#one of them is madly in love w him

[douzibean7]

You can tell when alhaitham finally got demoted from acting grand sage because cyno stopped showing up in events

[imaginarianisms]

1 day i will make a meta of sansa's dynamic with her metaphorical champions/suitors & how that correlates to the ashford theory (i.e sansa being betrothed to joffrey baratheon, then promised to willas tyrell, then being married to tyrion lannister, then being married to harry hardying then married to aegon vi targaryen & aurane velaryon but it is not this day. lmao. when i make that meta it'll be so over for y'all.

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

the reader changing the subject the instant she feels seen by minho is such a subtle but valuable hint that i think says a lot abt the type of person she is, that moment really stood out to me! i know i literally just said this but right down to every minute detail, you've characterized both lino and the reader so masterfully it has to be the most enjoyable aspect of this story for me...and on top of that i just love how you write their conversations so much, they’re both such lil nerds…my intellectually stimulating smarties debating w each other even now 🥰 it all feels so comfortable and natural and draws me into their relationship w such ease!

their discussion abt colors is hands down one of my favorite scenes in all of invisible thread!! it's such an oddly heartwarming conversation and that perfect, out-of-the-box way of thinking that’s just so undeniably minho...it almost reminds me of synesthesia how he describes feelings through color! "the very essence of our humanity" "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean" the way you embodied each colors through emotions/experiences was so wonderfully done, i understood each one instantly like it was a picture being visualized before my eyes. it makes it even more touching that minho and the reader come to understand each other on a whole new level through that way of communicating their moods <3 and for some reason when he gives the example "i feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to" that really tugged at my heartstrings ㅠ it almost feels like he isnt just giving a hypothetical there, like he's giving a small glimpse into his true feelings without saying it outright. maybe he feels invisible deep down, too

them falling asleep together on facetime was so soft and tender ㅠㅠ leave it to lino to ramble abt sous-vide as a bedtime story and complain abt getting SCAMMED lmao the way that is actually smth he would say 😭 "he closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on" this line got me so good ): it seems at first that he's bringing the reader peace but she's bringing him peace in her own way as well...her feelings abt his eyes changing from fear to longing is such a lovely detail and HER COMPLIMENTING THEM!!! HIS STUNNED REACTION </3 "this is the first genuine compliment he's ever received" oh my god does my moss green theory actually have any merit.....does he really feel invisible to the world too...do not do this to me sahar ㅠㅠ but the way he thinks such lovely, adoring things abt the reader in that moment but instead of voicing them he whines abt being hungry....so endearing and so HIM i cant get enough of how youve written minho here ur singlehandedly reminding me why he is allegedly the love of my life

the kintsugi mention made my heart leap in my chest!!! "when you look at that vase, you know it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty" please...that sentence in itself is so moving when you apply it to the context of what the reader has been through her whole life, not just a single crack but repeated breakages. and for it to come from someone like minho; it feels like exactly what the reader needs to hear to truly begin to heal herself...he doesn't coddle her but is still so gentle, putting things into perspective like nobody else can w his unique worldview and mental strength ㅠㅠ and i think i just lost my mind realizing that this scene loops right back to the clay comparison you drew at the beginning of the story oh my GOD....the reader is like a clay pot molded by her mother, broken in places and repaired over and over to create smth still damaged but just as valuable...and lino is the gold filling in the cracks....sahar you are INSANE for this one im kissing ur brain and tucking it gently into bed

the scene w minho in the rain 😞 i was not prepared to see my meow meow upset...but i love the way you wrote it so much. how oddly quiet he is, even to the point where he's not commenting in class or teasing her, and that's the key detail that lets the reader know smth's off w him...i also love that nothing in particular caused his low mood. it's such a human quality, and he allows himself to be human and feel his feelings until they pass. "he knew his emotions would regulate themselves" i cant explain why this line stood out to me so much i really love it, i think it's just such a shining example of minho's mindset...not necessarily optimistic, but practical enough to not be completely swamped by the darkness either. it creates such an interesting contrast to the reader's personality to see how they both handle their emotions, w her pushing hers away and him letting them run their course. but the fact that he typically tries to retreat into himself until he feels better, yet strangely enough, he doesn't mind it as much as he'd expect when the reader catches him in a vulnerable state...my babies ㅠ i also really loved the part where he uses her shower and thinks abt the scent of her soap as he washes up, it's so so sweet n intimate i'm such a sucker for things like that ): there are so many small things minho notices abt her like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're both so attentive of one another

"you were both just trying to make it through the day" and "he knew he wasn't invisible. at least not to you" were critical hits to my heart...it feels like a breakthrough in their relationship—the first time the reader truly truly sees minho, all sides of him, and she accepts them all without question <3

the gradual progression of their friendship is so gratifying to read bc of how organically you made it all flow together!! i adore the entire sequence that shows us how they start to care for each other more and more…the casual intimacy of the reader applying her lip tint to his lips (and him not studying for his quiz on purpose 😭💗 come ON) lino worrying abt her eating enough, the reader tying his bangs out of his eyes, complimenting him so matter-of-factly, and him BLUSHING ALL OVER THE PLACE it’s so over for me x2 they are so tender in their actions even when they tease each other nonstop. it all leads up so perfectly to the point in the story where minho finds himself being drawn to her apartment without even realizing it when he doesn't feel well. the subtle shift from him initially trying to shut her out bc he's so used to managing his bad days on his own, to him eventually leaning in to her kindness and seeking her company instead...and the way she just understands what he needs immediately, allows him to sit in silence and simply exist in peace next to her. describing his mood as "too much of every color" really struck a chord w me as well...i'm just so so in love w the running theme of colors you included throughout this story, it's such a brilliant way to put emotions into words <3

the lil parallels here n there from the beginning of their relationship until now are so cute as well; how lino makes breakfast for her the first time and leaves before she wakes up, but this time, he promises to stay and eat with her...to not be invisible ㅠㅠ i think what's making me craziest of all is how they're both so hyperaware of each other's touch. like when their shoulders brushed while sharing the reader's umbrella, how the reader suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on her book when lino holds her wrist as she shields him from the sunlight...and little does she know it's the exact same for him too, like when she rested her head on his thigh and all he could focus on was the sensation of her hair tickling him 😭 they are so enamored w each other and have become so tangled up in each other little by little...they don't even fully realize it yet but they've made a permanent place in each other's lives now

"you were already on the other side, you realize. his eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey" oh my GOD!!! ㅠㅠㅠㅠ her feelings abt minho's eyes changing from fear, to longing, to at last the comfort of getting to see the other side of those black holes...this line hit me like a truck it might be my favorite from the entire fic ㅠ i have a feeling i'll be saying that abt many more lines to come when you verbalize things in the most poetic ways imaginable heheh but this one truly got me so good, the delicacy in which you describe minho makes the reader's growing affection for him all the more heart-fluttering~

minho hesitating to wipe her tears )): the way he's so careful abt touching her in any unwarranted way bc he can sense that she shies away from skinship is so devastatingly sweet...and then him pinching her right after to make her stop crying NEVERMIND I CANT STAND HIM ACTUALLY. but the way he consoles her is so endearing and so so minho...very simple and sincere, he knows her well enough to immediately figure out the best way to take her mind off of the issue instead of dwelling on it. "you didn't care what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it" i've already pointed out so many lines oh my god i'm so sorry but each one is like another arrow through my heart ㅠㅠ i feel like this sentence is such a perfect testament to the reader and lino's relationship; they've both seen each other at their best and worst and it doesn't change anything abt their feelings, they care for each other unconditionally 😞 also the reader being afraid of physical touch bc she craves it is SO heartbreaking but so raw...i think it aligns so well w her past bc she's so used to either being invisible, or only being perceived negatively when she is perceived. it makes perfect sense how terrifying she'd find it to bare herself to minho when her whole life she's been deprived of genuine affection...you've really done such a phenomenal job of characterizing both her and lino i cant say it enough!

now...the entire final scene...where do i even begin...i had a feeling the climax of the story was going to hurt but not like this ㅠㅠ the reader's inner turmoil as she debates reaching out to her mother again, that conflicting mix of hating her yet somehow still missing her...it's such an inexplicable and confusing feeling for ppl who have experienced that kind of neglect but so so real and you captured it so candidly. it really added a whole new layer to the reader's humanity, for her to be unable to completely let go of their relationship no matter how painful it is to hold on to...for her to cling to the hope that maybe she could be worth smth to her mother if she did everything right ): i genuinely had the exact same reaction as her when you revealed that her mother had deleted her phone number...it felt precisely like a bucket of ice cold water to the head. the reader trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time where her mother stopped loving her was what really crushed me most...what a heart-wrenching sentence ㅠㅠ the fact that she's tried to hard to find solace in other places and people and tried to grow into her own person after entering university, but even so, those marks left from her childhood are still there...a vase full of cracks 💔 as much as it hurts to read, i love that you included this bump in the road of her healing journey and made a point to highlight that healing isn't linear

and minho 😭😭😭😭😭 the way he handled the reader's outburst is so touching...the way he's immediately able to recognize that her feelings are misplaced and smth much deeper is going on beyond what he sees on the surface...using that astuteness to put his own feelings to the side in the moment is so minho. this entire scene is just blossoming with powerful lines i can't forget, but i was especially affected by the reader saying "i'd need you and i can't afford to need someone else." it's such a tragic summarization of her in my opinion...how she went her whole life being unable to rely on anyone but herself, so the moment she's faced w minho, all her instincts say to reject it no matter how badly she craves that intimacy ㅠㅠ and lino saying "i'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me" is such a beautiful declaration of love...it's so selfless and unconditional, and it fits so seamlessly w how their relationship progressed throughout the story, how they were by each other's sides at their best and worst moments.

"the world doesn't stop because we need it to" "we'll make it stop" and then describing their kiss as like "seeing color for the first time"...i'm going to melt into an inconsolable puddle over all these callbacks to their first date together don't think i didn't catch the ways you weaved those in throughout this final scene..you made it feel so complete, like things have come full circle. i already mentioned how much i loved their conversation abt describing colors to the blind, so for their first kiss to be written that way, like the reader was blind to the true color of the world until she met minho....i am going to be ill that is so intensely romantic sahar ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

"he was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together." another heartaching line ): what a way to personify the quiet love minho provides...it may be invisible to everyone else, but not to her

i'm so sorry for my horrifically long comment haha but i'm just thrilled i was finally able to read this beautiful fic 😞 just as i'd predicted, you're a phenomenal writer!! the amount of love and effort you poured into it went above and beyond, i hope you're so proud of yourself for creating such a stunning work!! it's very clear to me how every interaction you wrote between minho and the reader was so carefully thought out and so meaningful to the overarching theme of the story, it's all done with care and purpose and there's smth special to be found in each line of dialogue! it's like you carefully stacked more and more on to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together. that kind of subtle progression is my absolute favorite thing. i'm also so blown away by how the reader's mother, though never actually making an appearance until the final scene, has such an heavy impact over the narrative. it's like she's a ghost haunting the reader's every action, every decision, every inner thought...i find it so impressive how you were able to incorporate that effect into the story without us even needing to meet the mother! and i must've mentioned countless lines that stuck w me throughout the fic, but just know that there are countless more i could've pointed out as well...you truly write so so beautifully. so poetic and emotive, but also not so flowery that it becomes hard to follow, i'm truly floored by your ability to achieve that perfect balance! on top of the story being so immersive in itself, your writing style made invisible thread such a genuine delight to read <3

this feels like the kind of story i'll be thinking abt for a long time after finishing it, the kind to revisit over n over bc i'm sure there are so many lil easter eggs you included that i may have missed! i'm positive i'll come back to it many times in the future hehe...but i can't wait to read more of your writing as well! ^_^

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho��s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[nocturnalcharm]

Faking It (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

𐙚 prompt: charles forces you and logan to do a mission together in order to help you bond. 𐙚 cw: enemies to lovers, one bed trope, if this does well i’ll do a part 2 w smut ;) cussing, 𐙚 a/n:  thanks to everyone who's sent me req's! this wasnt a req but id already started it haha if youve sent a req ill try to get to it asap.... also so many ppl wanted to be added to a taglist but for the nsfw alphabet post i dont think it tagged like half the ppl?? so im sorry if u dont get tagged, im trying to fix it :)

18+ blog!! you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any of the above makes you uncomfortable, do not proceed.

“Professor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“(Y/N), it’s not me you should be apologizing to. It’s your team. That’s who you both let down.” He eyes flick between you and Logan.

“I’ll go apologize to them now.” You turn to leave.

“You too Logan.” Charles says.

On this latest mission, you needed to sneak into a factory and take down all of the enemies— But you and Logan were arguing so loudly, you alerted all of the rivals, turning a few quick sneak attacks into full blown fights. No one was badly injured but you still felt horrible about it.

“This is all your fault.” You mumbled, just loud enough for Logan to hear.

“My fault? You’re kidding.” He huffs.

“Shut up.” You walk ahead of him, on the way to the common room to see your team.

Everyone was sitting there, talking amongst themselves. Once you and Logan entered, they all stopped their conversations and looked at you.

“Guys. I am so sorry about this mission.”

“I’m sorry, extremely sorry, and I apologize for my behavior.” Logan mocked your expression of regret.

“You are such a child, Logan! I’m trying to apologize!” You raised your voice.

“I am too!”

“Can you two just stop?” Hank stood up, silencing you both. “Your attitudes have been getting in the way of every mission. If you guys can’t get along then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh..” You didn’t know how to respond. You couldn’t believe you let your dislike for Logan get in the way of your job, so much that they thought you shouldn’t be an X-Man anymore.

They all left the room, leaving just you and Logan to culminate in your thoughts.

“I think it’s pretty obvious we’re not going to get along any time soon.” He broke the silence.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He walked out, as you sat in the empty room.

The next day, Xavier called you and Logan into his office yet again. You were concerned, worried he might be kicking you off the team. But instead, he said he had a mission for you two.

“I need you to pose as a couple. You’ll be going to an upscale hotel in Manhattan. It’s a cover for a drug smuggling ring. You two will stay as guests in order to collect information. I need everyone that is there, guests and workers alike, to think you two are madly in love. We don’t know who could be involved, so we can’t have them think anything suspicious.”

“Professor, is that the best idea? We just blew the last mission because we couldn’t stop arguing.”

“If you two fail this mission, I will have no choice but to replace both of you. You are amazing at what you do, but your arguing affects everyone. Not just yourselves.”

“Okay. We won’t let you down.” Logan speaks up.

***

The trip to the hotel was long and frustrating. You two couldn’t agree on anything the entire time. You criticized his driving, he criticized what you put on the radio, and how loud it was. You called him an old man, which just resulted in the radio being turned off and continuing the last hour drive there in silence.

When you arrived, it was late afternoon. Logan, pretending to be your fiance, grabbed all the bags by himself and walked inside. The hotel was huge. It was upscale, classy. So fancy you were afraid to touch anything, in fear it might break.

“Hi! Checking in for Anderson.” He greeted the front desk clerk, giving his forged name. He dropped the bags on the floor and you wrapped yourself around his now-free arm, squeezing it.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson.” She smiled back, “Let’s see. You had the penthouse, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re celebrating our engagement!” You beamed, holding out your hand, showing off your fake engagement ring.

“That’s lovely. Congratulations! We’ll have a bottle of champagne in your room for celebration.”

“Thank you so much!” You squeaked.

He finished the check-in process, then you headed to the top floor.

The penthouse was absolutely gorgeous. It was huge, the size of a decent apartment. Just like the lobby, you were afraid to break something.

“Wow.. This is amazing. Only time I’ll ever get to stay in a penthouse and it’s with you.” You said, as he shut the door.

“I was just thinking the same thing. Now, c’mon we gotta go to the pool. Get changed.” He handed you your bag.

You opened it, pulling out your bikini. It was the only one you had, admittedly from a few years ago. You didn’t have time anymore to relax by a pool or go swimming in the ocean, so this swimsuit had to do. It was a simple black string bikini.

You went inside the bathroom to change. Once you had your swimsuit on, you felt a little self conscious at the amount of skin showing, but figured it’d help with the whole ‘can’t keep your hands off your new fiance’ vibe you and Logan needed to exude for this mission.

You walked out of the bathroom, faking confidence you didn’t have. Logan had taken the opportunity to just change in the living space since he was alone. He was wearing black swim trunks. It was funny, it looked like you two had matched on purpose.

“Wow.” He said quietly, clearing his throat.

“What? You like what you see?” You joked at his clear uncomfortableness with seeing you in such little clothing.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” He spat, grabbing two towels, the key, and exiting the room.

The second you were out the door, you both had big smiles on your face. His arm was around you, holding your side as you headed to the pool.

It wasn’t too busy, just a few kids with their parents, and a bartender at the outdoor bar. You told him you wanted a drink, so that’s where you headed first.

“Hey, can I get two Mojitos?” Logan asked, handing him the room key “And can you just charge it to our room?”

“Of course,” He started working on the drinks immediately, while you two sat and people-watched. He finished the drinks, and gave you them and the room key back.

You said thank you as you walked off, hoping Logan would just follow. There was a small hot tub that was empty, so that’s where you went. You stepped in carefully, afraid of slipping, and sat down in the warm water.

“Really?” Logan whispered, a fake smile still adorned on his face.

“This is what couples do, Logan. And we’re a couple for this weekend. So sit down and act like you love me, sweetie.” Your grin was starting to hurt your cheeks.

He sat down across from you, and you mentally rolled your eyes. You got up, and repositioned yourself, sitting in his lap, “What part of ‘act like you love me’ are you not getting?” 

He was frozen for a moment, caught off guard but quickly acted like he was happy to have you there, to not draw suspicion. You both took sips of your drink, as you continued to nonchalantly looked around.

You two stayed at the pool for awhile, taking mental notes of the guests and employees you saw. Honestly, this hotel didn’t seem too strange. But Xavier said it was a front so you guessed that’s why it seemed so normal, for their cover.

Once your drinks were empty, and the sun had started to go down, you both decided to head back up to the room. He got out drying himself off before wrapping you up in your towel. He picked you up and carried you bridal-style to the penthouse.

“Logan!”

“What? Just acting like I love you.” He smirked.

Once inside the room, he set you down. “I’m gonna go shower.” You stated, not really knowing what to do. 

He just nodded, walking off to the kitchenette. You grabbed your bag and headed to the bathroom.

***

You mentally cursed yourself as you scrambled through your bag, searching for a pair of pajama shorts you thought you packed, but they were nowhere to be found. 

“This cannot be real.” You whispered. The only other clothes you brought were jean shorts, and you sure as hell weren’t going to sleep in those.

You pulled out your oversized sleepshirt, putting it on. The hem landed right above the middle of your thigh. It was a little shorter than the length of a nightgown, so you just hoped he wouldn’t notice. You slipped on a pair of panties, snatched up your things, and exited the bathroom.

You immediately bumped into Logan, who was standing right outside the door.

“What the fuck?” You raised your voice, annoyed. “Why are you right outside the door?”

“I was about to knock. You’ve been in there for over an hour.”

“It’s all yours!” You sassed.

You walked over to the small kitchen, and see he had already opened up the champagne. You had a glass as you sat on a barstool, writing down some notes about the people you’d observed earlier. Pouring yourself another glass, you headed over to the bed.

Just as you made yourself comfortable, Logan came out of the washroom, in just a towel. You stared at his wet torso for a moment, hypnotized.

“My eyes are up here.” He laughed.

You looked up, embarrassed.

“Forgot my clothes. Hey, wait, why are you in the bed?”

“…Because I’m the girl?”

“You're also the short one. I can’t fit on that couch.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s a big bed. We can both fit just fine. Unless you’re nervous. Never slept with a girl before, Lo?”

He sighed, clearly not wanting to argue, before taking his clothes and escaping back to the bathroom. You silently celebrated your victory.

He came out a few moments later, turning off the lights, sliding under the blankets and getting comfortable. You both ended up facing the same direction. If he was any closer, he’d be the big spoon, but there was a few inches separating you.

You adjusted your body, and accidentally felt your ass rub against him. You went rigid from humiliation, before scooting away slightly, ignoring it since he didn’t say anything.

You tried to fall asleep, but it was difficult, for many reasons. One, you’re not used to having someone else in your bed. Two, he was breathing heavily. Three, you couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy he was.

Of course, you knew Logan was attractive, you’d thought that since the moment you first saw him. But today, probably because of the faux-gagement, the touching, the flirting, you saw him differently. He was still getting on your nerves, but the flames between you two… His body… It was unlike before.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You twiddled your feet, moving around your body nervously, before unintentionally grazing your ass against his crotch again.

“Y’know, if you keep rubbing your ass against my dick, I’m gonna do something about it.” His words sounded gruff in your ear, but they gave you butterflies.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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[fairlyang]

Miss me🕷️

w/c: 734

tags: 18+ smut. so horny for ur bf, voice kink, masturbating, light teasing, phone sex, dirty talk, mutual masturbation

a/n: maybe a part 2 where its phone sex again but w mig initiating it.... maybe

imagine getting horny while on the phone with your bf miguel after not being able to see each other for a few weeks…

you couldn't help but get horny when just listening to his voice as he was talking about who knows what happened in the lab with whoever he was with. your brain couldn't even comprehend anything he was saying, just focus on how pretty his voice was.

you'd just let out little "uh huh"s and "right.." so he knew you were on the other end. meanwhile you bit your lip and let a hand fall between your thighs. 

you slid your hand under your shorts and immediately started to rub your clit as he rambled on. your eyes rolled back with the instant pleasure from your fingers, miguel still talking in your ear. "mhm then what happened?" you asked, already breathless. 

he continued on and you were in the clear so you kept going. 

his tone changed to frustration and it was just the motivation to move your fingers faster. you really couldn't help being hopelessly and utterly in love with everything about him, his voice especially. 

his voice was the only one that drove you madly insane and had the ability to have you how you were now, desperate and insatiable. his voice was not only good for giving you orgasms but amongst other things like helping you sleep. which was the whole point of this call, to help you sleep but your brain had other ideas.

you felt your wetness seep through the fabric of your panties and you slowly pulled them to the side, spreading your legs and just dipping a finger between your folds. immediately drenched. 

you only prayed he couldn't hear it but that was an impossible ask given how wet his voice makes you.

he stopped talking and it was just utter silence. 

you stopped for a second just to check if he hung up but noticing he didn't, you kept going slowly. somehow even that just felt loud so you went even slower. 

suddenly you hear him chuckle and you realize the jig was up.

"did you miss me that bad baby?" he murmured, making you whimper and just nod your head as if he were there.

"use your words my love." he purrs and you sink into your pillow.

you started rubbing your clit and let little moans leave your lips before you respond, "fuck yes I-I missed you so bad-" you whimpered again making him awe.

"my poor baby.. getting so needy just hearing me talk huh?" he coos softly earning himself more pretty moans from you.

"pobrecita.." he whispers and you felt your wetness drip down. (poor girl)

you closed your eyes and went faster not being capable of responding. meanwhile his breath was becoming heavy and you could hear wet noises from his end too. 

"también te extraño nena.. ni te lo imaginas." he moans out making you cry out. (i miss you too baby… you cant even imagine.)

you thrusted your hips up and went as fast as you could. you were already feeling close and you needed that release.

"doing so good for me nena.. don't fucking stop." he murmurs and the noises on his end become louder as well.

"need you so bad baby." you whimpered, making him groan.

"i know baby, i know. just a little while longer and you won't have to use your own fingers." he says and chuckles.

"need all of you. miss your mouth on me… your hands touching, groping me…" you murmur and grind your hips up desperately. 

"yeah baby? miss me kissing your neck while i squeeze your perfect fucking tits?" he murmurs then moans at the same time as you.

"y-yes- fuck-" you let out, subconsciously squeezing your legs together and feeling that coil in your stomach about to burst. 

"baby im gonna-" you start then stop, letting out a gasp as he moans into your ear, "good girl baby, cum for me.. just like that.." 

you cried out as your orgasm hit you hard and he groaned along with you, his own hitting him at the same time with his load landing on his stomach. your legs shook, your heart was racing, and you could barely hold the phone to your ear. he then started whispering sweet things in your ear and you finally ended up falling asleep.

part two

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.��

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[sharkorok]

heeseung w/ an inexperienced s/o

cw/genre: this is fluff!!! fluff!!, headcanon format, cursing, fboi au, campus au ig…(?), like one dirty joke or whatnot teeheehoohoo, informal writing, that should be it (I think)

requested: X

a/n: this grown man has me so delulu so take this 😋

•-•-•-•

-u are well known for being notoriously bad at expressing affection or being in relationships

-you can’t do casual relationships this man once said “hey baby” and you were like “so I think we should lowk end things cuz why u calling me bby…kinda weird dawg…”

-UR JUST SO AWKWARDDDD ITS EMBARRASSING (I’ll write ur character development soon dw)

-anyways so you go to a party and you see heeseung who is notorious for being the craziest charmer ever like he could see an acorn on the ground and seduce it

-he strikes up conversation with you to see what the fuss is all about, he saw a person once talk about how ur so hot w a cold heart but he immediately realized you’re just awkward skssksksks

-he realizes he literally fell in love with you the second he tried to flirt and you were just …? while laughing awkwardly

-so after a month of you flitting around his charming gestures, looking down shyly or avoiding eye contact when he tries to rizz u up, he gets the courage to just straight up ask, “do you like me?”

-and when you explain that u don’t rlly know and u don’t really get into relationships he’s like OKKK LETS TRY THEN!! because he’s so madly in lov w you cuz ur so cute to him

-ok so boom dating!

-he purposely pushes your buttons to see just how much you can squirm, watching you stammer when he has you pressed against a wall gives him a power trip he didn’t think anyone could be this adorable

-and also u as a person…he’s so in love (dreamily)

-no one understands your relationship like, “how does y/n survive heeseung they can’t even say the word baby without cringing”

-ur not innocent or anything ur just new to affection and stuff so it freaks u out a little!!

-he always asks about boundaries before hand or makes sure you’re comfortable when you two are hanging out. the first time you two were cuddling he would ask every now and then if you were alright

-“you just make me nervous, hee” “don’t be nervous baby, it’s just me.”

-you didn’t realize how nice it felt to be loved within your comfort zone, and how nice it was to have someone hold your hand when it was pushed a little

-he’s gonna tease u tho sorry “loser virgin s/o and popular fboi boyfriend what wattpad story are we coming from”

-defends you to death if anyone criticizes the way you two date, he’s happy with you and if anyone tries to say otherwise he’s all up for arguing with them in a parking lot (￣▽￣)

-he loves you so so much and he dgaf about how slow he has to take it!!

-he takes you on lots of different dates to see what you like and what you don’t like, slowly initiates PDA to see if you’re okay w it or what freaks you out, he’s okay w taking the lead

-got him proud when you explain yourself tho, it means he’s doing a good job as your boyfriend if you’re comfortable explaining your boundaries and understanding them!! (in the least patronizing way possible)

-one time you two were making out and you put your hands on his chest, looking up at him and shaking your head, “I don’t think I want to continue yet.”

-and like a good boyfriend he is he reassured you he dgaf and that you two can just cuddle on the couch for the rest of the night or he could sit five feet away from you and not speak!!! whatever you say he listens bae

-never pushes you for affection, it pisses him off when people say the relationship is one sided, he doesn’t get insecure about whether or not you love him dw

-you say “I love you” every now and again later in your relationship to reassure him just in case tho, which is always super special to him and makes him fly over the moon *bawls eyes out*

-I did not mean for this to be this long ok anyways he’s yours and he knows it and your his and he knows that too <3

[mayullla]

Title: Obsessive Passion

Character(s): Witch's Apprentice (Unnamed character/original work)

Summary: You didn't know how much jealousy and hatred he had in his heart and you didn't know how desperate his love was too. He was greedy and was even willing to break you so that you would love him back. Tags/Warnings: male!yandere, fem!reader, apprentice!yandere x witch!reader, both are adults, general yandere themes, brainwash/hypno, drugging, manipulation, dubious consent, 3.4k words

You were a famous witch in the kingdom. Many sought you out for your spells and potions, and the things created by your hand were highly coveted. You were a woman who had reached fame for her talents in magic, knowledge, and powers at a young age. Many sought you out, including the royal family. However, instead of seeking more fame and money, you chose to leave the public eye and live a quiet life away from the capital. Only a few trusted friends and acquaintances knew where you were. You still made many potions and helped whenever the situation required it, but for the most part, you wanted to make time for yourself. You wanted to research and create spells and potions of your interest instead of what was requested and demanded.

With you, you took your apprentice, a man who had talents similar to yours, yet not as fully developed. Many said that he would not be able to achieve what you have due to his lack of mana, but you believed that he would be able to do more, even with that weakness. You knew he was smart, smart enough to figure out how to overcome that hurdle.

But maybe you should have been more careful with him.

You didn't know of the crazed love he had for you, a lust mixed in with unchecked jealousy and hunger. He loved you, he was so madly in love with you that sometimes he felt that it was driving him insane.

You were, in a sense, his savior, someone who took him out of a dark hole and showered him with positive love and attention. You were the one who saw his potential even with his lack of magic when others tossed him aside due to his limits.

It was an innocent crush at first, his heart beating faster when you got close to him as you helped him figure out a new spell that he was trying to create. He was deeply touched when he found out that you created a spell to move your mana to him when he started to run out, effectively stopping him from making progress in a lot of his work and studies.

To him, whenever you poured your energy onto him, he could not help but feel a shiver down his spine. His face flushed into a dark shade of red, perverted thoughts in his mind. All you needed was skin-to-skin contact, holding each other's hand, or you should hold his shoulder. But to him, it was more than that, more than a hug, more than a kiss. It was far more intimate than that when he felt your magic coiling with his, mixing together in his body. It was addicting.

It was difficult for him to hold himself, some days when you saw him panting so heavily after it, he had to make an excuse of some sort.

However, he also had too much anger and too much pride. He resented those who looked down on him, their judgmental eyes ranking his worth in their minds. You were the only one who looked at him in a different light.

You always told him to think of the good for the kingdom, that even when they looked down on him, he could show them what he could do and then their thoughts would change. You were always too kind and so positive.

You weren't naive. If you were, you would have long become a mere pawn of someone malicious, working endless hours for something empty, rather than being free to do whatever you want. But he had always been the more sly one.

That was what he loved about you but also hated. He hated how talented you were compared to him. He hated that you were more powerful than him, that he was in a sense below you. Because you were gifted, you had access to all kinds of magic spell books, even those that belonged to the royal library, while he was not even allowed into the room. He hated your magic because you had so much, unlike him.

He hated your pity.

You did know of his anger, anger towards the world and around him, but you never knew the extent of it. While you also believed that he could do more, you didn't realize what he could already do.

It was just headaches at first when you woke up. Headaches that would never go away no matter what you did. No potion or spell would cast away the pain in your head. Some days it was a numb pain that you could still function throughout the day, but with a few momentary breaks here and there. Sometimes you could go through your day like normal with a very light headache. Sometimes you could do nothing but sit in one place the whole day, unable to think because of the painful throbbing that almost felt like your skull was cracking.

Moments like those always made you mentally note to create another seal for your mind so that you could avoid these sorts of headaches in the future. But by then, it would be too late.

Your apprentice had taken care of most things while you had those serious headaches, giving him work that he could do when you weren't able to do them.

But while doing those tasks, he always took time to take care of you too, handing you tea that was supposed to soothe headaches. While it didn't work for the most part, you appreciated his gesture. Maybe if you were a little more aware and less in pain, you would notice something about the tea that he gave you.

Deep in your sleep, you would never notice how your apprentice would loom over you, having a smile on his lips, cheeks flushed as he played with your mind.

Being famous, you had always been careful of hidden threats and placed many seals in your body to protect yourself. One was on your mind, a seal that you had placed to protect you from any mind magic and dark magic. Much to your apprentice's amusement, he found it very cute that you were that cautious when dark or mind magic had become so rare.

It was taboo and illegal to dabble in such magic after all. Many who were found to be able to do so were mostly killed and burned on torture stakes. It had been years since someone could use such magic. Most magic of that sort was inherited after all, yet when they continued to kill most who could, there was no heir for such magic.

But it wasn't like all dark magic was gone.

He could not help but laugh when he thought of it, how you were so overly cautious of such magic yet took in an apprentice who could use dark magic. This was something you did not know, nor did you know much of. This was what he had over you.

Your seal, while effective if magic was used suddenly to get in your mind, was weak if it was something gradual, slowly chipped away. You would never notice it, not when your headaches started to worsen and worsen the more he chipped your little seal.

It felt like your mind was ripping apart, yet you could not wake up, a sleep potion that paralyzed you, keeping you in deep slumber no matter what he did to you. The torturous pain would be nothing but a nightmare the moment you wake up. He could not help but pity you a little, yet also find a certain thrill to it. A certain satisfaction that he could make you like this.

That he held power over you.

Your body reacted greatly to the broken seal, stiffening as sounds left your mouth, no matter how much he tried to minimize the pain. When it was forcibly broken, there was bound to be some backlash. Yet just as quickly, the sleep potions dragged you back to sleep, unable to react to the shattered seal, unable to see him right above you.

He could not help but laugh, holding it back as he covered his mouth with his hands. His lovely teacher, the teacher who trusted him so much, now at his mercy. He would finally watch you fall from your little stage right under his arms, weak and nothing like the powerful witch you were.

It was a complicated seal that he created just for you, drawn with magic above your head. It was made just for you, like the spell that you had created for him. It would replace the seal that he had broken, and you would be none the wiser. Even if you checked the seal, you would see and feel that same seal that he had broken still there.

One by one, he would change your thoughts, amusing himself in your confusion as he continued to slowly change your mind to his liking, doing things for his pleasure, yet none the wiser.

It took a while, but when you woke up, the headache you had for weeks was suddenly gone.

It was surprising when you realized that you didn't feel like someone was hitting you constantly with a hard, dull hammer every time you even blinked. You were suspicious of the change, but you also felt nothing more than relief. Even when you checked the seals that you placed in your body, nothing was strange.

Yet you just could not help but feel that something was off. That something was not right, but you just could not place a finger on it. You checked the potions and cabinets in the house to see if you misplaced something or if something was stolen, but it wasn't the case. Your apprentice took care of most of the cleaning and potion making while you were resting in bed. Anyone who visited your apprentice had given them the requested items and potions without any problem, but something just felt off.

"Is something the matter?"

You were startled by his voice, jumping a little as if you were caught doing something you shouldn't do. Turning to him, you could not help but frown. "It is nothing, I am just a little confused right now. I can't help but feel like I am missing something."

You honestly replied to your apprentice, wondering and maybe hoping that he had the answer why you were like this. "I am not sure," he answered, having a worried look on his face, wondering if he had made a mistake while you were resting. "Did I make a mistake of some sort?"

Looking at his thinking face, probably trying to calculate expenses or thinking where stuff in where, you shook your head, raising your hand to stop him. "No, it is fine. Thank you for taking care of everything." Seeing that soft smile on his lips, you decided to give your worries a rest.

Yet it always lingered in the back of your mind. As days passed, you started to pay more attention to your apprentice. When you were in the middle of your own research, your mind sometimes thought of him unconsciously, wondering what he was doing and where he was. If he was in the room, you became overly conscious of him. Your eyes could not help but look at him some days, falling into a daze until you snapped out of it with him calling you with a worried look on his face.

It wasn't like you ignored him in the past; you tried to teach him when you were not caught up with your own research. In fact, you were able to give more time to him after you moved to the village, having more time to do whatever you wished. You invested more time into helping him train and learn.

However, this was different.

Your mind just could not think straight sometimes, finding it hard to concentrate when your mind kept thinking of him. He was your apprentice, and while not really far in age, sometimes you thought of him more as an assistant. He was mature and helped you a lot too back then when you had so much work to do. Even now, when he followed you to the countryside, he continued to help you when you needed it. He was reliable.

It wasn't on purpose when you unconsciously started to look over him more often, seeing and checking what he was doing. You took even more time away from your own research to help him learn more about magic and his own research. A quick learner, you always thought, when he picked up a lot of the things you taught him. He was faster… way faster than you when you studied magic around his level.

As more days passed, you started to think that he was better than you, clearly way more talented than you. More often than before, you would compliment him. You complimented him a lot before too, yet you started to do it more and more often. And every compliment seemed to remind you that he was far better than you, that he was better than you.

But it never changed the fact that, unlike you, his magic reserves were smaller than yours. You frowned at the predicament. You were still researching how to help your apprentice's problem, yet you still didn't find a way to fix it. One's own limits were decided the day they were born, and not much could change to make it larger or smaller. The only way you could help your apprentice was to give him your own.

A light touch on his hand or arms, you concentrated on moving your own magic to him. Yet even that took a long time.

Pushing all your other research away, you started trying to find a way to make the transfer quicker and more clean, as there were moments when magic would just leak out and largely go to waste. You were fine with it, to be fair, born with large reserves that it was difficult to use them all in one day anyway, yet you just could not forget your apprentice's face, the jealousy in his eyes when he looked at you.

"Good job. You are doing so well." Compliments continued to leave your lips. Yet as soon as it did, darkness coiled in your stomach as you patted his head. He… he was better than you… Far, far better than you.

You looked down at his sitting form, a smile on his lips, your hand still on his hair as you zoned out deep in thought. "You should really stop patting my head," he told you in a cheery voice, "I am not like some elementary kid who should be rewarded with head pats." You thought for a moment. Looking at him, you could not help but think that it was true, he was far too old for such a thing, but just that you had a habit of doing so.

As soon as you thought that, you tried to take your hand away from his hair, unconsciously wondering if you offended your apprentice or not, yet your hand was stopped by a larger hand. "Ah, I didn't mean it like that!" he said, looking almost surprised when his teacher suddenly started to avoid him. "It is fine to touch my hair, you know… I don't mind," he told you a flush on his face, looking else ever as he tried to hide his cheeks with one hand, "I always know that you like touching my hair, don't you? What I mean to say is that you can touch it whenever... but I am not a kid."

Yes… nothing was wrong… Nothing was wrong at all.

From there, it spiraled again. You were able to function in your daily life, but there were just moments when your memories blanked, and you barely remembered anything. At one point, you thought it was the tea that you were drinking, the one that your apprentice would always make for you.

You were suspicious of the liquid inside your cup, pausing as you stared at it with narrowed eyes. "Is something the matter, teacher?" You looked up at your apprentice, who was looking at you in wonder, an eyebrow raised as he tilted his head. "Do you not like the tea? I made it as you have always liked."

"It is nothing," you said, moving the tea closer to your lips. The smell hit your nose, the same fragrance that you were always familiar with. For a moment, you hesitated, but when you were watched by your student, you chose to take a drink of the tea…

"It is adorable how cautious my teacher is." Your eyes were glazed over as you blankly stared at the floor. Your fingers that were holding the teacup lost their strength, letting the glass fall to the floor and shatter. "Clumsy. Clumsy~" Your apprentice had a mocking tone as he looked at your sitting form. There was no recognition in your eyes, whatever sliver of it was quickly dragged back into the haze. "What would you do without me?"

Moving in front of you, he spelled the glass teacup to rise from the floor and mend itself. When it was placed onto the table, it looked as if it was never broken from the start.

Looking at you, he moved his hands to gently grab your face, forcing you to look at him. "But then again, I always loved my teacher. So much so that it drives me insane sometimes." Your unfocused eyes stared back at him, making him feel chills that he was the one who caused this. That he was the one who made you like this.

He could not help but burst out laughing.

My precious teacher… my precious, precious teacher!" He kept on chanting, in the middle of a quiet forest where there was nothing to hide. His eyes were red with lust and lovesickness.

"My cautious little teacher, slowly you will fall into my arms, and when I finally have you all to myself, I will chain you to me so that you will never be able to leave me. I will make you think of me just as much as I think of you." One by one, he told you all the things he would do to you when you finally could not think for yourself. When your mind breaks and shatters, he will never mend it; instead, he will accept it into his heart.

Then he will create a piece with it that is submissive to him, that yearns for him, that begs for him. One that places him in a high stage that demands others' attention, yet he will give none to them when his eyes are on you, just as he had forced yours to his. You will tell others that he is your heir and that you will be fully retiring.

He will be the one to take care of you, he will take all your magic from your body, greedily taking everything, leaving you unable to even sit up from the bed. He will take care of your body, telling you how well you have done, letting you rest as he fulfills orders for potions and creates spells without limit, looking for you again and again when he runs out.

He will make you sign a contract to become forever his, he will make you sign your name into something that will relinquish everything that belongs to you and give it to him. He will make you give up your talents, your knowledge, your wisdom. He will take everything and gobble it up, as you scream in pain and anguish he will comfort you in his arms and hushed loving words.

You will be his and nobody will be the wiser. Nobody will notice how broken you become as you can do nothing but follow his orders, when you will tell others that he has now inherited your shop and that you will instead become something of a sort of helper. Nobody will know that it is hard for you to make simple potions as he teaches you how to make an easy potion, when you barely even have enough magic to use for yourself as he continues to steal from you.

He will make you clingy, he will make you feel useless and desperate just as he had felt as he looked at you in the past.

You made him insane, and he will show you what it was like as you drowned in his love.

[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE GRIEF HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot (pt.2)

main masterlist | read part 1 | read on ao3 pairing: javier peña x f!reader (same couple as "when the moon howls"). can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him. a/n: hiya! i OBVIOUSLY do not know what "oneshot" means??? bahhaha. this is another entry for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge because i'm just so inspired by it all and javi has me on a chokehold. i promise this is my last entry. also thanks to sweet jo because she kinda sowed the seed and here we are! any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated are most welcomed c: take care lovelies <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). very mild/veiled allusions to intimacy. post season 3 of narcos, canon-deviating as javi is not hailed a hero upon his return to laredo, but quite the opposite. fluff - they are madly in love y'all. domestic bliss. angst. a smidgen of hurt, loads of comfort. description of a panic attack and vivid nightmares. mentions of ptsd and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. nightmare before christmas is mentioned because duh. both javi's and reader's povs (that's more like it). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 4.7k divider by @saradika-graphics

Sunday, 1st November 1998.

2:53 AM.

The bodies just kept piling up in front of his eyes.

Every person whose death he had witnessed.

Every body who had been hung off bridges.

Every person who had died because of a decision he had made.

Every soul he himself had extinguished.

The innocent bystanders, other governmental agents, politicians who had tried to fight the drug lords.

The 1989 Avianca flight that was brought down by a bomb planted by the Medellín cartel. Flight 203 had reaped the lives of one hundred and seven blameless lives ―one hundred and ten, he corrected himself― just because Escobar had wanted to eliminate his political opponent, César Gaviria Trujillo, who, by a fateful twist of the universe, never ended up boarding the flight.

The pictures of such tragedy still stuck with him, burnt into his retinas like a photo negative ― every time he blinked, the colours would pour into the frame, the vision grotesque and gut-turning.

Every single one of them was a failure Javier could not elude, could no longer bury in the most godforsaken drawer of his brain. A failure that would haunt him, would become corporeal in his vivid nightmares.

With the eyes of his dreaming imagination, he could see every one of them souls in front of him ― judging him, blaming him, eyes full of hatred. Accusatory fingers pointing at him, as if it was his Day of Reckoning.

All this piteous death, all this mindless suffering ― for naught.

He had made no true, tangible difference. He had fallen short.

And he was failing all over again in his lucid dream. Unable to stop them from dying, he saw each one of them perish in front of him until a heap of foul death surrounded him.

Javier finally felt it, even welcomed it ― the Grim Reaper’s noose loosely wrapping around his neck. Then taut and firm, a tight caress ghosting his skin. There was no going back, but there was no more guilt either. A bittersweet yet soothing balance, one that could only be served by the Ghoul’s scythe.

And then Death lifted him up, the hanging rope coiling on the tree branch ― suffocating him as his averted eyes watched the scene unfurl underneath him. A snarled mess of bodies, some hands reaching up to him. He would ―should― join them, after all.

A purposeful man would have struck back ― kick his feet, unfettered from his restrain.

But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He got exactly what he deserved.

Javier startled awake, panting and sweating from such terrible nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his breathing accelerated causing him a painful stitch. He felt his chest caving in with all the panic that had slowly but steadily built up inside him.

His reaction was so severe, he had sprung up and sat up on the mattress. All he could hear was his blood heavily flowing through his eardrums; all he could see was darkness; all he could smell was the lingering stench of death; all he could taste was his remorse; all he could touch were dead, cold bodies.

Javier bent his knees, soles against the bedsheets, and leaned forward with his head buried between his knees. Eyes closed, he had to concentrate on his breathing and slowing down his racing heart. Otherwise, the panic would only grow and grow and grow until madness took over him.

Then a soothing, grounding hand slithered under the back of his tee shirt, a warm touch against his cold, damp skin. Only at that point did he remembered he wasn’t at his dad’s place, wasn’t alone either. His strained muscles visibly relaxed without him even trying.

“Javi,” your sleepy voice prevailed over his drowning anxiety. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, to have you by his side, strong and unyielding ― ready to fight his demons for him if necessary. You loved so fiercely, so deeply, at first he tried to fight it. To spare you.

But how could he? You were the moon that imposed the perfect cadence on his tide, calling him home at night. The moment he had landed his eyes on you and your orbits had crashed, he was a lost man ― lost to you, to your smile, to your unquivering positivity, your calmness, your ease to listen, to give advice, to help without asking for anything in return.

But how could you? Even when his grief was howling loud and clear, you loved him. Despite all his flaws and faults, his obvious defects, you saw past it all ― even past the rumours that flew around in Laredo about him. He knew you had heard all the gossip, how people talked about his fictional shenanigans with the drug lords, a willing participant in their endeavours. How he did drugs on the job and sold some of it back to the narcos. Javier had been deaf to all of it ― he didn’t care for what people were saying. Didn’t even bother to put a stop to it, because he had enough open fronts to fight as it was.

Even his childhood friends had turned their backs on him. But not you. Never you. Not even when he had shared his darkest secrets with you over a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake. Instead of withdrawing from him, you held his hand as he had talked with a heavy heart and short of breath. The flashes coming back to him, you soothed by the mere caress of your fingertips.

You had touched his core ―just as you were touching him now―, kneaded it until it softened like clay on the hands of an expert ceramist. Javier didn’t think himself worthy of love, not after everything he had done and seen. Colombia had shattered him ― Javier had lost all hope in humanity.

The life he had sustained in Colombia had finally caught up with him, destroyed the person he had been prior to all of it. Once a womanizer, he had no longer found respite in laying with his informers. Had even quit smoking, only to go back to it a few weeks later ― the crushing anxiety pushing him back to the stale taste of tobacco. He had cut down on the black coffee too.

In spite of that, he was far from being a reformed man. He even doubted he could ever be a normal civilian. The trauma that haunted him had a tight grip on him, hefty shackles wrapping around his wrists. And his heavy breathing and sweating were a testament to his struggles.

“Javi?” You called again, your tone delicate and heartening.

Slowly Javier came out of his sluggish haze ― your palm rubbing his spine, beckoning him to come back to reality.

Lifting his head up, elbows on knees, he looked at you over his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, pequeña (little one).” His hoarse voice felt unlike him, so he cleared his throat.

You sat back up on the bed, your hand wrapping around his waist until the palm flushed against his tummy under his tee. You kissed his shoulder and then his lips.

“You should have woken me up earlier, Javi. I want to be by your side when your nightmares startle you. I wanna help you, I wanna be there for you. Always.” Your words tugged at his heart, knowing full well you truly meant them.

A weak, crooked smile took over the muscles of his mouth. How easy you uprooted a grin from him ― you were so effortless to love, to care for, it felt as natural as breathing.

“Old habits die hard.” Javi muttered, bowing forward a bit seeking your warm, welcoming lips.

He had bottled all his suffering up for months now, years. It was hard to let go ― one of the main reasons he had signed up for therapy.

You smiled into the kiss, your fingertips lightly stroking the sensitive skin around his belly button.

“Baby steps.” You pressed a few consecutive pecks on his lips.

Javier sighed, visibly relaxing now as his body released the tension under your attention. He then laid flat on his back again, dragging you with him until your cheek was pressed against the centre of his chest. After, you buried your face in the crook of his neck while your left hand wiped the pearly drops of sweat off his forehead before raking his untamed hair back. That same hand quickly burrowed under his tee shirt, rubbing his clammy skin ― you didn’t seem bothered by his perspiration.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your lips brushing his jawline.

“It’s just the same nightmare I always have. I was being hung off a tree, dead bodies piling up beneath me.” He struggled to say out loud, unconsciously reaching for his neck where the imaginary noose had tightened.

Your fingers forced his to move to one side so you could kiss his Adam’s apple ― the feeling of the rope around his neck replaced by the calming flick of your mouth.

Javier closed his eyes, his bad dream gradually fading away.

“Did you fight back?” He had told you that was what the therapist had recommended he tried if the nightmare was vivid enough ― that he attempted to regain control.

“No, I couldn’t. Not yet.” He murmured; a tad ashamed of himself.

“That’s okay, Javi.” You reassured him, feeling his vulnerability, as your hand caressed his tummy. “Baby steps”, you repeated.

Javier nodded, turning his face to you so he could press a kiss to your forehead. You snuggled a bit more into his side.

“Go back to sleep, pequeña.”

“Only if you do.” You challenged him with a smile.

Javi let go of a snort, unsurprised by your stubbornness.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep then, both of us.”

6:14 AM.

The thumping rhythm under your fingertips alerted you to Javi’s awakening. Or perhaps he had been subtle enough this time not to wake you up. His heart pumped so hard, you could count his every heartbeat. With your hand still under his tee shirt, lazily resting on the middle of his chest, your thumb traced his sternum a few times.

“I thought you said both of us?” You muttered light-heartedly, your lips brushing his earlobe.

Javi inhaled and then steadily exhaled, his pulse slowing down.

“I just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

You didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you believed him. Every word he said, you knew to trust. The last few weeks you had unearthed the real Javi, had dusted off so many secrets and emotions, you just knew he had no need to lie to you. There was really no point.

It was weird to think that yesterday you believed this impossible. Your friendship with Javi had developed so fast, you didn’t even have a chance at confessing your true feelings for him. You thought you concealed them well, afraid of losing him ― because you rather had him as a close friend, than not having him at all. A coward maybe, but a coward with him by your side.

You had not planned to fall in love again, not after your last breakup. However, Javier was so different, so down to earth and as broken as you were, you had fallen for him before you even gave yourself a chance at love again. Perhaps you had been putting his pieces back together and thrown yours in the puzzle too ― to the point that your stitches ended where his began.

Unbeknownst to you, Javi had been harbouring feelings for you too. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one to take the risk. You had melted at the first touch of his lips, as if that was exactly where you belonged. As if all experiences up to that point had led you to his arms. You were meant to be ― two broken soul pieces that fit together perfectly.

Last night had been the best one of your life, no doubt in your mind. Hidden under the linen, you had silently played a new version of “trick or treat” together ― where there were no tricks, but many treats. With the language of your hands, you had read the braille on every groove of his skin. He had mapped you out in return too ― hungry, needy hands making you shiver.

You could still feel the warmth, the love, his scarce yet reassuring words.

‘There are no better toasts than those made by your eyelashes’, he had told you in whispered bliss.

You smiled at the memory ― a heavy, comforting sensation wrapping around your heart, blanketing your whole being.

“What’s on your mind, cariño (honey)?”

You didn’t want to press him, just wanted him to open up if he felt the need to. Javier stirred to lay down on his side ― his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses nuzzling. The intimacy of his closeness made you swoon, but his words wore you down ever so slightly.

“Judy Moncada. Los Pepes. The CIA. The newspaper. All of it, really.” You felt the pain in his voice as your own.

You knew how hard he had worked, for all of it to be taken away so quickly, so dismissively. He had been the scapegoat, and it almost ruined him. No wonder why he took a step back and returned to Laredo.

It still made your blood boil how the town had received him, how they treated him like a pariah. But it was their fucking loss. If they were too blind to see Javier Peña for who he really was, then Javi had not really lost much. You were just glad you had not listened to Alejandra the first day you met him ― otherwise it would have been a great loss to you.

You kissed his forehead, his closed eyes ― his eyelashes tickling the fragile skin of your lips. Then you pressed a chaste peck on his mouth while he enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Life’s so unfair, I wish I could make them see. See who you really are, Javi. But some people are too stubborn. It’s easier to believe lies rather than the truth. It’s their loss.” You spoke softly, understanding where his train of thought was going.

Javi didn’t reply ― he just kissed your neck in silent gratitude, the hairs of his kempt moustache making you feel ticklish.

“Since last night we were― uhm, busy,” to put it mildly, “I was thinking that today we can do what I had planned for last night.” You suddenly said to distract him.

You couldn’t see, the darkness enveloping you both, but you knew his brows were knitting in confusion.

“What had you planned?” He asked, curiosity staining his question.

You smiled.

“Well… Since you don’t know, it’ll be a surprise.”

7:46 AM.

“Is it really broken?” You pouted from the other side of the counter, walking around to meet Javi.

He had a handheld mixer and was insistently pressing on the button to turn it on to no avail. He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it ain’t working. Gonna have to mix all of this by hand, ain’t I?” You laughed at his frustration, as you took the device from him to inspect it.

Yes, it was broken alright. Damn.

“I’m afraid so.” You removed the whisks and handed them to him. “Unless you’re not up to the task?” You cocked a challenging brow.

Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes and snatching the tools off your fingers.

“Please. I think I can handle a pumpkin cake.”

His offence was faked, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly followed as he started battering everything by hand.

“I’m already done with the cheese frosting. So once you’re finished, we’ll leave it to bake for forty minutes.” You explained, leaning against the counter to watch what he was doing.

“And after?”

“Don’t be so impatient. You finish off here while I go look for… something.”

Javi squinted his chocolate eyes and pouted, shaking his head. He was not going to get you to talk.

“Stay here, and don’t come looking for me!” You threatened, burying a finger in his chest, before running away, smirking.

Two minutes later you were deep down in your closet, searching for the boxes labelled “Halloween decorations”. You had only planned to be in Laredo for a year, but that did not stop you from bringing with you all your seasonal décor. And All Hallow’s Eve, being the peak of your favourite season, had to be celebrated properly.

So, you dragged the two boxes out and then dived back in. On your tiptoes, your fingers brushed the rectangular box you were trying to reach for on the top shelf. But as much as you tried, you were not tall enough to get to it.

“Need a hand there?”

You quickly turned around ― Javier had sneaked behind you and scared the shit out of you.

You slapped his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Don’t do that! Almost had a heart attack!” You joked, although your heart was really pounding against your ribcage.

“Let me help with that.” He offered.

Javi easily reached for the box and took it down.

His brows touched each other when he saw what the box was. Then looked back at you with question marks dancing in his pupils.

“I think I got the wrong box.”

You shook your head no, suppressing a laugh.

“No, that’s the right one.” You curled your fingers, your palm extended towards him, asking for the box.

Javier reluctantly gave it to you.

“I don’t get it. You’re like almost two months off?”

You chuckled again, pushing the tall box to your chest as if hugging it. “Can you carry those two boxes to the living room for me, please?”

He obliged, albeit the confusion was still painted on his gorgeous face. You led the way with Javi on your heels. Once you both settled everything on the floor, you spun around to glance at him with puppy eyes and hands laced in a prayer.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” You started off, fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s what my family call a Hallotreen―”

“A Hallo-what?” He interrupted you, a grin fighting its way to the outside.

“Hallotreen. It’s a Halloween tree! Like a Christmas tree, but with spooky decorations! I usually put it up on Halloween night, so it’s ready for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.”

You extended your arms at your revelation, as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?!”.

Javi first looked at you blankly, and then erupted in laughter. You couldn’t help yourself but join him as he took a step forward to drape his arms around you, his comforting hands landing on the small of your back.

“God, you’re so full of surprises. I love it, I love you.” You could tell it had slipped from his tongue by mistake, because his fun expression quickly darkened.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confession. You leaned back a bit, studying his beautiful face, and tilted your head to one side while you considered his words.

“Do you mean it?” You cooed in a hush, feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

Javi’s eyes locked on yours for a never-ending minute. Then they slowly drifted down to your parted lips and nodded as he, unhurriedly, bowed down towards you.

“Yes, I do. I do mean it, pequeña.” He purred, no joking timbre in his words.

Your heart contracted and then expanded in an outburst, your lungs filling up with his minty breath as you tiptoed to meet his mouth before you hummed, “I love you too.”

When your lips crashed, the tenderness pouring from his mouth into yours soothed any lingering doubt. Although sudden, your love was true. You were not imagining it ― Javi felt the same way. You never believed in the tales of love at first sight, but now that you were the protagonist of such story, you definitely did.

The kiss naturally came to an end and Javi pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you still in his hug for a sweet moment. How you wished you could stay between his arms forever.

‘Maybe we do have forever.’ That thought made you slightly emotional. You could see Javi by your side until the end of days. With a family of your own. It just felt natural.

“Alright, let’s do this then. So we put the tree up first?” Javi asked, amused.

You laughed as you took a step back and knelt down to open the box the Christmas tree was in.

“Yeah, and let me tell you. It’s a big one. Seven feet of pure bliss!” You laughed while unpacking it, Javi soon on his knees helping you out, chuckling too.

Ten minutes later, the tree was up, and you both had started to sort out all the Halloween decorations that came in the plastic boxes. There was a big assortment of different bits and bobs, and you directed Javi to get all pumpkin-shaped trinkets sorted first.

Once you had a healthy pile, you both hung all the decorations on the tree with no real pattern. You peppered some pumpkins here and there; some autumnal, plastic leaves to make the tree look fuller and fluffier. You also had some Halloween-themed baubles ― one with a witch inside, other with a pumpkin patch, another one with a murder of crows floating inside. You also dotted some stringed pinecones around the tree.

You had been curating your collection for so long now, you had way too much stuff, and Javi quickly picked up on it.

“What are we going to do with the rest? There’s so much here, I’m starting to think you have a problem?” He joked, sinking a finger on your side, tickling you.

You chortled, trying to avoid his tickling attack. Javi grabbed you by the elbow and forced you to slam against his chest.

“Well… I must confess. If you think this is a lot, it’s because you have not seen my Christmas collection.”

His eyes widened in feigned horror, and then laughed.

“Can’t wait for Christmas then.”

You smiled at him before gently kissing his collarbone. Then you faced the Hallotreen, holding his hand in yours.

It was a masterpiece. The perfect balance of different hues ― oranges, browns, reds, dark greens and some black dotted around. It looked perfect with all the trinkets filling it.

It made you so happy, you clapped your hands before turning to look at an enlivened Javi.

“It’s just missing the final touch.” You announced as you rummaged through one of the boxes and took out the best piece of them all, presenting it to Javi as if it was the Holy Grail. “Ta-dah!”

It was a figurine of Jack Skellington, from one of your favourite movies ― The Nightmare before Christmas. Jack was on a sitting-down position, perfect to crown the tree.

“It’s a Jack tree-topper. I almost fainted when I first saw it a few years ago. It cost me $100, but it was worth every. single. penny”, you punctuated ― you would smack him if he said otherwise.

Luckily, Javi agreed with you with a pleasant hum and a crooked smirk.

“Let’s put it up then, the King of the Pumpkin Patch needs to have a good panoramic view of his kingdom.” He jested and you were so happy with the reference, you could only love him a bit more ― if that was even possible.

Out of nowhere, Javi knelt down in front of you, his back towards you. He looked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed, when you didn’t move. Javi lightly patted his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

“What? You want to carry me on your shoulders?” You asked, confused.

“Yeah, how are you gonna reach the top if not? That’s seven feet.”

You took a step back, gripping the tree-topper tight between your hands and let go of a guffaw.

“Nope, not happening. I’m gonna crush you! I’ll get a―”

A perfect eyebrow raised into his forehead, and he scrunched his lips, his moustache moving from side to side with disapproval.

“I said up.” His tone was commanding ― Javi would not accept no for an answer. “Come on, don’t make me make you.”

With a sigh, you let go of your insecurities and ended up sitting on his shoulders. Javi’s firm hands rested on your knees as he slowly stood up, keeping a perfect balance.

You chuckled nervously as he walked to the tree. Trying to find your own balance, you planted your left hand of Javi’s forehead. Or what you thought was his forehead, because he then complained.

“Hey, I can’t see!”

You looked down ― you had covered his eyes by mistake, so you quickly lifted your hand up and placed it on his forehead.

“Sorry!”

Javi laughed in reply. Reaching up with the hand holding the figure, you were finally able to set it down without breaking it.

“Yay! Done!”

He knelt down again, releasing your knees from the prison of his hands, and your feet finally rested against the wooden floor. When Javi got up, you both took a step back to admire such work of art.

“Dare I say myself? This looks amazing, the best Hallotreen I have ever had!” You screeched with excitement, almost jumping in place.

When Javi didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His eyes, darkened with something deep and warm, were intently studying your face. His expression was so relaxed, so at peace, you knew the nightmares were now a forgotten memory ― at least until tonight.

Knowing you could be a balm to his emotional wounds made your heart twist with longing. You wished you could take it all away, that you could take his place and suffer it all for him, so he didn’t need to. You loved him so dearly, you promised yourself that Javi would never have to go through such trauma ever again.

He lifted one hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear ― such a loving gesture, your heart melted for him.

“What?” You asked, timid, with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing.” He buzzed, hugging you close to his torso.

The kiss started off soft and tender, a mere graze of his lips against yours. And before it became sultry and demanding, the oven’s clock started beeping.

Javi grunted and you grinned. Grabbing his hand, you dragged him to the kitchen.

9:22 PM.

“Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there far from my home. A longing that I've never known…” Jack was lamenting on the background.

Javier couldn’t help but look at you over his mug of hot chocolate. You were laying down on the couch with your back against his chest, tightly gripping your mug and buried under a fleece blanket. The living room was dark, only two sources of light: one was the TV playing Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, and the other was the string of lights wrapping around the Hallotreen.

He could grow used to this, to you. Jack’s Lament somewhat resonated with him ― there was a longing in his heart he had never known before. And that longing now had a name ― yours.

Javi had to suppress a lopsided smirk when you kept on mumbling the lyrics of the song. You knew all the dialogue, all the songs, every single scene. And he let you talk throughout the movie, because he loved listening to all the comments you needed to let out. You were far too excited ― and so was he.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. To you.

If you didn’t mind, he’d like to join you by your side.

Where you both could gaze into the stars and sit together, now and forever.

For it was plain, as anyone could see, you simply were meant to be…

[nofingjustaninchident]

Hi, I just read your two Jason fics and I love them. Could you write a daughter of Poseidon x Jason and maybe Percy being a overprotective brother. Thanks. Love you

⛧° jason grace x daughter of poseidon! reader hcs °⛧

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: jason grace x daughter of poseidon! reader, platonic!percy jackson x reader

warnings:

a/n: guys, i reached 100 likes with just two posts omg you're amazing!!! so, i kinda got a few other requests waiting, but they’re TOO good to make just headcannons or to be poorly written, so they’ll take a little while longer to be posted. nothing much, tho (i hope). enjoy!

Protective is an understatement.

Percy is literally the most protective brother ever, even if you're just one year younger than him.

He feels as if he's job to protect you from everything and everyone that could possibly think about hurting you.

So when you started hanging out more with him and his friends, he couldn't have made it more clear to all of them that you were completely and totally off limits.

But did this silly little rule stop Jason to date you?

Of course it did!

My baby is just too obedient and such a rule follower... poor boy

Anyways, you had to make the first move.

Even with that, he was pretty hesitant to do anything such as holding hands in public.

In reality, he wasn't afraid of Percy, he just didn't want the other boy to get mad with him.

So, one day, you called both Percy and Jason to have a very serious conversation in the Poseidon cabin.

Percy was, as usual, completely clueless about anything, so he just babbled with Jason.

Who, by the way, was a complete mess of blushing and stuttering.

You obviously thought it as endearing, cause it really was.

"You're probably wondering why i called you here today." you said, a wicked smile on your face.

Percy was hugged with his plushie (you had matching shark plushies, Dory and Nemo) while Jason wanted to dig a hole in the floor and never come back from it.

"What's up, sis? If it's something to do with missing chocolate, i have nothing to do with it." The dark haired boy said, smiling.

Little did he knew that smile was gonna fade in three seconds.

"Me and Jason, we're dating." You said, quickly.

Percy's face fell.

"W-what?" He asked, his eyes darkening.

"We're dating. Like, boyfriend and girlfriend."

"So... you're dating Jason. Not Leo?" Percy asked.

"No, why would i date Leo-" You were cut off by a grateful sigh coming from your brother's mouth.

"Thanks the gods. As long as it's not Leo, i can handle it."

Jason turned to him for the first time, as if he wasn't even believing the words he just heard.

"Just... break her heart and i'll break your neck." Percy said with a threatening smile and patted Jason's back, leaving the cabin.

Alright, enough of the Jackson drama, back to Blond Superman.

He's the literal sweetest person alive.

He👏🏼learnt👏🏼 how 👏🏼to 👏🏼swim👏🏼 for👏🏼 ya

Bro's whipped

And he took Percy's words as his life rules

He made his best to make you happy whenever you're with him

Like, literally anytime

Once you cried next to him cause a fish didn't talk to you (it was a plastic fish, but you were on ur period, okay?)

He literally took you to the beach so you could chat and gossip with the real fishes

And you were so happy he nearly melt at that sight

That's when he knew he had fell in love with you

Romantic dates EVERY WEEK

He bribes the Demeter kids to give him your favorite flowers every once in a while

He always keeps some sort of physical touch, doesn't matter if he's holding your waist, your hands, touching pinkies

You got the point

He's just too madly in love

For him, you're the most beatiful, unique, hot, perfect, powerful, hot, smart, hot, strong, HAVE I MENTIONED HOT, person in the whole world

Literally, he would kiss your feet if you asked him to

He's glad you don't, actually

He stopped eating anything that comes from the marine animals after you got together.

Like, absolutely anything

Oh, and i've mentioned this on a previous hc, but he literally pays for absolutely ✨everything✨

Like, honey, don't even come near your wallet

Oh, and he buys you lots of gifts constantly

From plushies to books to makeup to sketch books in case you like drawing

And he's totally a languages guy

And with your ADHD and dyslexia, he helps you a lot

And you help him with maths.

Of course, he always has a nickname for you.

"Hey, mermaid?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 8.9K Warnings: ANGST w/ comfort (but also not?) Prompt: A Winter in Lupin's Cottage This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 48: Dust in the Wind

December 26th, 1976

The green flames rose and enveloped you alongside the slightly dusty smell of floo powder, you closed your eyes and opened them again until you felt the very distinctive smell of a home-cooked meal. You opened your eyes and stepped out of the fire. Remus was hugging a beautiful woman with hair exactly the same as his, and just next to them was a man, as tall as Remus, who had a hand on your friend’s shoulder. 

“Good evening,” you said politely, a small nod that the man returned. 

He stepped forward, “Lyall Lupin,” he said as he extended his hand, and you shook it while you introduced yourself to him. 

Remus’ mum pulled her face from her boy’s shoulder and turned to you, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, darling,” she said as she pulled you into a hug. She might have been the prettiest woman you had seen in your life. “Remus has told me a lot about you in his letters,” she said and you threw Remus a look, he just shrugged in response. “I’m really sorry it’s in such a condition that we finally meet, though” she pulled back and looked at you straight in the eyes. Remus’ brown, you realised as you stared back, “How are you?” 

You looked to the side, not sure what to say. You weren’t sure how much Remus’ parents knew, so you weren’t sure how to answer, you didn’t want to scare them, but you told Remus to ask them if it was all right if you went, so he must have at least mentioned the fact that you could have been a dеath eater target. Did he also tell them about your Mum? About Nina? 

“I’m coping,” you replied with a sad smile– that didn’t seem to convince Hope and she brought you back into a hug. “I’m really sorry you had to go through such awful things, darling.” 

You blinked a few times, she had a rather strong accent, but it was charming, you wondered if smaller Remus spoke more like her before Hogwarts. 

“Thank you,” you said as you leaned a little more into her hug. You didn’t realise how well hugging her made you feel. She was about the same height as your Mum, if you closed your eyes– no.

“Are you hungry?” She asked you as she pulled back to look at your face. She definitely had his eyes and they had the same mouth, although her nose was smaller, more narrow and slightly more pointy, the feminine version of Remus. She really could be her older sister and not his mum. No wonder Lyall fell madly in love with her. 

“The food smells delicious,” you said politely. She smiled, the exact same smirk Remus would sometimes give you. It was the smirk he’d use when he was up to something. 

“You know, I’m no wizard,” she said as she nodded for you to follow into the kitchen, “But I’d be dumb if I didn’t take advantage of all the fantastic things the magical world has to offer,” she said as she pointed at her kitchen. There was a floating spoon spinning the soup. She opened one of her drawers and picked out a few spices. Some of them were normal muggle spices, some of them were magical spices, and there were even a couple of potions there. 

She’s amazing, you thought as you saw her picking a warming potion and placing a couple of drops on the soup. “It’s great for winter,” she explained, “keeps me warm all night, even when Lyall is not around.” 

“When who is not around?” Lyall asked as he walked inside the kitchen, he had stayed behind talking to Remus. 

Hope threw him a smile and then a wink, placing a bit of the soup in the back of her hand, and then bringing it to her lips. 

“Do you like it very salty?” she asked. 

“Oh, I’ll take it how you take it,” you said with a quick shake of your head. Hope gave you another smile, winked your way and then took a small pinch of salt and added it to the pot. 

“Lyall, darling, would you set the table, please?” 

“We’re on it,” he responded. The cupboard above her head opened wide and a set of plates, cups and cutlery floated out of it and towards the dining area. You gently stepped out of the way as a small cup floated right over your head. 

“How can I help?” you asked her as he took the spoon, gave a few more twists to the soup and placed it on the sink. 

“There is some fresh apple juice on the fridge,” she said as she pointed towards one of the cupboards. “Do you mind bringing it over?” 

You had known what fridges were, you were muggle savvy enough, but you had never actually seen a fridge, at least not one outside of a muggle grocery store. So you walked towards the cupboard she had pointed and pulled the door open, only for the door of a fridge to be opened alongside it. A whiff of cool air hit your face and you leaned down to look through the things that Hope kept there. Milk, cheese, ham, and a couple of jars of things you didn’t know, there were also toppers with leftover food. 

You quickly found the jar and pulled it out of the fridge. “You don’t need anti-spoiling charms when you have one of these?” you asked, “food never goes bad?” 

Hope threw you a look as she pulled out gloves from a cupboard and used them to pick the pot of soup, “It goes bad if you leave it for too long. Unless you freeze it. Frozen food can last almost forever,” she explained. She walked outside with the soup and placed it on top of a wooden table that Lyall and Remus had placed there. Rem stood up and used his wand to bring over a tray with bread, and then one with shredded cheese. 

The magic spoon started serving your food as you placed your plate close to the pot, and then Hope used a normal spoon to add cheese on top of hers and yours. “You’ll like it, trust me,” she said with a smile. 

“It’s her special tomato soup,” Lyall said and took the cheese plate from her hands to serve himself and Remus. 

“How’s school?” He asked him as he added some cheese. 

“Remus is incredible,” you said before he even got to speak. Lyall turned to you with a raised eyebrow. “Insanely clever, he’s exceptionally good at potions, History and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I think he got ´Os´ on all of his final projects.” 

“She was my partner on most of them,” Remus said and then threw you a look.

He could tell you had switched into charmer mode. You stood slightly straighter and you spoke in the same way you had used back at Slughorn’s party. The tone you used on teachers sometimes. He too was charmed by you when you did it, but he didn’t want you to make such an effort, especially not for his parents. 

Hope, who didn’t really care for Remus’ grade as much as Lyall did, had been a lot more busy looking at the way her son was looking at you. She could easily tell how worried he was, and while she couldn’t see past the mask you wore, she was certain Remus could. 

“No talking grades on the table,” she scolded Lyall. “How have you been, Beag Gille?” 

“Oh,” you said as you sat your spoon on the soup. “That’s Little Boy! Isn’t it?” 

“You speak Gaelic?!” Hope asked, surprised. 

“Oh no,” you replied as you shook your head. “But Remus has called me a few things in Gaaelic before, “Beag Nicnevin and… what was it?  Oh right, he called me and Sirius something like  chachelan alan.” 

Hope raised an eyebrow, and looked at Remus who was holding his breath, and looked like he wanted to be swallowed by the ground. “Chailleachan àlainn?” 

“Yes! That was it,” you responded. 

“And neither of you know what he meant by that, did you?” She asked, there was a smile playing on her lips. 

“No,” you laughed. “But we got the meaning loud and clear, he was insulting us.” 

Hope’s smile tightened. She had had the suspicions that Rem had once had a crush on Sirius. She was sure, from the letters, that he liked you a lot, but it was now that she realised her Beag Gille had fallen for his two best friends. And neither of you had a clue, apparently. 

“Is it not an insult?” You asked when you noticed her expressions.

“Oh no, it is, awful one,” she said as she sent Remus a look. He just swallowed. He had never been more thankful that Lyall could not speak an ounce of Gaelic, no matter how many times both Hope and himself had tried to teach him. “Should have never given him that old dictionary,” she added, as she pointed at the bookshelf behind her. 

Remus threw her a look and resisted the urge to kick her under the table, “But she speaks many other languages, right, Vix?” 

“Vix?” Lyall asked, confused. 

“From Vixen, they thought it was a funny nickname,” you said with a shrug. “It grows on you,” you added then. “I don’t speak that many.” 

“At least 3 different ones,” Remus said. You refrained from saying how many you actually spoke. “When she and Sirius want to be annoying they start talking in French to shoot me out.” 

“And do you often find her and Sirius annoying?” Hope asked, turning to her son while she leaned her head on the back of her hand. 

“Yes, plenty of times,” Remus shot back rather quickly and gave a look to his mum. He had given you that same look plenty of times before, but you didn’t think he would give it to his mother. 

You leaned back towards Lyall and whispered, “Sir… Do you know what’s going on?” 

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he admitted and then shrugged. “They’re often like this thought, it’s like they know something the rest of us normal people don’t,” he said the last bit a little louder and Hope turned to him with a salacious smile. 

What a stunning woman, you thought as you saw her tilt her head at her husband, “You said you wanted the garlic?” she asked and extended her hand towards him, he scoffed as he took it in between his hands as he shook his head. That was Remus’ amused expression, he too tended to look at you that way often. 

After that, Hope changed the subject and she ended up telling you embarrassing baby stories of Remus. He had given up on stopping her babbling near the end of the second story, and just focused on finishing his soup. 

“So he then looked at me, he had this cute, adorable fat cheeks back then, and he frowned, mind you he was about this tall,” Hope said as she placed her hand near the ground. “And then he said: MUM, I’GWONA CORWSE YOU!“ 

“No way!” 

“He was small but he was clever,” Hope said with a nod, “He caught on pretty fast that his dad was the only one who could do magic besides him. Anyway, Lyall got pretty angry at him and he was grounded for saying that.” 

“And all for a lemon curd pie?”

“Clearly, you’ve never tried her lemon curd pie,”  Remus said as he stood up and picked his plate up. Since Hope and you were done, he also picked those up. 

“I can make you some, darling,” she added with a smile. “As long as you promise not to curse me,” she added with a smirk. 

You laughed, “I’d curse whoever tried to course you, Hope.” She had asked you to call her by her name at some point during the first story.

“And she really would,” Remus agreed, “she’s a brilliant duelist.” 

“I knew you’d be as sweet as Remus pictured you, but I’m starting to think he was selling you short,” she said and stood to pull the cups, you instantly stood to help her as well. 

“Oh leave it,” she said when she spotted you walking towards the sink. “Lyall charmed the sink so the dishes would wash themselves,” she explained and simply placed the things over the sink. “It’s the wonders of having married a wizard. Now you must be tired. Remus’ll give you his bed.” 

“What?” You asked. “No, I wouldn’t want to–” 

“Nonsense,” Hope said. “We have a good sleeping bag Remus’ll take. We’ve raised a gentleman after all.”

You smiled, Remus had never been anything short of one, that wasn’t a lie, “Thank you.”

When you moved to walk toward the door they had pointed to as Remus' room, Hope spoke again, “Remus darling, would you mind coming over just a second.”  

Remus gave a look your way and then walked towards his mum. “Yeah?” 

“Chailleachan àlainn?” She asked simply. 

“It was taken out of context mum, you wouldn’t–”  

She just smiled, “It might be a little too soon to tell, Beag Gille, but from what I’ve seen…” 

“What?” 

Hope bit her lip, “Have you ever heard of Emperor Nero?” 

“Eh… Roman? Really bad or something?” 

Hope smiled, “Yeah, Nero was vioIent, certainly. But there was something else. Look up his story with Sporus and Sabina, would you?” 

“Why?” 

Hope smiled and shrugged, “I’ll tell you once you’ve looked it up.” 

Remus narrowed his eyes at her impatiently. “Mum,” he complained, her smile only widened. “I’m not a kid anymore, you can’t manipulate me into learning.” 

“Oh, Remus, you’ll always be my Beag Gille,” she said as she reached for his cheeks. She could barely pinch anything now, but she did anyway. 

Remus rolled his eyes but allowed her to play with his face to her heart’s content. 

“By Merlin!” you exclaimed. “Is this baby Remus?” 

That was enough to distract her, there was a small portrait of Remus in your hands. It was his fourth birthday, he had no scars since he wasn’t a werewolf and he was smiling at the camera as he blew the candles. Hope walked over to you and smiled. “See those fluffy little cheeks?”  

You nodded in return. “He was absolutely adorable!” you said as you looked at him. Remus, your Remus, but smaller and chubbier, almost too cute to handle. 

“And he would never shut up,” Hope said. “Always asking questions about something.” 

“Exactly like his mum,” Lyall said, and she scoffed at him. 

Lyall and Hope seemed to be truly happy with each other, you had never seen that kind of playful banter between your parents. You wondered if they had ever been like that; if your father had ever made your mum smile the same way Lyall made Hope smile. You knew they had loved each other, in a weird twisted kind of way, but never like Hope and Lyall. You decided then, that that was the kind of love you wanted to have. And then a small smile appeared on your lips, since, in the end, you weren’t that far from it. 

“All right, time to sleep,” Hope said as she clapped her hand and pushed both you and Remus towards the room. “Remus has his own bathroom, so you can use it to change.” 

“Thank you,” you said with a smile as you walked inside. Remus’ room was smaller than any of the rooms in Hogwarts but it wasn’t exactly small either. He had a wall filled with rows of bookshelves, there was a small desk on the side, right in front of one of the windows, with a few books lying on the side. There was a closet next to the door and there was another door right after it. 

Remus had a few posters on the windows, and his closet was filled with pictures of places he had visited with his parents and a bunch of pictures with his friends. “Oh Godric! He looks exactly like Regulus did,” you said as you left your suitcase drop hastily on the floor and leaned down on the wooden floorboard to pick a picture of young Sirius. 

“That was in first year,” Remus said with a smile, remembering the day he took that picture of Sirius. He had been fascinated with the camera Remus had brought after the Christmas break and wanted to know everything about it.

“This is basically the Reggie I met two years ago,” you said with a smile, “down to the haircut.” 

“Sirius has always had softer features, though,” Remus said. 

You nodded in agreement, “He was so cute, almost as cute as you with your adorable chipmunk cheeks,” you said before placing the picture back in its place and standing up. Remus tried not to blush at your words. You had probably said it inadvertently, but you had basically said he was cuter than Sirius. “Is that your bathroom?” 

Remus nodded, “Go ahead, I’ll change here.” 

You walked over to a corner with your suitcase and opened it, taking out some sleeping clothes before walking inside the bathroom and starting to get changed, but you had forgotten your toothbrush, so you walked outside to get it again. Remus’ head snapped over to the door as it opened. 

You half gasped, Remus wore so many soft and cuddly sweaters, it was easy to forget how ripped he actually was. “Ugh, sorry, I can wait inside if–” 

“You know I’m a werewolf anyway,” Remus said with a shrug. He was –in fact– not  as cool as he appeared. 

You smiled and walked behind him, your arm accidentally brushing against his back when you walked past him to get the toothbrush. He was quicker while trying to find something, a simple sleep shirt. It took you no longer than a second to get your toiletry set. By the time you turned around, he already had a shirt on. But it was an old one, and it was rather tight. 

“The colour suits you,” you said before walking back inside the bathroom. Remus frowned, it was a simple grey shirt –not simple, a tight grey shirt–. And while you might have not known it then, it hadn’t been the colour that prompted you to say that. 

When you finished you walked straight into the bed and sat on the edge, Remus was extending the sleeping bag on the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them as you rested your chin over them. “Is that really comfortable?” you asked in disbelief. 

“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug. 

“And… are you really planning to sleep there?” 

“Where else?” He asked as he turned to you. 

You pointed at the bed with your head, as if it were the most obvious thing. 

“I can turn into Vixen if you want,” you said, doing it instantly and leaning your head closer to lick his face. 

“Ugh, Little Witch!” he complained as he pulled back. You jumped from the bed over to his lap. It was obvious that asking to sleep with him like last night would have been weird. Not because you didn’t enjoy cuddling up to Remus, he was very cuddleable. But you feared he might have been uncomfortable and had only done it because it was necessary. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t like, but you knew for a fact that he liked cuddling Vixen. 

You brushed your head against him and he sighed. “Fine then,” he said. “I’ll brush my teeth, see you on the bed.” 

You jumped over to the bed and turned back. You had been so distracted you had entirely forgotten to tell Sirius and James you’d gone with Rem. So you took some paper from his desk and wrote a small note on a piece of paper. You leaned over the window and tapped a few times, you had given Reese the address, and you hoped he was around. When you spotted his small figure approaching the window from the fence, you smiled, hastily opening the window and wrapping the note on his feet. 

You were shutting the window when Remus left the bathroom, “I just owled the boys, so they know we’re here.” 

“I brought the radio,” he said pointing at his backpack, “And I also told them you were coming.” 

“When?” you were with me almost all day. 

“When I owled my parents.” 

“Before they sent the letter that said I could stay, were you that confident?” 

Remus nodded, and you scoffed with a smile, throwing a pillow his way before walking back to the bed and turning into Vixen. Remus lay on his bed and gently pulled you over his chest. The two of you were asleep in an instant. 

December 27th, 1976

There was a gentle hand on your head coaxing you awake. “Little Witch,” Remus said softly, “Little Witch.” 

You blinked awake, Remus smiled when he saw your small eyes open and dug his finger near your ear scratching the section softly, just like Vixen adored. You licked your snout and then dug your head on his chest again. 

“Nu-uh,” he said cheerfully. “No more sleep, I want to show you something.” 

You frowned and looked through the window. It was dark as fuck, Remus never woke up before the sun came up, you had even threatened Sirius with waking him up early just to make him cranky for the rest of the day. 

You jumped off his chest and onto the side of the bed, turning back and appearing in a sitting position, “Who are you and what have you done to my Remus?” 

Her Remus? I certainly like the sound of that, he thought and smiled a little wider. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” 

“On a scale from 1 to 10?” 

“Eleven, now shut up,” he whispered and stood up, walking to his closet and throwing a jumper and then a coat your way. “You’ll need this. It is still cold out there.” 

You frowned but pulled the jumper over your head, and then put on the coat. The coat was long, it reached your ankles, on Remus it probably reached way higher. You grabbed a pair of boots from your suitcase and tied them on as Remus did the same with his old pair of brown converses. 

When he was done, he nodded and the two of you walked outside of his room. He’d cast a silencing steps spell on the two of you so you wouldn’t wake his parents, and then you were out the door. You had not seen the outside of his house, and while Dumbledore had mentioned that they lived near the sea, you did not expect them to live that close. 

When he opened his front door, there was a whiff of cool wind that hit your face, which caused you to wince, but right after getting used to it you opened your eyes, the first thing that you heard was the sound of waves, so loud and clear, you wondered how it was possible that you hadn’t heard it when you were inside the cottage. From his front door, there was a small path that led to a simple stone fence, it was covered with a thin layer of snow, just like most of the garden, except for the small stone path that led to the wooden door of the fence. 

“Dad heat charmed the rocks,” Remus said as he saw you staring. You leaned down and placed your hand on them, they were warm to the touch but not too hot to burn. You smiled, Lyall was as much of a talented wizard as Remus. 

Beyond the fence, there were a few metres of land, and then, there was the steep end of a cliff. You looked marvelled at the scene, the moon was still shining in the sky, and it reflected a light beam of light on the sea. 

“Come,” he said as he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards the gate. From there, he dragged you through the area and towards a different place.  You followed behind Remus for what must have been a 15-minute walk. The soft sound of waves, the crunching of your shoes against the snow and the melody of both of your breaths had combined to make the scenery even more soothing. The beam of light from the moon seemed to follow you as you climbed up and down smaller hills, as you heard the waves crashing against the shore way below the area you were standing on. Remus didn’t let go of you at all on the walk. 

His hand had found its way into your arm and he was guiding you through a path invisible to your eyes but impossibly clear to his. You were half admiring the way nature shone, and half the way he so easily moved through it. You knew Remus had a great sense of orientation, you had seen as much the day he guided you through the halls and then through the secret passages, you had seen Moony run and chase through the woods like the natural hunter he was, but you had never seen Remus outside of school grounds, or Hogsmeade. 

You had never seen him speeding through snow-covered hills and towards a direction completely unknown to you, the confidence by which he moved, the cadence of his steps, the sureness of his stance, they were all sides of Rem you had seen before, but now you stared at them in a new light. Perhaps it was how emotional you were, or the moon shining high above the two of you, reflecting its silver light on Remus’ profile, but you found the scene absolutely breathtaking, fascinating and beyond enrapturing. And you hadn’t even gotten to the place Remus was trying to show you.

“Mind your step,” he said as he tightened his grip on your hand, nodding towards a stoney step that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. “It’s ruins from an old castle,” he explained. “You can find these irregularities almost all over the valley,” he added as he pointed behind him, the light of the moon allowed you to discern a few, old crumbling towers. 

You smiled, and then followed behind him, not towards the castle, but in the same unknown direction he had been dragging you since you stepped outside of his house. No more than 5 minutes passed, and he stopped, let go of your hand and walked towards the end of the cliff, as if to make sure he was in the right place, and then he came back. “It’s here, come over,” he whispered, and grabbed your arm again, pulling you towards the cliff. 

He sat down near the edge and then patted the spot right next to him. You sat down on the snow next to him. 

“Look,” he whispered as he pointed towards the water. 

You stared at the shimmering water for a couple of seconds, but you didn’t see anything other than the reflections of the moon. You were about to turn to Remus, to ask him what exactly he was going on about when you noticed a slight movement, and then a shimmering, iridescent fin. 

You gasped and covered your mouth instantly, “Remus, it’s merfolk!” you whispered. He smiled when he saw the wondrous expression that filled your face. “How is it possible?” you asked as you saw one of them jump from the water and then back in. You realised as well, that the crashing of the waves at the bottom, was accompanied by soft screeches that would get carried away with the strong wind. “They’re out and about, aren’t they scared to be spotted by muggles?”  

“It’s a reserve,” Remus explained. “That’s why Dad decided to move here. Apparently, they’ve charmed almost the entire place. Muggles forget what they’re doing and turn back whenever they cross the magical borders, kind of like Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.” 

“Does that mean there are more magical creatures here?” You whispered as you leaned your head over the edge to see the merfolk better. You could instantly tell they were Sunfolk since they had long, human-like hair and were stunningly beautiful. Some of the deadIiest. 

“Yeah, there’s a forest not too far from him that is said to be more filled with magical beings than the Forbidden Forest. I heard Dad mention there were fae there too, I guess we could also visit if you–”

“No,” you said simply. “Fae are dangerous, Grandma taught me as much.” 

“No more than merfolk,” Remus retorted. 

“And we’re looking at them from far away,” you added. “With Fae, it wouldn’t be as simple. They could charmspeak you, Remus.”

Charmspeak was something similar to the Imperius curse, when done properly, the fae could get you to do whatever it is that they wanted. Your mom had been capable of it, she and your grandma had taught you how to resist it since they were scared you might be stolen as a child, and taken back to their tribe. Your grandma hadn’t left in the best of terms, and fae were resentful people. 

“They can too,” he said pointing at the sirens. “They’re beautifully deadIy” 

“I’m aware,” you responded with a smile and leaned a little closer to the edge, your hands firmly gripping the very end of the cliff as you used them to support yourself and look down curiously. “That makes them even more enrapturing, don’t you think?” You turned to face him. 

Remus laughed, “You really do like dangerous things.” 

“Not all the dangerous things,” you said, thinking back to a few nights ago. 

What a beautiful sight it was that Remus had brought you to, a welcome distraction to the thoughts and memories plaguing your mind. But that didn’t stop you from feeling slightly bitter at the sweetness of the world. Was it making fun of you and your sadness, by being so beautiful and wild? Were the gorgeous scenes mocking your grieving soul or was it an omen of better times? 

The darkness was starting to subdue, the sky tinted orange and pink tones ahead, you hadn’t noticed until then, that Remus had woken you to see the sunset along with him. 

“You come here often?” You asked as you leaned back on your hands, the cold snow more refreshing than painful as it had been nights ago. 

“Dad bought the house when I entered Hogwarts. There’s a small muggle school in which mum teaches history and science a few kilometres west.” 

“Wasn’t she a chef?” 

“Mum has been so many things, you’d be surprised. She worked at an insurance company in Cardiff before she met Dad, but before that she had been in a band.” 

“A band?” you asked, turning to Remus. The warm morning light was reflecting on his skin, making his features softer and homely, like the groggy Remus you had met after the moon, the one who acted like a child and wanted to cuddle you for longer. 

He nodded. “She was the drummer,” he explained. “She said she thought there was more to the world than it had to offer and that she wanted to explore the endless possibilities of it all. No wonder she fell in love with a wizard.” You bit your lip as you laughed. Hope was a fascinating woman indeed.

“Anyway, I didn’t know the house until the Christmas break of my first year, Mum and Dad didn’t have to move around as much since they didn’t have to hide Moony anymore and they decided to settle down here. Dad warned her not to get too close to the cliffs, and not to wander around, but she’s stubborn, a lot like you actually.”

“She was the one to find the merfolk, she’s not stupid, though, she didn’t dare to get close to them until she asked Dad all he could tell her about them and gobbled a few hundred books. I got that from her,” he said, turning to face you and then back at the sunset. “She was the one to bring me here, she said she had a Christmas present for me and told me all she had learned about them as we admired the sunset. She said ‘Remus, all things can be beautiful, even the most dangerous ones’, I knew she meant me, but I never quite felt like I lived up to it.” 

“Well that’s because you’re a stubborn idiot,” you said with a teasing smile. “You’re beautiful Remus, as beautiful as the Sunfolk swimming down there and as the fae lurking in the forest that you mentioned. Like the sunset and moon, like the wind that blows on our face and the whispering chants of the sea,” you turned to him, “you should just accept it and move on.” 

Remus was almost shocked by your words, he didn’t remember you being so poetic, perhaps the near-dеath experience had brought out a new side of you, or perhaps you were just saying your unfiltered thoughts. In the embracing rays of the morning sun, in the homely presence of nothing but the waves and the sky, words were easier to muster, and thoughts became freer than birds. 

He knew he shouldn’t tell you, he was aware what a terrible idea it was, but would there ever be a better moment to confess all the feelings that had pent up inside of him the last few months? With the sunrise, and the soft and warm moment surrounding the two of you, with the words you had just said to him like they were a normal sentence but that had been more like a windfall to him. Like an answer to his longings. Perhaps, this was it. “I’m bisexual…” 

The second he said it, he completely regretted his words. He had gotten too caught up in the moment, too wrapped up in the beauty of it all. What exactly was he planning to say? I’m bisexual and I have a crush on you and your boyfriend? You had just seen a friend diе for fucks sake, this was about the worst fucking time to speak his mind. 

“I know,” you said simply, calmly, as if one of the last secrets he held from you wasn’t such a surprise. Although when Remus said it, it seemed like he had cut himself off; like he had originally wanted to say something else but stopped himself.

“What?!” he asked with a confused frown. Did you know? How did you know? Did that mean you also knew about his impossible crushes? 

“Minho accidentally let it slip when I figured he had a thing for Tom, he assumed you had told me,” you explained. 

“Really?” he asked in disbelief, “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready,” you said with a shrug. 

“How many more things you know about me that I don’t know you know?” He asked in disbelief, almost diverted altogether. 

“That’s quite a question, Moony,” you said with a teasing smile as you leaned back and allowed yourself to fall into the snow, looking at the stunningly tinted sky. “I also like girls, sometimes.” 

“What?!” he asked, turning to you very surprised.

“Sirius was shocked too,” you said with a small laugh. You liked this, it felt normal. Like you were just a kid enjoying the time with your friends, no war to worry about, no dark family secrets, just you and Remus. 

“He probably thought it was hot,” Remus said as he too allowed himself to fall on the snow. You laughed, remembering Sirius’ words after you told him. “Godric! He didn’t actually say it, did he?” 

“Sirius? Speaking his mind without thinking? Nah,” you replied sarcastically. 

“Ugh, please tell me you hit him for it.” 

“I was a little drunk,” you admitted. “Fell asleep shortly after to be honest.” 

“You fell asleep?!?” 

“It was after I fell into the water and almost got kiIIed by the water spirit,” you said in self-defence.  There was a bit of silence. “I wonder if that was a Naiad or… maybe it was Merfolk? They looked devastatingly hungry, but I don’t see how such beautiful creatures could become so hideous only by the lack of care and neglect.” 

“Not all merfolk are beautiful,” Remus said. “Sunfolk are those that muggle mermaids are based on, but they say there are also some deep in the Black Lake, and I believe the deeper they inhabit, the less human-like they become.” 

“Yeah?” you asked, turning to look at him, snowflakes already adhering to your hair. Remus couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you looked. “Have you seen them?” 

“Of course not,” he replied with half a smile. “But Dad mentioned once that Dumbledore speaks mermish, he’s probably seen them. We can ask him what race they are, although I’d assume they’d be something like Lacfolk or Somfolk.” 

“Or Deepmer,” you said, trying to think back to your Magical Creatures from the Depths course. 

“Did you just make that up?” he asked. 

“What, you mean Lacfolks is a thing but Deepmer isn’t?” 

“It sounds like you just made it up.” 

“I did not!” You weren’t exactly sure if that was the name, you had one class about it when you were 13, but you had been so busy with other final projects and exams that you didn’t have the opportunity to thoroughly pay attention to it (it wasn’t coming on the exam, and the subject was only given because there was a boy called Elliot who was really passionate about them and requested the teacher to dive a little deeper into the subject). “Well, I’m like 80% sure it’s a thing,” you added as you sat up again. 

The sun was starting to come out, a small little fireball emerging from the sea tinting the clouds around it a soft orange tone. Remus sat up as well, lost in between looking at the sky and at the way it reflected on your eyes. He forced his gaze to the sight in front of him instead. 

You leaned a little over the edge again, “You think they’re aware we’re looking at them?” you asked when you saw a merman jump from a rock and gracefully dive into the water, muscles glistening in the sun as he called for another man to follow behind. 

There was a couple kissing on one of the rocks as well. Devouring each other like they hadn’t kissed in months. You kept staring, paying closer attention to all of them. Some had long blue hair, the colour of the sea. Others a lighter green, more akin to sea foam. Their skin was very tan, like most Sunfolk, but their long hair helped them blend into the water, hiding them from their biggest predator– muggles. 

“I think they might be,” Remus said as he saw a merman looking up the cliffs and into your direction. He didn’t speak much, but Remus’ acute sight could kind of see a slight smirk. A coquettish little smile that seemed to beckon him to come down, he was handsome, but there was no way in hell he’d be lured by Merpeople if he had you to look at as well.

“They’re rather hedonistic,” you said when you spotted a blue-haired merwoman kiss one with ashy white curls, wrap her hands around the other’s waist and then pull her to her neck as a green-haired merman kissed her lips. 

“Polyamory is common in merpeople,” Remus murmured. 

You leaned a little closer to the edge and then pulled back, your cheeks burning in embarrassment, “Remus– Remus I don’t think they’re hedonistic merpeople.” He turned to look at you with a frown. “I think it’s mating season.” 

“What? Makes no sense, mating season is almost always in summer…” 

“You go tell them that,” you scoffed. “Can’t believe you brought me to see horny merpeople!” 

“What? I didn’t–”

You started to laugh and then looked up at the sky again, the sun was much higher now, reflecting a warm beam of light through the landscape. You then leaned down and allowed your head to fall on his lap. “Snow is kind of cold,” you said simply. 

He brought his hand to your head and started getting rid of some of the snowflakes that had gotten caught. He placed his fingers around a strand and then allowed them to melt before drying his fingers on his coat and repeating his action again. There was something insanely calming about being with Remus. And while the sights, and stunning view he had brought you were soothing, his hand on your hair were reassuring you far beyond the ability of the mermaids’ chants, and the crashing of waves against the stone. 

You stayed there, sometimes talking, sometimes staying quiet, and simply basking in each other’s company. Waking up early had definitely been worth it. You were beyond thankful you had Remus, you couldn’t think of a better place to be. Laying in your lonely room in Hogwarts while you thought back on everything that had happened on Christmas with nothing other to do than eat your heart out in the quiet of lonesomeness seemed like torment in comparison. 

Back when you were alone in the snow, with Nina held between your arms, you didn’t think you’d be able to feel at peace again, and while you still felt all the sadness, you were thankful that it wasn’t crashing with the serenity that you felt at the moment. With the bliss of simply looking at the stunning sight and hanging out with your best friend. You realised that sadness and joy weren’t mutually exclusive, but rather there was enough space in your heart for you to feel both desolate over all that had happened mere days ago, and delight over the stunning sights, and the alleviating touch of Remus’ fingers. 

“Shouldn’t we go back soon?” you asked, the Merpeople were still in the water enjoying themselves, but the sun had gone up rather high, and while its warmth felt all the more soothing, how high it was and how much warmer it had gotten gave you the feeling that you had been with Remus for a while, “Won’t you parents worry?” 

“Mum probably already knows where I brought you,” he lifted his hand from your hair to check his clock, “breakfast should be ready by now, though.” 

“Breakfast?” you asked as you stood up and turned to him, the snow on your coat gently falling to the floor, “you’re telling me I’ll get to eat more of your mum’s delicious food?”

You had stood up so fast that Remus was slightly taken aback. He rolled his eyes but nodded, and extended his hand for you to help him up. Did he really need the help? Not really. Did he want an excuse to touch you? Most definitely. 

“Merlin, I swear my mouth’s watering and I don’t even know what I’m going to eat.” 

Remus scoffed at that, you had always appreciated your food. Especially some of the things the elves prepared, but he’d never expect you to become his mum’s number one fan in regards to it. 

“Come on Rem, let’s go!” you said as you started running. 

“It’s the other way round, sweetheart,” he said with an amused grin. 

You stopped yourself in your tracks, looking at the side and then back at Remus and then to the side again. It was still dark when you got there, but getting confused about which side you had walked from was embarrassing when there were only two possible options. “You’re fucking with me?” He shook his head, an amused smile still dancing on his lips. You sighed and turned back, walking towards Remus. “Are you sure?” 

“Very,” he said with a laugh and grabbed your arm the same way he had done when he brought you, this time pushing you a bit closer to him. You didn’t mind it all, you enjoyed being close to Remus, you’d always had. “Come on, we wouldn’t want you to miss my mum’s exquisite food.” 

“Don’t make fun of me! It really is exquisite,” you replied, this time with a smile as well. 

You and Remus walked back to his cottage, and Hope really had breakfast ready by the time you were there. 

“You took her to see the merpeople?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile, “And the stunning sunrise too.” 

Hope sighed with a smile, and Lyall used his wand to bring in a small crystal bottle with honey and a vase with some fresh berries. 

“We got these from the fae market in the forest,” she told you. “It’s hard to deal with them at first but I met a really friendly Brownie that collects muggle things and he’s always willing to make exchanges. 

“You’ve eaten fae food?” you asked, horrified. Your mother and grandma had warned you, over a thousand times never to eat fae food.  

Lyall smiled, “Not all fae food is bad. Especially not if you’ve made a deal for it. Their charms disappear if they receive something in exchange.” 

“I– I didn’t know that,” you stuttered, realising how little you actually knew of the fae, even when you were part one. 

“Not many know,” Lyall said reassuringly. “We’ve kept a close relation with most of the leaders of the clans in the forest since it is my job to make sure the wards and protection spells are always active. Hope, being as friendly as she is, made friends along the way.” 

“And it doesn’t scare you, they might try to take her away?” 

“The Fae?” Lyall asked. “Of course not, they’re very respectful of deals, we’re their guardians.” 

Remus gave you a short pat on the back and a sort of comprehensive side look. He too knew what it was like not to know much of who you were, or at least of part of who you were. And while you had learnt a good deal of fae lore, it mostly consisted on how to stay the hell away from them, rather than their customs. Truth be told, you didn’t even know what type of fae your grandma was. Dryad, Selkie, Nymph, Spite, Alven, there were so many of them that had the size and look of a human enough to blend in, like your grandma.

Remus also didn’t know much about werewolves even if he was one, much like you, his knowledge consisted mostly of how to deal with the problem rather than with their origin, who they were or what they did. At this point, you might as well know more about werewolves with all the research you had done than he did himself. 

“You want to try one?” Hope said with a smile, taking the plate and offering it up to you. You stared at the absolutely delicious-looking fruit and extended your hand for a strawberry. You took a deep breath and then placed it in your mouth, biting it and closing your eyes at how delicious it tasted. It might have had no charms, but you could easily become addicted to the flavour. 

“Woah,” you said as you licked your lips, the remnant of juice being as delightful as the fruit itself. Your eyes had tinted bright silver for a mere second before they returned to normal. Lyall had been busy setting up the table but both Remus and Hope noticed. 

Hope was about to say something, but Remus shook his head. It must have been something similar to his eyes going golden when the wolf was near. 

“Let’s eat, shall we?” Hope said as she placed the bowl with berries back on the table and pulled a chair for you to sit. You thanked her as you sat down.

Breakfast went by as swiftly and gleefully as dinner had gone last night. And so had the days after that. You’d spend your time exploring around the cliffs with Remus, taking breaks for reading books, and talking to the boys through the radio. You exchanged a few letters with Lily, Marlene and the rest of the girls who had sent letters to the boys the minute they found out about the Christmas Party fire, and that you were on the list of the people that had been invited. They were worried since they hadn’t heard from you since then. 

Somehow, being in such a beautiful place had actually helped lift up your spirits, and while you didn’t feel exactly like yourself yet, you did feel a lot better. One night you sneaked out as Vixen and ran towards the shore, hiding behind some rocks and staring at the selkies. One of them had long blonde hair and it reminded you so much of Nina’s that you ended up running back up the hills and crying near the castle ruins until Remus found you. 

He wanted to tell you off for walking out at night, for not telling him or anyone, for not even taking his wand along. He wanted to tell you that even if the merpeople and fairies had dealt with his parents, that didn’t exempt you from the dangers of being ignorant of their customs. Instead, he sat beside you and placed a hand on your back, smoothing soft circles like he had done the night he found you in the snow. You wrapped your hands around his neck and clang to him as you allowed the tears to drop from your eyes and wet his jumper. He had run out so fast he hadn’t even taken a coat out. 

“What happened?” he asked you softly. 

“She looked like Nina,” you whispered and sniffed, trying to wipe the tears off your face and compose yourself.

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly and wrapped his arms a little tighter, bringing you to his lap and holding you close. He held you until you stopped crying and the two walked back to the cottage. Neither of you talked about it in the morning, nor did you the day after in which you both went to see the sunrise again. 

“We just got this letter for the two of you,” Lyall said as you walked back inside the house. 

“Yeah?” you asked with a frown, as you extended your hand to take it from Lyall who had handed it out for you.

“From the Potters,” Hope added with a smile. 

You turned to Remus and the two of you opened it. “Oh, they want us to come to their house after New Year,” you said. 

“How surprising,” Hope replied with a knowing smile. 

“They say we can stay over until we go back to school from there…” Remus added as he read.

“That means I won’t see you again till the break?” Hope asked, looking at the two of you, and then focusing on Remus. “What about the moon?” 

“I mean, Vix could go and–” 

“No,” you said. “It’s fine, we don’t have to go. Are you going to spend the moon here?” 

Remus threw you a side glance and then turned to his mum who had a knowing look on her face. “I was just joking. You both should go and have fun with your friends. Remus has been at the Potter’s on a Moon before, I’m sure they have something prepared for that.” She turned to you, “You must miss your boyfriend as well,” Hope added looking at you. 

And you really did miss Sirius. But the idea of going to the Potters, of being with Sirius and James and then going to school, meant reality. It meant facing everything that had happened again, talking to the boys about it. The small little bubble you had created here with Remus. The one where there were pretty things and creatures and nothing more than would burst the minute you left. And you weren’t sure who you’d become outside of it. 

You turned to Remus, “Well if you want to,” you said softly. 

Remus looked at you and smiled, although it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. “We’ll go, after New Year.” 

It’s not that Remus didn’t want to see James and Sirius. Heck, he missed Sirius intensely, his eyes, his hair, his laugh, his voice, his pranks. But stepping out of his house and into the Potter’s meant you wouldn’t be his anymore –you weren’t now either– but he had lived the blissful deceit of having you, of hugging you and playing with your hair and being the person to comfort you when you were sad and of being the only one to make you laugh and being the only one who got to see your smiles and he didn’t want that to end. He knew how selfish that was. He was aware he was being greedy, but he had enjoyed the dream the two of you had been wrapped up in. And even then, he wanted to see Sirius again. He yearned for him and his mannerisms and the way he would sometimes invade his personal space, and he had to pretend he didn’t enjoy it. No matter how much bliss he felt with you, he wanted to see Sirius again. You both did.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: And some more fluff! Isn't Remus the sweetest? Sidenote: Are those mermaids trying to tell us something?

Read more Marauders Fiction

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ Daddy's Little Dhampir

➳ Summary: All you'd wanted in life was to meet a real life vampire, and by some twist of fate, you got so much more than that (Dad!Vamp!Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, picking up at 6 years post outbreak – references to your childhood

➳ Word count: 2.9k

➳ C/W: Mentions of blood and vampire stuff, allusions to typical TWD gore

➳ A/N: I had to dump this rq while we're still on the vamp train, and thank y'all for all the love n 140+ followers I appreciate y'all 🫶

If you could go back and tell your little nine year old self that vampires were real, she'd lose. her. mind.

The nine year old who checked out every book from the library on them and other folklore creatures, and would sit immersed for hours, taking notes and educating herself before falling asleep in front of it all: but picking it all back up the next day.

The nine year old who urged her friends to come exploring with her in the forest after dark, and proudly said ‘Fine. I'll just do it by myself’ when they all declined. Who trekked over dead leaves with a dim flashlight, who's pulse spiked and excitement grew as noises rustled around her and her gaze shot up to the sky to see a bat fly overhead. Who had the widest smile in existence… just to turn and have a blinding light shone in her face and police officers announce ‘We found her!’ – and who pouted when her parents scolded her for sneaking out before wrapping her in tight hugs and saying they were just glad she was safe, and she snapped back with: ‘I don’ wanna be safe! I wanna find the vampires and I was about to and you guys ruined it!’

The nine year old who eventually fell out of her obsessive phase, but always maintained belief. Who retained every bit of knowledge, and would still step outside sometimes in the night, or veer off her path and wander in the woods while walking somewhere. Who traveled to major cities solely to explore nightclubs and hot spots. Who truly believed deep down in her heart and soul that vampires were real.

If you told her, 25 years from then, she'd not only know a vampire, but be married to him, and sit against the headboard in their bed at home with him beside her, head resting on her shoulder as they both stared down at the newborn infant in her arms… you think she'd pass out. Especially if you added the whole part about an unknown virus sparking a massive outbreak that caused people to rise from the dead and turn into rotting, flesh eating monsters, and in return cause the entirety of society across the globe to collapse, leaving only a fraction of the population alive, and that's how she'd even meet said vampire in the first place – and that it's already been 6 years since then.

But while she may pass out, you didn't. It was ironic, how everything you'd ever dreamt about came true in the one way you'd never imagined it. Despite all the negatives, everything you lost; you gained so many positives: the vampiric love of your life, and the daughter you shared.

The smile on your face was wider than the one in the forest that night so long ago, eyes glued to the baby in front of you that slept so peacefully despite the chaos that surrounded her existence. Simply conceiving her was a challenge atop everything else, given the crossing of your species. You tilted your head to the side, resting against the mans, and murmured an ‘I love you’.

To which he shifted his and brought lips to your jawline, returning the admission as a second nature, it having grown so much easier to express such since he met you. And how could he not pour his heart out and remind you every second how madly, crazily, desperately, needily and obsessively in love with you he was – the same way you were in love with even just the concept of his existence – now that you'd carried, birthed, and held his perfect baby girl in your arms.

The newborn wriggled in adjustment, subconsciously cuddling closer to the warmth of your body, fully reliant on you for survival.

“She's gonna be yer little dhampir, Daryl… Daddy's little dhampir,” You spoke softly, admiring the blessing of her life.

“Yea, she is…” He replied, reaching a hand to stroke the side of her face with a gentle finger, which lulled her back into rest. He lived for you, and now he lived for her.

❥-》》—————➣

You loved your daughter to bits, but those books didn't quite warn you how difficult raising a dhampir would be sometimes.

“God, Daryl- What do I do? How the hell do I feed her?!” You asked frantically as the baby screamed and cried so hard in your hold it was concerning. Breastfeeding didn't quench this thirst, yet she had no teeth to bite into you.

“Fuck, jus’-” Daryl sputtered, grabbing a bottle and a knife, and slicing open his palm, flexing muscles to drain it faster into the container before screwing on the lid and shoving it to you to feed her as he spat into his hand to heal over the wound. Crisis averted.

Luckily, she didn't seem to require blood often, and you two created a better system after that: Daryl building an enclosure in the yard and storing live animals he'd find there so you could drain them when needed.

When her teeth did eventually come in, she had the cutest smile ever – small yet pin-sharp fangs poking through the pinkish gums of her mouth.

“Yea? Yer’ah damn lil’ biter, huh?” Daryl chaffed, playfully flicking splashes at her during bath time as you both sat at the edge of the tub.

She giggled, edges of her mouth curling up as she slapped the surface of the water to try and get him back for it – and he'd always dramatically act like he was hit by a tsunami when in reality it was just a few small drops on his arms. Just to hear her laugh.

The moment she was walking, she was outside, stumbling around and soon running, that instinct to be out in nature clearly taken from her father.

“Poppa,” She whined as you set her down at the bottom of the steps outside the house, her turning back and reaching a grasping hand towards Daryl, the other holding yours, as he took a seat on the steps, sun on the other side of the home and shadow protecting him from the daylight, but not the yard.

“Daddy can only watch right now. Remember the sunlight isn't good for him, okay sweetheart?” You cautiously reminded her as her head looked back to you, too young to wrap her mind around the concept.

He'd watch and talk as you two'd sit in the grass and play, sometimes covering best he could and making the sacrifice anyway just to make his daughter happy. And you'd always go out and play at nighttime anyway.

Growing into a toddler and young child, she was an absolute menace, Daryl just fueling her every troublemaking behavior.

“What in the world are you two doing?!” You called from the stairs, wiping sleep from your eyes and catching Daryl and your daughter immediately freeze, having been loudly chasing each other around downstairs with their enhanced agility in the middle of the night – busted.

The child gave an innocent toothy smile, and Daryl a sheepish grin as she pointed at him. “‘Ts daddy's fault!” She always blamed him when it was 100% her doing.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, pinching your brow. “Dixon, get yer damn daughter to bed and your ass into ours.” It was nowhere near the first time they'd woken you up with such.

“Yes ma'am.” And he took the moment of distraction to grab the child as she kicked and squealed in the interlocking cell his arms created.

Then as she aged, she completely mirrored every aspect of his personality, practically a carbon copy of him.

“Shuddup! Yall'ere ah buncha assholes!”

“Ay! Ya better watch yer mouth girl! Ain't nobody tell ya you could be talkin’ like tha’!” Daryl called across the way, catching hints of her civil argument with some other kids – as civil as a Dixon could be.

“That one really is your fault,” You teased him with a smirk, gently elbowing his side as he rolled his eyes and groaned.

“They called me Lucille cause ‘ima bloodthirsty bat’!” She nor Daryl even possessed the ability to transform. That was more fantasy.

He vanished to deal with it before you could finish your blink, leaving just the energy of his protectiveness in his wake.

—

“Hey ma, I gotcha somethin’!” She practically slid across the edge of the kitchen counter, clasped hand held out to you.

“If this is another big ass bug-”

“It's not! It's not!” She opened to a large stone of jasper. “Found it while wanderin’ – inside the walls –, thought ya might want it cause dad always gets ya ‘em, ‘nd yer ring.” She motioned to the band on your finger, adorned with a jasper center. Daryl started collecting them for you after you'd liked the one he found back near the prison.

—

“Nah, ts'only 4.9. Mine's bigger.” Daryl beamed triumphantly as they each weighed cottontail rabbits they'd caught on a hunt. They always had competitions on who could catch more, or the larger game.

“Tha's not fair! Only weighs less now cause it lost more blood on tha way back than yers did!”

“Still counts. Gotta get'ah cleaner shot, babyfangs. Then ya won’ waste so much.”

So many moments were leagues better than what your imagination curated in your youth, full of that real laughter and care and love that you could only placebo before.

But… some moments of it were the hardest, scariest moments of your life.

“Do you have any traces of her at all? Can you smell her??” You asked worriedly through labored breaths as you ran faster than you had from any person or walker or thing before. Fear pumped through your veins, somehow pushing you to keep up with Daryl's vampiric pace as you sped through the forest, bow on your back and crossbow on his, searching for your daughter.

“Yea, she ain't far. Ts’jus’ hard tah pick ‘er out with tha walkers cloudin’ it,” He grunted back, straining his senses to try and focus in on where she'd be. Sunlight seared his skin, having left the house so quickly he had no time to dress in proper attire. He didn't care, he didn't even feel it over everything he felt for his perfect girl.

“Daddy?” That soft, familiar voice ripped you both from your rush, stopping so fast you nearly toppled over and mutually whipped to take hurdles towards your daughter and wrap her in your arms. Now you truly understood your parents – so, so many years ago; that burning, aching dread to do anything and everything for your baby, to exhaust yourself to find them when they were lost, how it felt to have them in your arms again after thinking the worst thoughts one could illustrate. But there were some situations your parents never had to worry about.

“What? What is it?” You asked in alarm, pulling back to look at your daughter's face as tears started to stream down her cheeks and her gaze flicked away, the teenager so reluctant to be honest. “Please baby, what is it!?”

To your every worst fear, she reached up and pulled the neckline of her shirt aside, revealing the distinctive imprint of a walker's bite carved into the flesh on the nape of her neck.

“M'sorry, m'so sorry- I dun’ kno’ what happened I jus’-” She stammered, unable to find the words or will to begin to explain herself. Your stomach dropped so far you wouldn't be surprised if it was down in the molten core of the Earth.

The neck. It had to be neck. If it was the arm, you could amputate it, maybe she'd even have the chance of regrowing the limb, and same with the leg. If Daryl had converted you to a vampire like you'd talked about once many years ago, she never would've been a dhampir, and would never need to care about the risk walkers posed to her – whole vampiric nature making it impossible for the virus to infect them, able to survive bites and just let them heal over. If you'd payed some more fucking attention to what she was doing and where she was going, she wouldn't even be out here. If this, if that. If-

“Am I gonna die?” She sobbed, looking between you two with the most terrified expression you'd ever seen. You couldn't even register her question before her dad answered. He was always better at those split second response times where every extra beat changed the confidence of a statement.

“Nah. Yer not dyin’. Drink.” Daryl tore away his shirt, craning his neck to expose a spot by his left clavicle, close to his heart so it'd pump the most blood the quickest, and he knelt to her level. She was hesitant. “C'mon. Now!”

You watched as she stepped forward and sunk teeth into him, drawing long siphons of his blood. You prayed the purity of it compared to hers would aid her system in warding off the infection, should a dhamir still be susceptible to it. You didn't know. You didn't know if this would even work. Your heart raced so fast you couldn't even feel it anymore, like your body was already trying to shield you from how it may feel if it breaks.

“Daryl, that's enoug-” You started after a long moment, worried he'd just end up killing himself too. You couldn't lose either of them, but especially not both.

“Nah. Drink till ya can't no more – don’ give'ah damn ‘bout how much ya take,” He barked at you, then lightened his tone for her. He was beginning to feel woozy, pressure building in his head as his body's efforts to replenish struggled to keep up with her anxious draws. But again, he didn't care. He would do anything for her. He would bleed himself dry should it mean even the chance of keeping her alive.

But eventually she retracted her fangs, guilt overpowering the rest of her emotions. How could she live with herself if she was responsible for her own father's death? “Daddy, m'sorry, I-”

“Ya needah… drink, moonshine…” He wavered, and you grabbed him steady before he collapsed, resting him back against a tree trunk as you and your daughter sat on either side.

“Shit, Daryl.. c'mon, drink somma mine,” You urged, tugging your own top out of the way and offering to him.

“Nah, m'not-”

“I told ya to fuckin’ drink it!” In the rare times you raised your voice at him, he'd immediately listen: now driving his canines into your body, but taking far less of your crimson than he needed. He was too selfless for his own good.

You brushed the matted hair from his charring forehead, looking back at your daughter who tried to quiet her cries as she couldn't bring herself to look at him, curling into a ball of her own pity and shame.

“Honey, look at me,” You reached out, sliding your hand to cup her cheek and bring it up, her glassy eyes meeting yours. “I need you to help me get him home, okay? Ts’not safe out here.”

She just sat there for a moment, silently looking at you. She didn't want to accept that any of this was actually happening.

“We're all gonna be okay, so long as we get home. I love you.” That motherly tone melted her, and she nodded a little, unwinding and helping you to hoist the archer up and carry him back to Alexandria.

You kept them both in bed with you, nursing Daryl's drained status back to the typical, and keeping close watch on your daughter for any symptoms of the infection. You stayed there hour after hour, only leaving for brief moments to harvest another rabbit or squirrel for your husband, and fluids for yourself to regenerate as you'd been having him feed from you in intervals.

Your daughter spent most of it distant on the other side of the bed, back to you both, but not asleep. And you frowned.

“Babygirl, come here.” She didn't move, prefering to still act like she had nothing to do with any of this. “Sweetheart…” You reached down and forcibly dragged her up to cuddle between you and her father, soothingly stroking her head as she broke into tears again and he wrapped her in a half-dazed embrace.

Daryl was fine, just a little droopy at this point, and you mutually watched and held your girl. You prayed and pleaded and begged more than you had as a child, for a completely different reason. And to your every actually important hope and dream, a fever never spiked. Her skin never grew sweaty and clammy, eyebags never sagged, never grew weak.

Whether being a dhampir alone saved her, or Daryl's healing components pulled the rest of the weight, it didn't really matter. She was alive, and she'd live, and neither of you would ever allow this to repeat.

That customarily fatal bite turned to a scar, then smoothed back out to the unscathed plane it was before. Daryl spooned her as they both drifted into a slumber, a faint smile cresting your lips as you gazed from the opposite side. It wasn't as big as that night as a kid, or when your daughter was born, but it held as much meaning. You were all okay.

You got your vampire, and he got you – and you both got your little girl.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[immoralimmortals]

I READ THEM TAGS OFFER EM UP MY LEIGE I NEED MARRIAGE HEADCANONS FOR THE AKATSUKI

(EDIT: this is by far my most popular post! If you like this, I have a longform akatsuki x reader fic pinned on my blog and linked here!)

You water my crops and put the stars in the sky. I'm madly in love with you. I'm bringing this post to your feet much like a cat does their favorite toy. I have caught it. Be proud of me, mother.

Even if it's less about the whole life of being married and more about the actual act of marrying, hope that's ok!

Akatsuki Marriage Headcanons, for real this time:

Pain:

I am a huge proponent of the popular fanon opinion that if this man takes you so seriously as to express a label for it (love, spouse, etc.), he is at the brink of worshiping your feet. Don't get me wrong, in terms of the arrangement of proposal and marriage ceremony, the leader is still in charge; however, he is dictating with every detail painstakingly about you. If there is decor, it is your favorite color. If you expressed you like a certain gemstone, he tracks it down for proposal and gets the finest cut upon your finger. You don't want an actual wedding? No problem, you're just going to come home to several thousand lit candles and a profession of commitment as deep from his heart as a corpse is in the grave.

The idea is that it is necessary for this bond to be formalized, at least for his own sake. Pain would refer to it as something you need to hear. If he is nothing else, he is serious about whatever he experiences emotionally; that goes for both his immense suffering and his most delicate of joys. He declares you his, neigh: commands...but only after you assure him yes.

If a traditional proposal is done, it must be in private. He dares not be too exposed. It's already so much that he has become vulnerable to you.

It is a hard privilege to earn. And so, the Akatsuki leader pays you back in kind. As long as you both shall live, you are his deity. You will never want, not as long as he is allowed to bask in you.

Pain kisses you firmly, one hand on your wrist and one on your back. You are to feel both his presence and his commitment.

A wedding song for you: Take me to Church by Hozier (yes I am a sucker for this song, yes yes and yes) or Ship in a Bottle by fin

Konan:

All at once, her heart aches in the best and worst ways, as it is such a curse of the Akatsuki to have had their loves taken too soon. Up till this point, she has been passive, letting you lead the relationship, but now- despite how much she yearns for the same- the angel stands her ground.

"Why?" you ask her in retaliation. She's thin-lipped as she refuses the real answer. It takes a couple tries over a few, staggered moments in private for the truth to tumble out:

She does not want another person she loves to die because of her. It's irrational; your death is not predetermined by the commitment. And yet it remains. She is scared, and the closer you get the more she stings.

But you have to press closer. You have to assure, promise, fight your way back into her heart as it tries to close you out in self protection. You succeed, thanks to one of the reasons you adore Konan: her capacity to hope, no matter the circumstance. Reminder her of that, and she can only be yours.

The wedding is small, the two of you and whomever you deem precious enough to witness. (I imagine probably not even a full handful). It is twilight and the color of the world is shaded blue. Blue as her hair, blue as she feels whenever you're away, blue in the same way the purest of whites are to the human eye. You are pristine. The paper that folds the bouquets that drape around you are spotless and glow in the moonlight in such a way they're almost lanterns. Their starkly pale and crisply folded nature surround as if it is her prayer that everything that is good may stay that way.

Konan kisses you in such a way that no part of you but your lips touch one another. It is chaste, it is soft, it is a seal.

A wedding song for you: Saturn by Sleeping at Last (I cry every single time I hear this in full. I sincerely think there are few songs that have so viscerally touched me like this one has.) or Soul Meets Body by Death Cab for Cutie

Obito:

You cannot get his single-mindedness off of Rin. There is no way around it, and anything meant as distraction will not only fail but backfire on you. Therefore, if you are this deep into a partnership, you are there not in spite of her but thanks to her. You will be compared and contrasted to no end; this is not cruel, it is merely how he shapes his worldview in regards to goodness and love. You are his second chance. You are his solitude.

You don't get opportunity to propose. He will tell you first.

It is every definition of a ceremony, almost ritualistic, almost like they're crowning a king/queen. The ceilings are tall and decorated with the visage of ancestors and gods. Incense is lit and the setting sun sets the room on fire with orange and red. You are presented to him, ornate in the way he demands. A masked face cannot hide the lust and satisfaction in his voice. His hand reaches out, and you take it. For perhaps the first time, the mask is tilted to hide from their audience while still showing his scarred face to you.

His kiss is hard. Not sloppy, but hard. His hand is on the back of your head, and he going to press you into him until your soul enters his body.

A wedding song for you: Come Along by Cosmo Sheldrake or Sick of Losing Soulmates by dodie

Bad relationship songs because I can't control myself: Anybody Else by Dom Fera (THE song of all time for me, I love it) or Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

Zetsu:

Marriage? That's a fascinating concept. He's never had the desire for this kind of relationship before, but as you talk more and more of it, the more he grasps. In the end, it is a concept that matters to you, and he can appreciate the sentiment of it.

The weirdest part, honestly, is that you reserved such a thing for him.

Though he follows along (you must guide the entire arrangement), he quietly, curiously doubts the whole time. But your guiding hand is so soft as you take him and lead, so nice onto his skin as you select two rings and slide one on each color of hand. You make no mistake: it is both you are marrying. It is both you are committing to. That recognition is his first step into a hesitant acceptance of your eternal love.

When the time comes, you walk him to the first place you met, beside a large tree in a clearing with no human settlement in sight. None of the "don't see the bride/groom" tradition, it has no room here. Any amount of people you want are there, regardless of if it is everyone or no one. (He would prefer no one, but this is all for you, after all). As you're about to kiss him, he makes one request. It is the only thing Zetsu has asked for in all of this time:

Let him taste you.

How can you tell him no?

So his bi-colored lips part, taking your bottom lip into his first, and then rounded teeth gently drag the flesh into his mouth. Pressure is applied and you taste your blood, though fleetingly as he drinks it in. In all the time you've known him, this is the closest Zetsu has ever been to you. In this symbolic action, you have finally gained his full and complete trust.

Zetsu's kiss is metallic but it is not cold. It is pensive, meditative, doing his best to understand that which you crave, and so he does his best to crave you. He cups your face in both of his ringed hands so he need not focus on anything but your taste.

A wedding song for you: & by Tally Hall or Yes to Err is Human, So Don't Be One by Will Wood

Hidan:

At first he's going to make fun of you. He's going to tell you that this is the dumbest idea he's ever heard. And when you go quiet and don't bring it up again, he is going to pin you down and demand to be told why you changed your mind.

This man wants you so much, he can't fathom it. What is marriage if you must slaughter your neighbor? Well...a lover is a step above neighbor, isn't it?

Thank Jashin he doesn't need to kill you to get married.

If you do a traditional wedding, he will drag his feet but he will do it. It's to your detriment alone, really, how obnoxious he'd be. If you pin a flower to his lapel, he'll rip it off. He'll spit to the side in disgust at any mushy gushy talk done in front of others in this bastardization of another religion's ritual. This isn't a real ceremony. Let him show you what a wedding really is:

It's going to end up with your blood on his body and his blood on yours. He makes you straddle his lap, in the middle of the symbol of his lord that he's drawn upon the floor. The same sigil is dangled from a chain, his necklace held between you, from your view right between his intense violet eyes. The metal is cold as it plays a barrier between your lips and his.

Hidan's kiss is reverent. If this Jashinist is marrying you, he fucking means it. Do more than tolerate the cut a knife makes into your palm; pray to it.

...And then he will pray to you.

A wedding song for you: I Wanna Be Your Slave by Maneskin or Misanthrapologist by Will Wood

Bad relationship song I can't help but add: This is Love by Air Traffic Controller

Kakuzu:

Despite popular belief, this is not a man who fusses over money the way Scrooge does over every last coin. By the contrary, it is that he is a man that does not have much to give. This is in every sense, it turns out. Kakuzu is a man that has had all hope in humanity and for himself beat the hell out of him, so it's a shock to him if you hint at a desire for marriage. A mistake, that's what you're trying to make, here. At first he'll rebuff with few words but still sure, but it'll hitch onto him like a tick. A traditional man at heart, you know best to let him propose himself.

And so he does. It is the only time you've ever seen him doubt himself, but of course you tell him yes. As you throw your arms around him, that's when reality hits in the best of ways.

He does not wait, not if you don't oppose him. He takes you to a temple, middle of nowhere with no one either of you or your nations will know. For an old man, it's such a romantic, young man's task to arrange to elope. The priest marries you, as you sit side by side at the break of dawn upon his stoop. He wears his mask, still wears long robes to cover his stitches, but his silky brown hair drifts so beautifully with the wind; he will say this compliment is one he had of you and yours, when he looks back upon today. You are his world, intertwined in an immortal and mortal life.

Kakuzu does not kiss you at the wedding. That comes later, when no one else is there. He pulls down his mask and takes your mouth upon his, tangled until one of you can't breathe anymore.

A wedding song for you: Vanilla Curls by Teddy Hyde or Budapest by George Ezra

Deidara:

A flirt he may be, but a guy of commitment? Hell no. At first he's really flattered, chuckling and letting a large smirk trail up one side of his face. It falls when he realizes you're being serious. "Wait, really?" You nod, and his always-intense stare seems a bit closer to concerned.

"My dear...you're getting carried away, aren't you?" he offers like a second chance to not embarrass yourself.

Everything, as it always has for Deidara, has happened so fast it hits him before he recognizes what it is. Love is included, even and up until the point he's in this deep. Honestly? It terrifies him. He'll laugh and walk away, but it'll fucking haunt him.

A couple days of flying on a bird, all by his lonesome, and he returns with a bit of a different view. Life is short, beauty is fleeting: the opportunity is here and damned if he don't take it. He offers your hand- both in marriage and for a ride- and you soar into the sky.

There's no such thing as a traditional wedding, no need for it when the most beautiful things in the world are you and his art. Explosions and fireworks alike light up the night sky and he leans over to whisper his dedication upon your lips.

Deidara's kiss is, of course, bombastic. It's intense and with tongue and repeats, over and over, never lasting too long as he can't keep his love-drunk words to himself for longer than two seconds. Streamers and confetti flutter around your heads, grander than any parade for any newly wed prince or princess.

A wedding song for you: The Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience or Fear and Delight by The Correspondents

Sasori:

Only someone who knows him as well as you will pick up the subtlest shifts of the scorpion's expression, the way brown eyes barely widen. You bring it up, nearly like a dream you had, nearly like you're talking to yourself in your sleep, but he hears it. Sasori continues with his work, the monotony of woodwork allowing him to chew on the idea. A marriage isn't necessary, of course...but he also will lie to himself about how downright alluring the symbolism of a wedding is.

If the most beautiful things are eternal, why not your love?

If you've gotten him so far that Sasori will consider whatever form of affection he can manage in his barely organic heart, then he will make every second of your life never-ending bliss.

He decorates you, almost like one of his dolls, in the finest patterns of fabric and sleekest of jewelry. He pains over every inch of skin on top of muscle and bone, the way the ring slips on your finger and the way your wrist bends to do it. The ritual is an art piece, and you gaze upon him so marvelously... Your lips part with such slight but sure poise...

The venue is silent and you both are alone. Not even a bird caws, no insect chirps. Pure, clear as glass silence. You are the only two beings in all of existence. You will ascend time itself. A single candle is lit as you sit in the deepest depths of this cave, where no one may interrupt.

Where no one can hear him confess to you.

Sasori's kiss is soft, far too soft. He holds both of your hands so delicately, like they're on a string. Lines of chakra help you move into him in a way that is just right, just utterly perfect.

A wedding song for you: Thumbnail by Louie Zong and Brian David Gilbert or Dark of the Matinee by Franz Ferdinand

Kisame:

Shockingly enough, this guy is going to be your hardest sell. Perhaps predictably, it isn't because he dislikes marriage, settling down, falling in love. Disliking and opposing are very different things.

He panics, at least just a little the first time you mention it. "I'm a shinobi, you know. You won't see me very much." Time passes on, and your desire appears again:

"I'm a rough guy. Just take a second to think about what you're asking for, alright?"

More time, and more desperation on his part with your persistence:

"I am meant to die alone," he finally tells you outright. "Don't bother with me. You could be spending your time so much better than fussing over someone who isn't going to last."

But you do, and he does last. Unfortunately, he does last. It gnaws him to the bone.

"Alright," he'll ask you, a long time since you first expressed your wants, "Are you certain?" You say yes, of course you say yes. Bittersweet, sharp teeth smile. "Very well," the swordsman concedes.

You marry traditionally, though very small. A hood drapes over him, hiding his face as the priest speaks the seal of marriage. His hand clings to yours, so very afraid of losing you. Or worse: making you lose him.

With the formalities out of the way, his own way begins. Finally alone, you both plunge into deep water, a loud splash quickly muting to flooded ears. He holds your face as your hair drifts past him in strands noses nearly touching. Kisame gets a good look at you before he changes everything forever, closing his eyes.

Kisame's kiss is a leap of faith. It tastes like lake water and seaweed and his love. He presses all of you into him like a shell holds a pearl, limbs climbing around you as you suspend in water and sink. Breathe into him, breathe deep. Every last breath in his lungs is just for you.

A wedding song for you: Against the Kitchen Floor by Will Wood or If I'm Being Honest by dodie

Itachi:

The implications of this circumstance are astounding. He loves you- yes, of course he does- but what's more is that he loves you enough to be so selfish as to gift himself to you, even knowing the fate he's reserved. It is both impressive and heartbreaking. Have hope, you ask of him. That is all you ask of him. Give it a chance. It is what he wants, isn't it?

Of course it is. But are you okay if the inevitable comes true?

You pause, and he studies your naive, innocent eyes. But you know more than perhaps Itachi has realized. You know it is okay to treasure. It is okay to enjoy. The journey matters more than the destination. Yes, it is okay, you tell him, you love to love him all the same.

Dark eyes close. Then he will give you what is desired.

Kisame is present, of course, as well as the ancestors of the Uchiha clan in spirit. You are radiant, and he tells you so. You return the compliment in soft earnest. A single hand cups your cheek as he approaches, pausing to feel and taste your breath as it drifts into his mouth.

Itachi's kiss is barely there, like he's afraid of breaking glass. If you want to kiss deeper, you'll need to go in and get it yourself. Just don't mistake delicacy for a lack of interest. This is the most of his body he has ever given in his entire life. Just give him time.

A wedding song for you: Herbal Tea by Velvet Moon or Here For You by Good Co

[dreamingofmarauders]

Heart of Stone

Sirius Black x GN!Reader

Summary: After repeatedly feeling disappointment from supposed friends, the last straw is when your heart shatters after the love of your life turns you away like everyone else, so you decide to harden your heart so much that nothing can ever hurt you again. Fourteen years later, the same man enters your life once again.

Warnings: Fake friends, feeling unloved, heart break, loneliness, mentions of death, crying, cussing, angst, a hint of fluff

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This one is a bit of a longer piece, I just recently finished it and I really loved this idea and I think it turned out not too bad. I tried to keep it GN!Reader but if it does not seem to be at any point, please let me know! Apologies if there are errors/typos, I tried my best to catch them. If you enjoy it don't forget to give it a like! A reblog would be appreciated as well :)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You sighed, eyes flitting between your friends, or that's what they said they were to you anyway. You, however, felt otherwise. Sure these people were in your year, half of them your dorm mates, but when they made plans without you, forgot you were there during conversations, you would feel your heart clench and feel otherwise.

You had known love from dear ones once, when you were young. But, fate had been too cruel to you and snatched your parents away from you just as you had entered Hogwarts. It had taken a huge toll on you, realizing your parents were gone forever. Sure, you had moved in with your uncle and aunt and their kids, but having already been distant from them, it affected the amount of love you received from them.

It took you some time but you were able to make friends slowly after you were able to accept the fact your parents weren't coming back. The years progressed and while you had initially loved your friends, now you felt more a tag along than anything. They barely acknowledged you and would only notice your presence if you suddenly spoke up.

You were tired of it and soon broke ties with them. However you were unaware at the time, but someone entirely different would enter your life and change everything for you.

That someone was Sirius Black.

You weren't even sure how it had begun but suddenly one day the Gryffindor began to ask you out, and continued to do so until you finally said yes some months later as you both neared the end of your sixth year.

And that was the best decision you had made.

You were beyond happy with Sirius and you couldn't imagine your life without him.

You were madly in love with Sirius Black.

Your life was looking all good.

Until now.

"What?" You breathed out in disbelief as you stared at the man in front of you.

It was a late autumn evening in 1981, and Sirius was over at yours. The two of you had yet to move in to a place together since Sirius stilled lived with his best mate, Remus, and since Remus struggled financially, sharing a flat the two best friends could pay for it together, which you and Sirius both understood how much easier it would make things for Remus.

It was always a joyous and lovely time whenever Sirius came over to your place, except now, you felt your whole world crashing down.

"You heard me the first time." He grunted out, "I want to break up."

Your lip wobbled as tears began to cascade down your cheeks.

"Why?" You whispered out, the heartache reflected in your voice.

Sirius looked at you with cold eyes, "Why? Because you're worthless and you were just a time pass for me, nothing more, I'm tired of you."

Those words were the last straw. You heard your heart shatter into a million pieces as the sobs escaped your mouth, your body wracking with each one. For once in your life after so long, you thought things were alright, that you were happy and loved. How could you have been so blind?

"I hate you, Sirius Black." You uttered out as you felt your knees buckle out from underneath you, making you fall to the floor as you cried. "I hate you so much." You said before shakily wiping your tears away as you stood up, trying to get a grip on yourself in front of him.

"Get out." You spoke, pointing to the door, "Get out of my home and never show me your face again." You ordered, staring into those grey irises you loved so much. You saw Sirius' face flicker with a different emotion which you couldn't decipher, before his face hardened and he turned on his heels, walking away and slamming the door behind him.

As the sound echoed off the walls, you let out a sob and finally let yourself crumble entirely.

"What did I do to ever deserve this?" You cried out, pouring your heart out as you let the tears flow.

Although after that day, you vowed to never let anyone hurt you again and to never shed a tear again.

So as James and Lily died and Sirius was sent to jail for their murder, you did not cry, and as Remus disappeared without a trace, you did not cry.

You had died the day Sirius had broken up with you, as each of his words had pierced your heart like a dagger. Now, all you had was a stone for a heart.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Many, many years after the end of the First Wizarding War, you stood once again in a similar situation. Voldemort had come back but everyone refused to believe James and Lily’s son, Harry Potter. So Dumbledore took matters into his own hands.

The Order of the Phoenix was back in business.

You sauntered in, causing all heads to turn and some to even gasp in surprise. After all, you had worked hard and become one of the top Aurors of the department.

“Glad to see you have finally arrived, Y/n.” Dumbledore said to you before turning to the whole room, “This here is Y/n L/n for those of you who may not know, and they will henceforth be joining us from today.”

Murmurs and nods of agreement filled the dining room before you were gestured to a seat by Dumbledore. You swiftly placed yourself on a chair, turning your full attention to the Hogwarts Headmaster. Although you of course felt that prickling at the back of your neck, the sensation of being watched.

You knew who it was, and you hated him. So you did the only thing reasonable.

You removed your gaze from Dumbledore to the Azkaban escapee, who watched you from the head of the table, your ex, Sirius Black, and stared him down with a coldness that sent the warm smile that erupted on his lips vanishing, making guilt flood his face.

Satisfied, you turned back to the Order Founder once again.

The meeting went on and before you knew it, your chair made a sound as it scraped against the floor when you stood up, as you headed out of the meeting room and straight for the main door of Twelve Grimmauld Place.

A hand caught onto your wrist, pausing your movement. You felt your body stiffen. Even after all these years, you still remembered his touch.

“Let go, Black, I have places to be.” You gritted out.

“Hear me out please.”

You immediately freed yourself from his grip and spun on your heels, glaring at Sirius who only watched you with a broken look. He had caused this and he had regretted it since that day and would regret his decision until his last breath. He had hurt his Y/n and turned you into this shell of a person.

“Like I said that day all those years back,” You began saying, “I don’t want to see your face.” You spat at him before turning to go, leaving Sirius stare after your retreating figure in guilt and heartache.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

“He really misses you, you know?”

You looked up at the tall man beside you, your piercing gaze staring into his soul.

“It was his fault for whatever happened. He left just like you disappeared as well.” You replied making the Gryffindor’s expression turn into one of shame.

You had ran into Remus Lupin at the second Order meeting, seeing the werewolf after so many years, but like towards everyone that had hurt you, you had disregarded him.

Now as you and Remus were on your assigned mission together, the Gryffindor tried to make another attempt to get through to you.

“I’m sorry, you know that, Y/n.”

You let out a breath, “Focus, Lupin, danger could be anywhere.” You stated instead, ending the discussion altogether to which Remus shook his head in defeat, heaving a heavy sigh.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

”Y/n/n.” He said as he corner you at the stairwell. You glared up at him as he caged you against the wall.

“Move Black, before I hex you.” You gritted out, making Sirius only shake his head.

“Not until you listen to what I have to say.”

You groaned, letting your head fall against the wall. Sirius had been persistent in his attempts to catch you, but you always got away from him quickly. To be frank, you were tired of it.

“Fine.” You said and watched Sirius’ face light up. “But after this, you will not try to approach me ever again, got it?”

Sirius’ smile dimmed but the hope in his eyes shone just as before. “I give you my word.”

You released a breath, irritatingly, pushing the man away, gesturing for him to follow you to the room that housed a small library. You both stood by the fireplace, the light creating shadows on your faces as you stared Sirius down.

“You have only a few minutes to explain your gibberish, so start talking, Black.” You said, your arms coming to fold over your chest as you began to tap your foot impatiently.

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I am truly sorry for all the pain I caused you. I deserve every bit of your hate, but you need to understand I did it to keep you safe.”

You arched an eyebrow, letting out a cold, mocking laugh, “Seriously, Black?”

Sirius nodded, “You have every reason not to trust me but believe me, I only broke up with you because I needed to make sure you were safe.” He paused, sucking in a breath as you watched with slight curiosity, “I had originally agreed to become Lily and James’ Secret Keeper, and I knew I was going to be a big target.” Sirius paused, his voice choking, “I-I couldn’t have let you get harmed due to me, y/n/n, I loved you too much. I did what seemed reasonable at the time; To push you away.”

Sirius sank down into the armchair, holding his face, “Of course, not only did I fuck up by losing you for good but I suggested Peter as Secret Keeper, and that decision cost James and Lily’s lives.” He said, staring blankly into the fire.

Sirius dared a glance up at you only to discover that you were already gazing at him. There was a different, softer, emotion in your eyes, but Sirius couldn’t decipher what it really meant. He watched you open and close your mouth a few times, before loudly clearing your throat.

“I don’t know if your story is true or not but I’m sorry about James and Lily, they didn’t deserve any of it.” You paused, swallowing, “I’m sorry about you landing in Azkaban, because you weren’t at fault for their murders, but I can't forgive you, we could have worked something out but you made the choice to push me away and it worked. I can't ever forgive you for the pain you caused me.” With that, you looked at him, shaking your head slightly before walking off, leaving Sirius to stare after you as your words echoed around in his head, his heart dropping.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

True to his word, Sirius had stopped pursuing you after that fateful day, for which you were grateful. However, you felt a rather peculiar feeling pulling your heart after that conversation, but you couldn't understand what it was and why it was bothering you.

One evening, you had been invited to a party to celebrate Ron and Hermione becoming Prefects at Grimmauld Place. You had just stepped out of the bathroom and were heading back to the dining room, when something caught your ear.

"Hey, isn't that Y/n?"

You paused, the voice seemingly coming from the room closest to you currently on the floor.

"It is." A rather familiar voice answered.

Sirius.

You quietly peeked into the room, only to find Sirius sitting, with what seemed to be a photo album laying open on his lap and Harry peeking over his shoulder.

"Wait... Are- Were you two..."

"A thing? Yeah, we were." Sirius said, his voice carrying a fondness that he had always used with you.

"But now you aren't together anymore? Why?" Harry questioned, his eyebrows furrowed as he scratched his scalp, reminding Sirius of his best friend.

"Because I messed up the best thing in my life." Sirius answered, his tone holding a somberness to it. "I thought it was best to break up with them to keep Y/n safe, but not only did I screw up there but my mistakes also cost your parents' lives, Harry."

There was a tense silence that felt suffocating to Y/n, who was listening carefully from the outside.

"Do you still love them?" Harry slowly asked, gazing at his godfather with sympathy and curiosity.

"Never stopped. Y/n's one of the reasons I was sane in Azkaban. I never stopped loving them, Harry, and I never will." Sirius answered, his eyes glossing over.

You felt your heart twist, something familiar coming up but you shook your head fiercely. You couldn't become weak.

Not again.

With an air of determination, you walked back to the party, unaware that the past was catching back up to you.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Months had passed since then, you had been on guard duty the most, guarding the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. The one day you had not been able to attend your assigned shift because you had fallen ill, Arthur Weasley had been attacked by Voldemort’s snake, Nagini. Thankfully the ginger man pulled through and was fine. Some months after that, there was no trace of the white snow as June had long arrived, bringing warmer days.

Ever since you overheard Sirius talking about you with Harry, as much as you denied it, something had shifted in your heart. At times, your mind was full of thoughts of the raven haired man, or you’d secretly glance at him, although much to your dismay Remus had caught you once and he had been teasing you endlessly, knowing your long buried feelings were surfacing once again.

It was one day you were at Twelve Grimmauld Place, in the dining room after a meeting. Only a few of you remained behind, your fellow co-workers Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nyphmadora Tonks, a good friend of yours, along with Remus, whom you had began to fix your friendship with and Sirius, who still received your coldness, which he willingly accepted. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t showed small gestures for you, whether that was making sure your glass of water was full at dinner, or going to bed after you had retired to your room for whenever you had to stay the night. Although you wouldn’t admit it but you were touched by his actions, reminding you of the sweet time from all those years back.

However all hell broke loose as you all received a Patronus, prompting you all to apparate out to the Ministry of Magic, as Harry and his friends had apparently ended up in the Department of Mysteries, where the Death Eaters were on their tail.

The group of you burst through into the room where they all were and that’s when all chaos broke loose. The Death Eaters turned onto the newly arrived and a huge battle broke out. You found yourself face to face with Rabastan Lestrange as you ran in.

His eyes lit up in delight, “Well if it isn’t the famous Auror L/n.” He cackled, “Too bad it’s time for you to finally be defeated.” And he shot a spell at you which you dodged, instead throwing a spell his way which he deflected.

Both of you were going back and forth but he hadn’t realized you were just making him feel a false sense of security.

He laughed again after deflecting another spell, “That all you got? You’re a disgrace to the name of an Auror, L/n.”

You finally smirked, “Bye bye, Lestrange." You uttered before casting a powerful spell, that too so quickly that the Death Eater noticed it a second too late, too absorbed in his self glory and went flying, hit a wall and fell down, unconscious.

It was a secret trick you used, knowing these people were too self absorbed about themselves that any small feeling of victory would have them letting their guard down.

Satisfied, you turned your eyes towards the others. However new shouts and people pointing had you looking up only to realize Albus Dumbledore, who had been on the run due to the Ministry wanting to arrest him, had also joined the battle.

Only one pair was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. You watched Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: he was laughing at her.

''Come on, you can do better than that!'' He yelled, his voice echoing around the room.

Your eyes flitted to Bellatrix, whose face took on a deadly expression of determination.

You felt your feet begin to start moving, knowing this wouldn’t end well as Sirius was distracted. You had just screamed his name when the second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

“SIRIUS!” You shouted as his surprised gaze turned to you, and he began to fall, right back into the Veil and you felt your stomach drop.

Your years of training came into use and you managed to get there and caught his hand, pulling him back. You lost your balance and the pair of you fell onto the ground.

You heard Bellatrix cackle gleefully, shouting, ���I killed Sirius Black!” And Harry, who was in a state of shock turned to her in anger and chased her all the way out, Dumbledore following. However, you couldn’t care less. You were numbly staring at Sirius’ limp body beside you, and suddenly your heart broke.

“SIRIUS!” You shouted out in agony, cradling his face. “Wake up, please! You can’t leave me again! Please wake up!” You cried, your head falling against his chest as you sobbed your heart out. “I love you.” You whispered out, too distraught that all your intelligence had left you. It’s only when Remus sat beside you, slowly grabbing you and letting you cry against him, that he, as a last attempt gripped Sirius' wrist due to which did you all find out he was still alive.

Some hours later, you all were back at Twelve Grimmauld Place, waiting for the Healer to fix up Sirius. As soon as the Healer left, you burst into the room, dropping to your knees by the bed, watching with tears of relief pooling in your eyes as you saw Sirius' chest evenly rise and fall.

He was alive.

Everyone else present at Headquarters took a little peek at him before leaving the room, knowing you and him needed time alone.

"You were right, Remus."

Remus, who was standing beside you, looked at you with a surprised expression, "What?"

"You were right, I had been lying to everyone including myself." You told him, gently stroking your thumb over Sirius' hand, gazing at him softly. "I think my feelings had come back a long time ago, I just was too stubborn to admit them." You confessed, your heart twisting. “If Sirius had died, how would I have lived with myself?” You said, turning to look at Remus, who looked at you with sympathy.

“But you have the chance now.” He answered, squeezing your shoulder encouragingly. A knock interrupted the two of you and you both turned to find Tonks sticking her head through the door.

“You got a second, Remus?” She said, to which the werewolf nodded and patted you gently on the shoulder before following the metaphormagus out. You watched him go and as the door shut, you turned to look back at Sirius, softly brushing a few loose strands of hair away from his face

He suddenly stirred, his face scrunching up before he flickered open his eyes, grey orbs flitting around as he tried to understand where he was.

"Siri?'

Your voice caught his attention and Sirius turned his head slightly to the side to look at you, his gaze filling up with love.

"Y/n/n?"

"How are you feeling?" You asked.

Sirius stared at you in surprise, finding you by his side, looking so worried which was completely astonishing to him, since you barely ever glanced at him.

"I think so." He groaned, eyes clenching shut for a brief moment, "I remember dueling Bellatrix and then a spell hit me but after that..."

"You almost fell through the veil. You almost died." You told him, your voice cracking on the last word making Sirius frown in concern as he sat up, pulling you up to seat you beside himself.

Your lip wobbled as tears began to cascade down your cheeks. "I am so sorry for everything. I-I-" A sob escaped you, "I was so hurt when you left that I told myself I'd never let anyone else in, and I held it against you when you were nothing but sorry."

Sirius felt his heart shatter and he moved to grab you but you shook your head, "I don't deserve you." You said, curling in on yourself as you finally let yourself cry, to let all those emotions buried deep within the chambers of your heart break free.

Sirius' grey eyes filled up with tears and he wrapped his arms around you, allowing you to sob into his chest.

"It's not your fault, love, it never was." He told you, caressing your head gently.

"I almost lost you today and I would have never forgiven myself if I had never got to tell you that I still love you."

Sirius stiffened, his mind buzzing while his heart began to thump loudly in his chest. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“You what?” He uttered out in disbelief. You pulled away, wiping your face before placing your hands on either side of Sirius’ face.

“I love you, Sirius Black.” You expressed, your lips turning up into a small smile. "I love you so much."

Sirius stared at you with slightly rounded eyes before he smiled so wide that you melted.

“Am I dead and in heaven?”

“Sirius!” You scolded, smacking him very lightly on the chest for his mischief.

Sirius let out a bark of laughter before his eyes filled up with love and fondness, his grin not leaving his face.

“I love you so much, darling.” He practically whispered, his voice reflecting his heart. “I love you so much.”

You beamed at that before letting your hands slide to his neck, your breathing beginning to pick up as Sirius moved his hands down to your waist. Your eyes flickered between his eyes and back, him doing the exact same. You both leaned in, your eyes slowly fluttering and you gently attached your lips to his.

At that, memories of all those years came rushing back. The feel of each other, the kisses, the hugs, the happiness, the love.

The kiss was slow and soft but once you both got a taste of each other, emotions became high and the two of you got more aggressive, Sirius picking you up and placing you on his lap as you both deepened the kiss, wanting more of each other as the two of you had been deprived of each other for so long.

A sudden throat clearing made you jump and the pair of you pulled apart only to find a smirking Remus and a gleeful Tonks.

“So I guess it’s time for a celebration huh?” The young woman said, eyeing her cousin and friend.

“I think it’s best if we leave these two alone.” Remus commented, throwing a wink your way to which you flipped off them both, earning chuckles out of everyone.

Sirius pulled you close, kissing your cheek before you rested your head on his shoulder.

After long and lonely years, your heart had returned to its previous state, like it had been all those years ago, before it had hardened into stone.

Your heart was back with Sirius Black and his was yours.

Forever and always.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi!!

Could you find Sterek fics where Derek is multilingual or know Polish language?

Hola Anon! Si, tengo mucho.

Five Times Derek Failed To Tell Stiles How He Feels (+1 Time Stiles Knew Anyway) by WhoNatural

(1/1 I 3,338 I Teen)

Stiles grins, impish and proud, and scrabbles at another piece of his notebook. Derek is determined to ignore it - he really is, but Stiles’ legs are longer than they might seem and his reach includes the front leg of Derek’s chair.

He sighs, put-upon, and unfolds the note,

Wanna go steady w/ me? Y[ ] or Y[ ]

you know you're on my mind by bibliosexual

(9/9 I 16,371 I Teen)

If there’s one thing Derek’s learned in life, it’s that crushing on someone who lives on an entire other fucking continent is probably a bad idea.

I'm a War of Head Versus Heart by NieR

(5/5 I 23,091 I Explicit)

Being FWB with Derek Hale is great. Awesome, even.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, Stiles thinks he might have fallen in love.

And, well, shit.

Two Minutes for Holding by captaintinymite (augopher)

(18/18 I 121,498 I Explicit)

There were three things college hockey players Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski knew for certain. 1) Their lives revolved around hockey, 2) They were madly in love, and 3) Derek was so far in the closet he might never find his way out.

They'd been together for two years now, and for two years they'd been a secret with only a few people knowing about them. Yet Derek's fear kept them from moving forward: fear of his family's rejection, fear of his sexuality tanking his father's career, fear of the rampant homophobia in professional sports. The ruse was growing thin.

Something had to give.

Or: The story of how one epic NCAA Championship run and college, served as the backdrop for some of life's great hardships.

AND

@barleymowetc suggested this fic.

Put Down in Words by paintedrecs

(31/31 I 203,706 I Mature I Sterek)

“Oh,” Stiles said, his voice coming out low and breathy, “fuck me.”

“I don’t think that’s on the syllabus, but we can check to see if there’s a spot open in any of his classes,” Scott said, grinning.

“This isn’t an actual professor, though,” Stiles insisted, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the sharp line of the man’s bearded jaw. He was laughing at something off-camera, the shot taken in three-quarters view, his coat collar casually rumpled and opened to reveal a sliver of a simple grey t-shirt. The whole thing was deliberately calculated to lend him a more accessible feel, and god help him, Stiles was falling for it.

*

When Stiles signed up for Dr. Hale’s intro to history class, he had two goals: knock out the credits his advisor was bugging him to complete before he graduated, and spend a few hours a week daydreaming about his sexy professor’s salt and pepper beard.

Derek, a few months away from turning forty and not sure when his life had started feeling so damn lonely, had never encountered someone like Stiles before. Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, determined to throw Derek’s carefully cultivated world into disarray…and absolutely the last person Derek should be falling in love with.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

🎃 That's my darlin'..

Reward CW: Abduction, blackmail, dub-con, humiliation, oral (giving)

The basement was suddenly filled with light, illuminating first on the staircase from the opened door then blinding (Reader) when their kidnapper flipped on the light switch. They shuffled back into the furthest corner of their cage. The cage was wide enough to lay down in and tall enough to sit up on their knees.

"Good morning, darlin'!" Billy joyfully called out as he hit the bottom step. "Did you sleep well?" Nothing good ever came from trying to reason with the bastard, so (Reader) was nervous to play along. Black boots clomped against cement as he approached the cage.

"I'm.. I'm really hungry, Billy." (Reader) tried not to cry, knowing that by responding they were entering whatever sick game Billy had prepared for them. It was always something new, some disturbing way to humiliate them and break them down. They didn't want to, but the hunger pains were too extreme to ignore.

"Well, you know what you have to do to get what you want.."

"You want me to beg?!"

"Heavens no! I'm your future husband, not your God. I don't want you to beg.. but.." Billy smiled wide, revealing all his sharp, uneven teeth. "if you play real nice, I'll reward ya. What do you say?"

"Okay." Hoping Billy meant complimenting him or sweet talking him (Reader) agreed far too quickly, scooting over to the bars he stood at. "What do you want me to do?"

"Pretend like we're newlyweds." The bastard said matter-of-factly.

Blushing not with cute embarrassment, but shame, (Reader) smiled as sweetly as they could. They knew it was a trap, but they needed to eat. "We-Welcome home, baby! How w-was work?"

His shoulders relaxed, releasing tension as his sinister smile turned loving. "It was a rough one, but I'm glad to be home now! I missed you."

"I... missed you too."

The warm and tender look on his face darkened again, revealing the twist that (Reader) had been waiting for. Billy unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants to his knees, standing in only his boxers in front of (Reader), his hips level with their face. (Reader) flinched away, crying out "What are you doing?!"

"Ah ah ah, newlyweds, remember? Madly in love, still in our honeymoon phase, newlyweds. What does my little darlin' want to do, seeing the man they love like this?"

Tears stuck to (Reader's) lashes like dew drops on spider webs. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well.. you're already on your knees."

Sobbing silently, (Reader) reached through the bars, rubbing Billy's flaccid penis through his underwear. His body was pressed against the cage, giving (Reader) complete access to his body. They kissed him through the musty cloth, feeling his cock harden against their lips. Trembling fingers continued playing with Billy's member until he sighed

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't want it.."

"No!"

(Reader) hastily pulled down his boxers, eagerly kissing and licking the growing member. They sucked on his dick, feeling as it swelled to fill their mouth. Their hands continued frantically petting him, caressing his heavy testicles tenderly as they swirled their tongue across his slit.

Billy groaned in approval, encouraging (Reader) to continue. Hearing his heavy breathing and feeling his subtle bucking into their mouth warmed (Reader) down to their core. They kept telling themselves that they were only acting desperate for his dick because they wanted to be let out of their cage, but the uncomfortable feeling in their own under garments continued increasing as the hungrily devoured Billy's dripping precum.

"That's my darlin'.." Billy praised, making (Reader) whimper sweetly with their bruised lips still wrapped around his shaft. "Fuck, you're doing such a good job playing house.."

Grabbing their head through the bars, Billy pulled (Reader) off his dick with a wet pop, releasing his load onto their face, painting their flushed cheeks and tired eyes with his thick semen.

"What do you say?"

(Reader) smiled dopily, knowing that they did a good job. "Thank you, sweetheart!"

"Very good." Billy cooed, reaching down to his back pocket and pulling out (Reader's) reward: the key.