a proper noun enough to be clear. Vague, I know, but it really is an art instead of a science and largely comes down to personal taste. Refining your personal taste can help a ton, and one way to do that is to look at works by people who you feel write these kinds of scenes clearly and cogently. I'm going to use my own writing as an example, just to make it easy for myself.

Structuring your writing so the subject is fairly consistent will help a ton, as will "checking in" with a proper noun when it feels like you've checked in on the other person more recently.

[alt: The muscles in Bruce’s face, Jason realized, were good at going completely still when surprised. That was useful. He had said intervened like Jason had done it on purpose, throwing himself into this nightmare to save Bruce instead of acting like a petulant, stomping child. He had just a moment to wonder if the look from Bruce was meant as gratitude or as an apology when Bruce turned his attention back to the others. “It should reverse in a few days.”]

In the snippet above, because I'm moving tightly between two he/him characters, I use their names just enough to stick into place who's being reference at any given point. If I had wanted to be extra careful, I could have changed "He had just a moment to wonder" to "Jason had just a moment to wonder."

Over multiple paragraphs, when you're sticking with one person, reconnecting (or what I mentally refer to as "checking in") can happen once a paragraph and really shouldn't be needed more than that.

[alt: He really didn’t have much of note to say. Dick narrated his way through the canned goods and the dry goods, making jokes about Wally’s Skittles stash and the cans of Spaghetti-Os Roy demanded be kept on hand but no one else ever touched. He talked about a TV show he had been watching and made a joke that elicited a hrmm from Bruce that would have been a laugh from anyone else. And the more he talked, the more he remembered little stories from his week that he had tucked away with a mental note to tell Bruce.

At last, though, Dick had finished his final story and let the call lapse into a pause that stretched into silence. He bit his bottom lip and fidgeted with the rolls of gauze, stacking them into pyramids outside the gutted medical kit. He could never tell with Bruce whether the silences were contented or an interrogation technique, the patience of an investigator applying pressure to a reluctant witness. In the end, it didn’t much matter.]

But really, truly, the TL;DR of it all is you don't need as many epithets as you think; as long as you don't go crazy with your subject and object switches and check in on your connections regularly, you can lean on pronouns way more than you think; and readers can handle way more uses of names than you might suspect.

Me writing a scene with two or more people of the same gender and trying not to get the readers confused, while also trying not to overuse the characters' names or epithets

[kwoniele]

from behind - csc

synopsis: your innocent picnic date with seungcheol escalated fast, but you can’t find yourself complaining about it.

genre: smut. porn w some plot lol

warnings: jealous scoups (we cheered!), clueless mingyu who ruined their date lol, hard!dom scoups, pillow princess!reader, angry cheol but not really?, overstimulation, edging, doggy, mention of mingyu during sex, dacryphilia but theres no extreme crying happening, oral (f receiving), fingering, hands are tied, unprotected sex, birth control but it’s not mentioned, that’s all i think… not proofread! i hate reading my work 😊

this was not how you expected the date to go.

in your mind, you imagined a quiet park with the breeze flowing through your hair as you and seungcheol were chilling on a plaid blanket on the grass. you prepared chocolate covered strawberries, a cake to celebrate your anniversary, iced tea to quench your thirst, and snacks to munch on as the two of you talk.

but goodness, were you wrong.

mingyu was walking his dog when he saw you and seungcheol and figured it’d be nice to greet the both of you. except, he didn’t stop talking. he kept telling stories about his recent fashion show he attended in paris—clearly oblivious to the fact you and seungcheol were on a date.

it only got worse when mingyu started to tell a tale of how you and him were absolute best friends in highschool. his hands mindlessly caressed your back and his smile (which he deemed was a friendly one) was a little too wide for seungcheol’s liking.

“it was so much fun! remember sports day? ms. kang really enjoyed the marathon.” mingyu laughed, not paying attention to how seungcheol’s jaw clenched, how the veins on his forearms were bulging, and how his neck and ears looked as if he painted them red.

“yeah! i- of course i remember!” you lightly chuckled, glancing at seungcheol who was clearly uncomfortable. he’d already eaten the entire container of strawberries, chugged down two water bottles, and even dared to open up the chips you bought.

“ah, fuck. sorry y/n. i have to go, shua hyung needs me at the shop.” mingyu abruptly stood up, putting bobpul’s leash back on her collar and waved goodbye to you and seungcheol.

the silence after mingyu left was deafening. suddenly the children playing at the playground were louder, the bushes swaying were rustling a little faster, and you can hear your pulse thumping.

“i’m sorry. about, y’know.” you scooted closer to cheol, resting your chin on your palm as you tried to meet his gaze. “ah~, what can i do to make it up to you?” two of your fingers nudged his chin to force him to look at you.

“make it up to me? you really want to make it up to me?”

“yeah! i’ll do anything. you can even be mad at me. actually, you should be mad at me! i’m sorry, hm?”

“fine. okay. i’ll be mad at you, but, you still have to do whatever i say. got that?”

and that’s how you ended up on the satin bed sheets, thighs spread apart as your hands were tied up with a random tie from his suits. you couldn’t touch him, pull his hair, scratch his back, you couldn’t do anything.

“fuck- cheol..” your back arched from the bed, bucking your hips into his mouth as his tongue rapidly inserted in and out your pussy. his thumb was circling your clit mercilessly, pushing you closer to the edge until he decided to halt all his movements.

“you think i’m going to let you cum just like that?,” seungcheol sucked on your neck roughly, putting pressure on the hickeys he already made prior. “want to cum so bad huh? what if i get that mingyu to do it for you? hm?”

“no.. not mingyu.” you breathed heavily as his chuckle tickled your neck.

“seemed like you were just as happy to have him right there earlier. am i wrong?” his middle finger slipped into your hole again, earning a hitched breath escape from your throat as he felt your walls twitch around his finger.

“i’m sorry, ch-cheol. haa~ please.. please fuck me.” your desperate tears pricked your eyes, making seungcheol smirk as he notices your glassy eyes.

“do you deserve it?”

“yes! yes yes yes! please, cheol.”

his gaze on you felt like he was staring at you for ten years. he slipped his finger out of your pussy and reached for your hands—slowly untying them from the bed frame. you immediately rubbed your wrists, easing the pain his tie caused.

“on fours, baby.” he unbuckled his belt and threw his pants across the room as you obeyed his words—putting your ass on display as you patiently wait for him to give you your next instructions.

you could feel the mattress dip as seungcheol positioned himself behind you, gripping your waist with one hand as the other teases your cunt with his tip. you knew he was grinning when you let out a whine once he got his head inside.

as soon as his entire cock was inside your hole, he rested there for a few seconds before slowly sliding into your cunt. “hngh~ faster.. please.” he didn’t say anything. instead, he gripped your waist tighter and thrusted into you aggressively without warning.

your hand reached for the pillow in front of you to grip onto as seungcheol fucked you as fast as he could from behind. your hips began to match his rhythm as you met his thrusts, causing seungcheol to groan inside you.

your walls began to twitch around him which told seungcheol your high was nearing. you thought he was going to slowly ease his thrusts, but god where you wrong. if it was even possible, he began to fuck you even harder than before. his tip kissed that spot multiple times which pushed you further to the edge.

“fuck, cheol, i’m close.” you warned.

“cheol— hngh! cheol i’m gonna cum!” you warned again.

“i’m cumming!” no answer.

he didn’t stop. why wasn’t he stopping? “i’m not going to stop fucking your pretty pussy until i cum, okay? we’re going to make sure everyone here knows my name.”

and he meant it. he didn’t stop at all. whenever a second passed, he only got rougher. faster. you already came multiple times at this point—but he wasn’t stopping.

seungcheol’s groans began to get louder, and louder. he chanted your name as if it was a mantra, and his grip on your waist tightened. he was near.

“baby. inside or no?” he urgently asked, confirming with you what you wanted before he came to his release.

“inside! please- please!”

you felt ribbons shoot inside you as his cum painted your pussy white. all his movements stopped. he pulled out of you to watch his cum ooze out of your cunt, smiling and taking his phone from the bed side table to document his artwork.

you plopped down on the bed, hair sticking to your forehead and chest heaving. “you should get jealous more often, huh?” you joked, pulling him by his neck to plant a kiss on his lips.

“piss me off one more time, i’ll do even worse than today.”

[gf2bellamy]

home — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer comes home from a case content warnings: spencer being exhausted , mention of feeling lonely a/n: i truly am in my spencer era all i think abt is him

Spencer pushed open the door to his apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges welcoming him home.

A wave of warmth greeted him, the soft glow of the living room lamp spilling across the space, a contrast to the biting chill of the freezing night outside.

He stepped inside, letting the door shut gently behind him. 

It had been a grueling four days. Four long, restless days on a case that had tested his limits emotionally and mentally.

Four days without sleep, without comfort, and—most importantly—without you.

As Spencer stepped further into the apartment, his eyes landed on you immediately. You were curled up on his couch, your back turned to him, the glow of the television flickering against the walls.

The remote was in your hand as you flipped through channels, not lingering on any one show for long. The volume was high—louder than he usually kept it—and it didn’t seem like you had noticed him yet. 

He smiled to himself, the sight of you there, so at home in his space, filling his chest with warmth. He remembered the time you told him why you always came over when he was out of town. 

“I just feel closer to you here,” you’d confessed once, a little sheepishly. “I know it’s silly, but it makes the time pass faster. Plus…” You’d laughed lightly, though there was a hint of shyness in your voice. “Your apartment feels so... you. It’s comforting.” 

You’d also told him before that the quiet of his apartment felt strange when he wasn’t home, that the noise of the TV helped keep the loneliness at bay.

He set his bag down as quietly as he could, not wanting to startle you just yet.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, taking it all in—the way you were absentmindedly chewing on your lip as you scrolled through the channels, the way the blanket was half-falling off your shoulder, and the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air.

You yawned loudly, stretching out on the couch before glancing at the watch on your wrist—the one Spencer had given you.

It was a thoughtful gift, something that felt like him in every way. You smiled faintly at the memory of how shy he’d been when he’d handed it to you, murmuring something about how it “reminded him of you”

It had quickly become one of your favorite things.

With a sigh, you let your head fall back against the armrest, your body slowly sinking into the cushions as you sprawled out on the couch.

The warmth of the blanket and the soft hum of the TV were comforting, but the ache of missing Spencer still lingered in your

chest. Four days without him felt like an eternity. 

The sound of soft footsteps made your eyes dart toward the doorway, and you sat up slightly, your heart skipping a beat. For a moment, your mind raced, caught off guard by the shadowy figure stepping into the light.

But as the familiar sight of Spencer came into view, a wave of relief and joy washed over you. 

“Spence,” you breathed, your lips curving into a wide, genuine smile. You stood up quickly, the blanket falling to the floor as you closed the distance between you. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, standing on your toes to pull him into a tight hug.

His arms came around you instantly, wrapping you up in his warmth as if he never wanted to let you go. 

“I missed you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice soft.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, burying your face in his neck. 

You let your arms slip from his neck, only to gently cup his face in your hands. His skin was warm under your touch, and your thumbs instinctively brushed along his cheekbones.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a question you always asked, no matter what, and he always gave the same answer. 

“I’m fine,” Spencer replied, his hazel eyes meeting yours. It was the same response. You could tell he was tired, not just physically but emotionally.

You didn’t push, though. Instead, you smiled gently, giving his face a final tender stroke before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the couch.

“Come on, genius,” you said playfully, trying to lighten the mood as you pulled him down beside you. 

Spencer sank into the cushions with a sigh, letting the tension melt from his body as he leaned back. But before you could settle into your own spot, his arm wrapped around your waist, gently tugging you closer.

“Stay,” he murmured. 

You shifted toward him, your body curling into his side as you rested your head on his shoulder. For a while, the two of you sat there in silence, the hum of the TV playing in the background.

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your arm, his touch featherlight. 

But then, as if Spencer couldn’t hold himself upright any longer, he shifted, laying down fully on the couch and pulling you with him.

You laughed softly as he guided you to lie beneath him, his long limbs sprawling across the cushions. “Spence,” you said, your tone half-teasing. “You’re crushing me.” 

He propped himself up just slightly, his weight resting more on his forearms as he looked down at you. “I thought you said you missed me,” he teased back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 

“I did,” you admitted, sliding your hands up to rest on his shoulders. “But I didn’t mean I wanted you to flatten me.” 

Spencer chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shifted his weight again, this time fully relaxing against you but keeping enough of it off so you could still breathe.

His head rested on your chest now, his curls brushing against your chin. 

“You’re comfortable,” he murmured, his voice muffled slightly as he nuzzled closer. 

A soft laugh escaped you as your fingers found their way into his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp.

“Well, you’re lucky I don’t mind being your human pillow,” you said with a grin, threading your fingers through his curls. 

Spencer sighed, his whole body melting into yours. “I could stay like this forever,” he mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy. 

You smiled down at him, watching as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Good,” you whispered, continuing to run your fingers through his hair. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[jianwon]

i ADORE your most recent fanfic (touch ups and downs) your writing is rlly cool and i was wondering if maybe we could get a part 2!?! where they go on a date and se-mi is still being flirty/teasing as per usual and maaaaybee...they kiss. hehe. i love your writing btw, but pls dont feel pressured to fulfill my request!!! 💗💗

a softer spotlight

sypnosis. a makeup artist’s quiet life takes an unexpected turn when actress se-mi slips them her number. between secret outings, stolen moments, and the challenges of se-mi’s fame, their connection grows into something neither of them can ignore.

part 2 of touch ups and down

content— actress!se-mi x fem!makeupartist!reader. pure fluff. flirting and romantic tension. brief mention of public harassment. mild language. slight emotional vulnerability. mentions of squid game characters.

disclaimer. story is entirely fictional and in no way reflects real events, individuals, or their relationships. characters mentioned are fictional representations based on their on-screen personas.

wordcount. 1.9k

since the day se-mi slipped her number into your hand, you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. it wasn’t just the way she effortlessly flirted, or the way her perfume lingered like a gentle reminder of her presence, it was the way she made you feel seen.

you hadn’t reached out yet, overthinking every possible way the conversation might go. would she even remember giving you her number? what if she was just being polite? or teasing?

you debated for days, pacing your tiny apartment as her folded note sat on your kitchen counter, taunting you.

then, one evening, your phone buzzed with an unknown number.

unknown number: you weren’t planning on calling me, were you... artist-nim?

you stared at the message, your heart racing. how did she..? oh. of course, she had your number from the crew information list.

you: i didn’t want to bother you.

se-mi: bother? i think you misunderstand. i was hoping you’d ask me out (īī ^ īī)

the boldness of her words hit you like a lightning bolt, and before you could spiral into overthinking, another message popped up.

se-mi: how about we fix that? are you free tomorrow afternoon?

you froze. tomorrow afternoon? what would you wear? what would you say?

you: i guess i could be free.

se-mi: great! but we’ll need to be careful, meet me at cafe haneul at 3. wear something comfortable and discreet ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

you didn’t sleep much that night.

the next day, you arrived at cafe haneul early, nervously fiddling with your phone. the cozy little café was tucked into a quieter street in seoul, its warm glow spilling onto the cobblestone sidewalk. you wore an oversized hoodie and a baseball cap, hoping it was “discreet” enough.

when se-mi arrived, you almost didn’t recognize her. she was wearing a hoodie too, paired with round glasses and a black face mask that covered half her face. even so, she still looked effortlessly stunning, her presence impossible to ignore.

“artist-nim!” she greeted, pulling down her mask slightly to reveal a playful grin. “se-mi,” you replied, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt.

she tilted her head, studying you. “cute. you really took the ‘discreet’ note to heart.”

you laughed awkwardly, and she grabbed your wrist gently. “come on. let’s walk.”

the streets were bustling, even in the quieter part of the city. se-mi kept close, her hand brushing yours every so often as you weaved through the crowd. the conversation flowed easily. she talked about the projects she was excited about, and you shared funny backstage stories from your work.

but as the sidewalk grew more crowded, you started to feel the press of bodies around you. someone accidentally bumped into your shoulder, and then another person pushed past, making you stumble slightly.

se-mi noticed immediately. without a word, she reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to her side. “stay here,” she said softly, her tone protective.

her hand was warm, her grip firm but gentle. you felt your cheeks heat up, but you didn’t pull away. instead, you let her guide you through the crowd, her presence grounding you amidst the chaos.

when the street finally opened up, she looked down at you, a small smile playing on her lips. “you okay?”

“yeah..” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“good.” she replied, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.

the moment felt so natural that you almost didn’t realize she hadn’t let go until she grinned and said, “don’t tell me you’re blushing already.”

“i’m not!” you protested, though the heat in your cheeks said otherwise. she chuckled, tugging you along. “come on. there’s somewhere i want to take you.”

the museum was quiet, its grand halls filled with soft lighting and the faint echo of footsteps. you hadn’t expected se-mi to bring you somewhere so peaceful, but as soon as you stepped inside, you understood why.

“i like coming here when i need to clear my head,” she explained as you wandered through an exhibit of impressionist paintings. “there’s just something calming about it.”

you watched as her gaze lingered on a large canvas depicting a serene landscape. the way her face softened, her usual confident demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable, made your chest ache in the best way.

“do you paint?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

she shook her head. “no, but i wish i did. i’ve always admired how artists can put so much emotion into a single canvas”

you smiled, gesturing to the painting in front of you. “kind of like how you do with acting.”

her eyes widened slightly, and she turned to you with a surprised smile. “that’s… probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“well, it’s true,” you replied, suddenly feeling shy under her gaze. she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

before you could respond, she tugged you toward another room, this one filled with smaller, more abstract pieces. you wandered through the space together, occasionally stopping to admire a painting or share quiet observations. at one point, you caught her watching you instead of the art, her expression unreadable.

“what?” you asked, self-conscious under her stare.

“nothing.” she said, smiling softly. “i just like seeing you like this. you’re so… relaxed.”

you didn’t know how to respond, so you simply smiled back, your heart pounding.

after leaving the museum, you and se-mi wandered into a bustling food street. the two of you shared tteokbokki and small plates of jeon at a cozy food stall, the spicy warmth of the dishes cutting through the evening chill. se-mi kept her hoodie pulled low and her mask in place, glancing around every now and then to make sure no one was paying too much attention.

you couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled with her chopsticks, one slippery rice cake flying out of her grasp and landing on her plate with a small splatter. “a world-famous actress, but chopsticks are your weakness?”

she gave you a mock glare, her eyes narrowing playfully. “you try eating with these things out in the cold and tell me how it goes.”

smirking, you picked up one of the rice cakes with ease, holding it out toward her. “here. let me save you the embarrassment.”

she hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward, taking the bite and chewing with exaggerated slowness. “not bad...” she said once she swallowed. “guess i’ll keep you around.”

it was an easy moment, the two of you lost in your own world, until someone walking past slowed to a stop right in front of your table.

“wait… is that—?”

your heart dropped as you saw the man’s eyes narrow in recognition. he looked to be in his early twenties, dressed casually but holding his phone in a way that made your stomach tighten.

se-mi tensed beside you, her hand instinctively reaching for her mask to pull it higher.

“no way,” the man said, stepping closer. “you’re se-mi, aren’t you? from that movie?”

“i think you’ve got the wrong person,” you said quickly, standing up to block his view of her. “she’s not an actress.” the man’s eyes darted between you and se-mi, skepticism written all over his face.

“no, i’m pretty sure that’s her. i’ve watched the show, like, three times. that’s definitely her!”

se-mi looked down, trying to keep her face hidden as she mumbled, “i’m sorry, i think you’re mistaken.” her voice was calm, but you could sense the tension in her posture.

“come on, you don’t have to pretend,” the man insisted, pulling out his phone. “just one picture, please! my friends will never believe i ran into you.”

“no pictures,” you said firmly, your voice shaking slightly. “please respect her privacy.” the man frowned, his phone still in hand. “if it’s not her, then what’s the big deal? why are you acting so weird?”

the crowd around the stall was starting to take notice, a few people pausing mid-bite to glance over. your pulse quickened as you realized how easily this could spiral out of control.

“let’s go,” you whispered to se-mi, gently tugging her sleeve.

she nodded and stood, keeping her head down as the two of you tried to leave the stall. but the man wasn’t giving up so easily.

“hey, wait!” he called, stepping after you. “at least tell me if it’s really you—”

that’s when se-mi turned around, her voice steady but firm. “i’m sorry, but i’d really appreciate it if you left us alone.”

her tone was polite, but there was a quiet strength behind it that seemed to catch the man off guard. he hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for a response. finally, he muttered something under his breath and walked off, still holding his phone but no longer pointing it at you.

as soon as he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “that was… intense.”

“i’m sorry...” se-mi said softly, her voice laced with guilt.

“don’t apologize,” you said immediately. “it’s not your fault. are you okay?” she nodded, though her hands were trembling slightly. without thinking, you reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“let’s get out of here,” you said, your voice soft but reassuring.

the two of you walked quickly through the streets, sticking to quieter alleys until you were far away from the bustling crowd. when you finally stopped, you were standing in a small, empty park, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement.

“i didn’t mean to ruin the night.” se-mi said after a moment, her gaze fixed on the ground.

“ruin it?” you repeated, stepping closer to her. “se-mi, you didn’t ruin anything.” she looked up at you, her eyes searching yours. “it’s just… stuff like that happens all the time. and i hate dragging other people into it.”

“you didn’t drag me into anything,” you said firmly. “i wanted to be here. with you.”

her expression softened, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders seemed to melt away. “you really mean that?”

“of course,” you said, giving her hand another gentle squeeze. “besides, i think we make a pretty good team. i distract the fans, and you handle the dramatic exits.” she laughed at that, the sound light and melodic in the quiet night. “i guess i owe you one, artist-nim.”

“i’ll add it to your tab,” you teased, grinning.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. the air between you felt heavy with unspoken words, and when she finally broke the silence, her voice was quiet but steady.

“being recognized is part of the job,” she said. “but… it’s nice to have someone who doesn’t see me as just ‘se-mi the actress.’”

you looked at her, your heart aching at the vulnerability in her words. “you’re more than that,” you said softly. “at least to me.”

she turned to you, her eyes searching yours. then, without warning, she reached up and pulled her mask down, her face inches from yours. “i know.” she whispered.

before you could respond, she leaned in and kissed you. it was soft, tentative, but it sent a spark through your entire body. when she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, and she looked almost shy. “i hope that wasn’t too forward...” she murmured.

you shook your head, a dazed smile spreading across your face. “not at all.”

she grinned, her confidence returning as she took your hand again. “good. because i plan on doing that again.”

and as the city buzzed around you, the world felt like it had shrunk to just the two of you. a quiet, perfect moment in the chaos of life.

a/n— a big thank you to anon for the request! please do let me know if you'd like actress se-mi x makeup artist reader to be a series! do request some scenarios that you'd like to see both of them in hehe + is it just me, or do i hc se-mi as an emoticon user rather than using emojis hmm

[sunnyset-arilines-inc]

Shit. I shouldn't have said that, but I didn't cut myself off in time. So I braced myself, sinking my teeth into my skinned knuckles, squeezing my eyes shut. I gripped the phone so hard my fingertips went cold. She was quiet, like she was as surprised as I was that I'd talked back. But even thousands of miles away, the shape of the silence was familiar. Windup.

I was never good at the optometrist's, when I was little. Never upgraded my prescription on time. Never had a pair that didn't wind up chipped or cracked. Never remembered the doctor's name, come to think of it. But I was especially not good at that part where they blow air in your eyes. I never knew when it was coming, and I was overly anxious about it, because I always remembered that it hurt. I always flinched preemptively, so the poor goth intern kept having to do it again and again. It was the worst. I kept apologizing, kept flinching, kept wiping my streaming eyes. She was always very sweet about it. She told me not to apologize - why does everyone tell me not to apologize? But there was a different woman at the end of the glass in my hand, and I consider myself a different man.

I laughed for her. "Hoo, sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you. Been a long day. All my buses were late, Boss chewed me out at the café today, I got assignments lined up..." "Right. You should rest." "Right. Yeah." "I just want you to know that I'm always thinking of you... and praying that the Archangel takes care of you..." "My patron saint is Judas Thaddaeus. Michael the Archangel is my brother's patron." "Are you visiting this weekend?" Oh, c'mon. No one ever appreciates the 'Judas' bit. It's even more ironic now, because the confirmation sponsor who participated in my Second Sacrament came out as antisemitic. Around the same time I came out as asexual, funnily enough. "Hello?" "Hmm? Sorry, I didn't hear. What did you say?" "I was asking if you were visiting this weekend." "Is Mikey?" "Michael is working." Yeah, I think we're going to be working on weekends for a while. "Sorry, I'd love to, but it's kind of a long trip down... I'd barely have enough time to spend a few hours with you before I'd have to head back up to make it to work on time." "No worries, I just wanted to offer you some rest. We miss you. We all miss you, Judy." Ooh, that one was intentional. I think she hates the name 'Jude'. I kinda hope it's because of me. I used to be confused, see, because I thought she switched between loving me and resenting me. But I think it's both. Even in wrath our God is only love. All horrors inflicted in the name of love are immune to condemnation. "I miss you guys too. I'll check with my boss to see if I can have Spring Break off, but, you know. Bills still need paying."

“Alright. I’ll let you go rest. Are you taking your water?”

“Uhhhhh…” I glanced over at the pile of open boxes of little glass jars of Holy Water, right next to the coffee table where I keep my houseplants. “Yeap.” "Good. Keep doing that. We love you, Judy." "Love you too." "We'll keep praying for you." "Uh-huh. Believe me, I’m praying for you guys, too." "Love you." "Bye.”

Finally, I put the phone down and sunk my face in my hands and just… let myself breathe. My fingers swam through my hair, and my right hand bumped into the base of my horn.

I rubbed it a little as I stared at my reflection on the black screen.

Oh, well. I think I’m a handsome devil.

"I don't understand why you won't just let me save you."

"If I wanted saved, I could do it myself."

[sleepingorshifting]

Smitten..!

pinkmermaid!reader x soft!rafe

plot : reader gets super drunk at a party her and Rafe are at, and is suddenly smitten for Rafe.

warnings : alcohol, but overall none - its just fluff :)

word count : 566

authors note : First fic, kinda nervous ;) - masterlist coming soon

"Yo Rafe, you seen your girl?" Topper asks, appearing behind Rafe, beer in hand.

"Nah, why?" Rafe asks, slowly sipping at his own beer.

"Because man" he laughs, "she's suuuuuuper drunk" Topper exclaims, also super drunk.

"Oh god" Rafe groans, expecting the worst. Maybe you'd thrown up and he would have to help clean you up, or maybe you had done something stupid like fallen into the pool.

Rafe turns around as he begins making his way through the sea of people, shoving them aside as he tries to find you, his girl.

As he steps outside where the party continued, he looked around before hearing a familiar gasp.

"Rafey babyyy!!" you giggle, throwing up your arms for a hug, two solo cups in hand.

"Oh baby" he sighs in relief, hugging you back. He takes the cups out of your hand while you were distracted as he begins asking you questions.

"Having fun baby?" he asks, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"mmhmm" you mumble, your head pressed into his chest.

"Missed you" he admits as he holds you close.

"Did you know that you smell really really nice Rafey?" you ask him, taking in the scent of his shirt.

"Wha- did I know that I smell nice? What?" he asks, confused.

"Nyeah, you smell really really really nice" you giggle. "And have I ever told you how much I love your huuuuuge bisceps?"

"Babe what's got into you?" he laughs.

Although he had to admit your behaviour was strange, he wasn't exactly complaining. It wasn't every day his girl was smitten over him.

"Nothing, just love. Loves gotten into me" you smile, pulling yourself off of him to take a look at his face. "My handsome boy" you admire as you brush your hands over his jawline with a drunk pout.

"You're so cute like this" he grins, picking you up. "But, I do think its time to go back home missy, you're too drunk" he says sternly.

"Nooo Rafey noo" you groan, kicking your legs in the air dramatically. "Put me down right now mister" you demand, grumpily hitting his chest lightly. "Or else I'm going to have to punish you, and I hate punishing cutie patooties" you say, your nose scrunching.

"Oh I'm a cutie patootie now huh?" he laughs as he unlocks his truck.

"mmhmm" you nod.

"Alright in the car now babe", he says as he opens the door like a gentleman, helping you up into your seat.

He shuts the door and walks around to his side of the truck, turning the truck on.

"Seatbelt baby" he reminds. After getting no immediate response from you he turns to see you asleep, leant against the window. He sighs as he does the seatbelt up for you, and leans your chair back slightly so you would be more comfortable.

As he was about to start driving he pauses for a second, turning to face you as he looked down at your sleeping figure. He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head before driving off into the night, leaving the roaring party behind.

The entire drive back, he kept stealing small glances at you, making sure you were sleeping soundly and comfortably, occaisionally patting your head lightly.

Maybe it wasn't just you smitten tonight, but Rafe as well. But I guess you probably won't remember in the morning anyways...

[riddleswhcre]

he doesn’t make me cry .2

fred weasley, the prat who shattered your heart, corners you in hogsmeade, pouring out a desperate confession that makes your blood boil and your pulse race. you try to resist, but his touch ignites a hunger you can’t smother, leaving you tangled in an alley, half-frozen and wholly his again. terrible idea? absolutely. irresistible? without question.

warnings: MDNI, semi-public smut, rough sex (bending over, possessive fred), heavy angst and emotional tension, minor toxic behaviour (possessiveness, jealousy), mention of cheating implications. you are responsible for your own media consumption.

part 1

more.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

the days following that snowy conversation with fred were a blur. you tried throwing yourself into anything that would keep your mind occupied—classes, quidditch practice, even spending hours listening to elliot drone on about his plans for the summer.

and it was fine. perfectly fine.

except, it wasn’t.

you kept catching glimpses of fred around the castle. in the great hall, in the corridors, even during care of magical creatures when he was supposed to be on the other side of the paddock. and every time your eyes met his, there was something unspoken there—something raw and aching that left you restless long after.

by the time the next hogsmeade weekend rolled around, you were on edge. elliot suggested a day at honeydukes, and you agreed just to avoid the suffocating walls of the castle. but the moment you stepped into the shop, your stomach sank.

fred was there.

he was standing by the fizzing whizzbees display, laughing at something george said. but as soon as he spotted you, his expression shifted. the easy grin disappeared, replaced by something far more complicated.

“alright,” elliot said, oblivious as he led you deeper into the shop. “let’s grab some of those treacle fudge things you like.”

you nodded, barely hearing him. your attention was glued to fred, who hadn’t taken his eyes off you. he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks, and for some reason, that made your chest tighten.

you tried to focus on elliot, who was now debating the merits of various liquorice wands, but the air in the shop felt heavy. oppressive.

“i’ll just be a minute,” you said suddenly, stepping away.

you slipped out of honeydukes before elliot could follow, the cold air a welcome relief against your flushed skin.

“running away now?”

the voice stopped you in your tracks. you turned to see fred leaning against the side of the building, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

“i’m not running,” you said, crossing your arms.

“could’ve fooled me.”

his smirk was half-hearted, but the teasing lilt in his voice still made your stomach flip.

“why are you out here?” you asked.

“could ask you the same thing.”

you rolled your eyes, but he stepped closer, his expression softening. “look,” he said, his voice quieter now. “i didn’t mean to corner you or anything. i just... i wanted to talk.”

you hesitated. part of you wanted to tell him to sod off and leave you alone, but the other part—the part that still remembered the way he used to hold you, how he’d kiss your forehead when you were upset—couldn’t seem to walk away.

“alright,” you said finally. “talk.”

fred ran a hand through his hair, his usual confidence faltering. “i’ve been a prat,” he admitted. “i know that. i hurt you, and i don’t blame you for hating me.”

“i don’t hate you,” you said quietly.

he looked at you, surprised, and you sighed. “i’m angry, fred. i’m hurt. but i don’t hate you.”

“right.” he nodded, his breath visible in the cold air. “good. that’s good.”

you waited, but he didn’t say anything else.

“fred, if this is all you’ve got to say—”

“it’s not,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “merlin, it’s not. i just—i don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot.”

“say what?” you asked, your heart pounding.

“that i miss you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “that i can’t stop thinking about you, even when i know i should. and it’s driving me mad because i see you with him, and all i can think is... i let you go. i let the best thing in my life walk away, and now i’m stuck watching you be happy with someone else.”

his words hit you like a blizzard, overwhelming and suffocating. you opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going.

“and maybe i don’t deserve another chance. maybe you’re better off without me. but i need you to know that i... that i still love you. that i never stopped.”

the world seemed to tilt, your breath catching in your throat. “fred...”

“i know,” he said quickly, stepping back as if he’d overstepped. “i know you’ve moved on, and i shouldn’t even be saying this. i just—bloody hell, i’m making a mess of this, aren’t i?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. the weight of his confession hung between you, heavy and suffocating.

“tell me to go,” he said finally, his voice raw. “if you’re happy with him, tell me to go, and i’ll leave you alone. i swear.”

your lips parted, but no words came out. the truth was, you weren’t happy. not really. elliot was safe and kind, but he wasn’t fred.

fred, who could make you laugh until your sides hurt. fred, who could infuriate you and comfort you in the same breath. fred, who was looking at you now like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“i can’t do this,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes.

“can’t do what?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “i can’t keep going in circles with you, fred. it hurts too much.”

he stepped closer, his hand brushing yours. “then don’t,” he said softly. “don’t keep running. stay.”

you looked up at him, your resolve crumbling as he cupped your cheek. his touch was warm, familiar, and it made something inside you shatter.

“this is a terrible idea,” you murmured, your breath hitching as fred’s fingers brushed your cheek.

“probably,” he replied, his voice low and rough. his thumb grazed your bottom lip, lingering for a moment. the chill of the winter air contrasted sharply with the heat radiating between you, and every logical thought you had melted away as his lips captured yours again.

this time, it wasn’t soft or tentative. it was raw, hungry, a collision of pent-up desire and frustration. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as he walked you backwards until your back hit the wall of the alleyway.

“fred—” you started, but the words were swallowed by another kiss, his teeth tugging at your lip before trailing down your jaw.

“merlin, i’ve missed this,” he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. his hands were everywhere—tangling in your hair, sliding down to your hips, gripping you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

you should have stopped him. you knew you should. but the way his mouth moved against your skin, the way his fingers dipped under the hem of your jumper, made your resolve crumble completely.

“inside,” you managed, barely recognising your own voice.

fred pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and blazing with intent. “not a chance. can’t wait that long,” he said, his hands already hiking up your skirt.

the air was cold against your thighs, but the heat of his touch made you forget everything else. his fingers trailed up the inside of your legs, teasing, deliberate.

“you’re soaked,” he murmured, his tone laced with smug satisfaction as his fingers pressed against the damp fabric of your knickers.

“shut up,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing, but the way his lips quirked into a grin made your stomach flip.

he hooked his fingers under the waistband and tugged them down, letting them fall to your ankles. the cool air hit your skin, and you gasped, but fred was already turning you around, pressing your front against the rough stone of the wall.

“been thinking about this for months,” he said, his voice low in your ear as his hands slid up your thighs, spreading them just enough. “about bending you over and making you mine again.”

your heart pounded, your breath catching as he pressed himself against you. you could feel how hard he was through his trousers, and the realisation made your knees weak.

“fred,” you breathed, a shiver running down your spine as his fingers slid between your folds, teasing your clit.

“still so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “so ready for me.”

he slid two fingers inside you, and you bit back a moan, your hands bracing against the wall. his fingers curled, hitting that spot that made your vision blur, and he chuckled low in his throat.

“missed hearing you like this,” he said, his other hand gripping your hip as his fingers pumped into you. “missed making you fall apart.”

you whimpered, your hips rocking back against his hand, but it wasn’t enough. “fred, please—”

he didn’t need to be told twice. his fingers withdrew, leaving you clenching around nothing, a frustrated whimper escaping your lips.

fred chuckled low behind you, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “so needy,” he murmured, and you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, the metallic clink making your pulse race. the rustle of fabric followed, then the heat of him pressed against you—just the tip of his cock brushing against your slick folds.

your breath hitched as he dragged himself along your entrance, teasing you, but never pushing in. “fred—”

“what’s that, love?” he asked, his voice thick with amusement. “you sound desperate. want to tell me what you need?”

you groaned, your forehead pressing against the wall in front of you. “i need you to stop messing around and fuck me.”

his hand slid over your hip, gripping firmly as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “such a filthy mouth,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “been thinking about this for months, and you want me to rush it?”

“fred—” you started again, but he cut you off, one hand moving to slide between your legs. his fingers parted your folds, gathering your wetness before he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance again, teasing you with shallow thrusts that didn’t go nearly deep enough.

“tell me how much you’ve missed me,” he said, his tone a mix of playful and commanding.

you bit your lip, refusing to give in so easily, but when he thrust just the tip inside and pulled back out, a frustrated moan escaped you.

“say it,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent. “say you’ve missed me, and i’ll give you what you need.”

your pride warred with your desperation, but as he repeated the motion—just enough to make you feel the stretch, then leaving you empty again—you cracked.

“fine,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “i’ve missed you, okay? i’ve missed you so much i could scream, you bastard.”

fred’s low laugh vibrated through you, his hands tightening on your hips. “that’s my girl,” he murmured, his tone dark and pleased.

before you could respond, he thrust into you in one smooth motion, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. your gasp turned into a moan, your hands scrambling for purchase against the wall as he stayed there, letting you adjust to the sudden fullness.

“fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained. “you feel even better than i remembered.”

“move,” you pleaded, pushing back against him, your body already arching for more.

“greedy,” he teased, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his own restraint.

when he pulled back, it was slow, deliberate, almost torturous. but when he slammed back in, his hips snapping forward with a sharp thrust, you cried out, the sound echoing in the alley.

“that’s it,” he murmured, his hand sliding around to your front, his fingers finding your clit. “let me hear you, love. let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

“fred,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

“say it again,” he demanded, his voice low and rough as his thrusts quickened, his hips hitting you with just the right amount of force.

“fred,” you moaned, your knees threatening to give out as his fingers rubbed tight circles on your clit, the pleasure building with every movement. “you—you feel so good—”

“yeah?” he said, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned over you, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “you like the way i stretch you, don’t you? like the way i fill you up?”

“fuck,” you whimpered, your head falling back against his shoulder.

“that’s what i thought,” he growled, his voice dark with satisfaction. “no one else could fuck you like this. isn’t that right?”

“fred,” you managed, your voice breaking as his pace grew relentless, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, pushing you closer to the edge.

“say it,” he urged, his lips brushing your temple. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’m yours, fred—always—”

“that’s my girl,” he groaned, his hips snapping into you harder now, his cock hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. “fuck, i’ve missed this—missed you.”

your nails scraped against the stone wall, your body trembling as the coil in your stomach tightened impossibly. “i’m—fred, i’m so close—”

“i know,” he murmured, his fingers pressing harder against your clit as his thrusts grew erratic. “let go, sweetheart. let me feel you.”

his words sent you over the edge, your climax crashing through you as you cried out his name. your walls clenched around him, and with a low, guttural groan, he followed, spilling inside you as his hips stuttered.

for a moment, neither of you moved, your ragged breaths mingling in the cold air.

finally, fred pulled out, and you shivered as the chill hit you again. he turned you around, his hands cupping your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“i’m not letting you go again,” he murmured, his voice still hoarse.

you didn’t have the energy to argue, leaning into him as his arms wrapped around you. maybe it was a terrible idea. but right now, with fred holding you like this, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

[scary-grace]

among the wildflowers - a shigaraki x f!reader oneshot

You were raised to hide your magic, but Tenko didn't learn about his until it was too late. When it erupts with deadly consequences and splits the two of you apart, you turn to your own magic for a solution, even knowing that it could change you for good. If it brings Tenko back to you, it'll all be worth it - no matter how long it takes.

This is a slightly late submission for Challenge Friday over @pixelcafe-network, for which I received the prompts 'striped carnation' and 'stock flower'! I decided to combine them into one fic, which naturally got sort of long. 7.1k, lowkey medieval au, magic, flower symbolism, setting-appropriate violence, pining, etc. dividers by @strangergraphics.

Once upon a time, you were a little girl who lived with her mother in a small cottage at the edge of a great estate. Your mother tended to the estate’s vast gardens, sometimes accompanied by the lady of the house, and you followed at her heels, speaking only when spoken to but learning by watching the rest of the time. You don’t remember the first day you set out with your mother and a handcart full of tools and supplies. It was what you always did.

You remember the day you met the lord and lady’s children, though. As though it was yesterday. All you have to do is close your eyes and think back, and suddenly you’re there again – sitting up in the wild section of the gardens mere seconds before Hana and Tenko could trip over you. Hana stopped in time. Tenko couldn’t. He knocked you over completely and the two of you sprawled out in the dirt. Hana fell down, too, but only because she was laughing so hard. “I warned you, Tenko! I said to watch out –”

“I couldn’t see,” Tenko protested. “The grass was too high. Are you all right?”

You nodded. Your mother had told you not to speak to the lord and lady’s children unless spoken to, and while Tenko did speak to you, you didn’t need to answer out loud. Tenko scratched idly at the side of his neck and peered closer at you. “Where did you come from? Are you alone?”

“She’s not alone, silly. Her mother is the gardener.” Hana smiled, offered you a hand up. Not taking it would be rude, so you took it. “What are you doing out here?”

“Listening to the flowers,” you said. For some reason, you were more comfortable speaking to Hana than Tenko. Tenko made you shy. “They can talk.”

“I knew it! That’s why we’re here.” Tenko produced a book, one that looked far too frail to be dragged out into the garden. “This says flowers have their own language, and if we can learn to talk in it, we’ll be able to send messages without anybody else understanding. If you already know it, you can teach us!”

“And talk to us, too!” Hana beamed. She was still holding your hand, and when she sat down, she pulled you down with her. Tenko sat down on her other side and handed over the book. “It’s all right if you can’t read. Tenko can’t read yet, either.”

“I can too –”

“I’ll read it out loud,” Hana said importantly. She opened the book, flipped through it to a certain page, and started reading. “Abecedary. Volatility. Abatina – that’s fickleness –”

“Those aren’t good,” Tenko said, frowning. “I don’t even know what those are.”

You didn’t, either. “I know all the flowers in the garden, but not those. Keep reading – please.”

You only remembered please at the last second, remembered you were talking to nobility far too late, and cringed in expectation of a punishment. Even the village children, confident that they were your betters, were always quick to reprimand. But Tenko was nodding in agreement, and Hana kept reading, as requested. “Acacia – friendship. Do you know that one?”

You did, and you brought back a sprig for each of them. That was how you made your best and only friends.

Sometimes they both came to find you in the gardens, but as the years passed, more often it was Tenko alone, fleeing his father or already banished from the house. He brought the book with him, and sometimes his dog, too, and no matter where you were in the gardens, they always found their way to where you played. Tenko could read by then, and you were learning, a little. Enough to read about the language of flowers, and the meaning of each bloom you and your mother tended to.

“You said you could understand the flowers,” Tenko said to you one day, and you nodded. “You didn’t mean it like this.”

He tapped the book. You nodded again. “I can hear what they say to each other. I can’t always understand it, but I hear.”

Tenko’s dog was sleeping in the grass a few feet away, snoring. Tenko watched you with bright eyes and a smile that still made you shy. “Tell me what they’re saying.”

“They gossip and chatter like hens in a henhouse.”

“Or like my grandparents at tea,” Tenko said, and laughed. “Do they talk about us?”

The flowers really only have one thing to say. “They want Mon to stop watering them.”

Tenko laughed harder, and beneath the sweet, raspy sound, you could hear the flowers whispering. Urging care, urging caution. “Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“I won’t. I swear,” Tenko said earnestly. He held out his hand to link little fingers and swear, and you crooked your finger around his. “Tell me when they say things about me.”

“I will,” you promised. “Keep reading?”

Tenko turned the page, still clumsier than Hana ever did. “Alyssum – worth beyond beauty. Amaranth – immortality and unfading love.” He stumbled over the next few, his mouth tangling around the syllables, until his lips split and he worked it out. “Ambrosia – love returned. Oh, no –”

His lip was bleeding. “Let me,” you said without thinking, and you ran your fingertip over the split, coaxing it to heal quickly. Tenko froze beneath your hand. “I’m sorry –”

“You fixed it,” Tenko said. He raised the hand that had been scratching his neck and nudged your hand aside, tracing over the healed split himself. “You’re magic –”

You shushed him hurriedly. “Don’t tell anyone about that, either.”

“I won’t,” Tenko said. “Not even Hana. She talks to Father, and Father doesn’t like magic.”

You knew. You’d heard shouting from the manor, heard a few details from Tenko himself when he came running after the latest fight. Tenko’s grandmother, long dead by then, was a witch with tremendous power, who abandoned Tenko’s father to be raised by strangers so she could pursue an old enemy. Hana and Tenko weren’t supposed to know about that, and neither were you. “He says magic makes people selfish,” Tenko said. He looked at you with something like awe. “But you aren’t.”

“My mother says magic doesn’t change who a person is. It’s all about how they use it.”

Tenko smiled again, and a different split opened in his lips. “What are you going to use it for?”

You sealed the new split, too. “This,” you said, and almost immediately you felt his lips stretch into a wider smile beneath your fingers.

Your magic is the magic of wild places, of things that grow and change, and you had only small uses for it until the summer of your twelfth year. That was the year plague swallowed the countryside, scoured the village, and left the manor house untouched. It left your cottage untouched, too. Your mother went to the village one day, leaving you home to tend the gardens, and never returned. A messenger brought word that she had fallen sick. Another brought word that she had died, not half an hour later.

Tenko’s father was not unkind to you. He ensured your mother was laid to rest properly, at his own expense, and when you begged an audience from him with tears still drying on your cheeks, he granted it and let you make your case for why you should be allowed to take on your mother’s role rather than being cast out. “I have followed her since I was able to walk. I know all that she knew about the gardens, and I could learn more, for I can read. I am a diligent worker. I will ask for nothing. Only – please, do not send me away.”

“You’re still a child,” Tenko’s father said, almost dismissively. “How do you expect to care for yourself alone?”

“I know what to do,” you said stubbornly. Even though your hope was fading, you held firm. “I can tend to the gardens, and to myself.”

It was quiet for a moment. “Due to your inexperience, you’ll receive half your mother’s previous wage,” Tenko’s father said. “And you’ll take your evening meal here, at six o’clock each evening. Do you understand?”

It was more than you had hoped for. You nodded enthusiastically, smiling so hard your face hurt, and at your first meal with the Shimuras, you spent most of it staring down at your bowl, tears slipping down your face. Hana walked you home, with a bundle of food from the cook for your breakfast, and although you looked for Tenko, he was nowhere to be found. Hana was long gone and you were lighting the candles when he dropped something on your doorstep and ran away.

“Tenko?” you called out. “Tenko, come back.”

He was gone. On your doorstep was a bouquet, tied messily with twine, and as you sorted through it, you named the flowers one by one. Evergreen thorn – solace in adversity. Everlasting – never-ceasing remembrance. Marigold – grief. It made for an awkward bouquet, but you did not love it for its appearance. You replanted the bouquet in dark soil and coaxed them back to life, and many years later, you sang to them until they grew into a strange hybrid tree, one with thorns and flowers. It grows still. If anyone asks you, you could show it to them.

You mourned your mother. You would mourn her forever. You were always lonely, but the evenings you spent with Tenko’s family were peaceful ones. Looking back, you think that your presence kept the worst of Tenko’s father’s temper quiet, simply because he did not wish to misbehave in front of a stranger. Lady Shimura was always kind to you, and Hana and Tenko had been your friends for many years by then. You were never foolish enough to think you were part of their family. You were grateful for the time you had.

The night the Shimuras died, you’d retired early. You felt ill, and ill at ease, and you couldn’t explain why. Whenever you came upon a feeling you couldn’t explain, you were apt to blame magic, and you thought it wise to experience whatever was about to happen out of sight. You were correct to believe that magic was at fault for the discomfort and unease that swept over you. It just wasn’t your magic that caused it.

The legends say that Hell woke within the Shimuras’ house that night, wrecked it from the inside out until nothing but the foundation was left. If a piece of damnation came through, it left Hell far from empty behind it. You heard screams and terrible sounds, and the flowers whispered to you of what had happened at the manor house in the dark of the moon. They told you all they could see and all they had heard. By the time Tenko fell heavily against your doorstep, you knew most things.

Most things, save one. You brought him inside, cleaned blood off his hands, resolved to say nothing – and even as you were so resolved, you were opening your mouth. “Did you mean to do it?”

“No.” Tenko shivered, in spite of the blanket you wrapped around his shoulders. “Not all of it.”

“Your father,” you said. Tenko nodded, cringed away from you when you reached for him again. “Let me help.”

“I could hurt you.”

“Your magic needs time to build back up. Mine does, when I use a lot of it,” you said. “It’s safe, for a little while.”

“Why don’t you hate me?” Tenko looked at you. His grey eyes had gone red, his black hair gone blueish-grey. There were fresh cuts over his eye and lip. “I killed all of them. Why aren’t you scared? Why aren’t you sad?”

You were. You’d show it more, later, once you finally wandered up to the ruins of the manor house and saw what had befallen the people who’d been kind to you. In that moment, all you could see was your best friend in front of you, bleeding and frightened and alone except for you. “I know why it happened,” you said to Tenko, and his shoulders stiffened beneath your hands. “It’s your magic, but there’s something within it. I can see it. Like corruption or root-rot. I could draw it out –”

“No.” Tenko recoiled from you. “It’s not safe.”

“If it’s unsafe for me, it’s unsafe for you, too,” you argued. “Please, Tenko. Let me help you.”

Tenko hesitated for a long moment. Somewhere in that moment, you reached for him, tracing your finger along the cut over his eye and healing it closed. For the first time, it didn’t heal smoothly. What happened to Tenko the night his magic erupted would leave a scar. It was the same with the one on his lip, too. He spoke before you could pull away. “In the morning.”

“In the morning,” you agreed, and as easily as taking the next step down on a staircase, you leaned in and kissed him.

In a love story, a true romance, you would have made love all night, and he would have left something behind with you – a child, maybe, with eyes like his used to be and your life-magic in its veins. The truth was simpler. You kissed your best friend and he kissed you back, his hands shaking and his mouth uncertain against yours. You led him to your bed and the two of you slept in each other’s arms. Slept, and nothing more. Tenko fell asleep within moments, wrung dry by the horror he’d been part of, and you stayed awake a while longer, sensing the corruption within him, planning how to draw it out when daylight came.

When you woke in the morning, your bed was cold, and when you went in search of Tenko, he was gone. The plants told you he had left, gone far beyond your reach, and if you had entertained any thoughts of chasing after him, they dissipated when you saw what he had left for you: A striped carnation, white with red edging the petals. You knew he knew what it meant. You could hear it in his voice as he read from the book – striped carnation, refusal. Tenko was gone, and he didn’t want you to follow him. You were alone.

It was a full day and night before you ventured up to the manor house, and even then, it was out of obligation. The Shimuras had offered your mother proper funeral rites, so you owed them the same. As you walked, you saw that sections of the gardens had begun to die, a black stain spreading across the grounds towards the ones that still lived. Corruption, the same as that which infested Tenko’s magic. An infestation that would only spread. You could have helped. Why wouldn’t he let you?

You reached the manor, and you saw why. You did what funeral rites you could, but there was barely enough of the Shimuras left to perform them for. Even Mon hadn’t been spared. You thought of what the flowers told you, of how terrified Tenko was as his magic slipped from his control and turned wild, and your heart broke again. It was easy to imagine why Tenko had fled rather than allow you to try to heal him. If it hadn’t worked, you would have died. Just like your best friend’s family did. And because corrupted magic corrodes and decays, it had begun to spread. It would consume the Shimura estate, destroying all your hard work and your mother’s, erasing every place you and your friends had been happy, leaving nothing but a wasteland.

You sat down in the midst of it all and wept – for their loss, and soon, every loss you had ever felt. Tears splatted down into the stinking dirt and crushed flagstones, but you paid them no heed as you mourned Lord and Lady Shimura, Hana and Mon, your mother and the garden she’d loved, and for Tenko. Tenko, who left you to save you. Tenko, who left you here, amidst the ruin of everything either of you had ever loved.

It seemed as though you wept for an age. When your tears ran dry and you wiped your eyes, you found that something strange had occurred in the places where your tears struck the ground. The dirt they’d soaked into was no longer rotting. It was black and cool to the touch, loamy when you picked it up to crumble between your fingers. The Shimura estate was devastated, yes. But there was no law that said it must remain that way.

You thought of how far the corruption had already spread. How much it would continue to spread as you worked against it, one small patch at a time. Restoring this place to life would be the work of a lifetime, or of several – and yet, it would be worth doing. It would be worth doing even if Tenko never came home. But as you sunk your hands into the next patch of ruined earth, biting the inside of your cheek against the sting and letting your sorrow bleed through, you hoped that he would. That he would come home, and find a place that had healed, just as he could.

The work of a lifetime, or several, but you were thinking in terms of a human lifespan, and with every day you spent using your magic to its limit, your lifespan shifted. A year spent clearing an area the size of a single garden plot was nothing to you. The ten years or more you spent breathing life back into a single tree flew by, barely missed. The years changed you, but not in the way they should have, and still, you kept count of time. You spent a century repairing the corruption before the corruption began to fight back.

It was a living thing, the darkness that had twisted your best friend. It thought to wear you down, to force you to leave in defeat. But you fought it every day, not tirelessly but ceaselessly, for every square foot of soil, until at last it gave up the areas you had reclaimed as lost for good. You were not fool enough to think that you had won. The corruption had left the bounds of the Shimura estate many years ago. It was abroad in the world, and it needed its strength for a greater purpose.

Although you fought your hardest, there were some scraps of corruption that you could not eradicate, some scars in the earth that could not be healed. So you drew them up instead, weaving them into the roots of the trees, shaping blossoms resilient enough to stand the rot. Those plants were wild and dangerous, but part of your garden all the same. You tended to them just as you tended to the others, and soon they stood proud among the rest.

All around you was proof that the corruption was not irreversible, that it could be survived, that one could carve out a life in the aftermath of destruction. When a great darkness arose on the far side of the world and people fled before it, some of them found their way to you. Your garden had spread far beyond the bounds of the Shimura estate by then, too, and they dwelt in peace at its edges. The heart of the new forest was the Shimuras’ old house. No one ever ventured there.

You rarely allowed yourself to be seen, but when you did, it was to learn of the outside world. When you asked the new arrivals what had driven them from their lands, they all gave the same answer, under different names. Destruction embodied. The Lord of Evil. The Demon King. The Symbol of Fear, Shigaraki Tomura, a dark magician whose life meant death for everyone he touched. Old beyond counting, eater of souls. The enemy of all that was good.

“He will destroy this world,” an old woman said to you solemnly, her voice devoid of hope. “All life is his enemy. He’ll come for you.”

Your forest teems with life. Life bursts into being every day, every second. You were not sure whether she was telling you to flee or simply relaying your doom, but you knew you could not run. You were making this place for proof, for a boy who must have been long dead, a man who would never come to see it. See, you wished you could say to Tenko, it’s healed. It was hard, but it’s healthy now.

You vowed then that you would stay. As more refugees fled into your forest’s embrace, as the Symbol of Fear crept slowly across the land, you held true. You will hold true until your own death, or until Tenko comes home for good.

“I grow flowers,” you say to the boy who’s come to the Shimura house to speak to you. “Entire gardens of them. They would tell the whole of the story I just told you, if anyone still knew to read their meanings – or knew how to listen.”

“It’s said that art was lost long ago,” the boy says. He leans forward, his eyes bright with interest. “Can you teach me?”

“Izuku,” the man who accompanied him says uncomfortably. He’s tall and rail-thin, scarred by the battle against the corruption, his years of fighting long past. “Ask the question.”

They explained who they were to you, but you knew already. The flowers had brought you warning of them, and you needed to look at them only a moment to understand what was happening here. The old man can fight no longer. He’s entrusted all to the boy. This boy is meant to slay the Symbol of Fear. “How old are you?” you ask, and the boy stammers out an answer. “Fifteen. I was that same age when the estate fell into ruin.”

“Was brought to ruin, you mean,” an even older man tells you. This one is short and stooped. “No matter what you have done to it, this is still the birthplace of the evil we face.”

“The boy who carried it was born here, yes,” you allow. “But he was not its source.”

The old man lets out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “Was? Is. Shigaraki Tomura lives still.”

Your heart goes still for a moment, and once more, the flowers whisper to you – urging caution, urging care. “It’s my job to defeat him,” Izuku says to you. He shows you the sword he’s carrying – a mighty blade, almost too heavy for him to lift, woven with the magic of seven sorcerers before him. “Will you help me?”

“Defeat him? Or kill him?” You watch the older men exchange guilty glances. “I can help you with neither.”

“But you’ve stood against him all this time –”

“I have been waiting for him,” you say. Tenko still lives. Magic has changed you, lengthened your life – why would it not have done the same to him? “I want him to come home, so he can be healed.”

“Healed?” the old man scoffs. “The Symbol of Fear knows no peace. The rest of us will find it only in his death.”

The younger of the two old man puts up an argument of some kind, and beneath it, Izuku turns to you. “You would heal him?” he asks. “How?”

“You see this place?” You gesture around at it. “It was once wracked by the same corruption that troubles my friend. Evidence of it still lingers. What happened here will never be forgotten entirely. But it has healed. So, too, could he be. If he chose.”

“I have faced him before,” Izuku says. There’s a strange, hopeful light in his eyes, faint and flickering. “I saw what haunts him. He looked as if – as if –”

You wait. “As if he was asking to be rescued,” Izuku says, and although it’s been many years since you cried, a tear slips down your cheek. “I don’t want to kill him, if I could save him instead.”

“Then we shall not kill him,” you say. “When the Symbol of Fear comes to us, we will face him together. You will not need your sword.”

“But –”

“Your sword has done what it needed to do. It brought you this far,” you tell him. Izuku nods slowly. “Now your heart must lead you.”

Izuku’s heart must lead him, as your heart has always led you. As Tenko’s heart, what remains of it, leads him home.

You know when the Symbol of Fear reaches the forest, because the refugees who have settled there begin to flee inwards. Once, armies rode with him, but they long since turned against him, fought him or fled. Now only a few dark magicians ride at his side, each bearing their own wound that will not heal. That has not healed yet, you remind yourself, as the flowers sing to you of their coming. There is always a chance for healing.

You had feared you would lose pieces of the forest to the corruption as Shigaraki Tomura traveled through it, either to his purposeful efforts or to the dark magic grown into them, reverting to its original purpose. But you had not counted on life, on hope. Growing alongside the darkness has made your forest resilient, has made it wily and strong. Although the corruption sinks into the earth with every step Shigaraki Tomura takes, it spreads no further.

When he’s close, but not yet within sight of the ruins, he comes to a stop. You sense him there, even if the flowers were not whispering of it, and when you realize where he’s stopped, your heart lifts. You rise to your feet, and Izuku scrambles up, too. “Is it time?”

“Yes,” you say. “Remember what we spoke of.”

“I remember,” Izuku says – but still, he brings along his sword.

You hear their voices before you see them. “Why are we stopped?” one says irritably. “The heart of the forest lies beyond.”

“Give him time,” another says. “Perhaps something important lies here.”

“What could be important? This place has been abandoned for a hundred years.”

Longer, unless you’ve mistaken your count of mortal time. It would appear abandoned to their eyes. You come into view of your old cottage just as a shadowy, white-haired figure steps out of it. In his hand, he clutches a striped carnation. “That flower was cut recently,” one of the dark magicians observes. “Someone still dwells there.”

“No.” Shigaraki’s voice is painful to hear, because it’s Tenko’s voice, pierced through with shards of glass and dragged over rough stones. “This has been here for a long time.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s magic, silly,” a female voice says. “It’s – oh!”

You don’t see what startled her, but Izuku must, because he neglects his feet and snaps a twig. The sound echoes sharply, and Shigaraki Tomura’s head snaps up, and as you meet his red eyes for the first time in hundreds of years, you’re overcome with feelings you couldn’t describe even if you had all the flowers in the world to spell them out.

He’s terrifying to behold. Wreathed in darkness shot through with bloodred, his hair long and wild, his face scarred. His hand is missing a few fingers and his stance is uneven, as though he’s prepared at any moment to lunge into battle or topple to his knees. The corruption writhes beneath his skin. His lips are dry and cracked, and as he studies you, his mouth splits into a smile more horrific than Tenko ever wore. Still, he bleeds the same.

“I saw the fairy-story written in the flowers,” he says. “You must be its author.”

“I am.” You incline your head. “What did you think?”

“Foolish.” The corruption has ahold of Shigaraki’s jaw, making it move awkwardly. “I never trifle with such useless things.”

“The language of flowers is long forgotten,” you say. “When did you learn to read it?”

“When did you?”

“I’ve always understood them,” you say. “You were the one who taught me to read.”

For a moment, you believe you see him falter; then he lets the striped carnation fall, and draws his sword. “This forest resists our efforts, and you willed it to life. Our position will be much improved when I kill you.”

“Kill me if you must.” You stay Izuku’s hand as he reaches for his sword. “First, I must show you something. Come with me.”

Putting your back to Shigaraki is dangerous, but he remembered enough for the cottage to stymie him. Maybe he remembers enough for this. You let Izuku walk ahead of you when the path narrows, and soon enough, you’re standing in the same field where you first met Hana and Tenko. “Do you remember this?” you ask. He looks blankly at you. “Then this, perhaps. The first flower I ever brought to you.”

“Acacia,” the Lord of Evil says after a long pause. “For friendship.”

You keep walking. A glance over your shoulder shows you that the dark magicians are inspecting the field, trying to divine the magic that made it what it is. Shigaraki Tomura marks your steps closely. “You are an illusionist,” he accuses. “This place was ruined long ago.”

“What does your heart tell you?” you ask, and he scoffs. “Do not tell me you have no heart. I hear it beating.”

His hand rises to his chest, rubs at it as though he’s in pain. “You should be more frightened than you are. I intend to corrupt this place so thoroughly that nothing will grow here ever again.”

“You will have a hard time with that,” you say. “It’s happened before.”

The flowers are descendants of the first flowers you woke out the ground, but the trees are old enough to have survived the corruption. You show the Symbol of Fear the veins of assimilated dark magic running through their trunks and in the veins of their leaves. He scoffs. “You call this healing?”

“What happened cannot be forgotten,” you say. “But life continues. It can grow. It can be good once more.”

You keep walking, Izuku at your side, the Symbol of Fear following, and his allies following further behind. “You are a fool,” the Symbol says to you. You ignore him, and he changes targets. “And you, brat. We’ve fought before. What nonsense has she filled your head with, to make you stay your hand?”

“I do not stay my hand,” Izuku says. “I promised I would try her way first.”

As far as answers Izuku could have given, it could be worse. You stop walking and turn to face the Symbol of Fear, who barely stops walking in time to avoid knocking you over. It was otherwise the first time you met, and based on the expression that flickers briefly across his face, he recalls it, too. For a moment, the shadows seem to lift, and you see the man Tenko’s become beneath them. If you die today, as well you might, at least you saw him one last time before the end.

On the walk to the old house, you pluck flowers from the ground, collecting every flower you remember Tenko reading aloud to you, every flower he offered. Marigold, everlasting, evergreen thorn; alyssum, amaranth, ambrosia; a bouquet that makes no sense save as part of a story. The flowers hum to you, and when you check over your shoulder again, you see the female magician picking a few flowers of her own, passing them to the others. For study, you think, until you see her tuck hers behind her ear. Oak-leaf geranium – true friendship.

“Your friends are young,” you say to the Symbol of Fear. “Their wounds are fresh compared to yours.”

“They could still be healed,” the Symbol of Fear says. You sense Izuku’s eyes darting between the two of you, shocked into silence. “If you heal them, and keep them here, perhaps I will leave this place untouched.”

“You know better than to think you can do that,” you say. “This is still your home.”

“It was never home,” the Demon King insists, and yet, he keeps walking. “Why do you delay the inevitable?”

“I do not delay,” you say. You pluck one last flower, round one last turn. “This is what I wished to show you.”

The Shimura house was destroyed down to its foundations, the earth turned hot and poisonous, such that nothing would grow there again. It took you a long time to work the darkness free of it, and longer still to coax seeds to take root there. Longer than that, even, for them to grow tall, and when they grew, their branches formed the outline of the house that once stood here, without your knowledge or your will to guide them. Shigaraki stops cold, stares. The shadows that surround him writhe and whirl in your peripheral vision. “It’s still here.”

“It’s not as it once was,” you admit, “but it is still here. And so am I.”

“I am not.” Tenko’s voice is rough and bitter. When you turn to face him, you find the shadows peeling back, enough to see his scarred mouth, a glimpse of his cheek. “There is nothing left of me but horror.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say. “And even if I did –”

You meant to give the bouquet to him whole, but you change your mind. Instead you pluck a single flower from it and hold it out. “Do you remember this one?”

The shadows begin to creep over his mouth, but he raises the hand with the missing fingers and claws them away. They attack his hand instead, and you see them biting into his skin. Izuku sees, too. He draws his sword. Tenko speaks in that same rough voice. “Stock flower,” he says. “You will always –”

He breaks off, staring at you. “You will always be beautiful to me,” you complete the sentence. “You’re home now, Tenko. Let me help you.”

“I can’t.” Tenko loses his grip on the shadows, and they swarm back over his face, leaving his hands raw and bleeding. “It won’t let me.”

You reach for him, but Izuku stays your hand. He steps forward, sword drawn, and looks into Tenko’s eyes. “It’s my task to save others from you,” he says. “But I see before me someone who needs saving just as much.”

“There is no salvation for me,” the Symbol of Fear says. The shadows are consuming Tenko’s body. You can see it. “Only destruction. Yours, and everyone’s.”

Izuku’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightens, and your heart seizes with it at the thought that all is lost. A twig snaps behind you, and when you look around, you see that while most have fled, some of the refugees have been drawn in to witness. The Symbol’s magicians are poised for a fight in turn – and rather than stepping forward with a swing of his sword, Izuku speaks. “What afflicts you? Show me.”

For a moment, all is still and silent – or it must be, to all but you. The flowers hum and the trees breathe in and out, and the people who stand amongst them swarm and throb with life in their turn. You feel the unevenness of those who are wounded, the fog that surrounds those who are sick at heart. Tenko’s companions are both, and so is he. You see it for a split second, when he tears himself free of the shadow entirely and casts it aside.

It wounds him. You see skin rip, blood spurt. But the corruption is gone from him, separated completely for the smallest of moments. Within that moment, there’s more than enough time for Izuku’s enchanted sword to decapitate it where it stands.

The corruption does not die cleanly. It screams, a sound that shreds your eardrums and makes the flowers mute, a sound that the rest experience only as a gust of rotting wind. Even in pieces, it still lives. Tenko’s magicians cast their spells upon it, breaking it apart again, but it’s Tenko who delivers the blow that scatters it to near-nothingness for good. You’ve never seen Tenko’s magic, corrupted or otherwise. It’s snow-sky grey, the way his eyes once were, and its touch is softer than you thought it would be. Under his power, the corruption dissolves into pieces your forest was born to absorb.

The forest is Tenko’s, too. You know by the way it bends towards him as he falls, the life within it surging to meet him. One of the dark magicians races forward to catch him, and you catch him, too. The two of you lower him to the earth together.

Tenko is terribly wounded. The corruption tore away pieces of his flesh as he pulled free, and his magic is overtaxed. Even if none of those things were true, his body is still rent by old wounds and poorly healed scars. To survive this will ask a great deal from him. All your skill and power will mean nothing if he does not wish to live on. You touch your best friend’s face for the first time since he left you, heal a split of his lip with a single trace of your finger, and pray that he will try.

His magicians have surrounded you, Izuku shoved thoroughly to one side. The magician who caught Tenko with you meets your eyes, his features contorted with fear and confusion. “Will he live?”

“He may,” you say. “Time will tell.”

The corruption no longer lives in this world, but its effects remain, and there are lesser wounds, lesser evils, that abound. There is only so far your forest can spread by your own will. At some point, others must take on the task alongside you. Those who wish to return their homes carry seeds and saplings from the forest with them. Wherever they plant them, they will grow alongside the darkness, and grow strong.

One day, you’ll walk past the edges of the forest and see things for yourself, but that is a long time away. You determined to renew this place for Tenko, should he ever choose to come home. It took a long time to heal, and so will he. So will his friends, with their own wounds and sorrows, but time is something you have in abundance.

“I studied magic,” Tenko tells you as you lay on your backs in the grass, staring up at the sky through a canopy of leaves and a scattering of clouds. “It’s not meant to do this.”

He gestures at the two of you, using the hand that’s missing two fingers. You take his hand, raise it to your lips and kiss it. “What do you mean?”

“It should not have cast us out of time,” Tenko says. “Magicians live and die like anyone else. Or at least they should.”

“I never studied magic,” you admit. “Perhaps I broke some rule in renewing this place. I don’t know.”

“If you had broken a rule, you’d feel it,” Tenko mumbles. You glance over at him and find him grimacing. “I feel it daily.”

You’ve heard tell of the terrible things Tenko did in the throes of the corruption, and what you haven’t heard in tales, he’s told you himself. You know what it cost him. “Does it itch or hurt? Or ache?”

“Today it aches. Like the cold of a grave.” Tenko edges closer to you, and you close the gap until you’re lying in each other’s arms once more. “You need not use magic to make me feel better. I always felt better with you, even when we were children.”

When the two of you lie this close, it’s always an effort not to fall asleep. It’s as if your body intends to make up for the centuries of nights lost as quickly as possible, even in the middle of the day. You kiss Tenko’s hand again and burrow a little closer against his side. “This is where we always met up,” you say. “It took me a long time to make it grow again. What do you think?”

“It’s different,” Tenko says. His hand turns in yours, holding it securely against his heart. “But it feels the same as before.”

The two of you lie there for a while in silence, and you cast your mind out, seeking the edge of  your forest, seeking the saplings and sprouts that have been planted far past its boundaries. Someday, when the world has long forgotten Shigaraki Tomura, you and Tenko will venture out to visit them. You’ve spent so long in your small corner of the world. You’d like to see more of it. And you know Tenko would like to see it with unclouded eyes.

The corruption may be gone, but it haunts him still. His body rattles sometimes with the memory of pain, or else his skin crawls at the phantom sensation of a force outside himself, peeling up his skin and making him itch. Sometimes, when his body rebels, he drowns himself in you. Other times, he can hardly bear to be touched. It frustrates him, more so for the fact that he thinks it frustrates you. It doesn’t. You know better than anyone else that healing takes time.

“We were always here,” Tenko says aloud, after a long time. You nod into his shoulder. “I always asked you what the flowers were saying about me.”

“I always thought it was funny that you never asked me to teach you.”

“I was worried I couldn’t,” Tenko says. “And I knew you’d tell me the good things.”

You laugh. Tenko’s voice takes on a hesitant note. “What are they saying now?”

“They say that I love you, and that you love me.”

“I do.” Tenko’s cheek is flushed when you kiss it, and he turns his head for a longer kiss, too. “What else do they say?”

You tell him, in between kisses, as life continues around you – a life that looks different than it did before, a life that will never be the same. A life that has changed, and still a life worth saving. A life worth living, too. You and Tenko are a long way from an ending, if one even exists for the two of you. But if you were to close the tale here, you know you could call it a happy one.

[uselessmoonlight]

Stranger part 12

Reader is Telemachus' friend, and when he leaves for his "diplomatic mission" he asks her to watch over his mother.

Later, once the king has returned, she stumbles upon an injured Poseidon.

Previous / series masterlist / character sheet / next

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Content specs: she/her pronouns used, afab reader, Platonic! Telemachus x reader, Epic!Poseidon x reader, possible OOC!Poseidon, Polites’ daughter! Reader, unrequited love, blood, fighting, nudity, illusion, possibly more?, trying to avoid using y/n, slowburn, suggestive themes, English is not my first language, sorry if it's too much exposition, it's my first fic.

Ónoma literally means name in Greek, at least according to google translate. View this as the y/n of this fic.

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“Are you done yet?” Perikles asked, less than amused. Ónoma had been laughing at him for the past, what? 15 minutes? It was way shorter than that, but it felt like ages for the God.

“No, not yet.” It was her turn to tease him. Her laughter would’ve died long ago, but the fact that it bothered him so much kept her going. “Alright, fine, I’m done. Now let’s get you wrapped up, huh?”

She’d added honey to one of her mother’s old ointment recipes to stop his healing wounds from getting infected. She’d left the wounds unwrapped to dry up and form scabs, but it also left them vulnerable. She was going to need new bandages soon.

“You know, I never did find out what caused your wounds.” Peach murmured.

“You never asked, but do you really want to do so now? An answer for an answer, remember?”

“We made that deal an hour ago, of course I remember.” She replied, dumbfounded. What kind of questions did this guy have for her? How bad could they truly be? “Tell me, Perikles, what caused those wounds?” She asked, somewhat smug about finally getting answers.

“My very own trident, wielded by a man who wounded someone I love. I searched for him for 10 years, and when I finally found him, I lost.” All initial smugness was lost on Ónoma, she’d not expected such a raw, honest answer from the man.

“What? Didn’t expect me to answer? A deal is a deal, I’m a man of honour.”

“Making sexual advances on an underage girl? Very honourable.” She remarked sarcastically.

“You’re underage?” The man asked, eyebrow raised.

“Is that the question you want to ask?” She echoed his earlier sentiments. He gave a nod. “Only for another week.” She mumbled.

“What difference does one week make?”

“Was that a rhetorical question, or do you want to get philosophical?” She countered.

☆☆☆

At the end of the day, she was able to retreat to her own space, sure, the cement and stuff hadn’t fully dried yet, but as long as she didn’t touch the walls, it’d be fine. Telemachus had even gone as far as to have a bed placed in the room already. Gods bless him.

The rest of the day had gone by with a lot less serious questions and some really nice dinner. The fish traps had been a success, she’d even brought the excess into town. Aside from their little spat earlier, it has been a good day, but it was not a good morning.

Before sunrise some of the towns people had come to get her, Ophelia was giving birth, but it was about a month too early. By the time she got there it was a bloodbath. Irene, Agathe and their mother were crying over the state of Ophelia. Ophelia’s husband was screaming at the healers, and all in all it was an outright mess.

First course of action: get the unnecessary people out of the room. Irene was easy to deal with, she understood her sister needed help and that they were in the way. She helped Ónoma get her mother and sister out, while Ónoma had the luck to deal with her brother-in-law. Theodosius was erratic, the only way she was able to get him outside, was by knocking him out.

It took them countless prayers to Eileithyia, and Apollo, to get through the birth, and it took until sunset for them to stabilize the mother and her beautiful baby boy. Ónoma was the one to deliver the news, as she’d been there for the shortest amount of time. The other healers, mainly consisting of elderly women, had pretty much collapsed when they were done, absolutely exhausted.

Irene flung herself into her arms, Agathe was trying to explain the news to, a probably concussed, Theodosius and their mother, Zosime, ran inside to see her daughter and grandchild.

☆☆☆

When Peach got back home, she was once again covered in blood, but this time she was able to take a bath without being afraid of the stranger in her home. Sure, she still didn’t really know the man, but she at least knew him better now.

“Where have you been all day, why are you covered in blood? Again? you know what, I don’t even want to know. I don’t want to know, just barge right on in, in the middle of the night, who cares?” Perikles rambled, but she paid him no mind. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Peach called through the closed door.

She had put in clean water yesterday, but she couldn’t be bothered to heat it up right now, she just wanted to be clean. And clean she was, by the time she got out her hands were wrinkled, and her skin was rubbed raw. She looked exhausted when she caught a glimpse in the water’s reflection.

Despite the exhaustion, she was tossing and turning all night. She’d tried to eat a peach before going to bed, but she couldn’t, even though she hadn’t eaten all day. Her head was reeling, what was it with Irene’s sisters and giving her trouble. She didn’t blame Ophelia for the circumstances around the birth of her son, not really, but it was interesting.

When the sun started to rise she decided to just get up, without having slept a wink that night. Sleepless nights were becoming a more common occurrence. When Ónoma went into town to get breakfast, she brought some to the new parents, giving the father a somewhat shitty apology for knocking him out. She offered them her help, should when they need it with a newborn on their hands.

When she entered her house, Perikles was awake, but still in bed. “I was gone because the healers needed my assistance, there was a birth that was a month too early, hence the blood, and the first time I’d been defending the queen from… monsters? They were men, but they very well could have been monsters.” She said in one breath, then continued after taking a deep one. “I think that three? Yeah, three answers you owe me.”

“Well good morning to you too.” He smiled at the girl’s rambling. “Say, do you practice archery too? Oh great Apollo 2.0?”

“You want to make it four? Anticlea used to teach me, but she passed a long time ago. I haven’t been able to learn from anyone since. Besides, I’m not devoted to Apollo, if that’s what you’re implying. Please do not compare me to a God, that usually does not end well.”

“Shame, I’m sure he’d love to have you. The perfect devotee.” She blushed at the implication. “I thought you said you weren’t a healer?”

“Five, I’m not, but I do help out when they need it. My mother taught me, but I’m not fully trained.”

“Why didn’t she finish training you?”

“She’s dead. Six.”

Next.

☆☆☆

Taglist:

@apollos-dodgeball-target

@barrythestrawberry041

@doodle-with-rhy

@isla-finke-blog

@suckerforblondies

@trashcannotbealive

[kazxraval]

Kaz answered with a soft grunt. Yet another thing saved for later, would he even remember half of this trip? This mix of lows with a few euphoric peaks. These facets of Emre cut and polished in front of him that Kaz wanted to retreat with into a grotto or dorm and hold to the light. Study them all, peer through every geometric pattern, every sparkle. An impossibility and yet Kaz wanted to spend the time trying. His ruby, no wonder he thought to swallow the ones given to him long ago.

It made him forget much of what happened. Beatings, blood. A fear totally unknown, until today. That he might've lost Emre.

He huffed, a little amused. "What you want with my mates?" Kaz's fingers weaved tight with Emre's. "Carmen, Fiona. They probably got out before all this shit went down. You're right, don't want anyone I cared about here." Seattle overrun, what other places were like this? "Fuck, we gotta be better off." They both referred to the island as home. A first for Kaz.

Kaz would prefer to talk about anything else. Not on the boat anyway, not in the middle of a mess. "Punished? Nah. I wasn't. I'm punished now with the worst headache of my life." The heel of his head pressed above gashes and swelling close to a temple. The topography of the worst parts of the trip all over his face and body.

I've only felt things for you, that I'd never felt for anyone else. So unexpected, or was it? The 'cheers' at the end, the settling back into their forced forward momentum made him question the involuntary smile on his face. Thick spears of pain pierced his head, neck, shoulders, chest-- damn near everywhere else. All made it difficult to comprehend much. Perception skewed, maybe Kaz didn't know what to make of anything at the moment.

As long as he was understood. "Georgie was a drop of rain." The steady rainfall had grown heavier, not the usual thin mist. All Kaz had to do was open a hand, and a fat bead of water splattered on his skin, like a little explosion. "Me and you, we're the ocean." Probably sounded cheesy as fuck, but through what he assumed at that point was a concussion he suffered, it needed to be said.

Those words, my humanity, my goals. People kept as memories (Omar, Urmilla, Ajit). All a succinct barbed wire string of moving images cinched around his heart for Emre. Kaz stood quiet for a moment.

His hand unlatched from Emre's to cradle a face he'd not tired of examining, at great distances as well as up close, with eyes shut to dreams or rubbing the sleep away in the morning. Kaz kissed him. Not near as long as he'd like, but he lingered as much as possible in the soft heat, while bobbed around on the waves. When he broke away, Kaz said, "When we were on the water, you asked me if you were the most beautiful." They were interrupted by that fuckwit Feroze. "I said you were a beautiful thing. And you're the most beautiful too."

Kaz felt he'd spilled so much of himself, like the insides of the bodies they needed to dump. Unforgivably obvious, as slippery and bright red across the deck as the blood at their feet. Then, he was smiling again. "Don't think you were an ass. I liked it. You don't sing anymore. Guess you woo'ed me and were done with the songs, yeah?" A tease, of course.

There they were, sucked through some existential bilge pump and spit back out into a very cold and bitter sea. Surreal to hear Georgina, of all people, inform them of the state of the family Raval. The facts (lies? very probably from Georgie to throw at least a few in) were sorted as he might have back in his days as a journalist. All block lettered in sharply drawn columns, hints with sketches to accompany. To place in a dead file, bury, or use when something missing called to him.

Kaz didn't spring to life again until Georgie claimed he was needy. "Are you joking?" A poisonous laugh burst from his throat, despite the knowledge she made every attempt to wind him up. "Holy shit-- you were THE neediest person I'd ever me!" So many examples to choose from. "Was it the 3rd time we fucked that you said you were pregnant? Just to trap me? Stop lying Georgie. All you did was try to run off my friends. If you thought I was meeting up with someone you didn't like, you'd call me back saying someone was stalking you. Or your brother beat you up, remember that one? For five fucking minutes of your life. Stop."

Georgie scoffed, seemingly unable to counter what Kaz threw at her. You know Ali's on this boat? Her eyes flitted over to meet Emre's. A long pause, what Georgie clearly envisioned to be dramatic. A visual check-mate, before she simpered, 'I do believe you know the answer.'

Outside in the cold wind, Emre seemed more serious than before. Not that Kaz wasn't. But he still reeled from Georgie's insanity, and fought the desire to crash in the captain's unmade bed.

"We're a few hours out from Seattle. I say we dump Georgie and head to Victoria, but doubt we'd have the gas for it. Maybe we can make it to the coast at least. Emre, you're thinking about something, I can tell. Is it Georgie? What is it?" We know the rules, luv.

When Ali was confronted by the news-- your brother's dead --he snapped his wrist out of Emre's grip and covered it with his other hand. Big brown eyes went even wider and tears welled, which made Ali seem even more fragile. After a long pause, his mouth knotted up. Tears spilled, first from the right eye and then both.

His anger burned a hole through Emre. 'You're lying.' A pause, then a shout. 'You're LYING!' A swift leg whipped out to kick Emre's shin. Then, small hands gave Emre a shove to the stomach before balled fists lashed out.

'Where is my brother!' Ali whirled around to face Kaz, like an adolescent kitten's attempt to intimidate the two adult alleycats that cornered him. His lower lip began to quiver and his voice rose higher. 'Feroze! I found them, those two DICKS,' said like a proud 12 year old cursing for the first time, which wasn't far from the truth for Ali. Then, blurted as he reached for the first thing he could: an empty bucket on deck, that he threw at Kaz's chest.

Kaz managed to dodge the bucket and held his hands up. "Hey, it's true. You know your brother was involved in some shady shit. But." A quick glance at Emre. "This guy wants to help you, okay. So stop shouting! I know it's not how it's supposed to be. We didn't want this either." As Kaz went on, Ali's eyes landed on a thin trail of blood on the deck, and began to follow it visually as it widened into a pool. As dark as it was out, the moon seemed to highlight the violence. As well as the ghostly unmoving arm on deck, a hint of the Captain's speargunned body around the corner.

Kaz dropped a hand to Ali's shivering shoulder, the truth shaking Ali's whole frame. "Feroze isn't coming! He's gone. You gotta suck it up. You gotta keep going. So, let us help you get the hell out of here in one piece."

Kaz blinked. Thought he did, anyway. When his eyes opened, he was still hunched over little Ali, fingers cupped at the kid's shoulder.

But they weren't on the boat anymore.

Kaz slowly straightened up. They stood under an umbrella of light from a street lamp. Evergreen trees soared and peeks of a snowy mountain popped through the green from far away. They were at the corner of a neighborhood street lined with older single family homes. One car garages and small but fairly neat lawns. Not sprawling or anything fancy, built for practical living rather than to impress.

Ali asked the reasonable question of where are we, and Kaz whispered back equally as stunned that he wasn't certain. Except. It was way too familiar...

Two kids around Ali's age sat on bikes in a nearby driveway. A boy and a girl. Siblings. Maybe even twins. They stared silently at Kaz and Ali. Oddly in observation.

Ali waved, and Kaz grabbed his hand to force down. He called out. "Reyansh? Ani?"

The kids made no sound between them. Their eyes said more, the girl confused and the boy protective. They circled their bikes out of the driveway to pedal away. The girl in particular cast a look over her shoulder as they took off in the opposite direction.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Ahhh." He looked around. "Emre! We gotta find Emre. EM! WHERE ARE YOU??"

"He's only a little," Emre sighed, not bothering to hold back his sentimentality. Kaz wouldn't deride him for feeling things, not like Emre's old mates. And Kaz didn't follow up, leaving Emre to believe perhaps Kaz allowed a bit of softening too; if not for his sake, or Ali's sake, but for Emre's. The power of influence, and love. Emre had used love before to manipulate Iyaz, for Iyaz's own good (so Emre convinced himself). With Kaz, though? It felt...so clean, so honest. Emre couldn't help a beaming little smile, incongruous to their surroundings.

Still picking at a carcass. Trust Kaz to point out the hard, dire reality. "Are we the lucky ones? Got my mum, running for her life. Here's your Seattle, caught up in this mad-max survival. I'd wondered if we'd run into your mates here, but maybe...it's better we don't find out what happened to them. Kaz.." Emre wanted to reach out, say he was sorry. But it sounded trite, stupid. He just held Kaz's hand instead, fingers pressing into Kaz's sturdy palm.

Shaking his head, Emre knew he wouldn't figure out the map-word mystery. Maybe it didn't even matter. As Kaz implied: they didn't belong in this world, not anymore. And Kaz caressed and pinched, and looked at Emre like they were the only things that did matter. It wouldn't be the first time everything around them was cut away, leaving only Kaz to fill Emre's entire gaze. All-encompassing - those terms of endearment tumbling so naturally from Kaz's mouth, like little diamonds.

Emre held Kaz's hand in place and murmured, plaintively, "I could lie in your little unmade bed for a million years. I want to go home." Home. The island. A place of relative safety and privilege. A place to not think about anything else but Kaz. Selfish, indulgent, and perhaps even lucky.

In this old fishing boat throughway, Kaz unlocked more recollections of himself and Georgie. Love. It was love, though Kaz wouldn't say it. And Georgina knew it and broke Kaz's heart. "So you knew what it felt like. And you were punished for it anyway."

Emre marveled at this little gem of information, unsure how to parse it just yet. He was exhausted, Kaz even moreso, he imagined. Yet Emre still continued, "I've only felt things for you, that I'd never felt for anyone else. Not even Melz." Emre smiled, guessing Kaz might ask. "Not sure what to make of all this right now, if I'm honest. But. Cheers for telling me, yeah. I mean it."

Emre hummed at Kaz's query. "Loads of things. Seemed only thing I did manage to let go of though, was bits of myself, innit. My humanity. My - my goals and dreams and hopes and that. If I lost anymore people though, who would I have left? I couldn't let go of them, nah. Not even as memories. I replayed memories a million times in my head."

Singing in the rock. New, bright memories flooded in. Emre kissed his teeth, lightly butting his head against Kaz's shoulder. "Fucking hell, of course you'd hold onto my most embarrassing moments. Precious memories is me making an arse of myself, is that it?" A low, amused chuckle, fully adoring and in complete contrast of their dire surroundings. But currently, it truly was just him and Kaz right now, nothing and no one else.

The world couldn't stay dammed-up for long though. It returned in big, forceful chunks around Emre's periphery, and here they were stood, completely knackered and filthy and bloody and stuck in a tin can on the water of a nightmare city.

Back with Georgie, who was looking a bit worse for the wear. Did she feel it? She mocked them, but still gave up the gossip anyway. Something to do, something to manipulate Kaz with, she likely hoped. Dad in prison, brother...somewhere. Mum divorced. That was surprising to Emre. "Priya didn't follow Edward as well. And look what she made of herself, staying in Seattle. Pairing up with you." His lip curled at Georgina.

Georgie's glare remained on Kaz, though. "On a beach. And you paired up too? With him?" She tried a flippant toss of her grey-gold hair. "Kazzy could never stay alone for long. He's soooo needy."

Kaz, the most self-sufficient man that Emre had ever known. The very definition of 'lone wolf'. He actually could imagine a younger Kaz, duped by this woman and the ideals of love, deciding to reject everything to do with love entirely. The Raval's had done a good job scrubbing that concept raw; then Georgina came along and made it worse, an infection for Kaz to rid himself of completely.

Emre did his best not to look directly at Kaz. Because Kaz would read everything in Emre's eyes, he knew; and Georgina would see that. Her childish retort, and Emre silently prompted her with the map. She decided on one port: Fermé. Emre thinned his eyes.

"You know Ali's on this boat?" His tone was ominously quiet. Was Frank the captain supposed to encounter them mid-sail? Did Georgina somehow plan all of - no. That was impossible. Georgina couldn't have masterminded how this all fell out. She hadn't expected Emre to even make it out of that operating table back on Whidbey.

And as if on cue, Ali started up his caterwauling. Fucking hell, Emre hated coincidences.

At Kaz's beckon, Emre followed him back outside. Emre stared hard at the dark water and moonlit islands around them. Not many other lights to guide them. Not even any lighthouses, no blinking buoys to warn them off rocky juts in the water. It was dangerous, sailing like this. They needed land, or they needed teleporting out of there.

"Even if we land there, what then? We just...wait up to five days? Let Georgina go? How far are we from Seattle, now?" Take Ali back to their island? Emre blinked in surprise at Kaz. "We know the rules, luv. We can't risk breaking them with a child..." Could they? Save Ali or get him killed - were those their only two choices?

The little sod had impeccable timing. Emre chastized Kaz with a look for stomping on the hatch - he opened it, and hauled Ali out by his shirt collar. Emre let him stand, but held onto Ali's thin wrist.

"Run if you like but there's no where to go, I'm afraid." And then bluntly, "Your brother's dead. He knew the sort of life he got - got you both into, didn't he. Now he's dead for it. You're all alone, now. You was in this hatch when we found you, reckon Captain Frank would trade you for parts, yeah?" Emre held Ali's tattooed wrist to see. "Feroze every told you what he actually did then? Working for Georgina? She's in there, if you want to go to her."

[mothmothwoth]

I can’t stop thinking about them

[sapsolais]

sometimes you have a shitty day but there are things that make it easier to keep going like:

- being silly with basically strangers

- hugs when you really need them

- quiet 3 am phone calls with people you really love

[willowpains]

we listen and we don’t judge

drew starkey x latina actress reader!

Drew was not a fan of social media.

Unlike you.

Chronically online was a term that was gaining fame to describe someone who spent quite some time on the internet, and who knew all the trends going on.

You weren’t exactly proud to be a part of that community.

But it kept you entertained.

And that’s how you ended up setting your phone up, ready to record Drew and you filming a new trend on TikTok.

How did you convince him to do it? You don’t even remember.

And after what felt like an eternity of explaining the dynamic to Drew, you both were finally ready to begin.

Both of you sitting next to each other on your couch, you looked at him with a mischievous smirk while he stared at you suspiciously.

“We listen and we don’t judge” you both said at the same time, Drew smirking at you.

“I’ll start” you said, looking from your phone screen to your boyfriend. “Sometimes, when I don’t really wanna cook, I get all dramatic and lie about us not having all the ingredients for the dish I was supposed to make, so you can offer to make something instead with what we do have” you say, giving him an embarrassed smile.

He chuckled at your words.

“I knew that love” he lets out a laugh. “You’re not good at lying to me”.

Your mouth opens up in shock.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

Drew pauses for a moment, smiling at you.

"When you're showering, i close the door of our room so the sound of your music gets as muffled as possible" he admits.

You giggle as you nod at his words, you did like to shower with loud music.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You look at him through the screen.

“I thought you hated me when we first met, so I would intentionally try to stay out of your way our first couple of working days together”.

Drew gives you a puzzled expression trying his best not to judge.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

He clears his throat before speaking.

“I often fake coming home super tired and stressed so that you take pity on me and cuddle me while playing with my hair” he says giving you a cute smile.

You giggle at his words.

“That’s cute” you admit leaning to peck his lips.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You take a couple of seconds before speaking, trying to be dramatic.

“I have a lot of edits of you saved on my favorites folder on TikTok” you look at him.

Drew covers his eyes while letting out a chuckle.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

He looks at you mischievously.

“I get jealous of the guys in your books” he admits seriously.

You let out a laugh as you throw your head back.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You giggle softly before confessing the next one.

“Whenever I feel sick in the middle of the night, I wiggle a lot in bed or move your body so you’ll accidentally wake up and ask me what’s wrong”.

He opens his mouth surprised at your words.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

Drew thinks a little before speaking.

“Ever since we met I’ve always been skeptical of your at home remedies for illnesses, even though they work every time” he admits.

You slowly nod while giving him a defeated look, knowing that already.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You give him a playful look before speaking.

“When we’re cuddling, sometimes I have the urge to stand up abruptly because I get too hot and I feel like I can’t breathe because you’re too big” you say, barely getting out the words without laughing.

Drew looks at you with big eyes, moving his brows up and down at the double meaning of your last words.

You roll your eyes at him.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He thinks for a moment before speaking.

“When I’m showering, sometimes I’ll use your shampoo rather than mine” he pauses as he looks at your baffled face. “It leaves my hair softer! And smells like you”.

Of course, there were a few confessions you had to cut from the video because your PR managers would hunt you down if they made it out into the internet.

“We listen and we don’t judge” you both say smiling at each other.

You smirk playfully at him before speaking.

“I cannot stand one of your friends and past coworkers” you admit, making a serious face.

Drew immediately throws his head back and lets out a chuckle, knowing exactly who you’re referring to.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He clears his throat before looking at you.

“I don’t like watching F1 since you told me about that driver that slid into your dm’s” he lets out cockily.

You burst out laughing looking at him while he joins you.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You make a thinking face looking at him.

“I wish you sent me more shirtless photos” you say giving him puppy eyes. “Or like, you took more of those with my phone, so I could look at them”.

He snorted out a laugh.

“That can be fixed baby” he says as he looks at you mischievously.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He gives you a smile.

“When I travel for work and you’re not coming with me, I take a pair of your panties and stuff them in my suitcase” he says laughing.

You scrunch up your nose at him.

“Drewwwwww” you say covering your face, now knowing where those missing undies went.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You avoid his eyes for the next one.

“Sometimes when I’m cold, I throw on one of your dirty hoodies that you used while working out, cause they’re sweaty and smell like you” you say, trying not to burst out laughing.

He gives you a grossed out look.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You look at him waiting for him to speak.

“You know those sleeping shorts Brooke sent you cause she accidentally bought too many?” He says, making quotation marks with his fingers while saying sent and accidentally.

You nod at his words.

“I actually bought them for you because I love how your ass looks in them”.

Your mouth opens at his confession while you hit him playfully in the chest.

Drew laughs at your reaction.

“Oh my god baby, this is definitely not making it to the video” you say as you stand up from your position while laughing at him, walking to your phone to stop recording, while he stands back watching your movements with a smile.

Noticing that in fact, you were wearing a pair of those shorts.

“We don’t judge remember?” he said cheekily.

*

inspired by @valstranquility lando blurb<3

I love this trend on TikTok and I just couldn’t help myself

they’re just too cute I can’t

this was short n sweet hope you like it, if you have any other concepts you’d like to read let me know!

[sunni-stuff]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 This is part 4 Part 5

His question hit like a punch, and the pressure of it lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. Armed Forces Day? Three years ago? A sharp jolt of recognition hit you, though the details of that night remained fuzzy. The memories were there, but they felt distant—like something you hadn't allowed yourself to fully remember after becoming a mother. 

You steadied yourself, trying to mask the unease rising in your chest. “What are you talking about?” you tried to sound steady but the tightening grip on your purse betrayed the rush of nerves running through you.

Simon shifted, his broad frame nearly eclipsing the dim light of the bar. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle in his own head, as though each word carried a burden too heavy to bear. “There was a night,” he began, his tone low and rough, every syllable deliberate. “Here. Three years ago. You were here. So was I.”

Your heart skipped, a wave of realization hitting with an almost physical force. The hazy recollections of that night flooded back, slowly accumulating together—laughter, drinks, an unexpected connection. Something that hadn’t felt planned but had burned far too bright to ignore.

The knot in your stomach twisted painfully, every part of you urging you to push it away, but the truth had already begun to sink in. “You’re…” The words stalled in your throat, heavy and lodged, the sentence unfinished as the reality stung like an accusation between you.

Simon exhaled sharply, part sigh, part laugh—but there was no humor in it. His gaze locked onto yours with unsettling intensity, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting for you to break. “Yeah,” he replied simply, the word thick with certainty. “And she’s mine, isn’t she?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine, your body instinctively stiffening. The truth strung in the silence between you both, too glaring to avoid. Heart racing, every sense screamed to deny it, to distance yourself from this conversation before it spiraled out of control. But anything that could be said felt wrong, heavy on your tongue as you forced them out: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Simon’s eyes held yours, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—a desperation that cut through his usually composed demeanor. “Please,” he urged, the plea more potent. “Just tell me.”

How could this be happening? How could something so raw, so unspoken, suddenly spill into the air between the two of you? The weight of the moment anchored you, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a way to move past it. 

“She is,” you muttered at last, the confession slipping out like an unwanted secret. Fingers clenched tightly against the table’s edge, grounding yourself against the suffocating reality pressing in. “I never thought… never thought you'd come back into the picture.”

A brief silence stretched out before you spoke again, everything tumbling out in a rush. "I didn’t even know your name. All I recall was you kept making me." The admission hung in the air, lighter than it was, an attempt to lighten everything you didn’t want to say. 

The memory refused to stay buried. His face from that night, the intensity of his stare under the bar’s muted glow, how his presence seemed magnetic and overwhelming all at once—it all surfaced, unbidden. The connection had been undeniable, but that was your secret to carry. He didn’t need to know the details you still clung to.. 

“I don’t even know how it happened,” The sentence barely made it past your lips. “We used protection.” Doubt crept into your mind, unraveling the careful narrative you’d built for yourself. Did we? The past, fogged by alcohol and blurred moments, refused to come into focus.

Simon blinked, the blankness in his expression giving way to confusion, then disbelief. “Did we?” he asked with an edge of uncertainty. He was searching for answers neither of you seemed able to provide. Silence filled the space between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

"That parts a bit fuzzy," you admitted quietly, thoughts drifting away, the edges of the remembrance blurring with every passing second. “And clearly we didn't given our current situation.” 

Meeting his gaze, you knew this was the man from that fortunate night. Only different. More mature as if life hadn’t been kind to him. “All I know is… I woke up, and it was just me.” The recollection hung heavier than expected, twisting in your chest. "I never imagined I’d run into you again."

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, the gravity of everything left unsaid pressing down on the air. Neither of you knew how to move forward, or even if moving forward was possible.

“I knew she was mine,” Simon muttered, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, fighting against his own emotions threatening to break free.

You blinked in disbelief, the reality of his revelation settling in like ice in your veins. “You saw her?” The shock was evident. The idea that he had been so close—watching, perhaps even knowing—yet remained silent was almost too much to process.

Simon nodded, his gaze never meeting yours as he began. “Last month. When you were leaving the café with her. Johnny stopped you, and I was there.” He hesitated, swallowing hard as if the bulk of it all was pressing on him. “Johnny and the lads, they were the first to say they saw a little girl with my face. I was skeptical at first But then… then I saw the two of you together. And I saw it. Saw me in her. I had no idea she was even a possibility. Or that you were, for that matter."

Your breath hitched, a sharp sting rising in your chest. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, the hurt, and the confusion all collided in one sudden wave. “Why didn’t you say anything?” The question shot out before you could stop it, the accusation sharp and loaded with all the frustration. He had been so close. Watching. Why didn’t he speak up?

Simon paused, his gaze dropping to his hands, fingers flexing as if he were trying to grasp for something he couldn’t hold. The silence stretched long between you, the tension palpable, as if the room itself was holding its breath. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came. 

“I…” He started, staring at his hands as though they might hold the answer. “I’m not good with things like this, love.” He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time fully expressing how he felt but this moment needed authenticity. “I needed time to figure out if I could step into a life that was already doing fine without me. I was afraid of complicating things, of ruining something that was just fine without me."

You didn’t expect what he said to hit you so hard. The impact of his confession—that he had stayed away because he wasn’t sure if he was fit to be a part of your life, Adira’s life—settled deep within you, heavier than you could have imagined. You’d been fine, hadn’t you? Raising Adira, carving out a life on your own. But there's always been that lingering voice in the back of your mind, that small, quiet thought of “what if?” What if things had been different? What if he had been there from the start? Maybe you wouldn’t have had to quit those overpriced mommy-and-me classes because of those judgmental women who gossiped behind your back. Maybe things would’ve been easier.

“I wasn’t about to just waltz in, love,” Simon’s voice softened, more vulnerable now, like he was carefully weighing his thoughts. “I needed to know if you’d even want me here. You and her…” His gaze darkened for a moment, his voice trailing off as though unable to bear too much out in the open. “I wasn’t sure if I was the right person to step into something already so… perfect.”

In those words, there was something you hadn’t expected to hear from him: honesty. He was afraid. Afraid of being the one to ruin what you had built. Afraid of not being enough for you or for Adira.

“I guess I understand,” you said quietly. "I just wish you showed up sooner."

Simon didn’t answer right away. Something within him flickered with guilt, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence. He glanced down at his hands, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"Can I meet her?" Simon asked nervously, a grown man fidgeting in his seat, the weight of his request sinking in.

"Now?" You chuckled, trying to brighten the moment. "It's late. I'm sure she's already asleep."

Simon’s gaze flickered with hesitation, but the desire was clear. He was barely holding it together, as if afraid that the chance to meet his daughter would slip away if he didn’t ask now. 

"I understand," he mumbles after a pause, almost to himself, but there was a longing there you couldn’t ignore. "I just…I need to see her. To know her. Even if just for a moment."

The magnitude of the situation pressed down on you again, this wasn’t something you had expected when you woke up this morning. You had no clue what to do with all of this, with him, with Adira’s future—your future. But still, you could hear his sincerity.

"Tomorrow," You decided. "We can meet up tomorrow, but it has to be on her terms. She's not exactly the warmest with new people."

Simon nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "I can wait."

You gave him a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of the moment. There was still so much to figure out, but at least now, for the first time, there was a possibility. A chance to rebuild what had been lost. "Bring toys," you suggested sincerely, thinking about what would make her happy. "She likes trains. Doesn’t need to be anything cartoon-ish, just a proper train."

Simon blinked, a touch of confusion in his gaze. "She doesn't like dolls? Like most girls?" His tone had a hint of disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite picture a little girl who wasn’t into the typical, pink frilly things.

The thought of dolls made your stomach tighten, and you shook your head vehemently, as if to expel the very idea. "God, no," you replied, unease creeping into the conversation. "Please, don’t bring dolls. That’s the last thing I want." You shuddered as you spoke, recalling all the unnerving memories. "She gets all Sid from Toy Story with them."

Simon’s brow furrowed even deeper, clearly unsure. "What does that mean?"

You visibly grimaced, the image flashing vividly in your mind. "It means I wake up to doll heads scattered all over the place," you say, your voice low and serious. "And it's... creepy. Like she's planning something with them. It’s like waking up in a horror movie."

Simon chuckled at first, but as he saw the unflinching seriousness in your expression, his laughter quickly turned uncertain. His grin faded, and the unease that filled his eyes told you that he was realizing this wasn’t some joke. "You’re messing with me, right?"

Your stare at him, completely deadpan. "I wish I was."

For a moment, Simon just stared, taking in your unwavering expression. His lips parted, a nervous laugh escaping him as he absorbed warning. "Alright," he said slowly, now understanding your cautious warning. "No dolls. Trains. Got it."

You gave a relieved sigh, feeling the baggage lift off your shoulders. The tension hadn’t fully gone, but for now, at least the toy issue was settled. There were plenty of bigger things to confront later, but this? This was a small victory.

This one is a little shorter than the rest, simply because I want the meet up chapter to be really long for yall! :3

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[crescenthistory]

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

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.

[softbabybelle]

CORRUPTION𓍯𓂃 r ֶָ֢cameron 003.

rafe cameron x shy!reader

 𝜗𝜚 summary : rafe has been trying to get you alone for far too long and now that he finally has, he won't give the moment up for anything.

𝜗𝜚 words : 2.3k

𝜗𝜚 c!w : smut, humping, thigh riding, public!sex, finger sucking, risk of being caught, praise kink, kinda degradation kink.

part 1, part 2.

days had passed since the incident with rafe cameron and the boy who's name you didn't wish to remember.

this time, you hadn't gone out of your way to avoid the boy but instead went back to normal, almost as if nothing had happened between you two at all. you sat on the couch of tannyhill, giggling at something on sarah's phone with your legs crossed.

now, that simply wouldn't do.

rafe had been eager for a minute alone with you which seemed almost impossible when his sister was hanging off your side every minute you spent at tannyhill.

he was sitting on the living room couch, the one across from you both, scrolling on his own phone, a finger to his mouth as he gnawed at the completely bitten down nail.

his eyes kept travelling over to you, skimpy little summers dress clinging to your form while the skirt part began to ride up your thighs as you moved against the couch.

dirty thoughts swarmed his head, thoughts that shouldn't be repeated out loud. thoughts that shouldn't have been in his head to begin with.

he thought he was sure to be damned to hell for the things he was thinking.

and then, ironically enough, the gods seemed to smile down on him. it was as if all of his prayers had been answered and every beg and grovel had finally been listened to by an angel.

the angel who's name was wheezie, standing in the living room door frame. "sarah." wheezies hair was a mess, thrown into a bun with loose strands of hair sticking out every which way, she looked tired, so awfully tired and dreadful as she stared forward at her sister who's head instantly snapped up. "please help me. i'm trying clean out my wardrobe but it's too much."

a laugh fell from sarah's mouth. "no way. it's your mess, clean it yourself."

but that was when wheezie's arms crossed over her chest, cocking a brow. "I'm sorry, who covered for you and topper last night?"

"wheezie!" sarah exasperated, glancing out into the hallway. ward and rose were upstairs but sarah still didn't wish for them to hear about the late night activities she'd been getting up to with her boyfriend.

defeated, she turned her head back to you, who was sitting so sweetly on the couch, that same sickly sweet smile crawling up on your features. you liked watching the cameron siblings interact, even if it wasn't always so pleasant, there was something oddly homely about it. "'s okay, sarah, 'm fine down here."

"okay." she sighed, getting up from the couch. "okay, you just―just hang out for a while and i'll be down soon, okay?" she watched you nod. "okay, come on, let's get this over with."

and suddenly, tension ran thick through the air.

it was you and rafe, alone.

his legs were spread apart on the armchair he was seated on, eyes running up and down your body. you seemed to notice your dress riding up and instantly tugged it down with pink cheeks. you swallowed thickly. "I, uhm―i wanted to say thank you." your eyes finally looked up to reach his.

the minute he heard your voice, his phone was turned off and tossed away. his head cocked to the side. "what for?" teasing. for he knew exactly what for.

you squirmed in your place. "for everything you did with max."

"didn't seem too grateful when you ran away, hm?" he didn't mean the bitter words that slipped from his lips. he watched the way you hung your head low, eyes glassing over. instantly, a kind of guilt washed over him and he leaned back further into the chair. "c'mere." and he patted his thigh, watching your eyes flicker down. you glanced out to the hallway and he had to roll his eyes. "'s okay, nobody'll see you. they're all too busy."

you did as you were told, crossing the room and landing in his lap.

there was something so sensational about being in his lap again.

memories flooded your head, pictures and images of you and he, in this same predicament inside his bedroom, his lips tainting yours. you couldn't help but latch your eyes onto his lips.

"you wanna tell me why you keep runnin' away, hm?" you don't answer, eyes searching anywhere but his face. he doesn't allow it, turning you slowly towards him once again. "asked you a question, sweetheart."

you fought words inside your mouth, all threatening to come tumbling out. "was scared." is all he's met with.

"scared of what?" his head dips, his eyes trying to reach yours, trying to look in and gauge your emotions. "scared of me?"

you shook your head, fingers reaching out to trail across the fabric of his sweater. "i... liked it when you kissed me." you admitted and he watched as a blush fell across your face, red reaching the tips of your ears. "i liked it a lot but 'was scared that sarah would find out 'n i don't―"

"sarah doesn't need to know anything." he answers quickly. "besides, who you kiss..." his fingers trailed across your bottom lip, sucking in his own bottom one between his teeth as he gazed down at them, sweet like honey. "is none of her business, yeah?"

you nodded too quickly, too eagerly, too convinced by his words too quickly. "'m sorry, rafe, 'm really sorry."

"think i know how you can make it up t'me." his fingers left your lips and placed themselves against your hips. "you wanna make it up to me?"

"yes, please." came out too swiftly.

he couldn't help but smirk at your eagerness. "'m gonna kiss you again, okay?" and suddenly, you could feel heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach. he leaned in, his breaths falling hot against your face, his scent filling your senses. and just as his lips brushed against your own, he whispered. "you gotta promise me something first, 'kay?"

you licked your wet lips. "anything." wanting nothing more than for rafe to lean in and seal the kiss. you'd do anything he ever asked.

"no runnin' away this time." his fingers pinched at your jaw, holding it so your eyes could reach his. "you want this? you take it 'n you don't go pushin' me away again, alright?" a curt nod. "words, princess."

"promise." you spoke quickly. "promise, rafe, please."

his lips quirked.

but he didn't keep you waiting.

when his lips crashed into yours, you were very aware of the fact that you were sitting on the couch of tannyhill, the living room door wide open. all it took was for ward or sarah to come down the stairs and they'd see what you'd been up to.

they'd see that you weren't such a good girl after all.

but you couldn't seem to care.

you were too focused on his hot hot lips, tongue slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss, hands pinching at your waist, holding you in place.

your mind began to unravel, all you could think about was him. rafe cameron. you were sitting on his lap, kissing him, again. and you swore it was a feeling unlike any feeling you'd ever felt in your entire life. it was making you so desperate, so messy, so wet.

and you were sure he could feel it too. he tugged on your waist, rolling your hips against him.

you let a whimper be swallowed by his mouth.

his lips finally broke from yours for air but he didn't allow himself enough to fully regain his breath before they were latched beneath your jaw, sucking and kissing harshly.

again, he rolled your hips. you weren't sure if it was him moving you or you doing it by yourself now. you could feel him growing hard beneath you, you could feel him pressing himself up against your clothed pussy and all you could think about was how much you needed everything off.

you needed to feel him, skin to skin.

it seemed so close yet stretched so far away.

his hands ran up the skin of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress up as he went. "r-rafe." you whimpered out, head turning to the door. "someone could see―"

"'s what you asked for, isn't it?" his hands were rough against you, tugging the dress upwards, not caring for the family who remained upstairs. "isn't it?"

you swallowed thickly. "yes." you stammered out. "b-but―"

"you still wanna make it up to me, don't you?" his brows knitted together in this false sense of sadness, as if you'd done something awful to the poor man. you'd felt suddenly guilty for even suggesting that you stop.

you felt yourself ease against him, your own brows pinching together. "'m sorry, rafe, swear 'm sorry. i'll do anything, jus' please don't be angry―"

"'m not angry." he assures you, fingers brushing up and down your thighs, inching too high. "jus' need you to do something f'me, can you do that, sweetheart?" you were nodding like a puppy, eager to do anything he would ask of you. he maneuvered you so you were situated on one of his spread thighs and not his lap anymore. "y'gonna rub yourself on my thigh like the pathetic good girl you are, okay?"

you'd never done anything like this before.

suddenly you began to panic. "rafe, someone'll hear 'n―"

"nobody'll hear you, baby, jus' gotta be nice 'n quiet, yeah?" you still looked hesitant, top teeth clamping down on your bottom lip. "would make me feel so good, princess 'n you jus' wanna make me feel good, isn't that right? yeah, baby, jus' wanna make rafe feel good, you're such a good girl, aren't you?"

and you don't know how, why, or when but suddenly, you're doing just what he told you.

your hips are stuttering as they move against his jeans, you can feel your panties growing wetter and wetter with every jolt of movement.

rafe doesn't appear to be doing much, hands skillfully moving your hips while he leans back against the armchair.

"there you go, good girl." his cock twitched in his jeans, watching your hesitant, shy face as you moved oh so slowly on his jeans. "lift your hips f'me, sweetheart." you did as you were told, pausing to lift yourself up from his thigh. his hand moved beneath you, tugging your panties to the side and rubbing gentle circles against your clit.

"oh." fell so sweetly from your lips that to anybody else, it would have appeared almost innocent. but rafe was well aware of how dirty you really were.

he landed you back on his thigh, letting you rub yourself against him, this time, it was your bare pussy that ran up and down his jean-clad thigh.

he groaned at the sight of you, free hand coming down to fix his situation that was suddenly growing in his pants. he pulled at the jeans slightly, trying to make his growing bulge less noticeable but there was simply too much to hide.

your eyes cast down to his hand, then to the bulge and you found a little whimper leaving your mouth.

his eyes studied your face, watching you lick your already wet lips and rubbing yourself against him a little quicker. sweet, poor, innocent, you was so turned on by his growing dick. and he could feel it by the dampness of his jeans turning wet hot

you really were filthy.

a particularly loud whine left your lips and rafe realised that perhaps it wasn't a smart idea to start this whole thing off while his whole family was home.

but he couldn't stop now. that'd be cruel. especially seeing how worked up he'd gotten you.

he trailed his fingers up to your lips and tapped on your chin.

you didn't even need to be told, you simply opened up. he stuck his digits right in, feeling your flat tongue against them and spit coating them.

"so filthy, baby." he uttered so softly, as if he were complimenting you. "what'll we do with you, huh?" you only whimpered around his fingers. "'s okay, sweetheart, gonna get that pussy stuffed jus' like you want. just gotta be patient, yeah? can you do that f'me?"

and you're sloppy against his thigh, sloppy against his fingers. you can feel juices rubbing against his jeans and dribble forming at the gaps between your lips and all you can do is not so dumbly.

a stutter of your hips.

a grin on his lips.

"you gonna cum, already, huh?" it didn't take long, but you were already approaching your orgasm. he wished now more than ever that he could take pictures with his mind. that he could frame this moment and pull it out every time his dick got hard. he slipped his fingers out from your mouth. "gotta ask like a good girl before you cum."

your hands pawed at his shoulders. "please, rafe." your mind was turned to mush. "please, please, please."

he shrugged so cruelly. "'m hearin' a lot of beggin' but i don't hear you asking me yet."

"p-please, can i cum?" your face was red hot, embarrassment flooding your features quickly. "please?"

he smirked, leaning back against the armchair and removing his hands from your waist. you were a big girl, you could finish yourself off. "go on, princess."

he watched as your hands pawed at him, hips stuttering and eyes rolling backwards, mouth falling open. it was such a pronographic, filthy scene. and yet, he knew by tomorrow, you'd be prancing around in the same little dress and everyone would see you as the same lovely good little girl that you pretended to be.

and rafe thought that was enough to make him cum in his own pants.