#or there is magic but its somehow “forgotten” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshifighting · 1 month

Text

I can do it for you

Synopsis: After years dealing with everything alone, you stumble upon an old wishbook from your past. And you jokingly writes down your ideal boyfriend, Mingyu. To your surprise, Mingyu magically appears in your couch.

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Smut, fantasy, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving), g'spot stimulation, overstimulation, oversensitivity, sex fluids and... HOUSEWIFE MINGYU?!

You've always been one of those independent souls since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. Nobody had to tell you how to tie your shoes or pour your own cereal; you were on it like a hawk on a mouse. That's just how you rolled.

Every morning, without fail, the alarm clock would screech you awake. You'd drag yourself out of bed, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, but ready to tackle whatever the day threw at you. Bleary-eyed, you'd stumble out of bed, wishing for just a few more minutes of shut-eye.

Then it was off into the madhouse of morning traffic. Cars honking, people yelling—it was like a scene straight out of a circus. One hand massaging your temple, while the other holds the wheel, again, what would be the excuse about being late for your supervisee?

Once you strutted into the office, it was game time. Arms loaded up with documents, and the sound of your heels echoing through the corridors until you plopped down at your desk. Your boss, with his constant nitpicking, was like a pesky mosquito buzzing around your head, while you practically sizzled your fingertips on the keyboard.

As the end of the month drew near, it was like a race against the clock in the department. Everyone was scrambling to wrap up their projects, racing against time like sprinters gunning for the finish line. The hours seemed to slip through their fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass.

Phones were ringing off the hook, papers were flying left and right, and the clickety-clack of keyboards filled the air like a drumbeat. It was a whirlwind of activity, with no time to spare for even a quick breather.

As you finally left the building, the thought of tackling the grocery store was the furthest thing from your mind. Rush hour was in full swing, and the last thing you wanted was to spend a few more hours stuck in traffic.

With a sigh of exhaustion, you let your purse plop onto the couch, and you dashed towards the bathroom, craving the comfort of a hot shower to wash away the day's stress. But as soon as you twisted the knob to turn on the water, you were met with a disappointing blast of icy coldness. Great, just what you needed—a malfunctioning shower.

You knew the drill all too well. The resistance had probably burned out again, leaving you with no choice but to endure a bone-chilling cold shower. Normally, you'd roll up your sleeves and tackle the problem head-on, but right now, the thought of dealing with it was more than you could bear.

So, with a resigned shrug, you decided to tough it out. A cold shower was better than no shower at all, and besides, you were too tired to bother with fixing it tonight. As you stepped under the frigid stream of water, you couldn't help but curse your luck.

With some unexpected free time on your hands, you found yourself rummaging through the forgotten stuff tucked away in the drawer beneath the TV. Dust bunnies greeted you as you pulled out various items—a picture frame with a photo of your graduation, a stack of letters from high school friends, old books with worn covers, and...

You blinked in surprise as you pulled out what appeared to be a wishbook. Memories flooded back to you as you flipped through its pages, the corners dog-eared and the edges frayed from years of neglect. You vaguely remembered creating this in middle school, jotting down your hopes and dreams for your adult life.

You couldn't help but be taken aback as you glanced through the pages of the wishbook, tracing your finger over each childhood dream that had somehow become a reality.

"When I grow up, I want to drive a red car." You chuckled to yourself as you remembered the day you drove off the lot in that sleek red beauty, feeling like the queen of the road.

"When I grow up, I want to work at my dream job." It hadn't been an easy journey, filled with ups and downs and more than a few setbacks along the way. But through sheer grit and determination, you had landed your dream job, doing what you loved day in and day out.

"When I grow up, I want to have my own apartment." Well, here you were, sitting in your very own slice of paradise. Sure, it might not be the biggest or the fanciest place in town, but it was yours. And that was all that mattered.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity as you gazed at the blank pages at the end of the wishbook. What if you wrote something new? Something unexpected, something you hadn't even considered before?

With a sudden impulse, you grabbed your phone and dialed up your friend. After a few rings, she answered, her voice laced with amusement.

"Hey there, what's up?" she chirped.

"Hey," you replied, a hint of uncertainty in your tone. "I was just thinking... what do you think I've been needing in my life?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line before your friend burst into laughter. "Oh, that's easy," she said between giggles. "You need a boyfriend!"

You couldn't help but frown at her response. "Really? Out of all the things in the world, a boyfriend?"

She chuckled, sensing your skepticism. "Okay Y/N, maybe not a boyfriend exactly," she conceded, "but someone to take care of you. You're always the one taking care of everything that falls into your hands. Have you ever thought about taking a break? Having someone to do it for you for once?"

Her words struck a chord with you, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of recognition. She was right—you were constantly taking care of everyone and everything around you, but who was taking care of you?

You chuckled to yourself as you scribbled down the traits you wanted in a potential boyfriend, feeling a bit silly but also oddly excited at the prospect. As the hours ticked by, you found yourself lost in thought, lost in the whimsical world of daydreams and possibilities.

"A guy who is proactive, kind, maybe a little bit clingy?" you mused aloud, tapping the pen against your chin. "Someone who knows their way around the kitchen... As you continued to brainstorm, you found yourself getting a bit carried away. "Good-looking and tall, with long hair and puppy-dog eyes"

The more you wrote, the more absurdly perfect your imaginary boyfriend became. It was almost like describing a prince straight out of a fairy tale, complete with all the clichéd traits and characteristics.

As you looked over the words you had written in the wishbook, a wave of doubt washed over you. You couldn't help but cringe at the seemingly unrealistic expectations you had set for yourself. Closing the wishbook with a sigh, you tossed it onto the center table, feeling a pang of disappointment.

"It was just a coincidence," you muttered to yourself, trying to rationalize away the strange alignment of your childhood dreams with your current reality. It seemed too far-fetched to believe that your wishes had somehow come true.

With a heavy heart, you made your way to the bedroom, longing for the solace of sleep to sweep you away from the uncertainty of the day. Maybe it was time to let go of the notion that wishes could come true and focus on the here and now.

And there it was, like a cruel joke, that goddamn alarm blaring in your ear, dragging you kicking and screaming out of the sweet embrace of sleep. With a groan of frustration, you stumbled out of bed and trudged to the bathroom, bracing yourself for another shitty, cold-ass shower.

The water hit you like a slap in the face as you hurriedly scrubbed away the remnants of sleep. No time for luxuriating in a warm bath, oh no, not in your world.

After hastily toweling off, you raced around the house like a madman, searching for that elusive perfect piece to complete your look. But in the end, it was all just chaos, a jumbled mess of clothes and accessories that left you feeling more frazzled than ever.

As you stormed out the door and into the chaos of the morning rush hour, you couldn't help but curse under your breath at the sea of cars stretched out before you. It was like a never-ending nightmare, a never-ending parade of honking horns and exhaust fumes.

And then there was your boss, with his never-ending stream of shit, nitpicking every little thing you did like a goddamn broken record. You plastered on a fake smile and nodded along, all the while seething with rage on the inside.

You trudged wearily from the elevator, each step sending shooting pains through your feet courtesy of those godforsaken heels. The keys jangled in your hand as you finally reached your apartment door, the promise of relief beckoning you inside.

With a sigh of relief, you swung open the door and kicked off your heels, reveling in the cool touch of the floor against your bare feet. But as you stepped further into the apartment, something felt off.

The air was thick with the scent of food, and a faint hum drifted through the air. Panic surged through you as you realized that someone had invaded your sanctuary.

Heart pounding, you tiptoed through the apartment, checking every nook and cranny for signs of an intruder. But each room you entered was empty, the only sound the echo of your own footsteps.

Finally, you reached the kitchen, and there he was—a tall figure standing at the stove, his back to you as he hummed a tune under his breath. It took a moment for the shock to register, but when it did, you felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood through you.

"Who the hell are you?" you demanded, your voice sharp with disbelief and anger as you confronted the intruder. The guy nearly jumped out of his skin, and you flinched together.

"What are you doing here? Leave!" you insisted, your heart pounding in your chest as you pointed the kitchen utensil in his direction.

The intruder hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice trembling slightly. "I-I'm Mingyu," he stammered, his eyes wide with fear.

You scoffed, the name sounding vaguely familiar but not enough to ease your suspicion. "Mingyu? Who the fuck is Mingyu?" you snapped, your anger boiling over.

But then it hit you like a ton of bricks. Mingyu... the random name you had created for the boyfriend in your wishbook, the one you had jokingly listed out the qualities you wanted in a partner.

Your laughter was hollow and bitter as you realized the absurdity of the situation. "Are you kidding me?" you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. "I'm calling the police."

But before you could reach for the phone, the intruder lunged forward, grabbing the wishbook from the center table. "No, no, no!" he exclaimed, desperation creeping into his voice.

You watched in confusion as he flipped through the pages, his eyes widening in shock as he read the list of qualities you had written down.

You eyed the wishbook with a mixture of disbelief and apprehension as the intruder waved it in front of you, his excitement palpable. Every detail you had written down seemed to describe him perfectly—tall, with puppy-dog eyes, and even the long hair. It was uncanny.

But despite the strange coincidence, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. Keeping your distance, you raised the pan threateningly, the question burning on your lips. "How did you get into my house?" you demanded, your voice sharp with suspicion.

The intruder's eyes widened in alarm, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender. "I-I don't know," he stammered, his voice trembling. "I just woke up on the couch, I swear."

Your heart raced as you processed his words. He didn't seem to be lying, but the situation was just too bizarre to comprehend. How could someone just magically appear in your home, especially someone who seemed to fit the description of your fictional boyfriend?

With a wary glance, you slowly lowered the pan, the tension in the air dissipating slightly. "Well, you better start explaining," you muttered, your mind racing with a million different possibilities.

You paced back and forth in front of the couch, your mind spinning with disbelief as you tried to make sense of the surreal situation unfolding before you. "So you're telling me that I manifested you by my wishbook?" you repeated incredulously, your voice tinged with disbelief.

The intruder nodded solemnly, reaching for the wishbook and flipping it over to reveal a small gold star etched into the back cover. "See this?" he said, pointing to the star. "This is a manifestation charm. It's what brought me here."

Your frown deepened as you studied the tiny symbol, your mind struggling to comprehend the bizarre turn of events. "But... how?" you muttered, your thoughts racing a mile a minute.

The intruder's eyes widened with curiosity as he looked up at you. "Where did you get this book?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

You racked your brain, trying to recall where you had acquired the wishbook all those years ago. And then it hit you like a bolt of lightning. "A mystique store," you blurted out, the memories flooding back in a rush. "I bought it from a mystique store years ago."

You sank onto the couch beside him, the weight of the revelation settling over you like a heavy blanket. It was hard to wrap your head around the idea that a simple book could hold such mysterious powers.

You turned to the intruder, your curiosity piqued as you sought answers to the questions burning in your mind. "Where did you come from?" you asked, your voice laced with both apprehension and fascination.

The intruder hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away as if he were wrestling with his response. "I... I don't know," he admitted finally, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "It's all a bit... fuzzy."

You furrowed your brow in confusion, wondering how someone could not know their own age or origins. "What do you mean, fuzzy?" you pressed, your curiosity growing by the second.

The intruder sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I woke up on your couch with no memory of how I got here or where I came from," he explained, his expression troubled. "All I know is that I felt drawn to you somehow, like I was meant to find you."

"You didn't have a life before?" you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief as you looked at the intruder sitting beside you.

He nodded solemnly, his expression tinged with sadness. "Yes, I did. But it's all... blurry, like a dream that I can't quite remember."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Where did you live before?" you pressed, your curiosity getting the better of you.

The intruder's gaze drifted towards the window, his hands gesturing vaguely in front of him. "Somewhere like this," he murmured, his voice distant.

You followed his gaze, staring out at the endless expanse of buildings and lights stretching out before you. It was a sight you had grown accustomed to over the years, but seeing it through the eyes of someone who had never experienced it before brought a strange sense of wonder.

"And now?" you prompted, turning back to the intruder beside you.

He shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Now, I'm here," he replied simply, his eyes meeting yours with hope.

You blinked in surprise as the intruder broke the silence, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "I fixed the shower," he announced, a hint of pride in his voice.

You widened your eyebrows, your mind struggling to process his words. "You... fixed the shower?" you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief.

The intruder nodded eagerly, a pleased smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, it was just a small problem with the resistance. I managed to sort it out," he explained, his tone casual as if he hadn't just performed a miracle.

You couldn't help but stare at him in astonishment, your mind racing with a million questions. How had he known there was a problem with the shower? And more importantly, how had he fixed it so quickly?

But before you could voice your thoughts, he continued, "Oh, and I went to the supermarket and washed your clothes too."

Your jaw practically hit the floor as his words sank in. "You... went to the supermarket?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

The intruder nodded, his smile widening at your stunned expression. "Yep, got everything on your list. And the laundry was piling up, so I took care of that too," he said nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You were at a loss for words, your mind reeling with the sheer absurdity of the situation. This man, this stranger who had magically appeared in your living room, had taken it upon himself to fix your shower, do your grocery shopping, and even wash your clothes—all without being asked.

"But... why?" you finally managed to sputter out, your voice tinged with confusion.

The intruder shrugged, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "Why not?" he replied simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"Come here," he beckoned, motioning for you to follow him into the kitchen. With a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, you trailed after him, unsure of what to expect.

As he lifted the lid of the pan on the stove, a delicious aroma wafted up, making your mouth water. "Wow," you murmured, impressed by the sight of the freshly cooked food before you. "You cooked all of this?"

He nodded proudly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yep, thought I'd whip up a little something for us to eat," he replied, gesturing towards the table where two plates were already set.

You couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness, grateful for the unexpected gesture. But then your eyes drifted to the clothesline in the corner of the room, where an array of freshly washed clothing hung neatly.

"Oh my god," you gasped, your hand flying to cover your face in embarrassment. "You washed everything?"

The intruder followed your gaze, his eyes landing on the recently laundered garments with a hint of amusement. "Yep, everything," he confirmed, his tone light and playful.

Your cheeks flushed crimson as you realized just how intimate some of the items hanging on the line were. "I... uh..." you stammered, at a loss for words.

He grinned mischievously, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Hey, I gotta say, those puppy-stamped underwear of yours are pretty cute," he teased, a playful glint in his eye.

You buried your face in your hands, the heat of embarrassment spreading across your cheeks. "Oh my god, stop," you groaned, mortified by the unexpected turn of events.

[...]

As you emerged from the warmth of the bath, wrapped snugly in your pajamas, you found Mingyu already fast asleep on the couch, curled up into a small ball. Despite the strangeness of the situation, a pang of sympathy tugged at your heartstrings as you watched him sleep.

You couldn't deny that he looked rather adorable, all shrunken and peaceful in his slumber. If you had asked for a short man in your wishbook, he certainly fit the couch.

But as you glanced at your bed, you knew that letting him sleep there was out of the question. He may have magically appeared in your life, but he was still a stranger, and you weren't about to let your guard down just yet.

Sure, you could kick him out onto the cold streets, but the thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. You weren't heartless, after all, and it was clear that he didn't have a place to go. He hadn't asked to be here, and the circumstances of his arrival were still shrouded in mystery.

But as you glanced at him sleeping peacefully, his features softened in the glow of the moonlight, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of responsibility towards him. After all, he was just as much a victim of whatever strange forces had brought him here as you were.

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to the fact that he would have to stay—for now, at least. You could figure out the details in the morning, once the shock of the day had worn off and your mind was clearer.

As you stirred awake to the aroma of freshly brewed coffeee, you nearly jumped out of your skin before remembering that Mingyu was there. With a mixture of relief and gratitude, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

As you got ready for work, the thought of facing another chaotic day loomed over you like a dark cloud. But as you emerged into the living room, the sight of a steaming mug of coffee waiting for you on the table brought a small smile to your face.

You took a tentative sip, and It was so good that you couldn't help but shake off the idea of going to the coffee shop today.

"Mingyu, I'm leaving," you announced, grabbing your bag and heading towards the door. "I'll be back at 7pm. Do you need anything?"

Just as you were about to step out, Mingyu appeared in the living room, a packed lunch in his hands. "Here," he said, offering you the lunchbox. "Eat well, and I'll be waiting for you."

You couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness, but as your eyes fell on him, clad in one of your shirts from a rock band, you couldn't suppress a laugh. The shirt was stretched to its limits, barely covering his tummy while his biceps threatened to tear through the fabric.

"Okay, I'm definitely going to buy you some clothes," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Can't I walk without them?" he teased, his eyes dancing with mischief.

You widened your eyes in mock horror. "Of course not!" you exclaimed, feigning shock. "You can't just walk naked on the street!"

Mingyu tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Can't I?" he countered, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, shaking your head in disbelief. "No, you definitely can't," you replied with a chuckle. "Now, behave yourself while I'm gone, okay?"

Mingyu nodded solemnly, his smile widening. "I promise," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

As you sat down to eat your lunch at work, you couldn't help but notice the curious glances from your coworkers. They watched you with envious eyes as you savored each bite of the delicious meal that Mingyu had prepared for you.

Suppressing a smile, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Mingyu for his thoughtfulness. Despite the strange circumstances of his arrival, he had gone out of his way to make sure you were well-fed and taken care of.

As you enjoyed the flavors of the homemade meal, you couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through you. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about Mingyu's character and the bond that was beginning to form between the two of you.

As the evening rolled around and you left work, you were determined to fulfill your promise to yourself and Mingyu. You headed to the shopping district, the image of Mingyu looking like a doll lingering in your mind.

You browsed through the racks of clothing, selecting pieces that you thought would suit him perfectly. It was a strange feeling, shopping for someone else with such care and attention, but with each item you picked out, you couldn't help but imagine how handsome Mingyu would look in them.

You found yourself spending more on clothing for Mingyu than you did for yourself, but you didn't mind in the slightest. After all, he was the one who needed them the most, and you were determined to make sure he looked his best.

With each new outfit you selected, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up inside you. This was your chance to dress Mingyu exactly how you had imagined your dream boyfriend to be, and you were going to make sure he looked absolutely perfect.

You arrived home to find Mingyu sitting on the couch, your wishbook in his hands. As you entered, he quickly put the book aside and rose to help you with the heavy bags of clothing.

"You didn't need to buy all of these," he said, his expression turning slightly sullen as he glanced at the bags.

You brushed off his concern with a wave of your hand, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "It's fine, Mingyu," you reassured him. "I have a good salary now, and it's nice to be able to buy things for someone else, not just for myself."

As you settled onto the couch, Mingyu's gaze lingered on the bags of clothing beside you. There was a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as if he were eager to see what you had bought.

Mingyu removed his shirt as you sat on the couch, unpacking the bags of clothing around you. You couldn't help but steal a glance at his form, admiring the way the fabric of his jeans clung to his legs and the muscles rippled beneath his skin.

Noticing your gaze, Mingyu chuckled softly. "Like what you see?" he teased, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

You blushed slightly, feeling caught off guard by his remark. "Um, I was just admiring the clothes," you replied, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Well, how about I model them for you?" he suggested, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You couldn't help but laugh at his suggestion, the tension melting away as you relaxed into the playful banter. "Like a parade?" you asked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Mingyu nodded eagerly, already reaching for one of the bags. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, his excitement contagious.

As he began to try on the new clothes, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. It was like watching a fashion show, with Mingyu as the star of the runway.

With each new outfit he tried on, you couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he pulled off each look. From casual jeans and a t-shirt to a sleek button-down shirt, he looked absolutely stunning in everything he wore.

s you walked towards him with the silver chain in hand, Mingyu watched you with a curious expression, his eyes following your every move. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you as you approached, a strange tension building between the two of you.

With a slight frown of concentration, you struggled to fasten the chain around his neck, your fingers fumbling with the clasp as you tried to maneuver it into place. Mingyu stood patiently, his eyes fixed on you as you teetered on the tips of your toes, trying to reach him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to secure the chain around his neck, the silver gleaming against his dark shirt. As you took a step back, you couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through you. It was the closest you had ever been to Mingyu since he appeared in your life.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you met Mingyu's gaze with a shy smile. "There you go,"

Mingyu glanced at himself in the mirror, adjusting the silver chain around his neck before walking over to you with a grateful smile.

"Thank you," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours with warmth and sincerity. "You didn't have to do all this for me."

You returned his smile, shaking your head. "It's the least I could do," you replied, your tone light. "After all, you didn't exactly ask to be summoned," you added, making air quotes with your fingers for emphasis.

Mingyu chuckled, the sound warm and melodious. "I suppose you have a point there," he conceded, a playful glint in his eyes. "But I'm certainly not complaining about it."

"Hmm, Mingyu, do you want to hang out?" you asked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Mingyu frowned slightly, looking at you with curiosity. "Where?" he inquired, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

You grinned, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of showing Mingyu a good time. "Just wait here, I'll get ready," you replied, hurrying off to your room to change.

It was Friday night, and you were used to spending it with your friends, going out and having a good time. And what better way to show Mingyu a bit of the city than to take him out with you?

You turned around to find Mingyu standing in your bedroom, his eyes lingering on your black dress and the silver chain adorning your neck. His gaze was filled with curiosity as he took in your appearance.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you met his eyes. "Well, what do you think?" you asked, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. "Are we matching tonight?" he teased, gesturing to his own black shirt and jeans.

You chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his playful banter. "I guess we are," you replied, a smile dancing in your eyes.

Mingyu's eyes softened, a genuine smile lighting up his face. "You look beautiful," he said softly, his words filled with sincerity.

A blush crept up your cheeks at his compliment, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness at his words. "Thank you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

As you entered the bustling club with Mingyu by your side, the loud music and flashing lights engulfed you both. Mingyu seemed to take it all in stride, moving through the crowd with an ease that suggested he was no stranger to such environments.

You couldn't help but notice the curious glances directed at him as you made your way to the bar. Tall, charismatic, and undeniably handsome, Mingyu certainly attracted attention wherever he went. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride knowing that you had such a captivating companion by your side.

Taking a seat at the bar, you turned to Mingyu with a smile. "What'll it be?" you asked, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the music.

Mingyu glanced at you, a playful glint in his eyes. "Surprise me," he replied, his voice tinged with excitement.

You grinned, turning to the bartender to place your order, as you waited for your drinks to arrive.

As Mingyu glanced around the crowded club, his eyes filled with curiosity, he turned to you with a thoughtful expression.

"Hey, do boyfriend and girlfriend usually come to places like this?" he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

You paused for a moment, considering his question carefully. Did Mingyu see the two of you as boyfriend and girlfriend? The thought sent a flutter of excitement through you, but you didn't want to jump to conclusions.

"Well, sometimes," you replied, choosing your words carefully. "Couples come here to have fun and let loose together."

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on yours. "So, are we... like that?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his question, the possibility of being more than just friends with Mingyu sending a thrill through you. But you didn't want to assume anything without knowing how he felt.

"I'm not sure," you admitted honestly, meeting his gaze with sincerity. "What do you think?"

"Well, you wrote in your wishbook that you wanted a boyfriend," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Your eyes widened in surprise, realization dawning on you. "Oh, right," you said, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice. "I guess I did, didn't I?"

Mingyu shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I guess I just wanted to understand," he admitted. "To see if... if maybe I could be that person for you."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his playful tone. "I suppose you are," you admitted, feeling a warmth spread through you at the thought.

After a moment of silence, you couldn't help but ask the question that had been nagging at the back of your mind. "Am I even your type?" you blurted out, unable to contain your curiosity any longer.

Mingyu's eyes traveled over you, his gaze intense as he took in your appearance. He seemed to be studying you, his expression unreadable.

You held your breath, waiting for his response, unsure of what to expect. The tension between you was palpable, as you waited for Mingyu's answer.

He bit his lip, a gesture that sent a wave of heat coursing through you. "You're exactly my type…" he replied, his voice husky.

"Is that so?" you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock skepticism. "Well, you'll have to work harder than that to win me over."

Mingyu chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, I plan to," he replied, his voice dripping with confidence. "After all, I'm everything you wanted, right?"

You couldn't help but shake your head at his boldness, feeling a rush of excitement coursing through you at the prospect of what the night might hold.

"Maybe," you replied with a grin, unable to resist the playful banter. "But I'll believe it when I see it."

Mingyu leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered softly, sending shivers down your spine. "I read the last pages of your wishbook," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "And let me tell you, I can definitely make all your wildest dreams come true."

And in minutes, everything happened.

You found yourself naked on your couch, your body laid bare before Mingyu, who gazed at you with desire in his eyes. Your legs were spread wide, draped over his shoulders as he knelt before you, his hands trailing over your skin with a gentle touch.

As you held your wish book in your hand, Mingyu's voice broke through the silence, his tone teasing yet filled with curiosity. "So, what's your first wish?" he asked, his eyes locked on yours.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat, embarrassment flooding through you at the thought of revealing your innermost desires. But with Mingyu's gaze burning into you, you couldn't hold back.

"I... I wished for a guy who could make me cum on his tongue," you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu's eyes darkened with desire at your words, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

As Mingyu's tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe along your folds, a shiver of pleasure shot through your body, leaving you trembling. You gripped the wish book tightly in one hand, your nails digging into the pages as Mingyu's mouth worked its magic on you. "Oh fuck, Mingyu!"

With each flick of his tongue against your clit, you felt yourself unraveling. His arms wrapped around you, holding you steady as you writhed and moaned, unable to control the flood of pleasure coursing through you.

Your other hand tangled in Mingyu's locks, pulling him closer as he continued to devour your pussy. His tongue swirled around your bud, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless waves.

You moaned his name over and over, the sound filling the air as Mingyu's tongue drove you closer and closer to the edge. You felt yourself dripping with arousal, the combination of Mingyu's saliva and your own juices coating the couch beneath you.

As Mingyu's tongue penetrated slightly into your pussy, a gasp escaped your lips, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. You looked at him with wide eyes, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to form coherent words.

"What... what are you doing?" you managed to gasp out, your voice laced with desire and anticipation.

But before you could even finish your question, Mingyu's tongue penetrated you again, sending a shock shooting through your body. Your legs shook on his arms, your whole body trembling with need.

"Oh Mingyu, that feels so good" you moaned, your voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and desperation.

Mingyu's lips curled into a wicked grin as he continued to pleasure you with his tongue, his movements becoming faster. He sucked on your clit, flicking it with his tongue before diving deep inside you once again, driving you to the brink of orgasm with each tantalizing stroke.

As you held onto Mingyu's locks tighter, he moaned in response, the vibrations sending a surge of pleasure on your pussy. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of your orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation.

"I'm... I'm cumming," you gasped, your voice strained with the effort of holding back your release.

Mingyu looked up at you, his eyes dark as he asked, "Are you going to cum on my tongue, just like you wished for?"

You nodded desperately, your whole body tensing with anticipation as you felt the waves of pleasure building inside you. The wishbook slipped from your grasp, completely forgotten as Mingyu's tongue continued to lap your clit.

"Yes," you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, just like that."

And with a final flick of his tongue against your clit, Mingyu pushed you over the edge, making you come undone, riding his face to ride your orgasm, your mind clouded with the intensity of your orgasm.

As Mingyu got up, holding the forgotten wishbook in his hands, he turned to you with a curious expression. "Let's see what your next wish is," he said, his voice tinged with excitement.

Your hands, still trembling from the recent orgasm, reached out to take the wishbook from him. You flipped through the pages until you found the next wish, your heart racing with anticipation.

And as you read the words on the page, your cheeks flushed with heat at the explicit nature of the wish. It was about a guy who didn't go easy on you, who took control and pushed you to your limits.

You looked up at Mingyu, your eyes filled with a mixture of desire and apprehension. "Is... is this something you can do?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu's lips curled into a wicked grin as he met your gaze, his eyes dark with desire. "I can do whatever you want," he replied, his voice low and husky.

As Mingyu lowered his pants, revealing his big, throbbing cock, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with apprehension. It was something you had written in your wishbook - a cock that fulfills you - but you hadn't expected it to be quite so... big.

His cock laid heavy in his hand as he stroked himself, the slick sound of precum making itself known with each movement. You felt your cheeks flush red as you watched, a mix of desire and uncertainty swirling within you.

"It... it won't fit," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you met Mingyu's gaze.

Mingyu chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "Don't worry," he reassured you, his voice husky with desire. "I'll make it fit."

As Mingyu laid you down comfortably, spreading you wider, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and embarrassment wash over you. His cock slid against your pussy, teasing but not yet penetrating, and you squirmed beneath him, feeling yourself growing wetter with anticipation.

You almost covered your face in shame, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his intense gaze. But Mingyu's teasing words only served to fuel the fire burning within you.

"That's all you wanted, isn't it?" he teased, his voice laced with desire as he looked into your eyes. "A guy with a big cock to fuck your brains out? Well, lucky for you, I'm here, hm?"

His words sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you, and you couldn't help but arch your hips, silently urging him to take you. You wanted nothing more than to feel him deep inside you, filling you completely and making you cum.

As Mingyu continued to tease you, his words sending shivers of desire down your spine, he remarked on your hectic work schedule. "You work so hard," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "You need someone to take all that stress out of you."

His words hit home, resonating with the part of you that longed for release, both physically and emotionally. You couldn't deny the truth in his words; after all, you had spent so long shouldering the weight of your responsibilities alone.

As Mingyu's cock teased against your clit, the friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Every movement, every touch drove you closer and closer to the brink, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

And just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, when you felt yourself on the verge of exploding with pleasure, Mingyu slammed his hard cock inside of your cunt with a force that took your breath away. Your pussy stretched around him, so tight and so full, that you could barely contain the overwhelming sensation.

As you arched your back in pleasure, the sensation of Mingyu's cock buried deep inside you driving you to new heights of ecstasy, he teased you mercilessly. "I'm still," he murmured between moans, his voice laced with desire. "You're almost cumming."

His words sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through you, your pussy clenching around him with each tantalizing movement. Mingyu's cock felt impossibly hard and thick inside you, stretching you to your limits as he held himself still, savoring the exquisite torture of denying you release.

He put your knees on your chest and started pounding inside of you, hitting that spongy spot dead-on with the first thrust. You screamed in your living room, rolling your eyes back in sheer ecstasy.

No mercy, just like you wanted.

Mingyu looked at your pleasured face, making sure he was hitting all the right spots to drive you wild. And judging by the way you were moaning and writhing beneath him, he was definitely doing something right.

"You're so wet for me," his voice dripped with lust. "You can't get enough of my cock, can you? You want me to fuck you harder, don't you?"

You nodded eagerly, unable to form words as pleasure washed over you in waves.

As Mingyu pounded into you harder, your body tensed, your abdomen trembling with anticipation as you felt the orgasm approaching. He bit his lip, holding back his moans as your walls spasmed around him, indicating your impending climax.

You gripped the couch tightly, your nails digging into the fabric as pleasure washed over you in waves. But no matter how hard you tried, nothing seemed to relieve the overwhelming sensation building inside you.

And then it hit you, like a tidal wave crashing over you with unstoppable force. You came, hard and fast, your orgasm ripping through you as you spasmed uncontrollably beneath Mingyu.

You came on him, on the couch, on his cock, unable to contain the sheer intensity of the pleasure coursing through you. And as Mingyu watched you cumming in a matter of minutes, a proud moan escaped his lips, his eyes filled with satisfaction at having brought you so much pleasure.

As Mingyu held your legs to the sides, spreading you open and angling his cock in a way that his pelvis rubbed against your clit, you squirmed helplessly beneath him. Every movement sent jolts of oversensitivity coursing through your body, and you cried out in pleasure and desperation.

But Mingyu held firm, his gaze locked with yours as he reminded you of your wish for him not to take it easy on you. "You wanted this," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You wanted me to push you to your limits."

You whimpered in response, the sensation of his cock rubbing against your clit driving you to the brink of insanity. "I can't take it," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't take it anymore."

But Mingyu only moaned in response, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm as he continued to tease and torment you. "You'll need to take it," he whispered, his voice sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

"Just a little more," he urged, his voice filled with desperation. "I'm almost there, baby. Just hold on for me."

As you held Mingyu's neck, drawing him closer to you for another kiss, you found yourself lost in the intoxicating sensation of his lips against yours. But with each moan that escaped your lips, it became increasingly difficult to maintain the kiss, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body making it impossible to focus on anything else.

Mingyu noticed your struggle, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched you writhe beneath him. His face contorted in pleasure, mirroring the ecstasy written all over yours, as your walls pulsed and contracted around him with each thrust.

As you trembled beneath Mingyu, tears slipping from your eyes, he kissed your face gently, his lips tracing a path of comfort and reassurance. "I'm cumming for you," he murmured, his voice soothing and gentle as he tried to calm your racing heart.

But your chest rose and fell in erratic waves, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you closed your eyes tightly, desperate to hold on just a little longer. And then it happened, a silent moan escaping your lips as your body tensed and your pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave of sensation.

You came again, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you gasping for air, your entire body trembling with the intensity of it all. And as Mingyu watched in awe, unable to hold back his own release any longer, he let out a surprised moan of pleasure, his own orgasm crashing over him in a wave of ecstasy.

As Mingyu's warm cum filled your cunt, mingling with your own juices, you let out a contented sigh, feeling completely spent and satisfied. Your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat and cum.

Feeling utterly relaxed, you laid your head back on the couch, letting out a deep breath as you allowed yourself to bask in the afterglow of your orgasm. The tension in your neck melted away as you finally allowed yourself to relax.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he looked down at you.

You nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, I'm good," you replied, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

Mingyu leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours as he spoke. "That was... so good," he said, his voice filled with awe. "I've never felt anything like that before."

You chuckled softly, feeling a sense of pride swell within you. "Yeah, me neither," you admitted, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction spread through your body.

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "Who knew that silly wishbook would actually work?" you remarked, shaking your head in disbelief.

Mingyu leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips. "Well, I'm here now, and I don't plan on going anywhere," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

2K notes · View notes

laurelsofhighever · 4 months

Text

A list of potential cures for the Calling, that we know about, that BioWare has apparently forgotten

Andraste's grace: it's not specified whether the flower the kennelmaster has you pick in the Korcari Wilds is Andraste's grace or if the game just needed a one-off asset and decided to reuse one they already had. However, in the dark future in DAI, Leliana is found to have unusual tolerance for the taint, and in DAO she talks about her mother pressing her laundry with dried Andraste's grace flowers, so it makes you wonder. Anyway, the flower stops Barkspawn becoming a ghoul and seems to make them immune to the taint from that point on.

Maric's longsword: he finds it in the Deep Roads and is suprised it isn't covered in the same Blight-rot as everything else - until, that is, he touches the sword to a patch of it and sees it wither away. Whether it's the dragonbone the sword is made of or the runes on the blade is difficult to say, though if it was just the dragonbone then it would make sense for that to be a more well-known property of the material (and would have been an interesting reason for why dragons were hunted to extinction). If Alistair carries it with him, doesit slow the progession of the taint through his body? Does he know its effects, and give it to the HoF to help keep them safer on their journey to find a permanent cure?

That obsidian dagger Duncan finds in The Calling: the dagger belonged to First Enchanter Remille - who also gave the expedition members brooches that accelerated the spread of the taint. iirc the both the dagger and the brooches are made by the Architect with Blight magic, which means the darkspawn magisters have more knowledge of how the Blight works than the Chantry attributes to them.

Whatever the fuck is going on with Avernus: he hasn't managed to cure himself yet, but he's managed to make it to 200 and the Warden can let him continue his experiments if they don't kill him - and he'd be a really useful resource if the Warden later wanted to send him other potential cures for testing.

Dragons: they have an ability to isolate the Blight in their bodies by forming crystaline cysts around the initial infection to stop it spreading. Useful if it can be more widely applied. Also, it's implied that Maric's reaver blood, which Calenhad gained by mixing his blood with a dragon's, is what somehow cured Fiona of the taint, kinda like a reverse STI, BUT in the Deep Roads they went through an area where the walls were coated in a pale, chalky substance suspiciously devoid of Blight-rot and she touched it, so I'm a bit suspicious of that.

Blood magic: makes sense since the taint is a problem that starts with infected blood. There are two major instances in DA canon where blood magic has been used to purge the taint from an object or being (both by elves btw). The first is Isseya using it to draw the taint out of a clutch of unhatched griffon eggs, which she says is only possible because the taint hasn't yet taken over the hatchlings' bodies to the same extent that it had with the adult griffons. The second instance is Merrill purging the Blighted eluvian in DA2. It's insane that Anders - who is a reluctant Warden and who possibly knows the HoF seeks a cure - isn't more excited about this. She literally removed the Blight from a fully tainted object. Since Isseya proved the same can be done with living tissue, it's probably the closest we've come to an actual cure, but since it also took years there's no telling if it could be a practicaly solution for all Wardens

#dragon age #dragon age meta #da meta #i know HOF is looking for a cure 'deep in the west' but really #we all know that was just to get them out of the way so DAI's problems weren't solved in the first five minutes #grey wardens #hero of ferelden

533 notes · View notes

comicaurora · 1 year

Note

do you have any tips on writing soft magic systems? I only ever see them talked about when people are comparing it to hard magic systems or criticising it, which is a shame because I love systems where magic is just in the background being unimportant, with implied rules that will never be explained

god I wrote up like eight paragraphs of explanation and I was really working out some cool stuff there and then the app glitched and destroyed it all and I'm so upset

Unfortunately this reduces to a previous problem, which is "figure out how Tolkien did it and then do that."

Middle Earth is laden with magic. Hobbits being good at hiding is magic. There's a random throne in the ruins at the end of Fellowship that lets whoever sits in it see literally the entire world, and that's hella magic. Aragorn radiates One True King magic and occasionally heals people with a touch. Galadriel's mirror lets people see any point in time, past or future. Gandalf knows several spells, but most of the time he's doing less granular stuff by making lights or small fires or going all Servant Of The Secret Fire Wielder Of The Flame Of Anor etc etc. Elves are inherently so magical that the words of their language are never forgotten by anyone who hears them, the laws of physics don't apply to them, their havens are magically pleasant and beautiful, and the planet itself is magical for them - flat for the elves, round for everybody else.

The benefit of a soft magic system is that it produces a feeling in the characters and audience that the world is vast, wonderful and unknowable. It's at its best when it can answer why, but not how.

Why did the old empire of men have a throne that let you see the entire world? That makes sense! It's hugely tactically advantageous! HOW did they get the damn thing? No idea, doesn't matter, they clearly made it work somehow because the throne's right there. Why does Galadriel's mirror give you limited, randomized omniscience? Because while it's a useful tool if you can use it, seeing the future is a dicey and weird game, and the future can change if someone knows it's coming. HOW does riverwater in a birdbath do that? No idea.

Soft magic systems start running into difficulties when the writer needs to decide how it can or can't solve a given situation, which is a very common issue in storytelling, a format almost entirely centered on problems and solutions. For hard magic systems with clear parameters on what is and isn't possible, this is comparatively quite easy. The wizard can't magic this problem away because-

They're out of spell slots :(

They don't know a specific spell that can do that specific thing

There's another caster nearby stopping them

The object that lets them do magic isn't working

They need to speak words/do gestures/use materials to cast, and they can't for whatever reason

There's something "antimagic" around stopping them

Etc etc. The possibilities are easy to run through, because the "how" is clearly defined, and can be negated into a "how NOT." If magic uses spell slots, stop the characters using it by taking those slots away. If magic needs a material focus, break or destroy it. This prevents magic from feeling like an unsatisfying "a wizard did it" fix for all difficulties because the wizards can only do specific things under specific circumstances.

Soft magic systems can contrive answers to this too, but it can be a bit tricky to justify, and if it's Too Convenient it can feel like the magic system really just does what the writer needs it to do. When asked "why can't magic solve this problem?" soft magic systems can answer in several ways:

Too tired, sorry :( magic is Taxing and stuff so the caster can tip over whenever's convenient

They're in a Bad Vibes zone that's hindering their ability to cast because soft magic can be impeded by soft problems like "somebody was very mean here once"

That specific magic is tied to a specific location, like a magical elf forest, and doesn't work outside of it because it's intrinsic to the place and can't be replicated

There's another magical being around and their kung-fu is more powerful

These explanations work, but that's conditional on the story not making the audience think the magic SHOULD work in this situation, and this is entirely based on what's been established in the story thus far. If the wizard has been able to fly up until now, parking the gang at the bottom of the cliff and saying "sorry, fly machine broke" feels contrived. But if we've only ever seen other, intrinsically magical beings fly, the audience is unlikely to expect that the party's humble wizard will suddenly bust out a set of feathery wings as a gift from baby jesus himself. On the writing side, it's really a matter of feeling it out and making sure nothing feels too jarring - if the character who's previously displayed a certain specific space of abilities suddenly does something completely unrelated (like going from clairvoyance to slinging fireballs, or from a healing touch to earthbending) that feels inconsistent AND it teaches the audience that this soft magic system is softer than they realized, and can then make it much harder for the writer to then convince them that this caster CAN'T spontaneously manifest a power or gimmick that'll save them. But if the magical characters or objects operate within a specific space - one character that specializes in fire, one object that specializes in remote viewing, one artifact that lets its holder control the winds - then the audience will expect and accept things that fit in those broad, soft categories without speculating too much on the underlying "how" of their mechanics.

But the temptation to explain "how" is very strong for writers, and soft magic systems especially have trouble with this, because soft magic systems start calcifying into fragmentary hard systems when they're forced to explain "how". It locks in a hard-defined axiom that can be logically extrapolated. Because a soft system is not DESIGNED for that kind of internal logic, doing that will usually cause axiomatic collisions as they contradict one another. If a hard system is a crisp, geometric crystalline structure where any tangent line drawn through it will intersect cleanly with other lines in very predictable ways, adding "how"s to a soft magic system is like drawing tangent lines through a bowl of pudding - you're gonna get a lot of intersections in awkward places.

To pull an example out of absolutely nowhere, if a soft system without clear rules establishes something like "this spell can be used to summon an object towards the caster, but it DOES NOT WORK on living things", there are a number of questions that can become relevant:

Who made that spell to have those limitations?

Why can't WE make spells that DON'T have that limitation?

How is the spell defining "living things"? Would it work on a plant or a skeleton or a piercing in someone's body?

Why did you let this character use it on a living thing anyway, joanne?

In a lot of soft systems that try to lock in hard spell parameters, "who made these spells" and "why can't WE make spells" become the first and most obvious axiomatic clash. If magic can be created to do what the caster wants, why and how does that work, and why can't WE do it? This forces the writer to come up with an explanation to solve the clash without letting the protagonists make up whatever spells they want, therefore solving all plot problems forever - sometimes something like "the inventors of spells were intrinsically magical beings, like elves or dragons or whatever, and thus we ordinary scrub mortals can't make new ones." That's a functional explanation, but it reduces to a previous problem again - that this hard-ish magic system was created by someone with access to an unstructured soft system.

In a soft magic system, the only answer to the question "how does this magical thing work" is "because magic." If any other explanation is needed, things rapidly collapse into hard lines and axioms and covering for edge cases. How can elves run on powder snow, shoot targets in the dark and see for hundreds of miles? They're magical. Does that mean they can fly like a balrog or sling fire like gandalf or control weather like saruman maybe can? No, of course not, that's not their kind of magic and we have no reason to expect it from them. They're just magic. Magic means a lot of different things, and in a soft system the audience has to operate based on vibes rather than rules.

This can be difficult to balance. For instance, Star Wars has a soft system in The Force, and if you squint, every single movie and show uses it differently. It's not super disruptive to the audience's immersion because it's never framed like a Hard System with Hard Rules and it almost never pulls something out of COMPLETELY nowhere, but if you look at what it does from movie to movie and then show to show, it expands from "influence the wills of the weak-minded", "seeing the future a little bit" and "force choking" to "general telekinesis" and "limited telepathy" to "FUCKING LIGHTNING FROM THE HANDS MAN" which is a hell of a twist the first time you see it, to some even more buckwild stuff in the two different animated Clone Wars (like Mace Windu fighting an entire droid army Samurai Jack style and using the force to pull every bolt out of one of them at once, or the planet with the living incarnations of the Light and Dark Side) and the explanation never goes further than "The Force is magic, it's in everything, people who are good at The Force can use it to do a buncha stuff." It's not consistent, it doesn't have rules, but the audience accepts that Force users can just kind of do stuff that fits the Vibes of the stuff it's already been shown it can do. And as SOON as they tried to say "The Force is strong in people who have LOTS OF MIDICHLORIANS" everybody hated it, because it gave us a "how" answer to a question nobody wanted to ask and it made this pervasive, wonderous, soft magic system that Surrounds And Binds Us Luminous Beings Are We into "we are space wizards because we contain an above-average number of bugs."

As a chronic worldbuilder myself, I absolutely understand the impulse to explain and overexplain and lock in the Hows and the Whys, but as far as I can figure it, soft magic systems live and die on the writer's ability to restrain themselves from saying "how." The answer is "magic." The rest is just writing the story in such a way that "magic" doesn't become plot-breaking.

#asks #writing stuff

2K notes · View notes

talesofadragon · 5 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

Summary: Theodore Nott came to learn that an inciting incident can alter the course of history. Lucius Malfoy’s fall led to Draco’s dark mark and the death of Dumbledore. The rise of the Dark Lord urged Harry Potter into hiding and Death Eaters into prominence. And then there was Amycus Carrow, with his tainted hands on Y/N, who forced Theodore Nott to do the unforgivable.

Warnings: Sexual assault, attempted rape, graphic description of violence, panic attacks

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Non-Slytherin!Reader

Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 5.8K

All Masterlists | Theodore Nott Masterlist

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐬. The lines between the two flow steadily, each following its own cadence. And yet, despite their distinct course and the light years between them, they somehow find a way to draw parameters of joint space. Somehow, someway, they eventually overlap—meeting each other at the apex of catalysts and the twists between junctures to shape history and write the present.

Today starts like most stories do: quaint and subtle, setting the tone for an inciting incident that will tip this fable on its axis.

It’s a typical day, or as typical as it could get during Y/N’s last year at Hogwarts. She’s sitting at the far end of her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, donning the same apprehensive expression as all her classmates. The turmoil that governs the halls is a jarring contrast to the flourishing and effervescent school of witchcraft and wizardry Hogwarts once was.

In this mangled reality, there are specks of the idyllic tales she’s heard about, and witnessed, growing up. Slytherins and Gryffindors sustain their infamous rivalry while in search of their individual purpose, purebloods hold themselves on par with Merlin himself, and more often than not, students find refuge in a forgotten nuke in Hogwarts when the burden of magic becomes too heavy to bear.

In the first drafts of the story, Hogwarts held its students under one embrace. But now, as we’re nearing a hazy end, an isolating veil drapes over the school, fracturing it into fewer than four houses and dividing it more than ever before.

“Now, as Barty Crouch Junior has so tirelessly shared, you have already been acquainted with Merlin’s three most formidable spells,” Alecto Carrow, one of Voldemort’s trusted Death Eaters explains. Her heels dig into the marble floors of the classroom, their screeches ricocheting across the walls in warning.

“The Unforgivables,” her brother Amycus eagerly finishes. His yellow teeth wither under the dim light of the darkened sun as his arms open wide. It’s unsettling how he and his sister welcome such misfortune so openly.

As it happens every single time the Carrow twins revel in the darkest boulevards of magic, Y/N shifts in her seat until she’s nearly imperceptible. Each time, her eyes rove the expanse of the classroom, seeking out the comfort of peculiar hazel eyes. Within just ten seconds, her wandering gaze comes to rest on the idle brown walls, a weight of defeat settling upon her.

Upon her reluctant return to Hogwarts this year, Y/N was met with a torrent of unimaginable changes, starting with students being separated not only based on their house but also their blood status.

Purebloods became a procession of peacocks—majestic, refined, otherworldly. Only allowed to flick around with students of the same upper class.

Half-bloods, on the other hand, belong to inconsistent ideologies. They teeter on the precipice of honor, waiting for Death Eaters like Umbridge and whoever else is in the Ministry to decide their fate.

Muggleborns, it's best not to get started.

Y/N doodles a few meaningless shapes, swirling her quill around the parchment as she thinks of Theodore. Lately, it's become increasingly difficult to talk to him, let alone spot him, with all the changes in place.

Her classmates know she’s not paying attention and that she's only pretending she has her nose buried deep in her notes. Her quill, which scratches against the parchment, is nothing but a ruse to get the Carrows off her scent.

This class truly has nothing to offer except for a modicum of nostalgia and a barrage of abuse, so if the Carrows are so gullible to believe that Y/N is actively listening, then so be it.

By now, she takes it a step further, looking up to meet the eyes of the young children brought forth by the Carrows. She’s mastered the art of stoicism to a T, gazing at their expressions without showing a measly emotion. But every single time, she finds herself transported eons back to a time when things were drastically better.

Her memories vary, depending on whatever catalyst she encounters. She recalls seeing a girl with ginger waves once, and her mind acted on autopilot, bringing her back to the times she and her friends would huddle in their common room to animatedly talk about the latest Weasley prank.

At the previous hints of pink, she remembered Umbridge when she was finally escorted outside of Hogwarts grounds.

And today, her memories are not too different. Bittersweet at best and wistful at most.

She finds a boy biting down on his lower lip. He’s a Gryffindor, judging by the color of his tie, more so by his audaciousness when he decides to lift his head and contain his fear. His eyes are hazel, edging closer to honey brown underneath the dim light of the classroom. And her mind is cruel enough to conjure the image of Theodore hovering above her naked body with lustful hazel eyes and abused fiery lips.

Theodore doesn’t particularly fancy his eye color—he doesn’t quite fancy much about himself. He’s not oblivious to his popularity, but unlike Draco Malfoy, who shines like the stars, Theodore Nott glows like the moon in a dance of subtlety and intensity; a paradoxical luminosity that always leaves Y/N in awe.

He never particularly bothered her during their first couple of years at Hogwarts, which explains why they never interacted until their fifth year. Back when Umbridge was foul toward the student population, especially vile toward anyone of lesser blood.

Dennis Creevey, who had been a first-year at that time, fell victim to her malice. His penance for being born to muggle parents was bloodily etched on his hand. Y/N tried to help him, even though her own hand was hurting just as badly. The healing spells didn’t counter the dark magic infused in the quills, and while she could handle the pain, the poor eleven-year-old couldn’t.

"May I?" a voice softly breathed from behind her, causing her to jump slightly. She turned to see the unexpected sight of Theodore Nott, dressed in an emerald green tie and an aura of pristine silver. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and her hands trembled, a reaction heightened by the delicate hints of cinnamon swirling in the air.

When Theodore pulled out his wand, Dennis cowered. And to her surprise, Theodore’s face fell. Yet he quickly covered his crestfallen expression with a mask of pure stoicism.

Y/N’s gaze meandered away from the Slytherin and settled on the young Gryffindor. “It’s okay, Dennis,” she recalled herself saying at the time, even though she hadn’t mentally given her words the green light to tumble out of her mouth. Both Dennis and Theodore seemed equally surprised, turning their heads her way. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

Maybe it was the softness of Theodore’s hazel eyes, or maybe it was how he abstained from touching the boy's bruised hand and elected to kneel to his level. To this day, Y/N doesn’t know what exactly made her fall for Theodore at that exact moment in time.

Yet, all she knows in certainty is that she’s in love with Theodore Aurelius Nott. Pureblood, Slytherin Elite, Son of Darkness. But what can she do if one glance at his hazel orbs leaves her drowning in the depths of his moonshine?

“Miss Y/L/N!”

Y/N’s head jerks when a protruding voice disturbs her reverie. She chances a glance at the front of the classroom, finding Alecto Carrow’s lidded eyes on her. Bright and sage, a stark contrast to the malevolence nestled within them.

“Yes?” Y/N wonders aloud.

“Given your diligence in recording the theoretical aspect of The Unforgivables, I believe it’s time for you to engage in the practicalities of said lesson,” Alecto announces with a tone that leaves no room for negotiation or refutation.

With a sharp nod, she ushers Y/N out of her seat, beckoning her over until she's two steps away from her. Y/N stands idly, unaware of whether she's going to role-play as the tormentor or the tormented. But her internal questions are answered the moment Amycus Carrow shoves the Gryffindor boy with hazel eyes into her line of sight.

"Go on." Alecto wears a sinister expression as she levels Y/N with a taunting smile. "Demonstrate your aptitude to the class.”

Y/N doesn't step back nor does she shy away. She clings to the apathetic front she's adopted from her boyfriend, her gaze falling on the young boy, and her thoughts drowning out Alecto's sharp voice. By the time Amycus asks her to draw out her wand, she's mustered up enough confidence to answer with a terse "no."

“What do you mean no, you insolent brat!” Alecto bellows, being the first to succumb to her temper. For a snake, she is known to be as hot-headed as a lion.

“I refuse to perform any curse on anyone,” Y/N clarifies, purposefully refraining from calling her “professor.” And if she had half a brain cell, perhaps she would’ve figured it out.

“Is that so?” Alecto challenges.

“Yes.”

“Very well, despicable half-breed. You know the rules. You’re either the rodent or the snake. Guess you’ll always be the former.”

She's calm and aloof on the outside, but Y/N is dreading what’s coming next. She’s never fallen victim to the Cruciatus, though she has heard all about it from Theodore and his friends—even once from Harry.

She watches with steady eyelashes as Alecto draws her wand and points it at her. Although the curse is released, and screams reverberate across the walls, both Alecto and Y/N remain silent.

To Y/N's horror, the young Gryffindor boy thrashes on the ground with clenched fists and agonizing wails. Above him, Amycus stands like a conductor, his wand beckoning the crooked notes of the boy's voice to rise to a crescendo.

Finally, the screams die down, extinguishing and feeding the anguish of every student at once. Amycus turns to address the class, dismissing them all except for one. “You go ahead, Alecto,” he directs toward his sister. “If the little mouse wishes to squeak, then she’ll have to suffer graver consequences than what you have to offer.”

Whatever Amycus has in mind seems to appease Alecto. Her expression is mirthful as she grabs the robes of the young Gryffindor boy and sweeps him out of the class, using his body as a cleaning broom.

The students all file out, their glances lingering on Y/N. As the last of the students leaves, Amycus turns to the young girl.

“Your wand, Miss Y/L/N,” he demands. Y/N debates not giving it to him, but she knows if she doesn’t, he’ll come and collect it himself. So, she reluctantly hands it over. “Ah, pretty little thing. What’s the core?”

“Dragon heartstring.”

“Fitting for a spitfire like you.”

“I thought I was a meek little mouse,” Y/N counters, making Amycus grin.

“You are a lot of things, little girl,” he replies as he twirls her wand in his hand. “The wood?”

“Larch.”

“Enlighten me, Y/L/N,” Amycus voices out. If Y/N’s a mouse, then he seems to enjoy being a cat. His long and calloused fingers trace her wand while he circles her, trying to break her resolve. “What does the wood say about you?”

The question strokes her ear, carried by Amycus’ ghastly voice. Y/N stills, not seeing where he’s going. She jolts as Amycus taps the wand against her thigh, particularly the exposed skin between her skirt and stockings.

“It’s best paired with wizards and witches who possess hidden talents,” she replies tersely.

The hum coming from her side indicates that Amycus is listening—paying attention, though, not so much, considering he’s rather preoccupied with poking her skin with her wand while rotating around her.

He’s playing with his food, Y/N tells herself, knowing this is just another trick of his. Somewhere in his sadist brain, his senses are sparking with delight at the prospect of Y/N’s discomfort, relishing the power he has over her.

A part of her wants to jam her wand in his eyes, pluck his eyeballs out, and proceed to stuff each in his nostrils. But another part of her stands idle, not even blinking as he keeps up his ministrations.

Amycus smiles, taking up more of her personal space. Y/N’s senses are lit on fire as he traces her wand across her body. “Is your mouth a part of those talents, filthy witch? You don’t talk much, but rotten girls like you must know how to use their mouths.”

“To scream, I presume,” Y/N breathes. Her quip hits Amycus right in the face, and the maniac grins. His face is painted with a nefarious glee, that of a predator eager to feast on its prey.

SA and Attempted Rape Content Begins Here. Skip Through This Scene by Scrolling to "Scene End."

The unsettling sensation against her ribs dissipates when Amycus pulls the wand away, but the apprehension still lingers. As she mentally prepares herself for the inevitable pain that comes along with the Cruciatus, Amycus’ hand cups her chin, and his molten lips crash against hers. The sensation is so crippling and unfavorable it sends her tumbling back into the table.

The pressure on YN’s cheeks intensifies until it becomes sharp and metallic. Fingers dig into her flesh, paving a path for Amycus’ tongue to follow. Though her hands slap against his chest, legs flailing around, he continues his exploration in the depths of her throat.

It feels like he’s finally thrown her off a cliff, yet with all the energy Y/N can muster, she pushes his body away and slaps him across the face.

He looks at her with unadulterated rage. Y/N forgoes reading his face in favor of bolting toward the door. But before she reaches the handle, she’s yanked back by her robes. The fabric tears, as does her heart. Amycus then throws her on top of the teacher’s desk and catches both her wrists in his hand.

“Pitty your blood is impure, little witch. If you had to match your filthy mouth with something, I’d rather it be your pussy than your blood.”

“Get off me,” Y/N enunciates with a quiver in her voice. It seems to feed Amycus’ wicked desires because she suddenly finds him nipping at her neck in pure delight.

“You’ve disobeyed my direct order. When witches are bad, they’re punished.”

“You’re sick!”

“And you’re delicious.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, burying his face further in the junction between her neck and shoulder. His kisses are filthy, heavy, frigid. They make her body feel like ice—they make her feel as if she's been snatched and thrown into the depths of the Dark Lake.

Amycus' hands grab her waist and flip her over until her gaze meets the darkness of the desk’s wood. If the sensation of the wand against her thigh left acid in her mouth, then Amycus’ fingers left her with bile overwhelming her senses.

“What a pretty little ass you’re hiding under here. It was made to be ruined.”

Y/N doesn’t have time to panic. In fluid movements, Amycus lifts her skirt, rips off the shorts she typically wears beneath, and spanks her ass.

She yelps, struggling against the hand against her back that’s keeping her on the desk. She’s hit one more time and then two and three. The slaps are forceful and fiery, leaving her skin scalded and singed.

A roar erupts from the depths of her soul when she feels a finger easing her thong. The force of her scream catches Amycus off guard, enough for Y/N to elbow him and dive to the ground for her wand.

“Cruc—”

“Oh, so now you want to cast it!”

With ease, Amycus manages to slap Y/N’s wand away. He ruthlessly places his palm against her stomach, pushing her back to the ground.

Her head aches from the force of the blow, a scream barrelling through the space between her lips when Amycus towers over her, digging his obsidian nails into her skin.

“It’s a shame that the most delightful toys happen to be the filthiest. Maybe this will teach you and your kind that you will forever remain beneath us.”

Y/N cries as Amycus incapacitates her lips. She squirms underneath his body, vaguely aware of the fabric he’s tearing in half, though oblivious to what clothing item it belongs to.

She tries to non-verbally cast a spell, but her mind is too distracted to focus on the incantation. All she knows is that she needs to get Amycus off her. And yet, no amount of strength in her hands or her spells manages to draw him to a stop.

His spit traces her lower lip, tantalizingly closing the distance between her mouth and collarbone. Y/N shudders, bellowing at the thought of his saliva trailing her skin.

She wails, screams, and shouts until she realizes that Amycus probably cast Silencio without her knowing. Though futile, she tries to push his body weight off her, even resorts to kicking his ribs.

It doesn’t work... until by some miracle from Merlin himself Amycus’ body flies toward the back wall, releasing her.

Scene End

Y/N gasps, pushing her palms against the tiled floor and lifting herself to a sitting position. Her chest heaves as she looks at the discarded fabric of her skirt, the scattered buttons of her shirt, and the remains of her robe that are haphazardly strewn across the room.

Faint sounds register at the back of her mind. A heavy breath, mirroring her own, emanates from behind, accompanied by an erratic heartbeat that matches hers. Amidst it all, she picks up on Amycus’s forlorn groans, muffled by the surrounding darkness. Resilient ropes now bind his hands and feet, rendering him completely motionless.

“Get Y/N out of here,” a voice orders. It’s far away—at least, Y/N thinks so. But despite the fog around its edges, she can somehow sense the enmity lacing it.

Before she can process the shadows creeping closer to her side, a robe is draped over her shoulders as arms wrap securely around her.

She thrashes against the man holding her, trying to repel his hands from her body. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says in a low octave. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise you. He can't touch you anymore.”

The voice carries a bit of an edge, yet it’s the most soothing sound she’s heard all day. Her lips quiver as she internally fights with her thoughts, head spinning and shaking in defeat.

The halls around her move fast, time seemingly irrelevant at this point. She’s crying and mumbling incoherently, burying her face in the fabric of this stranger’s clothes, which smell like a familiar blend of mint and citrus.

The robe is wrapped tighter around her shoulders, and she receives a faint squeeze as she’s brought up a staircase. Words are whispered, a door is opened, and voices mingle with one another until a delicate tone enters her headspace.

“Draco, who’s that you’re carrying?”

“It’s Y/N,” the male voice, the one belonging to Draco, replies. Draco kicks open a door and places Y/N on the bed. She wails even more at the action, curling herself into a ball—at this point, she doesn’t know if she should be relieved or terrified.

“What the hell happened to her?”

“Lower your voice, Pansy! Can’t you see she’s scared enough?”

Pansy stutters for a few seconds before asking again, “Who did this to her?”

Draco hesitates, looking between the two young women. “Amycus,” he replies. And though it’s barely a mumble, it’s enough to send Y/N spiraling.

Pansy’s jade eyes tread carefully as they peer over Y/N’s frail body. She sees the red marks on her hands and the blood that seeps from the cuts on her face. “Cruciatus?” she asks, but something in her tone makes it obvious that it’s just wishful thinking.

“No,” Draco answers. Y/N’s sniffles and shudders fill the air as Pansy and Draco exchange silent glances. Y/N clutches her throat, rubbing it to try and get herself more oxygen.

“What do we do?”

Draco's footsteps echo as he retreats toward the door. “You're going to her clean up. If Theo hasn’t killed Amycus yet, I’m going to join him in his pursuit.”

There was something in that last line that clamped agony around Y/N’s heart, squeezing like a vice. She wept, only vaguely conscious of Pansy’s soothing touch in her hair and the remnants of Draco's anger looming around the room.

The mirror in the bathroom captures two girls in its glassy frame. One of them is put together while the other looks worse for wear. Y/N stares at her wild reflection, moroseness painting her irises. A tiny sob escapes her barely parted lips, and Pansy decides to tear Y/N’s attention away from the broken girl staring at them through the mirror.

She softly holds Y/N's hand and helps her to the shower, turning her head when Y/N undresses and then carefully cleans her blotched skin. Once they’re done, she lends Y/N some pajamas and underwear, giving her the privacy and space to change into them before helping her dry her hair.

Wordlessly, Pansy leads Y/N away from the mirror. Her grip is firm as she swings open the bathroom door. Y/N squints against the sudden invasion of light from the room beyond. Her gaze takes in the expanse of her surroundings and the rich emerald hue of the Head Dorm's walls. Then, her eyes lock on two men. One with platinum blond hair and the other with brunette locks, both embracing the shadows with deadly intent in their fiery eyes.

She bristles, caught between shying away and clutching the attention she’s receiving from them. Y/N doesn’t dwell on their appearance for too long, afraid to develop the ability to read their eyes and stumble across the shame and pity possibly nestled within them.

Pansy whispers something under her breath, which Y/N fails to hear under the barrage of despondency she finds herself in. She feels Pansy’s hesitant touch on her forearm, briefly catching her and Draco retreating away, the door to the room closing behind them in a soft thud.

Silence runs freely around the room, undeterred by the confined space. Its loudness disturbs Y/N, forcing her to wince. She wills herself to say something, but all the words are lodged in her throat, searing it from the inside out.

Theodore takes a deep breath, the sound piercing the stillness in the air. But his words don’t leave his mouth the same way his gaze never paces beyond a fixed point on the ground.

“Why are you not looking at me?” Y/N asks. She’s surprised that she’s articulated her thoughts even though she doesn’t have enough strength to speak.

Theodore shakes his head. “I can’t”. His words have finally forced his gaze away from the ground, although he’s refusing to settle it on her.

“I wouldn’t look at me either. I get it.” Y/N sniffles. Darkness clouds her sight. She’s tired and aching, barely finding her grip on reality.

She wants to scream, and she wants to cry, but it’s like she doesn’t know how. Like her mainframe has been hijacked and forced to shut down.

Something in her periphery catches her attention. Theodore is now standing before her, hands trembling by his sides. They move to embrace her waist, to hold her shoulders, to cup her face; but they never do. They only trace invisible lines that mirror her figure. It’s then that she notices the fray in his gaze. Instead of the rejection and the indifference she expected to find, there’s dejectedness, misery, and pain.

“I would look at you forever if you let me,” Theodore answers with his hands hanging in the space between them. “If you would still allow me.”

“Touch me,” Y/N retorts. Hold me, find me, fix me, love me.

And Theodore does just that with unprecedented gentleness. He traces her cheeks with his thumb and pulls her by the waist closer to his side. His nose nuzzles her neck, breathing in her scent. His lips press against the shell of her ear, his warm breath penetrating her soul and sending a fond tingle down her spine.

He touches her, not like she’s a porcelain doll or a bomb about to detonate. Theodore touches her like she’s the most precious piece of art he’s ever encountered, and he’s afraid that even one stumbled breath could force her colors away.

“I love you,” he confesses. A loan tear accompanies his declaration, inscribing the words on the fabric of Y/N’s soul. “And I am so sorry. So sorry, my love, for what my absence and negligence have put you through.”

“Theo…”

“No, Y/N. Don’t. Don’t try to say anything.”

Theodore wipes her tears, gently tucking some loose strands of her hair behind her ears. Y/N nods, allowing her boyfriend to hoist her in his arms and carry her to bed. She hides her face in his neck, absorbing the lingering traces of his sandalwood perfume.

When he places her on the bed, she notices the change in his demeanor as soon as she tangles her legs with his and rushes to press his hands against his chest. Her eyes fill with tears, and she fails to prepare herself for the rejection that she’s afraid might be rushing her way.

To her astonishment, Theodore pulls her into a tighter hug, as if seeking a connection beyond the surface, binding together not only their skin but also the intricate layers below—souls, hearts, atoms.

“Did he…” Theodore pauses, choking on unspoken words. “Did he go far?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. You and Draco came just in time.”

“Barely,” Theodore denies. A stolen glance gives Y/N a clear view of his clenched jaw and crestfallen expression. The war may be looming, yet to find its way to the Wizarding World, but it has already made a dominion in Theodore’s features.

“Just in time.” Minutes pass while Y/N is cocooned protectively in between Theodore’s strong arms. They encase her, filling her being with the placidity and the tenderness that was robbed of her some time ago. Her eyes close, darkness not as fearful as it seemed now that Theodore’s hands are weaving through her hair, and his voice is carrying a tender lullaby. “How did you know?”

Theodore’s hands falter and the lullaby ends on an abrupt note. His arms pull Y/N closer to his chest as he ruefully explains what happened, “A Gryffindor boy found me. He was frightened and jittery. At first, I thought it was because Draco and I were standing together. Then he said something about Defense class, the Carrows, and the Cruciatus. Your name got suddenly tangled in the gruesomeness of it all, so I rushed to the class as far as I could."

“They wanted me to hurt him,” Y/N whispers in a small voice.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

Theodore looks at her with glassy eyes. “I know you would never.”

His hands sooth Y/N, featherless touches easing the altercation in her soul. She meets his gaze, heart shattering at the pain he harbors. She knows it’s not easy for Theodore to be a silent witness to torture and heartache, understanding his unconscious pursuit of absorbing pain and rooting it in his very being.

“Please,” she begins, “please, Theo. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’ve failed you.”

“You haven’t.”

He declines vehemently, “I promised to protect you from the darkness, within me and beyond me. And I have clearly done neither.”

You had no way of knowing! Y/N argued in her head. You, alone, cannot stop this madness! So many rebuttals swarmed her head. She wanted to pelt Theodore with every single one of them until some sense got knocked into him. “Darkness,” he says so loosely as if he’s ever exposed her to any of it.

All her memories of Theodore exuded radiance, softness, and peace. He’s only ever steered her away from the darkness, whether it was from Umbridge’s rage back in their fifth year or Bellatrix’s terror at the end of their sixth.

To hear him speak of himself like this, as if he’s one of them, a shadow branded by the mark of death, hurts her more than everything Amycus did to her.

“What did you do to Amycus?”

The name causes Theodore’s heart to falter beneath the palm of Y/N’s hands. Her eyes trace the veins of his neck, astounded by the voraciousness of their color as his anger escalates. “Do not say that vermin’s name.”

Darkness, Theodore would call it if he sees himself now. And yet, all the world is witnessing according to Y/N is a darker shade of love and concern: just as sincere, a lot more warm.

“Carrow,” she concedes. “What did you do to Carrow?”

“I wanted to kill him,” Theodore answers, studying Y/N’s face for a reaction. “I almost killed him.” If he was looking for disgust or worse, fear, he couldn’t find it.

“And why didn’t you?”

“Draco called for Snape.”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly reaching for Theodore’s hand. He hesitates when he feels her fingers entwining with his, his entire body tensing up. Y/N whines, and he takes a deep breath. His fingers lace hers, squeezing her hand before bringing it to his lips.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No, treasure. No one but that scum is. Snape said nothing. He bound his hands and escorted him to his office.”

“Good,” Y/N replies.

“That’s not all,” Theodore intercedes, catching her attention. She shifts in his arms, waiting for his next words with a bated breath. “We’re getting out of here.”

“What?” came Y/N’s question, loud, sharp, and clear. It resonated across the room, its intensity surprising her.

“I didn’t kill him,” Theodore admits. He’s moved now, body peering away from Y/N’s hold to better study her features. She keeps them the way they are, with no sign of the acrimony or the resentment she suspects Theodore is looking for. “But I uttered the curse. Draco countered it somehow, and it rebounded. Hit the wall instead. It cracked it, the same way I cracked every single bone in his body and watched him bleed.”

As the words fill the space between them, Y/N rushes to grab Theodore’s hands. She inspects them, surprised to find them bruising. How did I not notice this? She whimpers at her late realization—her neglect. But now that his marred skin is beneath the scrutiny of her gaze, she notices that the blue and purple hues are rather dull in comparison to his story.

Almost as if Theodore understood her silent concerns, he says, “Cruciatus.” Y/N bristles, though her body is traitorous. It jolts, feeling the residue of the invisible needles and acid-laced knives. “Sectumsempra and a number of other curses that flew out of my mouth without thought when I saw you lying on the ground, bloody, bruised, broken. Torn apart by a mediocre middle-aged man, who deserves nothing but to be decapitated, torn limb by limb, until there’s not even a speck of his ashes left on the—”

“Theo,” Y/N calls. Her voice quivers, mirroring the tremble in her body provoked by those words. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Theodore sniffs, head bending down.

Y/N rushes to answer, shaking her head violently. “No. I can’t… I can’t watch you tear yourself apart over something you had no control over.”

“I—”

“Listen to me! Listen to me and not the lies inside your head. Does it hurt? Yes. Does it burn? More than a Fienfyre cast by the Dark Lord himself. But you weren’t there—no, Theo, come back to me and stop traveling in time inside your head.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Theo defended. “Merlin, Y/N. I was supposed to be there! To stop all of this from happening. You’re in pain more than I am. So, stop subduing my anger!”

“I’m subduing your self-deprecation! I’m not blaming you, and I will not fan the flames of your anger. You had no way, no way, of knowing Carrow would do this.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he answers with a little less fight and a lot more shame.

“And you did, Theo,” Y/N assures, bringing herself closer to his side. “You got me out. You saved me. In time.”

“Barely!” Theodore screams, a deluge of tears running down his cheeks and burying his resolve in their undertow. “But I will save you this time. I’ll get you out. Both of us. I’ll take you away, somewhere you won’t be judged for your blood or your mistake in choosing me.”

“You’re not a mistake,” Y/N refutes, begging him to see. “Look at you. You call yourself a vision of darkness when your love and care are shining through.”

“My love is darkness, viciousness, and cruelty.” It’s almost as if he’s the one begging her to understand.

Tears cascade down Y/N’s cheeks, the saltiness and bitterness of them incomparable to Theodore’s words. “Your love is fierceness,” Y/N professes, taking Theodore’s breath away, “seamlessness, and warmth.”

“I made you live through pain,” Theodore pleads, hoping she agrees. But she doesn't.

“And I will live after it. With you.”

The confession shatters the last of Theodore’s resolve. He pulls Y/N closer, resting his chin atop her head and enveloping her in a secure embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he cries. His fingers weave through her hair, gripping the back of her head, anchoring himself in her presence—convincing himself that she’s here. “You are so strong, treasure. Stronger than life and death, brighter than light, and fiercer than shadows. I love you, my Y/N. And I swear on your head and on my mother’s last breath that I will protect you even if I have to do the unforgivable. No one will ever hurt you ever again.”

“I know,” Y/N nods as Theodore kisses the crown of her head. Each breath he takes, every word he utters, stitches through her soul, mending the threads of herself. “And I love you all the more for it.”

“You’ve endured a war. I’ll be damned if I let you face another,” Theodore promises, capturing Y/N’s lips and seamlessly merging his soul with hers.

Tomorrow remains uncertain, and control extends only so far across the horizon. Yet, with Theodore by her side, Y/N finds the darkness considerably less formidable. Even if he's willing to commit the unforgivable to shield her, forgiveness is a given. His love is the tranquility that follows the tempest, and she's ready to navigate through destruction with Theodore.

I never expected to write about a topic as painful and sensitive as SA or rape.

Hearing the multiple accounts of women around me made me see how these experiences are prevalent yet scarcely communicated. When I wrote this piece, it was with no intention to diminish the seriousness of the issue but rather use this platform as a conduit to raise the matter and bring it to light. Whether you’ve been personally impacted by this disheartening situation or witnessed someone close to you go through this, I want you to know that you are not alone. You are incredibly brave for enduring this, and there is no reason to feel ashamed. You lived through it and will live after it with even more fierceness and courage than you've ever had.

If you ever feel like talking, please know that I am here to listen, without judgment or reservation. 🤍

All-Fandom Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

#harry potter fanfiction #theo nott #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott imagine #theo nott angst #theodore nott imagine #overprotective theodore nott #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #hp fandom #theodorenott

438 notes · View notes

lujingheswife · 6 months

Text

and it felt like home again.

summary: when he gets drowned in exhaustion and homesickness, the first thing he wishes for is home.

featuring: oikawa tooru

word count: 729

cw: gn!reader, timeskip!oikawa tooru, comfort, oikawa is just homesick, not proofread, intentional lowercase, a bit of fluff <3

author’s notes: wanna write a fic of a character feeling homesick and exhausted (because i was) and oikawa was the first person that came into my mind! hope you enjoyyy

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

it was seven o clock in the evening.

tooru limply stepped into his rented apartment, the familiar loneliness welcoming him with silence. his eyes felt droopy from lack of sleep, his body sore from multiple rounds of exercising and his arms bruised from the strong receives.

he should be used to this, which he is, yet it happened to be one of those days when he felt absolutely, dreadfully exhausted.

he would be lying if he says he does not want to go home; he really wanted to. the countless practices had always made him wanting to just pack his bags and leave. he missed his family and his mother’s home cooked meals, he missed enjoying authentic ramen at the restaurant near his high school, he missed being in the arms if his partner just taking his time to relax.

he missed his home.

tooru placed his bags by the entrance, not bothering to arrange them somewhere. he kicked his shoes off without caring to keep them nicely in the shoe rack. he let his legs drag him towards the nearest, softest place he could find to rest— the sofa.

the apartment was dark although illuminated by the light lingering in the evening sky. he heavily rested an arm over his eyes, a loud sigh escaped his lips.

the first person that came into his mind was you.

he wanted to see you.

tooru suddenly thought of his phone that was left forgotten in his bag. he slightly lifted his arm to take a peek at his bag, but ignored it after.

whatever, not in the mood...

just a little longer maybe.

when his eyes could no longer bear the weight of his consciousness, they finally put him into slumber.

he found himself in a dream. he was in a field of grass with nothing else around him. every direction he went showed no signs of obstacle, only an endless field.

what was he searching for?

where was he going?

he continued walking aimlessly.

ah... how long have i been walking for?

the sound of a bell ringing came to him from the front. it caught his attention, and his legs picked up the pace. there he was, running towards where the bell rung from in hopes of a destination.

a flash of light blinded him.

tooru jotted awake from the sofa as the sound of the ringing doorbell continued echoing the apartment. confused, he definitely recalled not ordering any food delivery today nor did he invite anyone to come over.

"coming," he called. he groggily dragged himself towards the door, not bothering to check his phone again.

his hand reached for the doorknob as he unlocked it open. he had not look at who the person is, yet the shoes definitely belonged to someone familiar. "do you need anythi-"

"tooru!"

what?

his once droopy eyes widened immediately at the familiar voice calling for his name. his head shot up from facing the floor, immediately locking eyes with you.

you stood in front of his door with a big backpack clinging onto your back like a koala and a luggage standing next to you. you were there, physically, in front of him, plastering a grin that he loved so much on your face. "you did not answer my call," you said as you pouted your lips on purpose, yet he was sure that you were simply amused at your boyfriend's reaction.

tooru remained speechless as he observed you top to toe, confirming whether its the real deal, his precious partner, in front of his doorstep. was it a coincidence that you somehow magically appeared in front of him like an angel during the times when he needed you the most? probably.

his hand left the door knob as he immediately pulled you into a tight, warm embrace. how surreal did it feel when he buried his face in the crook of your neck, enjoying the coziness he longed to feel. he felt you responding to his hug as you returned it, and he could feel your familiar scent tickling his nose saying, "it's been a while!"

he stayed with you for a little longer before getting pestered to help you with your heavy bags. he asked no questions, just clinging onto you like a helpless toddler and ended the day with a cuddle.

and it felt like home again.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa tōru #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru imagine #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa fluff

440 notes · View notes

fluffy-dixon · 27 days

Text

I'm not tired

Daryl Dixon x Fem reader drabble No warnings just fluff

In the cozy confines of your shared home in Alexandria, you sat on the well-worn sofa, anticipation humming through your veins. Daryl, the rugged hunter, had been out tracking, his absence leaving an ache in your chest. Unlike his usual motorcycle rides, today he’d ventured on foot, and you couldn’t rely on the distant rumble of an engine to herald his return.

An hour later, the scrape of boots against the wooden floor announced his arrival. Daryl stepped in, his eyes lighting up as they met yours. Gear clattered to the ground, forgotten, as you enveloped him in a tight hug. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs winding around his waist, and nestled into your embrace. His smile pressed against your chest, a silent confession of longing.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled, words barely forming as he rested into your chest, shortly followed by a sigh of relief.

“You sound tired, my love,” you teased gently.

His response was immediate, stubborn: “I’m not.” Daryl was a night owl, sleep a rarity for him, yet somehow your presence always worked its magic. You guided him to the sofa—a nest of blankets, cushions, and scavenged pillows from various runs. He hesitated, those piercing blue eyes studying you.

“I know what you’re trying to do, woman,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. But he settled next to you, sinking into the warmth of the cushions. As he did, you brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers tracing the rugged contours of his face—the sharp jawline, the faint stubble. His eyes fluttered closed, and the crackling fire painted shadows on the walls.

“Tell me about today,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm. “What did you find out there?”

His half-smile spoke volumes. “Same shit, different day—brought two deer back.” You listened as he recalled moments from his day, your fingers never still, threading patterns through his hair. Each stroke seemed to unravel the knots of tension, pulling him closer to the edge of slumber.

Ten minutes slipped by, and his breathing grew deeper, more rhythmic. The lines etched on his face softened, and you marvelled at the vulnerability he allowed only in these quiet moments. His head rested on your lap, and you continued your gentle movements—the soft strokes down his back.

And then, unexpectedly, he snored—a low, rumbling sound that made you chuckle. You draped a cozy blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders, and settled back into the sofa. The fire’s warmth cocooned you both, and you opened your book, the pages rustling like leaves in the wind. You were content, as much as one could be in an apocalypse. The man you loved, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your thigh, the fire crackling, while you lost yourself in the pages of your book, stealing glances at his peaceful face now and then.

---

Sorry I've been quiet, Life shit.

Will be updating my masterlist for you all later.

All my love, thank you for your support while I have been AFK.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #norman reedus #twd #daryl x reader #daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon drabbles #fluffy dixon drabble

333 notes · View notes

jgracie · 1 month

Text

💭 DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

masterlist | rules

in which jason wakes up on a random bus with a random girl and the feeling of your hand in his

pairing jason grace x fem!reader

warnings none as far as im aware!

an my first piece of writing on here!!! very very excited :) i know this has probs been done SO much but i had to make it my first fic LOL feel free to give any feedback!

Jason would say he’s never experienced anything crazier than what he was going through at the moment, but he couldn’t recall anything from before he woke up on that bus - not even his own age, or his so-called ‘friends’, one of which was holding his hand right now. She was pretty, but something about it felt very wrong. She didn’t hold his hand like how he was used to, which was another strange thing. Out of all memories his brain could’ve retained, it chose the feeling of someone’s hand in his.

“Jason, you okay?” The girl asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Nothing was okay, but Jason managed to keep his composure as best as he could. As the day progressed, he eventually figured out many things: his friends’ names (Piper and Leo), the fact that he’s a demigod (that one came to him naturally) and that there was a special extraction team looking for him and his friends. However, none of it was what he was looking for. While he enjoyed gathering more information about the puzzle pieces of his life, ever since Jason had opened his eyes on that bus, there’d been a specific memory that definitely wasn’t fully gone. He’d almost gotten it when he remembered the way someone’s thumb would gently stroke his hand as their fingers interlocked, but it wasn’t fully there yet, not until Piper asked him about the bracelet he hadn’t even noticed he was wearing.

It was simple, just purple and white beads on a string with an initial that definitely wasn’t his dangling off of it, but Jason was surprised he hadn’t noticed earlier. As soon as he laid eyes on it, he knew it was one of his most prized possessions.

Without missing a beat, Jason said, “Oh, this? It was a gift from Y/N.”

Ever since then, nothing was the same. All Jason could think about was her. Somehow, the bracelet had unlocked the vault of memories of them he didn’t even know he had. It didn’t matter if he slept in the cold, harsh atmosphere of Cabin One or on a random piece of ground during their quest, his dreams were always the same. Their first meeting, him helping her with her sparring, her laugh – Gods, her laugh! If that’s what it sounded like in his dream, he couldn’t even begin to fathom what it must be like in real life. All of these little moments slowly began coming back to him and when Jason found out that they’d all be going to Camp Jupiter, his home, he was buzzing with excitement. He’d begun journaling his experiences out of fear that he’d forget again, and he couldn’t wait to be able to tell you all about what he was up to.

Time flies by when you’re having fun. Soon enough, Leo was done with building the Argo II and the three, along with Annabeth, began heading for Camp Jupiter. That’s when the worries began consuming Jason’s mind. As far as he was aware, despite clearly sharing some romantic moments with you, you two never formally started dating before he got whisked away by Hera. It's been months since that happened, what if you found someone else? He wouldn’t have blamed you, he probably broke your heart.

Surprisingly, it was Piper who comforted him. Piper, who’d been fed a fantasy and led on simply for the sake of some Goddess’ schemes. Piper, whose heart he definitely broke the moment he mentioned your name.

“It’ll be fine, Jason,” she said, standing next to him as Camp Jupiter slowly began coming into view, “the worst is over. I’m sure Y/N will understand once we explain everything. She clearly loves you a lot, trust me.”

For some reason, maybe her godly heritage working its magic, he did believe Piper. Although things had been awkward with her, she meant a lot to him, and he’d felt really bad during the conversation they had after their first quest together, so he was glad she wasn’t secretly mad at him. Turning away from her, Jason now gazed upon the shapes of his home with a newfound confidence.

And then he saw you. Whatever his brain managed to come up with in his dreams paled in comparison to the real thing. You seemed to glow and glimmer and shine and all those wonderful things as you walked towards the Argo II with Reyna. While Percy and Annabeth had their heartfelt (albeit strange) reunion, you shared your own.

“Jase!” You said, running to him. Immediately, he picked you up and spun you around. He knew he was probably getting really strange looks from his fellow Romans, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t about them.

Putting you down, Jason wiped a stray tear from your cheek as you began to speak, your voice shaky with nerves, “thank the Gods you’re back! I was so worried when Percy came here and didn’t remember anything, I prayed day and night to anyone who’d listen to bring you home to me with your memories intact. I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” You faltered, unable to even utter the words out of fear they may come true.

Luckily, Jason had many words for you, starting with these: “do you seriously think I’d forget about you?”

#jason grace x reader #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace #jason grace x fem reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #jason grace fanfic #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #jason grace drabble #cynwrites

254 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 6 months

Note

ALSO if roachs womb signature is fae magic,, when he meets up with ghost or the other guys by chance with bookworm (his darling) dO THEY STEAL HIS IDEA??? AND like imagine price somehow hearing this idea and just drifts off into a daydream about his Witch having a *permanent* mark of him, and not even that but its his NAME? duuude hes just gone

*gripping your shoulders and gritting my teeth* do you have any idea how badly I want to give Witch a womb tattoo. Do you have any idea how fucking feral I am for this woman? How feral Price is for her???? GOD

"You're all caged up again," Price tells you looking over the spread you'd laid out this morning. A full tableau of Lenormand, it's a new moon and you'd like to see what coming. You hum, stirring an extra spoon of honey into your ginger tea.

"Correct," you tell him, let him fill in the rest since he's so- You take a breath to steady your thoughts, there's no need to snap over a little concern. "It's that time of the month," you sigh, "don't want anything sniffing me out."

"Blood and magic," Price agrees, "better safe than sorry." He goes back to inspecting your cards. You hardly think he knows what he's looking at, parsing the spiral can make even you a little dizzy.

You assume that's the end of that and go back to your tea. The magical cage you put yourself in makes you a little nauseous the first day, easy enough to remedy. Your lips twitch into a frown as your spell work shifts. The ashen paint and runes moving like snakes against your skin. You don't like that one bit. You turn to look at Price who has his hand raised, his finger stilled in the air at your glaring.

"Don't," you warn him, your skin burning with foreign magic.

"I can help," he promises and you go to stand in front of him. You grip his chin, tip his head back to look at you, his hands grip your hips, thumbs digging into your stomach and rubbing out the ache of cramps.

"I don't need help," you tell him sternly.

"You're all caged up when I can just-" he presses his palm bellow your belly button and your stomach jumps. Heat swims through you, scorches over you really, all your seals forgotten in favor of clutching at Price's shoulders and shuddering. He smooths his hand around to hold your back, tug you close to press his face against you. You can hear the heavy inhale of his breathing, smelling you, smelling whatever he did. "God," he breathes, "you are going to hate this."

"What did you do?" Your suspicion seems to break whatever spell is over him. Price lets you go, leans back and waves a hand.

"Temporary measure, don't worry," that makes you more worried actually, "better than your cage, prettier too."

You don't waste time trying to parse what he means, you go to your bedroom and strip. It's hard to miss. All your previous marks seem to have consolidated themselves over your pelvis. Sigils loop over your womb, spreading up your hips like the limbs of a tree to spell out Price's name. You could kill him. You might kill him. It's weird that your cramps are gone.

You glare at Price's mark. You can feel his magic hugging you, the tendrils of it stroking your muscles. You wonder if he's siphoning off the pain, if he's eating your magic through whatever he's drawn on you. You don't bother getting dressed when you storm out to confront him. Better to do this on unequal footing you think.

372 notes · View notes

llunapastell-reads · 5 months

Text

ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ || ʙ.ᴄ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ bang chan x afab reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ hurt/comfort | fluffy | smut ᴡ.ᴄ :･ 3.7k ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs :･ profanity | sexually explicit | unprotected piv

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ :･ Amidst the mess of an neglected office space, your boyfriend's forlorn piano evokes a wave of painful recognition. You wonder how much dust could collect on your shoulders before Chan realizes he's forgotten you too.

✧.* ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜱᴛ & ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ

An abrupt thud sends a spurt of pain through the crown of your head. It startles you more than anything, breaking your concentration on the drudgery at hand—cleaning out a long-forgotten cabinet nestled in the alcove of your home office. Well, to call it your office isn’t entirely accurate. With all of your boyfriend’s music equipment overtaking the majority of the space, it feels more like a foreign than familiar territory now. You do have your own desk opposite Chan’s makeshift studio setup, right below the room’s largest window so you can draw in the natural lighting. But it’s been a long while since you last picked up a sketch pad.

Hell, it’s been a while since either of you had the time to do anything in this neglected corner of your apartment.

A mumble of curse words falls under your breath as you soothe where you’re sure a decent bump will form later. A small break feels befitting now that the hoard of art supplies is somewhat organized, and you should probably grab an ice pack for good measure. The task has been looming over your head for too long, which is why this rare lull in your afternoon was dedicated to tidying up the room that has been usurped by clutter and storage.

Work has left you drained of all your free time and willpower, and when you did muster up a speck of vigor, it was usually in the name of chores or other responsibilities. Chan was even worse, all his time being spent practicing as he and the guys geared up for another comeback. His life has always been dominated by his craft—the man wouldn’t have it any other way—but you couldn't help but take note of how your moments together had been reduced to fleeting exchanges between late-night studio sessions and pressing deadlines.

You blink away the thought and cast bleary eyes over your shoulder. The beams of light that flood in through slatted blinds appear almost tangible in the air, so much so that you’re tempted to try and grasp one in your hand. Instead, you trace their glowing pathways across the room, where molten colors of gold and clementine reflect off the keys of a piano on the opposing wall. Each ivory piece seemingly ignites in the setting sun’s radiance, and a deep sigh alleviates some of the wistful feelings that thrum in your chest at the sight; it was only a few years ago Chan had bought that secondhand piano from a local shop after months of contemplation.

He somehow always talked himself out of the commitment, too humble to seriously entertain the thought of spending money on himself, especially when there were always bills to pay. Your relationship was fresh then, and even though the secret of mutually bashful affection had only been confessed a few weeks earlier, you were bold and convinced him a bit assertively to think of it as a business expense. The purchase meant aid in refining his skills, to enhance his contributions to his team: the beloved group of friends who looked to him for leadership with nothing but an unwavering confidence that he never quite felt worthy of. That’s what persuaded him to spend the one-and-a-half paychecks it required—the idea of altruism. The recollection of crinkles that formed in the corner of his eyes from unabated joy seems just as vivid as the luminous piano you’re shuffling over to from across the carpet.

Kneeling before it, your body sinks to eye level with the weighted keys. Hesitant fingers hover just above them for a long moment, as if one touch will disturb the magic of its glow and transform it back to an abandoned piece of dusty equipment. You’re not sure what possesses you to purse your lips and blow instead, but it’s a marvel to watch the tiny dust particles suspended in the air become glitter in the sun. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth the whole time you tend to the instrument with a delicate touch, taking time to wipe down each crevice and bend. It was pathetically sentimental, but the keys were left for last. It just felt disrespectful to invoke any sound without deliberate intent. Once satisfied, you sit properly on the bench and admire your work.

It tickles to consider the extent of abuse these well-worn keys have endured at the hand of its enthusiast owner. The piano was the very first thing he had unpacked when you moved into this apartment a couple of summers ago, your first place together. Almost instantly it felt like home, even with blank walls and no furniture, aside from numerous stacks of cardboard boxes. The only thing occupying the room was Chan with a pencil tucked behind his ear to notate every tweak made to the piece he was composing. Sometimes, you’d catch him grinning to himself once the right notes fell into place and the room would suddenly appear brighter. His presence transformed any space into a beautiful sanctuary.

Hands clutch your chest as if it will somehow quell the sharp pang of longing deep within. Have you been so busy and distracted you hadn’t noticed the depth of the void that had stealthily crept into your lives? No, it wasn’t obliviousness. You just didn’t want to hinder him, especially when he was dedicating himself so earnestly to the career he’s built, to the team that needs him. You lied to yourself, said it was fine that you couldn’t remember the last time you ate a proper meal together, or got lost in a late-night conversation that stretched into dawn. It’s only when your head falls against the sternum do you acknowledge the wetness collecting in your waterline. The relegated instrument before you breeds a deeply discomforting feeling of recognition in your stomach.

Maybe you should just stay here, see how much dust collects on your shoulders until he notices. It’s painful to consider if he’d notice at all.

A melody he penned resonates amongst your distraught clamor of thoughts. The recollection is fuzzy, like it’s being filtered through an old phone line. Your hand moves on autopilot until a subtle and delicate sound emerges from the slow press of a key, summoning a wave of calmness to fall over you. Like a hushed secret, the note seems to linger, its tone rich and full, as if time itself has slowed down by its enchantment. With another caress of a key, and then another, every nuanced vibration somehow finds its place in the tranquility of the room bathed in hazy light.

Your rendition wasn’t perfect, but it felt good to get lost in the memories that surface from the music. You picture those tufts of soft curls bobbing along to the rhythm, chiseled features set in fixated concentration before he lost himself in the song. Chan’s passion was palpable, but what mesmerized you most was the graceful arc of his hands that moved with a fluidity that spoke to years of diligent practice. Hands of a god, Jisung would say when you watched them in the studio sometimes.

Your heart does a somersault when your playing is accompanied by the distant sound of a lock unlatching, followed by subdued creaks of floorboards. A stifled chuckle approaches from the doorway and pulls you from the daydream. “Please, don’t stop,” Chan smiles once your eyes meet. “I love this song.”

The man is a vision; dampened strands of hair appear dark against the flush of his skin, a result of what must have been an intense dance practice. A display of dimples almost distracts you from noticing how his shirt clings to the broad expanse of his shoulders. The black fabric does nothing to conceal the swell of biceps when he folds his arms over his chest. As he steps past the threshold of the space, the contours of his profile suddenly shimmer in the light. There’s a hitch in your breath, and your cheeks must appear flush too, but for a totally different reason.

“I don’t remember how this part goes,” you admit and bashfully turn your attention back to the instrument. Your fingers falter as you hit all the wrong keys, pulling huffs of laughter from Chan at the dissonant sounds you’ve produced.

All your muscles tense once he closes the space between you. Tone arms wrap around your body so Chan can guide your hands to the right keys. His breath tickles the shell of your ear when he leans in over your shoulder, the rhythm calm and in complete contrast to the erratic thumping of your pulse.

“I’ll show you,” the low octave of his voice incites goosebumps.

With tender patience, Chan guides your overlapping hands through the first set of notes. He hums along to the melody, harmonizing with the song while your interlaced fingers explore their way across the keys. How you yearned for this, the feeling of his warmth enveloping you—it excited every atom of your being, elicited a kind of vibrating sensation under your skin. You lean back against him and nuzzle the crook of his neck. A deep inhale has you feeling dazed, the mixture of his musk and the scent of smoky vanilla like a potent drug.

“Y/N, you’re not paying attention,” your boyfriend coos.

Just one more inhale before you can respond. The corners of your mouth curl upward as you ask how he can tell.

“You’re making me do all the work,” he tsks with feigned disappointment.

“I’ll give you a reward for your efforts,” the plush of your bottom lip ghosts over the edge of his jaw, feeling the muscles clench beneath. An open-mouth kiss presses into the bone and you’re unable to resist swiping your tongue along his skin. It tingles when Chan’s muffled groan reverberates against you. It only encourages you to suckle at the spot you’ve claimed to relish in the salty taste.

You’re so focused on him, it doesn’t register that the music has ceased until you feel your hands guided to your chest. With your fingers still intertwined, Chan helps you knead at the flesh over your tank top. You exhale a satisfied sigh when he makes you cup your breast and squeeze. One hand fondles while the other creeps down the expanse of your torso, tantalizingly slow. You have to face forward and focus on the silhouette of your figures just to try and regulate your breathing.

“Do you know what my favorite instrument to play is?” His voice is velvet in your ear, his mouth hot on the expanse of your skin. A shiver is the only response you can manage.

Teeth nip at the junction where your shoulder and neck meet. There’s so much unabated hunger behind it, the pleasure of sudden pain pools in your gut. Chan gently pushes your thighs apart and forces your fingers to trail up the skin of your thigh. A high-pitched whine falls past your lips as your hands brush over where you need his touch the most. There’s no point in attempting to hide how much you want that sweet friction on you, and he knows it. Your boyfriend chuckles with your flesh still in between his teeth.

“It’s you, baby. You make the prettiest sounds,” his words get lost amongst the sound of your labored breaths. Hips reflexively buck forward to meet where hands hover over your clothed mound and you can feel the wetness through the cotton fabric, already so damp from just his teasing. Chan hums with satisfaction from your undoing, then rewards you with soothing licks to the indents left behind from his bite.

He’s all over you but not close enough. Only thoughts of wrapping your legs around his hips and feeling the weight of his tongue in your watering mouth flood your mind, washing away all traces of doubt and insecurity. He must be thinking the same because there isn’t a speck of resistance when you shift your body around and tackle him onto the carpet. The action is impatient, ravenous, and completely welcomed by your boyfriend if his bruising grip on your waist is any indication. Your eyelids slip shut with the connection of lips, finally slotted together after what felt like a stagnant eternity. One eager lick at the seam of your mouth is all the prompting you need to part your lips and allow him entrance. With each brush against your tongue, tiny spurts of electricity pulsate down to your core.

“Y/N… Miss you so much… It hurts,” Chan’s confession comes out like a pained moan in between sloppy kisses. Something lurches in your chest hearing the rasp in his voice. You pull away just enough to discern the furrow in his brow, the desperation behind his widened brown eyes. He felt it too, didn’t he? Amid the long and grueling hours of work, your boyfriend must have agonized in your absence, just as you did in his. This anguish etched across his features is all the sobering confirmation you need and much more than you can stomach.

Did he genuinely doubt that you missed him too? How utterly unfathomable is that! Yet, It’s not like you’ve done a stellar job expressing your feelings either. Fuck, you’re such a hypocrite, weren’t you just spiraling from the same exact thought? You curse yourself for ever questioning his adoration, and Chan must see the moment guilt flickers in your eyes because his expression turns fearful. How could you be so stupid as to entertain the idea that the most devoted person you know might waver? When he loved, he did so with the entirety of his being, never allowing himself to hold back. His passion was simply too profound to be restrained, especially when it came to the matter of you.

“I miss you too, Channie,” it takes more strength than expected to keep your voice from trembling. “More than I can even articulate.”

A long, hard kiss finds its place at the corner of his mouth. You hope the chaste action will convince Chan of the sincerity of your words. The softened gaze and release of a withheld breath trapped in his throat appear to be signs of success, but there are a few other methods you have in mind to truly prove your infatuation with him; lewd fantasies that flash behind your eyelids practically have you purring.

The back of your hand gently brushes down his face and you feel your eyes crease with adoration for the man underneath you. When your tongue dips back into his mouth, the maneuver is not as rushed as before-–it’s heavier, sensual, and much more calculated. You’re desperate to swallow every one of his whimpers, every response you can solicit with a grind of hips against your boyfriend’s hardened length. Chan threads the hair at the back of your head between his knuckles and pushes your mouths even closer together until he’s literally stealing your breath.

You disconnect to gasp for air in the crook of his neck. It feels like you’re floating, so lightheaded from it all that your brain lags to process the instant he flips you down onto the carpet. His features go uncharacteristically serious as he sits back on his heels in between your splayed thighs.

“I need you–right now,”

Chan’s hands reach for the hem of his shirt and time seems to tick by in slow motion. Fabric bunches in his grasp as he lifts it over his head to reveal the sculpted muscles of his torso. Your gulp is audible when he frees himself from the restraints of his joggers, the head of his cock is glazed with arousal which glistens in the setting sun. You can’t seem to shuffle out of shorts fast enough.

If only you could see the view from above, how drunk in bliss you must appear as Chan peppers wet kisses down your body, discarded clothing littering the floor surrounding your joint forms. Intrinsically, your fingers card through his hair, like the grip on the brunette strands could possibly help you hold on to the bits of composure that are left. His licks at your flesh are slow, messy, and reduce you to a blathering puddle. Whimpers have devolved into tortured whines at this point, but that’s just how he likes it—you can almost feel his crooked smile when he noses past your navel.

“You sound so fucking perfect,” Eyes nearly roll back into your skull in tandem with the flat swipe of his tongue up your entrance. But then Chan leans forward to hover above you again, and a part of you wants to mourn the loss of delicious pressure until his smug grin reminds you the best is yet to come. “And you taste so fucking perfect… I wanna feel how perfect you fit around me.” He teases your folds with the tip of his cock, eyes dancing over your features for signs of discomfort. Any other time you would find the consideration endearing, but you’re fed up with clenching around nothing.

“C’mon babe, show me how much you missed me,” The command comes out more like a hiss, and that revenant look on his face immediately darkens with lust. Your generous lover doesn’t show any hesitation when he sheaths himself in you, and the sudden fullness punches the air out of your lungs. Your brows pinch together from the stretch, but a wild smile grows on you; It's been so long since you had him like this that you feel insane with want. Nails drag up and down the muscles of his back, motivating a wavelike roll of his hips with every new mark that’s made. He’s exquisite with the plush of his lip tucked between his teeth, obviously impacted by the feel of rubbing against your walls.

Chan arches his back and drops his head down to watch himself disappear into you over and over. His cock feels impossibly deep once you angle your pelvis upwards to chase after his movements, and you know he can feel it hit that spongy spot that will have you seeing stars soon. It’s invigorating, this feeling of fucking yourself on his thickness, but it must overwhelm him because it’s all too soon that you’re forcefully pinned down at the waist and rendered immobile.

“So eager,” he chides with a smirk playing at his eyes. “Don’t you want me to last?”

You’ll blame the slip of this filthy admission on being shamefully cock drunk when you replay it in your head tomorrow. No time to be shy now. “I want you fuck me ‘til I black out full of your cum, Bang Chan.”

You can practically see the static whirl in his head until a switch flips. The carnal desire that remained locked away in the name of chivalry is finally unleashed, and exhilaration sets your body ablaze. He says nothing, just stares at you with blown-out pupils as a swift tug brings you flesh against him. The strength of his grip remains unyielding, even as he's buried in you to the hilt, and a silent prayer is made for there to be visible bruises left from where Chan’s fingers dig into your hips. He savors the snug sensation for a moment before rocking his body forward with a gratifying intensity. As each thrust jolts your body further up the floor, the rub of the carpet on your back burns but in the most delectable way. Ceaseless expletives and groans pour out of him with every squelch of your cunt, but in contrast with the pornographic sounds, something much more tender and romantic blooms in the center of your chest. Soon it’s clawing its way up your throat, pricking at your eyes until a cascade of tears dampens the hair around your ears.

“So in love… with you.. with you, with y-you,” your mantra is like fuel to the hot coil that threatens to snap in your stomach. It’s clear you won’t last much longer, but neither will Chan, judging by how fervent and unharmonious his ruts into you have become. As the haze in your vision dissipates, time becomes elusive, suspended between eternity and a fleeting moment all at once. The emerging image you find above finally propels you over the precipice; It’s your lover, his sweat-slicked skin, the keen edges of his beautiful face, illuminated in a light born between waning sunset and encroaching dusk that splinters your heart open. You’re certain this room exists outside of the laws of space and time. That’s how it feels, anyway.

“Clenching s-so tight, baby,” Chan pants onto your lips, trailing right behind you with his eyes sealed in a rapture of pleasure. A few more languid thrusts has him humming with blissful satisfaction.

Within the next minute or century, you coax his body on top of yours with idle caresses smoothed into his lower back. He obliges, resting his cheek between your breasts as he tries to steady his breath to a calmer rhythm. Fingers trace taut muscles before finding their way into the mess of curls at the back of his head, and Chan purrs at the gentle massage you give him, the sound reverberating down into your ribcage. He’s a toasty blanket on you, warmed by a radiant kind of love.

Your mind floats somewhere so giddy and cozy that it requires actual effort to rouse the muscles in your mouth to form words. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I’ve been feeling lately. I missed you terribly, but didn’t want to guilt you into leaving work. I know that’s where you should be.”

The abrupt loss of heat against your skin jolts you back into reality once Chan raises on his elbows to pin you with a stare. “Where I should be, the only place I ever want to be–is with you. It’s where I’m the happiest. It’s where I belong, yeah?” His voice is firm but there is no actual hardness swimming in his brown eyes, only a will for his heartfelt look to convey the honesty in his words. The smile you return is a knowing one, one full of endearment and serenity.

“Now then,” Chan gruffs as he plops himself back down against you. “What do you want to do tonight?”

Delicate fingers weave through his hair once more as you rest your head on the carpet. Your gaze fixates to the ceiling above, where shadows and soft light sway together in a subtle dance. You can't think of anything you would rather do than this, with him.

ᴀ/ɴ :･ hehe haha been workin on this for a minute! please let me know if you enjoyed it. this fic is v much a self indulgent story born from the lyrics "there is nothin like doin nothin with you" from 'Nothing' by Bruno Major.

#skz smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfic #bang chan fluff #stray kids scenarios #bang chan imagines #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #lluna.p.writes #with you b.c

224 notes · View notes