nulixity

[nulixity]

Behind Blue Eyes | Link x Reader |

author's note: i've been on a big twilight princess kick lately and it inspired me to pick this wip back up. i had it around halfway done in 2023 but never actually finished it, nor did i write down my plan so i kinda had to try and read my own mind lmao n e way i hope you all like this and have a great day 🩷

pairing: link x fem!reader

warnings: slight canon-typical violence, link is also only a wolf in this, slight angst and a bit of comfort

It's a dark night in Ordon, the stars hidden behind the cloudy sky and effectively ruining your favorite spot in the small village. Link's house holds the single best stargazing spot in the world, you think, even though you've never set foot past Faron. There's just no way anywhere else could ever match the raw beauty of the countryside village.

There's an ache in your heart that accompanies your wistful sigh— it's been a couple of weeks since the children and Link were kidnapped by those invaders. It's far too quiet in the village, and the worry in your mind has you on edge during every waking moment. Are the kids alive? Is Link? Surely your dear love is doing something to save himself and the kids! It's always been in his nature to be the protector, the fixer of all problems and it's one of the several qualities that drew you to him so long ago.

With a huff, you begin making the descent down the ladder and the hairs at the back of your neck stand the moment your feet touch the ground. The clouds part for just a sliver of moonlight, and when you turn your head you're met with the dark, angry eyes of a growling coyote. Fear strikes your heart and you stumble back, tears filling your eyes as the beast approaches you. You're all alone, no sword or anything to defend yourself with in sight, and any scream you could attempt mustering out wouldn't possibly alert the other villagers of the danger before you've met with your terrible fate.

The coyote jumps with a ferocious roar, and you scream as your arms fruitlessly raise to shield your face. "No!"

There's an ugly, absolutely hideous roar and a wolf jumps out at the coyote during its ascension above you, tackling it aside and saving you, if only for the moment. Your entire body trembles in fear and tears slip past your tightly shut lids. The wolf saved you from the coyote, sure, but what's to stop the wolf from attacking you himself?

It's quiet and the only sound other than your soft whimpers is what seems like a chain clanking against itself on the ground. Surprisingly, you're not dead yet. What sort of wolf is this? Daring a quick glance from your curled up knees, you look ahead to see the wolf sitting patiently, watching you carefully as you slowly come to realize the lack of a threat.

"A wolf with blue eyes?" You mumble, the moon casting just a little bit of light on the animal. There are strange markings on its head, and… Earrings? Who in the world pierced a wolf's ears??

The wolf whines, the noise a high-pitched and frankly desperate sound. Those striking blue eyes are awfully sad, and you glance at the broken chain on its leg. "Who did this to you?" You ask softly, the wolf lowering himself to the ground and watching you approach.

Your heart beats in your throat as you stupidly, willingly approach the animal. You can practically hear Link yelling at you to get away from it and go somewhere safe, but something about this wolf is too alluring for your sensibilities. Your hand shakes as you reach out to it, but he remains entirely still as you brush your fingers over the markings on his face. Those blue eyes watch you intently, and something about them is all too familiar.

"Thank you for saving me." You whisper. "You best get out now, before someone from the village comes." You start to turn towards the ladder that takes you to Link's front door, but the wolf nudges his snout to your hand with a whine.

Frowning, you look back down at him. "I can't do anything about your chain."

The wolf takes great care as his teeth tug at your dress, gently pulling you a few steps away from the house. He releases and backs up towards the path to the holy spring, and once you're surely following him he books it to the home of the Ordona deity, where the moon shines brightest despite the cloudy night. The water of the spring is clear, the white sand practically glowing as it does most nights. It's no wonder this spot is the most romantic in all of Ordon and the one you and Link always frequent; his eyes just look so pretty here, not that you tend to see them during the frenzied lip locking you inevitably end up in during those visits to the spring.

Once there, the wolf gnashes his teeth into the wood of the gate, closing the repaired big doors over as best as he can. It's during this odd attempt for what seems like privacy that you take a moment to study the beast, now that there's more light to do so. He seems strong, and is much bigger than that coyote was by at least two times. Wolves aren't a very common sight at all in Ordon, though Rusl and Link have surely seen them in Faron Woods when they're off collecting firewood for the village.

Invaders or visitors alike hardly ever come to Ordon; the small province is quite closed off, being only accessible by a rather rickety bridge connecting the sides of the wide chasm between your side and the rest of the world. For him to be here is certainly out of the norm, though him being friendly is even rarer.

“You've come a long way, haven't you?” You murmur, noting the injuries littering his body. He's probably used the last good bit of his strength just to save you, and he must have had to pass by the Faron Spring to get here with these injuries. That's nothing if not rife with intent.

This wolf wanted to come to Ordon, to this spring in particular. It wasn't enough for the healing waters of the Faron Spring, and he also knows of the tiny healing spring that's hidden in the province. A blue eyed beast…

He lays down in the shallow water, though it's more of a slump than anything. His sigh is peaceful, grateful even as the warmth of the spring begins to heal him and rejuvenate his body. There's a bit of a nasty gash behind his ear, though, and surely germs are frothing at the mouth to infect it. This poor thing has gone through something absolutely hellish… And you do owe him your life.

Steps still tentative despite the debt, those blue eyes open up as you near closer. Your hands shake as you hold them up, indicating your intentions to be true and just as you lower yourself beside the wolf and collect the gentle water in your cupped hands. “You have a cut.” There's really nothing to indicate that this wolf can understand your words, but he seems to have such an innate understanding of everything else that it only seems natural to communicate with him.

The water wets his dark fur, seeping into the injury as you carefully trickle the water from the opening gaps in your fingers. His soft-looking ear twitches a few times, the large paw on the same leg as that awful chain coming to rest carefully on your leg. He's quite… Gentle, for an animal. Not even ten minutes ago was he tearing apart a coyote (in your stead) and now he's turned around and practically become a lap dog.

It's quiet as you help heal the wolf, the only sounds in the air coming from the water as you take scoop after scoop to tend to each wound. The night is chill, but his massive warmth as he rests his head on your leg soothes it away. His comfort dares to border on familiar, and there's just something so…

You can't quite place your tongue on it. But he's friendly, that's for sure.

“I think that's all of them.” You speak softly, tiredly even as you gently rake your hands through his fur for any more wounds. “Do you feel better?”

He stands then, stepping back a few feet to shake off the excess water. It's not quite far enough, however, and you throw your hands in front of your face to protect it from the droplets the beast shakes off. Your clothes aren't too terribly drenched from it, but you'll be changing out of them the moment you go home anyway. They're all sandy and covered in wolf fur now!

The wolf whines a bit, nudging his wet nose against your cheek. You laugh a bit, holding his face gently. “It's okay.”

It almost seems like he's smiling now as he drags that pink tongue along the side of your face in some gesture of affection or thanks. It's honestly gross, but you find you don't mind once you're having another look in those blue eyes. He whines desperately again, closing the gap between you and resting his head on your shoulder. It's like a hug, of sorts, and you've never known an animal, let alone a wild one, to act so lonely. Wolves do run in packs, you suppose… So where are his friends?

“What're you doin’ here, hm?” It's perhaps a little odd to hug him back, but frankly after the last two weeks you've spent worrying about your boyfriend and the village kids, it's nice to have comfort, even if it is from a wolf.

The chain clinks against itself as he moves his paw, pressing it right against your chest. Frowning, you pull back and take it carefully. Perhaps he's got a thorn or something stuck in it and it's hurting him. Lord knows you're experienced in that area; there's no telling how many times you've carefully extracted splinters and bee stingers from Link’s hands, arms and general body.

Time slows to a near standstill, the water gently waving in the slight breeze the only thing reminding you that this is real life. There's no thorn in this paw, no… But rather a familiar mark on it, one so unique you've only seen it on one other being. A person.

Link.

A blue eyed beast.

“How did this happen to you??” It's baffling, so ridiculous it could hardly be true! But that birthmark… “Link…”

Link merely whines, and of course he does. It's not as if he can speak to you! Trapped in a beastly form… How horrible, how impossible… How could your quiet, peaceful life suddenly be turned so upside down? Tears fill your eyes and you caress his face sweetly, not even a shred of fear in your body now. Link would never hurt you, after all. Pressing your forehead against him, two tears slip and sink into his fur.

His tongue gently laps against your cheek, decidedly less slobbery than his first show of affection. He always has used a bit of tongue during kissing, but not quite like this. Still, a small laugh bubbles from your chest and you kiss his forehead sweetly. “My love… What in the world have you gotten into?”

Link merely sighs, leaning desperately into your touch. The size and strength of this strange form is new to him, clearly, as he knocks you right onto your back with his weight. “Oof!”

You're covered in wolf kisses now as he tucks into your side, giving his love like it's the last of it. Gentle whines desperately litter your skin alongside blatant sniffs, as if he's trying to remember your scent on a level he's never had to before. Perhaps he is; a wolf’s nose is sharp, and while you'd never entertain the possibility prior to tonight, the scent of you may be all Link has to keep him sane. He's here in this form for reasons unknown to you, but there's a very simple truth that trickles into your heart.

He's going to try and fix everything, because that's just who he is. And he's very likely not in Ordon to see you, though it doesn't seem this detour of plans is particularly bothersome. You'll have to realign his focus; he's got work to do. The same sentiments echo on those early mornings when you kick him out of bed when he's unwilling to go to work, so this isn't much different… That's the lie you do your best to believe as you hold his furry face carefully between soft palms.

“Thank you for being safe, and for saving me from that coyote.” Link responds with a defiant grunt, as if to scoff at you. He'd never accept thanks for that; it's his duty, in his mind. You're the one he loves most of all, after all. How could he not protect you?

“Don't give me that.” Your chiding is so gentle alongside a finger against the tip of that wet nose. “Clearly it's not safe right now, so I'm going to be more careful, and make sure everyone else is too. Rusl tried to save you and the kids… He got hurt real bad. And I don't want you worrying about me or any of us back here in Ordon, so I'm gonna get those oldheads into shape, give ‘em curfews and that kinda stuff. And while I do that, you're gonna promise me that the next time I see you, I'm gonna see you. Okay?”

Link nods, and there's resolve in his eyes now. It's much better than the beaten down wolf he was an hour ago, and he follows your lead out of the spring and to the clearing outside of his home. Those blue eyes sparkle once you've given the top of his head yet another sweet kiss, and perhaps he hasn't enough shame in him as you climb the ladder up towards bed.

The sounds of the chain beat against the ground as he heads into the village, and the next time you happen upon blue eyes, their promise is kept.

[nulixity]

hi!!! i was wondering if u could make javier x shy!reader? where javier confesses his feelings :) 💖 ty!

Love, love, love this idea! Hope you enjoy :)

✦

Soft-Spoken Hearts

Beneath a sky full of stars and the soft strum of his guitar, a quiet girl finds courage in the warmth of Javier’s gaze. Words aren’t needed when his touch says everything — gentle, patient, and full of unspoken love. In the hush between songs, two soft hearts finally meet. *Fluff, mutual pining, campfire confession, kissing Pairing: Javier Escuella x Shy!Reader Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl Red Dead Redemption Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The fire crackled low, its ember-glow licking shadows up the tall, reaching spines of pine trees that guarded the Van der Linde camp like quiet sentinels. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood, old leather, and the lingering spice of stew long eaten. Smoke curled lazily into the night, catching in your hair like a secret. Fireflies blinked slow and golden near the edge of the clearing, and somewhere far off, a coyote called to the moon — unanswered.

Camp was winding down. The din of voices had dulled to an easy murmur, broken now and then by a burst of laughter from the remaining card table or the sound of Bill grumbling half-drunkenly about nothing at all. Most folks had already retreated to their tents, bellies full and heads swimming in cheap liquor. A breeze pushed gently at the flaps of the canvas tarps, stirring the hanging laundry like ghosts in the dark. Susan Grimshaw’s voice carried faintly from her tent — sharp as a tack even when the moon was high — muttering about socks not scrubbed and tin plates left out. Uncle was snoring again, so loud it might scare the dead back to life, never mind the coyotes.

And you were exactly where you always were at this time of night: sitting on the worn log near the edge of the firelight, legs folded up to your chest, arms wrapped snugly around them. Chin resting lightly on your knees, you sat half in shadow, half in flame. A liminal thing. A quiet thing. Watching, as you often did.

It wasn’t that you were afraid of people — at least not entirely. It was just that words never came easy. They felt too big in your mouth or too small for the feelings you carried. When others talked, laughed, argued, you preferred to slip along the edges of it all. To observe. To think. There was a softness to your silence, but also strength — a silence that held the weight of all you noticed but never said.

And someone had noticed that in return.

Javier Escuella.

He had been watching you — not the way others did, not with hunger or judgment or idle curiosity. His glances were quieter. Warmer. Like he was studying a sunrise instead of something to own. He never looked at you like you were strange for being quiet, for drifting around the camp like a ghost with gentle hands and eyes full of old, unspoken thoughts. He looked at you like maybe your silence was a language all its own. And he wanted to learn it.

There were times — so many now — when your eyes would meet across the campfire or over the water buckets, and he’d give you the smallest, softest smile. Not a grin. Not the smirk he flashed when teasing Bill or winning a hand of poker. No, this smile was something else. A smile he kept just for you.

Tonight, he sat on the opposite side of the fire, his guitar nestled against his chest like a second heartbeat. The instrument shimmered faintly in the firelight, wood worn smooth by time and love. He played a slow, wandering melody — not something for dancing or drinking, but something sleepy, almost sad, like the ghost of an old love song drifting through the trees.

You watched him. You always did.

Watched the way his fingers moved — confident but tender. The way his brow furrowed slightly when he hit a particularly delicate note. The way his head tipped with the rhythm like the music moved through his bones.

He played like the world didn’t exist beyond the firelight. Like this — the flame, the strings, and maybe even your gaze — was enough.

And then, he looked up.

His eyes found yours across the flickering orange glow, and your breath caught like it always did when he looked at you like that — like he saw right through your skin, past your quiet, past the soft armor you wore around your shoulders every day. You almost looked away — it was instinct, after all. But something in his gaze held you still.

He paused his strumming, just a second. Just enough to make your heart skip painfully in your chest.

Then — that smile. Soft, sincere. He nodded, just barely, a quiet invitation. A beckon.

You hesitated. Your palms prickled, heartbeat thudding somewhere up in your throat. But your body moved before your fear could tether it. Slowly, almost uncertainly, you stood. The hem of your skirt — or the edge of your trousers, depending on the day — brushed against your ankles as you walked, boots whispering against the dirt and pine needles underfoot.

You took a seat across from him, cautious but not shy away from him — not this time. You settled onto the log, hands folded tight in your lap, knees close together. The fire crackled softly between you, dancing shadows across Javier’s cheekbones and jaw. He was beautiful in a way that crept up on you. Not flashy. Not loud. Just... real. Like a poem you found buried in the back of a worn book.

He started playing again, slower now, more thoughtful. Like he was letting the music breathe alongside him.

And then, his voice broke the stillness — low and rich, like molasses and smoke.

“You always listen so quietly,” he murmured, not looking up. “Makes me wonder what kind of things you keep in that quiet head of yours.”

Your cheeks flushed before you could stop them, heat rushing to your skin like wildfire. You dipped your head, hiding behind the curtain of your hair.

“I just…” Your voice was soft. Fragile. But honest. “I like the sound. Of your music.”

He stopped playing again, just for a beat. His dark eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You always say so much in so few words,” he said, and this time his smile lingered, like he didn’t want to let it go.

You gave a small shrug, not trusting your voice again. The fire crackled between you, casting your lashes in shadow.

He set the guitar aside gently — reverently — like it was something sacred. Then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze never leaving yours. His voice dropped a little, quieter, like this part wasn’t meant for the night to hear.

“Can I tell you something, cariño?”

Your stomach twisted at the endearment, so sweet on his tongue. But you nodded.

Javier glanced at the fire, then back at you. His eyes looked almost unsure — something rare for a man so often confident. But that only made your chest ache more.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, words unspooling slow and careful. “A lot. Since that night by the lake. You were sitting alone, watching the stars like they’d tell you a secret if you stared long enough. And I remember thinking… there’s someone with a whole universe inside of them.”

Your heart fluttered wildly, painfully, behind your ribs.

“You’re quiet,” he continued, “but not absent. Never absent. You see things. You feel them. You care, even when you don’t speak it. And that—” his voice faltered just slightly, “—that’s beautiful to me.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted but unable to form words. It was too much. Not in a bad way. Just in a way that your shy, tender heart hadn’t prepared for. You wanted to tell him everything — how his voice soothed you, how you looked forward to seeing him each morning, how you once kept a flower he tucked behind your ear for three days until it withered.

But instead, all that came out was:

“I like you too.”

Your voice cracked on the last word. You looked down, embarrassed, fingers twisting together in your lap.

“I just… I didn’t know how to say it.”

He exhaled a laugh — surprised, relieved — then reached out. His hand brushed yours, featherlight. Testing. Asking.

You didn’t pull away.

So he took your hand fully in both of his. His palms were warm and calloused, but careful. Like he was holding something delicate.

“You don’t have to talk much,” he whispered. “I’ll do all the talking, if you want. Just stay close.”

The lump in your throat swelled, but so did the warmth in your chest — blooming, radiant. You nodded, a shaky smile finding its way to your lips. The kind that made your whole face glow.

And that was enough.

Javier moved to sit beside you, shoulder brushing yours, warmth pressed into warmth. You leaned into it, slowly at first, then with the comfort of something long overdue. He hummed again — that same quiet melody — and his thumb traced gentle circles over your knuckles.

Above, the stars burned steady. Unmoving. Timeless.

You were no longer a shadow on the edge of the firelight.

You were held.

You were heard.

You were seen — completely — and loved in all the quiet, wordless ways your heart had always dreamed of.

But even in the warmth of it, even with your hand in his and the fire glowing gentle between you, there was still one more moment waiting. One you hadn’t dared to imagine.

Javier’s hand shifted slightly, your fingers still laced together as he turned toward you more fully. The fire cast its golden glow across his face — outlining the curve of his nose, the softness around his mouth, the intensity behind his dark eyes. He looked at you like you were something sacred. Like the whole world had hushed just to let this moment breathe.

His voice was barely above a whisper now, so low it felt like part of the night.

“Can I…?”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

You knew what he was asking.

Your breath trembled as you nodded — just once, just enough. You weren’t sure your voice would hold if you tried to speak. You felt too much — it swelled in your chest, your throat, your fingertips where they touched his.

Javier leaned in slowly, giving you every second to pull away if you needed to. But you didn’t.

His free hand rose, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, the backs of his fingers featherlight as they followed the line of your jaw. His touch was reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then, finally, his lips found yours.

Soft.

So, so soft.

His mouth was warm, his kiss slow and careful, like he was memorizing the shape of your hesitation — not trying to break it, only to understand it. There was no rush, no hunger. Just him. Just you. Just the trembling truth of two quiet souls reaching across the silence and finding home in each other.

You exhaled into it, your eyes fluttering closed, heart thudding loud enough to drown out the rest of the camp — the fire, the crickets, the wind. All of it disappeared.

He pulled back only slightly, just a breath between you. His forehead rested gently against yours, and when he spoke, you felt the words against your lips before you heard them.

“Mi cielo,” he whispered. “You feel like peace.”

You opened your eyes, met his gaze — and in it, you saw no mockery, no doubt. Just awe.

A quiet laugh broke out of you — soft, a little teary — and you leaned forward again, pressing your lips to his once more. This time with a little more certainty. Still gentle. Still shy. But yours.

When you parted again, your nose brushed his.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t have to.

He already understood.

Javier wrapped an arm gently around your shoulders, drawing you closer, and you leaned into him fully now, the side of your face resting against his chest. His heart was beating as fast as yours. The music of it soothed you. His thumb continued tracing lazy circles over your hand.

The stars watched in silence. The fire crackled on.

And for the first time in a long, long time… you felt brave.

Brave enough to be seen. Brave enough to be loved.

And brave enough to kiss the man who had waited so patiently to love you back.

[nulixity]

IF I SEE ONE MORE OC x CHARACTER IN THE “x reader” SECTION IMA TWEAK.

I AM NOT YOUR OC💔💔💔

[nulixity]

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Character Select: Werewolf Chris X Hunter Reader

Synopsis: An Au that takes place outside of the Resident Evil canon. You've been hunting Chris for the better half of a decade now, or maybe he was hunting you. Did it really matter when neither of you ever had any intention of actually killing each other? You'd taken a break off to try and heal an injury (and your ego) and Chris wasn't taking your absence well. He decided it was time to get your attention

CONTENT WARNING: This book contains explicit sexual content, including monster fucking, knotting, and a slightly dubious amount of consent (even if you're having the time of your life.) Viewer Discretion is advised!

Song Rec: Howl by Florence and the Machines

Authors Note: This was written to actually celebrate one of my mutuals birthday!!! She knows who she is, sorry it's like, a months late lmao. it's HERE NOW THOUGH!! WEREWOLVES RIGHT?! CAN I GET AN AMEN?!

This had Chris Redfield’s fingerprints all over it. A small village away from any quick help suddenly has a wave of missing persons reports? Check. Most of those missing people are corrupt cops or otherwise known criminals? Check. 

The people start finding the desecrated carcasses of these criminals at the edge of the woods? On or near the night of the full moon?

Check. 

You’d been hunting this bastard long enough to know his M.O. and long enough to know when he was trying to send you a message specifically. Normally, Chris was content as a passive player of the game, always happy to see you and your knife, but rarely- if ever- going out of his way to catch your attention. What kind of werewolf would he be if he spent all his time trying to get noticed by a hunter? It would have been embarrassing, quite frankly. 

This time though, he brought it to your doorstep. The small village he chose to terrorize this lunar cycle was your home village. And while you hadn’t been back in…well, since you left, he knew your old stomping grounds. He knew your connection to that land, and the only reason he would so brazenly use it as a feeding ground would be to get his “Favorite Chew Toys’” attention. Still, you couldn’t figure out why. 

Maybe he was bored. No, that didn’t make sense. Chris was an animal, but not a mindless one. Even at his most savage, he was never fully feral, that you’ve seen at least. He kept a surprisingly tight grip on himself. For a werewolf. You wondered if maybe his pack had something to do with it. Maybe they had picked it out? But, that made even less sense. From everything you knew about him, you didn’t take Chris to be the kind of Alpha that would just let his pack run amok. 

You looked up at the clear evening sky. Waxing gibbous. You had one more night before the final rampage against the settlement. You looked down as you approached a decline, and a steep one at that. You grimaced, not sure if your leg could handle that, all things considered. You really should have taken more time to recover before going back out on the field. Having your own wooden stake turned against you was a real blow both to your legs' ability to function, and your ego. 

Still, the trail led this way. And backing down had never really been your thing, even if it was against your own body. You took a step down, putting all of your weight on your good leg. You took a moment to brace yourself, taking a deep breath and holding it in your chest. 

And then you stepped right back up to the top of the incline and turned around. There were other parts of these woods you could go hunting for him in, there was no point in possibly leaving yourself prone to the enemy. 

“What, scared to fall?” A familiar gruff voice hit you like a sledgehammer. You whipped your head to the right, only to find Chris leaning against a tree- his neon yellow eyes burning a hole into your soul, glowing in the night. When did he even get there? 

“You don’t have to be, you know.” He smirked, pushing himself off the tree, “I’d catch you.” 

You immediately readied your weapon. “I’d be careful who you went around saving, Redfield,” You warned as you aimed your flit lock at him, “You never know who might have a silver bullet with your name on it.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue jacket. “Do we really have to do this every time?” he complained. You took a moment to study him. dark cargo pants, jacket, and a navy turtleneck. His body would almost entirely blend in with the night, if not for the stainless steel dog tags glinting around his neck. 

“Do what every time?” You asked, lowering the gun ever so slightly. 

“The threatening, the fighting, the dancing around the sexual tension,” he grinned at that last one, “Can’t we just talk for once? I’m starting to think you only want me for my body you know.”

You aggressively rolled your eyes back at him, deeply annoyed with his nonchalant attitude. “You’ve been terrorizing my fucking villiage Chris!” You snapped, “What is there to talk about?”

“Oh, It’s your village?” He asked flatly, cocking his head to the side, “You’re one of the leaders? I didn’t see your name on it.”

“Chris.”

He raised his hands up in mock defense. “What?” He asked, “I’m not even terrorizing it. I’m helping it.”

You growled as you threw your limbs down in an almost childish display. “Murdering people is not helpful, Redfield! We've been through this!”

He smirked slyly, taking a step toward you. “Oh, but that’s the catch Pup,”

“Do not call me that.”

“I’m not murdering people,” he continued, “It’s just monsters killing monsters. It’s not my fault I have an advantage.” 

You grit your teeth. You hated how calm he was. You hated how he always treated your encounters like a game- or worse- some sort of fucked up date. He tried to banter with you, knowing he had killed your people!

…Those people being murderers or worse, in some cases, but that wasn’t the point! The point was he dragged away from your medical leave, kicking and screaming, back to a place you fucking hated, out of obligation, and he had the audacity to try and play cat and mouse with you! 

“Where were you?” He suddenly asked, taking another step closer. He seemed to smell something, something that genuinely caught him off guard. His face only showed it for a split second though, before he went back to his regular stone facade. You noticed he took a step back though. 

You shook your head in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

He scowled, the playfulness from earlier all but gone. “What do you mean what am I talking about? I’m talking about the fact that the last time I had any eyes on you, you were at the Kennedy estate,” He kept tabs on you? “And then nothing! You vanished into that fucking shack-”

“I’d hardly call the Kennedy estate a “shack.”” You scoffed, nearly sneered really.

He got angrier, continuing with a growl, “You were gone. For three. Fucking. Months. I thought you died, what happened?” He demanded. 

You fought back a smirk. Was that jealousy you heard? Maybe even a little concern? “Nothing happened,” You shrugged, “Leon’s a very considerate host.”

No he wasn’t. The truth of the matter was that you very nearly did die there. You’d hoped that if you struck in the daylight the ancient vampire would have been weakened. And to be fair, he was! It made the utter display of power as he manhandled you even more terrifying. It hurt when rammed your stake through your leg, but not nearly as much as the plummet from the third story window to the ground you took trying to get out of there. 

You had managed to limp your way to the home of a doctor that was known for helping hunters, broken- and ego more than a little bruised, and that’s where you had been for the past three months. Even now Rebecca had demanded you not go out, insisting you were not ready for combat yet. You ignored her. Your home had been attacked. Meaning your pride had been attacked. It had already been hurt once, you couldn’t just sit back while it happened again. 

Chris laughed as he shook his head, but there was no humor to it. “No. no no no no no, You weren’t at Leon's. I know. I looked. Personally.”

Your blood ran cold. There had been rumors that an ancient vampire had been slaughtered, but you assumed they were just rumors, made with the intent to rub salt in your wounds. You’d never thought it would have had anything to do with Chris. He made a point of leaving the vampires to their own devices. At least you thought he did.

“Did…did you kill Leon?” You asked.

Chris’s eyes darkened. “Who had you.” He wasn’t asking anymore. He was demanding. 

You almost took a step back. In the near decade that you had been hunting Chris, you’d never seen him so…

Possessive. You took a second to reassess him, this time taking into account the purple circles under his eyes, and his unkempt stubble. You wondered when was the last time he got a decent sleep cycle in. You hoped it wasn’t three months ago.

“I was with a doctor,” You explained slowly, trying to ignore the ice crawling up your spine and spidering across your body. “I needed to nurse a wound-”

“That son of a bitch hurt you?” Chris growled, stepping forward before his nose scrunched and he backed away again. 

It was an absurd question to ask. Of course he fucking hurt you, he wasn’t apart of whatever fucked up game you and Chris had going on, and he damn sure wasn’t looking to join. You wanted to snap back at him just how ridiculous of a question that was. Any other night you would have. Tonight though? Tonight his temper was rising at a fast enough rate, and you didn’t want to make a bad situation worse.

“Yeah, yeah he hurt me,” You finally spat the words out, biting back the obviously that threatened to come out with them.  

You saw something flash in his eyes, a feral crack of insanity. Somewhere between protectiveness and bloodlust. “Where?” Chris asked, “How?” 

You thought for a second. You couldn’t run if Chris chose to attack you right now. You’d have to fight. Chris was an Alpha Wolf, meaning he was twice as big and twice as strong as a typical werewolf. You’d been banking on trying to catch him off guard tonight. You’d been banking on him being normal. Maybe that was foolish in hindsight. You’d have to be careful here.

“Answer me Pup.” He demanded, the emphasis he put on “pup” somehow stinging more than any traditional derogatory term ever could. 

You shook your head, “He staked me through my thigh.” You said flatly. He took an instinctive step to you, before stopping to cover his nose, holding it and physically cringing. You knew his nose was better than yours, but for something to be affecting him that much surely you would be able to smell it too. 

Right? You sniffed the air, trying to catch a whiff of whatever it was he couldn’t get near. “What?” You finally asked, “What, is someone watching us? Some other monster? Is there a dumpster fire, what are you smelling?”

He shook his head aggressively. Like he was trying to shake something out of it. “No.” He groaned, not looking at you, “That’s not the problem.” He took a minute to think, or at least try to. Finally he looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “You’ve never come after me this close to a full moon.” He noted.

You blinked at him, not entirely sure where he was going with this. Chris was normally far more composed and coherent than this, something had to be going on. Of course you typically avoided him around the full moon, that was when he was at his most powerful. Typically you avoided hunting not just him, but any werewolves around the full moon. During the new moon or waxing crescent, sure, but never after the first quarter. 

You shook your head. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” You deadpanned.

He scoffed, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “Of course you don’t. Mortals never do.”

That struck a deep, raw nerve with you. You weren’t entirely sure where he got the fucking audacity to act like you were the one acting strange here, but you knew you weren’t a fan of it. The implication that you were somehow beneath him because of your mortal status was the final straw. Fuck getting answers, you just wanted him to shut up. 

Before you could realize what you were doing, the gun had fired. Chris jerked to the left, avoiding a silver bullet to the head by a hair's width. His eyes narrowed as he realized the game had started. He bum rushed you while you threw the gun down and tried to pull your second weapon from its holster, picking you up and tackling you against a tree. You felt the wind rush out of your lungs as you slammed against the bark, Pounding your fist into his solid back as if that was going to do anything.

If you had been paying any attention, you might have noticed the way he pressed his face against the crook of your neck, and the low growl that left him as he took a deep breath of your scent. You hadn’t been paying attention though, you were too focused on grabbing your silvered dagger from its sheath and digging it into his shoulder.

He howled as he ripped himself away from you, turning to wrench the metal from his back, no doubt causing more damage than you had. His eyes darkened, and a sick smirk found its way onto his face. You took these few precious seconds to grab your second flint lock and-

Jammed. Of fucking course. He pounced, his growing claws digging into you as he pressed you into the dirt. You swore you felt his teeth graze your jugular vein, and his already vibrant eyes looked brighter than the sun. You think he was going to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You grabbed a conveniently placed rock and slammed it into the side of his head instead, dazing him.

You managed to roll him off you and scramble to your feet. You noticed the way he lurched forward, and the twitching in his back. He was turning. You looked up at the nearly full moon and cursed. While Alphas could technically turn any night they wanted, their power grew with the moon. Their animal instincts intensified with lunar lunacy. A turned werewolf on a full moon night was at its most deadly. And while it may not have been the full moon yet, it was close enough that you knew you didn’t want to deal with a Transformed Chris.

And Chris was transforming. Fast. You watched the way his muscles contorted, his bone structure changed, and his skin ripped, only to show shiny black fur hiding underneath. 

Okay, new plan: Run. Run like hell as fast as you can. Logically you knew this was fucking stupid. You weren’t going to outrun a werewolf, and activating his prey drive was probably the worst possible thing you could have done in this situation. You knew that. But in your hubris induced rage you had come to this encounter woefully unprepared. 

You’d gotten too comfortable with the idea that Chris wouldn’t kill you. You had both had countless opportunities to end all of this in the past. To finally take the other one out. And you never had. You’d hurt each other of course, left your respective marks and scars littered all over the other's body. But neither of you had ever pulled the metaphorical plug on the whole operation. 

But that look. That darkness that clouded his normally vibrant eyes. You’d never seen that in him before. And it terrified you just as much as it excited you. Much to your dismay. Much to your extreme dismay. You really hoped this whole experience wasn’t going to awaken anything in you, but that was going to have to be an issue for future you.

If you survived tonight that is. You heard a shrill howl pierce the relative silence of the forest, and you forced your legs to run faster. You could hear him tearing through the foliage behind you, a predator locked in on its prey. You made the mistake of glancing back, only to see a mass of black fur, snarling teeth and hunger in hot pursuit. You involuntarily let out a yelp as you took a sharp right turn, hoping to lose him.

You heard the unbearably loud crack of a tree snapping behind you as he no doubt ran into it, going far too fast to make a turn as quick as you did. The odds of that stopping him were slim, and you knew that. You forced yourself into a full on sprint, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the stitch in your side. Ignoring the sounds of snarling that only seemed to get closer, and the tightness in your chest.

What you couldn’t ignore was the sudden, intense pain of your leg muscles seizing up, the improperly healed injury forcing you into submission. You screeched as you collapsed to the cold ground, cursing Leon, Chris, your body. Yourself. You tried to get back to your feet, only for your leg to refuse any amount of weight you tried to put on it. You were going to die here. Mauled to death by a creature you vowed to kill, but got too comfortable with instead.

Maybe you deserved this. Maybe this is what you got for breaking the Hunters Vow, and refusing to kill Chris Redfield when you had the chance. You wondered if he’d at least have the decency to kill you before devouring you. 

The air was knocked out of you for the second time that night as an animal crashed into you. Chris. He grabbed you, manhandling you into a position under him despite your weak attempts to fight him off. He pressed you flat on your back, towering over you and caging you in his arms. You’d taken a moment to look at him. You’d seen his wolf before, normally in the middle of a fight, but this looked…different. 

He was bigger, and looked feral. His elongated face snarled down at you, shockingly white fangs gleaming in the moonlight. You found it almost comical that the dogtags still hung from his neck, albeit fitting much more like a collar now. You locked eyes with him, refusing to show fear even in your final moments. You weren’t sure what made you sicker, the cloud of hunger you found there- or the lucidity that was behind it.

He growled and lunged down. As determined as you were not to show fear, you flinched- closing your eyes and jerking your head to the side. You braced for the feeling of teeth ripping muscle from bone, but it never came. Instead you heard him inhale sharply, and felt a soft tongue lap at the side of your neck. You forced your eyes open, looking at him as best as you could with your head forced to stay in place.

He nuzzled into your neck as if it was home. You felt a little lost here. You had expected murder feel more painful and violent, less…Intimate. You definitely didn’t expect it to make you stir the way it did. You’d press your thighs together if there wasn’t a giant, bowed leg keeping them apart. So this was going to awaken something in you. Great.

 “Stupid bitch,” he growled, low, and in the back of his throat, “coming after me smelling like that, knowing she’s in heat.” You were reasonably sure you weren’t supposed to hear that, despite him rambling literally right next to your ear.  You were caught up on what he said though. Heat? Humans don’t go into heat, surely he knew that. The closest they got was ovula-

Oh. Everything fell into place. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what he was after. You squirmed, trying to get out from under him only for him to hold you tighter. Surely you could at least have a conversation about this first, but the more you tried to claw your way out of his grasp the more insistent he seemed to get, growling as he held you in place. 

“Chris,” You forced the word out, still out of breath from your struggle before, not to mention the strain on your neck. You felt his clawed hands caress your side, felt him lick your neck again, sending a whole new wave of embarrassing heat rolling through your body. He dragged his teeth across your jugular, the threat of violence loud and clear.

He pressed his hips into yours, and you gasped. You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what he might have been working with before, both out of and in wolf form. Even at your most generous, you couldn’t have predicted what was pressing into you now. He bucked his hips again, chasing any friction he could get, undeniably desperate for you.

You bit your lip. You shouldn’t want this. It was one thing to fail a hunt, it was another to willingly be fucked by one of these monsters. It went against everything you were raised to believe, everything you had dedicated your life to. To covet Chris was to covet damnation itself. Maybe that was why it took you eight years to admit you’d wanted him since the first time he dug his claws into you. 

As sinful and impetuous as it was, you could beg for forgiveness later. You rolled your hips up into his, and you swore you felt what might have been a laugh in his chest, but it came out distorted and wrong. “Knew you wanted me,” He groaned.

His mouth covered yours, forcing you into a kiss that was all teeth. One of his hands found its way to the small of your back, pressing you up and as close into his chest as he could get you. It was like he was trying to crawl into your skin, as if no matter how close you were it would never be close enough. 

You reached up to pull at his fur, looking for any sort of leverage you could get in this exchange. He groaned and bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. You yelped at the sudden pain, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, desperate to taste every inch of you that he could reach. You moaned helpless against him, lungs burning but unwilling to try and pull away. You were a little embarrassed by how quickly you gave into him, but in your defense Chris was incredibly warm, and surprisingly soft compared to the cold hard ground he had you pinned too.

His claws cut through your pants like a warm knife through butter, the sound of denim shredding reminding you just how sharp those claws were. The same claws that gripped your now bare thigh, hiking it up on his side to give him access to you. He rolled his hips into you, dragging his tent- hardly contained by his own barely existent cargos- against your heat. You yelped, equal parts excited and embarrassed as he reached down and ran the pads of his fingers along the damp spot in your panties.

He moaned, something dark and possessive making itself known, mixed with his lust. You were so wet for him already, and he’d hardly even touched you. He shouldn’t have been shocked. You were his mate after all, even if you didn’t know it yet. Of course your body was ready for him, of course it wanted him. Still, a little ego boost never hurt anybody.

He cut a slit in your underwear, and sucked in a sharp breath. He felt almost dizzy, drunk off the full force of your scent with nothing left to hide behind. You had to have known what you did to him. You had to have known what you were doing, showing up smelling like honey and sin. You had to have known it was going to end like this. 

He felt what little self control he had left in him try to flee. He held onto it by a thread, reminding himself that you were still just a delicate little human. He had to be careful not to rip you apart. He pressed you deeper into the mud, lowering himself between your legs. 

You let out a yelp as he licked a strip along your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue. “Cute.” He chuckled. Your pathetic slap against the back of his head was even cuter. Even when you were writhing under him you still had it in you to try and fight. He licked you again, separating your folds and pressing his tongue against your weeping cunt. You moaned above him, rutting your hips into his muzzle like the needy bitch you are. 

He pulled you closer, claws digging into your hips, leaving blood to trickle down your body in his wake. He easily pushed his tongue into you, groaning as you clenched around him, imagining that same clench around his cock. Your head fell back against the ground, hands scramblings to tangle themselves into his hair. 

Chris was able to reach places inside you no human mouth could even dream of, easily lapping at your g-spot. the sensation sent you reeling. You tried to ride his face, buck your hips against him to chase your high; but his grip on you held strong, leaving you to whimper and beg for him pathetically. 

You felt light headed, climax building on itself faster than you could have predicted. It was like Chris instinctively knew every soft spot your body had to offer him, and was more than happy to bully the hell out of it. To twist, turn, and mold you into exactly what he wanted you to be, to get exactly the reaction he wanted out of you. He growled, pulling you closer to him. You pulled his hair in return, earning you a deep moan from him.

He pulled back enough to become more targeted with his snout, the padded skin now rubbing your clit with intention. Your legs started to tense up, the coil in your stomach tightening to the point of snapping. You let out a truly embarrassing sound. Luckily, you didn’t have to hear it, the feeling of euphoria washing over you and drowning out anything that wasn’t bliss or Chris. He licked you through your high, dragging it out for as long as possible, and leaving you a shaking mess in the aftermath.

You looked at him with hazy eyes as he finally pulled fully away, muzzle slick with your arousal. Your heart caught in your throat as you realized what you’d done. It was unforgivable to lay with the beast you were supposed to kill. He didn’t give you much time to think about the deeper implications though, before he careened down, pulling you into another facsimile of a kiss. Your taste was still thick on his tongue, mixing with his own and leaving you breathless.

You’d hardly noticed him all but ripping his pants down, until you felt him pressing into you. The stretch was enough to leave you screaming. No matter how prepped you were for him, you were only human, a fact that your body was actively trying to remind you of. “Chris!” You shrieked as he shoved himself inside you, with zero care to take things any slower than he already had. “Chris, it’s too much, I can't-!”

“You can.” He started moving, leaving you with zero time to try and adjust to his size. Tears sprung to your eyes as you desperately tried to accommodate him. “You were made for me, you can handle it,” He groaned, relief rolling over his shoulders as he finally got to feel you around him. He lapped your tears away, positioning himself to hit the sweet spot inside you he’d discovered earlier.

Slowly your body started to welcome him, the pain of being ripped in half ebbing away in favor of the mindless pleasure of being so full you swore you could feel him in your throat. He fucked you as if he had a map of your body, like he instinctively knew exactly where to push to make you see stars. Your cries morphed into moans, and before you knew it you were rolling your hips in time with his.

“That’s it Pup,” Chris groaned, completely lost in you. He was overwhelmed; your decadent smell, your pretty sounds, the divine feeling of your warm little cunt quivering around him. For all the times he’d fantasized about you, even his wildest dream couldn’t come close to the real thing. “You’re taking me so well, feel so good. You were made for me.” He praised.

His words went straight to your core, a storm building up inside of you faster than you’d care to admit. Every animalistic thrust of his hips managed to hit you exactly where you needed him too, and you could feel your second orgasm of the night coming on. A heat was mounting between your trembling thighs, and it only intensified as Chris’s hand fell to where the two of you met, using the back of his knuckle to massage your clit. 

It sent you over the edge, a crack of lightning so intense you felt the aftershocks pulse from your center to your fingertips. Waves of euphoria capsizing your little boat and drowning you in the ecstasy. It pulled Chris over his own edge. The smell of your arousal mixing with the feeling of you clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper had him spilling over and painting your insides white as he growled your name. 

You were still catching your breath, waiting for the world to stop whirling around you and for him to pull out when his voice finally cut through the fog. Rough, low, and still thick with need. “Still with me Pup?”

You nodded, and were treated to a growl in response. “Yeah,” You finally said, “I’m here.”

You felt him lick your pulse point before he started to move again. “Good,” He grunted as he folded you in half. It was only then you realized he was still rock hard inside of you, and your heart rate picked up again, “Cause it’s gonna take more than that to knock you up.”

You considered protesting for a split second. But, before the thought could fully form he had you folded into a mating press. And at that point he could have told you the two of you were going to burn your entire village to the ground and fuck on the ashes and you would have been down. Wasn’t all that unappealing of an idea actually. He was pressing against places you didn’t even know existed in you, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted at this point.

Chris set a ruthless pace, seemingly lasered in on his personal mission. Every relentless rut of his hips had his cock massaging your g spot and kissing your cervix. Every movement sending an overwhelming shock of pleasure through you, so intense it almost hurt. You were thankful you were in the middle of the woods, because if you were anywhere near civilization and the entire settlement would know. 

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until Chris licked the tears from your cheeks. You didn’t realize you’d been gripping his fur so tight, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you. You felt so small under him, left to his whims and helpless to do anything while he ruined human men for you forever. Nothing was ever going to feel like this again. 

“Pretty little Pup,” He groaned, rocking into you so perfectly you knew you weren’t going to last long. “So good for me, feels so good. Gonna take my knot like a good girl?”

You didn’t even think twice. “Yes, Chris please, need it.” you gasped. You wanted so badly to be good for him, to be whatever he wanted you to be so this happened again. 

You barely registered how dangerously close to your neck his fangs were. You were too focused on the feeling of his knot swelling, somehow stretching you more. The lewd sound of him fucking his cum back into you almost drowned out his growling. Almost.

“Perfect little Pup, and all fucking mine.” The way he said it definitely went beyond dirty talk, but you were in no position to pick up on that. “All fucking mine, my mate, mine.” He was losing himself, the moon pulling him away from coherent thought and leaving him with little more than the animalistic fuck his mate into oblivion. 

“Knew it from the first time I smelled you, knew you were mine. Say it, Say. It.” 

“Yours Chris, all yours.” You were hardly in the headspace to fully grasp what he was saying, the dopamine and oxytocin drowning out any sense of reason you may have had. Your body felt like an electrical fire, every nerve ending alive with feeling. You were driving towards a cliff at 200 miles per hour and had no intention to stop. Your limbs were shaking with anticipation, you really felt like you might have burned alive if he stopped now.

And Chris was just as gone. The look of you alone, tear stained and breathless in his arms, could have gotten him off. He watched his bulge appear and reappear in your stomach with every thrust, watched your eyes glaze over with dazed pleasure, felt the way your warm cunt hugged him perfectly and fuck who needed heroine? This was better than any drug he could have imagined. 

He decided then that he was taking you home tonight. 

You pulled at his fur, the bliss building inside of you, twisting in on itself and threatening to snap. When it hit you, it hit you like a tidal wave, suffocating and all at once. You didn’t hear the scream you let out, barely registered the way your legs tried to wrap around the monster that was on top of you. Your head felt like it was full of cotton and your veins were full of stars. You watched galaxies be born before your very eyes.

What you did register was his knot locking you in place as he tried to fuck you through your high. Felt the way his already impossibly tight grip tightened, claws digging into your soft skin, surly leaving you bruised and bleeding. You felt him filling you again for the second time that night, and were a little ashamed to admit how right it felt.

You felt his teeth sink into your neck to muffle his own howl. Not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to draw blood. Deep enough to infect. You’d like to say that you yelled, tried to pull him off and went to immediately seek treatment. Time was limited after all, if you wanted to avoid lycanthropy. 

You wanted to say all of these things. In reality your hand found the back of his skull to hold him closer. You struggled to catch your breath and reorient yourself. Chris gently lapped the blood from your neck, trying to soothe the ache there. He was muttering something, but you were barely paying attention. You were more focused on the fact he was already rocking his hips back into yours.  

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. And if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t totally sure where you woke up, jerking out of bed with a sharp gasp. Your head jerked around, trying to get a grasp on your surroundings. It was a simple room, barely lived in. As if whoever had set up camp here didn’t plan to stay for long. You sat up straighter, listening to the bustling noise from the other side of the door. It sounded like a decently sized family was descending into chaos. It sound like-

It sounded like a pack of wolves. You went cold. You looked down, only to discover stainless steel dog tags dangling from your neck, and that you were wearing an oversized shirt you didn’t recognize. You could guess who it belonged to though. You had a sinking feeling. You took a closer look at the tags around your neck.

Redfield.

Chris J.

315-05-4075

O Neg

NO REL PREF

No surprises there, but just to be sure you reached up to your neck. Sure enough, you felt the unmistakable divots of a wolf bite, flinching at the fresh sting. So last night wasn’t an extremely vivid dream. Great. 

As if on cue Chris chose then to show up, slipping through the door with two cups of coffee in hand. You wished that seeing him filled you with rage, or revoltion. Or at least some deep sense of guilt. Sadly though, the only thing you felt when you looked at his adoring smile was a warm sense of safety. He looked mostly human again, a far cry from what mounted you last night.

“Hey, I thought I heard you waking up,” He said. Jesus, he had good hearing. He came over and settled next to you on the bed, handing you the mug. You’d ask how he knew your coffee preferences later. For now, you were just happy for the caffeine.

You nodded to him, taking a drink of the coffee. He gently rubbed your back, looking you over, carefully assessing the damage. “How you feeling?”

“Okay I guess,” you muttered, “A little sore.” 

“That’s to be expected.”

[nulixity]

Hey, I've noticed a severe lack of Chris content so I decided to take matters into my own hands

Now Presenting...

Summary: Your shitty boyfriend has canceled plans, yet again. This time on Valentines Day of all days. Heartbroken, you decided to call you childhood best friend who offers to take you out to the Valentines Day carnival instead, thus kicking off your friends to lovers arch. 10.7k words

Content Warning: This story contains slightly possessive themes, marking, and smut. Viewer discretion is advised. Reader has fem anatomy, generally gender neutral minus one reference to makeup

“What do you mean he canceled?” Chris’s voice cracked through the speaker on your phone, “It’s Valentine's Day, what could possibly be his excuse this time?”

You sighed as you flopped onto your bed, “He said he’s putting in overtime at work.”

“And his dick in his secretary.”

“Chris!” you chastised. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to be reminded of it. 

“Sorry,.” he said in that way that made it incredibly clear he wasn’t sorry at all. “What I meant to say was: that’s a really shitty excuse.”

You chuckled a bit, “Wanna know what makes it worse?” you asked.

You heard Chris let out an exasperated sigh. “What?”

“He’s salary.”

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” You knew your boyfriend's excuse of ‘I’m going to be at work late to meet this deadline (that’s two months away)’ was bullshit. But hearing just how pissed off Chris got about it put it into perspective just how bullshit it was. It felt vindicating.

“I’m going to kill him, you know.” Chris said.

You shook your head, as if he could see. “No you’re not.”

Chris was silent for a second. “I’m going to punch him?”

You rolled the thought around in your head. “Hmmm...Yeah, I’d allow that.”

“I’m going to punch him,” he said with a conviction that told you he really meant it. You smiled softly to yourself. You’d known Chris for forever, having met while you were in the foster care system together. He’d always been protective over you, and it was nice to know some things never changed.

Chris let out an agitated huff on the other end of the line. “So what’s the plan?” He asked. 

You scoffed. “What’s the plan? The plan is getting back into my pajamas and watching shitty reality tv to make myself feel better.” 

You didn’t have to see it to feel the indignation on his face. “You’re kidding? But you already got dressed and everything.”

“Thank you, Chris,” you groaned, “I was actually really hoping you’d rub salt in the wound. That’s why I called you, specifically.”

“I’ll take you out.”

“What?” You sat up in bed.

“I’ll take you out!” He said again, this time more sure of himself. “It’s not like I’m doing anything tonight, and unlike your ‘boyfriend,’ I’d be honored to take you out.” He spat out the word “boyfriend” as if it tasted like rot in his mouth, especially to give the label to your current partner.

You felt yourself fluster. “Chris-”

“It’s not a date.” He was quick to clarify. “It’s just…two friends hanging out on Valentine's Day, it doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

You bit your lip as you thought about it. If your boyfriend found out, he would be pissed. He’d never liked Chris, always convinced that he ‘just wants to fuck you.’ This would only add fuel to his fire. 

“Yeah, okay,” you finally said. There was no use in wasting a perfectly good outfit just sitting at home. And you had just spent an hour and a half on your makeup, so fuck it. Might as well hit the town with your best friend. 

You could hear the smile in Chris’s voice. “Sweet! I’ll pick you up in an hour?”

You smiled, getting up to look yourself over in the mirror and make sure you still looked presentable. “Sounds good,” You agreed, “I’ll see you then.”

💘💘💘

You were checking over your outfit one last time when the doorbell rang. Chris had told you to dress warm, so you did just that. And honestly, you felt pretty cute! “Coming!” You called as you rushed to the door. 

Chris was smiling on the other side, arm tucked behind him. “Hey,” he said, as he presented you with the bouquet he was hiding behind his back. “You look beautiful tonight.”

You were shocked as you took the flowers from him. “Awe, you didn’t have to do that,” you said, looking over the array. You smiled as you noticed the most prominent flower. Chris would have your favorite flower memorized.

He laughed, following you inside as you went to grab a vase. “Of course, I had to do it. Everyone deserves flowers on Valentine's Day.”

You returned with the bouquet, placing it in the middle of the coffee table. “How do you know if I got flowers today or not?” you sassed, “I do have a partner you know.”

Chris gave you a look. He said your name, unamused. “Come on.”

You sighed, “yeah, well, you’re right. All he got me today was frustration.” You shook your head, trying to shake the disappointment out. 

Chris noticed. He gave you a smile, and held out his elbow for you to take, determined not to let you dwell. “Shall we?” he asked.

You took it with a soft giggle. “We shall.” You nodded as he led the way out the door and to his car. An old clunker of a car, held together with duct tape and pure hubris on Chris’s part. It wasn’t even like he couldn’t afford a new one, or at least to replace it. He just insisted that this one ran fine, which was technically true, so why go into debt? 

Luckily, he kept it a lot cleaner these days than he did in highschool. You realized the interior was actually really well kept. “Since when did you stop treating your car like a trashcan?” you asked, before realizing that one probably should have gone through the filter once or twice more before being let out. “Sorry,” you quickly added.

Luckily, he took it on the chin with a laugh. “Since like, five years ago when I realized I should probably take care of my investments. Are you really only noticing now?” As embarrassing as it was to admit, yeah you were. You felt kinda bad, it’s not like you didn’t hang out with Chris as often as you guys could. And you had been in his car countless times in the last five years, this really shouldn’t have been news to you. You guessed you just hadn’t thought to look.

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. I guess it’s normally pretty dark when I’m in your car. I’ve never really seen it in the daylight.”

Chris looked out the window at the setting sun, then looked at you and smiled. “Yeah, that makes sense.” he shrugged, using one arm to drive and letting the other rest on the center console. 

You wanted a distraction, so you went straight to the CD binder he still kept in his glove box. “Anything you wanna listen to?’ You asked.

He shook his head, “Whatever you want. It shouldn’t be a long drive anyway.” He informed you. With that in mind you flipped through the collection. The usual suspects were all here, as always. Queen– obviously, Kiss, Journey, Rolling Stones, all the classics you’d grown up on, as well as some new faces! Blink 182 was unexpected, Green Day less so. At some point he’d taken your advice and finally checked out Nirvana. He seemingly liked ‘em enough to look into the Foo Fighters.

Specifically, he’d picked up the album The Colour and The Shape. Which, just so happened to have one of their finer songs on it, in your humble opinion. Chris said the ride wouldn’t be a long one, so you popped the CD in and skipped straight to track eleven: Everlong

If Chris was a dog, his ears would have perked up. “Ooo, good choice.” he smiled his approval, nodding along with the opening riff. 

You shrugged, “Well, it was either this or Californication”

He laughed fondly, “Damn, it’s actually been a minute since I listened to that one.” He confessed. “Do you remember when it first came out?”

“Yes!” You laughed, “We raided a 7-Eleven and drove around all night listening to it on repeat,” You remembered that night fondly. Driving down all of the back roads running on pure nothing more than high-fructose corn syrup and the kind of adrenaline that only came from laughing with your closest friend in the entire world at three AM.

Chris grinned. “I remember you trying to analyze the lyrics, despite the fact the Red Hot Chili Peppers are a pure vibes band only,” he teased.

You brushed him off, “All art is made to be interpreted.”

“Guess you’re right,” He conceded, “Still. That was a nice night.” He smiled, and for a second, with the setting sun casting the perfect hazy halo around him. You realized just how handsome Chris actually was. When he was laughing and laid back, when the lowlight made his grey eyes pop, he seemed almost too good to be true. These were all thoughts that you shouldn’t really be having about your best friend. 

You needed a distraction. You looked out the front windshield to find anything worth commenting on. Luckily, you spotted something right away.

“Is that a ferris wheel?” you asked, pointing out the window.

He grinned, clearly proud of his date-that’s-not-a-date location. “Yeah!” He confirmed, “I guess the town wants to do an annual Valentines Day fair now. This is the first one.”

You tilted your head a bit to get a better look at him. “Isn’t that just a little bit corny?”

“Yeah, well, you try to plan a date that’s not at all corny, see what you come up with,”he said defensively as he looked for a place to park.

You raised an eyebrow. “ I thought this wasn’t a date.”

Chris didn’t miss a beat. “It’s not,” he reaffirmed. “But it is, maybe, a historical event for the town that I figured we should get in on.”

“Yeah, but also you called it a date,” You pointed out.

“Uh, actually, I said, ‘You try to plan a non-corny date’ not ‘this is a date.’ Those are two different things,” he said with an over dramatic head roll. “So checkmate.” He laughed at his own exaggerated display, which caused you to laugh with him. 

You shrugged, “Whatever it is, as long as I get a funnel cake, I’ll be happy.” The cold hit you as you stepped out of the car. You had on one of your thicker coats, but it was still February, and there was going to be a chill in the air no matter how many layers you wore. It was to be expected.

What was to be slightly less expected was Chris’s arm finding its place around your shoulders, holding you close to him and blocking the wind with his body. He didn’t say anything about it, so you didn’t say anything about it. You’d never been scared of affection in your friendship, hugs were a common occurrence. This shouldn’t have even been noteworthy.

The sun was now fully set, letting the rainbow lights of the fair take center stage as the two of you lined up for tickets. It was surprisingly short, no doubt due to people just not really wanting to deal with the cold. It was a pleasant surprise, and you’d happily take the win. You listened to the sound of laughter and carnival music filling the air as Chris handled the ticket situation. You hadn’t been to a fair in years. No real reason why, you just hadn’t really considered going to one. Life just tended to get in the way of things like that. 

You found yourself actually really excited. “Come on,” Chris pulled you out of your daze, “Funnel cakes this way.” You smiled as you huddled closer to him and followed him to the various food trucks and pop up booths. 

The deep fried smells of a festival were always pleasant, inviting you to over indulge in whatever monstrosities the carnies had come up with this year- your arteries be damned. You found yourself shaking with excitement as you approached the booth. Or maybe that was the cold. Who knows! 

“Man, I can’t remember the last time I had a funnel cake,” He confessed as the two of you joined a line.

You nodded in agreement. “Me either honestly,” You admitted, “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to a carnival.”

Chris thought for a minute. “Me either actually. That… Kinda sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. Honestly I always have a lot of fun at them, ya know?” 

“Yeah, I agree,” He smiled at you, “We’ll have to make a tradition of going every year. Well, assuming you haven’t dumped your current loser for someone better by then.” he shrugged.

You huffed an almost laugh and shoulder checked him gently. “Or that you haven’t found a nice girl by then.” 

He actually laughed at that. “Yeah, right.” He rolled his eyes dismissively, and before you could argue he was ordering the funnel cake. He looked back over to you, “You okay with sharing?”

“Oh yeah, that’s fine,” You said nodding and with a wave of your hand. You knew they charged way too much for what was essentially an ugly powdered doughnut. 

But god, was it a delicious ugly powdered doughnut. Money was exchanged and the two of you moved to the side to wait. “So, how much do I owe you?”

He looked at you as if you had just sprouted a second head and started speaking Klingon. “Why would you owe me?” he asked back.

Now it was your turn to look at him as if he had turned bright green and started speaking backwards. “Beeeeecause I plan to eat half of it? I figured I would at least pay for half?”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no?” 

“I mean no,” he laughed. “I’m taking you out to help you feel better that your shitty boyfriend stood you up, I’m not gonna make you pay for the comfort food. What kind of jackass would that make me?”

You blinked at him. 

He blinked back. “He makes you pay when you go out, doesn’t he?”

“Sure does.”

“Do you at least take turns paying?”

“Well, it’s normally my treat if I ever actually get him to go out.”

“....Does he at least pay for his half?”

“Sometimes?”

Chris blinked incredibly aggressively at you. “I hate him.”

You nodded. “I know you do.”

He shook his head. “Genuinely I don’t get what you see in him. There’s like, literally a billion other guys in the world, you could have your pick of any of em.” He made a quick turn to grab the cake. 

You simply shrugged. “Not sure who else would put up with me.”

“Okay, so first off, no one is putting up with you,” he informed you. “Second off, I know at least ten guys off the top of my head that would go crazy for your number.”

“Is that Leon guy Claire keeps bringing to the Christmas party one of them?” You teased as you picked some fried dough off the plate. There were few joys in this life as pure as warm funnel cake.

Chris grimaced. “No. Well, yes, but no.”

You tilted your head. “Explain.”

Chris shook his head, “You don’t want him. He’s still hung up over a chick that got him shot.” He said as he popped a piece into his mouth. 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. “She shot him?!”

Chris quickly shook his head, waving his hand and trying to swallow the dough in his mouth so he could explain. “No no no no no, She got him shot. Like, he took the shot for her, she was not the one behind the trigger. To my knowledge.”

“Oh, okay. That is less bad.” You admitted with a nod as you took some more of the cake.

“Though, she has left him for dead at least twice.” 

You nearly choked on the cake. “You’re right, I don’t want anything to do with…whatever that is.” 

Chris chuckled and nodded, “Yeaaah. Don’t get me wrong, I love Leon to death, he’s a great guy. But much like you he has a habit of only wanting the worst people for him.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but then realized you had no real rebuttal. So you shrugged instead. “What can I say? I really know how to pick em! I just, don’t know how to pick em well I guess.” You laughed at your own poor judgement and ate another piece of the cake. 

Chris did too. “It’s fine,” he teased. “That’s what I’m here for. To let you know when you picked trash.”

“Not that I ever listen to you.” 

“At least you can admit you never listen to me.” He laughed, showing off his full smile. You noticed just how cute his dimples actually were. 

And then you noticed the powdered sugar on his nose. “Chris,” You giggled as you reached over. “You look like you party a little too hard on the weekends.” You joked as you wiped the powder away.

He pulled away, still giggling, “Christ! Your hands are cold!” He said, shaking his head, “We gotta do something about that.” He leaned back in, his grin mellowing into a soft smile as he looked at you. 

For some reason, you suddenly felt… shy?? Why the fuck did you feel shy? It was just Chris. “Well, what do you suggest?” you asked. 

“Hot chocolate,” he said with absolute certainty. “Best thing on a cold day.”

You nodded as you threw the now empty plate into the trash, “Sounds good to me!” You agreed as you moved to leave. 

Only for him to catch your wrist and your breath to catch in your throat. “Hold on,” he muttered, turning you back to him. “You got something on your cheek too.” He reached up, cradling your face in his palm and gently using his thumb to wipe the sugar away. He was gentle, using a delicate hand normally reserved for priceless works of art, or divine artifacts. 

And when your eyes met his, you could tell that’s exactly what he thought he was handling. No one had ever looked at you like that. No one had ever smiled at you like that. At least, not that you had noticed before. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

You stepped back, “Thanks!” You smiled, though you had to wonder if your nerves came through in it. “Now, come on! You brought up hot cocoa and that’s all I can think about now.”

Chris nodded, moving to keep up with you. “Right.”

It was a cold winter’s night, so more than a few of the food stands were advertising cheap hot drinks. The issue was none of them were actually cheap, as is the tradition with any sort of fair. Chris didn’t seem to mind though, which was becoming increasingly frustrating. 

“Chris, please,” you sighed. “You already paid for the tickets, and the funnel cake, just let me pay for the hot cocoa.”

He shook his head, as stubborn as a boulder. “No way. I already told you I’m not making you pay for a thing, especially not when I’m the one that invited you out.” 

You gave an agitated huff, hoping he could feel the lasers you were trying to shoot at him with your eyes. “I feel bad.”

“Why?” Chris asked, “There’s nothing to feel bad about, I want to do this for you.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Fine, but I’m only going to make you buy one. We’re just going to have to share.” 

Chris shrugged, finally stepping into one of the shorter lines. “Fine by me.” You rolled your eyes yet again for emphasis, but stood next to him while pretending to pout. You shoved your hands under your arms to try and keep them warm, and nestled your face deeper into your coat. He wrapped his arm around you again, pulling you closer into his warmth. 

You looked up to see him smiling down at you. “Thank you.”

You gave him a puzzled look. “For?”

“Letting me take you out tonight,” he shrugged with the arm he wasn’t using to hold you, “I’m having fun.”

You couldn’t fight the affectionate smile that crept onto your face. “I’m having fun too,” you admitted, leaning into him almost instinctively. This was nice. You tried to remember the last time you felt so comforted, but sadly drew a blank. If you had to take a guess, it was probably when you first started dating your current “partner.” He had been so loving and attentive in the beginning, a far cry from the asshole he was now. You used to hold out hope that things would go back to how they used to be. That this ice between you was only temporary, and once he got over whatever it was that was bugging him, he’d go back to being the man he used to be.

You were starting to accept the fact he never would. You didn't have too much time to dwell on it though, as Chris placed the hot paper cup in your hand. The warmth felt nice, and you instantly wrapped your other hand around it too. 

“Well? How’s it taste?” He asked. 

You took a sip, expecting the worst, as is common with simple yet over priced drinks, only to be pleasantly surprised. Your eyebrows went up as you took another sip. “It’s actually really good!”

Chris smiled, happy to see you pleased with the drink. “Oh yeah? Let me try,” He asked as you handed him the cup. His reaction mirrored yours. “I’m gonna be honest, I was expecting hot water. That’s actually not half bad.”

“Right?” You laughed.

He handed you the cup back. “Here, you hold onto it,” he said. “Keep your hands warm.”

You happily took the drink, but still tilted your head at him. “What about you?”

He shrugged, “I’ll live.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. “Oh come on Chris. You don’t have to be so self-sacrificing all the time, ya know.” 

He laughed defensively. “What? I’m not ‘self-sacrificing’ just cause I’m letting you warm up a bit.” he said as the two of you started to walk together again. 

“Whatever,” you shrugged, taking his hand in your now significantly warmer hand, “If you’re not gonna warm yourself, I’ll just have to do it for you.” you said as you took another sip.

Chris smiled. “Works for me,” He said as he took the cup for another drink, then quickly handed it back to you. The thought that his lips had been where yours had slipped into your brain almost undetected. Almost. When it transformed into “It’s almost like an indirect kiss,” you took notice. You thought about what it would have been like to actually kiss Chris. To hold him close to you and feel his stubble tickle your skin. To have him wrap his arms around you, to maybe even hold your face like he did before. His lips looked soft.

You snapped yourself out of that right the fuck away. Absolutely not, you were NOT allowed to think of Chris that way. You’d never thought of him like that before, you had no idea what had gotten into you.

Okay, well, maybe it wasn’t quite true that you had never thought of Chris that way before. You had been friends since grade school, it was only natural that at least once during all those years of close friendship you’d consider it. But it was never seriously, never for more than a fleeting second. He was your closest confidant, you couldn’t risk it.

But something about tonight felt so different from all the other nights before. Something in the way he moved and laughed; it felt so safe and warm, more so than usual. Something in the air made it feel like a risk worth taking.

NO. NO. STOP IT. You bit your own tongue to ground yourself back in reality. The reality where you were in a relationship and Chris was just your friend and absolutely nothing more. He said it himself, this wasn’t a date. How fucking cliche would it be to catch feelings for your best friend on Valentines Day night at a fucking lovers festival? What was this, shitty fanfiction? Absolutely not.

Oh shit, Chris had been talking this whole time and was looking at you now expecting you to speak. Fuck.  “Uh, yeah no, you’re totally right, I also think exactly what you think. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Chris raised an eyebrow at you. “You weren’t listening were you?”

“I was!” You said, far too defensively for someone who was actually listening.

Chris smirked with amusement. “Oh yeah? Then what was I talking about?”

Your stomach dropped. “Uhh… The band Queen?’

“Lucky guess.” 

“All I’m hearing is that I win.” 

He laughed at that. “Don’t you always?” he asked. 

It was at that point you spotted it. Hanging over with one of the carnival games, a grand prize to be won. It was a 4ft tall, grumpy, green, wolf plush. One with a cartoonishly exaggerated frown and angry eyes. You couldn’t help but think that was what Chris’s fursona would look like if he had one, and it made you laugh.

Which caught Chris’s attention. “What?” he asked, looking behind himself to where you were staring. 

“Look!” You pointed with childish excitement. “That wolf over there, it’s so cute!” You gushed.

“What, the green one?” he asked, already leading the two of you over to the game, “What’s so funny about it?”

Oh. You absolutely could not tell him it was because it reminded you of him. “It’s just so cute!” You giggled. “Look how angry it is, it’s precious!”

Chris grinned at your excitement. “Yeah? Bet I can win it for you.”

“Oh please,” you were about to argue about how these games were all rigged, but before you could, the guy running the game started talking.

“Step right up guys, and win your gals a prize!” Okay, well that was heteronormative to say the least.  “Game is simple, shoot the cupid, win your doll a doll. The more you shoot, the better the prize.” 

You could already see the over confident gleam in Chris’s eyes. “How much to play?’ He asked.

“Just two tickets my friend.”

Chris grinned at you quickly before turning back to the carnie and handing him two tickets. The man handed Chris the airsoft gun as he went to start the game. He looked at it and frowned a bit, staring down the sight. “What is it?” you asked.

Chris shook his head, “Nothing I can’t handle.” Before you could question him further, the Entry of the Gladiators started playing and the two rows of cupids started moving on the track, bouncing up and down as they went. Chris took aim, taking the time to get the vibe of how fast the targets moved and bobbed. Then he fired.

And missed by a mile and a half. You were honestly gobsmacked to see how hard he whiffed that shot. You knew Chris to be a master marksman, so what the hell happened here?

Chris seemed undeterred though, almost as if he expected it. What unfolded next could have been described as embarrassing. You, on the other hand would prefer to describe it as harrowing, brave even. You would have preferred to do so. Even you had to admit this was a bit painful to watch.

In the end, he shot two. “Sorry big guy,” the man running the game said, handing Chris a small stuffed monkey as a consolation prize. 

Chris shook his head and held up his hand, “Keep it,” he said. “That was just a practice round.” And he handed the man two more tickets.

The carnie seemed genuinely a little shocked. “Whatever man, it’s your money dude.” He muttered. 

Entry of the Gladiators started again, and both you and the carnie braced for another embarrassing display. This time it was like a completely different man had taken the gun. Every shot was a dead ringer, knocking out the plywood cherubs with the speed and precision far more fitting of a man with Chris’s reputation. The game normally gives you three minutes to shoot as many targets as you could. 

Chris knocked them all out in half that time. His smile was cocky enough that it would have been punchable if not so well earned. “Well, I think that went better the second time around, what do you think?” he asked. 

The game runner just blinked. “Uh, I mean yeah! Very impressive sir!” he said, slipping back into character, “You’ve won anything on the wall, pick your prize!”

“The green wolf,” he pointed. The man handed him the plushie, and Chris in turn handed it to you. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What was that?!” 

Chris tilted his head, “Hmm? Oh, you mean the first round? The sight on the gun was misaligned, it’s how they rig it. I needed to get used to the actual aim.” He shrugged, acting nonchalant despite how happy he was to have his ego stoked.

“So you needed a whole round to get used to it?” You asked.

He laughed. Well, It wasn’t really a laugh. More like one quick, exaggerated HA! Before he explained. “No.” He shook his head, “No, I threw the first round cause I thought it was funny.” He grinned.

You laughed and playfully pushed his shoulder. “You’re a jerk,” You teased.

“How am I a jerk!?” He laughed. 

“I don’t know, I just know you are one!”

“Oh, well, yeah okay that’s fair enough.” The two of you giggled together as you walked. 

You smiled as you hugged your prize close. “Well thank you. I appreciate the effort.”

He looked at you with soft eyes. “You’re worth the effort.” 

You felt that familiar warmth radiate in your chest again, and hid your face in the wolf to hide any signs that his words affected you. Chris finished off the hot chocolate, throwing the empty cup away in a nearby bin. It was getting late. “You know what would be the perfect way to end the night?”

“Hmm?” you asked, looking up.

“We should ride the ferris wheel.” He grinned. You couldn’t agree more. 

💘💘💘

Before you knew it, you were cozying up to Chris on the bench of the ferris wheel seat, toddler sized plush wedged firmly between you and the short wall of the basket, pressing you just that much closer to Chris.

Not that you were complaining. As the ride started, you found yourself drawn to his side. He radiated warmth, and comfort, and you were tired of fighting the urge to press yourself into him. He gladly accepted your presence, wrapping an arm around you to keep you close. A silent act of affection he’d been doing all night, made to feel just that little bit more intimate due to the tight space. 

You looked out into the park as the wheel went up. The view was breathtaking, the colors sparkling against the night sky. The higher you got, the more of the town came into view, a warm glow framing the rainbow of the fair.

“The view’s gorgeous,” you whispered, looking over to Chris.

“Yeah, it is,” he muttered. Had he been looking at you this entire time? You weren't sure. What you were sure of, was that Chris looked… different in this light. The technicolor glow danced across his face and in his grey eyes, making him look softer all the way up here. Was his jaw always that sharp, or was the scruff just doing a lot of good work for him? Was his smile always that welcoming, his arms always this safe, his eyes always so bright with affection? It was like you were seeing him– really seeing him for the first time since he and Claire walked into that group home all those years ago. 

He wasn’t a scared little kid anymore, or an overly rebellious teenager. At some point, he had grown into an entire adult when you weren’t even looking. Or maybe you just hadn't thought to look. Your heart rattled your ribs, like a crazed animal trying to get out of its cage. And for the first time tonight, you let it. 

How had you missed it? You’d spent so long chasing the inferno of love, you’d never even stopped to consider that you already felt it. Right here, sitting next to your best friend. The one person in the world that could ever truly understand. He’d always treated you like you were important, like you were precious. You hadn’t realized just how much you’d taken it for granted before.

He had a gentle look in his eye you didn’t quite recognize. Something intense, and full of adoration. He bit his lip, and you thought that should be illegal. It was a dangerous look on him. You shouldn’t feel this way. You had a boyfriend. You had a partner who was paranoid enough about Chris as is. Of course, nothing was keeping you from taking the trash to the curb. You couldn’t believe this was the first time that thought had occurred to you.

Chris held you just a fraction tighter, and said your name like it was a soft prayer. You felt your heart do backflips you hadn’t previously thought it capable of. So this was what people meant when they said they had butterflies in their stomach. “Chris,” you whispered back.

The hand that wasn’t wrapped around you gently came to cradle your face. He let out a small breath, choking back all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t. “I…I love you, you know.” It wasn’t an uncommon phrase in your friendships. You’d said it countless times: to him, to Claire, to Jill. Chris had said it to you what felt like a thousand times before, and you’d always known exactly what he meant.

It was different this time. But as long as you didn’t acknowledge it, you could hide behind the familiarity. “I love you too.” you confessed. Your brain clocked out for the night, and your heart took over the shift. You felt yourself lean in to him, anticipation setting your spine on fire as you realized he was leaning in too. His lips looked so soft.

The sudden jolt of the wheel coming to a stop knocked you both out of it. You both jumped, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could in the small basket. You blinked at each other, wide eyed and slightly panicked as what had almost happened settled between you, and the implications of it. You two were in uncharted territory here.

“Rides over,” the ride jock said as he tapped the back of yours and Chris’s seat. “Feel free to carry on whatever you have going on at home.”

You were both still too caught up in yourselves to really argue with the man, or correct him for that matter. You simply gathered your belongings and made your way to the car. This time the two of you walked with a healthy distance between you, the space filled instead with the impenetrable wall of the status quo. God, what had you been thinking?! There was no coming back from a kiss, that was a boundary that you couldn’t uncross. Everything would have changed if you had actually kissed.

Everything felt like it had already changed. It was quiet until you had gotten to the car.

He was the first to speak. “I’m sorry,” he said, not quite able to look you in the eye. That…was not what you expected to hear.

“What? Chris, what do you have to be sorry for?”

“I– I made it weird, didn’t I? I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just- we were so close, and I’ve always thought you were so pretty, and–”

“Chris.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight. You have a boyfriend, and I told you this wasn’t a date–”

“Chris.”

“And we’ve been friends for so long, why would you ever see me like that–”

“Chris.” You said with much more emphasis this time, putting a hand on his arm. You didn’t like where that was going. He finally looked at you. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

Then opened it again. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop that,” you said, sternly enough to get the point across. “You have nothing to be sorry about. We were both just, caught up in the moment.”

Chris nodded. “Right.”

You continued. “This doesn’t have to change anything. We can just ignore it.”

He paused for a second. Then nodded again. “Right.” he agreed. 

The drive back was quiet. Thick with everything left unsaid, filled with whatever the classic rock station wanted to fill it with. The Promise by When In Rome felt… a little bit targeted, you wouldn’t lie. But you both let it play out nonetheless. You even took comfort in Chris quietly humming along with it. It took some of the edge off the silence. 

As always when you made it to your house, he insisted on walking you to your door. ‘To make sure you get inside safe,’ he’d always say. As the two of you got to the top step of your porch, you faced each other with smiles.

A little closer to each other than was necessary. 

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you said, giving a little lift to your new wolf friend, “Thank you, again.”

“Of course,” He nodded, “I had a lot of fun tonight too.”  

His eyes locked on yours. “We should do it again sometime,” you said.

“Carnivals here all week,” he pointed out. Was he getting closer? Or were you?

“I should really go inside.”

“I should probably get going too.” Neither of you made even an attempt to do either of those things.  His hand reached up and held your face, this thumb caressing your cheek.

He whispered your name again, the same way he had on the ferris wheel. “I… Can I kiss you?”

You hadn’t expected him to be so forward. Not after the apology tour in his car. And you definitely hadn’t expect to be so fucking giddy about it either. “Please.”

Chris didn’t need to be told twice. In the beat of a butterfly's wings his lips were on yours, and they were just as soft as you imagined. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer than you thought possible, and yet still you got the vibe it wasn’t close enough for him. With one arm still holding the wolf, the other came up to wrap around his neck.

You felt his teeth drag across your lower lip, asking to deepen the kiss. You gladly invited him in, happily tasting the sugar and chocolate still on his tongue. He pulled you impossibly close, the kiss intensifying with every second it was allowed to go on. You felt him start to pick you up, and for the first time you realized just how strong Chris was now. 

You were the one to pull back, realizing that this was getting a little too intense for your front porch. Chris either wasn’t thinking about that or didn’t care, he tried to close the gap immediately, only to be stopped by your gentle hand on his chest.

“You wanna come inside for some coffee?” You asked.

He blinked, as if only now realizing the two of you were still outside. “I’d love to.” 

You fumbled with the lock on your door, suddenly cursing yourself for your desire not to be robbed. The two of you stumbled inside once you got the door open. You threw the stuffed animal on the couch, Chris kicked the door closed and you both ripped your coats off. And before the two of you had the forethought to reconsider, your hands were on each other again, lips pressed together in a heated kiss. He picked you up, supporting your lower half with only one arm while the other kept your chest pressed firmly against his.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and for a second you thought he was about to take you on the couch. Not that you would have minded, but you were just as if not more happy when he started to make his way to your bedroom. He managed to make his way past your door, kicking it closed before turning around and pressing you to it.

The kiss started to migrate, from your lips down to your neck. A shiver ran through you as he found that sweet, soft spot on your neck. The one that always made you melt into nothing. “Fuck, Chris–” you moaned, fingers coming up to tug at his short hair. 

“I love it when you say my name,” he muttered, coming up to recapture your lips. He held you up with his right arm, while his left hand drifted up and under your shirt. His hand was surprisingly warm, and welcomed against your chill skin. You almost didn’t notice when he found your bra clasp, effortlessly undoing, with one hand no less.

You felt your cheeks catch fire. “Oh!” You gasped, “You’ve definitely done that before.”

He gave you an almost bashful smile. “Once or twice,” he admitted. You didn’t know why that was so shocking to you. Maybe it was because Chris had never really had a long term partner in all the years you’d known him, but still. You had seen him take plenty of gorgeous girls and immaculate men home before. 

No time to think about partners of lovers past. He moved to lay you down on the bed, pressing you into the soft mattress as he pressed his mouth to you. You could feel the tent in his jeans against your leg, filling you with anticipation. He pulled back long enough to take his shirt off and your mouth went dry. You knew Chris was fit, his job kept him that way, But knowing that fact and actively seeing it were two different things. He was beautiful; toned, well kept muscles flexing and somehow still defined under a soft layer of fat. Chris looked like a classic Greek statue, an Adonis that would have made Aphrodite herself blush. 

And he was looking at you as if you were Venus, the very definition of beauty and grace. And you didn’t even have to take your shirt off! Still, he had put on a show so you might as well return the favor. You sat up and slipped your shirt off, your unclasped bra threatening to come off had you not caught it. 

Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he took you in. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he huffed. What a poet.

“Yeah?” you asked, slowly letting your bra fall off your shoulders, tossing it to the side. Looking at Chris, you suddenly understood the phrase ‘fucking me with your eyes.’

He nodded. “Yeah.” It was the last thing he said before his mouth found your neck again, targeting the sweet spot that made you moan the loudest. He wanted to dig his teeth in there, leave a dark purple bruise for you to model for him in the morning. He wanted to– no he needed to mark you as his, undeniably his. He had waited for you for so long, it was only fair really.

You brought him back to reality by tugging softly at his hair, whimpering his name. He pulled back, admiring his work with a near wicked smirk. Good luck covering that up. “So fucking pretty,” he muttered, placing one last soft kiss to the mark, before kissing down your body. Down your neck, over your collar bone, through the peaks and valleys of your chest. Down your stomach, your hips, and finally along the waistband of your pants.

You lifted your hips up, eagerly inviting him to take them off. He was quick, undoing the button on your jeans before pulling them and your underwear down in one fluid motion. He pulled back, taking you all in. You watched the way his chest heaved with every breath, desire radiating off him in thick waves. It was warm in your room, and you watched as sweat started to bead on his chest and get caught in the hair there. Your eyes followed the thick happy trail down the waistband of his boxers, peeking out ever so slightly from above his jeans.

You wanted to pull them down with your teeth. Chris’s eyes met yours before you could though. “You look so much better than I ever could have imagined,” he groaned. You didn’t quite have time to unpack all of the implications of that before he was in between your legs. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him kiss the inside of your knee, looking at you with a dangerous fire in his eye that you had never seen from him before.

He kissed down your leg, nipping and leaving a trail of small marks in his wake as he moved to where you really needed him. He placed your knee over his shoulder as he scraped his teeth along the inside of your thigh. Finally, you could feel him hovering over your slit– felt his breath against your aching, wet, cunt. You braced for impact. 

Just for him to skip right over it and go to kissing your other thigh. “Chris!” You snapped, “What the hell!?” You asked, sitting up on your elbows.

He just smirked at you from behind your thigh. “What?” he asked, tilting his head. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean what’s wrong?! Why didn’t you–” you waved your hand for emphasis. “You know.”

He definitely knew. “No, I don’t know.” he sighed. Liar. “Tell me what you want.”

You felt your face catch fire as you realized what he wanted you to do. “I–” you started, trying not to let your embarrassment over take you. “I want you.”

He hummed, considering your statement. “I’m right here doll,” he informed you, “You have me.”

You groaned in frustration. You had no fucking clue why you were struggling with this. You had never been the “blushing bride” trope before, and far from a prude. But, something about him specifically brought out a side of you that you weren’t entirely familiar with. 

You were excited to get to know that side of you though. “ Chris, I need you,” you begged. 

You watched his pupils flair with lust. That almost got him, but he stood firm. “Need me to what?”

Ah fuck being coy, this was getting frustrating. “Chris, please. I want your mouth so bad it fucking hurts. I need you, please, I wanna cum on your mouth so bad.”

It was like you had casted a spell on him. In an instant you felt his tongue finally licking a stripe up your slit, gathering all of the slick there. A sick sense of pride filled you when he moaned at your taste. You tasted like ambrosia to him, and he couldn’t get over just how wet and needy you were from kissing alone. It drove him mad.

You gasped as you felt him take your clit into his mouth, sucking on it sharply and rolling his tongue over the nub. Pleasure spiked through you, coursing its way through your core and to your head. One hand clenched the sheets while the other found the back of his head, pulling him closer to you. Your head fell back as you got lost in the bliss, every swipe of his tongue sending another wave of warmth through you.

Heat starts to pool and swirl in your lower stomach, and you don’t even care that the cheesy bastard is spelling out his name with his tongue against you. You almost think about how possessive that is, his need to paint his name across every inch of you. 

Then you feel two of his thick fingers start to circle your cunt, and suddenly you're not thinking much of anything. Even the thought of higher thinking and functioning goes out the door as he presses his digits into you. The sound he pulls out of you is near embarrassing, but the stretch feels so electric that you can’t even think to care.

You feel his fingers curl up, searching for the golden soft spot inside of you. He’s meticulous, and it doesn’t take him long to find it, the gasp you give him coupled with your thighs clenching around his head telling him everything he needed to know. Target acquired. He angles his hand to better massage the spot.

A tight coil was wrapping in on itself in your lower stomach, so tight now it was threatening to snap. Electric waves of euphoria pulsed through you, stars started to form before your eyes. You felt your hips buck to meet his fingers, lost in the way his mouth worshiped your clit. Chris hit a perfect stride, one that made your legs shake. 

“Fuck Chris, right there,” you gasped as if he hadn’t figured it out already. “Just like that, don’t stop.” And Chris, angel that he was, actually listened when you told him not to change anything, keeping the same pace and pattern– hitting a home run with just a few swipes of his tongue. 

The coil inside you finally snapped, breaking open the dam and overflowing your senses with dopamine, oxytocin, and euphoria. Hot waves of bliss crashed into you, setting every single nerve ending you had on fire. You didn’t even notice Chris humping the mattress in a truly humbling display, acting like a teenager in his own desperate need for friction. 

He didn’t stop either, gladly working you through your climax. He didn’t think he could have stopped even if he wanted to. He was drunk on your taste, high on your pleasure, and the fact that it was him making you feel this good. He groaned into you as he felt the way your cunt fluttered around his fingers, already imagining what it would feel like on his cock. He didn’t stop till you physically pushed him away, feeling overwhelmed.

Chris looked at you the way a hungry wolf looked at a rabbit; ravenous, and desperate to consume. To make every part of you a part of him. “You’re perfect,” he moaned as he closed the gap between the two of you. “And all fucking mine,” he added as he captured your lips in a demanding kiss, your taste still lingering on his tongue. There was a jealous edge to his voice, and you wondered if it had been there this whole time. You weren’t sure, but you were sure you liked the sound of it. 

He pulled back, rutting his still clothed and painfully hard cock against you, needing some form of relief. “Say it,” He begged, “Say you’re mine.”

You didn’t even have to think twice. “I’m yours Chris. All yours. I think I always have been.” The sound that came from him was sinful, and he finally gave into himself; sitting up and undoing his belt. You sat up with him to finish the job, palming him through the fabric and taking a secret joy in the way he bucked into even your tiniest touch. You slowly undid the button holding his pants together.

You must have been too slow for him. He took over, pushing his jeans and boxers down and finally taking himself out. He moaned in relief, giving himself a few strokes to ease his discomfort. He didn’t notice your wide eyed, almost nervous stare. You were no virgin, you had handled your fair share of dicks, and handled them incredibly well in your humble opinion. 

Chris was intimidating though. He wasn’t too much longer than most, but he was far thicker than the rest. It looked heavy, and curved slightly upward. The dark tip was already leaking and desperate for attention. For your attention. 

He noticed you staring, saw the look on your face. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he promised. He knew he could be… a lot, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way. 

You swallowed the invisible lump in your throat. “I want to, it’s just… kind of intimidating.” 

Chris nodded, understanding the apprehension. “We’ll go slow,” He promised, taking your hand and inviting you to get more well acquainted with his cock. You gladly took him up on the offer, taking him in your palm. You felt a sense of power at the way he shuddered under your touch, just as needy for you as you were for him. 

You focused on the head, swiping your thumb over his leaking tip and using it to coat his dick. He moaned softly for you, making no move to hide how good even just your softest touch felt. You stroked his shaft, tracing out the prominent veins as he twitched in your hand. He wrapped an arm around your lower back, taking your free hand in his and bringing your wrist up for a kiss. All while bucking into your touch.

Such a soft act mixed with such an erotic scene sent a pulse of electricity to your core. Your soon-to-be-ex had never made you feel like this before. You gripped Chris slightly tighter, earning you a soft moan from him as you stroked his sensitive cock. He looked at you with hooded, lust filled eyes; emboldening you to pick up the pace.

His breath hitched in his chest, his dick twitched, he was clearly happy with the change. You watched his eyes flutter shut as he bucked his hips into your touch, building up a steady rhythm and getting lost in the sensation. You smirked at him, feeling proud of the way he melted into your hand. “Feel good?” You asked.

He huffed an almost laugh, “So good,” he confirmed, bucking into your grip, “You’re doing so good for me.” The praise went straight to your core and you bit your lip. Suddenly, all you wanted was to be good for him. You became more persistent, switching from long, languid strokes over his entire length to quick sharp motions that focused on the tip. You felt Chris shudder as he reached down, tips of his fingers teasing your clit. You gasped at the sudden sensation, not fully expecting him to return the favor. 

“Don’t look so shocked,” he chuckled. “We reward good behavior around here.” he said, massaging expert circles into you. You faltered, still sensitive from your previous climax. Your thighs twitched and you fell the short distance into Chris’s chest. Still, you may have fumbled a bit, but you didn’t forget the task at hand here.

Chris smirked, “Look at my pretty little doll, twitchy and needy and still trying to return the favor. Aren’t you just an angel?” The tone came out more condescending than he meant it too, but it wasn’t like you noticed. You just honestly really liked the sound of him talking. 

He could tell just how much you liked it. “So fucking wet,” he continued, “And all for me. You’re going to feel so good wrapped around me, I can tell.” His voice was getting husky, thick with desire and you realized he was getting there with just your hand. You were getting close too, hips rocking against him, puffy clit catching on his palm. The stimulation mixed with his voice was intoxicating.

And as much as Chris would have loved to watch you cum all over his hand, he would have much rather watched you come apart on his dick instead. He pulled you close and nipped at your ear. “I need you,” he groaned.

“Need me to what?”

He almost laughed, “I need you to let me fuck that pretty little cunt until you can’t think about anything other than how good I feel inside of you.” You felt like you were on fire.

Well, since he asked so nicely. “Please,” you nodded. 

Chris pulled your face to his, hand on the back of your head as he kissed you roughly before pressing your back into the mattress. He sat up above you, and swallowed roughly. You watched his Adam's apple bob up and down and he took you in, admiring his work decorating your body with his teeth. There would be no denying he was here in the morning. 

He grabbed your hips and placed himself in between your legs, spreading them to make room. He ran the thick tip of his cock along your slit, collecting the natural slick there. “Think you’re ready for me doll?” he asked. You nodded, the anticipation eating you alive as you braced yourself for him. 

He shook his head. “No, that’s not going to work here baby. I wanna hear your pretty voice.” 

How dare he. “Yes, Chris,” you nodded. “I'm ready.” 

Chris grinned. “See? I knew you could speak.” You ignored the condescension in his tone, far more preoccupied with the feeling of him pressing inside you, stretching you out in all of the most beautiful ways. In all your years of friendship, you never imagined Chris would feel like this. You moaned out his name in an almost pathetic display of need, hands gripping the sheets so hard you would have been worried about ripping them if you weren’t so preoccupied.

Chris hissed through his teeth as he fought the need to shove himself entirely inside your warm, welcoming cunt. A part of him wanted to split you in half and fuck you for all that you were worth, to mold your pretty little pussy to his cock and ruin you for any other man. But another, much louder part of him wanted to make sure you were comfortable. At least for the first go around. So he went almost painfully slow, only taking as much as you would give.  

You moaned as you tried to adjust to his size, tense both in apprehension and from the burn. He rubbed soothing circles into your hips, leaning down to press soft kisses into your jawline. “Come on baby,” he moaned as he kissed the shell of your ear, “relax for me.” His free hand reached down as he spoke, massaging slow, meticulous circles into your clit. Slowly, the pain started to subside, leaving you with nothing but the desperate need for him to fucking move.

“Chris,” you moaned, hand coming up to touch his back, hoping he’d get the message because you weren’t confident in your ability to say much other than his name.

Luckily, he knew exactly what you wanted, and slowly set a pace that left you reeling. “There ya go doll, that’s it,” he encouraged, angling his hips so he could hit that soft spot inside you, “Fuck, you feel so good, you’re doing so good for me.” He praised as he rocked his hips into yours, each thrust sending a new fresh wave of bliss throughout you. Your head felt like it was filled with stardust, and all you could focus on was his pretty voice and how perfectly he filled you.

He took one of your legs and placed it higher on his hip, knowing he got the angle right when he felt your nails dig into his taunt back, leaving pretty little red moons, and gasped out what may just have been the hottest sound he’d ever heard in his life. “Yeah?” he grinned. “Like that doll?”

He really needed to stop asking questions, you were going to start biting him about it. You nodded, rushing out a quick “yes,” and hoping that would be enough for him. 

He chuckled almost darkly, leaning in to kiss you again. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me baby doll,” he groaned, picking up the pace and sending you into the stratosphere. “You’re taking me so good love, you’re so fucking perfect for me.”

Had you been more cognizant, you might have had the thought to unpack the latest pet name. Might. It didn’t quite matter though, because right now you were lost in a sea of euphoria, threatening to drown in a tsunami of dopamine. Your entire body felt like a livewire, electric and ready to snap, flying closer and closer to the edge with every perfectly timed rut of his hips. 

Your other hand flew up to his hair, pulling probably harder than you actually meant to and still managing to pull a filthy moan from him. “Chris,” you whined. “Chris I’m close.” 

He nodded, making sure not to change his pace or pressure, “Cum for me baby, please,” he begged. “Need it, need you.” 

It was like your body was just instinctively waiting for permission, because the moment the words tumbled out of his mouth you felt yourself fly off the ledge, falling into a pit of oxytocin and dopamine, pleasure exploding through your every nerve ending to wreak you, and leave you shaking like the last leaves in fall. You were pretty sure you said, something? Or maybe he did? Honestly you were in no place to decipher words.

Your peak brought him to his own, the feeling of your perfect heat fluttering round him, seemingly pulling him impossibly deeper pulled him over the edge with you with one last thrust. He came hard inside of you, telling himself he couldn’t have pulled out if he tried and knowing even then he was lying to himself. He fucked you through both of your highs, not letting up until he physically had to stop. He managed to avoid collapsing on top of you, rolling you both over so he’d land beside you instead. 

You both laid there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of your shared sin while he peppered light kisses across your forehead. “You okay?” he asked gently.

“Never better,” you laughed, but it came out more like breathy little huffs. 

He smiled adoringly at you as he brushed your hair out of your eyes. “Glad to hear it,” he muttered. You grimaced as he finally pulled out, almost feeling like you’d lost something. “Come on,” he muttered, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Chris gave you a quick kiss before leaving the room, coming back with a warm rag and a water bottle. He helped you get cleaned up before gathering you in his arms again, propping you up on his chest while you tried to rehydrate. You took another drink before looking up at him. “Yes, you can light a smoke.”

Chris looked like he’d been caught in a crime. “What? I didn’t say anything about–”

“You didn’t have to,” you teased. “I can feel you getting twitchy, just smoke the cigarette.”

He looked relieved. “You sure you don’t mind?” Even as he asked he was reaching for his jeans. “I know you’re not a huge fan of the smell.” 

You waved a hand at him. “Just don’t make a habit of it,” you said, pointing to an abandoned water bottle on your bedside. “There’s your ashtray.”

He pulled his cigarettes and lighter out of his back pocket, throwing his pants back on the floor. He lit the smoke, throwing the lighter on your night stand before relaxing back on the bed, pulling you back to his side. You melted into him, closing your eyes and taking everything in. 

The silence was comfortable this time, nothing like it was on the way back from the fair. Everything felt familiar and right. From the cigarette smoke to the soft beating of his heart, the entire scene felt like a snapshot from your future.

 You thought that if you had ever crossed this line with Chris, it would be awkward– friendship ruining even. You were almost shocked to realize that, no actually, it didn’t feel like anything had changed. 

It felt like this is where you were supposed to be the entire time. “So,” he finally asked, “What’s the plan?”

“What’s the plan?” You laughed, “The plan is leaving fuckface. And, well,” you looked up at him, “Hopefully we can explore whatever this is?”

Chris’s smile could have lit up an entire city. “Glad we’re on the same page,” he said, pulling you into another kiss. “Happy Valentine's Day, baby.”

[nulixity]

For Every Tomorrow

Request: I feel like Chris would have that talk with his wife just incase he dies on a mission, he’d tell her everything and exactly what he’s leaving for his family if he dies. Don’t see u write sad stuff a whole lot so maybe write something like this? :3

I loved this idea so much, I’ve gone for the family man Chris, including his beautiful little bubbas, thought it’d add to the angst. 

Anyways enjoyyy.  Chris Redfield x Reader 

Chris didn’t come to bed right away. You’d heard him moving around downstairs, quiet, deliberate, like he didn’t want to wake anyone. Which made sense. The house was finally still, Noah asleep with one sock off like always, and Lyra dozing in her crib after her last feeding. But Chris… he wasn’t still. Not inside.

When he finally came into the bedroom, he wasn’t wearing his usual confidence. No tactical bravado, no calm commander’s mask. Just Chris, your Chris, with tired eyes and a quiet grief he hadn’t yet spoken out loud. 

You sat up slowly, your hand reaching out. “Hey. You okay baby?” 

He looked at you for a long moment, then crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I need to talk to you.” 

You knew that tone. That low, steady one he used when he needed to be brave in a different way. 

You reached for his hand.

He took a shaky breath. “This mission’s different. I can’t tell you everything, but it’s bad. And I can’t… I can’t go out there without making sure you and the kids are taken care of.” 

“Chris..” 

“I know. I know how it sounds,” he said quickly, squeezing your hand. “But you’ve seen what I’ve gone up against. You know what’s out there. if something happens to me, if I don’t make it back, I need you to know what comes next.” 

You heart clenched. The thought of him not being there when Noah asked, “Where’s daddy?” or of Lyra never remembering the weight of his arms wrapped around her, it broke something deep.

Chris pulled out a small binder from the drawer by the bed. It was navy blue, labelled with your name in his handwriting, 

“In here… is everything,” he said, laying it in your lap. “The insurance policy. Emergency contacts. The deed to the house, it’s already in your name. and there’s a trust fund set up for both kids. Enough to get them through school. More if they want to go farther.”

You blinked hard, but the tears were coming anyway. 

“I recorded some videos,” he continued, voice thick. “One for Noah’s fifth birthday. And every birthday after that. First day of school. Graduation. His first heartbreak. Same for Lyra. Her first dance. Her wedding day. All of it.” 

You let out a sob and covered your mouth. 

Chris reached for you, pulling you into his arms. He was trembling too, now. “I want them to remember me for more than just a uniform. I want them to know who I was. That I loved them more than anything. That I fought so they could grow up without ever seeing what I’ve seen.” 

You clung to him, heart breaking open. “Don’t you dare say goodbye, Chris. Please.” 

“I’m not,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m going to come back. I swear to you, I’m going to fight like hell to come back. But if I don’t… you won’t be alone. You’ll have me in all those moments. I made sure of it.” 

A tiny cry broke through the heavy quiet, and both of you turned to the crib where Lyra squirmed. Chris stood and crossed the room, lifting her with such gentle care it made your chest ache. She curled into him instantly, resting her tiny cheek against his shoulder. 

He looked down at her with eyes full of sorrow and love. “You’re so small. And I’ve already missed too much.” 

You joined him, wrapping your arms around his side as he rocked her gently. You stayed like that in the half-light, your family, together, quiet and still. 

Chris finally speaks again, a whisper just for you. “If anything happens… tell Noah I’m proud of the way he shares. Of the way he laughs. Tell Lyra she has my heart in her hands, and she always will.”

“She’ll hear it from you,” you said firmly. “They both will.” 

He looked at you and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, they will.” 

Because no matter how many times he’d faced death, this time he had something to fight for that went beyond duty.

This Time he had everything to lose. 

Chris was still holding Lyra, her tiny hand curled around his finger, when he spoke again. His voice was quieter now, thicker. Like the words were heavier, closer to something that had been sitting in his chest for years.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he said, eyes still on your daughter, “About how different my life turned out. How much it changed…. Because of you.” 

You looked up at him, heart already aching in your chest. 

“I used to think this kind of life wasn’t for me. a family. A home. I told myself I didn’t need it. That I didn’t deserve it after everything I’d seen, everything I’d done. But then…”

He finally looked at you. Really looked. And your breath caught in your throat at the way his eyes shimmered in the soft light. 

“Then you happened,” he said. “You gave me everything. Everything I never knew I could have. You gave me a reason to come home. You gave me them,” he nodded toward Lyra, then toward Noah’s closed bedroom door. “You made me a dad. A dad, can you believe that?”

You laughed softly through your tears, and Chris smiled, just a little. 

“I was lost before you,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking, “I mean it. I was angry and tired and…. I think deep down I’d already given up. I was just going through the motions, doing the job, waiting for the day it finally caught up to me.” 

He sat on the edge of the bed again, Lyra resting peacefully in the crook of his arm. You sat beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“But then you walked into my life like a damn miracle. You showed me what it meant to live, not just survive. You gave me a home. A real home, not just four walls. You are my home. And if I don’t make it back-“

“Chris…” 

He turned his head, kissed your temple gently. “If I don’t, I need you to know…. I went out there loving you with everything I had. You gave me a future. You made me believe I could be more than a soldier. You gave me something worth fighting for.”

He looked down at Lyra again, then closed his eyes.

“You gave me my whole world.” 

You were silent for a long moment, just breathing him in, memorizing the warmth of him and the sound of his heartbeat under your cheek.

“I’ll come back to you,” he whispered. “I have to. Because losing you, losing this… would be worse than anything I’ve faced out there.” 

And somehow, in that moment of tears and quiet and love too big for word, you believed him. 

[nulixity]

Universal ִֶָ☾.

Javier Escuella x reader

rating: all audiences

You've grown up with the gang, seeing them as your family rather than just companions. In 1895, Dutch brings in a new member, a man named Javier Escuella, who speaks little English.

You're determined to help him learn, but somewhere along the way, you realise that some things are simply universal...

content warning: f reader, no smut, all fluff, pre canon, failed gcse spanish so i'm google translating it, javier adores you, racism (tw: bill), happy endings all round

word count: 5.0k

You remember the day you met Javier Escuella like it was yesterday.

It was the Summer of 1895. The gang was milling about in your makeshift camp, doing chores or enjoying the pleasant weather. Autumn was approaching and the gang was enjoying the last weeks of sunshine, before it turned cold and grey.

Dutch had been gone for a few hours on a reconnaissance, scoping out an abandoned building which was said to be a popular spot for ashamed upperclassmen to meet working girls.

He’d been gone longer than the group had expected, and Hosea had begun to worry. You sat by his side playing dominos, trying to quell his concerns with gentle reassurances.

When Dutch returned, the gang and you were beyond relieved. But he hadn't returned empty handed. Information, some food…

And a stranger in tow.

He was young, no older than twenty one from what you could tell. Covered head to toe in dirt and dressed in ratty clothes, his hair long and unwashed.

He looked around with cautious eyes at the other members of your group, before they finally landed on you.

You thought his eyes were beautiful. A deep brown, smooth and golden like whiskey in the light of the setting sun. He stared at you for a moment, before looking at the floor.

“Everyone, I would like you all to meet Mr Javier Escuella!” Dutch announced, “He’ll be joining us, from now on. Quite the thief, but I reckon we can teach him more.”

Javier Escuella.

His name was dazzling to you, foreign and melodic, especially when spoken in his own voice when he corrected Dutch’s pronunciation.

As other members of the group approached him, such as Arthur and John, introducing themselves and asking questions. Javier answered with ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, growing embarrassed when they asked him harder questions.

It became obvious to you all that Javier did not speak much English, and Hosea made everyone scarce as he calmly took him over to get some stew, allowing the man some peace from the rather hectic band of criminals.

You came to stop by Dutch’s side as Hosea sits Javier at one of the tables.

“Where did you find him?”

“Oh, it's a funny story, my dear.” He chuckles.

You thought as much, listening to Dutch relay the events of their introduction. Your eyes did not leave Javier’s face.

Who is this unusual man?

That had been a few weeks ago now, and Javier had become a great asset to the gang.

He is skilled with a knife, a nimble fighter and a better thief than Dutch gave him credit for. His past remained unknown to you, but you could tell the gods had not dealt him the best cards.

Nevertheless, he's a tough son of a bitch.

Just by standing at his side during jobs, you could tell he is fiercely intelligent, brave, and… well, handsome… but no one needed to know the last part. That’s your secret.

You wanted to truly get to know him, as a friend of course. The only issue to that being the language barrier.

He would sit with Dutch sometimes and listen to him when he read, his focus apt as he tried to learn longer words in the language.

But other than that, he kept mainly to himself.

Javier chose to keep to the outskirts of the group, observing the world in stoic silence. On days where you stood close enough to him, you could hear him humming as he sharpened his knife. But he would stop whenever anyone came close.

He reminded you of a beaten dog in a new home; unsure and distant, growing braver as the days go by. You hoped he would come to think of the gang as a family, as you had.

Only time would tell.

The first time you really interacted with him was one cold night around the campfire.

Everyone is enjoying Pearson’s stew and a few drinks. Uncle plays his banjo, Sean sings merrily, even Arthur and John were in high spirits as they twirl Tilly around in a silly dance that makes everyone laugh and applaud.

What a merry band of fools you run with.

But the mood sours when a drunken Bill Williamson decides to try his hardest to piss everyone off.

“I don’t see why we don't just break in and take it.” Bill grouses, complaining about a robbery Hosea was planning.

Hosea presses his lips together, looking up from his book to stare at the drunken buffoon.

“Because, Mr Williamson, the man who resides there may be alone and old, but he’s known statewide for his experience with weaponry.” Hosea sighs through his nose, “‘Breaking in’ without a plan will surely land us all with bullets where we don't want them. As I have explained thrice.”

Bill scoffs, taking a swig from his bottle.

“Please. Just get the girl there to lift her skirt and get the old coon distracted.” Bill says, nodding at you, “I reckon no man could pass up the chance at a go at her.”

“That’s enough of that.” Hosea warns, voice cold and dangerous.

“What? It ain’t like we’re above using distractions, and it would be a way for her to finally earn her keep.” Bill leans closer to you, running a finger along the bare skin of your arm, “Easier to do it laying on your back, eh, Y/N-?”

You squirm away, and the group falls silent at his words and the clear panic on your face.From across the campfire, Javier suddenly stands up.

“¡Cállate, pendejo!” He snaps, pointing his finger at Bill.

Bill’s jaw drops, blinking at the man before he too stands. Arthur and the Callender brothers also seem to sober up, looking between the two angry men to see if they will need to break up an upcoming fight. Hosea sighs, tiredly.

“The fuck did you say, you slimy brown fuck?!” Bill barks with a sneer.

“!Eres asqueroso, déjala sola! Borracho desperdicio de espacio...” Javier bites back, looking the other man up and down with clear disgust.

“Fuck’s he saying?!”

“He’s telling you to be quiet, and to leave Y/N alone.” Hosea bites, glaring at Bill.

Bill splutters, looking around the group. Upon realising he has no allies in this fight, he storms off, beer bottle in hand.

An awkward, heated silence is left in his wake.

Arthur sighs, patting your shoulder soothingly before he requests another song from Uncle. The rest of the gang goes back to their previous glee the second the music starts up again, argument forgotten.

You look over at your saviour. Javier murmurs something else venomous at Bill’s retreating form, before he sits back down.

He chooses a seat much closer to you than before, which you internally smile at.

His eyes scan the gang, before landing on you a few feet away. He frowns, avoiding your eyes.

“Lo siento, señorita.” He murmurs, scratching his chin with a remorseful expression.

Confused, you look to Hosea for an explanation. The older outlaw regards Javier, before offering you a smile, “He’s apologising, dear. Probably for getting angry.”

“Oh!” You turn back, “It’s okay, Javier. No lo siento, there’s nothing to apologise for. What’s thank you?” You whisper the last part to Hosea.

“Gracias.” Hosea whispers back.

“Gracias, Javier.”

Javier chuckles, offering you a smile, “De nada, princesa.”

The evening continues without a hitch, sans Dutch giving Bill a stern talking to for his vile words towards you.

You try not to notice Javier occasionally looking over at you, but everytime you feel him glance, you have to fight a giddy smile.

Thank god for the campfire hiding your blush.

It’s been a good few months now, since you met the Mexican freedom fighter.

He’s been nothing but respectful to you, greeting you when he passes and keeping a watchful eye whenever Bill has a few too many.

You cannot help but find yourself drawn to Javier, his good looks and his underlying fire luring you in like a moth to a flame.

Others have noticed, namely Hosea, the observant gossip he is.

You have been trying your hardest to keep your growing feelings a secret. But everytime you bring Javier a cup of coffee in the mornings, or when you pay special attention when sewing his shirts, or how you light up when he arrives unscathed from a job, you can see Hosea giving you a knowing grin, wiggling his eyebrows as you blush.

While you enjoy what time you manage to spend with Javier, the language barrier is creating issues for you.

Javier seems to understand English well enough, being able to translate words in his head impressively well. But he’s quiet, and lacks confidence in attempting to speak English for fear of talking nonsensically.

Today is one of those days where he sits in silence, alone at the edge of camp.

He’s frowning down at one of Dutch’s books as he mumbles the words to himself, trying and failing to pronounce them properly.

You watch him from the sidelines as you enjoy your morning coffee, frowning when he huffs and closes the book. The defeat on his face is heartbreaking, and you put down your tin cup to go over to him.

Maybe you can help him with learning. It's the least you can do, for sure.

“Hola, Javier.” You greet, joining his side with an easy smile. Hosea had been kind enough to teach you greetings, which you are appreciative of.

Javier startles, looking up at you and cringing, wondering how much of his failure you had been witness to, “Hola, señorita.”

“I see you’re trying to learn more English.” You muse, keeping your voice light to not make him think you are making fun of him, “Say, would you like me to help you learn the basics?”

Javier blinks up at you, confused by the quick words you threw at him. You internally chastise yourself for speaking so fast, your nerves getting to you.

But Javier translates in his head, and a small smile replaces the somber look on his face.

“Ah… sí, por favor.” He licks his lips, thinking, “Eh, please.”

Internally celebrating the small victory, you sit down beside him.

He offers you the book, and you look over the page he was attempting to learn from. It seems to be an Evelyn Miller read, complicated words typed in a small font. You sigh slightly, this book has words that even you cannot pronounce, no wonder Javier was struggling.

Way to be empathetic, Mr Van Der Linde.

You close the book, giving Javier an encouraging smile while you put the book away, “Let’s try something easier.”

Javier nods, turning his body to face you. Your heart flutters at having his undivided attention, but you ignore it, focusing on the task at hand.

“Alright, I know you know some of the easier words, like ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’.”

“Hello.” Javier parrots, giving you a little wave.

Oh he’s adorable. When he’s not stabbing people, that is.

“That’s the one.” You chuckle, “How about we start with… the weather! “The weather is fine”, what do you think about that?”

Javier stares at you blankly. Perhaps he didn't understand. You gesture to the sky, and put your thumbs up, “The weather is fine.”

“Oh ¿El clima? Si, está bien.” Javier nods, looking up at the clouds.

“El clima está bien.” You say carefully, “The weather is fine.”

“...The weather… is fine.” Javier mimics, the words clunky in his mouth but he nods determinedly, “The weather is fine.”

“Well done.” You smile, “That is the response. I say, ‘how’s the weather?’ You say…”

“... uh- the weather is fine?” He tries, his pronunciation improving already.

“Sí!” You grin, patting his shoulder. Javier nods, murmuring the sentence to himself again before he looks at you.

You look around, trying to find another sentence to teach him, when he stops you.

“You, go.” Javier says, “You.”

“I go?” You ask, confused “I leave?”

“No.” He chuckles, “El clima está bien, en español.”

“You want to teach me Spanish?” You tilt your head, and Javier mimics it, giving you a cheeky grin.

“Sí, we learn.” He laughs, pointing between you two with a cheeky grin.

Across the way, Hosea and Dutch watch the interaction, entertained and smiling as they murmur to one another.

You chuckle, “Okay, how do I ask?”

Javier clears his throat, “¿Cómo está el clima?”

“¿Cómo está el clima?” You try, and Javier nods vigorously.

“El clima está bien.” He responds. “The weather is fine.”

“Ok.” You grin, ”How is the weather, again?”

“The weather is fine. ¿Cómo está el clima?”

“El clima está bien.” You say confidently, rewarded by Javier's smile.

You’re practically giddy, happy the lesson is going so well. Javier joins you in smiling, watching your face with a soft look.

Across the camp, Dutch and Hosea exchange knowing smiles.

While you reiterate the new Spanish you learned, Uncle stumbles past, uttering mornings to you both. You nudge Javier, who swallows before clearing his throat.

“The weather, is fine.” Javier says sternly.

Uncle blinks at him, before looking up, “That it is, fella, that it is.”

You clap Javier’s first lesson. Javier doesn't bother to hide his proud smile.

Javier was proving to be a better student than you were expecting.

Hosea had given you a book on nature and foraging after you had complained to him about Dutch’s choice of learning material.

“Evelyn Miller? That man is a sadist.” Hosea grumbled to you, “Dutch, do you not want him to learn?!”

It had been funny watching the two of the gang's leaders argue like an old married couple.

Every day, you and Javier would learn over coffee. The book happened to be fantastic for teaching your new friend all kinds of words and how to string sentences.

Now, Javier could easily hold a conversation in English with most members of the gang.

After a particularly bad day, one where Javier had had to go on a job with Bill, you taught him some swears as well.

“Pendejo… you son of a bitch!” Javier had yelled clunkily. It had clearly been worth the fistfight between them, based on Javier’s knowing smile thrown your way after Bill was dragged away.

You’re the proudest teacher.

But the world was not limited to your merry band of outlaws. The gang members were often very patient with Javier, letting him stumble and ignoring mistakes in his grammar to not embarrass him (or receive a knife to the face)

So you decided it was time for some field practise.

On a cold day in Winter, the two of you stand in front of a saloon in the city, people watching while you casually practise conversation.

The topic of today was the basics of pleasantries and being nice. Hosea had asked you to teach Javier how to smooth talk, and you had decided that today he would practise his charm on the English speakers of Blackwater.

You hoped to find an individual in need of a knight in shining armour, so Javier could help them and practise on a new soul.

An older woman across the way had her arms full of shopping bags, frowning as she tried to lift them into her wagon, with little success.

Perfect.

“She’s the one.” You point her out to Javier, who nods, “Now, ‘it would be my pleasure’, try it.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He grits out, rolling his eyes, “What a lie. I take no pleasure in helping these people.”

You giggle, nudging him, “Shut up, you’re a sweetheart really.”

Javier waves you off, before heading over to the struggling woman. He stands behind her awkwardly for a moment, before clearing his throat.

“Could I assist you, miss.” He asks, causing the woman to turn around and look at him.

“Oh!” The woman smiles, sighing in relief, “If you wouldn't mind, sir.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Javier takes the womans bags, lifting them effortlessly up to her wagon. He even offers her his hand, helping her up to sit at the drivers seat.

She thanks him and bids him a good day, and he tips his hat to her.

You curtsy at him as he approaches, “Look at you. A regular American gentleman.”

“You know better than that, princesa.” Javier chuckles, reaching into his pocket and showing you the woman's bracelet, masterfully stolen while he helped her onto the wagon.

“Javier Escuella, what will I do with you?” You laugh, swatting his shoulder.

He catches your hand carefully, before turning your wrist around and clasping the bracelet around it. His fingers are warm to the touch, comforting in the cold weather. With the bracelet attached, he nods his head proudly, holding on to your wrist for a moment longer before spelling back.

You blush, looking down at sparkling jewellery, stolen for you by the man of your dreams.

Lord have mercy.

Trying to avoid Javier’s eyes, you murmur out, “Gracias, Javier.”

He smiles down at you, making your heart race faster. Damn this perfect man.

“Come have a drink with me?” You request, pointing to the saloon, “Celebrate your progress?"

Javier straightens his back, offering you his arm like the perfect gentleman, “It would be my pleasure.”

The two of you enter the saloon, grabbing a couple of beers before sitting at a small table.

Due to the earlier hour, it’s relatively quiet, sans for the soft hum of conversation and gentle music.

The man plays the piano in the corner, a simple tune but you can't help but notice how aptly Javier watches him play, a longing expression on his face.

“Javier? Are you ok?” You ask, placing a hand on his arm.

He startles, like he was lost in thought, before clearing his throat.

“Si, señorita.” Javier nods, though he remains somber, “I used to… uh, you know, música, yes?”

“Music, that’s right. He’s playing the piano.” You look at the pianist, “You used to play piano?”

“No, no. Guitarra.” Javier sighs, miming plucking a guitar. He looks downcast, “A long time ago.”

You frown sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe one day you can show me, música y guitarra.” You smile, knowing you definitely did not make a proper sentence. Javier chuckles, and returns your smile in earnest.

“Sí, one day.” He sighs wistfully, “No puedo esperar, señorita. I can not wait.”

Neither can you.

After that day, you were intent on finding a guitar for Javier.

You don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he often watches Uncle when he plays his banjo. A deep sadness permeates from his being, a longing that holds grief as well.

His music was another thing he lost fleeing his country. You know more of his backstory from his brief stories about Mexico, his village, and his family. It breaks your heart to think about what he has lost.

You can give him his music back. And dammit, nothing will stop you.

After a job, you find yourself travelling across the grizzlies alongside Arthur, once again thinking about the man waiting for you at camp.

Well, not waiting for you. Simply waiting.

Yours and Arthur's horses are exhausted, and you’re relieved when you come across a small camp.

The residents, an Italian couple, welcome you, letting you share their campfire and even offering you coffee.

They have a bunch of items that they show you, offering to sell them to help them start a new life in America. You look over the collection, unable to hold back the gasp when you see a worn, dusty guitar amongst the items.

The others look at you, curious. Upon seeing the guitar, the man smiles warmly, “You want?”

“I would, please!” You go to your saddlebags, searching for your coin purse.

“You would?” Arthur asks, looking between you and the guitar, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You wave him off, “How much?”

“Erm, fifty cents, miss.”

“Here you go.” You hand him the coin.

Arthur regards the interaction with confusion, as the man hands you the guitar. You cannot help the smile on your face, imagining Javier’s reaction.

When the two of you set off, bidding the couple goodbyes, you sit on your mare with the guitar strapped to your back, and Arthur laughs under his breath.

“So, what was that about?” He asks, “Feeling musical? Are you and Uncle starting a band?”

Laughing, you shake your head, “Nah. Someone just promised to play me a song.”

When the two of you arrived in camp, you looked around for Javier, holding the guitar rather awkwardly.

The others looked at it questioningly, but you paid them no mind.

Javier is on guard duty, looking bored as he fiddled with his rifle. You felt nerves as you approached, second guessing yourself as the silence felt heavy around you.

“Javier?” You called as you stood a few feet away, not wanting to startle him.

He turns around, smiling when he spots you. His eyes widen when he sees the instrument in your hands.

You clear your throat, holding it out to him awkwardly, “This is for you.”

Javier gasps, placing his rifle down as he approaches, looking between you and the guitar.

“Me?” He asks quietly, like he can’t believe it.

“You.” You giggle, handing it to him. He takes it, looking down at the instrument.

“Princesa… this is…” Javier trails off, dragging his fingers over the strings, “Muy amable… muchas gracias, señorita!”

“I only know what a couple of those words mean, so you’re welcome, Javier.” You chuckle, beaming as you watch Javier marvel over the old guitar as if it were the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He looks back up at you, standing with the guitar in hand, seemingly thinking something through.

You’re surprised when he wraps an arm around you, tucking you under his chin as he murmurs another, “Gracias, princesa.”

You hug him back, wrapped in his warmth and comforting smell. Is this the happiest you’ve ever been? Perhaps.

After a moment, you’re sure you feel him press his lips to the crown of your head, before he steps back, clearing his throat.

“I should… go back, to guarding.” He says, holding the guitar close to his chest.

“Of course!” You take a step back, smiling at him, “I'll see you at dinner.”

“I will play for you.” Javier promises, beaming.

You turn and walk away. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk, and you pray you don’t step on a rock and make a fool of yourself. You’re so giddy you feel like this is your first time walking.

Back at camp, you take a sharp breath to calm your racing heart Hosea grins broadly at you.

“Smooth.” He laughs, coming to your side.

“Shut up, old man.” You berate with a smile, elbowing him.

At dinner, Javier joins your side at the campfire, tuning the guitar with nimble fingers. When he was happy, he turned to you, playing a simple tune which made you smile.

That night you fell asleep to the sound of Javier’s singing across camp, and you dreamt of his embrace.

The morning after, Javier Escuella awkwardly walks through camp, searching out Hosea Matthews for advice.

Finding him sitting at one of the tables, Javier clears his throat, hoping to gain the attention of the older man without much embarrassment.

“Señor Matthews?”

Hosea turns around, offering Javier a welcoming smile, “Javier, how are you?”

“I am well, thank you.”

“And how's the weather?”

Javier chuckles, “The weather is fine.”

“You're really coming along with your English.” Hosea muses proudly, “Our dear Y/N seems to be really helping you, huh?”

“Ah, sí, yes.” Javier smiles, attempting to hide his blush underneath the brim of his hat.

But Hosea notices. He always does.

“Pero…I need to learn more.” Javier continues, taking a seat beside Hosea at the table, “Some words that I want to say to her, that I cannot have her teach me. You understand, yes?”

“I do.” Hosea smiles, all knowing “What specific words might I ask?”

“Ah, so many.” Javier sighs, eyes soft as he thinks about you, “She… how do I say it, es muy bonita, si? Very beautiful. Pero hay más, ella es fuerte. Desde que la conocí siento que la vida vuelve a tener sentido. Ella me hace feliz-”

At Hosea’s blank expression, Javier releases a frustrated sigh, standing to pace. He scratches his head, sending Hosea an apologetic look.

“Gah, lo siento, señor. I… ask Y/N, it takes a while to teach me. She says I ramble.”

“I get the gist, Mr Escuella.” Hosea chuckles, shrugging “You’re sweet on her.”

“The sweetest.” Javier murmurs, causing the older man to bark out another laugh.

“Well, it certainly seems there's a lot for you to say.” Hosea muses, running a hand over his face, “Perhaps you shouldn't tell her, but show her.”

“Cómo? How do I show her?”

“I can think of a few ways.”

Javier takes a seat beside Hosea again, leaning forward to listen to the man as he begins detailing ways he could get his point across.

You eye them suspiciously from across camp, wondering what they could possibly be talking about so seriously.

As the sun sets on another day, you stand brushing your horse absentmindedly.

You hate to admit it, but you’re waiting impatiently for Javier to be done with guard duty, so the two of you can sit by the campfire as he plays his guitar for you.

It has become a part of your daily routine, and has begun your favourite part of the day. No competition.

Someone clears their throat behind you, startling you from your thoughts.

Javier stands behind you. He looks bashful, a look you remember from when he first joined the gang. But there is a fierce determination on his face that you recognise.

“Princesa.” Javier greets, offering you a smile despite his obvious nerves.

“Mr Escuella.”

“Javier, por favor. Never Mr Escuella to you.” He says with a smile.

“Lo siento, Javier.” You chuckle, “What’s wrong?”

Javier clears his throat, “Nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is… good.”

He goes silent, looking down at the dirt below as he thinks to himself. Whatever he is thinking about, obviously has him stumped.

You wait, confused but never impatient. Not with him.

“I…” Javier sighs, shaking his head, “Gah, maldice esta idioma.”

You huff out a laugh, “Idioma? If you’re calling me an idiot, I feel I should be offended.”

“Idiot? No! No, no, no. You’re not señor Williamson.” Javier jokes, taking a step closer to you, “I would never say a bad word about you.”

Blushing, you duck your head. Javier reaches out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

When you look up at him, he seems sad.

“You… I wish I knew more.” He sighs, looking at his feet, “If I could speak to you en español, I would have more words to speak. ¿Comprendes?.”

He looks up at you to see if you understand, and you nod encouragingly.

“I talked to Señor Matthews, and he gave me advice that was… eh, muy útil. Useful.”

“What did he say?” You ask.

“That words are not the only way to show how I feel. My actions can speak for me, my heart can speak for me.”

Javier takes your hand, rubbing your thumb.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out your favourite flower, slightly bent out of shape by his pocket.

“Eh…” Javier laughs at the drooping flower, shrugging, “I know they are your favourite.”

“Oh, Javier.” You take the flower, while intertwining your fingers with his other hand, “Thank you- muchas gracias.”

“De nada, cariño.” He cups your face with his hand, before nodding to the flower, “May I put it in your hair?”

You nod, and he takes it from you, gently tilting your head sideways so he can place the flower behind your ear, securing it. His finger dances along your jaw once he is satisfied.

Searching your eyes, he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours.

You cup his cheek, rubbing your thumb along his cheek, to his moustache. Javier purrs at the feeling, kissing the pad of your thumb.

“Kiss me?” You request, the words escaping you like a plea.

Javier smiles widely, “It would be my pleasure.”

He presses his lips to yours gently, a featherlight touch that makes you swoon. They’re softer than you would have thought from a scary outlaw, and warm, branding you with his affection.

You could happily die right here right now, with Javier Escuella kissing you with all the gentleness neither of you truly deserve.

Javier breaks the kiss to look at you once again, chuckling happily to himself.

“Llevo meses queriendo besarte.” Javier sighs, “Your lips… more perfect than I imagined.”

“Have you imagined my lips often?” You tease.

“Every day since I first saw you.”

The confession makes you gasp, surprised that he has desired you for so long.

Javier blushes, looking away, “When Dutch told me he had a gang, I was expecting a bunch of hair brutes. A whole group of Bill Williamsons.”

You both laugh.

“But then, I saw you.” He sighs, wistfully, “It was the first time I was glad to be in America. This country felt so lifeless before you.

“Oh Javier.” You smile, “I feel the same.”

“Mi corazón.” Javier mutters, smiling down at you, “Te amo.”

“Te amo?” You ask, marvelling over the two words, and Javier nods pressing his forehead against yours.

“I love you.”

If those aren't the prettiest words ever, in any language.

“I love you too, Javier.” You sigh, pulling him in for another kiss, “Te amo.”

AN / Javier internally screaming “do you know how smart I am in Spanish??”, I know babygirl was frustrated when he first came over to America

For @ourkokolocoo thank u for requesting some Javier! I'm definitely going to write more for him <3

[nulixity]

gracious | remus lupin x reader

summary: you tend to speak in riddles. luckily, remus is smart enough to crack this one.

warnings: insecure reader; brief conversations about suicide; kinda cringe tbh; is this how people actually talk?; entirely too much italic; a kiss perhaps

<3 this is my first ever fic! *screams in terror*

“Love isn’t something that’s deserved, dove. It’s something that we give, and we take. Willingly and graciously.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You are in your favorite position.

Head leaning against a pillow that’s been propped up against the arm of your living room couch, set there to protect from the cold that leather tends to hold onto, and your feet tucked under the legs attached to the warmest boy that you have ever met. Warm in all senses held true. Remus’ body temperature runs near feverish even when he is of good health, and it’s something you’ve grown quite fond of over years of friendship and months of living together. Especially during times like these. The February chill that lingers on from January’s snow that’s now fully melted can be felt in your bones no matter how many fleece blankets have been draped over you.

The buzz of the electric fireplace is one of the very few sounds that can be heard in your flat this relaxing evening, accompanied by the soft turning of pages from the respective books both you and the human fireplace are reading. It’s nice; a comfortable silence that you’ve only found with your dearest friend. You think this is what drew you two together, your shyness and his tranquility. It just works, it always has.

“You know how she died, right?” He says, disrupting the silence.

“Huh?” You’d been re-reading the same sentence over and over again that his words had sounded like they had been muffled under water. Every time people said I was pretty, I thought of everything ugly swarming beneath my clothes.

“Sylvia.” Nodding his head toward your book.

“Oh. Yeah, I do.”

“Out of all the ways…” He scrunches his nose as if he had smelled something rotten.

“Yeah, definitely not how I would do it.” You shrug.

“How do you mean?” Now his brow is the thing that’s scrunched, a habit you’ve insisted will leave a permanent wrinkle on his forehead.

“You’ve never thought about it? How you’d, y’know…?” You say casually. You’ve set your book down now, letting it rest open on your stomach.

“No, not really. Not anymore, at least.” He frowns.

“Oh.” Your face heats up a bit, embarrassed of the conversation you have started accidentally. Embarrassed that you might have made things weird.

“Do you think about it often?” His book has been set aside, forgotten about. Just how you wish this conversation would be.

“No, no. Only when I read books like this, I guess.���

“Maybe it’s time to switch genres then.” He suggests, his tone even and calm despite the concern evident on his face.

“You’re probably right.” You reply meekly, “What are you reading?”

“Flowers for Algernon.”

You sit up suddenly, scoffing. “Like that’s any better! I swear my tears are permanently stained onto those pages.”

“Oh, definitely. Your snot, too, if I recall how you cry.”

“Oh please! I know that I am an ugly crier, but at least I have a heart. I still cannot believe that you didn’t cry when we saw Charlotte’s Web.” You’ve sat up completely now, arms around your knees and feet still snug beneath Remus’s thighs.

“Forgive me if I am not a spider sympathizer. The more legs a creature has, the less I care if it dies.” Banter has always been his strong suit, and you’d hate him for it if you didn’t already love him for it more. “Also, I never said you were an ugly crier.”

“It was heavily implied.” You fake offense, turning your head to rest on your shoulder, lips in a tight frown.

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t think anything about you could be ugly.”

You think back to that quote, the one you’d been fixated on only moments ago. Your fake upset becomes a bit more real, mixed with a dash of bashfulness from his compliment. Both are poorly hidden from the person who knows you the best.

“Hey… where’d you go?” He says playfully, warm hands snaking around your calves as he tilts his head to follow your face where it has dropped into your knee.

You mumble something, words muffled by your smushed cheek and fabric of your jumper sleeve. Apparently, Remus isn’t too keen on your unintelligibility, which results in a torture of the cruelest kind; Large, warm palms grab both sides of your head with the gentleness of ones that would pick up a porcelain vase. This is it, you think, this is how I die. Cause of death: Remus’ hands. He’s always been tactile, with his firm hugs and affection, and one day soon it may melt you into a puddle.

Your eyes meet his reluctantly, knowing what you’ll see before you even open them. A knowing smirk that usually makes you want to hit him and kiss him all the same.

But… any deviousness on his face disappears the moment you look up at him with sad, glossy eyes. You want to crawl into a hole and have the earth swallow you up.

“What’s the matter?” He says, worry laced in his hushed tone.

You sniff. “Can you… is it possible to mourn something you can never have?”

He obviously doesn’t expect this answer out of you, but thinks on it for a few beats, lips in a tight line. “Wouldn’t that be yearning?” He asks.

“I guess. Does yearning… like… involve hope? Like that one day you’ll get the thing you want so bad?”

“I’m not sure. Do you not have hope?”

“Not really... like I have celiac disease but really want a pastry.” You’d be proud of how clever your wording is if you hadn’t written that same sentence in your journal the night before. You've had this conversation with yourself before, many times.

“Sweetheart, usually I can keep up with you, but you’re going to have to give me a little more than that.” He’s doing this thing with his thumb where he traces the smallest crescent moon beneath your eye in a means to comfort, but there is a swarm of bees in your stomach preventing any relaxation from happening. Reluctantly, you all but tear his hands off your face as if they’d been molecularly attached. You do, however, keep yours circled around his wrists.

“Okay. So, like… okay,” sputtering like an engine in the winter, “Imagine I’m a fish.” Not the best analogy admittedly, but it could be worked with.

He looks like he could be almost amused. Almost. “Alright. Go on.” He replies, curling his fingers around your wrists where yours still grip his. How dare he be so warm and understanding.

“Okay," You sigh, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. "I have spent my whole life in the water, swimming about. The occasional jump out of it, but never for long. But... I’ve seen birds in the sky before when I’ve jumped, seen how they can fly. I, the fish, wish that I too could fly. But, that defies the laws of nature! Fish can only swim. What makes me, a fish, worthy of flying? What makes the fish thinks that it deserves to fly? It doesn’t." You take another big gulp of air, "Not only that, but the fish doesn’t even have the right parts to fly. Even worse, I’m pretty sure I would die if I tried to. Fly, I mean. As a fish.”

An outsider would think that you have broken the boy in front of you, but you know him well enough for that to be untrue. He has his thinking face on, one only seen back at school while he’d been taking his transfiguration exam. Or when he faces you in a game of chess. He’s trying really hard to make sense of you, and you think he’s getting there by how his frown grows a bit longer, his hands moving back to his own lap. His body is now fully turned toward you, one of his shins brushing both of yours.

“You… this,” Okay, maybe you have broken the poor boy. “Is this about… love?” He asks finally. How dare he be perceptive.

“No, pastries.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Okay yes, you’re right.”

The look he gives you is stern, one he gives when you’ve said something he doesn’t like. Usually something you’ve said about yourself. It makes you avoid his gaze like the plague in favor of picking at the frayed hem of your sleeve.

“You think that you don’t deserve love?” He asks firmly.

“I never said that. I said that the fish didn’t.” Your nail snags at a loose thread.

“You were the fish in that analogy.”

“Semantics.”

“Y/N.”

The tone is what makes you finally look up at him. Not because it was demanding of your attention, or because it struck fear in you, but because it was laced with something sweet, like stevia sweetness that sticks to your tongue and lingers.

“Love isn’t something that’s deserved, dove. It’s something that we give, and we take. Willingly and graciously.” He says. It is said with such conviction that you would believe him if he said he had just read it in his book. How dare he be wise. How dare he be warm and understanding, perceptive and wise. All the things that a person could be loved for. “I really need you to know that.”

“I do. I do know that, Remus. I was being silly, I’m sorry.” You mumble, “I meant, like, romance. Romantic love.”

“And how is that any different?” He asks with genuine curiosity for your answer.

“Well… I, I wouldn’t actually know. I guess that’s what makes me feel like I don’t deserve it, that it’s not meant… for me.” It’s more whisper than words by the end of the sentence, your confidence wearing thinner than you thought possible.

You're so flustered by this whole situation that you doubt anything could make you feel mor-

“I’ll prove you wrong.”

Oh.

Well, not quite the response you were expecting. “What?”

He's become determined now, on a mission to make your heart beat faster than it already is. “Please, let me prove to you that you can be loved like that.” He’s reaching for you again, this time one hand cupping your elbow and the other coming up to rest at the nape of your neck. You could throw up from nerves if you weren’t already re-memorizing all of the beautiful lines on his face.

“How…?” You say with no real expectance of a response. You know what he means, he knows that you know what he means. You even think that he knows what you want.

You think that he’s known ever since that night at James and Lily’s place. Harry's baby shower. The both of you, sat so close that your thighs were pressed firmly against each other's. Remus leaning down to speak into your ear so he could be heard over the vibrant party.

"Do you think he'll be a red head like his mother?" He had asked.

"Maybe. I do believe he might break every comb he meets just like his father." James did have quite the head of hair.

After a short chuckle and longer pause, Remus had leaned back down, speaking closer and quieter. Like it was only meant for the two of you.

"Do you reckon we'd have cute children?" He had said, so casually. Like the sentence itself wasn't a beacon of light.

You can't even remember what you had said in response, if anything at all. All you can remember is that it had all become so clear to you that night. You brushed it off as a joke, but deep down you yearned that he had meant it, that he wanted a future with you. And you mourned even harder over the chance that he didn't.

And now here he is, almost saying what you've dreamed about for entirely too long. And it should be exciting, a final homecoming, but suddenly you are overwhelmed with distinct fear. Enough so that you stand, his hands falling from you.

"You don't," You start to say, words caught on the lump growing in your throat, "you don't actually. You don't know... what I-" So many ways you could have finished that sentence, but none come to the surface. You feel like you are drowning.

Remus stands next. He seems desperate to ease whatever battle you are going through. "Hey-hey-hey, it's okay." He says softly, contrast to his now firm grip on your biceps. "Y/N. Sweet girl. You're okay."

You didn't even realize you had been crying until a tear makes its way fast down your cheek, only to be caught by a warm hand. Breathing in deep, you try to compose yourself enough to speak again.

"I'm sorry. I just," Deep breath, "I don't know why I get like this. I think I'm just scared."

You finally meet his eyes, and they are filled with such warmth. "You don't have to apologize." He insists, and you believe him. "What are you scared of?"

You think on this for a beat. "That I can't... can't be as much for you as you are for me." You aren't sure if that makes sense, but it's how you feel.

A pause. Another look of warmth, and another, special thing.

"I love you."

The words hit you in a way that makes all the fear you once had leave your body, along with the gust of wind that leaves your lungs. It's not the first time you've heard those words from your best friend, but it's the first time they have been in this way.

"Dove. I'm in love with you. I don't know else to say it." His hands move to rest on your cheeks, evidently his favorite spot. "How can I make you believe it? Because it's true, and I'm so sorry I haven't told you sooner. I didn't want to risk anything, risk scaring you off." He catches a stray tear. "You will always be more than enough for me. Everything."

You feel brave in the hands of your favorite boy. "I love you too, Remus." Shy once his gaze falls to your lips. You close your eyes.

There aren't any explosions or grand symphonies, but it's something even better. Warm. His lips are so warm and safe as they press against yours. Your hands hold onto his wrists, afraid if you let go you will fly out of the water and never swim again. But maybe that wouldn't be so bad. As long as you're flying with him.

The kiss breaks, and you are both smiling like fools. Your cheeks ache with the happiness.

"Not to ruin the mood, but did you know that some fish actually can fly?" Remus states, and you'd smile even wider if it was even possible.

You punch him lightly in the chest, "Well yeah, I think you just proved that."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

<3 GUYS this is so cheeseballs i got carried away. writing is so much more stressful than i remember but also so so fun. constructive (but still kind please i am Sensitive) critisism is welcome! k byyee :p

[nulixity]

It's Nice To Have A Friend

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

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

Words: 14.4k

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

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

a blurb about their happily ever after

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By knowing you first?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m saying– don’t call me Loopy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something tells me you’ll survive.” 

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

“Sleep well, dove.”

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

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

“Funny that,” James started. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another groan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does this mean? 

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

And that when you kissed him–

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

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

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

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

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

It was going to be a long day.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe it will be worse.

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

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

Be normal, be normal, be normal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We. We, we, we, we.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It almost worked. Until he was interrupted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I want is you.

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

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

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remus hated that he loved them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had never felt so unnerving to be so known.

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

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

Leave it to Remus to fuck up something beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, how could he not love you?

He loved you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cut you off with a kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you sorry?”

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

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

You took in a short sharp breath and then lowered yourself onto the ground to stand before him. With your hands held out in front of you, almost as if you were ready to lunge out and catch him if he was to run – an idea that was becoming increasingly enticing to him – you took a small step towards him. “Why?” There was a growing spark in your eye, dimmed only by your worried frown.

“Y/N.” He didn’t know what else to say, eyes trained on you.

“Cariad,” you replied in the same tone, and a tear slipped down his left cheek. You took another measured step towards him, enough to reach out for him if you wanted to – but of course, you wouldn’t want to, not anymore. “It’s alright.”

He felt dizzy at the lack of the scolding or disgust he had braced himself for, realising how stupid he was for even fearing that from you. No, you would reject him sweetly and kindly, and his heart would never be mended from it. That felt worse, somehow.

“It’s not,” he whispered. “Please don’t say it is.”

You smiled ruefully and took another small step towards him. He could feel the warmth eminating from you. Tentatively, you reached up a hand to wipe at the tear still sitting on his left cheek. He held his breath and fought the urge to lean into your touch, but when you pressed your palm more firmly against his cheek, he couldn’t anymore. A soft sigh escaped him and he let his eyes fall shut as your touch supported him. “It is, my sweet boy,” you whispered with an urgency that almost convinced him. “Remus, can you answer me honestly?”

His body tensed once more as his eyes fluttered open to find yours, reverent. Most parts of him were still screaming at him to run away, to shut up, to do anything but this. His heart seemed to be in charge for the moment, though, and he nodded slowly. Trusting you with his world even as he felt like a traitor in yours.

“All this, today… has it been because you have realised you’re… in love with me?” You seemed to be piecing it together as you said the words out loud, eyes carefully searching his face for his reaction.

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and you quickly caught it with your other thumb, both hands now cradling his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said once more.

“You’re not allowed to be,” you whispered, giving him a half-smile, almost as if you were indulging him in a secret of yours. “Please answer the question?”

It was now or never. “Yes.”

To his utter surprise and deep-seated confusion, the smile on your face grew genuine, settling into the one he always searched for. He almost opened his mouth to question it before he was cut off.

No words can describe the sensations that bloomed in his chest, the butterflies that flitted in his stomach, when you used your hands on his face as leverage to pull him towards you for another kiss.

You kissed him. You kissed him. You were kissing.

His mind was threatening to take off like a rocket and captiulate, but his hands had never been more steady as they circled around your waist, splaying out over the small of your back as he dragged you closer. You sighed against him, smile still evident over your lips, and Remus dared – like the bastard he was – to mirror it. 

You were warm against him, but wholly different than you had been in his dream. This felt distinctly real. And just as right.

When you pulled away, your hands had migrated to the back of his neck and you kept your forehead leaned against his. “Good,” you murmured with your eyes still closed. “Because the feeling is mutual.”

He almost reared his head away from you, but managed to only pull back a few centimetres to stare at you in awe. Remus opened his mouth, but no words came out; he could find none intelligent enough to verbalise how utterly gobsmacked he felt.

You seemed to understand him just as well, going by your breathy laugh. There was still that spark in your eye, now shining brightly in the absence of your worry. Had the worry been for him?

“I know I don’t say this enough, but you really are quite an idiot, aren’t you?” you laughed and he slowly felt his heart start beating again.

“Spent too much time with Sirius and James, clearly,” he muttered, half expecting the joke to land flat and you to remember how disgusting he was. Instead, your laugh intensified and you leaned your body further against his. It emboldened him to ask, “What do you mean the feeling is mutual, dove?”

You let your arms glide further up, crossing behind his neck and over his shoulder, bringing him impossibly closer. “Remus John Lupin,” you whispered sincerely. “I am madly in love with you. Romantically. Genuinely. Any thoughts you have that explain that away are false and you mustn't listen to them. I thought you knew by now that I’m always right.”

Even as the grin involuntarily established itself on his face, his eyes were shining with unshed tears. He looked at your face, truly studied it, and he could feel his mind ever so slowly calm down. “You are.”

“What am I?” You were testing him, and he allowed it wholeheartedly.

“Right,” he confirmed. Albeit a bit more hesitantly, he knew better than not to add, “and… in love with me?”

“Two points to Gryffindor.” You reached up to give his lips a soft peck. It felt so natural, like it was already habit for you. He desperately wanted it to be.

“I’m sorry, I’m still reeling from this, dovey,” he confessed, trying to process everything.

There had never been any judgement to be found in your face. “Which parts are you struggling with the most?” 

Your eyes were full of understanding, your face scrunched up in concentration. Remus indulged himself in an old habit by reaching up with one hand to thumb the furrows away. It made you smile just like he wanted it to, and gave him a minute to think. “I don’t understand how I didn’t get it before now. I don’t understand how or why you put up with me. I don’t understand how to keep all these feelings inside such a small heart.”

Your hands were stroking his back carefully as you considered his words. “Well, firstly I would argue your heart isn’t small at all, though I get what you mean. You’re not meant to keep all the feelings inside, you know? That’s when you get all sputtery and jittery and start avoiding your best friends.” You gave him a pointed look and he almost shied under your glance. “Sharing them before you bubble over is always a good thing. We’ll work on it together. As for why I put up with you; I don’t. There’s nothing to put up with, I just enjoy you like we always have.”

Your eyes had trailed off into the distance as you thought, but you brought them back to him with a small smile as you added the final part. “I don’t know what did make you realise, so I can’t help you much there. All I can say is, sometimes we don’t see what is right in front of us.”

Remus nodded along to your words, feeling peace spreading within in that manner only you could inspire in him. He truly was an idiot, wasn’t he? “How long have you known?” he asked then, curiously.

“About you or me?”

“Both?” His smile was becoming closer to his standard sheepish one, and you seemed to preen at the sight.

You bobbed your head side to side as you considered. “It’s hard to pinpoint an exact date – it wasn’t an overnight discovery you know?” Remus did in fact not know nor relate. “But I realised we were in love, not either one’s feelings. It just sat calmly within me.”

“You mean you didn’t freak out to the extent where all students and professors alike were worried about you?”

He grinned at the small giggle that drew from you as you decidedly said, “No. Definitely not.” You studied him for a minute more. “I think I realised about five months ago, but I didn’t feel any real need to rush anything. It felt less like being given a to-do list and more like being revealed the plot twist in a movie before it happens, if you understand? The two best friends get together in the end, don’t tell anyone.”

He ducked his head at that. While he could not relate, your explanation and experience was so wholeheartedly you that it endeared him to no end. “Does that mean we should just ignore it for five more months or…?” His grin turned cheeky as you lightly swatted his shoulder.

“Nah,” you chuckled. “I reckon we’ve waited long enough, yeah?”

He sighed with a smile. “Yeah.”

You both leaned forward at the same time, as if to seal the deal with a kiss. Remus could feel it like electricity in the tips of his fingers, and he understood what you meant about knowing. Now that he was no longer in a constant state of panic, he felt incredibly calm about the whole ordeal.

Or maybe that’s just how he feels around you.

“Should I ask you formally to be my girlfriend, or are we just skipping straight to marriage?” he whispered against your lips.

Remus felt almost wolfish when you barked a loud laugh, throwing your head back and tightening your hold on him instinctively. “I think girlfriend’s enough for now, yeah cariad?”

“If you insist.” He kissed you through his grin, realising that this was all he wanted to do now.

Like he had so many times before, he tightened his arms around your waist and twirled you around in a few circles, legs flying out behind you. Except this time, your giggles were not hidden in his neck but pressed against his lips, and he tried to capture as many kisses as possible while he spun you.

When you landed with a breathless giggle, he kept one arm firmly around your waist as the two of you slowly made your way back to the Gryffindor common room. He wondered if maybe he could grab some blankets and bring you up to the Astronomy Tower so you could be alone without his friends’ meddling. Yet, he wanted to see them as well, ready to volley back any quips about “took you long enough” and “I fucking called it”. Plus, you argued that you should prove that he was in fact alive and sane.

When he walked the halls back to the Gryffindor common room with your body against his, everything felt right. When you entered together, and everyone read what had happened written clearly across your faces, resorting to their usual hoots and hollers, arguably louder than ever before, it never stopped feeling right. 

Remus being Remus, flushed deeply and averted his gaze, as he would continue doing under any uncalled for attention – but your arms squeezing him around the middle brought him right back down and your kiss to his shoulder soothed the burn of their gazes.

“What’s my gift then?” Sirius later asked salaciously as he eyed you two up and down where you cuddled together right back in the same chair, as if nothing changed. Maybe nothing really did.

You grinned widely and cleared your throat. “I honourably present to you,” you said and opened your arms towards Remus with a flourish. “A Moony who is no longer mooning.”

The little group erupted in even more cheers, celebrating the massive feat of taming their brooding boy. Remus couldn’t help but laugh along, even at his own expense. His cheeks were red but it was equally due to the exertion of laughing as it was a tinge of embarrassment. When he hid his face into the crook of your neck again, he didn’t feel nearly as guilty when he pressed a few kisses to the bare skin he found there – even less so when you melted against him with a sigh.

It felt as if a permanent smile had been sown onto his face where he sat, more content than he believed he had been while inside this castle.

Despite Remus Lupin’s disdain for public displays of affection, he had held you publicly many times before this. They all paled in comparison to the feeling of you in his arms now. 

It had always been significant to him in its casualty, just as you have always been significant to him long before he had the mind to put the feeling into words. He will always treasure every moment of your existence in his orbit. Yet the way you melted into his skin now, growing roots in each one of his aching bones – no, nothing could compare to it.

Yes, Remus Lupin ailed from public displays of affection. But you were his cure.

[nulixity]

This is a gift, you know.

Postgame Spawn Astarion x Reader

based on this post that I saw upon waking up that immediately made me open my notes app, this one's for you @fromirkwood

description: you have been taking art classes in secret so you could paint him. he however thinks you have been cheating on him. the linked post says it so much better than i ever could

might think of a more creative title later I can't stress enough how this activated my rat brain and I needed to write and finish it before even getting out of bed

angst/fluff

_______________

"I'm afraid our time for today is over! I will see you all next week."

Everybody around the room hastily packs up their paint brushes. You wrap your own in the fancy leather pouch you bought specifically for the occasion. Astarion saw you put it in the back of a drawer last week, and you barely got away with the lie that it was a gift for an upcoming birthday. He knew none of your friends had a birthday coming up, and he just squinted at you suspiciously, not asking any more questions.

You pack your bag, put on your coat and head home. The sun is setting on the horizon, painting the sky a mix of pretty pinks and purples. He should be getting up any minute. You feel bad for being late again, you usually make the effort to be there when he wakes up in the evenings. You put a spring in your step to hurry home faster. The cold air bites at your face. Your feet carry you fast across the city, but the people around you don't seem to question the way you force your way through the crowds.

You unlock the door to your shared home, opening it quietly as to not wake him. The house is filled with only silence, so you assume he is still asleep. The coat slides off your shoulders, the bag drops into the corner of the room quietly. You exhale deeply, glad you made it in time.

When you turn around, you see him sitting at the kitchen table, looking groggy.

"You're awake! Good morning, love" You sing, trying to hide your surprise and your guilt.

Astarion doesn't answer, he rubs his eyes. He seems upset, you can immediately tell. You carefully walk over to sit at the table with him.

"Your cheeks are so red" he states with no hint at what he thinks.

"It's really cold out. I hurried across town to get back before you wake up."

"Yes. I can tell by how fast your heart is beating."

There is a twinge of disgust in his voice?

"What's wrong?" You finally ask, reaching for his hand. He pulls it away.

"Please" he whines. "I can smell another man all over you. Don't play innocent, and don't play me for a fool."

"Astarion? What are you talking about?" You try to hide your upset at his accusation in your voice to not make him feel worse, or like he caught you in a lie, because he didn't.

"You've been a lot happier lately, you come home late. You always seem so elated when you do. You've been hiding things from me. If you're seeing somebody else, please just tell me. Make this easier for both of us. Then I can just leave and you can live an actual life with somebody who has a beating heart and can give you a warm body. Don't just stay with me out of pity."

There is a pain in Astarion's voice you haven't heard since the day he first told you about his past. He must have already thought this moment through, even planned your life with somebody new out for you.

"No, oh gods, no" You stutter, and his eyes flash with surprise at the disgusted tone of your voice. "I promise you that is not what has been happening, I've actually been working on a surprise for you."

"I hate surprises" he states with suspicious eyes, still not convinced.

"Look, just... I'll be right back."

You push yourself off the table to get up, hurrying upstairs to the second bedroom you haven't quite figured out what to do with. Behind the wardrobe, you have the canvas stashed away. You carefully slide it out from behind. The side with the painting on it facing the wall, just to be sure he couldn't see it at first glance, even if he found it by accident.

"What's that?" He says, standing in the doorway. You didn't hear him coming, he has a way of treading very lightly. You don't blame him for following you upstairs, considering all his terrible assumptions.

"Sit down." You order him. He hesitates for a moment, still unsure, still not trusting you. You know the facial expressions, the tone of his voice, all too well. It feels like when you first met, which makes your chest ache. But he obeys, sitting down on the guest bed, with arms and legs crossed angrily.

"I've been taking painting classes."

He shoots a quick look around the room, confused as to what that has to do with him.

"So?" He mumbles, still a little pained. He probably thinks you're trying to distract from the situation.

"So that I could paint you. As a surprise. As a gift."

It takes a moment for him to process what you said, you can tell by his face.

"What?" His tone finally softens. There he is.

"It's not good. I can't really get the hang of colors, it's not finished. I'm actually sure I'm the worst painter in my class." You downplay it a lot so he won't be disappointed. You wouldn't want him to feel like he actually looks like the mess you've been secretly working on, during the days when he is asleep.

"It's very bad, actually." You say again.

"Well? What are you waiting for?! Show me already!" His eyes flash with excitement, but he still seems offended that you kept something like this from him.

"It's really, really bad. Please don't think this is what you actually look like, you are so much more beautiful than whatever this is. I'm still learning."

"Darling, I'm sure it's fine, you are perfect, you can do no wrong" he starts, and you feel your shoulders drop at hearing him be back to his normal self, so eager to butter you up. "Now show me before I have to rip it out of your pretty little hands." He threatens with childlike impatience. All fear and anger seems to be forgotten already.

You turn around the canvas, too afraid to have a last look at the painting, knowing you would back out of showing him if you saw how bad it truly is.

Astarion just stares at it for a moment, taking it all in.

"That's...." He goes very quiet.

"I'm sorry" you interject.

"That's... that's me." It's not a question, and he isn't offended.

It's as if he simply remembered who he is. He stands up from the guest bed to walk over to you, taking the painting from your hands. He doesn't take his eyes off it for a moment. He towers above you, staring at the canvas that is taking up the space between your bodies.

"Do you like it?" You dare ask. You're not quite sure how he feels.

His eyes meet yours for a moment, tears welling in them, before he averts his gaze again out of embarrassment.

"I love it" He admits shakily. "I love you."

You press a kiss to his cheek.

"I love you too."

A tear rolls down his cheek, his hand immediately reaching to wipe it off. You catch his hand in yours as it goes back to hold the side of the canvas, pressing his knuckles to your lips. You say nothing, giving him a moment to process.

"You really went through all this trouble just for me?" He looks at you again, letting himself cry in front of you now.

"Who else would I do it for? Silly." You tease him, getting a smile out of him.

"Thank you. I... I don't know what to say. I don't know how to ever repay you for this."

"You have got to stop thinking you need to repay me for every single nice thing I do for you." You reassure him.

"This is just..." He sniffles. "Thank you."

He gently puts the canvas down, leaning it against the bedframe, before pulling you into a long, tight hug. He cries into your shoulder for a few minutes, soaking your shirt. You hold him for as long as he needs.

He leaves wet kisses on you as he nuzzles his face against your neck.

"Don't you ever hide something like this from me again. Or anything, for that matter. You scared me half to death, and I'm already dead." Astarion speaks into your skin, with only a mildly threatening undertone. "Promise me." He demands.

"I promise." Your hand strokes gently across his back.

"I love you" he says again with relief. "I'll love you forever. I can't describe to you the gift you just gave me, giving me back my own face."

You close your eyes, squeezing him tighter.

[nulixity]

A Moment of Peace

Pairing: Farkas x Female!Dragonborn!Reader

Summery: Farkas wakes up in the middle of the night

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 300+ (just a small drabble :))

Date Posted: 6/12/20

Note: I am having writer’s block and I did not proof-read this. Still, I hope it’s good and satisfies your fluffy-cuddle needs!

Farkas opened his eyes. He was dreaming just a moment ago. Whatever woke him, he did not know. He was dreaming of something he had done with the dragonborn plenty of times: hunting and killing a dragon. There was nothing off putting about the dream. In fact, it was a pleasant one and he was a tad upset that he woke up from it.

Keep reading

[nulixity]

burning | vilkas x reader

this is very enemies to lovers-esque, i find that trope fitting for vilkas. there is some mild steam thrown in but nothing too suggestive. im just very sick and sleepless rn so i had to crank something out to keep me sane :} hope you guys like it!

"You got lucky this time," you say as you finally finish wrapping the gauze around Farkas's hand. "That sword could have cut much deeper."

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing we've got you on standby," he responds gruffly, flexing his palm. The dusky white bandage sits firmly against his skin. He gives you a wide grin. "Thank you, Harbinger."

You nod. "You're welcome. Just... don't make it a habit, yeah?"

Farkas chuckles. "Course. I'll be more careful. See you." He turns and heads back to the training field outside of Jorrvaskr, where he joins Ria's side as they watch Athis and Torvar engage in a practice sparring session. The approaching dusk is bringing a chill to the air, yet the Companions continue their training like nothing.

As you gather the materials you were just using to patch up Farkas's hand, you feel a tingling sensation crawling along your scalp. Someone's glare is practically digging daggers into your skin. You turn around to make your way back into the building, and you lock eyes with Vilkas, who stands next to the door with his back leaning against the wall and his arms folded across his chest.

His gaze reminds you of being hit with an ice spike spell: shards of piercing, pale blue striking right through you and leaving you momentarily breathless. You break eye contact, but the prickling feeling of his eyes on you follows you even when you slip through the door and into the building.

You head for one of the shelves in the corner to put away the bandages and anti-infection salves you used. You hear footsteps coming in behind you.

"How'd he hurt himself this time?" Vilkas asks.

You peer at him over your shoulder. His gaze is averted, pretending to adjust the rug on the floor with his boot. Not so glare-y now, is he?

"It was a sword, from his spar session with Njada." You step away from the shelf and brush past him as you head for the staircase leading into the living quarters below. "She's getting better. She gave him a pretty nasty cut this time."

Vilkas scoffs. "Didn't look nasty enough to need you there working on him for that long."

You stop in your tracks and whip around. This time, his eyes flick up to meet yours. The tingling sensation returns to your skin, except now, it spreads beyond just your head, running down your spine.

"Excuse me?" You cross your arms. "He was hurt, and I knew how to patch it up quick."

"Yes, so does Tilma," Vilkas protests, referring to the elderly servant who is often around tending to the Companions. He tilts his head, eyeing you intently. "Yet you always seem eager to step up first."

Heat floods the tips of your ears. "I'm the Harbinger. Part of my job is looking after the others."

"Yes, yes, I'm not denying that." The Nord waves his hand loosely. "Just pointing it out. This is the third time this has happened, you know?"

You snort. "What, you're keeping track now?" You narrow your eyes. "Hang on. You're jealous."

The eye roll you get in return is equal parts infuriating and attractive. "Please. Don't be childish," he mutters.

You ignore him and play the dangerous game of poking him further. "You know you can get yourself hurt around me, too." You crack a super sweet, super fake smile. "If you ask nicely, I might patch you up."

"I would rather bleed out and die, thank you."

You shake your head, looking away in exasperation. That has to be the cause for your heart rate rising and your temperature climbing. He is exasperating.

"I'm just looking out for him," Vilkas speaks up. When you glance at him, you realize he has stepped closer. You stare back at his storm-colored eyes, as intimidating as they are. "I don't want him making the mistake of getting tangled up with you."

You almost laugh at that, and bite your lip to keep from smiling. Vilkas's eyes dart down for just a second before meeting your own. You try to pretend like that gesture doesn't make your heart skitter.

"Give him some credit, he's smarter than that," you say. "He's just a friend. Not that you know what that is, you ray of sunshine, you."

His jaw clenches, and you watch the muscles of his neck flex as he swallows. Whatever insult he had ready, he thought better of it. A rush of victory swells in your chest.

But you see a flicker of something in his eyes, and there's a sinking sensation in your belly. Amongst the hard, icy emotions of that glare, there's something much softer. Something vulnerable, something you can't pinpoint but you recognize all the same, because it's something you've felt as well.

This is how it's been for a long time, too damn long. You hide behind your quips and your insults because you're afraid to face reality. The heavy, heart-wrenching reality that you have feelings for each other. To everyone else, it looks like you hate each other, when really, you hate how much you love each other.

"It's hard to be a ray of sunshine when you're a godsforsaken pain in my ass," Vilkas growls, and takes another step closer.

You should step back, you should. But the proximity of his body near yours traps you in place, and eventually, draws you in. You dare to lean closer.

"Well, I would stop, if it wasn't oddly entertaining," you murmur. "You are easy to rile up."

"You haven't seen me truly riled up."

The eye contact is searing your skin and blood, yet you don't dare break it. The voice in your mind is now screaming at you - back away, push him away, just move.

But there is also a voice telling you to grab him, to pull into him, to surrender. It takes all the effort in the world to resist.

"Not yet, maybe," you jab. "How do I get there? Do I have to patch up more muscular men?"

"Shut up," he warns, a hiss through his teeth.

"Or should I head to the inn and-"

You don't even get to finish your incessant babbling before his hand reaches for the back of your neck. You don't flinch - in fact, you let him pull you in and crash his lips against your own.

It's exactly as you imagined it, which embarrassingly, you did a lot. It's rough and firm and electrifying. His breath is hot as it mingles with your own, his stubble scraping the skin around your mouth. Your hands subconsciously claw at his torso, pulling him as close as you can, until you feel his chest against your own, drawing in the same heavy breaths that you are. His free hand grasps your hip, and your breath hitches briefly before he is plunging back in with a kiss so hard that his teeth skim over your bottom lip.

There is that hot, searing fire you always feel around him, coursing through your entire being. Burning hatred, burning desire. No difference right now, just one overwhelming inferno.

Muffled voices and laughter approach the doors a few feet away from you. Just as quickly as it happened, Vilkas lets you go. He steps back in two long strides just as the door opens.

Ria was busy giggling at something Torvar said, but she is quick to notice the tension in the room. "Woah. What's going on?" She looks between you and Vilkas. "You two look like you're about to kill each other."

You can't come up with a reasonable response, not when you're still trying to catch your breath, when your lips are still tingling with sparks and your mind is still in a white-hot daze. All you can do for a second is foolishly stare at Vilkas.

He glares back at you. Icy eyes that don't cool you down, but only make you feel warmer.

"Just a mild disagreement," he says, looking to Ria with surprising calm. Then he looks back at you. "But we'll settle it later."

Then he turns and walks away, like nothing happened. You almost huff out a breath of awe.

The other Companions pile in, chattering excitedly and ready to start preparing for dinner. You finally manage to move, your legs still feeling a little unsteady, but you try to help the others anyway, and try to keep hating him, even though now you think you love him more than ever.

[nulixity]

Synopsis: [Astarion x Reader/Tav] Wilful, witty, vulnerable and endearing, Astarion blossoms slowly under the ever-present sunshine of your love.

CW: Explicit sexual content, mentions of past trauma.

Banner art: by Steven Nederveen

Dividers: @aquazero

" ... time and again

No fire where I lit my spark

I am not afraid of the dark

Where your words devour my heart ... "

~ lyrics from Distant Sun (by Crowded House)

His scent infiltrates your dreams, the dry floral notes and the rusty tang of old blood, the unique underlying essence that never fails to bring his face to the forefront of your mind.

When he falls asleep, back pressed to yours, it is merely a prelude to how you wake the following morning, with his head tucked into the crook of your neck, or pillowed between your breasts, the soft white curls grazing your cheek as you keep your breathing light and even, so as not to interrupt his slumber. You know the gentle scent of his scalp better than anyone has a right to.

There is something that goes far beyond the pleasures of the flesh when you are together like this; two easily doused candle-flames that reach for each other, flickering, across the distance of bleak memory, pain and loss.

Such a tenuous connection, so easily fractured. Yet, even through all the trials you've faced thus far, losing him had somehow transformed into an idea you simply would not countenance.

The land might burn, your enemies might dance on the ashes of the people you had failed, but Astarion's fingers winding uncertainly through yours would be the only sensation you wanted to experience at the end of the world.

You thought about it now, as rain pattered on the roof of your tent, the inside dry and warm from the heat of the enchanted lamp. He had joined you a short while earlier, wordlessly, as was his habit. To give voice to the immensity of what he had to overcome, every single time he entered your tent of his own free will, would be more than he was capable of fully processing at this time.

He lay beside you now, with his chin propped against the top of your head.

He was awake.

"Astarion?"

"Darling."

"What kind of weather do you like best?"

He was silent for a while. You lay still, relaxed. When you were together like this, pauses in conversation could sometimes stretch out for ages, because time ceased to place its shackles on either of you. Even the most mundane topic was up for discussion. Words filled space with comfort. Stolen time was sacred time.

"Hmm. Weather like this, I suppose. It makes being inside feel ... somewhat better."

"You certainly weren't born for the outdoors."

He raised his fingernails for you to inspect.

"Absolutely not! Look at these beauties. Imagine if they became stained with grass, or earth, or worse still ... chipped."

"That would be grievous indeed," you concurred with hushed solemnity.

A low rumble of amusement made its way up through his throat.

"What about you, my dove? If I could guess - "

"Cooler weather. Maybe breezy."

His touch skims, feather-light, up your arm. In times past, such an action would have been a clear provocation, an invitation to something more intimate. You acknowledge it in your mind, absorb it, like a plant takes in sunlight. Astarion is your sun, small and fitful, burning you down to the bone when you least expect it, fighting for his place in your universe.

You reach out, fingertips brushing his. He pauses, allowing your hands to connect, palm to palm. His fingers are longer than yours, strong, clever. You've seen him take apart complex locking mechanisms with such ease, the same ease with which he'd unraveled your body the first time you'd been together.

"Where did you learn to pick locks?"

He lowered his hand and lay back, staring at the roof of the tent. You splayed out at his side, two children watching the imagined turn of the heavens.

"I ... think I learned it from a criminal. One I represented in a case, long ago. He was talkative. Couldn't shut him up, really. Told me how he had cracked a simple safe. I followed his instructions on a similar safe, as a demonstration."

"And you succeeded?"

You could almost sense the curve of his mouth.

"On the first try. He was so proud. Ha. Called me a natural."

You turned your head, smiling slightly. He looked self-satisfied, in that manner of a cat that gets into the choice cream.

Gods, he was lovely to look at, here in your tent, with you. Your gaze traces the impossibly artful tangle of pale curls, the elegant bridge of his nose, the sharp corners of his scarlet eyes and the movement of his perfectly curved lips.

He cocked an eyebrow, expression growing predatory, knowing.

"Darling, you're staring."

You laughed.

"Do you blame me?"

"Honestly? No."

He propped himself on an elbow, playfully prodding at your face until you're forced to swat at him. He sobered suddenly, hands falling away. You suspect you know what he's about to ask. It's never far away from his thoughts, after all.

"Is this enough for you? Just talking? Just falling asleep together?"

You also know by now that words aren't adequate to allay his fears. Turning over on your side, you face him, fingers tracing softly over the profile you'd admired a few moments ago. You smooth out the worry lines on his forehead, the skin cool and smooth as marble beneath your touch.

"This is more then enough. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because these are the things I've always wanted."

Your index finger trails down to the tip of his nose, where you decide a kiss needs to be placed. He leans forward, unknowingly.

"You wanted ... this? How we are now?"

"Yes. A lover is nice and all, Astarion, but I've always wanted a partner. Someone to laugh with. Someone to grouse to. Someone to sit with their back to mine in the cold and share my bread with me. Someone to whisper to when the darkness grows closer."

He is silent for a bit, hesitating. You pass your thumbs across the high cheekbones, watching as he falls slowly into the comforting familiarity of the contact. When he speaks, something bitter catches in his throat.

"But I'm not ... capable of some of those things, you know. I can't keep you warm with my body. I can't laugh like others do. I can't eat with you, nor can I claim that darkness hasn't found a permanent home inside me."

You stroke across the corners of his mouth, avoiding his lips and then track upwards once again, along the delicate point of his ears, into the feathery silk of his hair.

"That's all right."

"It is?"

"It is, because I say so. Astarion, very few people actually end up inhabiting the castles they build in the air. Sometimes, they find a real home. A home that's so much better. A place they belong."

His voice has now sunk to a whisper.

"Am I ... that to you?"

"Yes."

He is silent, and you don't press him. Sometimes, it is better to inform him of the way you feel and to give him time to mull it over. He shifts, restless, before planting a sudden, rather solid kiss on your lips.

There is no artifice behind it, no coy seduction. It is surprisingly factual, a statement of feeling, of earnest intent.

"I'll have you know," he states seriously, "that I won't have you comparing me to some homely log cabin. Oh no. I'm nothing short of a stately, luxurious home, built on the side of a sharp precipice, overlooking the most glorious snd treacherous sea."

"That's a rather precarious position to be in, don't you think?"

He sits up on his haunches, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes now animated and captivating.

"But that's half the fun! Will a terrible tempest come along and sweep us away? Will a sea monster rise up from the depths and capture us in its jaws?"

His feral grin is now infectious. You straighten and face him.

"You're only thinking in terms of disasters! That's poor planning. What about the subtle magics of the air that work directly against rock over time? Erosion is as dangerous as any sea monster, you know. Just a tad less showy."

"And what, darling, do you suggest we do about this mortal peril we find ourselves in?"

"We do exactly as we've done so far. We hammer the walls furiously into place, then drink wine and dance and stamp our feet to see how the repairs hold up."

He throws back his head and lets out a laugh, warm, heady, the kind that roughens around the edges and brims with the wicked delight that you know has kept him alive, for all of this time. Unable to help yourself, you place a gentle kiss to the curve of his throat, moving away again, until he grasps your chin firmly and tugs you back.

His mouth is a stark contrast to the way his fingers sink almost desperately into your cheeks, a gentle mapping out of teeth, tongue, sealed with the exquisite drag of his fangs across your lip.

Forehead pressed to yours, he breathes out the words, as if they've been chained in the heavy confines of his chest.

"I want to ... I want ... you. I want ... this."

He has said the words before, under different circumstances. You know what he is referring to. Gently, you push him back. The dim light turns the red of his gaze to the flesh of a pomegranate, tempting, yielding, so easily crushed between your fingers.

"Astarion ... you don't have to - "

"I know. I know you'll wait for me for God knows how long, and I don't know why, because I - "

He bites his lip, but changes tack.

"The reasons ... are important. I know that better than anyone. But I don't want to think. I want to feel. I want to be able to just do this without - "

Worldssly, you draw him towards you, cradling his head against your chest, a return to the familiar. It's the only message that's ever mattered, at least, to you. That he always has a place, whether in your open arms, or across the breadth of the world, or in another realm altogether.

He'll occupy a space that can be filled by no other, with his easy charm, his bruised smile, the bitter twist of his spirit and every sharp edge that slices you open and infiltrates the furthest corners of your heart, nesting there as if the scars that form around them are the most cherished haven.

"What do you want, Astarion?"

"To feel you."

He speaks into the hush of your tent, his breathing laboured. If you had been anyone else, you might have mistaken it for sheer arousal, nothing more. You know better.

He is nervous. He is letting you see it.

You place your hands on his shoulders and he lowers himself, propped on his palms on either side of you. You consider him, warmth and sorrow blooming simultaneously in your chest.

"You'll tell me? If anything I do makes you feel ... "

"Yes, my love. I'll ... yes. Right away."

"Stay still. Keep your eyes on me," is the soft command you give him.

You undo the laces on his shirt, sliding it from him. His skin gleams with otherworldly pallor, and the knowledge of what had been carved into his back filters into your mind. You cannot make him forget, but you can remind him that touch can be tender too.

Such is the way you handle him, as the shirt is pulled away from his torso fully, the ridged planes of his lean abdomen fluttering slightly under your fingers. He is hyper-sensitive to the sensations you bring, a temporary spike in his breathing.

This is nothing like your previous encounter, when he had confidently displayed himself, instructing you on how to please him. You watch the lift of dense, dark lashes, the hesitancy in his glance, the way he raises his head and arches his neck to gift you the same vulnerability always granted to him when you let him feed.

You keep your palms flat against him, grounding him, as you run them over throat, delicately trace collarbones, stroke down over the curve of his pectorals, down, down, until you stop right above the buckle of his belt before repeating the process.

His breathing evens. He leans down to capture your lips, a little more steady and with more of his old flair. He nips lightly down on your chin, playful.

You don't want him to inhabit the persona he'd worn for so long as some kind of defense, and this definitely feels different. As fraught with nerves as he was, he is regaining some of the self he only showed when you were safely ensconced away from the world.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and he lets out an involuntary groan, low and wanton, a sound that spikes jagged heat all the way down the front of your body.

Before you have time to register his actions, Astarion lowers himself, pressing you into the bedroll. There is no art to the way he rolls his hips against yours, no finesse to the way he clumsily mouths your neck, eager, warm.

"Astar - ahhh - slow down, you - "

"Can't, my sweet - oh yes - I feel - want you so much. I - "

He tugs down your trousers, dragging your underwear away with it. As much as this seems far more organic that anything he's done before, the heated throb of arousal doesn't distract you from the fact that he is rushing things, perhaps in a frantic bid to prove that he can do this.

You clamp your thighs together, temporarily denying him access and he sits back on his haunches, panting. The raw hunger with which he regards you makes you as slick as melting ice. You have both gone so long without sex, something you were more than happy to accept. You know all too well, however, the cost of succumbing to pure lust when there was something far more significant at play.

"I know what you want - "

"Then let me have it. I'm no fragile bloom, my sweet - "

"Astarion."

You stifle a smile as he huffs and folds his arms.  

"Fine. I'm listening. But don't delay. I need you."

The ache in his voice almost has your legs falling apart again, but you hold firm.

"Can you take everything off?"

In reply, he stands and unbuckles his belt, but then pauses and shoots you a mischievous look.

You know that look. Your mouth twitches.

"What are you up to?"

"Giving you a show, that's all."

"Oh Gods, is now really the time for - "

"Well, since you're being so stiff, let Hortensius help you along."

"Please, not Hortensius."

"But darling, he's already here. Now, be nice."

He sucks in his cheeks, in the manner of one of the high end fashion models of the Upper City and wags his hips from side to side, lips projecting in an exaggerated pout as the pants slide from his hips. Your smile turns to a helpless quiver of suppressed merriment as he kicks the offending article away and then grasps his rigid member, advancing on you without ever losing the expression.

"My name is Hortensius Dickanthropus and you, my dear, are about to be subject to a most thorough porking."

You lower your voice, soft and breathy.

"Oh my, Hortensius, I don't know how my poor little flower will take all of that."

Astarion drops to a predatory crouch, crawling over to you. His grin is wide, canines toothily on display.

"Ah, my blushing maid, don't be shy! I may have a horse's cock, but I'm going to be as delicate as a pixie."

You cover your breasts in false modesty as he slides down alongside you.

"A pixie? I saw a pixie in my bushes last week. They're so ... naughty. And fast. Are you going to piston me into the middle of next week, Hortensius?"

"With pleasure. I'm going to piston you like the Steel Watch itself is between your legs - "

Your composure gives way and you slap at his shoulder.

"Not the fucking Steel Watch, for God's sake - "

"Why?" His fingers dance over your hips. "Maybe create another little Foundry down here - "

You're now shaking with laughter and Astarion watches you, the cheeky smirk slipping by inches, eyes kindling with an infinite warmth and adoration that only you are party to. You realise, as your mirth fades, that you had been carrying a great deal of tension too, and that he'd effectively dragged it away from you, deconstructing the last barrier; your fear of hurting him.

In spite of your earlier fervour, you clasp his cheeks between your palms and press his forehead to yours, staying like that for a while. He does not object, nose nudging sweetly against yours.

"Astarion, I want to try something."

"Go ahead."

In truth, you'd learned this minor illusion from Gale, whose knowing smile had almost had you running for the hills when you'd first asked him to teach it to you.

Fingers extending upward, you closed your eyes and focused on the Weave, drawing it closer to you, shaping with precision. Astarion exclaimed softly and you dropped your hand, ready to behold your work.

A fall of many-hued petals, delicate as snow, drifted down from the roof of the tent, each disappearing as they settled on the bedroll and your reclining forms. A pleasant scent, earthy and reminiscent of a forest clearing in the springtime, permeated the air. Soft golden motes danced between you, each emitting a delicate luminosity.

Astarion was watching the display with amused delight, allowing you to catch him off guard. Tipping him over onto his back, you took in the sight of him, fully nude, satiny skin and curls dusted in the remnants of illusory wildflowers, indigo, variegated red and yellow, rich royal purple and the dusky blush of dawn.

"You're so lovely. And free."

You banish petals with your caress, all the way down to the perfectly carved valley of his pelvis.

"I want the world to stand still when I look at you because there's no room for anything else in my mind."

He stops you with a finger to the lips, rising so that you're both lying on your sides, facing each other. He wears his composure well, through long habit, but there is something wild and desperately cast in his eyes.

"And I'm free because of you. Don't you forget it."

This time, nothing interrupts the slide of his skin on yours, the crushing, breathless intimacy that knows no bounds. There is no artifice here, no subtle trick or sly gleam of eyes watching you beneath hooded lids.

Astarion keeps your faces close together, watching every contortion of your features, drinking you in and opening himself to you entirely. He raises your leg onto his hip, still facing you as his fingers slip down, down, between your bodies.

You gasp as he strokes over your folds, his mouth coming down on your throat. His fangs sink in, only breaking the surface, right at the moment his fingers breach you. Crying out, you cling to him, drawing answering moans as he rocks against you.

His lips brush yours, un-coordinated, wet against the sides of your mouth. You taste the slight metallic tinge of your own blood, lost in heady ecstasy as the heat of his exhalation mingles with yours, rough and uneven. He nudges you when your head tilts back, keeping your eyes on him.

His fingers are now coated with the dewiness of your arousal, and he drags them up between you again, surprising you with just how wet he has made you in such a short time. You watch, breath hitching, as he slides them over his own hardened flesh, tracing pearly fluid down from the tip, coating himself.

You turn to lie on your back, but firm fingers grasp your hip, holding you in place. He tugs your leg further up on his waist, earning a soft gasp. You're more accessible to him like this, more vulnerable.

"Darling, I can't wait any - "

"Astarion, please."

Your soft plea triggers an almost animalistic movement from him, as he grinds upwards, pushing against your entrance. You're almost sobbing now, clutching at him, begging him. At his mercy, you bite your lip hard when he works himself in, sliding into the tight grasp of your heat.

He is trembling, you realise, ecstasy and agony in equal measure, chasing each other across his face as he pushes deeper, burying himself within you, staying with you. Even with the intensity of what you're both feeling, he keeps you in place, the hand that had stroked you now holding your thigh over him.

He begins a measured pace that quickly devolved to one of instinct, slowing down so that you clench around him, speeding up until your back arches, swallowing your disjointed whispers as he watches you come undone, and in doing so, comes apart himself.

In this golden time, you understand that you have never been more completely aware of another, of the muscle that ripples under alabaster skin, of the rapidly cooling sweat on his chest, of the way his scent winds around you, the way his body moves against and inside yours. He has taken your blood into himself, so many times, consumed you in so many different ways, and yet, this was wholly new.

Astarion isn't teasing you endlessly. He isn't bringing you to the brink, and releasing you, which is his specialty, as you're fully aware. He's throwing himself headlong into the passion of a true union, every thrust bringing you both closer to the dazzling precipice.

He is reckless in his lovemaking, somehow striking that balance between base urgency and shattering tenderness. You can see the building euphoria when your eyes meet his, the knowledge that this moment belongs to both of you, untainted, spun out in indestructible threads that bind you to each other.

You are close. You let him know, through the pale crescents your nails leave on his shoulder and side, through the way your voice rises, the way your hardened nipples push into him as your whole body stiffens and prepares for mind-numbing, white-hot pleasure, the way you take his fingers into your mouth with hedonistic abandon.

He drinks it all in, tracking every movement, every glimmering bead of sweat, every minute crease between your brows. Fighting back years of conditioning, he holds you impossibly closer, your body a shield against the memory of every meaningless, sordid encounter.

Your eyes drag open, tears glistening where they have gathered at the corners, slipping down across the bridge of your nose, bringing the sight of his face to sudden clarity.

You let him see it, all of it; the moment your climax crashes like a wave over every sense, that most secret of faces. You let him see that he is the only one who can bring you to this place, this endless horizon that curves across your vision like a shard of jacinth.

Astarion is now gasping endearments. They fall from his lips in a litany, one declaration melding into another. You hold onto him as your own mind slowly clears, senses thrumming with the aftermath of the pleasure he has brought you.

He is close.

You surrender complete control to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hips lift from the bedroll in fitful abandon, his teeth sinking into your shoulder.

"My ... my sweet, I'm - ah - you're so - don't know what you - "

At any other time, seeing Astarion, with his mastery of seductive words that bordered on legendary, in this barely coherent state, would have been cause for wonder indeed. As with all else, however, you took things as they were, treasured them.

Here, with you, he didn't have to be that. Here, he needed no flowery phrases and practiced gestures. Here, he was yours, in wiry strength and hidden fragility, in biting humour and those rare moments of stark realism, when he did his best to protect you from a world who's cruelty he had experienced all too many times.

When he finally reaches his peak, lips drawn  back from teeth, brow furrowed in supreme pleasure, tendons standing out on his neck as a series of guttural sounds escape him, you smooth your hands up and down his back, bringing him slowly back to you.

You press soft kisses across his nose, along his jawline, his body giving one last shudder as your lips ghost over his ear and you nuzzle into his hair. Slowly regaining focus, his gaze fixes on your face, a slow, radiant smile gathering, a stray ray of sunshine burning through overcast skies.

Something bubbles up in his chest, overflows into the almost non-existent space between your bodies. A peal of laughter, so bright, so free of pain, lancing through you like the keen point of an arrow, the barbs lodging somewhere deep in your chest.

You could listen to him laugh like this forever.

He finally releases you, rolling over onto his back, that same giddy smile refusing to diminish. One of his arms extends, drawing you close so that your head now rests on his chest, your shoulders encased in the solid curve of his arm.

"My love, my light, that was - "

His chest heaves again, and his head moves from side to side in cheerful disbelief. You can't help the grin that breaks across your own countenance.

"Careful, Astarion. You sound happier than the first time you drank from me."

"But this is better! This is - "

His enthusiasm cuts off, faster than words escape him. Something chokes him, holds the rest of sentence prisoner until he takes a heavy breath, releases it. The catch in his voice adds strength to your grip on him.

"This is perfect. This is ... everything I want it to be."

You remain silent, not trusting your own voice now. When he speaks again, it is so soft that you almost miss the words.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Never for this."

Later, as the outside intrudes once again into the sanctity of your tent, when the rustle of the wind in the trees, the crack of new firewood given up to the hungry flames of the campfire and the distant song of nocturnal birds echoes back to you, you place your hand over where his heart should beat.

It had been somewhat disconcerting, the first time you'd felt the lack of that steady rhythm beneath your fingertips. Now, however, you felt something entirely different.

This was no empty void, no echoing palace of yesterday's torment. Astarion had come so much further than that. He was here, beside you, of his own free will. There was no such thing as true emptiness, not in a life as rich as this one, that of a man who had given up so much to walk, just once more, in the sun.

No. This space where vitality should make itself known was threaded through with so many scars, but from that barren landscape, verdant new growth came, tended carefully. You could see how it stole over him, and you, in every shared touch, every wound bandaged, every battle fought side by side, every new delight you found in each other.

It came like a thief, robed in night, and laughed as it took the title of queen, enthroning itself in your hearts. It had taken up the sceptre, usurped your earthly kingdom and banished all notion of loneliness.

Such was the nature of love, and so it would remain, until that final red sunrise came to claim you both.

@tattoo-of-a-bird Finally got the courage to write this one.

[nulixity]

The scent of your blood was overwhelming.

Astarion was starving. That was no secret. His eyes were wide, ready and eager to catch sight of his next meal. His pale, slender fingers danced along the length of his dagger, pulling it in and out of its sheath as if the blade itself were as thirsty as he. His tongue ran across his teeth and lips to siphon what little blood remained in the crevices. Even just a dried droplet was enough to make him salivate.

After three days of continuous trekking through the woods to reach that damned crèche, he was desperate. And you were willing as always. He had made sure of it. He made himself quite the valuable asset to the party: a smooth-talker to avoid unnecessary conflict, a swindler of goods from unsuspecting pockets, and a wonder at disarming traps and picking locks for shiny treasures. It was all for the good of your shared cause. That's all he needed you to think. He needed you to trust him.

You did trust him, didn't you? Of course, you did. You had no reason not to.

So, when Gale had finally retreated to his tent for the night after cleaning up dinner, Astarion beckoned you from your bedroll with a curl of his finger and guided you into his tent. He had made sure to spruce the place up beforehand. He fluffed up his pillows, snagged a few blankets from an oblivious Karlach, and lit a couple of candles that provided just enough to light what he wanted you to see and to hide the rest. He laid you down, propping up your head on soft down and covering you with thick, woolen blankets that seemed to swallow you whole. He cradled your head in his hands—oh, by the hells, you were just so precious. He adored the way you looked up at him and braced yourself for the pain, for the cold sting of his fangs. He adored the way your breath stuttered in your chest as he leaned down to kiss the skin of your neck with his hands holding your waist. He adored the way you flushed and squirmed as his tongue trailed along your column.

But his favorite part of you was the way you tried to suppress the wanton sound that slipped past your taut lips as he pierced the still-raw flesh of your bite wound.

He savored how you writhed beneath him. How your hands trembled on his chest in your meek, half-hearted attempts to push him off. You gave up quickly. Your blood flooded his tongue like the rich nectar of a ripe plum. It went down just as smoothly, and it tasted just as sweet.

Your eyes were screwed shut by the time he pulled away, leaving not an ounce of blood to stray. Your breathing was labored, your chest rising and falling in languid motions. He settled beside you, one hand resting on your beating heart while another wiped your blood from his chin. He would let you sleep with him tonight. You could trust him.

And with a gentle kiss to your glistening forehead, he hoped he could trust you, too.

[nulixity]

Ribbons of moonlight cascaded through the crystalline window panes and danced across the oaken herringbone floor. What wasn't touched by that benign white glow was a haze of shadow he dared not linger on. The candles hand long since burned out, leaving behind only the faint scent of melted wax and ashen wick. Astarion's lips curled in signature disgust—then he looked at you.

You, who stayed sound asleep under that heavy red duvet. You, who swaddled yourself so snugly in red sheets. You, who rested your head on his chest, whose soft breaths puffed over his neck and whose hands sought him out in your dreams.

You, who would have been sacrificed and slaughtered along with him, had life not intervened. Oh, he hated that thought. He hated it as deep as his hatred could reach. Such a dark inkling wasn't worthy of you.

“Shhh,” he whispered as you began to stir. He shifted carefully as not to further disturb your rest and gathered you in his arms. “I'm here, my love. I'm here.”

It amazed him how his voice alone could calm your mind. He supposed he wasn't a stranger to it—your voice had the same effect on him—but he had never expected it to be so truly reciprocated. You found comfort in… him? A year ago, he would have thought the notion absolutely ridiculous. Even in safety, it bothered him. It nagged at the back of his mind, a constant cruel reminder. But you did it. You found comfort in him. He was who you turned to first for anything. He was someone to hug, someone to laugh with, someone to make you smile, someone to complain to, someone to cry on… and someone to love.

Someone to love. Now that was a thought he liked, if a tad reluctantly based on the way his heart seemed to crunch in his chest. He still liked it, and as his hands stroked your head and soothed you back into blissful slumber, he found himself wondering about what else he liked.

Food? No, that was too basic. It was too survivalist.

Good food? Perhaps that was better.

A home-cooked meal. That sounded divine. Especially if it was made with Gale's hands (not that he would ever admit it and boost the wizard's ego. He certainly didn't need it).

He liked soft fabrics that fit him just right. He liked sharp blades decorated with shiny jewels and gold. He liked a rich, red wine in the evening with you. He liked his collection of cloaks and parasols with delicate laces that shielded him from the sun so he could take an afternoon stroll with you. He liked the smell of an old book as he curled up with you. He liked the way the autumn leaves of the trees in the park would rustle and scatter across the streets and how you would giggle as they crunched beneath your feet.

He liked life with you.

As strong a word as it was, he might have even loved life with you. You were the reason he had one again in the first place.

He leaned down, closed his eyes, and let his lips graze your temple before he laid back down on his pillow. Yours had been abandoned for months now, as you had taken up the most wonderful habit of using him as your pillow. He drew the duvet to cover you better, made sure you were properly snuggled up, then shut his eyes again. The warm darkness enveloped him once again, and he drifted back into his trance, his memories bathed in gold and only of you.

[nulixity]

megan, sweet sunshine, i have a soft request for you with our darling strong man. 🥺

can i please request #12, #13, #54, #55, & #61 with charles? i need some tooth-rotting fluff with this man in my life. it’s what makes my heart happy. 🤍

thank you dearly! i am so beyond excited to see what you come up with here!

Charles Smith / Reader

Jay, I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!! Hope you had a geat thanksgiving, smooches <3

Word count : 1k, a lil guy Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” Warnings/tags : Readers gender is unspecified, reader has hair long enough to tuck behind ear, Charles is shirtless teehee, Charles Smith x reader, mention of guns, reader has repressed feelings whoops, Charles is a sweetheart, let me know if I forgot any. Divider by @saradika

The sunlight creepy through the sliver in the tent flaps, rousing you from your sleep. You groaned, turning your head to bury your face in your pillow. Only to be met by a solid wall of body heat. You blinked your eyes open, squinting slightly against the harsh glare of the sun. A dark hand raised to block the sun from your eyes. You couldn't help the smile that spreads across your face as your eyes landed on Charles. Both of you stared at each other for a moment or two before he broke the silence. His deep baritone, rumbling through his chest.

“You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” He hummed. That was something you simultaneously loved and hated about Charles. He always spoke his mind, he didn’t beat around the bush or try to save feelings. You appreciated his honesty in a world so overrun with deceit, especially in your kind of business. 

It was refreshing, but at the same time, you had no idea how to combat it. So when you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment, all you could do was bury your face in his bare chest. He laughed, soft and sweet as he wrapped his arms around you.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked as he ran his hands up and down your spine. 

“Sleeping with you was the best sleep I’ve gotten in years.” You replied, his honesty was infectious. It made you want to speak your mind more often. Which after years and years of lying to survive, was a dangerous thought. He chuckled, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

What the two of you had was new. Only having confessed your feelings three weeks ago. Although it felt like a lifetime. It was easy with Charles, like breathing. Nothing had ever been this easy. You pulled back, meeting his near obsidian eyes. You pressed your lips to his, and it was like coming home. Like this is how it was meant to be. Like you were one person, torn apart at the beginning of time, destined to find each other. Destined to be one, once more. He engulfed you, pressing you back against the bedroll as he moved on top of you. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked up at him. 

“You cold sweetheart?” He mumbled against your lips, “Here, take my blanket.” He said pulling the blanket over his shoulders as he covered the both of you. A sly grin spread across his lips.

“You are something else.” You chuckled, biting your lip as you looked up at him. He hummed in agreement, laying almost his full body weight on you. You let out a soft sigh, running your fingers up and down his warm back. Your ears perked up as you heard him mumble something into your neck. “Hm?” You asked softly.

“I like watching you sleep.” He mumbled, a bit clearer this time.

“The hell are you talking about?” You laughed, turning your head at an awkward position to look down at him.

“You look so much softer,” He said, propping himself up on his arm, “so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep.” He didn’t meet your eyes as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I wish you looked like that all the time.” 

You knew what he meant. You wished the same thing. Wished that you were safe, that you didn’t have to constantly be on guard. Ready for the next attack, your fingers itching for your pistol or shotgun, just in case. A world where you had a real bed, in a real house, not some flimsy tent. A world where Charles and you could have something together, a family.

“So you want me to be unconscious all the time?” You teased weakly, trying to make light of the very heavy meaning to his words. If it was anyone else, they probably would have laughed along and dropped the subject. 

But Charles wasn’t anyone else.

“I want you to be safe.” He clarified, even though he didn’t need to. Your heart stuttered in your chest. You looked up at him, finding his piercing gaze already trained on you. And it was like time had stopped. Like some higher being had frozen the world outside of the little tent the two of you shared. You swore that even the birds stopped their chorus as you stared into his eyes. Searching for some type of deception, something to prove to yourself that this was too good to be true.

But you couldn’t find anything. 

Instead his hand moved to gently wipe a tear from your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying. 

“Sorry.” You chuckled wetly, shaking your head. 

“It’s alright.” He cooed softly, almost like he was comforting a small child. ”You don’t… you don’t have to be this ‘tough outlaw’ with me.” He said with a small smile, “You can just be you, just y/n.” He leaned down, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. Your throat felt tight as you tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of his breath puffing against your cheek. His scent, a deep spice that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The heat that seemed to radiate off him like a fire, like he was blaze within. 

“I love you.” You whispered, and for the first time in your life you actually meant it. He chuckled softly, a smile spreading across his lips.

“I love you too.” He hummed, his words carrying so much weight with so little effort. He spoke like he was merely saying hello to a passerby, like he meant it.

“Charles-“ You started, the rest of the words left unsaid, hanging in the air. That you didn’t want to have to be so damn tough all the time, that you wanted security. That you wanted a home, that you wanted Charles. That you wanted him forever. 

“I know.” He mumbled, and you believed him. “I said I’d take care of you didn’t I?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You agreed breathlessly, “you did.” 

[nulixity]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏─

Syno: Word of claim, a tradition where a man fires his weapon outside a woman's home and speaks her name, and in that moment, she becomes his wife. Though deemed unlawful, a taboo… who cares? Outlaws never follow laws, do they? Warnings/MDNI: none. ✰ 8.8K tag list: @shackspossum @whalecage @nayykura

─concept m.list

Dutch and Hosea cackled as they stepped out of the saloon, the warm glow of lamplight catching the edges of their grins.

“That was so easy,” Dutch said, his voice carrying the smooth satisfaction of a man who always believed he was one step ahead.

Hosea nodded, slapping Dutch on the back. “Didn’t I tell you? Weekend nights are a gold mine.” He jingled the coins in his hand, counting quickly before slipping the money securely into his pocket. The night was brisk, the sounds of drunken chatter and distant music blending into the background as the two made their way to the horses.

But Dutch’s steps slowed, his attention snagging on something, or someone, further down the street.

“Hosea... you see that?”

Hosea followed Dutch’s gaze, his amusement dimming. A young girl, no older than nine or ten, stood motionless on the wooden sidewalk. Her wide eyes darted around, her expression a mix of terror and confusion. She was dressed too neatly for the dusty town, her clothes crisp and well-tailored, the kind of outfit only a wealthy family could afford.

“Hmm,” Hosea muttered, a note of unease creeping into his tone. “Poor kid looks lost.”

“Lost,” Dutch repeated, a contemplative edge in his voice. His sharp eyes studied her, taking in every detail, the way her hands nervously twisted the fabric of her clothes, the tear tracks streaked across her flushed cheeks, the way she shrank against the lamppost as if the world were too big and too dangerous.

“Dutch,” Hosea said quietly, sensing where this might be heading.

But Dutch had already started forward, his expression shifting into something softer, something almost kind. “Well, hello there, darlin’,” he called out, his voice warm and honeyed, the tone he used when reeling someone into his plans.

The girl flinched, her small hands clutching her skirt tighter. She didn’t respond, her eyes locked on Dutch as if trying to decide whether he was a threat or a savior.

Hosea sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dutch, maybe we oughta-”

“She’s scared, Hosea,” Dutch interrupted, his gaze never leaving the girl. He crouched slightly, his tone coaxing. “Ain’t no need to be frightened, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

"I am not te-lling."

"Okay, no problem. Ain' prying. Where are you parents? We can take you to them , help you find em'"

“I--they’re gone... on a trip,” you mumbled, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes.

“A trip?. Where to?”

“I--I don’t know!. I just wanna go home!” you cried, your small body trembling with the effort to hold back sobs.

Dutch’s expression flickered, something unspoken passing between him and Hosea. With a heavy sigh, Hosea stepped forward, his tone calm and measured. “Alright now, missy, let’s sit down for a bit. You tell us what you can, and we’ll see if we can figure this out, eh?”

It took some coaxing and the promise of something to eat, but soon you found yourself sitting on a park bench between the two men. Hosea handed you a crumpled handkerchief to wipe your tears while Dutch leaned forward, listening intently as your words spilled out in fits and starts.

Your parents, you explained, had left for a business trip to France. You had been left in the care of your uncle and aunt. But things had taken a dark turn. They had kicked you out of your own home, their jealousy of your parents’ wealth and status boiling over into spiteful revenge.

Dutch leaned back, his brow furrowing as he processed your story. This is some next-level low, even for him. Kicking out a little kid, from her own house? Over some family feud? But his brain conjured some good out of this too...

"So, she knows when her parents are gonna be back," Dutch began, a sly smile creeping across his face. "And I know they’re rich as hell, Hosea. So let’s help her, wait for their grand return, even better when they hang those posters and when we bring their little girl back..."

“We get rewarded?” Hosea deadpanned as he shot a glance at you, sitting a few feet away on the bench, quietly sniffing into the handkerchief. Mhm, not completely a bad idea...

Dutch’s grin widened. “Exactly.”

“I'm in.”

As they turned back toward you, Dutch crouched again, his voice soft but firm. “Alright, darlin’, here’s the deal. You come with us, and we’ll take care of you till your folks get back. Safe and sound. How’s that sound?”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering between the two men. “I don’t know... I don’t want to.”

Dutch’s expression hardened, the softness giving way to a sharper edge. “Well, let me tell you somethin’. Ain’t nobody else out here gonna take pity on you. You’re a kid alone on these streets. If someone don’t snatch you up to sell or worse, they’ll leave you to starve. That what you want?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. You shook your head slowly, clutching the handkerchief tighter.

“Then come on,” Dutch urged, standing and offering his hand. “You don’t have to trust us, but right now, we’re all you’ve got. And I promise, we’ll get you home.”

With no other choice, you let yourself believe him, just enough. You reached out hesitantly, placing your small hand in his larger one. Somehow, it felt like a lifeline.

❀˖°

That's how you ended up living with a gang, although you never imagined it would be for a whole two months. You understood the concept of outlaws...that they were terrible people. But these folks? They weren’t so bad… Well, most of them.

"HEY! IT'S MINE!"

"Not anymore." With that, John devoured your entire chocolate bar in one bite.

"AUNTY SUSAN GAVE IT TO ME!"

"Well, too bad. It’s gone. Now what? You gonna cry, little princess?-OW! OW! HEY-"

"Why can’t you leave her alone, huh?!" Arthur’s voice boomed as he stepped in, giving John a few solid smacks before pushing him away. "Idiot..."

You watched as Arthur turned to you, his expression softening. You immediately sat down in silence, instinctively becoming still. He could be kind of scary when he wanted to be, even at 15.

"Um... sorry for him," Arthur muttered, looking at you with an awkward smile. "Here, you can have mine." He pulled out another chocolate bar, but you shook your head, rejecting it.

"Please...take it."

You nodded and took it muttering a small thank you, still feeling too embarrassed to have accepted the gesture.

He gave you a small, understanding nod. "Just call me...if he bothers again. Alright?" Then, with a half-smile, he wandered off.

That's how you and Arthur began interacting. He was genuinely interested in learning about your life, curious about how others lived. At first, you were intimidated by him, but slowly, you began to share bits of your life when he asked, and over time, the two of you became friends.

He taught you things you didn’t know, how to clean a gun, the different parts, even use it, and how to properly care for a horse. You were fascinated by his patience, as he showed you step by step, making it seem so simple and easy. It was a peaceful and surprisingly enjoyable activity for both of you.

Arthur found a sense of home in the camp, a rare calm amidst the chaos. And for you, it became a momentary escape from the pain of missing your parents and the anger you felt toward your relatives.

He never had a female friend close to his age in this life, and it was refreshing for him to find someone who wasn’t afraid to speak their mind or laugh at the little things.

But then the time came, the time for your parents' arrival. Dutch decided it was appropriate enough to take you back, and so he, Hosea, and Arthur went along, though the boy wasn't entirely sure why he did. Maybe he just wanted to see where you came from, see your house.

When your parents saw you return, safe and happy, it was like they’d been revived. They were grateful to Dutch and the gang for taking care of you. You told them how these people had saved you, and, true to their word, they paid Dutch a generous amount for the trouble. All in all, it was a weary, yet friendly encounter. Dutch didn’t rob them, and your parents never suspected the gang's true intentions.

Your aunt and uncle had long been thrown out, so that was one relief. Of course, your father wouldn’t ever let go of the anger, but for now, everything seemed calm.

Arthur, however, was feeling something else. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d grown used to your presence in the camp. A new, refreshing friend in a world that had so little of that to offer. He couldn’t help but feel a little sad as you said your goodbyes to the three of them. He threw one last glance at your form, watching as you walked inside, safe and sound, where you truly belonged

But one day, Arthur decided to stop being afraid of something as simple as a friendship. He figured he'd visit you, and see how you were doing, but when he arrived, he found out you were gone. You had moved somewhere else, and no one seemed to know where.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and returned to camp. Perhaps it was for the better. What had he been thinking? What would the others have thought, your parents, especially? What was he even expecting? He couldn’t quite put it into words.

A nagging thought lingered in his mind. But he shook it off. Maybe it was just a momentary lapse that didn’t need to be dwelled on. After all, what did it matter?

❀˖°

The years passed by, and both of you were busy with your own lives. More than most, Arthur immersed himself in the gang’s work, the constant pull of jobs, and the weight of other matters. Matters like heartbreaks. Like Mary...

The twenty-six-year-old sighed as he shut his journal, his mind drifting back to simpler days. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the silence to settle around him, but just a few minutes later, Ms. Grimshaw’s voice cut through the quiet.

"Mr. Morgan, got a minute?" she called from the doorway. Arthur groaned internally, but he sat up, rubbing his face.

"What is it, Ms. Grimshaw?"

"Got to head to the town for supplies. You up for it? Shouldn’t take long."

Arthur thought for a moment. He could use a few things himself, some ammunition, maybe a new hat.

"Yeah, I guess. Let's go."

The dusty road to the town was a familiar one, the wooden buildings of Sable Creek rising ahead as they crested a hill. The town had a certain charm to it, despite the ever-present stench of horse manure and the occasional storms that rolled through. It was a regular stop for the gang. Supplies, people to talk to, and if you were lucky, a drink at the saloon.

Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw made their way into town, picking up what they needed without much fuss. She was quick and efficient, always knowing exactly where to find the best goods for the gang’s needs.

After they'd gathered what they came for, Arthur’s eyes fell on a poster pinned to a wall, the ink stark against the old wood. The name on it stopped him dead in his tracks.

It was your father's name, (F/N) (L/N). The same name that had once meant nothing more to him than a fleeting memory. But now, there it was, emblazoned across the poster, paired with an unfamiliar slogan about (L/N)'s Manor and Mercantile Services. Arthur’s heart skipped. He stared at it, his pulse quickening.

He approached the poster and ran his fingers across the faded paper. "What the hell...?" he muttered to himself.

Your father, he couldn’t believe it. That name, your name… it had come back to him in an unexpected way

He was about to walk away when he noticed a man leaning against the nearby post, whittling a stick. A typical town local, rugged and weathered, the kind who might know something about the area. Arthur walked over, his steps fueled with curiosity, the urge to know more, tipping his hat to the man.

"Hey. You know anything 'bout (L/N)’s...residence?

The man glanced up at him, eyeing Arthur with a mix of suspicion and indifference. "(L/N)'s? Sure, I know 'em. Big uh estate...just a few miles north of here. Fancy place. Always got something going on, business deals, functions, you name it. Real high-falutin'. You lookin’ to pay 'em a visit?"

"Just curious. Never been out there. Figured... I might check it out."

The man gave a short laugh, scratching his chin. "Not many folks 'round here who want to go there. But if you do, take the road north by the old mill. You can’t miss it."

Arthur nodded, thanks on the tip of his tongue. Before he could say more, Ms. Grimshaw called from a distance, waving her hand impatiently.

"Arthur, let's go! We're burnin' daylight!"

He turned to the man once more. "Appreciate it."

As he walked away, his mind was a swirl of thoughts. He hadn’t expected to find out anything like this today. He glanced back at the poster one more time before putting it in his pocket, his thoughts drifting to you and what had happened since he last saw you.

For now, he’d finish the supply run.

❀˖°

"Kay' wait here and I'll go ask."

Arthur stood still, watching as the guard disappeared inside the large, grand estate, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The estate was even bigger than he'd imagined, its iron gates tall and imposing, with carefully manicured gardens on either side. He couldn’t help but feel out of place, a simple outlaw in a world of opulence.

Minutes passed before the guard emerged again, walking toward him. Arthur’s gaze flicked over the scene, but something about the figure approaching him made his heart skip. He blinked in confusion, unsure of what he was seeing. And then, from the distance, he saw you.

You were walking toward him, your pace steady and sure, your eyes narrowing as you took in his figure. Arthur’s mind raced, this couldn’t be real, could it? It had been so long since that day he left you, since the gang had dropped you off at your parent's estate. And now, here you were, standing before him, looking different, yet somehow still the same.

"(Y/N)?" Arthur asked, his voice coming out almost as a whisper, unsure whether this was just a trick of the light or something else entirely.

You stopped in front of him, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Yeah... it’s me. Arthur?"

He took off his hat, his hands feeling awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "You remember me?"

You stifled a laugh, your gaze sharp and assessing. "Of course, oh my God! I remember every one of you. How could I forget that time?" You paused for a beat, eyes softening just a fraction as if the memory made you nostalgic, or maybe something more. "How did you even find me!?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze for a moment. "Saw a poster in town. Your father’s name. Thought it was a coincidence, but..." He shrugged, unsure how to explain. "Guess it wasn’t."

"A poster, huh? Guess that’s one way of tracking someone down." Your tone was playful, yet there was an edge to it, like you weren’t sure whether to welcome him or not.

Arthur took a moment to really look at you, your appearance had changed and matured...beautifully. You carried yourself differently, more poised, more... put together than he remembered. He looked away embarrassed praying you didn't notice him observing you.

“I didn’t...expect to see you here,” Arthur finally said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You smiled, a soft, knowing smile that made his heart stutter. "And I didn’t expect you to be looking for me." there was a faintest trace of amusement in your voice.

“I… I didn’t know what to expect. Thought I’d just see how you’re doing. Been a long time. So...how’s everything? Your folks?”

You sighed, your shoulders relaxing a little. “My folks are fine. Busy with their business. Nothing really changes, you know? And you? What’s the real story? You look… different, Arthur."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I’ve had a lot of time to change, I guess. Been around, and seen some things. I didn’t mean to disrupt anything. Just… curious. Wanted to know if you were alright.”

With a small sigh, you uncrossed your arms and nodded. “Well, I’m fine. I’m… alright. But what about you? How’s life for a man like you now?”

Arthur’s smile faltered, the weight of his own life pressing down on him. "It ain't easy," he admitted, scratching his jaw. "But it's life, you know? Just trying to keep my head above water."

You looked at him again, the faintest flicker of something in your eyes, pity, maybe, or understanding. It was hard to tell. "Anyway, come on in."

Arthur blinked, still processing the invitation. “I--inside? I mean... you do know who I am, right?” His words faltered, and he glanced nervously at the manor around him, feeling out of place. “And I’m sure your parents-”

You cut him off with a dismissive wave. “No, no, they won’t mind. My parents aren’t that strict, you know?” You gave him a quick, mock assessing look, one eyebrow quirking up. “And you sure aren't here to rob us, are you?”

Arthur let out a short laugh. “Of course not! I just-” He stopped, fumbling for the right words. “I didn’t expect this. But... uh, okay. I’ll come in.”

You grinned and waved him inside. “Then come on, I can’t stand out here in the heat any longer. We don't send guests away just like that.. Especially old friends!”

With a slight chuckle of his own, Arthur followed you toward the door. He handed the reins of his horse to a nearby stable hand, still bewildered by the whole situation.

As you led him inside, Arthur couldn’t help but glance around, eyes wide as he took in the lavish surroundings. The grand staircase, the polished floors, and the meticulously arranged furniture. It was a far cry from the dusty campsites and rundown cabins he was used to.

"Do you know I have a little brother now? (B/N). He's 10, but he's taking a nap right now. My father is actually gone for a few days, but mum is home - MAMA! Look who's here! Let's hope she remembers you." Before Arthur could protest, your mother's voice startled him, and he, despite being clearly visible, stood behind you, making you snort at the way he reacted. "Relax, she not gonna eat you."

"Who is this, (Y/N)?" your mother asked, her voice a mix of polite curiosity and a hint of panic. She stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over Arthur, who had awkwardly remained behind you, practically peeking from over your shoulder.

"Um--Hi...Mrs. (L/N)..."

You quickly stepped forward, giving her a reassuring smile. "Mama, it's Arthur, Arthur Morgan. From back then, you know, from the camp. He was one of the ones who... helped me when I was lost."

Your mother's expression softened immediately as the recognition clicked. She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning Arthur once more as if confirming it for herself. “Ahh, yes... I remember now. I thought you looked familiar.” She gave him a small, polite smile, her shoulders relaxing. “I hope you’re well, son.”

Arthur nodded, his usual stoic demeanor now softened by the fact that your mother seemed to remember him. Your mother's warm reaction put him at ease, and he began to feel less like an intruder and more like... someone who had once been part of your life.

"I hope you are well too...Mrs. (L/N)."

"Well, make yourself at home, Arthur," your mother said with a slight bow of her head before disappearing back into the other room, leaving you and Arthur alone to continue your impromptu tour.

You immediately began ushering Arthur through the house. "Alright, let me show you around!" Your voice was light and almost giddy, as you led him from one room to another, more like dragging.

"This is the study!"

"This is the sunroom!"

"This is the snooker room! Nice right?."

You quickly moved on. “And this is my favorite piece.” You pointed at an ornate, vintage mirror on the wall, its frame carved in intricate patterns. “It was a gift from my aunt. She said it’s been in the family for years.”

Finally, you stopped in front of a door, and your grin widened. “And this is my room!” you said, throwing the door open with a flourish.

Arthur stepped inside your room cautiously, his hat gripped tightly in his hands, his gaze darting around the space as though he were intruding on something sacred. The room was spacious yet inviting, with soft, muted colors that seemed to reflect your personality. Plush furniture filled the space with warmth, while delicate paintings adorned the walls, their subjects peaceful and idyllic. A large window bathed the room in sunlight, framing a picturesque view of the garden outside. The books on the shelves and the papers piled neatly on your desk hinted at a thoughtful and busy life.

Arthur shifted awkwardly, his boots scuffing lightly against the polished floor as he lingered near the door. He had never so casually entered a woman’s room before, and the intimacy of it caught him off guard. His world was one of dirt and danger, rough edges and fleeting comforts. Here, in this quiet, cozy room, he felt like an intruder in a place far too refined for someone like him.

“It’s... uh, real nice,” he mumbled, his voice low as his fingers toyed nervously with the brim of his hat. His eyes flitted to the soft throw draped over the chair, the pastel tones of the walls, the delicate lace curtains framing the window. He couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. It was a glimpse into a life he could only dream of, a life so far removed from the rugged chaos he was used to.

You laughed softly, your voice breaking the quiet spell. "It’s just a room, Arthur. You can come in properly, y’know. I don't have a pet snake here or something that's gonna jump on you. Well, I do have a cat, Suki, I'll introduce you to her too."

He glanced at you, a faint flush creeping up his neck."Didn’t mean to...well, just never been in a...in a lady’s room before. Feels kinda...uh, different."

You grinned, leaning casually against the desk. "Awkward? Mhm. I can understand." you teased, watching his unease grow in the way he avoided looking directly at you.

Arthur chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe a little…but it’s nice. Real nice. It’s refreshing. Seein’ how you live, all the pretty colors and…just feels peaceful.

There was something almost boyish about the way he avoided meeting your eyes for too long, his shyness making him look as though he were caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. His eyes wandered again, lingering on the colors, the soft curtains swaying in the breeze, and the little personal touches, things he wouldn’t have noticed in passing but now couldn’t seem to look away from. It wasn’t just a room; it was a glimpse into your world, one he found himself inexplicably drawn to.

“Real beautiful though” he added, his voice a little gruffer, as if trying to mask the sincerity behind his words.

Just like you.

As you gave him your usual fast-paced rundown, commenting on the things you loved most, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You hadn’t changed much since he last saw you, just as animated as he remembered.

He stood by the window, watching the light play across the room. “You’ve got a nice place,” he remarked quietly, turning to look at you as you animatedly continued your tour.

You gave him a cheeky grin. “Well, someone has to live the high life, right?”

Arthur smiled softly, the gap between your worlds feeling just a little smaller, a little less daunting. He was beginning to realize that maybe you hadn't changed as much as he'd thought. The girl he remembered from the camp, the one who'd walked into his life and captured his attention, was still there, but now surrounded by all of this...comfort, privilege, and light. A world that felt so far from his own. Yet, here he was, standing in the middle of it, feeling like maybe, just maybe, he could fit into your life again.

"Oh, my apologies, I didn’t even offer you any refreshments! Let’s go eat lunch in the garden. And while we’re at it, you have to tell me stories of what you've been doing all these years, alright?"

"Alright, alright. You are too kind."

He shared stories of the gang, of the jobs (he chose to tell about the less gory ones in fear of your reaction and didn’t want you to listen to his darker deeds), and of the things he had seen. You listened intently, your laughter filling the air when he mimicked some of the gang members' eccentricities. The sound of your familiar voice made his heart feel light, even if it was brief. Suki purred softly in his lap, his fingers instinctively stroking her fur as he listened to you speak. The knowledge you shared astounded him, whether it was answering business queries with sharp wit or the rise and fall of empires. you seemed to hold a wealth of understanding that captivated him.

But as the lunch came to an end and the moment of departure loomed closer, a quiet thought began to settle in his chest, heavier than any of the words exchanged between you both. When your mother came by to check on the two of you, everything seemed... easy. She was warm, welcoming even, in a way that made Arthur feel comfortable, almost at home. He expected some resistance, or at least for her to be a little wary of him, an outlaw, being here with her unmarried daughter nonetheless...maybe she's just good at hiding it.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the quiet moment as she stepped outside, her tone light but loaded with something Arthur couldn’t place. "Thank you, Arthur. It’s been good to see you again."

Arthur nodded, about to say something polite when your mother’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

"You know, it’s nice that (Y/N) has someone like you as a friend. She talked about you all so fondly and missed you guys. I always hoped she’d have someone like a brother in her life."

Arthur’s heart sank, the words cutting through the air like a sudden chill. He tried to mask the shift in his expression, tried to keep the smile on his face, but the cold truth settled heavily in his chest.

You , she, saw him as just a friend, someone like a brother, just another part of the past. And when you agreed with your mother’s sentiment, confirming it with your usual lighthearted chuckle and nod, something inside him broke.

He had convinced himself, for a moment, that maybe there was more to this reunion than just memories. Maybe there was something between the two of you, something that had never quite been given a chance before, something he could explore now, in this new life. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all. You were still the girl from the camp, the one who had felt lost and scared, but now you were a woman with your own life, your own world, and Arthur was just a piece of that world, a passing memory that would never be more than that.

The realization stung. It hurt more than he cared to admit.

"Take care, Arthur," you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you watched him. "It was really good to see you again. And you can send a letter anytime you want. I would love to chat and hear your stories."

Arthur paused, his hand on the reins, a lump forming in his throat at your words. It wasn’t the farewell he had imagined, nor the one he’d hoped for.

Send a letter anytime you want.

The kindness in your voice, the way you spoke so naturally, as if this was just a casual goodbye between old friends, felt like both a balm and a wound.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his composure. A letter. It should have been enough, he told himself. It should have been. But it wasn't.

He turned back toward you, the distance between you suddenly feeling impossibly wide. He wanted to say something---anything---to ease the weight of the moment, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he tipped his hat to you, giving you a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I- I will. Take care, (Y/N)."

Just like with Mary...

The thought lingered, gnawing at him as the miles stretched out between him and your home. He had convinced himself that it would be different. That you were different. But he had been wrong.

The way your family had treated him, with that polite kindness, it had all felt so genuine, so warm. But now, with the weight of your casual farewell still heavy on his heart, Arthur realized it wasn’t warmth for him. It was warmth for the person they saw him as.

He had imagined so many different scenarios in his head, each one more foolish than the last, each one filled with hope he should have known better than to entertain. He wasn’t fool enough to believe there could be more between you two, not now, not ever.

With a bitter chuckle, Arthur let his horse trot faster, trying to outrun the feeling settling in his chest.

Just like with Mary.

The damn haunting comparison. But this one felt worse. Mary had been a distant dream, someone whose absence was long understood, a love that was never truly his, to begin with. But you... you were real. You were there, so close, yet just....out of reach. Your kindness, your warmth, your family’s welcoming nature, it had made him believe for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the same old Arthur Morgan to you. He felt accepted...but he had been wrong. Maybe your parents were just nice to him out of fear and gratitude...and harbored the same resentment behind closed doors. Perhaps...you too? No...no you are not fake, he can tell that for sure. Right? You trust him...he sees it in your gentle eyes. Those beautiful eyes...

❀˖°

The evening was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling. You were curled up in the armchair by the window, a book open in your lap, the golden lamplight casting a cozy glow over the room. The story had drawn you in, its words painting vivid pictures in your mind, though the sound of your mother’s sewing needle punctuated the quiet like a gentle metronome.

“Darling,” your mother said, her voice cutting softly through the silence. She didn’t look up from her work, but you felt her gaze flicker in your direction.

“Hm?”

“About earlier, Arthur’s visit.”

The mention of his name drew you out of the book. You glanced up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm? What about it, Mama?”

She set her sewing aside and folded her hands neatly in her lap, a gesture that told you she was about to say something serious. “It’s not… proper, you know. A man visiting when your father isn’t home. Especially someone like him. You shouldn't have dragged him inside like that...and given him a tour. Use your senses dear.

You frowned, closing your book but keeping your finger tucked inside to save your place. “He wasn’t here long, and it wasn’t like that. He’s just… Arthur. He won't do something heinous like that. He's like a brother. You said so yourself."

“Arthur or not,” she continued, her voice calm but firm, “a young woman inviting...a man, much less an outlaw into her home, without her father here, will have people talking. And not kindly. I swear you are too naive at times. And the reason I said it , well, it was to make things clear. You understand?"

You looked down at the book, the words blurring on the page. "How can you even suggest me and him--God, look --I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, Mama. He’s kind of my friend, and I didn’t think it’d be right to send him away.”

“I’m not questioning his or your kindness, sweetheart. I’m questioning the situation. You’re a young lady now. People notice things, and they talk. Even if we live in a bit secluded area, there are still eyes. Our own servants for God's sake, dear. And having a man like him visiting when your father’s away… it just doesn’t look right. Also letters? I don't like the sound of that all. You better not respond."

You swallowed the knot forming in your throat and decided to ignore the comment about the letters, at least for now.

“Arthur didn’t mean anything by it. He just wanted to check in, that’s all. And I didn’t mean to drag him in, I just… didn’t think it was wrong. I mean I told you how they live...I just thought him being here would give him temporary comfort...y'know."

Her gaze softened slightly at your sincerity, but her concern didn’t waver. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. But next time, think twice. The world isn’t as forgiving as you might hope. And with a man like Arthur… well, his profession might bring more trouble than you realize. Be careful alright?"

You folded your hands in your lap, unsure how to respond. “I’ll be careful, Mama,” you murmured finally.

She nodded, though the worry in her eyes remained. “I just want what’s best for you, darling. That’s all. Also some reports just arrived from the office so why don't you go and check them. I had them put in your study."

“Right,” you replied, rising to your feet and stretching. “I’ll have some tea and snacks sent for.”

"Right away, darling."

❀˖°

Despite the sting of reality, Arthur couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t entirely silence the part of him that longed for more, more of you, more of the conversations, the stories, the friendship that had begun to feel like something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself.

He started writing letters, even though he told himself he wouldn’t. At first, it was simple. A few words to pass the time. His handwriting was rough, not elegant like the letters of men who had been raised with the luxury of formal education. But somehow, it didn’t matter. He wrote about the mundane things that filled his days, the gang’s latest escapades, the horses he had worked with, and even the weather. He wrote about how much the work had been piling up, how his days felt long and endless. He wrote because, in some twisted way, it felt like he could still stay close to you, even if only in ink and paper.

He never expected a response, but he received one all the same.

A week later, came a simple reply, neatly written, not too long but full of warmth. You told him about your life, your family's health, and the weather at your home. You mentioned the garden, the books you’d been reading, and the gentle rhythm of your everyday life. Even sent gifts, not just for him but for others too, which he felt a bit spineless to accept but did so to not make you sad. He did love the coat. There were no big confessions, no declarations of longing.

Then, every Sunday became your day, a ritual of sorts. You would meet in a little café if both of you were free, which he tried his best to be, tucked away on the edge of town. A neutral place, quiet enough for conversation, warm enough to forget the world outside for just a few hours. Just eating and walking around the town really did more than he imagined. The peace...the comforting silence...your presence and most importantly the acceptance he felt.

The first meeting had been hesitant, a little awkward even. Arthur wasn’t used to sitting down with someone in such a relaxed setting, too used to the harshness of life in the gang, too used to avoiding anything that could resemble softness. But when you greeted him with that smile, with your gentle words, something inside him shifted. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He began to crave the day. It felt like the beginning of something. Something fragile, something fleeting, but something nonetheless. If this damned friendship is all he gonna get, he might just live in the moment for now...

Arthur sat across from you, nursing his tea, while you picked at the slice of cake he’d ordered for you.

“Go on, eat it,” Arthur said, his tone gruff but amused as he watched you push the fork around the plate. “It’s not going to bite you.”

You shot him a glare, not at all deterred. “Yeah...I just...I’m just not that hungry y'know, I think I had a heavy breakfast,” you muttered, not looking up from your cake, still taking small nibbles rather than finishing the whole thing.

Arthur let out a huff, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been at it for ten minutes now. The cake’s gonna go stale if you keep that up. You better eat it."

“It’s my cake, I’ll eat it when I feel like it.”

His lips quirked up slightly, though his gaze remained firm. “You’re actin’ like a child. It’s cake, not poison. Trust me, you’ll feel better once you’ve had it.”

“Pft. Right, right. You act as if you know everything.”

“It’s called common sense. Something you might want to try now and then.”

"Yeah well, I can perhaps get a bad stomach too, dumbass."

You made a face but finally picked up the fork and took a bigger bite, much to his satisfaction. "Mhm. Yum." Then your eyes lit up mischievously as a thought crossed your mind.

"Arthurrrrr, so you’re… what? In your late twenties, now? And still no girl in your life? That can’t be right." Your grin widened as you teased him. "Surely you’ve found someone by now. Or is there a special someone I don’t know about?"

Arthur froze for a moment, his hand hovering over his mug, and you caught the flicker of unease that passed over his face. He quickly recovered, though, leaning back in his chair with a slight scowl. "You think I’m just waitin’ around for some...woman to fall into my lap?"

You snickered, tapping the fork against your plate thoughtfully. "Well, I don’t know. You’ve never really said anything about anyone," you said, clearly enjoying the effect you were having on him. "You must’ve had a few crushes over the years, huh? Someone in the gang’s kept you company while you’re off doin’ your thing."

"Maybe.." he muttered, taking a slow sip of his tea. "But I don’t need you makin’ jokes about it."

Your grin only grew wider, leaning forward just a little. "Oh, come on, Arthur. If I won't then who will? Stop being lame. You can’t tell me that no one in your life has caught your eye. You're too... well, you know," you gestured vaguely with your fork, unable to find the right words but clearly referring to his ruggedness and that quiet charm he sometimes tried to hide.

He snorted, shaking his head. "I'm not exactly the type most women want to be around. Not with all the trouble I got goin’ on in my life."

"Well. Mhm, true. But. I’ve seen the way you care for your horses. That’s more than enough of a ‘gentleman’ for some girls, some even I know. All you need is a little push. I’ll give you the perfect match, just wait. Want me to...kickstart your romantic journey, mhmmm?"

He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I want you playing matchmaker. Couldn’t trust your judgment.”

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen? At least I’d be picking someone who’d treat you right. Also, I'd have some fun doing it! I did it for a cousin of mine, when I was like 18 and he's still grateful to me for finding him the perfect match. They are both so happy. HAHA! So take that."

Arthur chuckled, the moment's warmth easing the tension in his chest, even as something else, a strange ache, settled there. Why can't it be you then? He wanted to say but.... He pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the quiet joy of your company. Whatever it was, it was worth savoring for now.

Arthur finally broke the silence with a half-smile, leaning back in his chair once more. "Yeah, well, maybe. But for now, I’ll take my cake. And you’re too gonna finish that."

He hesitated for a moment before asking, his voice quieter. “What about you? You… got someone?” His grip tightened around the saucer in his lap, betraying his casual tone.

“Me?” You scoffed, almost offended by the mere thought. “Nah. I’m perfectly content with life, helping my parents with the business, going out with friends… and, of course, Suki." You petted the cat perched on the seat beside yours, causing the golden fluffball to purr."Don’t need anything or anyone else. My parents might have other ideas, though. Y'know, the usual talk about ‘finding a companion to grow old with’, all that sentimental crap. But you know what game I play with them?

Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite pushing the pang of jealousy aside. “Yeah? What? First off, finish laughing before you talk.”

His lips twitched as he watched your laughter bubble over, infectious as always. God, he loved the sound of it.

“Well...sometimes I let them think I’m ready. You know, like I’m open to meeting someone. So they get all excited and invite someone over for one of those discussions…”

Arthur tilted his head, already bracing for the punchline.

“And then I reject them. Every. Single. Time.”

Arthur couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, shaking his head. “That’s downright cruel, you know.”

“Cruel?” you repeated with mock offense, leaning forward. “They’ll survive. It's a fun way to pass time you know. Besides, it keeps my parents off my back though. But I don't know for how long....”

How long....

How long....

Forget it Arthur, just get the thought of it out of your head.

Though he knew, it was easier said than done...

❀˖°

And just like that, a quiet, peaceful year passed, marked by letters and rare, cherished meetings. Arthur had moved farther from where you lived, making those moments together even more fleeting but no less meaningful.

But when the day of your usual meeting came again, you didn’t show. Arthur sat by the window in the café, watching the street for any sign of you. As the minutes stretched into hours, he tried to stay calm, telling himself you were likely sick or busy. He just hoped you were alright.

When you finally met again a few weeks later, Arthur couldn’t hold back. “You okay?” he asked, his tone casual but his blue eyes serious. “I mean, you missed our last meetin’, and your letters… They’ve been fewer.”

You smiled, but it was different now, thinner, softer. “Oh, I’ve just been busy with work and family,” you said lightly, waving a hand as though to brush his concern aside. “Nothing to worry about.”

Something was off.

What are you hiding from me?

He wouldn’t let this go. Not when it came to you.

Arthur nodded, but the unease stayed with him. Something about you was different, something he couldn’t quite name. You spoke less, and though your smile lingered, it didn’t carry the same warmth. And your laugh, he’d always loved your laugh, was quieter, restrained, to not draw attention.

Then there was the chaperone. Arthur noticed the older woman sitting nearby, her sharp gaze darting to the two of you now and then. You’d always come alone before, laughing off the need for an escort, but now she was here, a quiet, rigid presence that spoke volumes.

And it wasn’t just her. Arthur’s sharp eyes caught other subtle changes. Your gloves were gone, your hands bare even in the crisp autumn chill. He’d heard somewhere that unmarried women in polite society were expected to wear gloves when out in public. Then there was how you wore your shawl, which you always adjusted modestly as if to conform to someone else’s propriety.

But what struck him most was the absence of your laughter. The way your spirit seemed subdued. As if someone, or something, was pulling you further away.

“You sure it’s just work keepin’ you busy?”

“Of course. Just a lot going on, that’s all.”

Every small, unspoken detail gnawed at him. The chaperone. The clothes. The gloves. You hadn’t said anything, but your silence screamed louder than words. You talked less than usual, your words measured and cautious, lacking the easy rhythm he’d come to know.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, but something was wrong. You weren’t just hiding something....you were slipping away.

So, instead, he did what he was best at, watching, waiting, and gathering the truth without words. He’d heard whispers about a function at your estate, a gathering.

The shadows were his allies as he lingered at the edges of the grand manor. The soft glow of lanterns and the gentle hum of conversation drifted through the night, and there you were, standing in the center of it all, radiant in a way that both drew him closer and crushed him inside.

Then he saw him.

The man by your side. The one who stood too close dared to touch your arm and waist s if it was his right. Arthur’s eyes locked onto the ring, glinting on your finger, catching the light like a cruel, deliberate taunt.

His chest tightened, his breath hitched. The air felt heavier, colder. His worst fear had materialized before him, and yet he couldn’t look away.

The man smiled at you, and you smiled back, polite and radiant enough to send a wave of heat through his veins, a fire that burned hotter with every passing second.

The gardener, a man with a weathered face and rough hands, had just stubbed out his cigarette, the glow of the ember fading into the night. He turned to head inside the gates, but before he could take another step, a firm hand shot out from the shadows. The gardener’s back slammed against the stone wall with a grunt, his breath knocked out of him.

Arthur’s face was inches from his now, his cold blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“You know about the marriage,” Arthur growled, his voice low but dripping with menace. “When? Hm?”

The gardener blinked rapidly, panic flickering across his face as he stammered, his words tripping over each other. “I-I... I didn’t mean- I--don’t--don’t know anythin’ about no marriage…you can't do this-"

He shoved the gardener harder against the wall, his voice growing more dangerous with every syllable. That's when the man felt a cold metal touch the side of his stomach and when he saw it, he nearly had a heart attack. “Tell. Me. The. Fucking. Date. When is it? When is she marrying him?”

The gardener's face turned pale as he struggled to find his voice, his eyes darting nervously around as if looking for an escape. His breath ragged as he stammered, “It--it’s... next month. The fifth. H-here...at the estate.. that's all I k-know-"

Arthur released the gardener with one final shove, sending him stumbling back a few steps. His gaze remained icy, his anger simmering just below the surface.

“You better keep your mouth shut,” he warned, his voice deadly calm now. The gardener nodded frantically, swallowing hard as Arthur turned away, his mind racing.

Fifth.

Arthur sat in the dim light of his tent, the revolver spinning slowly between his fingers as his thoughts churned in relentless, punishing circles. Outside, the camp buzzed with life, the crackle of the fire, the faint strains of a harmonica, the murmur of laughter. It all grated on him, every sound digging deeper into the raw wound festering inside his chest.

He knew this would happen. He’d always known. You weren’t his to lose, not really. People like you didn’t end up with men like him, men who carried blood on their hands, who belonged to a world of running and killing and stealing just to survive. He should’ve been prepared. He thought he’d been prepared. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

It felt like a betrayal. Like some unspoken promise had been broken. But no, there was no promise. That was the sick part of it. You’d smiled at him, written him letters, laughed with him, and somewhere along the way, he’d let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could keep you. That you could be something different. Someone who wouldn’t leave. But now…

Now, you were slipping away, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

His grip on the revolver tightened as memories of Mary surged up, unbidden and cruel. Her soft voice echoed in his head, her face painted in regret. "It’s not you, Arthur. It’s just… my life. It’s not the life you lead."

He’d tried to believe her back then, to take her words at face value. But deep down, they’d festered like an open wound. What if it was him? What if it was always him, his life, his choices, his very existence, that made people leave?

The laughter outside grew louder, Dutch’s booming voice cutting through the night. Arthur’s gaze flicked to the tent flap, to the flickering shadows of the others moving in the firelight. Dutch, carefree as ever, with Molly by his side. Dutch always had someone. Dutch always had a plan. And Arthur? Arthur had nothing. He was nothing.

Why is he mad?

Fucking why?

This was what he expected, wasn’t it? The inevitable. The part where you, the one thing he couldn’t let go of, moved on and married another man. He knew you’d do it, he’d always known. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from showing up every damn time, shaved and clean, trying to look better than he felt, holding onto some pathetic sliver of hope. As if you’d suddenly look at him and say, "Let’s run away" or, "Y’know what, Arthur? I think I want to live with the gang. With you..." The idea was ridiculous, but it had kept him going.

But now that it had happened… why did it feel so fucking wrong? Why was his chest tightening with rage that felt almost like betrayal?

Because it happened a second time, that’s why. His own mind was a whirlwind of confusion, torn between the brutal truth of his life, running, looting, killing, and the desperate, hollow yearning inside him. Was this all he was? Was this what he deserved? The endless violence, the life without peace? He couldn’t even stomach the thought of it anymore.

And because he thought, no, he hoped, you might’ve been different. That you’d be the exception to the pain. Almost like compensation for what he’d endured with Mary. A balm to soothe the wounds she’d left behind. Almost as if fate owed him this one kindness, this gift...

"Is something wrong with...me?" The question tore through his mind, louder than the laughter, louder than the harmonica, louder than the blood pounding in his ears. It clawed at him, relentless and merciless. Why couldn’t he hold on to anything? Why couldn’t he have even a sliver of peace? A family? A future?

The world outside continued without him, Dutch and Molly spinning around in their reckless dance, but Arthur felt a chasm of isolation opening between him and everyone else. His heart thundered in his chest, the silence suffocating.

He replayed the vision of you and your man. A respectable man that wasn't him. His chest burned. It wasn’t just jealousy, not entirely. It was something darker, something heavier. Something that made him slam the revolver on the table.

Take it then.

Take her then.

Arthur froze, shocked at his own brain for voicing that out. He knew what it meant. He’d heard it before, and discussed it with you, in the past.

The Word.

He had dismissed it then, condemned it as if it were beneath him. You had both laughed about it, saying it was barbaric, unfair and a criminal practice. But now? Now, the idea didn’t sound so foreign.

Do the word.

Do it.

People still do it.

Why do you always gotta suffer? Get played like a fiddle?

Man up.

The voice inside him urged, persistent and dark, pulling at something primal in his gut. Why did it feel so right, so necessary, now? Why did the thought of it no longer seem like madness but like the only thing that made sense in this Godforsaken world?

Why didn’t it sound so bad now?

Arthur’s grip on the revolver tightened, his thoughts swirling into dangerous territory. The thought of you slipping away from him, and marrying another man, of losing you forever, made his blood run cold. But if he.....could make you his by this brutal, tradition, would he finally have peace? Would that give him the warmth he so desperately needed?

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