#but uh. here comes the normal long winded rant in tags

[hyp3rfixation-h3ll]

literally the only siblings who matter….fuck whatever bullshit that’s goin on with bet and stratos and the asshead twins. these two are fuckin ballin and i wish there was more fanon content of them /gen (also i forgot sunny’s lipstick but shhh sh sh its okay)…also hc that theyre horribly rowdy together so growing up they broke a lot of shit roughhousing and they still do!!!! Also I firmly believe both of them should have freckles because they spend so much time in the sun that they got them <3

[the-peachpit]

How I Fell In Love Three Ways

Ship: Shorter / (Y/N)

Warnings: None

Summary:

Of course it decides to the first day on your vacation to cap cod. Shorter as always shows you how to make the most of any situation. You remember all the times you've fallen in love with the mafia boss.

The thunder rolled over the hills; the air was full of static. You knew it would rain since yesterday, you could feel it in your bones with the chill of the wind that raced through the grass where you laid. Cape Cod was the first place you felt the change of the weather so strongly. In New York it felt like it was either summer or winter. You had missed the subtle divides of the world as it spun and changed. Spring was making a mark you’d never smelled before. Laying in the grass you waited watching intently as the clouds darkened turning the late afternoon into an early evening.

Another long roll of thunder shook your core as a hand reaches over warm and reassuring. Turning your head to the side you’re greeted with glittering dark eyes slanted in the corners pulled into a bright smile. Suddenly the sun was back.

“Trust me,” He whispered through the tall blades of grass.

You trust him with your life.

You nod unable to say just that.

Shorter Wong was one adventure after another, a gang leader who you’d never guess had the stomach for it. Though it wasn’t for him, but for the good of China Town, at least that’s what he told you and himself. When he asked you to come with him and his friends to an old house you didn’t even hesitate. If he asked you to jump from the cliff you just might.

“Here it comes,” Shorter’s voice was raised in excitement.

You braced yourself as the first drop fell, it was warmer than you expected on your skin. It started gradually before becoming a blanket of rain falling steadily against your body. Shorters laugh cut through the thunder as it growled low. His face towards the sky, his eyes closed as his chest raised towards the angry clouds above taking it all in. He was beautiful, and this was it, the fourth time you’d fallen in love with Shorter Wong and his patience with the world. Letting it all fall as he embraced it rolling with the waves. The rain itself couldn’t drown him, or quench the fireworks blooming in your chest.

The first time you had fallen in love with Shorters patience was simple. Getting home from work you saw Eji pacing around the kitchen while Shorter sat at the table in the corner looking intently. Eji was upset about something wringing his hands together as he talked quickly about his bad day at work. Slipping back into Japanese on occasion until he noticed you standing in the doorway shocked. Seeing Eji agitated wasn’t a normal occurrence. Sheepishly you closed the door and walked past while Eji groaned and rattled on. You paused on the stairs straining to listen.

“Now she’s going to think I’m” he paused huffing, “Damn it what’s the word? Not all together?”

‘Crazy,’ was the first word to pop into your head. You noticed Shorter hadn’t said a word as Eji worked it out before snapping his fingers.

“Crazy!” Eji shouted.

“(Y/N) isn’t going to think that,” Shorter assured him, “You had a rough day, it happens.”

As Eji continued on his rant you noticed Shorter never just fed him the words he wanted, never interrupted. Eji was free to express his feelings with no rush. You smiled as you continued up the stairs to your room. It was the first time you took note of Shorter’s firecracker personality taking a back seat. He was careful to listen thoroughly to Eji, giving genuine responses. That night while you laid on the couch playing on your phone, you didn’t miss the way Eji hummed while cooking dinner.

The second time you fell in love with Shorters patience was a rush six months later. The end of a roof party. The stars were sparkling while you dimmed the string lights strung along a small section of the roof patio. People were starting to filter out as midnight was on the horizon minutes from striking. The atmosphere had changed and Shorter who had controlled the music most of the night- playing all of his personal favorite party mixes- played something soft and slow. You yawned starting down the stairs with plates in your hand telling yourself you’d let them soak overnight and worry about them in the morning. Reaching into the pocket of your summer dress you realized you’d left your phone upstairs on the table. With a loud groan you trekked back up the stairs pausing at the top.

A wimped made you freeze holding the door open praying it wouldn’t creak. Sitting on the couch looking out over the city Ash’s golden hair was squished against Shorter’s shoulder. Shorter had his arm loosely draped over the back of the couch.

“I still think about it,” Ash said before swigging a beer, “Worried it’s not over, that we’re not really safe.”

“It’s been four years,” Shorter replied.

“Then why am I not over it!” Ash sat up straight.

Shorter’s hand moved to the middle of Ash’s shoulders rubbing gently, “No one expects you to be over it.”

You knew Ash had a rough past, something everyone but you seemed to be around for, for the most part. He doesn’t talk about it, basically pretends it doesn’t exist. You’ve seen Eji rewrite stories from the past on the spot when Ash is around to erase any bad events. Listening in felt wrong, but your curiosity of Ash had skyrocketed for years.

Ash screamed pulling you from your thoughts making your body shiver. His voice was broken as he shouted into the night sky over the honking of cars below. Shorter was a quiet comfort.

Feeling as if you had intruded slowly you let the door click close. It wasn’t supposed to rain, you could go without your phone that night. You never said a word to Ash or Shorter about what you saw that night. Keeping it to yourself felt right, but the next morning when you woke up with your phone next to you and Shorter doing the dishes with a goofy smile your heart did a flip.

The third and most recent time you’d fallen in love with Shorter was right before the trip. Sing wanted to go; Sing always wanted to tag along. No one was against him joining and you assumed it had been decided Sing was coming. Until you heard a familiar groan while you were taking a basket full of laundry to the basement. Peeking around the corner of the doorframe to the kitchen you saw Sing with his head down on the table.

“I have no idea how to write this,” he groaned.

Shorter was slicing an apple at the counter, “Tell me the prompt again, and we’ll think of something.”

Sing had recently started going back to school letting the whole gang thing take a seat on the back burner. It wasn’t easy and took a whole lot of convincing on Shorter’s part. The discussion had taken place on day on accident- it was totally your fault and Sing wouldn’t let you forget it.

Shorter and Sing came home early from the restaurant and caught you dancing in the living room. Shorter joked about your terrible dance moves and you rolled your eyes.

“Ha ha, Sing can tell you these moves are in. He probably sees them at school dances all the time.”

“As if,” Sing scoffed.

You put your hands on your hips, “I should have known you weren’t a school dance guy.”

Shorter put his hand on the back of his neck looking towards the floor, “Sing uh doesn’t go to school.”

“Oh,” You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Why would I need school?” Sing snorted, “I’ve already got a job.”

You shrugged, “You don’t need it, you’re a smart kid Sing. You’ve had great mentors, and the restaurant is great work. It does open more opportunities though, just in case you find yourself wanting to do something different.”

Sing pulled the juice from the fridge, “Sounds like a waste of time to me. I don’t plan on getting too old.”

“Sing,” Shorter’s voice was deep and gruff.

Sing took a long chug from his glass.

Later that night Shorter paced around the bedroom biting his nails as you brushed your teeth peeking from around the frame.

You spat the toothpaste into the sink, “You doing okay?”

Shorter sighed laying back across the bed, “I’m bummed out about Sing. He’s fucking fourteen.” He ran his fingers over his face, “He’s a hot headed know it all who hasn’t realized he’s in over his head. I hate the way he said he didn’t plan on being around long. What kid acknowledges death at 14?”

You walked to the bed sitting next to Shorter gently lacing your fingers through his, “Then talk to him about it. Tell him he should seriously consider doing more.” Shorter kissed your knuckles gently, “I can’t go all authority on Sing, we’ve always been equals.”

“Maybe it’s time to be a different kind of role model for him.”

Shorter looked at the ceiling his dark eyes on focused and his brow wrinkled in thought. You didn’t bring it up again.

A week later Sing was upset with you calling you names accusing you of brainwashing Shorter. Shorter ran into the living room making Sing leave in a stern tone you didn’t hear often from Shorter. It was official Sing was going to try going to school and Shorter was going to help him all the way.

Shorter’s determination to give Sing a better life that didn’t revolve around violence seemed like a no brainier, nothing to get mushy over, but you knew it was a cycle. It was so easy to keep gangs as a family business. Had Shorter not been Shorter Sing could have inherited the gang, if he lasted that long. There was too much bloodshed in New York they didn’t need to add to it much longer.

“(Y/N),” Your name slid off Shorters’ tongue as graceful as the wind snapping you back into this moment.

You were captivated the purple mohawk now flat laying to the side drenched in the spring rain. This moment could have lasted for eternity, and you would accept your fate, to never leave the gaze of a lover that swallowed your heart whole.

“Shorter! (Y/N)!” An outside voice cut through the storm, “You two are going to catch a cold!”

Shorter rolled his eyes dramatically before sitting up, “That’s a myth Eji!” He called back towards the house.

“We shouldn’t worry him,” Your voice sounded small stolen away.

Getting up you attempted to wipe the grass off your ass as if you weren’t drowning standing up. The storm had picked up the wind threatening to rip you off the ground. A warm arm slung across your shoulders, warm and grounding. You let yourself lean into Shorter as his other arm wrapped around the small of your back pulling you into a hug. It felt like nothing could shake you.

Lifting your head you looked up at Shorter smiling as if he’d never known a pain or struggle, as if he’d never feared or hurt, smiling for you. Standing on your tip toes you kissed Shorter surprising the man who always surprised you knowing that you would find new reasons to love him for the rest of your life.

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 2

So much love to @theobscurepotato and @peregrinealpha, you guys are fantastic and I really appreciate the support, it means the world to know that I’m not the only one excited for this! <3

I have no excuse for this one. Pretty sure this is the purest definition of an id fic, because it just kinda wrote itself, and when I was done and went back to read over it the front of my brain was like ‘what the hell did I just create’ and my lizard brain was purring ‘yesss, good’ like goddamn Palpatine. This is definitely not a scenario that I think would actually have happened in canon, but apparently it’s a scenario my brain wanted to play with, and I definitely do blame it on Gerald canonically having way too much fun needling Damien for no obvious reason other than for the sake of winding him up. 

Much like day 1, this is right in the grey area where I wasn’t sure whether to tag it NSFW or not, but I’m erring on the side of caution because I’d rather be overly conscientious than not. I also wasn’t entirely sure how to word the content warning tags, so I tagged it for general self destructive behaviour, because uh - what Gerald is doing here is not how to have a healthy relationship, kids. This is ‘personal experience with adolescent trauma’ meets ‘horrifically bad coping mechanisms’ with a dash of ‘really really warped views on intimacy’. This is also a consent nightmare, because Damien is not aware that Gerald is intentionally provoking him. Please do not try this at home. 

Day 2 - Theme Chosen: Choking

Gerald Tarrant wasn't above using deception to further his own interests, but he preferred evasion to direct falsehood, and he certainly wasn't in the business of lying to himself. Thus, he was well aware of why he was engaged in his current endeavour – that being, inciting yet another argument with his companion, intentionally goading the priest he'd spent the last few months travelling with into a heated debate over the fate of the little girl they'd unintentionally absorbed into their group after encountering the Terata. The part of his mind that was coolly analyzing his actions, though, was smaller than the part which was focusing on the argument itself.

Both of those part combined were smaller still than the part of his brain that was fixated on what the priest's hands would feel like closing around his throat.

“For the last vulking time, I am not just abandoning her!” The Knight's fraying patience finally snapped, and the bulkier man took a step toward the adept, his eyes blazing. He was only letting go this much because Jenseny was well away from the cave that was currently their refuge, gathering sticks with Hesseth to make a fire; the rakh-woman had sensed the building tension, and had deliberately taken the girl out of the way so that the two men in the group could clear the air.

“I don't care if you think it would be easier, I promised to keep her safe -”

His hands were clenched into fists at his side, the force of his indignation expressed through the whitening of his knuckles, the corded tension in his arms as he held himself back from violence. Gerald fired back a retort on autopilot during an appropriate pause in the priest's rant, his own manner cool and detached, his mask of indifference firmly in place despite his mental preoccupation. God, the strength in this man – Damien Vryce was a fighter, and the proof of that was in every line of his body, the broad stretch of his shoulders and the thick muscle that layered his naturally-sturdy frame. His hands were large and strong-boned, the skin tanned and weathered by years of travel, thickly calloused by the tug of leather reins and the hilts of weapons. Fae-augmented healing or not, if Vryce hit him, it would hurt. It would leave a mark, at least for a while.

It would feel real, in the way things rarely did now, isolated as he was by his own carefully crafted cocoon of power.

The words of a past lover drifted through his memory, that long-gone voice dripping with disgust. You're pathetic. So desperation for attention, you don't even care what it looks like. I could make you bleed and you'd say 'thank you', wouldn't you?

“Are you even listening to me?”

Gerald snapped back into the present moment fully, his unnaturally slow heartbeat accelerating a little as he registered the building fury in Vryce's voice. His lack of attention had been noticed, it seemed, and the priest's handsome face was turning an alarming shade of red as his temper swelled. Pride simmered in Gerald's chest at the reaction he'd provoked from the normally level-headed man, satisfaction slithering through his veins even as he replied in a deliberately bored tone.

“It's not as if you're saying anything you haven't said before, Reverend. Given the intensity of our pursuit, the girl would likely be safer out of our presence than in it. Regardless, though, it comes back to the same point; our goals are too important, we can't allow ourselves to be sidetracked by one insignificant chi-”

He read Vryce's intentions through the fae before it happened, the sudden resolve bleeding off the priest in an unmistakable wave of crimson, but his own surprise at finally eliciting such a concrete and visceral reaction kept Gerald from responding in time – not that he knew, necessarily, what response he might have tried to make. In a single smooth movement, the Knight grabbed Gerald's shoulder with one hand, shoving him forcefully backward while the other settled around Gerald's neck. As the Hunter's back slammed into the rough stone of the cave wall, Vryce pinned him there, leaning in as he snarled out his words in a voice gone guttural with rage.

“Don't you dare call her insignificant.”

The vitriolic reply he would have given in any other situation died unspoken as Gerald's usually turbulent mind went utterly, blissfully quiet, only a single line of thought remaining to him.

Yes. That's it. Do whatever you want. Hate me.

Hurt me.

Just don't let me go.

A dark and twisted lesson it might have been, but Gerald had learned one truth of human nature early in life, and had never forgotten it even as centuries passed. People were more than happy to lie and cheat their way through life, and would deceive you at every turn; you could so rarely be sure of  where their real intentions, or attentions, might lie. They could talk, laugh, eat, fuck, and at every moment their thoughts could be elsewhere – but not when they wanted to hurt you. If they were that angry at you, no distractions existed.

Once you drove them over the edge enough to put their hands on you, you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Gerald tipped his head back against the unyielding stone behind him, just to feel the way Vryce's hand was clenched around his neck a little better; he didn't technically need to breathe to sustain himself, but he was reeling and lightheaded nonetheless, from the heady mixture of triumph and adrenaline pumping through his veins. A sensation of mingled horror and satisfaction, so deep it made him nauseous, made him swallow reflexively against the way his mouth flooded with saliva in response – and then swallow again, when Vryce's grip tightened on his flexing throat, strengthening the whirl of emotions in his mind until Gerald felt a very real stab of fear that he might actually faint.

All of it lasted, however, for only the briefest moment.

He could see it as the Knight came to his senses; their faces were only inches apart, wide grey eyes staring into burning hazel, and he saw the exact instant that the blind haze of fury fell away and Vryce realized how far he'd lost control. A wave of horror doused the smouldering blaze in those warm green-and-brown irises, and Vryce wrenched himself away, his hands going lax and falling back to his sides as he stared at the Hunter in horror.

“I'm – I didn't mean – hell!”

Gerald drew in a ragged breath, now bracing himself against the cave wall intentionally as his head spun; there was a vague sense of loss echoing in his mind, but far louder was the roar of victory, the greedy hunger in his chest transmuted to a throb of purring satisfaction.

Yes, I can hold you, I can draw your focus, I can make you care...

Careful this time to show nothing of the emotional tempest in his mind, Gerald lifted one hand to rub lightly at his no-doubt-bruising neck, casting the Knight a sardonic glance.

“Don't flatter yourself, Reverend,” he muttered, with a icy steadiness that he most certainly did not feel. “I assure you, if I felt you posed a genuine threat, you would never have gotten that close to me. You couldn't truly hurt me if you tried.”

At least, not when I can make you look at me with that much fire in your eyes...

Vryce seemed to have registered his words as the subtle threat Gerald had meant them to be taken for, though, if the priest's thoroughly shaken expression was anything to go by. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated for a long moment, looking deeply conflicted and vaguely sick. Finally, he shook his head sharply, and bit out a curt few words.

“It won't happen again.”

With that proffered statement – surely meant to be reassuring, or perhaps pacifying, for no doubt he assumed the Hunter was furious about Vryce's presumption in laying hands on him – the priest turned and strode hastily out of the cave. Gerald stayed where he was, hands splayed out against the cold rock behind him, feeling his pulse beating forcefully in his throat as he closed his eyes.

Oh yes, it will. If that's the only way I can have your hands on me, I'll make sure it does.

[kpopchangedme]

Midnight Somewhere | Bang Chan

It’s the last day of the year at work and the lack of supervision has apparently made your coworker lose sight of your office dating ban.

Protagonists: Bang Chan & You

Word Count: 2.6k

Genre: SFW - Office Romance -  Best Friend - Humour - [Drabble 2k]

Prompt: “You’re up to something, and I want in” 

Requested by: @chessireneko​, I hope you like it!

Lys’ note: I wish you all a wonderful new decade! Happy New Year! (Don’t come @ me for being late, this is still my first fic of 2020 after all)

Stray Kids | M.list

It’s a slow day at the office but that’s pretty standard. Between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, most of the company’s employees don’t even bother coming in. If no one is working upstairs to have tech issues, phones on your floor remain silent.

Still, every year, two employees of the nerd squad need to report for duty and it’s usually the loners, foreigners or asocial. You don’t belong to any of those categories but you’re one of the chosen ones this New Year’s Eve. Your whole family went on a Holiday trip to Bora Bora, abandoning you behind. Of course, you could be in worse company. You mostly agreed to come in knowing you’d be all alone with your work friend… And long-standing crush.

In front of you, Chan is ridiculously stretched, feet resting on the desk of his absent neighbour and head thrown behind. You spend every weekday facing the other, your computer’s screens back to back. You’ve been working together for two years, his family is back in Australia so he doesn’t bother with Holidays. The young man’s chair is tilted back precariously, unbalanced. His eyes are covered with a sleeping mask, a phone headset messily thrown on his head. He’s not sleeping though, just aggressively hungover. For some reason, his empty coffee mug – his second one – doesn’t seem to be helping much.

“I hear you, Mr. Radcliff,” you assure in your own headset, opening Minesweeper on your computer, “Yes. Yes. Of course. No. No, Yang is not here today. He’ll be coming back in two days. Yes.”

Chan slides up his mask to gaze at you curiously and you make eye contact. His eyes are bloodshot, matching his bedraggled looks quite nicely. The head of Marketing you’re on the phone with – Raymond T. Radcliff – is a divorced workaholic, infamous at tech support for his lack of both humanity and computer skills. Every time he breaks something, he calls to yell at whoever picks up, eventually requesting to speak to a supervisor. Today, for better or worse, you’re flying solo. Smile, Chan mouths you, grinning, they can hear your smile. That’s Yang’s motto, but the boss isn’t here to breathe down your neck. You flip your hungover friend the bird and his dimples dig deeper. At least someone’s having fun. 

Radcliff’s rant lasts for a whole hour, by the end of it you have switched to Mahjong. From the corner of your eye, you see Chan’s starting the drip coffee maker again. Frowning, you perk up and spin on your chair to be sure you aren’t hallucinating. He must be in pretty bad shape because he’s the only human in the whole building who is not addicted to caffeine. It’s like he has a superpower, he rarely drinks it. You though the pot from this morning was exceptional, but him brewing a second one must mean he’s on the brink of death.

“Um-Um.” You hum for Radcliff, unbelievingly following Chan’s movements as he fills the water tank, puts a new paper filter on and presses brew. That’s something you don’t witness every day. “Yes. Yes. I’ll spread the wor–” There’s a loud clicking noise when the Marketing god hangs up and you’re left hanging in the middle of a sentence. “What an ass!”

Chan laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. His back is turned on you, built shoulders perfectly outlined by his too-tight dress shirt. He has been hitting the gym in 2019. It’s an older one that doesn’t fit as well anymore, you haven’t seen it in months, he probably couldn’t be bothered with laundry these days. Usually, he’s tidy and clean-cut, the only thing that never screams ‘profesh’ about him is his perpetually dishevelled dark curls.

“What an ass,” he echoes and you twitch in surprise. You had drifted away, too busy shamelessly gawking at him. Bouncing back, you run fingers through your bangs, entangling them. "You okay?” 

Meeting his perplexed gaze, you smile, “Yeah, sorry I just…” Trailing off, you desperately search for something to say but Chan saves the day. 

“You know, it has its perks, holding the fort with me while everyone’s away at home…” Claiming so, he brings a mug full of hot beverage under his nose, inhaling it before winking suspiciously. He’s hinting at something. “You just need to make the most of it.”

“Christopher Bang, you’re up to something…” Glad he doesn’t seem to have noticed you staring, you cross your arms over your chest and circle the office to join him against the counter. In the meantime, Chan sips his coffee with the smile of an angel. “And I want in…” When you’ve made it, he offers you his mug and one draft is enough to make you shrink back. Your eyes round in shock. “You’re drinking!”

He gasps, faking to take offence; “Am not! It’s coffee!” He would have a lot more impact if he didn’t look half as bad as he did at your November company’s Christmas party… And you remember all too well how that ended. The dust has just settled down between you too, things barely back to normal. Chan’s all wobbly and intense eye-contact, definitely tipsy.

“More like coffee-flavoured whiskey!”

“Uh?” Chan pouts and looks down his mug, tilting it dangerously; “Then no wonder I like it so much.”

“You’re impossible,” you laugh despite yourself, glancing at the elevator doors, “I thought you were curing your hangover.”

“Care to join on the fun?” He pulls out a whiskey bottle, poorly concealed behind the box of Froot Loops tagged ‘Han’ in capital letters. “The best hangover cure I know is to never stop.”

“We’re at work, Bang.”

“Alone, together. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

You scoff, “It’s still early.”

Unbothered, he gulps the amber liquid without breaking eye-contact. “It’s midnight somewhere.” He’s the one drinking, but somehow it’s your throat that is burning, staring when his tongue darts through his lips.

“We could get caught,” you hush, winded. Chan always has that effect on you. It might be the facing-each-other-all-day but there’s a spark, more than your simple crush. A mutual attraction you would definitely have acted on years ago if it weren’t of your no-dating office policy. Whenever you go out for drinks with the nerd squad, it always resurfaces, enough for the others to blatantly call you two out. If they only knew.

“Oh no, and lose the most fulfilling job ever? Who would Radcliff yell at?” He smiles, sipping again. “You don’t have to join me, don’t worry. I know how hard it is for you to let loose, y/l/n.”

“Hey,” you breathe out, irked, “I let loose.”

“Do you?” He tilts his head, playful, “When was the last time?” You both know when. You’re about to tell him off when his desk’s phone rings. Chan chuckles, pressing a button on his headset. “Lemon Tech Support. Christopher Bang.” Not breaking eye-contact, you quirk a brow defiantly, stealing away his mug. Chan watches intently as the white ceramic meets your lips, gulping himself when you drink the peaty liquid. “How can I assist you?” He reaches for your bangs, gently combing them back into place with his fingers and your heart races. There. There’s the thing between you again. If he wasn’t already flushed from the liquor, you bet his ears would colour cutely. 

Feeling your whole body combust at the intimate gesture, you drink the rest of the lukewarm coffee in one go. If you weren’t at work if there were no ban… You’d scratch that itch. You kissed at that Christmas party and you know you’re doomed to do it again. You just didn’t think you’d crave it so soon. Seeing you shoot the alcohol, Chan’s eyes darken, lips pressing into a thin line.  

"Dark?” Humming his approval in the mic of his headset, he moves to press you against the counter. Your surprise doesn’t seem to affect him much. “I see…” Chan gazes down at you through his eyelashes, palm climbing your hip and waist slowly. He must have lost his damn mind. “Yes,” he breathes out ludicrously serious, “I understand it is very frustrating. We should do something about it.” Is he talking about you two or to the person at the other end of the line? “Have you tried turning it on and off again, Janice?” Nevermind. Despite the situation, you can’t help but chuckle at the sheer plain mockery in his tone. 

When you try to slide away to safety, Chan expertly prevents your escape, smirking. You hate him. You hate how he knows you won’t resist. Hate that you can’t do anything, just remain stunned, wishing for more. His hand has stopped, fitting the curve of your waist perfectly. His thumb is on the side of your stomach and you can feel him through your thick shirt. Maybe it’s all those years just looking at each other because even this little is much. You feel light-headed and not from the whiskey. 

“Fantastic. You’ll just need to reenter your Intranet password after the restart.” Chan’s face is still sliced up in two. “It might take a while… Of course, I’ll hold the line.” His eyes glimmer of mischief when he pushes the mute button, it’s clear what he has in mind now. “Hey. This is nice.”

"This is not allowed,” you hush as if someone could hear, aware neither of you cares anymore, “and you are woozy.” 

Chan shakes his head, “I was when we were under the mistletoe, but you were perfectly sober.” You’re still holding on to the mug and it presses against your chest when he leans closer. “Yet, you kissed me.”

“I kissed you back.” You correct, making him scoff.

"Debatable.”

“I’m surprise you even remember.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been obsessing over that moment for two years.” You bite your lower lip to avoid smiling. You can’t believe he just said that, he shouldn’t. You’ve been there too. “It doesn’t help that you’re doe-eye lusting after me every damn day. I’m trying to get some work done here, y/n.” Sarcastic, he lets out a hollow chuckle when your mouth falls open in awe. 

“I do not.” You opt to lie and protest but then change strategy. If he’s going to be a tease, so can you. “What about all the inadvertent feet brushing under the desks?”

“Oh yeah, not accidental at all.” Chan snaps back, brazen, “I just love that you gasp every single time I touch you.”

That’s exactly what you do just then, gaze wide. “You’re crazy!” There’s no way he’s actually saying all that aloud. He’s lost it. You might be alone but you’re still in the office. 

“You kissed me,” he counterattacks. 

“I kissed you back. You can’t tell me these things. We aren’t supposed to be like that.” 

“I know you like it when I wear white shirts. I’m also aware you park your car next to mine on purpose to walk together. You stare a lot, but I do too. It makes me hot the way you toy with your hair when you’re on the phone. I’ve been bribing Yang for a year to send us on break at the same time, I take all his worst calls. Should I not say all of that either?“ 

“Chan,” you groan, ears burning up. 

“Relax, let loose. It’s cute. We’re cute.” His smile hasn’t faltered and it only widens at your bashfulness. “Oh come on, we both knew this would happen from the moment you kissed me.”

“You kissed me.” Incredulous, you can’t conceal your excitement anymore. You knew he felt it too, but you didn’t think he’d be one to suggest sneaking around. He usually likes to stick to the rules.

“If you say so,” Chan rolls his eyes, “I was going to do it again anyway.” Pausing, he studies your reaction. You’re still trapped against the counter, gazing up at him. “Tonight. I’m taking you out.” Your toes curl at the idea. 

“Maybe I have plans,” you oppose jokingly, knowing very well he isn’t going to fall for it. 

“Are you saying no?” He side glances at the empty office, amused. “I was going to kiss you at the stroke of midnight. I think that’s the right way to start the New Year.” You’re about to reply something witty when Chan reaches for his headset. “Yes, I’m still here.” Giggling, you drop your head, having forgotten all about the woman from accounting in his ears. “You need to enter the intranet password… Yours, yes. I certainly hope you don’t ever use my login, Janice.” There’s a faint laugh at the other end of the line. Winking, Chan reaches for the mug between you, discarding it on the counter. His thumb on your waist begins to rub tiny circles as his free hand climbs your neck, caressing your jawline and making you shiver. Flirtatious, he tilts your head so you are fully looking up at him. It’s not unfamiliar, remnant of that night under the mistletoe, still, butterflies soar in your stomach. “Fantastic. I’m glad I could help…” Feeling him up, your fingers slide up his shirt, tracing his collarbones through the fabric and his shoulders. You always dreamt of doing this and it’s way better than you imagined. “Yes, well… Happy New Year to you too, Janice.” Your touch gets more adventurous by the seconds. “Bye…” Chan licks his lips, irides now devoid of any playfulness. "Oh, bloody hell,” he grunts suggestively when your hands find their way to his ass. You hope the woman has hung up, “It’s midnight somewhere.” 

This time there is no doubt about who initiates it. Chan kisses you, arms wrapping around to hold you firmly into him. There’s no hint of hesitance when you respond, abandoning yourself against his chest completely. You both know what you are doing, know what you want. Your mouth toys with his, hands lost in his curls messing them up and making his headset fall to the carpet floor. You struggle to catch a breath, unable to tame the urgency of your embrace. He doesn’t seem to mind, tongue tracing your lower lip over and over again. His kisses are ardent and needy, never breaking completely. The counter is digging your ass but you don’t mind. This is both blissful and disquieting, you didn’t expect this to be so intense. All of a sudden, Chan pulls away, leaving you feverish and beggared at the dearth.

“Fuck me dead.” He groans, oblong eyes wide and breathing irregular. The swear is barely a sound at all, almost inaudible despite the quietness of the empty office. 

“E-Excuse me?”

“We’re going to have to be a lot more discreet from now on,” he states, categorical like he isn’t the one who crossed the line in the first place. “I can’t be just friends anymore.”

Heart thumping, you smile at him; “But you can’t keep a secret for shit, Chan.”

Laughing, he kisses you. “I guess I’ll have to quit.” Humming against his mouth, you don’t immediately notice the way his hands creep up, getting rid of your own headset to play with your hair. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” you sigh, rapturous. There couldn’t possibly be a better way to start anew than this. “Are you still taking me out tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fantastic.”

Stray Kids | M.list

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

strangely he feels at home in this place fanfic

Title: strangely he feels at home in this place

Summary: Virgil finds himself in a different reality with no way of returning back home. Strangely, he’s mostly okay with this

Word-Count: 540

Pairings: platonic prinixety

Warnings: spiders, parental favoritism

I found a random snippet of dialogue in my wips when i should be writing something else and couldn’t help finally doing something with it

-

How is Virgil’s day going, you might ask? Well, on the scale of one to oh-my-god-my-brother-transported-me-to-another-reality-and-I-have-no-way-of-getting-back-home, it’s going great. Real swell.

I mean, really it could’ve been a lot worse. There could’ve been no one to hear his screams as he tried escaping the clutches of a giant spider. Virgil liked spiders. He even had a pet tarantula named Susie back home. But it is very easy to be afraid of anything that’s ten times the size of you and looks ready to devour you whole. 

Instead, a strange elf-like man saved him at the last second. Or at least, he appeared elf-like, with his pointy ears and graceful poise. Despite his numerous writings, Virgil hasn’t met an actual elf before. He hadn’t planned on it. Nor had he planned being his brother’s pet guinea pig but here we are.

The elf turns out to be named Roman, a name that is far more normal sounding than Virgil expected to hear. Upon hearing Virgil’s plight, he offers for him to stay in his abode at once.

“Wait, you actually believe me?” Virgil raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, someone shows up from a different world every other moon cycle,” Roman waves him off, “Now come! You must be hungry--I will prepare you a feast back at my house!”

Virgil’s stomach growls, “Well you aren’t wrong about that.”

“So, are you a warrior for your people?” Roman asks as they walk down the supposed route to his home. Virgil gives him a double take because uh, did he not see him screaming? Running from the spider as fast as his legs could possibly take him? 

“Oh no,” Virgil chuckles awkwardly, “I’m a writer.”

“A writer?” Roman tilts his head, “What’s that?”

“It’s, well,” Virgil stammers, almost embarrassed to admit, “I come up with stories and record them so that other people can read them.”

“You’re a storyteller?!” Roman shrieks with excitement, “you’re so young--your people must honor you greatly.”

Now it’s Virgil’s turn to be confused.

“Um, what do you mean?”

“As a storyteller you inspire hope, impart wisdom, produce laughter with your stories--surely your people look onto you with reverence and respect!”

They in fact do the opposite of that. His people see his writing as a foolish prospect. They berate him for his chosen profession. “Why couldn’t you have gone into STEM like your brother?” They ask, “Writing will get you nowhere in life!”

In a way, they were right. It was his brother’s science and not writing that got him transported to this world. A world that apparently cherishes and nurtures stories rather than kill them.

“Are you alright, dear storyteller?” Roman says softly. He’s standing in front of Virgil, frowning.

“I, um, I just--” Virgil begins, never being quite as good with verbal words as he is with written words, “Let’s just say my world doesn’t hold the same view as yours.”

“What?!” Roman exclaims, before bursting into a very long, winding rant. So long that would take up at least a page or two to write it all down. As he rambles about the sanctity of stories and their importance, Virgil begins to smile.

Maybe he’ll never find a way back home. That thought should terrify him, but it doesn’t. Because home has already found him.

Tag List below cut!

@asymmetricalgarbage8888 @karebearmay @punsterterry @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @madly-handsome  @i-just-wanna-be-alone-blog @remy-alagaesias-dragon-queen @otaku-marijane @cryingtitan @pathos-logical@fandergecko @themarijuanamason  @a-pastel-pan @cyberchick56 @evilmuffin @lunareclipse-524 @unikornavenger @a-demonic-presence @callboxkat @bi-luna-rose @thehowlofthewolf @analogical-mess  @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @satanblessi  @februaryfun @darkle-elkrad @jellopuffs

[peterpumpkinparker]

Dropping By- Peter Parker/Spiderman Oneshot

Hi guys! I know its been awhile and wow Ive missed this blog-hopefully this makes up for the 3 months of ghosting <3 Word Count: 800+ Genre: Fluff! Warnings: None!

You stared at your complexion in mirror, not truly happy with the person staring back. Did your hair look fine? Did you look under dressed? Over dressed? Was your makeup too much? Too little? Your head swirled with these unanswered question. You knew know matter how hard you tried, you weren't going to look perfect on this first date.

Peter Parker, your crush since you walked into his chem class and fate graciously put your seat next to his. Your crush since he helped you study for chem after your grades started to slip. Your crush after you realized he was the Spiderman. Your crush after 4 months of pining for him, had asked you out. You thought it was a miracle, but really, everyone knew it was meant to be- and by everyone, Ned and MJ. But he had asked you out to dinner, at some new Italian restaurant, and you calmly said yes even though you wanted to scream.

You smiled at yourself in the mirror, letting the happy memory wash of that day over you like sunlight in summer. You weren't sure you were ready for this date- the butterflies you had were practically eating your stomach from the inside out- but you weren't going to back out now.

You walked down to the living room, hearing your parents in the kitchen. It was almost a half an hour to your date- and you were hoping to give a pep talk to your parents to not make things awkward between you or Peter by asking embarrassing questions. But, to your confusion, your parents looked like they were leaving- when they specifically said they would be home.

“Whatcha guys doing?” you asked casually, cautiously watching your mom pack makeup into her purse.

“Oh, y/n, you look so nice,” your mom complimented, her voice leaving a trace of guilt.

You grabbed a water from the fridge, your hand shaking from nerves.

“Are you going somewhere?” you asked before gulping down water.

Your dad sighed, giving your mom a sidelong look. “Y/n, were sorry, but you cant go on your date tonight.”

You felt your heart drop down to your stomach as shock filled your system. Almost choking on water, your voice cried out, “Why?!”

Your mom gave you a sad look, explaining,” Your father forgot he had a company get together tonight, and he promised he would be there, and he can only get in with a plus one.”

“Its required I have a partner with me to get in,” your dad further explained, “some fancy restaurant or something like that- I know it sounds stupid,” he added, seeing your clearly reproached face, “but your mother and I have to go. And you have to hold down the fort while were gone”

You looked between your parents, hoping for a crack in their faces, a way to wiggle in and get what you both want, but there was no way in.

“So- no date?” you asked helplessly.

“Im sorry, y/n, but- no date.” you mother answered, her voice stern but sympathetic.

You sighed, filling your disappointment replace the excitement. “Guess I'll go call Peter.”

“Alright,” your father called out from the front door, “tell him were very sorry- we'll be back around 9!”

Your mother gave you a quick hug, and after your good byes and the slam of the door, the emptiness of the house made you somehow sadder than before. You didnt want to call him- the dread of letting him down, or him thinking your backing out made you feel guilty. But you found yourself finding his number in your phone, and clicking the call button, the ringing sound making you chew on your nails from nerves.

Peter picked up surprisingly quickly, making the butterflies come back from the sound of his hello.

“Hey Peter,” you sighed, dreading to tell him the news.

“Hey y/n!” he said rushed, as if he had been running for a while, the sound of wind making his voice sound fuzzy. “Im almost there, dont worry, I just gotta couple blocks to go-”

“Are you being Spiderman right now?” you asked, a smile sneaking onto your lips.

“Uhhhh-why you ask that?”

“Cause- I can hear Karen through the phone,” you stated with a smirk, waiting for his reaction.

“Crap!”you heard him curse, making you laugh even though the guilt was eating in your stomach.

“Yeah… I am,” he admitted, “but Im gonna change in the alleyway next to your house- so your parents wont think Im some crazy person when I come to pick up.”

You sighed, burshing your hair to the side. “Peter- Im so sorry to say this, but- you cant come over.”

“Wait- whats wrong y/n?” he asked, hurt in his voice, making your heart ache.

“Nothing, its just, my parents have some stupid company party to go to, and they need me to “hold down the fort”, you said with air quptes, not remembering Peter couldnt see them, “so- the dates cancelled.”

“I really was excited, Pete, I was,” you put in after, rushing your words to hopefully fix any wound you caused him.

“Me too,” he replied after a small silence, his voice smaller than usual.

‘Next week,maybe?!” You hated hearing him sound dejected, so to compensate, you tried to make your voice sound hopeful.

“Kay?” you asked him, hoping he would forgive you for doing this to him.

“Kay,” he repeated, his voice still sounding as if you just dumped him.

“Im so sorry about this Pete.”

“Its not your fault- Ill see you later, I guess. Night y/n.”

“Night.”

You sighed, laying on your bed, hoping the tears trying to crawl up would go away.

“Well,” you concluded to the ceiling, “that didnt go as well as I hoped.”

With no plans for the night, you decided to just do what you usually do on a normal night- blast music and try to do some homework. The night was just about to come, twilight coloring  your room with a burst of golden hues. It was beautiful, you had to admit, and again you felt a pang of longing to be with Peter

.It had been an hour of lonely listening to your depressing playlist of sad songs when a sudden knock was heard on your window. You jumped, a scream escaping your mouth as you instantly turned off your playlist.

You craned your head at the window pane, trying to see who the intruder was, but only a pink and orange sky greeted you. You stepped off your bed gingerly, and as you opened the window to investigate the strange sound-Out of nowhere, a red object whipped out from above the window, making you scream until you realized who it was.

“What the hell!?” you yelled, laughing off the fright.

“Im sorry, Im sorry!” Peter unhinged himself from his upside down position, the piece of webbing flying away in the breeze as his feet made contact with your small terrace.

You smiled, nervousness attacking your stomach. “Its okay,” you asked after brushing your hair out of your face- “why are you hear?”

You watched Peter shuffle a little with his feet, his broad shoulders blocking your sight of the railing of the terrace.

“Well, I felt bad that we couldnt- ya know, go out or anything-” he fumbled, “so….” He took a pause, looking at you so intently with those bug eyes on his red mask you felt a little unnerved- like he was staring right into you.

“Uh-Why dont you just close your eyes,” He finally said, the nervousness coming through in his voice. You were confused, so you took his outstretched hand with a suspicious smirk, and you laughed at the ticklish feeling his hand left on yours as he led you out your window.

“Okay, “ he counted, “one..two...three.”

You opened your eyes, and when you did, you were met with the sight of a mini picnic, complete with even a little bouquet of flowers with your favorite Italian food laid out on take out plates. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen, and you didnt know how to react to such a sweet gesture.

You stared at it, shocked- how could you be with someone so sweet and caring?

“I mean, its not much-” he began to ramble as if he was embarrassed about the cheesiness of it, “but I figured since you would be home you might want to hang out here- its okay if you dont but I just  thought maybe Id come hang out with you instead of going somewhere so I picked up the food I hope you like the flowers some lady sold them to me on the-”

You laughed, kissing his cheek to make him stop- you knew if you didnt do something, anything, hed probably go on that nervous rant for hours.

“Its perfect.” You smiled at him, happiness filling up in your eyes.

Peter felt relief envelope his body. He wished he wasn't so awkward around you, but you didnt care if he rambled, or accidentally scare you half to death. You were so sweet and funny and new him so well and man, you looked so pretty at this time of day, he wish he could take a picture of you and keep it forever. He sighed, relishing the feeling of your hand in his.

“Wait-” you interrupted his thoughts, “how are you gonna eat?” You pointed at the obvious mask covering his face.

“Oh!” He thought, feeling dumb for not thinking of that and maybe changing before he decided to knock on your window.

He quickly fumbled with his mask, bringing it above his nose so all you could see was a wide grin.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much better,” you smiled, and kissing his  cheeck again you yelled: “Lets eat!”

I hope you guys liked this! I havet been active (like at all) so I hope this makes it up! :)

Taggings:

@fratboievans @grandmascottlang @galaxy-parker @hollandroos @honeymoonparker @hazsterfield @itsholyholland @naturallytom @starksparker @underoosstark @uglypastels @underoos-shield @petersshirts @revengingbarnes @th3n3rdyon3 @just4muggles

[sassycassie-s-series]

All My Fault 28

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam - Damian Wayne/Batman

Rating: PG/K+

Notes: (Masterlist) This has been a long time coming but thanks to @i-sttan I’m going to put up a lot of updates in quick succession because I keep forgetting to post them ‘XD (Sorry...)

Tag List (Open): @batboys-and-other-messes @haylo4ever @lostredrobin @na-n-na @probsjosh @rachelmorganroth @spooder-moon @welovegroot

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27

^^^^^

I glanced over my shoulder at Damian from across the Batcave to see him already looking at me over his shoulder. Our eyes met and after a moment we both seemed to realize that we were staring at each other and we quickly looked away, returning to our tasks in almost perfect sync. I noticed Dick look between us off to the side, like the movement caught his attention. It was an unusually quiet morning in the Batcave where everyone was doing projects more than training.

I shook my head to clear it—and to get the soft look on Damian’s face out of my mind’s eye—and went back to my research. I’d been brought up to speed on the Time Bombs enough that I could help the rest of the Bat-Family look for an origin point or any sort of clues.

It was boring, tedious work. I wasn’t interested in it and having a really hard time focusing. I kept tapping my foot and bouncing my leg under the table and drumming my fingers to no set rhythm and completely failing to accomplish anything.

I shot another quick peek at Damian. He appeared to be sharpening a batarang or his sword or something I couldn’t see very well. His shirt was a tad too small and it was stretched across his shoulders. That can’t be comfortable… I thought distractedly before nearly whacking myself in the face with the tablet I was holding. I really needed to pay attention to what I was doing. Why was I having such a hard time concentrating?

I got up and turned my tablet off. I went over to the training mat, stretched out, and started to do an escrima stick drill Dick had taught me. I was just trying to burn off some energy.

I didn’t cry out or make any typical noises the expel all the air from my lungs the way I normally would if I was actually training—because loud “Hyah!”s were meant to get all the air out of my lungs so that it was harder to knock the wind out of me—because I was just moving around, not hitting anything.

Instead, I slashed the practice escrima sticks through the air silently, twisting around as though fighting several enemies at once.

The sticks I was using collided with something else.

Damian’s wooden training sword. He smirked at me. “Do you think you can handle this?” he asked, tone bordering on playful.

I smirked at him in return. “Probably not. Only one way to find out,” I said.

We sparred. I knew Damian was going easy on me. He was an incredible swordsman and Tim and Dick had already beaten the snot out of me while I practiced with escrima sticks since I was so unused to them, but I was holding my own against Damian better than I thought. Which meant he was going easy. Or I was actually improving my skills fighting with Dick’s favored weapons. That didn’t seem as likely.

That wasn’t to say I didn’t get smacked a couple times with a wooden sword blade, but not as much as I got whacked by Tim’s staff or Dick’s escrima sticks.

We slammed to a stalemate, both of my escrima sticks holding back his sword. We panted for a moment, staring at each other over and around our weapons. Damian was smirking playfully. “Are you handling this?” he asked.

I grinned. “Yup,” I said. I locked one leg around his knee and yanked, pushing him to the ground and landing on top of him, my face knocking against his chest. Our weapons clattered out of our hands. I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed my face out of his chest. We laughed breathlessly. “You okay?”

Damian nodded. “I'm alright. Are you?”

“Yeah I'm good,” I said. His eyes were really green in the half-light of the Batcave. They had a glitter in them that I hadn’t seen before—a glitter of humor.

He chuckled. “Good.” He caught me and rolled so he was on top of me, grabbing his wooden sword and holding it to my neck. “How about now?”

I snorted, looped my right leg around his left leg and grabbed his left arm with both of mine.  I thrust my hips up and rolled to my right, knocking him off of me. “Ha!” I crowed triumphantly. “I can’t believe you fell for that one. Oldest trick I learned before I became Cloudburst.” I laughed as I got back to my feet, scooping up my escrima sticks.

“I'm playing fair,” Damian teased.

“You never play fair. That’s kinda the point, right?” I said. We clashed again. Loud clacks echoed through the cave as we sparred. Damian smirked and I snickered. He was definitely going easy on me. I could feel him holding back.

“Scared of me, Wayne?” I teased, ducking under a slash.

“Tt. You wish, McCloud,” he retorted. We both laughed.

^^^^^

“AAHH!” I shrieked, sitting up in bed, panting and looking around wildly. I clutched my covers to my chest and tried to steady my breathing. Panting and heart racing, I blinked rapidly.

My door opened. “Are you alright?” Damian asked, looking concerned but not frightened.

“Bad—bad dream,” I managed to get out. “It, uh, it… it hurt.”

Damian crossed my room, leaving the door open, and sat on my bed next to me. Silently, he opened his arms to me. I slipped out from under my covers and hugged him around the shoulders, burying my face in the curve where his neck met his shoulder. One of his arms wrapped around my back and the other scooped my legs up. He pulled me onto his lap and stroked my hair. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I'm here. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said. I sniffed.

“Promise?” I mumbled.

“Of course,” he replied, squeezing me tighter.

I nodded. “Thanks,” I said.

We sat in silence for several minutes. I could feel his heartbeat against my own chest. His skin was warm and smooth under my chilly hands—except for the scars I could feel. My right hand found one on his back and began to trace around the outside edge of it, the motion soothing my heartrate.

“Do you wish to tell me what you dreamt of?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “But I… I will anyway.”

“No. No. McCloud, if you aren’t comfortable discussing it, I am not going to—”

“Damian,” I interrupted. “I need to get it out.”

He paused and leaned back enough to look me in the face. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” I said.

He held me close again. “Alright. But only tell me what you’re ready to say.”

I nodded into his trapezius muscle. “Right,” I mumbled. “I, uh, I was underwater. In Gotham harbor, I think. Like that time we were fighting a gang and I got knocked off the docks. Do you remember that?”

“Of course. It was only a month before the Time Bombs attacked your past.”

“Yeah. And it was dark and I could barely breathe and I could hear scary maniacal laughter. It was less Joker and more Scarecrow and it chilled me right to the bone. And then the dream jumped and I was fighting some bad guys in an alley but I’d forgotten my suit and I was literally in my bra and underwear and that was it and the bad guys were laughing at me. And then the dream jumped again and I was… I was…”

Damian brushed my hair out of my face. “It’s alright. If you don’t want to tell me, don’t.”

“No, no. It’s… it’s okay. The dream jumped and I was fighting you, Jason, Dick, Tim, and Bruce. All by myself. You were all shouting, telling me I had no place in this family anymore and I was no longer welcome to be Cloudburst. Someone was telling me to hand in my suit and then Dick pushed me off the docks and I was back in the water and it was cold and I couldn’t swim back to the surface no matter how hard I tried and then—and then I woke up.”

“McCloud. I assure you that no one in this family is ever going to kick you out. You belong here and Cloudburst is part of you. This family…” He paused. His fingers tightened their grip in a handful of my hair. “This family… loves you, Mc—Nora.”

“Thanks Damian,” I said. I smiled a bit at McNora.

There was another stretch of silence, during which I heard rain falling and a crack of thunder.

“Would… would you like me to stay here until you return to sleep?” Damian asked.

I thought for a long moment, just breathing in his scent. It was musky, but his aftershave had a spicy kick to it.

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

I felt more than heard his sigh. “Okay. I’ll be right here,” he promised. He cradled me to his chest and rocked me back and forth, lowly singing a melodic, pleasant song in what I knew was Arabic. I didn’t understand Arabic at all but I could recognize it when I heard it since Damian tended to rant in Arabic when he was frustrated or just simply speak in it some mornings when he was too tired to think about what language he was speaking in.

The tune must have been some sort of lullaby. It was short and it sounded soothing. I could tell he was repeating it over and over because I started to recognize the tune. He rocked me to the rhythm, slowly back and forth, lulling me to sleep.

I closed my eyes and listened, concentrating on the tune. Damian had a nice voice—it vaguely occurred to me that I’d never really heard him sing before and had never heard him sing in this future. But he carried the tune well and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. He sounded so captivating. Like I could listen to his lullaby forever.

“‘S pretty,” I mumbled.

“Mm… my mother used to sing it,” he replied softly. “I'm here, habibi. I'm here.”

“You know I don’t know what that means,” I said.

“What, ‘habibi’?” Damian asked.

“Mmhmm.”

I heard a little snicker. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’s a compliment.”

“Mkay.”

“Try and go back to sleep. I’m right here. I’ll keep you safe.” He returned to his lullaby, rocking me back and forth. “Everything is alright. This family loves you and everything will be alright.”

“Mmm… Damian?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he whispered into my hair. “Now try to sleep.”

“Hmm… mkay…”

———

Next

[inkstainedfanfics]

Don’t Come Back

Request: "can you please please please do a part two to "Don't Leave Me"? It would make me so happy 💕"

Word Count: 2,508

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Part 1

Tag List: @caseoffics @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother @fangirlingandcrying @myrtus-amongst-the-stars​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney @frackinawesomeninja

And when she says it and Newt does nothing but stare at you, you just try not to collapse.

“You don’t love me?” You murmur as your grab the door frame. You hate how pathetic the words sound, how much you sound like a kicked puppy whimpering as it crawls back to its owner, but you don’t know what else to say. All the wind has been knocked out of you.

“It’s not that.” Newt begins, striding toward you.

You let him take your into his arms and lead you to the couch. “Then what is it?”

“I’ll always love you.” The couch dips under his weight as he sits next to you.

God, you wish you were somewhere else, anywhere else, when your lower lip trembles. “Then what were you doing with her?”

“Leta is…” Newt hesitates, glancing back at her, “a friend.” He finally finishes with, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You drop your head in your hands, letting Newt’s arm stay there. “Just a friend?”

He pauses before he shifts, uncomfortable, and moves his arm from around your shoulder to his side. “For now.”

You still at the words, insides turning to ice. “For now? What about in a month?”

He drops his gaze to his clasped hands. “I’m not sure.”

Suddenly dizzy, you clamp your eyes shut.

He doesn’t know. After a year, his answer should be automatic, should roll off his tongue like facts about creatures do, but it’s not. He has to think about it.

You wrap your arms around your stomach as it flips. “You’re not sure?”

“No.”

You can hear the shame in his voice as easily as you can hear the growing panic in your own. “How can you not be sure, Newt?”

“I wish I were, if that helps,” he says with half a grin, already sure you won’t find any piece of this funny. He doesn’t find any piece of this funny, either, if the regret stretched across his face is any indication.

You hate yourself, hate the next question that pops into your mind, but you need to know. “Do you love Leta?”

His green eyes dart to Leta’s face for a split second, barely lingering there long enough for you to be certain you saw it. But you did. You saw the way his gaze softened, and you know you have your answer, but you don’t retract your question.

“No.” Newt says, meeting your eyes but fingers fiddling with a loose thread. “Well… no.”

“Do you mean not yet?” You question quietly, heart tugging down, down, down as it tries to make a home in your gut.

The corner of his lips dip and, despite the circumstances, despite knowing you have no reason to, you feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet and biting your lip as you mentally curse the tears blurring your vision. “I should go.”

Newt leaps to his feet, hands fluttering uselessly around you, unsure of where to land. “I’ll walk you.”

“It’s okay.” You murmur, curling in on yourself as you feel the stare of Leta on your back. You know you should hate her, but you’re too tired. Exhaustion creeps up to you and all you really want is to fall into bed and sleep for years, sleep until the pain is gone and nothing more than a faint memory.

“I didn’t mean for this.” Newt mumbles, unraveling the thread hanging off his sweater.

You watch it come apart in his hands, winding around his thin finger. “I know.”

He follows you as you drag your feet to the door, trying to work up the motivation to crawl away to somewhere that will let you cry in peace, somewhere you never brought Newt.

Nothing comes to mind: even before you’d dated, he’d been your best friend and you’d brought him everywhere. All you can do is pray that he knows you need your privacy.

He grazes your arm when you reach the door.

You stop, closing your eyes and breathing in before you turn to meet his own torn eyes.

“I know I’m not in the place to ask this, but could I see you again? Some day?”

You swallow the grief in your throat, the automatic yes. You want to say yes so badly it hurts, but you can’t. Not right now.

“Time, Newt. Please.” You mumble out, forcing yourself to look only at him and not at the silent girl waiting behind him.

He blinks three times but nods. “I’m sorry.”

You know he means it. He didn’t want to hurt you. You can see it in the way his fingers trace his bottom lip, the way his eyebrows dip low, the way he stares at you with drooping shoulders and a hunched back. You desperately want to reach out and cup his cheek, run a thumb over it before pulling him into a tight hug and not letting go until he steps away. That’s not your right anymore, though. You’re not supposed to comfort him like that.

You nearly break down at the thought, nearly shatter completely right in front of Newt and Leta, but you don’t want to leave Newt like that. Not after all the good times the two of you had together. You know it would destroy him to know he caused you to break so easily, so you raise your chin and nod.

“I hope you like the presentation.”

And you turn and walk away from your favorite person.

“Merlin’s beard, sit still.” You mutter to the cockroach dodging your hand. “Just let me kill you. I need this grade.”

It scuttles around the library table, its underbelly making the most horrific grating noise that sends chills up your spine. Clenching your jaw, you lunge for it again, cursing under your breath when your finger jam into the table. The cockroach scurries down the side of the table and out of sight. You groan quietly and step around the table, eyeing the dark wood floor for any sign of movement.

All you need is a decent potions grade. That’s all you want. You’re not planning any career that requires knowledge of potions, nor do you really care for the subject all that much, but you want to maintain your relatively impressive grades, and that means earning a decent mark in potions. If only the Professor didn’t require you to buy live cockroaches and kill them yourself to harvest their tiny bellies. A learning experience, he’d said, to teach you how to deal with creatures humanely. You’re certain if you get your hand on this creature, you’re not going to be the gentlest. For Merlin’s sake, this is why they sell the bellies already taken out.

You grumble to yourself. You should’ve just bought the package. It was so cheap. Is it really possible he would have found out?

You’re in the middle of scanning the floor when you see it scampering toward a bookshelf. Ignoring everyone else in the room, you dive for it. This will be the third cockroach you’ve lost if it gets away: Way too much money spent on bugs.

The tiny bugger spins, twisting away before you can wrap your hand around it. It somehow speeds up—how is that even possible—when you slam your other hand on the ground and dashes farther away, heading toward the library door now.

You crawl forward on your hands and knees, all sense of dignity lost. All that matters is catching this damned creature and getting its stomach. Stupid potions class. Who even uses potions anyway? Spells can do it all.

You’re certain the few people also in the library would be mocking you if this weren’t the best distraction they’d had all morning. Spring exams are approaching, so all ten of you early studiers in here had been here since the library opened, noses stuck in your books and notes, studying every single subject. Until now, at least.

You pounce forward one more time as the worthless beast runs for the freedom of the front door.

You’re in midair when you see the legs. Grimacing at the pain already, you squeeze your eyes shut before you slam into whoever made them mistake of walking in right now.

The two of you tumble to the floor, earning a string of curses from your mouth, a confused “oof” from the victim’s mouth, and plenty of giggles from the mouths of fellow students.

Your face heats up as you stare at the shrinking sight of the cockroach, watching it disappear. Shoving yourself up with a sigh, you begin dusting off your robe and turn to offer the other person you so rudely knocked over a hand up.

You’re still turning when the poor boy you knocked over laughs once. “You should come with a warning sign.”

“I’m sorry. It’s this damned potions—“

You freeze when you see an all too familiar smile.

Newt takes your outstretched hand, pulling himself up with little help from your shocked self. “Potions?”

Now acutely aware of every other person in the library, you nod and try to brush off the terror coursing through you. “Uh, yeah. Potions. With cockroach stomachs.” You stutter out, blush deepening as Newt’s precious smile grows even wider. It’s like the last six months of not seeing, talking with, or even acknowledging each other ever happened.

Some small part of you rejoices at the normality.

“It also requires tackling someone?” His own face is as red as yours, and he shifts foot to foot, tapping a finger against his leg. He’s nervous about this meeting, too.

You feel yourself relax at that knowledge. “No, that’s for defense against the dark arts. If all else fails, take them out at the knees.”

Newt chuckles and reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Strong tactic. Would you, maybe, like some help? With the cockroach, not the tackling.”

You don’t let your eyes widen at the offer. “If you’re not busy.”

Holy niffler paws.

Your stomach flutters at the thought of spending time with Newt again. Not because you’ll be near him and his gorgeous eyes and messy hair and awkward charm again, but because you’ve missed your best friend more than anything. You’ve missed the inside jokes about bowtruckles and the letters exchanged via family owls over winter break and the weird candies you’d send each other as presents. You miss seeing him and cheering him up and listening to his rants on creatures and professors and food served at feasts. It had hurt more than you’d imagined possible the second week after the breakup when you’d earned a high mark on a transfiguration exam and had started rushing to his dorm out of habit. You’d made it halfway before you’d realized what you were doing.

Your heart aches at the thought. It had taken time to accept him and Leta, taken time to get over the nauseous feeling whenever someone mentioned his name with hers or whenever you saw them eating together, but it had taken longer to accept that you would never again get to help name one of his projects or raise one of his animals when he was busy. You’d give anything for that.

Including, apparently, your pride since it had taken knocking him over to get him back. Whatever. You’ll take it.

He brightens at your response. “Really?”

You can’t help but smile at his obvious excitement. “Yeah. If you don’t have anything going.”

He doesn’t even glance at his watch before he replies. “No. I’ll help.”

“Great.” The two of you grin at one another, earning a pointed cough from someone else in the library before you move. “Let me grab my books.”

You rush back to the table, sour mood vanished, thanking the cockroach for running away. Newt is back. Newt is back and he seems to have missed you like you missed him. The grin splitting your face as your lift your books almost hurts.

He’s back.

“Are you taking the library with you?” Newt asks, studying the stack of books you’re carrying and the spines that press against you nose for balance.

“Who knows what I’ll need to know for that dark arts exam.”

He lifts the top four books from your arms as the two of you start away from the library. “I think you have the physical aspect down.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, cheeks turning red again. Oh Merlin, he’s never going to let you live that down.

You find you don’t really mind, though.

A silence stretches between the two of you as you walk down the hall, turning from normal to awkward to uncomfortable. Your chest tightens in a panic. You’re elated, but don’t know what to say, where the lines are, if you’ll be able to be what you were before he and Leta started seeing each other. You’re not even sure if they’re still together. Oh Merlin, it’d be just like you to ask how they’re doing when they aren’t even together. You bite your lip. Maybe you should ask. Or would that be weird? Maybe you could hint at it? No, that would seem like you’re still interested in him that way. Perhaps…

Newt interrupts your terrified thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”

“What?” You purse your lips, still trying to come up with a topic.

“You were biting your lip. That means you’re thinking about something.” His sentence grows quieter as he nears the end of it, as though he said something he wasn’t supposed to.

Merlin’s beard, this boy.

You spit out whatever comes to mind first, trying to avoid another bout of awkward silence that might ruin the moment and drive him away. “What would an erumpent look like in a dress?” You blurt out.

The mortification hits you a second later as some Ravenclaw students turn to stare at you and Newt stops in his tracks, confusion blatant in his expression.

You’re about to apologize and kick yourself when he bursts into laughter and answers. “Quite ridiculous, I think, but it would depend on the dress.”

You force a smile to your lips despite your trembling hands, relieved you didn’t ruin the moment. “A flapper’s dress?”

Your heart pounds. This is it. This is how you know if Newt has changed, if he won’t want to still be your friend.

He shifts the books in his arms, brows furrowed in thought as he actually considers your question. “Dreadful. I think one could pull off a long dress, though. One with no shape.”

You heart skips a beat. He answered it. He really answered it. He cares.

You take a shaky breath, overjoyed. “Oh? How about a wedding dress?”

The two of you start off down the hall again, awkward silence melting away, falling back into the rhythm your friendship used to be.

You sigh as Newt continues on about an erumpent in a wedding dress. For the first time in months, you’re completely, totally, entirely happy again.

[dralentines-day]

Gift #5, @devinesis

Hey @devinesis , more like DEVINEsis, because your gift is spectacular. 

Our gifter says:

“Hello! I hope you enjoy fluffy stories that make you want to squee and die. Enjoy!”

A Fair Chance - Roll up!  Roll up to Britain’s first wizarding funfair, complete with high-flying rides, amazing acrobatics, weird and wonderful animals, fortune telling and, of course, all the food you can eat! Harry was looking forward to visiting the fair with Ron and Hermione. That was until Draco Malfoy and a mysterious fortune-teller changed his plans. 6k.

Tags: 2nd base smut

Harry was not having a good time.  It’ll be fun, they’d said.  Just give him a chance, they’d said.  But no, Draco Malfoy was still as big a prat as ever.  Never mind that so far Harry could only seen the back of his stupid, unnaturally blond head from where he was waiting for them by the ticket booth.  Once the git eventually turned around, he was sure that he’d see the trademark Malfoy scowl, the look of disdain that instinctively made Harry’s hands curl into fists.  

If you had told Harry that one day he’d be attending a wizarding funfair with Hermione, Ron and Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed in your face, given you a pat on the head and suggested you take a trip to St Mungo’s.  Because it was ridiculous.  Only apparently, according to Hermione and Ron, it wasn’t.  Apparently it was completely normal to invite your ex-Hogwarts rival out for an evening at the fair and only tell your best friend about it right at the last second. 

“Oh, and by the way, Harry.  I’ve invited Draco along tonight,” Hermione had said nonchalantly as she’d grabbed a handful of floo powder from the mantelpiece.   

“Uh hu- Wait, what?!” Harry had choked out, the hand that was uselessly trying to pat down the mess of dark hair on his head pausing in mid air; he was sure that he had misheard her. 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.  “Draco Malfoy.  You know, tall, blond-“ 

“-Little ferrety face,” Ron interjected. 

Harry stared, dumbfounded, his brain not quite catching up with the words he was hearing. 

“Come on, mate,” Ron added, chucking on his coat and winding a bright orange Chudley Cannons scarf around his neck.  “He’s actually a pretty decent guy once you get over the creepy tattoo and long history of mutual hatred.”  Ron grinned but Harry was in no mood for jokes. 

This was exactly what he had been worried about ever since Hermione had come back from her first day at the Department of Mysteries.  She’d been raving about how amazing Malfoy was, how smart and talented, and how much he’d changed since school.  Bullshit.  Then they’d started hanging out after work, going to the pub together, and soon Ron had been dragged in too.  He started saying things like “he’s not so bad, I guess” and “Harry, you’ll never guess what Draco said last night”.  Traitor.  Harry was the only one who could see through Malfoy’s little game.  Well, he hadn’t figured out what exactly the game was yet but he was sure that Malfoy was plotting something. 

Hermione sighed.  “When are you finally going to get over this stupid rivalry?  It’s been nearly ten years, for Merlin’s sake!  You’d get along with him if you gave him a chance.” 

She looked pleadingly at him and Harry sulkily crossed his arms in resignation.  It’s not as though he had anything better to do, he supposed.  After all, the last thing he wanted was to sit around in Grimmauld Place by himself all evening, surrounded by gloom and dust and old memories. 

So here he was.  Walking up to the fair and glaring daggers at the back of Malfoy’s head for having the nerve to come crashing back into Harry’s life and steal his best friends from under his nose.  

“Draco!” Hermione called out and Malfoy turned around.   

Instead of the familiar scowl that Harry had been expecting, Malfoy’s face split into a beaming smile.  Harry shivered.  It was just because the expression looked so alien on Malfoy’s face, he told himself.  Not because of the way the evening sun caught the grey in Malfoy’s eyes, turning them silver, or the way the casual black jeans lengthened his legs and clung in all the right places, or the way the fabric of his shirt rippled as Malfoy waved, exposing a hint of pale collarbone.  Harry frowned and shook his head.  He would have to tread carefully; this could all be part of Malfoy’s nefarious plan. 

Malfoy stepped forward to greet them, kissing Hermione on one cheek and shaking hands with Ron.  Noticing Harry, his smile faded a little and he took a deep breath. 

“Potter.”  Malfoy held out his hand, eyes no longer warm but wary. 

At the gesture, Harry was transported back to a dark September night over a decade ago.  I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.  Malfoy’s fragile smile trembled and Harry wondered if he was reliving the same memory.  To hell with it, Harry thought, before gripping Malfoy’s surprisingly warm hand in his own and being rewarded with a grateful look from the blond. 

“Right then,” Ron coughed, breaking the tense silence.  Harry let go of the hand still encased in his and, in an excuse to hide his slightly flushed face, turned away to look at the fair.   

It sprawled out in front of them: a myriad of brightly coloured tents advertising petting zoos and fortune tellers, acrobats and contortionists; food stands piled high with butterbeer, pumpkin pasties and - Harry’s mouth salivated - treacle tart! There were sky-high rides with lights flashing vividly as guests sped around on flying motorbikes.  Harry was so entranced that he completely missed Hermione talking to him. 

Harry tore his eyes away from the bright lights and flashed Hermione a sheepish look.  “Sorry, ‘Mione.  What was that?” 

She rolled her eyes affectionately.  “We were just saying that we should have a walk around and see if anything grabs our attention.” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.  “Sounds good to me.” 

As they set off toward the first of the stands and tents, Harry couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the whole Malfoy situation.  Having him with them felt so unnatural and yet natural at the same time.  Through the noise and bustle of the fair, he could hear Malfoy talking to Hermione, the rich, aristocratic tone so familiar from his Hogwarts days.  Except now, rather than inciting anger, that tone was inciting something else entirely, something deep in Harry’s gut that he couldn’t put a finger on. 

“Oh, look!” Hermione gushed suddenly, pointing at a red and white striped tent.  “It’s a photo booth.  I used to go to them all the time with Mum and Dad.” 

“Huh,” Ron grunted, wandering over to the tent.  “Reckon it takes proper photos or just those weird standy-still ones Muggles have?” 

“Only one way to find out,” Hermione replied with a grin as she marched into the tent, pulling Harry unceremoniously behind her.   

Malfoy and Ron filed in behind and only then did Harry realise just how small the tent was.  It was no larger than a broomstick cupboard and, as Hermione and Ron fussed around with knuts and sickles, Harry was pushed up against the side wall, a head full of hair in his face and his arms full of a very pointy Malfoy. 

“Er…” Harry said, trying not to breathe for fear of falling over. 

“Oh, shit… sorry,” Malfoy stammered, a curious blush appearing on his ordinarily pale cheeks. 

“No, it’s ok.  I’ll just…” 

“If I move over here…” 

But every movement only served to bring them closer together until Harry was pressed against Malfoy from knee to shoulder.  The fresh, fruity scent of Malfoy’s hair wafted into his face and Harry closed his eyes, praying to the four founders that Hermione and Ron would hurry the fuck up before things got even more awkward.  He was only human, after all, and he wouldn’t be able to help it if his body decided that it was rather interested in being this close to someone, and a rather nice smelling someone at that, after such a long time.   

“Ah, got it!” Ron exclaimed as a disembodied voice spoke. 

“Welcome to WizSnaps, the UK’s premium photography booth service.  Please be advised that this service is not recommended for those suffering from light-sensitive ailments or curses.  Prepare for photograph capture in 3, 2, 1…” 

Harry smiled awkwardly.  Even after all these years, he still wasn’t quite comfortable with posing for magical photos.  I mean, it’s just going to be a 5 second loop of me looking like an idiot, he thought. 

The disembodied voice spoke again.  “Your photographs are now available for collection.  Thank you for using WizSnaps.” 

As they piled out of the booth, Ron handed them each a copy of the photo.  Harry distractedly pocketed his and took a deep breath, grateful to be out of the confined tent and taking advantage of the fresh air to regain his composure.  He followed as Ron and Hermione strolled off and listened as they excitedly discussed what they wanted to do next.  He glanced over at Malfoy and frowned in confusion.  The blond was staring in horror down at the photo in his hand, his face flushed red with embarrassment.  What’s got him so upset, Harry wondered as he pulled out the photo that had been hurriedly stuffed into his pocket.  Before he could examine it, however, he heard a rasping voice call out. 

“Care to hear you fortune, dear?” 

Harry glanced around, trying to place the voice in the busy crowd.  His eyes fell upon a shrivelled old witch whose liver-spotted hands were beckoning him over to her.  As if caught on an invisible fishing line, Harry weaved through the crowd toward her until he reached a dark, inconspicuous tent, almost unnoticed amongst the brightness of the other stands and stalls.  The witch smiled at him encouragingly.  Noticing that their friend was no longer behind them, Hermione and Ron turned and followed Harry, Malfoy trailing behind them. 

“Fortune telling?” Hermione grimaced.  “Harry, you know that divination is nonsense.  Don’t you remember Trelawney?” 

Harry shrugged.  He did remember Trelawney and, from Hermione’s many rants, knew how subjective and inconsistent divination was.  But there was something about this witch, about the way she had picked him out of the busy crowd and spoken to him as if right next to his ear.    

“I know, Hermione.  But I’ve got a feeling about this,” he explained, surer than ever that this was something that he needed to do.  “I’ll come find you guys when I’m done.”    

Hermione frowned in disapproval but nodded, taking Ron away and further into the fair.  Malfoy shot Harry a curious look before following them into the crowd. 

Harry turned back to the witch.  “So.  How does this work then?” 

She smiled mysteriously at him and beckoned him forward once more and into the darkness of the tent.  Harry coughed as he entered, the air smoky and pungent with the smell of burning herbs, and blinked in the gloom.  In the middle of the space he could make out two embroidered chairs seated around a worn, wooden table.  The witch gestured to the nearest chair and Harry sat down. 

The old witch sat opposite him and her scratchy voice began to echo through the tent. 

“You come to see your fortune, 

But seeker, a note of caution, 

These runes see future, present and past, 

But although you see, it may not last, 

For everything has chance to alter, 

So if you want, you must not falter, 

Your future lies within your hand, 

Poor or rich, lowly or grand.” 

Goosebumps erupted along Harry’s arms as she spoke.  The magic in the words was undeniable.  She held out a wrinkled hand and Harry hesitantly reached out, jumping slightly as he met ice-cold skin.  The witch raised her other hand and, with an incoherent mumble, dropped a set of what looked like wooden dice on the table.  Each had more sides than Harry could count and were carved with strange symbols.  The witch examined them intently before speaking. 

“Your past was full of sadness and loss, a dark presence haunted your steps and those you trusted used you as a pawn in a greater game.” 

Harry huffed.  “Well everyone knows that.” 

The witch’s next words silenced him. 

“Your present is no less full of sadness.  Once the apple of the public’s eye, you have retreated to a house of dark and decay, pushing away all but your closest friends.  You convince yourself that no one will ever love you for who you are, rather than who they believe you to be, so you lock your heart away.” 

Harry felt his eyes prickling.  Never had someone laid out so clearly the fears and doubts that had been filling him up for so many years. 

“And…” Harry cleared his throat.  “What about my future?” 

“Your future,” the witch paused, examining the last rune closely.  “Your future is what you let it be.  I see happiness and love if you would but open yourself to it.  But I also see loneliness and despair, if you do not.” 

Harry frowned.  “What?  What kind of amateur fortune telling is that?” 

The witch stared at him, her eyes glinting mischievously in the gloom.  “Ah,” she croaked.  “I see that you might need more than that.  A push, maybe?  Very well.  I will give you a rare gift: a glimpse into your near future.  When you leave this place, you will wake far from here and will have a chance to see what could be yours,” she paused, before adding, “if only you would shed the fear of rejection that clings to your very soul.” 

And with a gummy grin and a “Four years or so should do it.  Good luck, Harry” she disappeared in a poof of smoke. 

Harry jumped and coughed away the pungent smoke that rushed to fill his lungs.  Had the old witch been serious, he thought, clearing the remaining smoke away with his hand.  Will I really see my future?  He stood up and faced the exit of the tent.  Taking a deep breath and hoping that this wasn’t some gigantic joke, he stepped forward.  As the dusty fabric slid over his face, he felt his eyelids droop, his head became heavy on his shoulders and his vision went dark.   

——- 

Harry groaned as the early morning light landed upon his face.  He had been having the strangest dream; something about Malfoy and fortunes and ferris wheels.  Ah well, he thought, stretching out his tired limbs over the silky bed sheets.  He couldn’t remember a time he’d been this comfortable!  He usually woke up panicked and out of breath, covered in sweat and sweltering in the scratchy sheets.  Wait.  Scratchy?  Harry paused in his stretching.  These sheets were the opposite of scratchy!  They were divinely soft, light as air against his naked-  Naked?!  Since when the bloody hell, Harry thought with a frown, did I sleep naked? 

Confused, Harry prised open his heavy eyelids and jolted as the remnants of sleep left him in a startling whoosh.  This was definitely his room, but not as he remembered it.  Rather than the dark, peeling wallpaper that he was used to, the walls were painted a bright, periwinkle blue that seem to gleam in the morning sun.  Rather than the threadbare, dusty carpet, his feet met the smooth hardness of wooden floorboards.  In the corner of the room - the room he was sure he had left in a state the previous night - piled high with dirty clothes, stood a stunning armoire that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a country mansion. 

The more he looked around, the more Harry grew to think that there was something very, very wrong.  Unfamiliar clothes and shoes were dotted around the room, paintings that he’d never seen before were hanging on the walls and, even more unnerving, there was the sound of music coming from downstairs. 

Beginning to panic, Harry quickly grabbed his wand, threw on a t-shirt and pair of tracksuit trousers that looked as if they belonged to him and tiptoed out onto the landing.  The music was louder here and, when he listened closely enough, Harry could just about hear someone moving around downstairs.  He inched down the stairs, his wand braced in front of him.  As he crept down the last step and into the ground floor hallway of Grimmauld Place, Harry nearly screamed when a voice beside him spoke. 

“Good morning.” 

He spun around and came face to face with a snake.  About four foot in length, the snake was lying in a shallow pool of water inside a giant glass tank.  It looked completely unconcerned to see Harry and seemed to think that the whole situation was perfectly normal. 

“Er, hello,” Harry replied, keeping his voice quiet in case the person rattling around in his kitchen heard. 

“You’re up late,” the snake said, rather disapprovingly.  “The other one has been awake for hours.” 

Harry frowned.  “The other one?  Who’s the other one?” 

The snake rolled its eyes as if it should be obvious.  “The other one.  The one with white scales who brings me tasty frogs to eat.  Speaking of which… I’m hungry.” 

More confused than ever, Harry turned away from the snake.  It’d refused to speak any more until Harry brought him breakfast anyway.  Instead, he sneaked towards the open kitchen door and peered around the corner into the room.  Well I’ve definitely found the source of the banging, Harry thought as he stood there motionless, glued to the spot at the sight of Draco Malfoy waltzing around his kitchen in nothing but a baggy Falmouth Falcons t-shirt and a pair of rather ratty Slytherin pyjama bottoms.  And to make things even stranger, it looked as if he was trying to cook. 

As if sensing Harry’s eyes on him, Malfoy glanced over from where he was attempting to crack an egg.  “Morning, sleepy,” he said with an affectionate smile.  “Have you been up long?” 

Feeling like he had to respond but not trusting his voice, Harry shook his head. 

“I suppose you needed your rest after last night,” Malfoy said, shooting Harry a filthy grin that left no doubt in Harry’s mind about what last night had entailed.  “Sit down then.  I’ll make you some coffee.” 

Still not quite sure that his voice would be able to do anything but scream, Harry obeyed the strange demand and watched Malfoy amble around his kitchen whilst a million and one thoughts flew around Harry’s head.  Malfoy placed a steaming cup of coffee down on the breakfast table and Harry, sipping on autopilot, asked the one question that seemed to make it through the fog of confusion that was his mind. 

“How do you know how I like my coffee?” 

Malfoy looked at him like he was crazy.  “Harry, I’ve been making you coffee for years.” 

Harry stared at him, filing away Malfoy’s casual use of his first name for a time when he didn’t feel like he was going mad.  

Malfoy’s mocking expression changed to one of concern and he placed a warm hand to Harry’s forehead.  “Harry, are you feeling alright?  You look terribly pale.  Was it another nightmare?” 

It must be a nightmare, he thought, there’s no other explanation for what’s happening.  Suddenly, Malfoy’s arms slipped around him and Harry froze.  Strong hands ran soothingly through his hair and along his back and Harry found himself loosening and relaxing under the pressure.  In for a penny, he thought, as he sighed and rested his head against Malfoy’s chest.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held like this, but there was something about the situation that made him feel safe and secure, like he’d done this a thousand times before.  With a last stroke of his hair, Malfoy released him. 

“Now, who wants pancakes?” 

——- 

Harry had come to a conclusion.  Either this was happening entirely in his head and he was locked away somewhere in St Mungo’s or this was real and he didn’t know Draco Malfoy very well at all.  Because said person was currently dancing around Harry’s kitchen in pyjamas and making pancakes, all the while singing along to what sounded like Celestina Warbeck.  The Malfoy he knew from school, all stuffy and posh and “wait ‘till my father”, was gone and in his place was this… well.  Harry wasn’t even sure how to describe him.  Whirlwind?  Maniac? 

After forcing his way through a stack of slightly rubbery pancakes – Malfoy had seemed so pleased with himself that Harry hadn’t the heart to tell him – he remembered the snake’s demand. 

“Oh, don’t believe a thing Achilles says,” Malfoy had responded.  “I’ve already fed him this morning.  He’s just trying to get more food out of you.” 

“Achilles?  What kind of name is that for a snake?” Harry scoffed. 

“I’ll have you know,” said Malfoy with mock indignation, “that Achilles is a perfectly respectable name for a snake.  And anyway, it’s your fault for letting me name him.”   

“You named him?” Harry questioned. 

Malfoy gave him an askance look.  “We are a bit slow this morning.  I know you told me to fuck your brains out last night but I didn’t know I’d done such a good job,” he said with a smirk.  “Yes, although you drew the line at me naming him Salazar!  Ron and Hermione thought it hilarious, you living with two snakes.” 

At the mention of his friends, Harry started.  Of course, he thought.  He’d been such an idiot.  He should have contacted Ron and Hermione straight away.  If anyone would be able to help him figure out what the hell was going on it would be Hermione. 

“Er… speaking of Hermione, I’m just going to give her a call and see if she’s home,” Harry said as nonchalantly as he could. 

Malfoy raised his eyebrow at him.  “Ok.  I’ll clean up in here while you do that.”  

As fast as he could without seeming suspicious, Harry rushed to the living room and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace with a shout of “Hermione and Ron’s house!”  The fireplace swirled emerald green and cleared as a young girl greeted him. 

“Hi, Uncle Harry,” she said smiling. 

“Uh…” Harry faltered.  He had no idea who this person was.  Looking at her closer though Harry recognised the bright red hair, the freckly cheeks, the warm brown eyes and prominent front teeth that all told him exactly who she was.  “Hi there.  Is Mummy there?” 

“Ok.  She was just getting Hugo up but I’ll get her.”  The girl vanished from view but Harry could hear the loud “MUUUUUUM! UNCLE HARRY WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!” 

Less than a minute later a familiar brown, bushy head appeared in the fireplace. 

“Hi, Harry.  How are you?” 

Harry paused, wondering where the hell to start.  “Erm, not that great, Hermione.  You see, I don’t really know where I am.” 

Hermione eyed him with concern.  “I don’t understand.” 

“Well I woke up and there was music and then there was a snake and Malfoy and pancakes and-“ Harry blurted out incoherently. 

“Hey, slow down,” Hermione said calmly.  “Now, start from the beginning.” 

So Harry told her everything.  The more he spoke the deeper her frown became until he finally finished. 

“What do I do, Hermione?” 

“You’ve got to stay calm, Harry.  It sounds as if you’re under some kind of spell.  What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Harry thought.  He remembered going to bed, dreading being woken up again by countless nightmares, remembered being at Ron and Hermione’s getting ready to go out.  Where were they going?  Somewhere outside – he remembered wrapping up warm and travelling by floo to a small village.  He remembered lights and noise and smells and a giant flashing wheel.   

“I think I was at a fair?” Harry said uncertainly. 

Hermione’s face lit up.  “Yes!  Harry, we went to a fair ages ago.  Must have been four or five years ago.  That’s the last thing you remember?” 

Harry nodded.  “What happened that night?  Maybe it’ll jog my memory.” 

“Well we met Draco there – you were really unhappy about that,” she said with a smile.  “If I recall you and Ron ate an excessive amount of treacle tart, we went on a few rides, I think you went to see a fortune teller but you wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d said-“ 

“That’s it!” Harry shouted, making Hermione jump.  “The fortune teller!  She told me my future and said that maybe I just needed a push in the right direction.  She said that to help me she’d show me a glimpse of my future…” 

Harry trailed off.  So that was what this was?  This is what his future could be?  Just as he was trying to figure out how to feel about that, Hermione spoke. 

“If that’s true, Harry, then I’m sure you’ll be back in your own timeline soon.  These spells never last very long.  Probably just until you fall asleep.” 

Harry nodded, the fog of confusion back and muddling his thoughts. 

“Can I just say one thing, though?” Hermione asked.  “I can see the cogs in your brain whirling and if you’re scared about this being your future, don’t be.  I’ve seen how happy you are with Draco.  You two are made for each other.  Just give him until the end of the day to convince you of that.  Ok?” 

Harry nodded once again and the floo connection cut off.  He groaned as he stood up, his legs protesting at the rough treatment of having to kneel on such a hard surface for so long.  Harry took a deep breath.  Time to re-join the person who I could be spending my future with, he thought with a slightly hysterical laugh. 

Stepping out into the hallway, a hissing voice reached out to him. 

“Has the one with the black scales brought me some tasty frogs?” Achilles asked hopefully, raising its coils up from the shallow pond. 

Harry shook his head.  “Sorry.  Apparently you’ve already been fed this morning.  I’ve been told not to trust you anymore.” 

Achilles sank back down in resignation.   

Harry went to walk back into the kitchen but was stopped short by the sight of Malfoy leaning against the doorway.  He was watching Harry with a predatory gaze, the kind of look that made Harry want to run away and move closer at the same time. 

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Malfoy tutted.  “You know what speaking in Parseltongue does to me.” 

“Wh- what does it do?” Harry gulped, the way Malfoy’s were raking up and down his body making him feel naked. 

Malfoy pushed off from the doorframe and sauntered over to crowd Harry against the wall.  He placed his hands on Harry’s sides, scratching his fingernails lightly over ribs, and pushed his hips forward to meet Harry’s.  “This is what it does to me,” Malfoy almost growled in his ear. 

Harry gasped.  Malfoy was hard against him.  He could feel himself lengthening in response and threw his head back as Malfoy began peppering kisses over Harry’s neck.  Hands roamed over his arms, shoulders and chest, before settling to grip his backside, the scraping of nails providing the perfect pain to accompany the pleasure of warm lips ravaging his neck.  The lips travelled upwards until they met Harry’s own.  Finally, Harry thought, as he opened his mouth under the assault and allowed his tongue to intertwine with Malfoy’s.  Thoughts of “what the fuck am I doing?” vanished as quickly as they had appeared as Harry lost himself in the feel of Malfoy’s body against his own, the feel of his lips and tongue and – oh my god! – cock.   

When Malfoy pulled away, Harry only just managed to hold in the groan.  “I’ve got an idea,” Malfoy said, licking his lips suggestively.  “Why don’t we move this to the shower.” 

Harry showed no resistance as Malfoy guided him upstairs by the hand, pulling him into the same bedroom as he had woken up in and through into the en suite he had no idea even existed.  He raised his arms as Malfoy hurried to undress them both, trying and failing not to stare when Malfoy threw off pyjamas to reveal stunning, porcelain skin that Harry itched to touch.  When Malfoy stepped under the hot mist of the shower and held a hand out invitingly, Harry’s willpower snapped.  Who cared if this wasn’t his life?  Shouldn’t he at least make the most of it while he was here?  And hell, it could be his life if he wanted it.  But before the confusing thoughts could continue, Malfoy was on him again.  His soapy hands were running all over Harry’s body, everywhere but the place Harry most wanted them to be.  As if he could sense this, Malfoy smirked. 

“What’s wrong, Harry,” he whispered throatily.  “Is there something you want?” this is a very Nicole thing to say! ;) 

When Malfoy’s fingers trailed down to stroke his inner thigh, Harry stopped trying to resist.  “My cock,” he begged.  “Please.” 

“My, my.  Such pretty manners,” Malfoy praised as his hand moved to grasp Harry’s length. 

Harry shouted out in pleasure.  It had been so long since he’d been touched by someone other than himself.  Being Harry Potter wasn’t really conducive to one-night stands and there had been no one since Ginny who had been worth the risk.  But this was something else. 

Just when Harry thought that this couldn’t get any better, Malfoy released him, repositioned himself and reached down to grab both of them together.  Harry’s eyes rolled back and he braced himself against the wall, legs weak with spine-tingling pleasure.  Malfoy’s hand was slick and moved with ease, generating delicious friction between them until Harry could take it no longer.  He groaned as he came hard, riding out the waves under Malfoy’s relentless pace, until Malfoy himself shook and threw his head back with a moan. 

They stood there like that, under the water as they regained breath.  Malfoy’s hands traced circles on Harry’s hips and Harry finally got a chance to touch Malfoy’s pale skin, his fingers trailing over biceps and shoulders and running over dusky pink nipples.  He discovered that Malfoy was ticklish if you stroked him in just the right place under his armpit, that he flushed down to his chest after he came and that his hair turned a breath-taking shade of gold when wet.  This could be mine, Harry thought.  And the thing was, he wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want it anymore.  

——- 

“Urgh,” Malfoy groaned, slamming another kitchen cupboard shut.  “I can’t be bothered to cook tonight.  Shall we just get a takeaway?”  He looked at Harry pleadingly. 

Harry smiled, still  not used to seeing Malfoy do anything but scowl and sneer.  “Sure, whatever you want.” 

“Yes!” Malfoy cheered.  “Then we’re having Indian.  It’s been ages since I’ve had a good vindaloo.” 

“A vindaloo?  Isn’t that a bit spicy?” Harry asked doubtfully. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes.  “Thank you very much for your input, Mr I-have-a-tikka-masala-every-time, but, unlike you with your delicate sensibilities, I’m actually adventurous when it comes to trying different food.” 

Harry chuckled.  Yes, this Malfoy was definitely not what he had expected but, as the evening wore on, as they demolished curries and rice and naan and settled down with a bottle of wine, Harry began to realise that this might be the Malfoy he wanted.  

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry slurred, already a glass and a half of wine down and counting.  Somehow he had ended up with his head on Malfoy’s shoulder and didn’t quite have the energy or the inclination to move just yet.  

“You already did but go on,” Malfoy smirked. 

With a roll of his eyes, Harry asked, “How did we get here?” 

Malfoy sighed.  “I know, I sometimes wonder that myself.  How did two people who hated each other so much get to this point?  The truth is, Harry, I don’t think I ever really hated you.  I think I was jealous and angry and resentful but, after the war, that all just seemed so… insignificant.”  Malfoy took a sip of wine and swirled his glass as he continued.  “After that, I must confess that I developed a bit of a crush!  Hermione and Ron spoke about you a lot, of course, and I think they had an inkling about how I felt so they just kept trying to find ways of getting us to meet.  Me coming along to the fair was their idea.  Merlin, that was a disaster at first!  I remember you being so guarded, almost like you thought I was going to summon the Dark Lord there and then!”  He chuckled, stroking Harry’s hair away from his forehead with a free hand.  “And that photo booth!  I was so embarrassed, seeing myself staring at you like a smitten teenager.  But then you seemed to warm to me.  You wowed me with your charms and I was gone.” 

Harry hummed thoughtfully before grinning.  “You really had a crush on me?” 

“Urghh,” Malfoy moaned.  “I should have known that would be the part you’d pick up on.  Now I’m never going to hear that end of it!” 

Harry smiled but relaxed against Malfoy’s shoulder.  He thought about what Hermione had said, about giving Malfoy a chance to convince him that they could be happy together.  Exactly when it had shifted Harry had no idea, but there was no doubt left in his mind that he could be happy with this person.  

“Draco?” Harry said, raising his head and peering into warm grey eyes.  The face that he met was so familiar and yet old memories of scowls and sneers had been replaced by new ones of smiles and laughter and moans of pleasure.   “I had a really great day today.” 

Draco smiled at him.  “Me too, Harry.”  He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Harry’s lips.  “And plenty more like it to come.” 

Yes, Harry thought, as he closed his eyes.  Because now he knew what he wanted and he was damned if he was going to let it slip away.   

——- 

Harry blinked as the flashing lights and bright colours assaulted his eyes.  He stared at the people and sights around him, trying to orientate himself.  Yes, he was back at the fair.  The old witch’s spell had worked.  He had seen his future and now had the chance to make it happen.  What was it she had said?  “So if you want, you must not falter, your future lies within your hand.”  Then that was exactly what he was going to do.  

He looked out towards the direction Hermione, Ron and Draco had headed in, hoping that he’d be able to find them in the bustling crowd.  A sharp crinkling in his hand, however, made him pause.  Harry glanced down and opened his fist to reveal the photo they had taken earlier in the evening.  So this was what had made Draco so embarrassed.  He took a closer look and smiled, watching as the photo looped again and again: Hermione and Ron giggling together, himself grimacing and squashed awkwardly into the corner and Draco, who could never seem to take his eyes off of Harry.  A warm feeling erupted in his chest and he strode out into the fair, more determined than ever. 

Suddenly, a bright head of hair caught his eye. 

“Harry!  Over here,” shouted Ron.  “You’re just in time, mate.  We were just about to get some treacle tart.” 

“Brilliant,” Harry grinned with a knowing chuckle. 

“How was the fortune teller?” Hermione asked sceptically. 

Harry smirked.  “It was pretty good.” 

He turned to Draco, who seemed startled to be receiving Harry’s full attention, and took a deep breath.  “I was wondering if you’d like to go on the ferris wheel with me afterwards?” 

“Oh!  Er, yes!  That would be-“ Draco stammered, his face flushing in a very familiar way, “that would be nice.” 

Harry ignored the loaded look that Hermione and Ron sent each other and smiled at Draco.  “Great.  Now, did someone say something about treacle tart?”

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