#i COULD’VE drawn them but i couldn’t be arsed

[misiahasahardname]

am i allowed to tmf post on main

[dracosathenaeum]

Words Hurt

Summary: You overheard Draco insulting you to Notts and Blaise. 

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: Swear words

Word count: 2,572

Sneaking into Draco’s dorm room had become a skill by now. Getting into the Slytherin common room was the easy part. Sneaking into his room without students noticing was slightly more difficult. The trick? Stealing one of Draco’s robes so you looked the part.

Having done this countless times, you expected to waltz into his room and find him on his bed or at his desk. What you didn’t expect to see-, well hear was loud laughter coming from his room. With his door ajar you peeked through to see him pacing the room, his back to you, Blaise and Nott sprawled across his bed. Draco hated having anyone but you in his room let alone his bed, what was going on?

“It’s such a pain, it’s like she’s always there. No matter where I go, she’s right there, she’s like a leech that won’t let go! God she’s so annoying, would it kill her to give me some space?!”

Taken aback, you hold a hand to your thundering heart as your fight or flight kicks in. You could storm in there, confront him there and then about it, but what if he broke up with you? It took months to get to where you are now, for him to open up completely, for you to break down his walls. Putting your ear to the door again, you listen, just in case, just in case it was a misunderstanding.

“Mate she doesn’t seem that bad, I mean she’s hot and bloody whipped for your sorry arse.” That comment from Zabini earned a high five and laugh from Notts.

“A leech Zabini, did you not hear? A leech. She always has to spend every waking hour with me. It’s a surprise she hasn’t barged in yet.” And with a sigh he slumps into his chair by the desk, hand massaging his temples.

You were known for being touchy, that’s just how you showed affection. But for your boyfriend talk about you like that? You needed time to think. You needed to do something for Draco to make him regret his words. It just required a little… careful planning. Draco was known for being a possessive bastard for a reason after all.

Walking into the Great hall the following morning (after having spent the previous evening ignoring Draco’s letters asking for you to meet him) you had a different air around you, a sense of purpose. You walked straight to the Y/H table, members of your own house gawking as you sat down next to your friends for the first time since you started dating Draco. You were still close with your house mates, you just preferred eating with Draco,  and besides, Slytherins were fun in their own sense.

“Uh, did you get lost or something? WAIT did you two fight? Because if you did, I so called it. Mia you owe me 5 galleons, pay up!”

“Wait wait wait, you guys bet on my relationship with Draco?” This was a very Slytherin type of thing to do, to say this was unexpected was an understatement.

“Every house has bet on you two Y/N/N, we love you obviously, but there’s galleons to be made.” You had definitely chosen your best friends right.

“I hate you.” You stick out your tongue just to emphasise the point. “Now, has Draco noticed yet, has he looked over?” Not turning your head around to peak was the extremely difficult, everything in your body was telling you to turn around.  

“Uh I don’t know what happened between you two but he does not look happy with you, if looks could kill…” Issy basically confirmed that your plan was working, you were hoping he’d be more confused or upset about you ignoring him, but anger would work too.

You finished your breakfast with Issy and Mia, the three of you leaving the Great hall together, all whilst successfully keeping the gaze, well glare of your boyfriend on you whilst you yourself didn’t spare him a single glance.

You weren’t even two steps out of the great hall when you feel a hand wrap around your wrist and pull you away from your friends. Yelping, you whip around to see a fuming blonde Slytherin leading you towards one of the court yards. You yanked your arm out of his grip as soon as you’d both stopped walking. “You know, you could’ve asked me nicely to follow you?”

“Why have you been avoiding me since last night? You didn’t respond to my letters and you ate at your own table. You haven’t even looked at me! Is everything okay? Has something happened?” You almost scoffed at the sincerity in his words. This was the same boy that had been saying how much he hated having you around all the time, surely the last 12 hours had been bliss for him.

You acted nonchalant, “Oh, I’ve just been busy. I am a student Draco. I have something called homework that needs to be done.”

Clearly, he was not very impressed by your response but neither of you really wanted to create a scene in front of the whole school. “Come on, I’ll walk you to class.” Draco was just reaching for you hand when you pulled away, as if his touch burned you. The look of hurt that shot across his eyes almost broke your resolve, almost. “It’s okay! Mia and Issy are waiting for me, besides, your lesson is across the castle. I’ll see you later okay!” And with that you turned and ran towards you lesson, leaving Draco staring after you dumbfounded.

It wasn’t until dinner that evening that you saw Draco again, this time, he was the one to surprise you. His bright blonde hair and green robes certainly stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of Y/H/C robes. And if that wasn’t the dead giveaway, the hushed whispers and glances from literally every other student in his direction was.

“Uh, Draco, not that I don’t love seeing you, but why are you at my table? We usually sit at Slytherin’s. You know my house tolerates you but they’re not… overly fond of you.” The last part you made sure only he heard.

“You’ve avoided me all day and all of last night. Can’t I be worried about my own girlfriend?” And as that signature cocky smirk of his stretched across his face, you knew you had lost.

That was until Cedric Diggory sat down next to you.

You were old family friends, everyone knew that, and he was always the one thing you could count on Draco being jealous of 100% of the time, no matter how small the interaction. Which is why you proceeded to throw yourself onto him and scream “I’ve missed you so much!! We have to go to The Three Broomsticks this weekend, I want to know how my favourite seeker is doing.” And you threw in a no-so-subtle wink to really rub salt into the wound.

Which… lead to you being thrown over a certain blonde’s shoulder and carried out of the great hall. You had two choices, let Draco carry you out and talk this through like any other normal couple, or… scream bloody murder and run away. You were a second too late to execute your plan however, he’d already walked the both of you straight into the room of requirement. “Uh Draco, what were you thinking of when summoned the room? Why is there only a bed and a fireplace?”

He sat down on the bed, pulling you to stand between his legs; his face was flushed a deep pink, it was adorable. “I just wanted a place to talk, I swear. Besides, I never heard you complain sex before.” God you wanted to punch the stupid smirk off his face.

“Oh my god Draco!” You really weren’t winning anymore; you were putty in his hands again.

“So princess, wanna tell me why you’ve been distant all day?” He had a hand under your chin now, the other holding your waist to keep you from moving. God you had missed his hands on you.

“I told you, I’ve just been busy. Besides we’ve spent so much time together recently, I’m sure you enjoyed the break.” You placed your hands on his shoulders, allowing yourself to lean down to drop a peck on his lips.

“Love what are you talking about?? When would I ever not want to spend time with you?”

By now you had your head resting on top of his, exhausted of having to keep up this façade around him. You missed his touch more than you had thought. This was pathetic, you couldn’t keep yourself together for even 24 hours. Was your resolve this weak?

“Tell me what’s wrong darling. Is it Potter? I swear to God- “

“No, it wasn’t Potter, sit your ass down Malfoy. Honestly you should just date him instead, you sure talk about him enough.” You weren’t sure whether to cry or laugh at this point.

“For the sake of our relationship I’m just going to pretend that you didn’t just suggest that I date Potter.” His hands reached up to cup your face, forcing you to make eye contact. “Now do you want to tell be why you can’t even look me in the eyes? Did I do something?”

You could cry at this point; how was this the same boy you saw compare you to a leech and insulted you to his friends? Was this just a game to him? Did he even love you or was this all just one big joke to him? You hadn’t realised how long you’d been lost in your own thoughts until Draco hooked his hands under your thighs and pulled you onto his lap, bringing your attention back his piercing grey eyes.

“I heard you. Last night. I came up to your room to see you, but you were in there with Blaise and Notts and I heard everything. I heard you talk shit about me to your them, do you hate being with me that much? Did you even love me at all? Or is this just one big game to you?” He had kept his eyes on you the entire time whilst yours had fallen to your lap, voice trembling. Your heart thundered in your chest as the heavy silence drew on, quickly becoming unbearable. You had hoped this entire time that it was just one big misunderstanding, that Draco would say you misheard. Yet the long-drawn silence was enough to make your heart drop to your stomach.

You set your arms on his shoulders, prepared to push yourself to stand up out of his hold, ready to sprint out the door to break down once in the comfort of your own dorm room. But just as you raised yourself from his lap, Draco’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you in place on his lap. His right hand then reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before bringing his mouth up to meet yours. You savoured the feeling, of his soft lips on yours, of the minty taste of him on your tongue; knowing it may be the last one you two would ever share. That thought alone was enough for the tears to start flowing, your kiss turning salty as your tears flowed heavier to the point where sobs broke out from your lips, breaking the kiss. You buried you head in your hands, trying to control the sobs wracking your body as Draco cradled you to him, guiding your head to rest in the crook of his neck.

Your hands gripped the back of his shirt, sobbing heavily into the white cotton as he ran his hands over your back and squeezed you tight. It wasn’t until you had managed to calm your sobs into quiet hiccups that he spoke up, his voice quiet and calm compared to how your thundering heart and uneven breaths.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to hear that- no, I shouldn’t have said it in the first place. I didn’t mean anything I said, I swear to you, I love you so much and I would never do anything to hurt you. You’ve changed me for the better, you know you have. After getting this hideous mark on my arm, you have been the only thing that has kept me sane. The only thing that has tethered me to this world. I will never forgive myself for saying those words, even if it was just to keep up my image for Blaise and Notts. I love you. I love you. I love you.” He kept repeating the same three words. He whispered sweet nothings into your ears, begging for you forgiveness, trying to prove his love to you.

You had stopped crying altogether at this point, you simply relaxed into his hold, listening to his words and his heartbeat. From the second he opened his mouth you had already forgiven him; you’d never heard him sound so… raw before. Sure, you’d had emotional talks before, but you’d never heard him sound so scared, scared that he’d lose you.

You stood up from his lap and watched as his face fell, the colour draining from his face as he prepared for you to leave him then and there. Instead you reached for his hands, pulling him to stand in front of you. “Promise you’ll never put me through this again?”

“I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never question my love for you ever again. I-I never wanted to hurt you; I would never purposely do so.”

“I believe you.” And with that you wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling him in for a breath-taking kiss.

He pulled back from you, breaking the kiss only to say, “What a couple me make huh?” This had you giggling into the kiss as he claimed your lips as quickly as he had let them go. Luckily you had the room of requirement to… spend time together in. (let’s just say the both of you were very thankful for the bed)

Things didn’t immediately go back to normal again after that, Draco was a very private individual, so it took some time for him to learn that he didn’t have to hold up a façade around people who truly cared about him, and for him to not insult those he looked for the sake of his image. But once he got past that, the two of you would become unbreakable, your trust in one another running deep.

Voldemort would come and try to corrupt Draco, but Draco would stay by your side, fighting for Hogwarts despite the allegiance to Voldemort permanently scarred onto his skin. He would come back for his 8th year and build friendships with people he never thought he would, even being able to speak to the Golden Trio without grimacing or insulting them.

And as you laid in your bed on a cold winter night some 15 years from here, your son in between the two of you having crawled into your bed after having a nightmare, you knew you were content to spend the rest of your life just like this. That you would go through everything again in a heartbeat to end up where you are now.

#A/N: I am so sorry for this ending, I didn't really like how it ended but changed it like 20 times and this was the one that didn't make me want to burn the entire thing so I hope you enjoyed it! 

Add yourself to my taglist!

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

Whumptober No. 3: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But...

Taunting | Insults | “Who did this to you?”

Summary: Nothing could’ve prepared Geralt for Jaskier being brought to Kaer Morhen, nor for the sight of the bandages on his injured hands. Despite what happened on that mountain, Geralt wants to know who did this - who took away something so integral to the core of Julian Alfred Pankratz. But he doesn’t get the answer he thought he would.

Words: 2k

A/N: DAY THREE LET’S GOOO! And after two and a half months, I’ve finally gotten another witcher fic out! It feels good! I missed writing for this fandom so much (and it’ll help me ease back into Spider’s Thread), and this was SUCH a fun prompt fill for today. This was inspired by some of That Jaskier Content from the latest s2 trailer, and it’s... implications about the state of his hands. I hope you enjoy!

[CW: Hurt/No Comfort, Torture Aftermath, Hand Injury]

--

Nothing could have prepared Geralt for this.

No, there was nothing in this world - not even a miracle - that could’ve prepared Geralt for the moment he sensed a portal - one of Yen’s portals - outside the keep.

For the moment he ran out to a balcony and saw her there, having somehow - despite everything he believed, everything he thought he knew for certain - having survived the Battle of Sodden Hill; for the moment he’d lay eyes on a very much alive Yennefer… with a bard’s arm drawn over her shoulder to support him.

His hair was longer now, down to his jaw, and a burgundy leather jacket - adorned with ribs and folds just like that red doublet he wore as he looked down at him on that mountain, heart shattered - lay in tatters on him, bandaged hands peeking out of it’s sleeves…

He didn’t look the same - Gods knew he didn’t look the same - but Geralt still recognized Jaskier.

He was shuffled into one of the many, many spare rooms almost immediately, and Geralt tried talking to Yennefer. Of course, she’d been tense with him, but that was alright. At least she was alive to be tense with him. He’d take that over a particular alternative any day.

Speaking of tense...

The keep had never felt so cold as right now, when Geralt of Rivia stood in the doorway of Jaskier’s impromptu room. Here, the bard sat in an old chair, in front of a desk he did not look like he’d use to write on anytime soon. No, he looked at the wood slab despondently, not even seeming to notice Geralt.

So, he spoke up, speaking to Jaskier, his companion of twenty years, for the first time since that mountain.

“Jaskier… you’re here.”

Jaskier didn’t look at him, but he did speak.

“Wasn’t my idea. I didn’t know where else to go, and even if I did, Yennefer insisted - didn’t think I’d be safe anywhere else. Can you believe that? Yennefer of Vengerberg has a soft spot for me. The end of days may very well be upon us.”

His voice was hoarse. Geralt knew it must have been from screaming. His eyes drew down to Jaskier’s hands, where patches of horrendous blue and gods-damned purple peeked out from slivers of space between the bandages that showed his open skin.

“Your hands…”

“Oh, these old things?” Jaskier looked down at them,  “Well, Yenny did her best, but they still hurt like a bitch to play with. I won’t bestow new ballads on the world for a while yet. Sorry if you expected me to sing your praises…”

But his tone made it clear that he wouldn’t do that even if his hands were as good as they were that day in Posada, or in Cintra, or on that mountain…

Geralt pursed his lips, trying to hold back his question. He didn’t deserve to know, he knew that, but he had to…

“...Who did this to you?” he spat out.

Jaskier lifted his gaze to meet the Witcher’s, and he laughed. It wasn’t like before - like the sunrise in the spring, like the bloom of buttercups, like love and joy and all the things he came to equate with Jaskier’s laughter, however unconscious, unadmitted these comparisons were. No, it was an empty, sardonic, quietly angry thing.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“And for what?” he asked, “So you can tear some fucker to shreds for laying a hand on me? Because you think I’m still your naive companion that would swoon at the thought of you exacting revenge on him for my sake? So you can make some grand gesture of brutality?”

“I’m not the one of us enamored with grand gestures.”

Jaskier tilted his head back and huffed. The shift in his movement made his hair move a bit, and Geralt realized he missed that little swoop - the little… floof, even - of hair that went down his forehead before, when his hair had been shorter.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said “us” about me and you.” Jaskier remarked, “Twenty years, and you acknowledge that I was something to you. Not sure what, but something.”

“You were…” 

Jaskier’s eyes widened as if he remembered something, “Oh! Right! I remember - a shitshoveler. The catalyst for all your plights, something life would bless you by taking off your hands.”

Guilt sliced into Geralt like a kikimora’s claws.

“Looks like life heard “taking” and “hands” and went straight to me…” Jaskier huffed with the ghost of amusement with himself, looking down at his hands.

“Of course you can still joke.”

Jaskier shrugged, “Not much else to do. They took my lute, and my ability to play it, but they haven’t taken my wit.”

He crossed his legs.

“The funny thing is…” he said, staring down at the cracks in the table in front of him, “There was a little bit there where, if you’d apologized, I would’ve forgiven you. But… there wasn’t a trace of you to speak of after that hunt. Nowhere I went. Not that I went looking.”

“I didn’t have time to look for you, either.” Geralt said, “I was with Ciri.”

Jaskier snapped his gaze up.

“Oh, come now, Witcher.” he said with venom Geralt only ever knew from bigoted villagers that Jaskier had tried to change the minds of with his songs before, “Does your prolonged lifespan render you timeblind, or has your head been so far up your ass for so long that you can’t even properly tell time anymore?”

“I-”

“Two years, Geralt.” he said, “A blink of an eye for you, maybe, but that’s how long it was between that damned dragon hunt and the fall of Cintra. Two years you could have found me, before Cintra fell, before-”

He snapped his jaw shut.

“Before who?”

“No, Geralt!” he snapped, slamming his hands on the table to help him stand up. It seemed that his anger stopped him from realizing how bad that would hurt, and he hissed through gritted teeth. Geralt tried to step forward, but it was like the ground between them was covered in hot coals, and Geralt’s feet couldn’t have been more bare.

Once the pain seemed to quell, Jaskier’s eyes opened, and he glowered at the Witcher.

“You don’t get to know. You don’t get to make that bastard beg for mercy and act like that fixes anything - as if it does anything but conflate your ego that is so, so massive despite how much you hate yourself. You don’t get to take revenge on my behalf. You don’t get to act like this,” he held up his hands, “is anything compared to what you did to my heart.”

“I’m sorry-”

“And you DON’T GET TO SAY THAT NOW.” he screamed, killing Geralt’s words before it could leave his lips.

Geralt saw tears in his eyes as he huffed shaky breaths.

“You don’t get to say it like some off-hand statement, only brought up since it’s relevant.” he said with a wavering voice, “You don’t get to only say it now that I’m here, fallen right in your lap because Gods knew where else Yennefer could take me. And you don’t get to say it like it means anything now.”

“Now?”

Jaskier lowered his gaze.

“...I sort of figured you were embarrassed. That you were too scared to get your head out of your ass, like you are with a lot of things, but once you did, I would’ve…”

He sighed.

“But I heard you went to Cintra. Heard you went to claim your child-surprise.”

“What does Cirilla have to do with this?” he asked.

“Who do you think he asked about with each bone he broke?” Jaskier asked, snapping his gaze back to Geralt, “You? If it were just you, I would’ve…”

He sighed.

“That isn’t the point. When I heard that after twelve years of running from your claim, you hauled your arse to Cintra to protect her, I realized that you were always capable of going back to unfinished business, to scorned places of the past - you could always do it, if it was for the sake of something important enough to you.”

Jaskier lowered his gaze again, smiling sadly - smiling bitterly. It was an odd thing, a bitter smile, but Jaskier, like a fine doublet, wore it well.

“I just wasn’t.” he said, “I’m not your destiny, or your djinn-bound soulmate. I was just a bard.”

My bard. Geralt wanted so badly to say.

“What could I have said?”

Jaskier’s lower lip quivered as he looked at the Witcher near-dumbfounded, as if his incredulousness were a dagger that cut him deep. He leaned back against the table.

“You tell me.” he shrugged, “For those two years, I was still stupid enough that anything would have worked. Really, I wished some of my eloquence rubbed off on you, and I could’ve gotten a plea that, in a spur of irony, I was one of the few blessings life ever granted you, but anything that sounded remotely like an apology would have worked.”

He put his hands on his hips. Geralt could tell how hesitant he was.

“...At least, it would have made me think I was worth an apology in your eyes, and I was worth all the work it could have taken, tracking me down to say it.”

He rubbed a patch of cloth on his trousers with his thumb. Geralt didn’t miss how the corner of his lip twitched.

“At least, I could’ve known that what you said really was just a product of the heat of the moment, sprung forth by a misplaced attempt at levity, and there was no truth to it. I was so desperate that I would have taken anything if it meant I’d stop missing you.”

“You obviously stopped missing me eventually.” 

Jaskier threw his head back again, “Wrong again, Geralt.”

He stood up straight again and walked across the floor, which, to Geralt, was still littered with hot coals he couldn’t dare step over.

“Do you really think that the venom in your words - the spit from your lips - the fury in your eyes could clear you from my mind? From my heart?” he walked right up to Geralt, though the space between them felt like it was pushing the Witcher away from Jaskier like a magnet.

“Do you really think that anything but the Gods themselves could’ve made me stop missing you?”

Geralt couldn’t say anything. Hearing Jaskier’s words… it was like a vocal hex, like someone had sewn his very lips shut.

(Perhaps if he had done so himself before that day on the hunt, things wouldn’t have gone so bad…)

(No, no, he still would’ve found a way to ruin things. He was Geralt of Rivia, after all.)

Jaskier was only inches away from him now - a distance like something from a dream, after they’d been distant for so long… but even though this was the closest their bodies had ever been to one another, the Witcher knew that Jaskier’s mind - his heart - was as far away from Geralt as it could ever get.

Jaskier was the one to break eye contact - as if he was still terrified of giving the Witcher the chance to break anything - and he looked down to his feet.

“...If you want to know who broke my hands, Yennefer knows more than I.” he said, “She’s the one that found me, told me more of who he was. All I have is a name for a face.”

Geralt turned to leave. Jaskier grabbed his wrist.

The touch burned.

“But…”

Jaskier lifted his head and looked Geralt in the eye.

“...You want to know who did this to me? Who ruined me? Who broke me?”

Jaskier’s eyes bore into Geralt’s soul, the ice blue of his irises piercing him like shards.

“Go look back on that mountain.”

[writingfromkitchenator]

Geralt ~ Smile

1,300 Followers Challenge!

Round 3 – Bonus fics!

Masterlist

Words: 1,335

Warnings: Neutral Reader, monster fight, injured reader, protective Geralt, mentions of blood, smidge of fluff

You still couldn’t quite believe that you were doing this, that you were allowing yourself to be partially used as bait against monsters, and then allowing yourself to help fight them. Still, it was better than the life you’d left behind, of being forced into a marriage you didn’t want with someone twice your age.  At least, bar his occasional grumpiness, Geralt was much better company.

This particular monster was hit on your heels as you sprinted away, towards where Geralt was waiting in ambush.  You’d given up a long time ago trying to learn the names of what they all were, all you knew about this one was that it was fast and it was ugly.

Jumping a log, you stumbled briefly, the breath knocked out of you as the monster swiped, just catching your back.  You’d been hit before, you knew how to take an impact, so you just got back to your feet and kept running.

There was a flash of white through the trees and you knew Geralt wasn’t far away, the monster roaring at your back.  You knew this wasn’t going to be an easy fight.

Your sword slipped into your hand as you ran past it, having hidden it in a tree so you could run unencumbered, and you slid to a halt in front of the monster, your feet digging hard into the soft ground, bracing for impact.

Luckily, the monster had slowed, seemingly aware that something was different, and that was when Geralt leapt from his hiding spot.

Geralt would always be better than you at fighting monsters, you would never deny that, he’d been doing it for far too long and his Witcher abilities made him a formidable foe, but you still always did feel better helping.

You charged in without hesitation, getting in a few good hits, drawing the monsters gaze back to you for a brief moment, allowing it to take another swipe.  This one missed, it’s attention drawn back to Geralt, who embedded his sword within it, but unfortunately was not a killing blow.

A cry or rage and pain left the creature and Geralt was thrown back, leaving you alone.  You hit it again, getting a deep laceration in its side, stopping it from going after Geralt.  It attacked and this time you weren’t so lucky.

The grunt of pain left you before you’d even registered what had happened, the creatures claws sunk into your arm, quickly followed by its teeth, your light armour no match for it.

It wasn't a killing blow, but it was enough to throw you off balance, your sword slipping from your hand as you tried to push it away.

The monster pulled away and you saw, almost as if in slow motion as this time it went for the kill, your eyes going wide.

In that time, Geralt had gotten back to his feet, his sword lodging in the monsters neck, which was just inches from your throat, your heart racing as the world seemed to return to normal speed.

You grunted as the dead weight hit you, but it didn't last long as Geralt shoved it off.

“What were you thinking?"  He asked with a growl, pulling you to your feet.  “You could've gotten yourself killed."

Your world span a little, pain settling quickly into your arm and shoulder.  “Much like you just did, saving your arse."

"I didn't need saving," he grunted, keeping a firm grip on your arm, pulling you away from...whatever it was.  “I could handle whatever it threw at me.  You are lucky it's not venomous."

"I knew enough about it to know that," You huffed, unsure about how you were feeling about manhandled, Geralt forcing you to sit on a stump.  "I'm not completely mental you know?"

Gerald grunted in response, rummaging quickly through his pack.

Now that you were seated, you took a chance to look at your arm.  There was an awful amount of blood, much more than you'd been expecting, but despite that and a slight nausea building in your stomach, you felt fine.

“Geralt-"

“Not now.”  He growled, continuing to dig through the packs, getting more frustrated by the moment.  “Just stay there.”

You frowned a little, you shoulder and arm aching, but you still felt fine.  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Geralt froze for a moment, before he grumbled something under his breath and continued looking. It only took a few more seconds before he found the items he was looking for, dumping them down next to you and handing you a rag.

“Keep pressure on it.” He grunted, holding the rag to your arm and taking your other to replace his hand.  He then stomped off into the trees and you were left, a little worried, watching after him.

What was causing this reaction?  It wasn’t like you hadn’t been injured before, and you had helped on many occasions, but for some reason this time was seeming very different.

The loud crunching of leaves under foot signalled Geralt's return, carry a full water skin and some wood to make a fire.  He got started and all you could was watch him, not wanting to upset him or distract him.

Water was soon warming in a pot and he poured a potion into it, giving it a quick stir before his gaze fell on you.

“Armour off.”  He said, moving to you, starting to help with the buckles.

“Geralt I’m-"

“I’m not giving you a choice here Y/N.”

The strain in his voice had you hold his gaze, before you nodded once and let him help you get your armour and undershirt free,  leaving you bare to the elements, a slight chill going through you.

Geralt tugged the rag free and handed you another one, your blood still flowing freely down your shoulder. He then went and tested the water, deeming it suitable, before carrying it back and taking a seat by your side, soaking some more rags in it.

You watched him, watched the tenseness in his jaw as he eyed the blood still trickling down your arm. “Hey.”

Those yellow eyes met yours, something buried deep within.

“I’m okay.”  You said.  “It hurts a little bit but nothing I can’t handle.”

He grunted and broke away from your stare, focusing on your arm and shoulder, gently removing the second bloodied rag.

It stunned you a little at how carefully Geralt worked, cleaning you up.  It stung a little, mostly from the healing potion he’d poured into the water, but apart from that there was only the gentle touch of his fingers as he cleaned you up.  You weren’t entirely sure about this reaction still, but you let him go, seeing that he obviously needed to do this for you.

Geralt soaked a few more rags in another potion, leaving them over the worst of your wounds before he grabbed the bandages.  Starting at your arm, he began to wrap up the wounds, and you couldn’t help but notice, more than a few times, that his fingers seemed to trail over your skin, as of in a reassurance to himself that you were okay.

When he was done, he finally sat back and sighed, avoiding your gaze.  “We’ll keep an eye on it.  Some of them may need stitches yet.”

You stared at him, hesitating for a moment, before you gently rest your hand on his arm, getting him to look up at you.

A small smile tugged at your lips.  “Thank you Geralt.”

He cleared his throat and nodded, breaking away from your again.

“Hey,” You gave his arm a gentle squeeze, causing him to sigh and look back at you again.  “All I want is a smile.”

Geralt stared at you for a moment before he laughed softly, giving you a hint of a smile, making yours widen, the two of laughing together.  You mightn’t have entirely understood what happened, but at least you could still get him to smile.

[marmosa]

midnight meeting.

George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: eiffel tower joke <3

A/N:  i promised my friend i would’ve had this done last night but school has its foot up my ass and i couldn’t get it done by yesterday (sorry, love). but after the short fred piece i knew i needed to show some love to everyone’s favorite soft boy, george. i don’t have much else to say, but if you could maybe send me some positive energy that would be much appreciated, i could use it. love you guys, enjoy <3

***

“Alright, you’ve been dodging the question for ages now, [y/n]. You have got to tell us who you fancy,” Beth exclaimed, pointing at [y/n] accusingly with an unopened bottle of butterbeer.

[y/n]’s eyes went wide as she stumbled to find a way to dodge the question. She wasn’t embarrassed of her fancy, per say, she was just embarrassed to tell her friends who all had the pickiest taste, especially when it came to who deserved their friend’s love, “it’s no one important.”

“Bullshit, if it wasn’t important I wouldn’t have caught you doodling hearts on your charms notes in the middle of class,” Daisy interjected, passing her a know-it-all look, her brows raised as if saying “try me, I dare you”.

“Well I-,”

“Kiki, you spend the most time with her outside of class, you’ve got to know something,” Beth spoke again, insistent on getting her answer, knowing if [y/n] wasn’t going to spill that she’d get someone else to.

“I do,” Kiki shrugged, “not my place to say though,” she bit back a smile when Beth and Daisy both looked at her with the most unamused smiles she’d ever seen.

“Can we at least get a hint?” Daisy pleaded, throwing herself across [y/n]’s lap, who was all too entertained by her friends antics, despite the uncomfortable spotlight she’d been thrust under.

“Fine,” [y/n] sighed, pausing as the two girls cheered, Kiki silently raising her bottle of butterbeer in solidarity at their excitement, “he’s a quidditch beater.”

Beth’s face immediately fell, her mind jumping to the worst possible conclusion she could’ve thought of, “You do not like Christopher Atkinson. He’s like as bad of a Hufflepuff as you can get and Hufflepuff’s aren’t even that bad!”

“Oh my god, no! I would rather swallow glass than ever entertain the thought of fancying him,” [y/n] fake gagged, absolutely mortified that her friends would even suggest such a terrible thought, “try again.”

“Someone on Ravenclaw perhaps?” Daisy quipped, taking a sip of her drink, “it would make sense see we would see them everyday.”

[y/n] shook her head once more and bit back a smile when Kiki looked near ready to combust, everyone hated the guessing game, but sometimes it was necessary- mostly for the drama of it all.

“Slytherin?” Beth asked, her jaw nearly hitting the floor when [y/n] shook her head again, this time her head turning away to avoid the blatant stares of her friends.

“You like one of the Weasley twins!” Daisy cheered, standing up and dancing around the room, pulling up [y/n] with her to hop in place.

“Which one, which one! They’re both very handsome and very tall and very sweet, but I presume you’re only going for one, unless you’re freaky like that,” Beth snickered, wiggling her eyebrows as [y/n]’s head snapped to stare at her with wide eyes, Kiki nearly choking on her drink at the insinuation.

“George, I like George! Jesus woman, you need to have your brain run through the spin cycle,” [y/n] scoffed, trying to hide how embarrassed the suggestion had made her, despite the question of whether or not she’d thought of it still hanging unanswered.

“Well good for you, he’s a lovely lad, you’re going to get along swell,” Daisy sighed dreamily, plopping down onto the floor an excited smile drawn onto her features.

“Bold of you to assume he want to get along with me,” [y/n] muttered, sinking into herself when Kiki passed her a glare.

“Don’t say shit like that. He literally speaks to you and tries to hang out with you every waking moment you’re available and you want to tell me he doesn’t fancy you back? Please, you always say the stupidest things,” Kiki rolled her eyes, clinking her bottle with Beth, who wholeheartedly agreed.

“Kiki is right [y/n], you’ve got to stop putting yourself down like that, even though it is a very normal behavior, it’s not good to see the worst,” Daisy explained, getting some resounding yes’s from the girls next to her.

“You’re probably right, but it’s not like I’m getting a chance anytime soon to confess my feelings,” [y/n] sighed, falling backwards so she was splayed out over the floor.

“That chance could be arranged,” Beth suggested, rolling up her sleeves and pulling out her wand.

“We are not casting a spell on him, Beth,” [y/n] deadpanned, lifting her head up only a fraction to stare at her before letting it fall back with a light thud.

“I got my wand out so we could cast a spell to sneak out, you arse, we’re going to set you up with Weasley tonight,” Beth retorted, pushing herself up onto her feet, “you girls in?”

“Yes!” Kiki and Daisy agreed, also pushing themselves to their feet, all three girls staring down at [y/n] with wide grins and anticipating smiles.

[y/n] groaned loudly and pouted her lips, “I don’t really have a choice here do I?”

“Nope, now up you go, we’re getting you two together and that’s final, now all we need is a plan,” Beth smiled mischievously.

***

[y/n]  paced around the Astronomy tower anxiously, stopping every now and then to observe an owl flying by to go perch itself in the postal room, her heart never stopping its nervous beat.

The girls had been gone for nearly twenty minutes now after splitting up to go get some Gryffindor’s they knew in on the plan and they ensured they wouldn’t get caught, but there was never a guarantee with that sort of promise. Her mind reeled as she tried to decide whether or not she should go and see her friends or remain where they’d told her too, the second option seeming far more assuring yet far more helpless.

“I feel like damsel in distress,” she muttered to herself, pushing herself up and off the floor so she could sit on the sill of one of the windows, her eyes catching the moonlight as it reflected off the lake.

“You seem awfully calm for someone who’s in distress.”

[y/n]’s head snapped to the side as she squinted through the dark room to see who’d spoken up, but she had a gut feeling she knew anyway, “George?”

“That’s me! Uhm, I was told you were looking for me? Something about the enticing thrill of getting to sneak out to see a girl and a pressing question really compelled me to come and find out what was up,” He explained, finally making it over and leaning against the wall across from her, a cheeky grin pulled onto his lips.

“Well about that question, I know it’s probably like poor timing and all, and we certainly could have saved this for morning, but you know how Beth gets when it comes to her little schemes,” she chuckled awkwardly, not sure how exactly she intended to leading up to her question, or rather confession.

“True, she’s always been stubborn that one,” George nodded, quirking his head to the side as he observed her tense posture and avoidant eyes, “but again, I came here for you, not Beth. So, what’s up.”

[y/n] bit her tongue as she built up the courage to pop the question begging to spill out of her heart, “So, they- we- I, called you out here because I wanted to ask if you ever wanted to go on a date sometime?”

George’s eyes widened as he processed her question, his heart suddenly the only thing he could feel in his ears, his cheeks starting to flame a bright red, “Oh, uhm, well that’s, that’s lovely-,” he struggled to find a solid response, despite his brain screaming at him to just blurt out a yes.

“It’s totally fine if not! I warned my friends it might’ve been a bad idea to ask anyway, but they’re all so insistent and I mean a “no” is better than no answer, right? But honestly, if you don’t want to-,”

“Yes!” He finally managed to shout out, his face so hot he was sure he could melt a stick of butter on it if he tried, “yes, I’d love to go out with you.”

[y/n] nearly erupted into a dancing fit right then and there, her lips curling up into an unstoppable smile, “Really?”

“Really. I would,” George grinned, feeling as if a thousand butterflies had just been released into his chest, “I really like you, [y/n].”

“I really like you too, George,” [y/n] replied, her eyes darting back and forth between his lips and his eyes, her heart speeding up ten fold when she’d notice him do the exact same to her.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, trying not to let the eagerness seep into his voice.

[y/n] nodded rapidly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he surged forward and captured her lips. His hands immediately went to her waist, squeezing gently when her fingers tangled themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss was long and loving, their pent up adoration spilling out as they finally rejoiced in their shared affections.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that, cheesy line, but it’s true,” George breathed, a lilt to his tone as he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’d listen to every cheesy line in the world if it means I get to be with you,” [y/n] replied, smoothing her hands back down to cup his neck.

“Now that was a cheesy line, Kiki is going to hate that,” He snickered pulling back slightly to stare into her eyes, bright as can be as the reflected the moonlight oh so beautifully.

“Not as much as Fred will,” she noted, brushing her fingers over the freckles on his cheeks, the featherlight touch prompting him to flutter his eyes shut as he leaned into her hand.

“Unfortunately true,” He muttered, humming softly as her thumb brushed over his lips.

“Can I kiss you again?” She questioned quietly, as if too loud a tone would shatter the intimacy's of it all.

“Please do,” he mumbled, letting her guide him forward with her hands, their lips connecting once more.

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Case Closed

note: Chris talked law on Prime Time again last night, so I felt inspired to write a second part of my Lawyer!Chris fic (you can read the first part HERE) sorry for eventual typos

enjoy :)

words: 2900

warnings: swearing, smut (dirty talk, oral, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it irl, please))

“Your honor, the jury finds the defendant guilty of all charges.”

Oh. OH.

This was absolutely glorious. You couldn’t dance in court, of course, but on the inside, you were definitely having a victory parade.

A triumphant grin split your face as your gaze wandered across the courtroom over to the defense desk.

Chris Cuomo, the defense lawyer, looked absolutely crestfallen. His mouth was hanging slightly open, and he couldn’t even utter a word. Serves him right, smug bastard, you thought.

You had made an excellent case, a new witness and some very compromising documents were able to convince the jury of the defendants guilt despite all of Cuomo’s efforts to keep his incredibly whealty client out of jail.

The judge announced the sentence, and now Chris just slammed his fist on the table. This was getting better and better, but you told yourself to keep your smugness at bay, no need to stoop as low as your opponent and gloat.But there was something else you definitely needed to do, something you couldn’t let Christopher Charles Cuomo get away with.

After the defendant was taken away and you had packed up all your papers, you slowly made your way over to his desk.

“So, I was wondering if you are going to keep that horrendous tie on for dinner tonight? Because I plan on wearing a dress and I would hate for us to clash color-wise, you know.” You said, barely able to remain serious.

The look he gave you was so murderous, it sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was out of fear or arousal. You were still a bit sore from your encounter in the parking lot yesterday, and you really hoped on repeating it. Riling him up was just foreplay to you.

“If you’re really suggesting that I will take you out for dinner after that dirty game you played today, you are even crazier than in originally thought.” he hissed. The vein on his temple was back, pulsating as if it was threatening you.

“Dirty game?” you almost shouted, then pulled yourself together so you wouldn’t draw the attention of the people still lingering in the courtroom.

“Your client was guilty as hell, even you with your twisted sense of morality should see that. And you lecturing me about playing games, pot calling the kettle black.” You whispered furiously, unable to keep your unfazed façade on any longer.

“About dinner, you invited me yesterday, so you’re either not a man of your word or a coward. Maybe even both.”

You hit home with that, you could see that on the way Cuomo’s fists clenched around the papers he was holding, scrunching them up. Men were so predictable, you thought, call them a coward and they will do every stupid thing in the book to prove you wrong.

But you wanted dinner and, most of all, dessert, so playing into his insecurities was fair game this once.

“There’s a new Italian place on 5th avenue, across from the Public Library. I know the owner, I’ll get us a table. Be there at eight.” He muttered and was gone in a hurry.

Of course he knew the owner.

“I look forward to it.” you called after him, fake cheeriness in your voice.

+++

As agreed, you stood in front of the restaurant at eight. You wore your favorite dress, it was bright red and showed just the right amount of both legs and cleavage. You thought that you looked stunning, and you knew Cuomo would appreciate the look as well.

The roar of an engine pulled you out of your thoughts, and you spun around to where a familiar black SUV was pulling up. You rolled your eyes, if you didn’t know it better you’d think Cuomo was compensating with that car.

It stopped and he emerged on the driver’s side. And Lord help you, he looked fantastic. He wore a tight-fitting black suit and a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, showing a peak of tanned skin beneath. You wanted to climb him like a tree in the middle of 5th avenue. The confident, almost arrogant way in which he carried himself was infuriating and incredibly hot at the same time. Why was he so attractive while being such an asshole?

Your thoughts about his appearance were clearly written all over your face, because when he addressed you, he sounded even more smug than usual.

“Hi, Y/L/N, enjoying the view? I have to admit, you really clean up nice, I’m impressed.”

“Shut it, Cuomo.” You said, unable to suppress a smile. “You don’t look too horrible yourself.”

“Come on, I look great and we both know it.” he chuckled. And of course, he was right, but his ego was already big enough, no need to feed it any more.

“You look alright, I guess, but don’t to get ahead of yourself.” You said, “And now you better take me inside so I can have the amount of wine I need to make your company tolerable.”

+++

The food was absolutely delicious, and the wine the waiter recommended was so good that the two of you drank a whole bottle. It was Friday anyway, so no need to hold back.

What was really shocking too you was how good the conversation was. After a bit of initial bickering and arguing about which country produced the best red wine, you slowly started getting more comfortable with each other. The atmosphere was eased by the wine and you discovered that Chris wasn’t a completely horrible person.

Yes, he was a smart arse and cocky, and so fucking full of himself, but he was also incredibly clever, had surprisingly progressive views and on top of all he loved dogs!

When he told you that his favorite food were his mother’s spaghetti marinara, you could not suppress a little “aaw”. He looked at you funnily, but you just gave him a smile.

Your were slightly confused. This evening was supposed to be about you eating some fancy food for free and getting on Cuomo’s nerves (and maybe getting laid later).

But now, you were actually enjoying his company, and he didn’t seem hostile towards you, either. He hadn’t even brought up the trial, or how you allegedly played him dirty. Instead, he was actually listening to what you had to say and engaged into meaningful conversation.

You really were surprised, and when he was signing the bill later, you took your time to appreciate his appearance again while taking your newfound knowledge about him into consideration. Maybe he wasn’t the devil in person. Maybe, there was an actual decent human being under that expensive suit.

The two of you decided to go for a little after-dinner walk in the nearby Bryant Park, your favorite in NYC, and, as is turned out, Chris’ as well. Conversation shifted to growing up in New York and how your experiences differed from each other. But, as you found out, Chris actually grew up in a Queens neighborhood not too far from your own home, a fact that surprised you immensely.

“I could’ve sworn you were born on the Upper East Side.” You admitted “You certainly look and act the part.”

“I’m not gonna lie, prep school and Ivy and Law school certainly played a role in this. And of course, the firm I’m working for is high end. You’re expected to conduct yourself in a certain way. It’s a shark tank, you eat, or you get eaten. But I don’t have to tell you that.” His voice was quiet, almost wistful. He sounded like a totally different person.

“If that’s Queens Chris I met tonight, then I like him a lot better than this Cuomo guy from court.” You said, stopping and looking up to meet his blue eyes.

“You’re not the only one, I like him better as well.” He replied, meeting your gaze and reaching out to take your hand. His fingers were warm and rough as they intertwined with yours, holding his hand felt shockingly natural.

There were definitely sparks flying now, you could not deny it. You were drawn to this guy, and not only because of his good looks, but really attracted to the person behind the persona, you desperately wanted to know more about him.

“Tell me.” You whispered. “How did this happen? We were about to kill each other this afternoon and now were standing here, holding hands?”

“You tell me.” He murmured, and then he leaned down to kiss you. It was nothing like you expected, he was tender, gently cupping your jaw with his large hand, his thumb stroking over your cheek. His lips were soft and pliant against yours, a contrast to how hard and broad his body felt when you leaned against him to deepen the kiss.

The hand that was previously holding yours slipped around your waist and pulled you closer. You fisted your hands into the lapel of his suit jacket and what began as an innocent kiss grew increasingly steamy.

You groaned as he nipped at your bottom lip and slid his tongue inside your mouth and reached up to grab the short hair at the nape of his neck. He hissed into your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening.

You felt heat starting to pool between your legs and telling from the bulge that was beginning to press against your abdomen, Chris was sharing your sentiments.

“How fast is that ridiculous car of yours?” you panted, a bit breathless from the kiss.

“Very fast.” He replied, a grin on his slightly flustered face.

“How about we take this to your place before we get in trouble for public indecency?”

“You weren’t that concerned about it yesterday.” He chuckled “But I don’t care for the headlines either, so let’s go.”

+++

The door to Chris penthouse (you were right, of course he had a penthouse) slammed shut, and a second later, you were pressed against it by two strong arms. Chris effortlessly pinned your body against the wood with one hand while the other one fumbled with the side zipper of your dress.

The garment dropped to the floor, leaving you with only a matching black set of underwear on. Chris eyes wandered over your body and he swore under his breath before attacking your bare neck with his mouth, kissing and sucking on the skin, probably leaving another bruise.

“You’re really marking me like a fucking caveman, Cuomo.” You gasped, the effect of his lips on your skin evident, you were already slick with need.

“Come on, Y/N, you know you enjoy it.” he whispered, and you only groaned as an answer as he softly bit the junction of your neck and shoulder. You could hear his dark chuckle before his hand started to unclasp your bra, exposing your tits to the cool air of the hallway.

He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, and you couldn’t suppress a whimper at the feeling of his hot mouth against your sensitive skin. Slowly, his large hand wandered between your legs, rubbing your pussy through your panties before pulling this last item of clothing down as well, only your black high heels remaining.

Releasing your hands, Chris slowly dropped down to his knees and grabbed one of your ankles to prob your leg over his shoulder. You let out a sharp hiss as his mouth wandered to your inner tight, leaving a trail of soft kisses before he reached your center. His fingers slowly dipped into your wet folds, spreading your arousal before he started to lightly circle your clit with his tongue. You cried out and threw your head back against the door, one of your hands fisted into his curly hair, pushing him closer between your legs.

“So bossy.” He murmured. “And so fucking wet for me.” Suddenly, he pushed two of his thick fingers into you while harshly sucking on your bud. White, hot pleasure surged through your body as you came on the spot, your knees almost giving up as you bucked against Chris’ face, coating it with your arousal.

“Fuck.” You whispered, slowly coming down from your high. Chris got up, looking very pleased with himself. You grabbed him by his dress shirt, pulling him in for a deep kiss and grinding your naked core against his very prominent erection.

“Bedroom. Now.” He groaned against your lips and kissed you again. Your hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt, tearing it from his body. It joined the rest of the clothes on the floor. You took a moment to admire his now exposed, well-muscled torso. He looked like fucking Greek god, and you wanted to run your hands and tongue over every inch of his tanned, smooth skin. You needed him, now.

“Fuck me right here, I don’t care.” You whispered, palming his erection before starting to work on his zipper.

“Filthy girl. You want me to rail you against the door.” Chris murmured, before pulling his pants down along with his underwear. His cock sprung free, hard and heavy, making your mouth water. With a swift motion, he grabbed your tights, effortlessly lifting you up against the door. The blunt display of strength just made you even wetter, your hands were grabbing his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Stop talking and fuck me already, Cuomo.” You groaned, and a second later, he pushed his cock into you, the sudden stretch making you cry out in pleasure. He wasted no time, immediately starting a hard, fast pace.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Chris hissed through clenched teeth. “You are so fucking tight. Taking my cock so perfectly.”

“Shit, Chris, please keep moving, just like that.” You whimpered as he fucked you relentlessly, a stained expression on his face. He never slowed down his thrusts while he was holding you, it was like watching somebody run a marathon. Seeing him handle you like that was mesmerizing, bulging muscles glistening with sweat, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. You were starting to feel slightly dizzy as your head hit the wooden door with each thrust, but you didn’t care.

Chris leaned forward to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, biting into your lower lip and pushing his tongue into your mouth. You let out a guttural cry as he eased his grip on your ass a bit, making you sink down onto his cock even more. The different angle created a totally new sensation, causing both of you to groan as Chris was thrusting into you even deeper now. A powerful, burning feeling was beginning to form in your lower stomach, quickly spreading through your whole body with every hard snap of his hips. Chris name was falling from your lips like a chant now, begging him to keep fucking you, to go harder, deeper.

“Who would’ve thought that you’d beg me to fuck you against my front door.” Chris said in a husky, breathless voice, never slowing down his thrusts. “Little Miss Perfect is not so perfect after all, huh?”

You couldn’t answer, your mind was fuzzy, and the only thing existing was the feeling of Chris, his large hands grabbing your ass, his hot breath on your skin, his cock filling you over and over again.

You were already hanging on the edge of your orgasm, but when he leaned down to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your shoulder, the raw pain and the sheer possessiveness of the gesture were the push you needed to spiral down into your climax.

You came with a shout, your whole body convulsing, squirming against Chris. He moaned as he felt your pussy clenching around his cock, squeezing him until he came as well, calling out your name, his cock buried so deep inside you that you were sure you’d be limping tomorrow.

Neither of you moved for a minute, your sweaty foreheads pressed against each other as you tried to catch your breath. After a moment, Chris carefully pulled out and lowered you onto the floor before collapsing next to you with a huff. His hair was sticking to his forehead and his breath was tickling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. You were surprised by that motion, you had expected a cocky comment or a crude joke, but not this.

When he broke the kiss, you could see his trademark smirk spreading over his face as he inspected the hickey he left on your neck, tracing it with his fingers.

“I might really be into leaving marks on you.” He said, “A little reminder of the good time I gave you.”

“You really are just a caveman, aren’t you? Also, it seemed as if you enjoyed yourself as well.” you replied, your hand involuntarily reaching out to play with a lock of hair that clung to his face.

“I did, immensely so. In fact,” he said, voice going serious for a moment. “I’d like to repeat it, sometimes. Maybe even with another dinner, if you would like that.” His face was passive, but there was a softness in his eyes that you haven’t seen before.

“Are you really asking me on a date, Cuomo?” you exclaimed, the fake astonishment masking the giddy excitement you felt about the question. You wanted to go out with this idiot so bad, you could hardly believe it yourself.

“Looks like it, huh.” He murmured, and if you didn’t know it better you would’ve thought he was embarrassed.

“Hey, I’d love to go out with you, Chris.” Your voice was as sincere as you felt.

Chris gave you a brilliant smile, then winked at you.

“You know, I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyway.”

[tocrackerboxpalace]

January, 1972

Summary: In Paul's first interview since the breakup of the Beatles, things go slightly awry when a nosy reporter gets more out of him than she bargained for.

Part 3/3 (1, 2)

The doorbell rang.

Paul jolted awake. He was still on the couch, unsure of how long he’d been sitting there, but pale morning light seeped in through the cracks of the curtains.

In a half-daze, he struggled to his feet, trying to ascertain his surroundings. Why had he been on the couch? Who was at the door? Why were they bothering him at—he peered at the clock on the wall, startled to find that it was already 10:00 a.m.

He fumbled with the locks until the door finally creaked open, flooding the living room with bright daylight and making him wince.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Paul’s body froze at the figure in the doorway, clear as day despite a sloppy hat-and-sunglasses disguise.

“I—”

“I don’t want some bullshit excuse, Paul, because I woke up to reporters halfway up my arse and Rings on the line talking about some fucking interview you did last night. What did you do?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Paul stammered helplessly.

John pushed his way past Paul into the house, tossing his cover to the side with vitriol. He collapsed on the couch where Paul had been asleep only moments before and threw his head in his hands.

Paul sensed that it was his turn to explain himself, though nothing on earth quite sounded less appealing. “I might have… sort’ve… confessed.”

John raised his head, glaring at him wearily. Go on.

“I didn’t mean to. They cornered me. Wouldn’t stop asking about me new song, and it is about you, of course it’s about you, but I—I thought I was vague enough to—”

John laughed sharply, interrupting Paul’s train of thought. “Doesn’t matter anymore. I called you out on it, and now everyone’s lookin’ for cryptic bullshit in your songs.”

Paul pretended not to feel annoyed at the assertion. Suddenly, another memory came full force back to him, and his voice got quiet, eyes flicking away from John’s penetrative gaze. “They asked me about India.”

“They what? Paul, how the fuck could they know about India?”

Anger rose in his throat as he fought to defend himself in what seemed like an unwinnable case. “I don’t fucking know. No one actually knows but us.” There was an accusatory edge to his voice.

John was incredulous. “You think I had something to do with that?”

Paul crossed his arms, though he still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “It certainly wasn’t me.”

John was on his feet again in a flash of fury. His voice was saturated with sarcasm, but Paul didn’t miss the lingering of hurt in there as well. “Sure. You got me pinned, Macca. I’m such a little media whore that I went and spilled every little detail of the worst moment of my life to the press. And because I’m a selfish goddamn prick I encouraged them to ask you about it in an interview, so that I could laugh at your pain in my great new fuckin’ life without you. Because why? Because I like seeing you suffer?” In his effort to avoid John’s eyes, Paul noticed that the man’s hands were shaking. “I thought you knew me better than to believe in the goddamn press portrait of me.”

There was a lot more that seemed to be said in John’s words than the words themselves.

“You’re still bitter,” Paul whispered. The wrong thing to say.

John’s eyes flashed dangerously. He was shouting now. “Of course I’m fuckin’ bitter, Paul! You turned me down. You said no to me. I loved you more than—”

“Don’t,” Paul pleaded hoarsely, tears suddenly buzzing at the brim of his eyelids.

“You don’t get to do this, Paul,” he continued without missing a beat. “I loved you more than I’d ever loved anyone in my life. A-and I couldn’t explain it, because it was a different love altogether, and I’m not sure if that made it true with you, or just better, but-but it was real. It was the most real thing that ever happened to me, and I was so certain that you understood that too.”

“John,” Paul begged.

“But you didn’t. At least, not on the same level, because if you had then we wouldn’t be here right now.” John waved a vague hand in the air, his cheeks bright with fury. Paul couldn’t bear to see it reflected in his eyes. “So you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to write songs and go on television talking about how much I hurt you.”

Paul only swallowed.

“Did you know how fuckin’ hard it was to listen to that song, Paul?” John said abruptly, his gaze straight out the window and his hands balled into fists. His lip was trembling in its place under his teeth. “To hear you say that you were in love with me?”

“I am–“

“Bullshit!” John yelled, and for a brief moment, Paul’s eyes were drawn up and he thought that John might actually hit him. When John slumped back in surprise at his own outburst, Paul felt a flood of rage overtake him, energy transferred from one to the other.

“You don’t fucking understand, John! You’re not like me! You’ve never given two shits about what the world thinks of you. You act like you do, with us, like you’re some poor misunderstood soul, but you don’t.” Paul began listing on his fingers, ignoring John’s protesting gape. “The Jesus comment, Yoko, Two Virgins, writing song after song knowing they’re going to be banned. You spew your bullshit and do whatever you please and sometimes it feels like you’re trying to give the world the finger and that’s fine, con-fuckin-gratulations for you, but I’m not like that.”

He suddenly felt very tired as John closed his mouth into a firm line. Paul recognized the expression. Understanding. “I’m not like that. It matters to me. And I don’t know what that says about me, or how to fix it. So simply the sudden legality of it all couldn’t magically change my mind. And now that’s something I have to live with, for the rest of my days, because I know now that it would have been worth it. And we could’ve handled it together. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. And I do love you.”

John rolled his eyes in helpless exasperation. “So what do you want to do, eh? Say fuck-all to our wives, our families? Our new lives? Just because you were too chicken-shit to say something four years ago?” He shook his head. “It’s too late for us, Paul. What’s that they say? Right person, wrong time?”

The polite smile John gave in closing made Paul feel sick to his stomach.

“Why did you come here, John?”

The defendant shrugged. He took a few steps backwards and sunk back onto the couch. “Honest?”

Paul hesitated. He might have had enough honesty for the day.

John sighed. “Wanted to see you.” He gave a sudden glare, shooting down Paul’s curious eyebrows. “Not because I missed you. I wanted to see you try and explain yourself. I hadn’t known what happened in the interview, but I’m not bloody stupid. I could tell it was something of this… scale. And I was so fuckin’ tired of trying to read you over the phone.”

Paul felt the strange urge to smile. And suddenly, he was laughing, undeterred even by the expression of utter bewilderment on John’s face.

“Christ, all that? Isn’t it, like, five in the morning there?”

“Well, yeah, I told you—Rings called, and you Englishmen have no bloody consideration for time zones.”

Paul let out a chuckle that felt far too relieving. His smile quieted as reality began to sink in. “I’m sorry.”

John met his eyes for only a moment. “S’not your fault. They do it to me, too.”

“What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “Deny. Deny, deny, deny. Don’t know what he’s talking about, must’ve gone mad, trying to frame me as a queer. Wanted to stir up a fight. I’ll think of something.”

Paul swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he expected.

John peered over his glasses, his mouth pressed into a firm line. He removed them slowly, folding them in his lap. When he looked up again, Paul felt a shiver travel down his spine at the familiarity of the amber eyes on his, unprotected, unveiled. They hadn’t looked that way to him in so long.

“It’s only me,” John said quietly. Paul could hear in the tone that it was meant to be soothing, but the words made his heart twitch violently. “You know…not to take everything I say about you to heart, yeah?”

Paul nodded, gaze cast downwards for fear of brimming tears.

“Sometimes I mean it. I’m allowed to mean it. But this?” He sighed. “Whatever happens, you have to know that we have to. They’ll believe us so long as we present it as another one of our publicized scraps.”

“I’ve got to be the bad guy,” Paul conceded.

John nodded a confirmation. “I’ll, erm… I’ll say that it’s an attack. That you’re trying to frame me as something that I’m not, because you’re still hung up on the breakup. And it’s my reputation you’re worried about. I’ll say you’ve been on a bender, and lucid-dreamed-up an idealized version of our partnership. I’ll make another offhand comment about how we hardly wrote together much less knew one another, and you… You won’t say anything. You’ll stay here with—” he suddenly seemed to choke on the words. “Linda. The kids. And you can talk to her about it, I don’t care. But that’s what I’m going to say, and you have to be okay with that.”

Paul only stared. He knew in the back of his mind that John was right, but that didn’t help the nausea coursing through his veins.

“You have to be okay with that,” John repeated, his voice trembling slightly. “For both of us.”

The words were so far from the truth in some ways and yet too close to the truth in others. John offered a hand to shake, but appeared to think better of it, withdrawing the deal almost immediately. He knew Paul would agree, anyway, of course he would. And neither of them knew if they could handle the contact, no matter how brief.

“I should be going,” John said after a moment.

“You could stay,” Paul offered, his mind frantically arranging a comfortable setup for John to spend a few days.

John pushed himself up off of the couch and gazed around the room briefly, looking for something he hadn’t left. “Why?”

The image of the pull out couch in the den crumbled to death in his imagination. “Yeah. Okay.”

John gave one last, awkward nod, both men standing helplessly in the middle of the room. He hesitated for another moment before shuffling over to the front door, grabbing up his hat and glasses beside it, and pulling it open.

Paul wasn’t sure what made him say it, but he couldn’t stop the words from flowing out. “I love you.”

John scratched the back of his neck before turning to go. “I–yeah. See you around, Paul.”

He shut the door behind him.

[writesowhatnext]

wouldn’t bet on it // seamus finnigan

Summary: Seamus isn’t just your boyfriend, he’s also the cattiest, judgiest best friend you could’ve asked for

Request: Can you do a fluffy Seamus Finnigan imagine during 6th year where Seamus is dating a Pureblood so she gets forced to go to Slughorn's party and takes Seamus but they ditch early to celebrate their 2 year anniversary (they got together at the Yule Ball)? Also if you wanted to, you can include that they've been watching/giving advice about all the relationship drama between their friends

A/N: I sort of kinda made the reader a non-Gryffindor so big oops but tbf slytherin!reader is my favourite thing as I am completely biased also this is like a combo of the books and films bc I needed a refresher

Reader: unspecified, non-Gryffindor

Warnings: swearing I’m sorry, kissing

If anyone had looked at you and Seamus at that moment, they would’ve said that you were a pair of gossipy bitches and whilst you would never actually knowingly agree with them, you had to acknowledge the element of truth in the accusation.

“Two galleons says Granger is thinking about Weasley,” you whispered, tilting your head towards him, trying to hide your smile behind your glass. You hated these stupid parties, or anywhere, really, where you were invited because you were a pureblood and then had to spend time with other purebloods. However, you did enjoy picking apart the relationships of the school and more than anything, you enjoyed being at Seamus’ side.

“Two galleons? You’re mad. No way. You can’t tell what she’s thinking,” he insisted, shaking his head and leaning backwards.

“Oh really?” you asked, turning towards him with raised eyebrows and a smile. He frowned at you; eyes trained on your face. “Watch and learn, my love, watch and learn.”

You both turned to watch Hermione Granger disappear behind the curtain next to you, hiding from her date, the Quidditch meathead, McLaggen. He’d been handsy and annoying all night and whilst he was a complete idiot, she had invited him. In your book, as long as he wasn’t an arse, she’d just have to cope. Almost seconds later, Harry Potter walked towards you, frowning. He looked at you and Seamus; the both of you conspiratorially standing in the corner of the room, as thick as thieves, watching him. He was slightly caught off guard by your stare but shook his head, remembering Hermione. When he too disappeared behind the curtain, you and Seamus both leant toward it, eavesdropping.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” Harry asked, standing in front of her. “And what happened to you?”

She sighed and you glanced smugly at Seamus behind you. He poked you in the side gently in response.

“I’ve just escaped-“

“McLaggen.” You and Seamus whispered at the same time.

“I mean,” she carried on, looking very concerned. “I’ve left Cormac under the mistletoe.”

You tried to contain your snort, shaking your head at the image of that imbecile abandoned in a doorway.

“Cormac?” Harry frowned and you looked up at Seamus to see the same distasteful expression. “That’s who you invited?”

“I thought it would annoy Ron the most…” she admitted, running her hands up and down her arms.

With that, you circled back to face Seamus, a cocky smirk on your lips. Surprised at first, his expression turned rather unimpressed as his shoulders deflated.

“Two galleons it is,” he sighed, clenching his jaw as he placed his hand on your waist, moving so he was stood behind you. You leant into him, sipping from your drink as Longbottom meandered around in a gaudy white uniform with a tray of drinks. Whoever gave Longbottom a tray of glasses, you thought, did not know him well.

“Don’t worry,” you mused, placing a light kiss on the underside of Seamus’ jaw before turning back around. “That can be your compensation for coming with me to this.”

“Pfft. This party may be a load of rubbish,” as he leant closer to you, you could feel his breath on your cheek. You both looked over at Zabini in a group with some other Slytherins. “And full to the brim with self-important tools.”

“Is that really the end of the sentence? I’m sure there should be a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

His chest vibrated as he chuckled.

“Couldn’t let anyone else come with ‘ya, could I? Have ‘em steal you away from me.”

“Nobody here is interesting enough.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you smiled, wetting your lips cheekily as he gripped your waist with both hands, jabbing his fingers into your sides to make you laugh.

You would’ve drawn quite a bit of attention had Filch not stumbled in holding Malfoy by the scruff of his neck.

“Someone’s in trouble,” you muttered.

“When you thought it couldn’t get worse.”

Although you both loved hearing the classic school gossip and enjoyed nothing more than Malfoy getting berated, when you turned to look at him, you could tell you were both thinking the same thing.

“Wanna wag?” you asked, an eyebrow raised with a smiled. He looked at Snape, who had appeared out of nowhere to scold Malfoy, and then back at you. He watched the way you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth in amusement before he kissed his teeth.

“Come on then, you rebel.”

Avoiding Snape and Filch expertly (practice making perfect), you both snuck out from the party, walking around the castle in your evening dress. You probably should’ve been quieter given the time and the fact that you weren’t where you were supposed to be, but when you were with Seamus, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You always ended up having a riot.

“Have you heard about Dean and Ginny Weasley?” you asked, letting go of his hand and walking ahead into the courtyard. The moonlight cast an iridescent light onto your skin and Seamus stopped short, watching you, remembering the last time he’d seen you dressed like this.

“Anybody there?” you waved your arm at him, noticing his glazed-over eyes.

“What are you on about?”

He walked closer to you, out into the courtyard, almost stumbling on the uneven cobblestones.

“I said,” you made a face as you wound your arms around his neck. “Have you heard about Dean and the Weasley girl?”

He didn’t even try to seem interested as his hands found your waist and pulled you into him.

“You look just as beautiful as you did two years ago.”

You bit your lip at his words, remembering the Yule Ball like it was yesterday.

“You look awfully handsome, too,” you brought one of your arms around his head, pressing your thumb into his eyebrows. He just stared at you, his eyes shining, completely unfazed by your movement. “I’m glad they finally grew back.”

“You cheeky-“

You tried to pull away, knowing his reaction, but his arms held you in place as he poked at your sides. A loud, cackling laugh filled the courtyard as you pushed against his chest to get away from his ticking hands.

“Shhh,” he insisted, his expression mocking. “Or we’ll get caught, won’t we?”

You made a face at him, sticking your tongue out. He smiled at that, the same charming smile you remembered from the ball.

“It’s been two years since you first kissed me,” you said proudly, slotting your thumb behind his ear and cupping his neck. You scratched his head softly with your fingernails and he leant into your touch.

“Can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner to shut you up-“ You gasped, an angry pout pulling at your lips. “Y/N, love,” he said, unable to contain his grin. “I love you, but you’re a massive gobshite.”

You crinkled your nose as your mouth twitched in amusement and you couldn’t help but pinch the back of his neck lightly, drawing a disgruntled huff from him.

“What I can’t believe is that you haven’t kissed me yet tonight.”

“Not for lack of wanting, believe me.”

“Crack on with it then.”

When he kissed you then, his hands pulling you even closer, you were reminded of how confident he’d seemed when he asked you to the Yule Ball, the way he’d told you that you looked ‘grand’ when he first saw you that night, his barely contained nerves when he’d tried to dance with you. It reminded you of every time you’d teased him about his explosive tendencies and every time you’d kissed before and in the moonlight, it felt like everything you’d ever wanted in life. He’d only just opened his mouth for the fun stuff when you heard Filch across the courtyard.

“What is going on here?” he shouted, already hobbling after you. You barely had time to remove your lips from his when a breathless laugh escaped your mouth.

“Bollocks,” Seamus whispered before he was already off, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him as you ran away from Filch, your laughter tumbling behind you into the open sky of the courtyard.

[dewitty1]

A Convenient Impracticality

firethesound @firethesound

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Pining, Friends With Benefits, Obliviousness, Bad dates, blind dates, Semi-Public Sex, Breakfast, Bickering and Banter, Sharing a Bed, Bars and Pubs, Drunken Shenanigans, Cake

Summary:

Somehow Harry ends up agreeing to a fake relationship with his ex-nemesis-turned-friendly-acquaintance-with-benefits, except for some reason it involves an awful lot of actual dating and, sadly, not much sex. Confused? Harry is too, but when has anything with Draco Malfoy ever been as straightforward as it seems?

Excerpt:

Draco’s hair tickled his nose, and then Draco mumbled sleepily into Harry’s neck and wriggled closer, flinging one leg over Harry’s and, oh. That was Draco’s cock. That was Draco’s very hard cock pressed right up against Harry’s hip, and Harry’s cock throbbed in response. And Harry had just kissed him, and now they were—

Before he could panic any further, Draco grumbled something unintelligible and turned his face into Harry’s chest and mouthed at the hollow at the base of his throat and rocked his hips, grinding against Harry.

He should wake Draco up, but if he woke Draco up then Draco would be embarrassed and things would be awkward, but if he let it go on longer then it would be worse, wouldn’t it? And also Harry really really liked what was happening.

“Draco,” Harry said, taking Draco by the shoulder and pushing at him. “Draco wake up.”

Draco responded by biting Harry’s collarbone. “M’awake, you arse,” he grumbled.

“Oh, you…” Harry trailed off as Draco tugged on him, pulling him onto his side so they were facing each other. Their hips lined up for a moment and Harry shivered as the hard ridge of Draco’s erection dragged over his own.

“C’mon,” Draco sighed, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair and tugging him into place.

Harry obligingly kissed his way up the side of his neck until he reached the hinge of Draco’s jaw. He sucked at the little indent right below his ear and listened to Draco gasp, felt him shudder with pleasure against Harry. He breathed deep, the warm smell of skin and soap, laced with a faded edge of worn-off cologne, and a sudden burst of longing detonated in the depths of Harry’s chest. He sucked again before kissing at Draco’s jaw, then ducked his head and nosed at Draco’s cheek to get him to put his head up for a proper kiss. Draco murmured something that might’ve been Harry’s name and then their lips met, Draco’s mouth so soft and pliant, fitting perfectly against Harry’s for a moment before it fell open. Harry licked into Draco’s mouth and got about two seconds of warmth and sleep-sour breath and the slick side of Draco’s tongue against his own, and then Draco jerked back.

“Wait, wait,” Draco panted, shoved one hand under his pillow and groped around. He came up with his wand and jabbed Harry in the face with it.

“Ow, what the fuck,” Harry gasped as the spell burst on his tongue, leaving all the soft tissues of his mouth tingling sharply in an almost overwhelming rush of spearmint.

“Sorry,” Draco said before doing the same spell on himself and jamming his wand back under his pillow. “Now I can kiss you.”

“I didn’t mind—” Harry started.

“Well I do,” Draco said, then kissed him hard, and Harry found kissing him back to be a much better use of his time than arguing.

Because Draco was kissing him and Harry was sure that nothing in his entire life had ever felt this good, kissing Draco Malfoy while still warm and a little muzzy from sleep and oh god, Harry could’ve had a whole year of this, even though it wouldn’t have meant to him then what it did now. Draco’s mouth against his own was insistent and possessive as they kissed, and alarm bells began to ring in the back of Harry’s mind. This was such a bad idea. This was a tremendously bad idea. They shouldn’t be doing this, they’d agreed at the beginning of their fake relationship that sex wouldn’t be part of it. And it felt disingenuous, somehow, to be kissing Draco now that Harry had feelings for him, because Draco didn’t know that. As far as Draco knew, this was just kissing. And if they had sex, he’d think that it’d just be sex when to Harry, it was so much more. And he couldn’t, he couldn’t do this.

Harry broke the kiss, and turned his head away when Draco tried to recapture his mouth. “Malfoy, hey,” he said, and broke off in a soft grunt as Draco bit at his throat and then sucked hard. God, that almost certainly left a mark. “Hey,” he said again. “Wait, I thought you, I thought we…”

“Stop thinking about it,” Draco said, and kissed him again.

He slid one hand down Harry’s stomach and pressed his palm firmly over the hard ridge of Harry’s cock and gave it a little squeeze, and Harry’s brain promptly shorted out. He wriggled around enough to get his pajama bottoms tugged down enough because he wanted Draco’s hand on his cock without a layer of flannel in between them, and Draco kindly obliged him by helping. Harry couldn’t hold back a groan as Draco’s fingers closed around him and stroked.

“Like that, do you,” Draco murmured against his mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, and let himself get lost in it for another few tugs before he pushed at Draco’s pajama bottoms and got them down his thighs.

(•⚗৺⚗•)

Getting his hand on Draco’s cock again felt like coming home, the hard length nearly as familiar in his hand as his own, hot and a little damp against his palm. Draco whimpered when Harry took his hand away and broke the kiss just long enough to lick his hand. He took Draco’s cock in his fist again and rubbed his thumb over the head before giving it a little squeeze.

Draco exhaled shakily and his mouth went slack against Harry’s as he lost focus. Harry kept working him relentlessly in long, firm strokes, and barely a minute later Draco’s hand stuttered and stalled against Harry’s cock. And that was fine, Harry didn’t mind at all. Less distraction as he watched Draco. He’d squeezed his eyes shut tight, his brows drawn together, lips pink and wet from kissing and slightly parted as he let loose these wonderfully needy little gasps. Every so often he’d remember himself and give Harry’s cock a stroke or two, and Harry would sigh and kiss the corner of Draco’s mouth.

It didn’t take much longer for Draco to reach his climax. His breathing hitched and he pressed closer to Harry, and then he was coming, hips jerking, cock throbbing as he spilled slick and warm over Harry’s fist.

“You,” Draco sighed, mouthing drowsily at the tender underside of Harry’s chin, “are entirely too good at that.”

“Well, I do try,” Harry said. He began to withdraw his hand from beneath the covers, already pushing himself up on his elbow and looking around for something to wipe himself clean with.

Draco stopped him, taking his hand in his own and wiping as much of his come off onto his own fingers as he was able. Harry assumed Draco was trying to clean him up, but then Draco pushed his dirty hand back down under the blankets and gave Harry a wicked smirk.

“Oh,” Harry groaned as Draco’s slippery hand closed around his cock. “You filthy bastard.”

“You love it,” Draco murmured against his neck.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry agreed. He’d have agreed to anything at this point.

“Mm,” Draco hummed, and gave his neck a sharp bite. “On your back, now.”

Harry obediently rolled onto his back, and Draco shuffled around under the blankets until he was kneeling between Harry’s thighs. He took his hand off Harry’s cock and Harry let out an embarrassing whine at the loss.

“Shh, I’ll get back to it,” Draco said, using his other hand to yank at Harry’s pajamas.

Harry helped him out, kicking free of them as Draco pulled, and then Draco scooted closer between Harry’s legs and went right back to stroking his cock. The sides of his thighs pressed against the sides of Harry’s arse, his flannel pajamas impossibly soft. Draco leaned down and pressed a kiss to Harry’s stomach and pushed one of his legs up.

“Give me a hand?” he asked.

Harry obediently hooked his hand behind his knees and pulled them up, spreading himself open, stomach jumping because he knew what was coming next. Sure enough, Draco sucked a finger into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, getting it nice and wet. Harry exhaled a shaky breath and watched as Draco drew the finger back out with a wet pop and reached down between Harry’s legs.

The first touch of Draco’s finger made Harry’s hips jerk, and he breathed deep and even as Draco pushed inside, slow and steady. It burned, being forced open like this even with a single finger. Harry hadn’t had anything inside him since the last time Draco had touched him like this. He liked it well enough, but it didn’t really do much for him when he did it to himself, so he never bothered.

“Do you want another?” Draco asked, crooking his finger and rubbing over Harry’s prostate.

Harry had to take another breath and force his brain to focus before he could answer. “No, this is good. I’m… god, this is really good, just like this.”

Draco curled his finger and brushed a kiss against the side of Harry’s knee. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Harry’s laugh came out as more of a breathless huff. “Not gonna last long enough for that.”

“Go on, then,” Draco said and kissed Harry’s knee again. “I’ve got you.”

And Harry did. He stopped thinking and lost himself in the feel of Draco’s hand on his cock, Draco’s finger stroking inside him, the warm press of Draco’s knees on either side of his hips. Harry rolled his head to the side, and the tip of his nose brushed against the cool pillowcase of Draco’s pillow, and it smelled like him. He felt himself begin to go tight, his balls drawing up, his body clenching around Draco, and all of a sudden his release was looming ahead of him, eager and inevitable all at once.

The way it was building, Harry expected his orgasm to be a violent, explosive sort of thing, an overwhelming rush of pleasure that blasted through him like a bolt of lightning. Instead, it built and built, higher and tighter, but then instead of a sudden drop, it felt more like a gentle nudge over the edge, a small sweet step from nearly there to oh god yes.

Harry curled in on himself as it washed over him, his fingers tightening around the backs of his knees, and Draco stroked him through it as he came in long pulses over his own stomach. Draco let him go as Harry sagged back against the bed, his legs slipping out of his grasp and flopping open around Draco. Everything felt slow and warm, and Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this wonderful as Draco clambered half-over him to get at his wand, and leaned in to steal a quick kiss before he set about cleaning them both up.

The chilly tingle of Cleaning Charms sweeping over his skin yanked Harry abruptly back to reality. Because, oh god, he’d just had sex with Draco. Avoiding Draco’s eyes, Harry shuffled back and sat up, untangled himself from the rumpled bedsheets and slipped off the bed. He snatched up his pajama bottoms and yanked them back on as quickly as he could.

“Potter?” Draco asked. He sounded unsure, like he thought Harry might be upset with him. It unsettled Harry even more than he already was, because Draco Malfoy never sounded unsure about anything.

“This can’t happen again,” Harry said. His chest hurt. His stomach felt like it’d tied itself in a knot. The warm afterglow of his orgasm had vanished entirely, leaving a sick ache in its place, the last remaining haze of sweet lassitude souring to lethargy. He shoved a hand through his hair. “We shouldn’t have.”

“Oh,” said Draco softly, his voice barely loud enough to carry over the rustle of sheets as he sat up. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted…”

“I did,” Harry said quickly, because he very much had wanted it. “But when we started this, you said you didn’t want sex to be part of it. I should have respected that.”

Harry turned to go, and then stumbled forward as a pillow slammed into the back of his head. He spun round, just in time for Draco to swing at him a second time and catch him square across the face.

“That’s for being an idiot,” Draco spat. “As if you could make me do a single bloody thing I didn’t want to do.”

Harry wrenched the pillow from Draco’s hand and hit him so hard with it he knocked him sideways, and yeah, it was much more satisfying from this end. Draco caught himself with a hand against the mattress, and Harry tossed the pillow onto the other side of the bed before Draco could steal it back.

“Yeah, well, you’re an idiot too, then. We’re both idiots, happy? It was nobody’s fault, and it won’t happen again,” Harry said and turned away, grabbed his jeans from last night off the floor and a clean pair of pants and jumper from his dresser. “I’m going to shower.”

With the bathroom door between him and the rest of the world, Harry let out a long, juddering sigh and slumped against the counter. His reflection in the mirror showed him pink-cheeked with his hair even more of a wreck than usual. Draco had left a livid lovebite on his neck.

“Ugh,” said Harry, rolling his eyes at himself.

[annoyedfanfiction]

Growing Pains

angst angst angst angst

Obi-Wan x reader, inspired by Growing Pains by Maria Mena

“Have we considered,” Cody asked Anakin one evening, “That he hasn’t been, well, cared for since his Master died?” Obi-Wan was sitting a little further away from the crowded circle – not outside, but just far enough to not be touching. Anakin’s gaze followed Obi-Wan’s to his own Padawan, where she was laughing with Rex, sitting amongst the Clones. Knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder. Touch had always come naturally to him, and to her in turn. But Obi-Wan… since Anakin had grown out of his need for almost constant physical affection, so too had Obi-Wan grown away from touching him.

No one will tell you about the limit They put on how long you can grieve

“You have a Padawan to train, Knight Kenobi.” Mace’s face was hard and drawn. “There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no death, there is the Force. It is time to move on.” The funeral pyres had barely been put out. Only a week after Naboo. “He’s not doing anything wrong!” Anakin argued, eyes flashing, still bright and shiny and new to all of this. Mace looked down at him with distaste. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, flatly. Anakin grumbled something, still glaring at Mace from beside his unseeing Master. “Is that all, Master Windu?”

No one will warn you when you're winning How heavy a lost love can be

“There was a girl, once,” he answered, eventually. “I don’t know if she was a Jedi… Certainly powerful with the Force. She was the first one to make him smile, after Qui-Gon… after Naboo.” “Not you?” Cody asked, curiously. “I mean, the General has always looked at you and Ahsoka as though you’re the greatest good in the galaxy.” Anakin chuckled, dryly. “Even when he’s mad.” “We grew into that,” he admitted, memory wandering back to the cynical, but kind boy who’d greeted him on Tatooine. “But (Y/N) was something special.”

They do not tell you about the friendships You'll lose once the lights are dimmed down

“Master Windu.” Even Obi-Wan’s gaze lifted at the new voice – you, standing in the doorway of the courtyard, emerald robes billowing around you. “I’ll take it from here.” Your tone brooked no argument, but Mace still hesitated, disapproval ready on his lips. “Or perhaps you’d like to further disgrace Qui-Gon’s ghost?” He physically flinched at that, and you could not find it within you to find any satisfaction in the reaction. “I’ll inform the Grand Master,” he hissed out, whirling past you into the Temple. You descended the steps slowly, gracefully, until he was out of sight, then you were running. Anakin almost wondered if your feet even touched the ground as you hurried towards them. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” And, for the first time since Obi-Wan had carried his Master’s body out of that generator, Anakin watched tears form in his eyes. “I couldn’t get a transport, and then – oh, Obi.” You let him melt into you, hiding his tears in your shoulder. “We’ll be alright.”

How humble you'll feel about your past bliss Once the tables have turned 'round

But I wanna tell you I got through The hardest of times on my own

“That doesn’t seem like making him smile,” Cody commented, dryly. Anakin whacked him in the shoulder. “Padawan Skywalker,” you smiled at him, pulling your door open. “And Obi-Wan. Come on in.” The space was, in many of the same ways Qui-Gon’s had been, not quite the stark, blank canvas of a Jedi’s room. A small bookshelf stood in one corner, books ranging from old Jedi texts to fairytales from around the galaxy to books on political history. A cracked kyber crystal glowed on one shelf, and a rack of spices spun on your kitchen counter. A couple of cushions, faded and worn, decorated your old couch, along with a patched throw. You had discarded your robe in favour of a light long-sleeved shirt to manage Coruscant’s oppressive summer heat. “Something smells delicious,” Obi-Wan commented, his voice still quiet, but brightening. “That’s promising. But I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see if I’ve lost my touch when you taste it, Knight Kenobi,” you smiled, quickly excusing yourself, leaving Anakin and Obi-Wan in the living room as you began serving dinner. You returned, balancing three bowls as you made your way towards the wooden dining table, bare except for the small pot of blooming vormur flowers in the centre. “Is that what I think it is?” Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as he and Anakin made their way to the table. “Stewjoni dumplings,” you grinned, triumphantly, finally coaxing a true smile out of Obi-Wan’s reserved deference. “It has not been so long that I have forgotten your favourite dish.”

I made some mistakes I made a few But I learned that I am strong

“So where’d she go, then?” Cody asked. Obi-Wan stood, and met Anakin’s gaze across the fire. He offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Anakin shrugged, noncommittally. “From what I gathered over her brief stay, she wasn’t particularly popular with the Council,” he explained, poking at the campfire with a stick. “She didn’t wear the typical robes, she back-chatted, she had normal emotions. Not exactly your ideal Jedi.” Obi-Wan disappeared back into the ship, leaving the rest of the soldiers to their brief respite.

And just because it hurts Doesn't mean it isn't worth it

“(Y/N) is a Mandalorian name,” Ahsoka pointed out the next day. Cody looked up at her in surprise. “What? I know things.” “Well, yes, but…” He trailed off. “You don’t think she could’ve been that (Y/N), do you?” Ahsoka raised an eyebrow. “Which one?” “Hey!” You dropped from the ceiling, landing on Maul’s shoulders and throwing him to the ground. Satine gasped a deep breath. “Why don’t you try that on someone your own size?” “So Kyr’am lives,” Maul hissed, spinning on his heel to face you. “You really should learn what titles mean before you say things like that.” You caught his blow, red clashing against white. “And you didn’t really think a little thing like a crash would kill me, did you?” “All the better,” he sneered. “I can kill you, then the Duchess, and see how Kenobi likes that.”

And even if it stings It's just a temporary thing

“A white lightsaber is a Grey Jedi thing,” Ahsoka hummed, thoughtfully. “So it could well be her. Sounds like Master Kenobi knew her, definitely.” “Kyr’am is basically a myth,” Cody told her, tiredly. “Her name literally means “death”. But she’s really just the General’s ex?” He paused, letting that register for a moment. “How does that even work? Jedi are sworn celibates.” “I’m pretty sure the only people who follow the Code to the letter are Master Windu and Master Yoda,” Ahsoka told him, matter-of-factly, “The former because he has a rod up his arse, and the latter because he’s 900 years old and no one wants to see that.” She clapped him on the back and strolled down the hallway, leaving him gaping after her.

I'm not saying that changing Won't cost you love won't make you cry,

“You’re making a mistake.” Your old Master sat across the room from you, smaller than you had seen him in a long time. “Disgrace us you do,” he answered, not meeting your eyes. “His judgement you cloud.” “We are not the ones whose judgement is clouded,” you retorted, holding your head high. Mace scoffed. “I am not the one making this decision from fear.” You looked around the chambers – a few cold eyes meeting yours, but most gazes shrinking from your defiance. “Fine. But know this – if any disgrace is done to the Force, it is done in this room. Not in the temples of Jedha. Not in the paths of the Grey. The Sith rise and threaten us all – threaten the very societies we live in; threaten our peace; threaten the prosperity that some among us have accrued; and threaten most of all the vulnerable among us. And you sit enthroned in your precious Temple passing judgement on those of us who do the dirty work you turn a blind eye to.” You met Mace’s eyes, and a sharp smile carved onto your darkened face. “This Council shames the Jedi and all that they have stood for. And you, Master,” you glared down at your Master, who was still adamantly avoiding your eyes, “Your 900 years have made you stubborn and unseeing, and the galaxy will pay for it.”

But it will all make sense... When the growing pains subside

“Jedha,” Anakin repeated, staring at Ahsoka and Cody as though they’d each sprouted another three heads. “You want me to look for a Mandalorian cryptid who may or may not be Obi-Wan’s ex on Jedha.” Ahsoka didn’t even have the courtesy to hesitate before nodding eagerly. “Have you considered that if I am the dubious one, this may be a mistake?”

Jedha was a cold planet – a desert, plummeted into icy frost on evening, dotted by frosted mesas. Having listened to nothing but wind humming in his ears for eight hours, Anakin almost didn’t notice the eerily familiar singing floating out of the abandoned mountaintop temple.

Nothing can shield you from the silence Nights spent on his side of the bed

The inside of the temple glowed with the warmth of a campfire, the gentle soothing of a song etched somewhere in his heart. He hesitated in the doorway, images of Padmé, of the life they could have, of her dead on stony ground. Fear and hope and love and bitterness, warring in his mind, weaved into the web of the song. He stepped inside.

Praying for help to please stop crying My life just got turned on its head

Shrouded in robes of the same emerald green, you sat cross-legged before the fire, upon which a small kettle boiled. You looked up at him – crows feet crinkling around the edges of the youthful eyes in his memory, a few hesitant streaks of silver streaking your hair like starlight. “You have grown.” You lifted the kettle from the fire. The mug was blissfully warm between his frozen hands as he crouched next to the fire. You watched him, placidly, sipping your own tea. “I am surprised I didn’t find you on a battlefield,” he admitted, eventually. You smiled, sadly. “This has taken some getting used to.” You peeled back your skirt to reveal a metal foot, exoskeletal braces disappearing up into your robe.

They fail to explain how complex love is... Like why I mostly miss him as a friend

“I am not the same woman I was when you and your Master knew me, Knight Skywalker.” Your fingers tapped a mesmerising rhythm into the metal mug. “Nor are we,” Anakin countered, grinning in the face of your flat gaze. “After 13 years, I’d imagine we’d change. And certainly, this war has changed us all.” He could feel your Force presence thrumming across from him, but could not read it – a hard wall struck up between the two of you, allowing him barely a glimpse of your familiar aura. You hummed, and returned your gaze to the fire.

Or how big of a blow, it was for my ego That she might be better for him

“I admit, I am confused as to why you are here.” You refused to look up at him. “Rather than on Mandalore. Satine is everything Obi-Wan needs, Anakin.” Here, you finally looked up at him. “A pacifist, she shares his ideals but is not afraid to challenge his methods. It cannot be a secret to you that they call me Kyr’am.” There were nights you laid awake, bathed in the light of your ‘saber, not tearing your gaze from the white plasma blade for fear that when you looked back it would be stained red. “Satine cared about Obi-Wan.” Cody’s words rang in his memory. “But not for him.” You pursed your lips, searching his face. For what, Anakin didn’t know.

But I wanna tell you I got through The hardest of times on my own

Landing on Vicondor in Anakin’s M ship was a surreal experience – trees parting around you to reveal two large troop carriers in the clearing. A crowd of clone troopers lazed around the clearing, clearly taking advantage of their brief respite from the war. A small Togruta girl hurried out from among them as you stepped out of the ship. “He’s coming and he’s mad,” she warned, “You better have his girlfriend on there or nothing is going to save us.” You poked your head out, and she immediately breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m –“ “Enjoy your midnight stroll?” Her introduction was immediately cut off by the cuttingly dry question. “How are you this morning, Master?” Anakin asked, too politely. “You retired early last night, are you quite well?” Peaking out from between Anakin and Ahsoka, you saw Obi-Wan narrow his eyes. “What are you up to?” Anakin failed to suppress a grin. “A Padawan of yours, up to something?” you asked, feigning incredulity, “What’s next, Master Windu smiling?”

I made some mistakes I made a few But I learned that I am strong

“Obi-Wan, you’re my best friend,” you told him, sternly, “But if you don’t sit still while I heal this so help me I will throw you back out there with the Fyrnocks.” “You wouldn’t dare,” he protested, nevertheless restricting himself to wincing at the anti-septic. “I dared to learn Jedha dark transfer. I dared to look Master Windu in the eye and tell him to pull the rod out of his arse. Don’t think I wouldn’t dare dangle you down there as bait, you reckless fool of a Jedi,” you scolded, the light glow of Force-healing now flitting around your fingertips.

And just because it hurts Doesn't mean it isn't worth it

“If I’m a reckless fool of a Jedi when I know I have one of the best healers in the Galaxy available,” Obi-Wan demanded, hauling you into his arms, “What does that make you?” Somewhere in the woods behind you were his men. Your men. Cody. Blasters dropping from their last shots – on their General. What choice did you have?

And even if it stings It's just a temporary thing

“It’s over, Anakin.” Mustafar burned around you, but you couldn’t focus on the battle. “I have the high ground.” Sweat streamed from your brow as you knelt over the frail body beside you, belly still swollen with the children she and Anakin should have raised together. Darkness flittered from your fingertips, and she gasped, eyes flying open. In an instant, you were carrying her to the ship. Weak, drooping, but still breathing.

And no one said that changing Won't cost you love won't make you cry,

The boy fretted in Padmé’s arms as you cradled the young girl – well fed, content, and drifting off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the image haunting behind your eyes, behind Padmé’s, behind Obi-Wan’s. Anakin, broken and burning on that stony ground, eyes burning yellow.

But it will all make sense When the growing pains subside

Tatooine blistered before you all – a baby cradled in each of Padmé’s arms, your hand fixed on the hilt of a new songsteel blade you had gambled for while Obi-Wan bartered a price for a speeder to get you out of town. Lightsabers were too obvious – just a heavy weight, now, hidden beneath your emerald robes.

And just because it hurts Doesn't mean it isn't worth it

You sang Padmé to sleep that night, the twins tucked into a makeshift cot beside her bed. She was so young to have lost so much. Her parents. Her planet. Her husband. The Republic. And yet here she was, still fighting. For something. Something better. Something brighter. A world she could somehow see, behind all this pain, all this evil. A light that still shone in her eyes.

And even if it stings It's just a temporary thing

“How did I go so wrong?” Obi-Wan leant into your side, staring up at the ceiling. “I failed everyone. Qui-Gon. Satine. Anakin.” “You never failed me,” you countered, fingers sifting through his hair. “And it was the Order that failed Anakin. The Council.” You reached over and turned his chin so that he was looking at you. “You did the best you could for him. It was not your responsibility to protect him from the people responsible for helping you both.”

And no one said that changing Won't cost you love won't make you cry,

“If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” Obi-Wan didn’t move, lightsaber holding Anakin’s steadily. You could hear Anakin scoff beneath the mask, and he struck forward. “No!” Luke. Obi-Wan fell. Immediately, the troopers turned, firing. You wondered if Anakin realised how your stomach churned at the sight of the familiar uniforms, almost expecting Cody’s smile, Rex’s sharp bark of laughter. You snatched up Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, clipping it to your belt, and ducking under Anakin’s blade as he struck at you.

But it will all make sense When the growing pains subside

“Run!” You could hear Obi-Wan shouting to Luke as your blade met Anakin’s. “It didn’t have to be this way,” you told Anakin, countering his next strike. “(Y/N)!” Leia shouted after you. You could hear the Falcon’s engines whirring in the background. “Go!” you yelled back, vividly aware of the rapid blaster fire around you. “We would’ve fought for you. We would have died for you.” “Shut up,” Anakin breathed, and you could almost hear the crack in his voice beneath the mask. You smiled, bitterly. “We loved you.” He thrust his ‘saber into your chest and the breath choked out of you in a shuddering gasp.

[peteywillproceed]

Hot Mess

Author’s Note: I really don’t know what this is, but I had fun writing it! If you’ve heard Hot Mess by Cobra Starship you will know EXACTLY where this came from! I’d just like to say thank you for everyone’s lovely comments, you guys really are so so sweet! Anyway, hope you enjoy! x

Summary: A party you never expected to attend turns into more than you could’ve believed.

Word Count: 3,612

You peaked through the slats in the blinds, glancing up the street as the familiar roar of the engine rumbled in your ears. Electric blue streaked towards your house, the speed totally inappropriate for your tiny road, but the face behind the wheel was set with a shit eating grin and it sent shivers down your spine.

Tom made it look so effortless, one hand carelessly on the wheel, the other running through his mass of brown curls. He was chewing something today, drawing your eye to the way his tongue ran deliciously over his lips, and you stared mesmerised as he swung into a gap in the street and pulled out his phone.

Your pocket buzzed, and you disappeared from the window, knowing exactly what the text said.

Running your hands one last time over your dress, you fled down the stairs and out onto the street, barely remembering to lock up behind you. The car door slammed somewhere across your road and you spun on your heel, stuffing the keys into your pocket, and catching sight of Tom leaning against the open passenger seat.

“Well, hello darling,” he drawled, and you felt heat creep into your cheeks.

“Hello yourself, Thomas,” you winked, walking towards him and pointing at the open door “How polite of you.”

“Wouldn’t get used to it, mum told me to be nice today.”

“How sweet, still doing what mummy dearest tells you.”

You laughed as he clicked his teeth, sliding onto the expensive leather and spreading your skirt across your legs. He’d left the air con on and goosebumps rose on your arms whilst he shut the door behind you and crossed round to the other side. You took a moment to run your eyes over him, privately enjoying the way the crisp, white shirt stretched across his chest, his fingers fiddling with the cuff links as he moved. He was wearing the navy suit you’d only seen him wear at weddings, and you wondered what could be so important he had to drag his ex-girlfriend out of bed at eight o’clock on a Sunday night.

Plenty of people had asked how you knew Tom, especially when they saw he was still your phone background. Mostly, you played it off as simply knowing him through school, and very few people actually knew the truth. For about two years whilst Tom had been filming Homecoming, you’d been seeing him privately, neither of you wanting to make a big deal out of it considering the circumstances. It had ended mutually enough, although you still wished you hadn’t spent those three weeks crying, and you’d been friends for a good three years by this point.

Never, though, had he asked to see you so urgently.

“So you gonna tell me what’s so important I have to curl my hair, Tommy?” You arched your eyebrow as he climbed into the car and threw you a look.

“Y/n, since when have you called me Tommy?”

“Since I want to know why I’m not in bed!”

He sighed, gunning the engine and shoving the car in reverse. Slamming his foot on the accelerator, you shot out of the space and down the road, swinging round corners and passing red lights like road rules meant nothing. Yeah, you hadn’t missed his driving.

“It’s a stupid party my mum’s organising, I couldn’t think of anyone else to bring.”

“You? Multi-millionaire ladies’ man Tom Holland didn’t know who to bring?” You scoffed as he hit your leg.

“Hey! When you’re hot shit you’ve got choice!” he protested.

“More like hot mess,” you pointed out, and he pursed his lips.

“You liked it enough when we were dating.”

“And that’s precisely why we are no longer dating.”

He laughed, glancing over to you as the city lights raced by. Truth was, you might have been the one to end things, but you’d never lost what you felt. Anytime you saw him on the cover of some glossy magazine, posing for the next promotional poster, you felt the familiar tug on your heart strings, the constant sting of the reminder of what you’d given up. But then he said stuff like that, and you wondered why you’d even cared in the first place.

“God, I wish we could do anything else right now,” Tom groaned, throwing his head back against the head rest as he brought the car to a halt at a red light. You gulped, tracing your eyes over the rippling skin, and tore your eyes away before they betrayed you.

“Well, what’s stopping us?” You shrugged, reaching over for the radio and turning the knob. “God, what is this shit?”

“That’s good music I’ll have you know,” Tom slapped your hand away and the car shot forward. You grabbed your seat, watching nervously as the speedometer climbed slowly past the sixties, into the seventies, until it was just a blur of small, white numbers, and Tom was laughing in your ear.

“I forgot you hate my driving, darling.”

When you didn’t respond, he simply smirked and pushed his foot further on the accelerator, rock music blaring louder in the background, and you wondered if that would be the soundtrack to your death. “If you’re going to crash, please put the tree through your half of the window.”

“I’m not sure I can control physics, darling.”

“Call me darling one more time and I’ll prove to you I can.”

Tom laughed at that one, and a warm, fuzzy feeling you hadn’t felt in a long time crept through your veins. It was slow, but it felt like you were vibrating against the seat, and you could barely focus as he turned the car onto a mountain road and you started climbing into the sky.

“What’s this party even for, anyway?” you murmured, long nails digging into your palms to distract you from the way he bit his lip.

“The Brother’s Trust, we’re trying to get new donations for a hospital, there’s only a couple of grand to go.”

That stopped you, confusion hitting you like a truck. “What?”

“Darling, you spent two years with me, I’m not that much of a selfish bastard y’know.”

You nodded, processing the information. This dude, this annoying, frustrating, uptight dude had helped to raise enough money for a hospital, and you had simply missed it. The warm fuzzy feeling was back, and you almost groaned at how much your body ached to stand next to him, inexplicably drawn to the way his fingers curved around the steering wheel. You were still blitzing down a narrow road, but the scenery had faded until you were only focused on him, and nothing else. Maybe you were going crazy after all.

After what felt like an age, Tom swung into a bay in front of a brightly lit restaurant with people streaming in through the front doors. You’d spent the rest of the trip mostly in silence, until Tom had asked you to pass him his phone, and you’d laid into him about the dangers.

“Ready, darling?” he appeared on your side, arm held out to help you out of the car, and you couldn’t help the roll of your eyes.

“Still trying, Thomas?”

“Always.”

Loud, vibrant music pulsed through the glass doors, urging your body to move to the beat the minute you stepped into the room. Hundreds of people littered the dance floor, dressed in evening gowns of all shapes and colours, and you suddenly felt underdressed, your simple, white outfit feeling too boring.

“You look beautiful,” Tom whispered against your ear, sending shivers across your body.

“Am I even going to know anyone here?” you asked, trying to push the thoughts that were running wild in your mind to one side.

“Sam, Harry, Paddy, my parents maybe. I think some of the cast might be here somewhere…” he trailed off, casting his eyes round the room when you were suddenly grabbed by the elbow and let out a small shriek.

“You must be Y/n!” a face you placed instantly appearing in front of you. “I’m Zendaya, Tom has told me so much about you!”

She pulled you in tightly for a hug, and you let out a strangled chuckle and glanced nervously at Tom. “He has?”

“Oh yeah, tonnes!” she beamed, and now you were really confused. Who talked about their ex-girlfriend voluntarily?

Behind you, Tom cleared his throat, and a jolt of surprise ran through you to see the blush evident on his cheeks. “Daya,” he greeted, kissing her on the cheek “Do you have to be taller than me every time I see you?”

“Grow then!” she replied, turning back to you with a grin “I’m far more interested in Y/n!”

“You are?” you asked, but before the actress could reply you were interrupted by two familiar, boyish faces, and the exasperated sigh of the one trying to shepherd them.

“Y/n!” Harry yelled, nearly jumping on you in excitement “I didn’t know it was you Thomas was bringing!”

“Neither did I until yesterday,” you laughed, embracing them in turn. “Nicki, it’s so good to see you!”

“You too, Y/n,” she smiled, although she sounded confused as she shot Tom a wary glance. “I think we’re all surprised to see you! I told Tom to bring a date!”

“Mum!” Tom hissed, and you laughed nervously.

“It’s fine, I’m just here to support Tom. I had no idea you guys had raised so much money!”

“Well it’s mostly due to Thomas,” Sam shrugged, punching his brother in the shoulder “not all of us have twenty three million women running after us.”

“And men, don’t forget them,” Tom winked, and everyone burst into laughter.

“Speaking of, is Jacob here tonight?” Zendaya cut in, and you suppressed a giggle as Harry turned to gawp at her.

“Err…some…somewhere,” he stuttered, and you nudged Tom with a smirk. He seemed to have clocked it too, narrowing his eyes at the exchange as Zendaya remained blissfully unaware.

“Great, imma go find him and make sure he’s not drunk off his arse yet,” she grinned, waving as she raced away across the dance floor, pulling Nicki with her.

“If you’re going to try and sleep with my co-workers, mate, I’m gonna need a few more drinks,” Tom look pointedly at Harry, who was still staring after Zendaya’s fading back.

“I wasn’t!” Harry protested, and you shook you head.

“Yeah right!”

“Oi, shush you! Just because Tom’s totally into you again does not give you the right to rat me out!”

You started laughing at first, not realising what he’d said, but the stunned silence quickly had you trailing off as you ran the words back through your head and it hit you like a tonne of bricks. “What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing,” Harry backtracked, thrusting a clear liquid into Tom’s hand and backing away. “Enjoy the party you two!”

You turned to Tom, arms folded across your chest as the boys disappeared, seeing embarrassment written across his face. “What did you tell them, Tom?”

“Nothing, I swear!” he gulped down the liquid and tossed the cup in the bin. “They’re just idiots.”

You frowned, surprised at the disappointment that coursed through your veins. When Harry had said it, you couldn’t deny the spark of hope that had lit in your chest. But before it could spark into a fire, Tom quenched it with just a few words, and you suddenly felt deflated.

“Well can I at least get a vodka and coke then? If I’m gonna deal with that bullshit all night, I wanna be at least a little drunk.”

Maybe, if you let the alcohol take over, you’d forget about the tingles that shot through you every time Tom smiled at you.

***

You lost track of time pretty quickly after that, spending most of the evening wrapped round Zendaya’s arm. You were sure it was early morning, but you’d thrown back too many shots to care, and now you were on the dancefloor whilst some pop song blared in the background and you shook your body to the beat.

“You seriously can’t dance!” Zendaya yelled over the music, and you threw your head back with laughter.

“Tom says that toooooooooo!”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking dangerously. “I thought you two were broken up?”

“Oh we are!” you giggled, too drunk to notice the implication in her voice. “But we’re still friends!”

“Babe, that’s what they all say.”

The song was slowly fading out into something much sultrier and darker, and you froze, feeling eyes on you from somewhere in the room. You spun around wildly to see Tom watching you from across the bar, hair splattering across your face and sticking against your slightly damp forehead.

You waved happily whilst Zendaya laughed next to you, but Tom’s eyes were still fixed on you, and a wave of cockiness washed over you. It was the way he looked in that God damned suit, clean lines off set by his mess of curls, and you couldn’t help but imagine the way you’d move against him if he were right next to you. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the feeling had always been there, but now you were running your hands over your dress and trying to lose yourself in the music, hoping he’d take the hint.

The lights had dimmed and you were sure nobody could see, but so what if they did? You couldn’t keep denying how you felt about Tom, and it was about time you let your hair down. So when the warm hands wrapped around your waist, you sank back into his chest and gave in to the feeling that was so familiar yet completely alien.

“Thomas,” you whispered, gently moving your waist against his grip.

“Y/n,” he replied, bending down till he was whispering in your ear. “Just exactly how much have you had to drink?”

You giggled, not sure whether you were drunk on Tom’s whispers or the alcohol. “Not a loooottttt.”

“You mean to tell me you were eye-fucking me from over here whilst completely sober?”

You knew you couldn’t answer him without giving away just how fast your heart was beating right now, and instead you spun to face him, looping your arms around his neck, and taking pride in the look of shock that passed over his face. You pressed your forehead against his, wondering just how much you’d regret this come morning, and let out a breathy sigh.

“Cat got your tongue?” he whispered, but it came out more like a stutter. You moved your hips in time to the music, casting a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure nobody was looking over at you.

“Just want a little dance,” you winked, moving his hands so they cupped your hips.

Silence stretched between you, neither one of you breaking the eye contact, determined not to be the first one to give in. You trailed your hand down Tom’s chest, hearing him suck in a breath as you moved lower, and you smirked, suddenly remembering why.

“I forgot you were ticklish, Tommy.”

“I suggest you don’t go there, I’d rather not make a scene.”

You bit your lip, looking up through your eyelashes and held Tom’s gaze. You tried not to get distracted by the pools of brown or the smug smirk that stretched across his face, instead focusing on the way he moved against you. You felt sparks of electricity race through you, lighting little fires that burnt every fibre of you skin. Hot desire spread like wildfire to your toes and back, finally falling into place in the little pit you tried desperately to forget about. But when his hands slid below your waist and squeezed your butt, you were a gonner.

Suddenly, your lips collided with his, and for a moment you couldn’t tell who was kissing who. You were tangled together, moving like it was your last few days on the Earth, and you clung to him like he was your oxygen. It was intense yet familiar all at once, and you wondered why you had ever let this, him, go. You were breathless and desperate, barely fighting him as he backed you up against the wall and pressed his body further against yours.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, and you glanced nervously over his shoulder.

“Can they see us?”

It was dark in the corner, and you were pretty sure nobody would notice two bodies tangled together in the dusty nooks of a random restaurant. But even with your heart beating out of your chest and your brain alight with a thousand naughty thoughts, you knew you needed to be careful. There was a reason you’d ended it in the first place; you didn’t need to end up in the papers now.

“I don’t think so,” he dropped his voice, but he seemed to think better of kissing you again. Instead, he grabbed your hand and tugged you towards an open door, pushing you inside and locking it behind him.

Before you could think, he’d gathered you in his arms again and pinned you against the door, his hands wandering across your body. You didn’t fight it, giving in to the familiar touch and hot breath against your cheeks; you wondered how red you were, suddenly grateful for the lightless cupboard you’d stumbled into. You let your hands fall to his trousers, fumbling with his belt until he grabbed your wrist and jerked back.

“Wait.”

The look in his eyes was urgent, and you felt foolish, feeling heat flare across your body. “Sorry, I, uh, I thought, uh, actually I don’t know what I thought.”

“No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to,” his words came out in a rush, and you stifled a laugh. Even now, three years older but still a complete idiot, he’d always be a dork. “It’s just…you ended things because of this. You didn’t want to be public. Why now?”

You were tempted to say it was the alcohol messing with your head, that by morning this would all be over, neither of you would remember anything, and you’d go about your business like normal. Except he was staring at you like a man possessed, and you couldn’t deny the desperation you saw there. And what about you? You couldn’t just forget about the way he made you feel, the small sparks he set you alight with anytime his skin touched yours. And kissing him just then had felt like you were floating so high you wouldn’t come back down. Giving all that up, all over again, felt like way too much.

At least if you told him now, there was chance.

“I’m still in love with you,” you blurted, and you could swear his eyes lit up. And then, much quieter “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

He was quiet for a moment, until he brought his lips to yours and placed the lightest, sweetest kiss you’d ever felt against your skin. He gripped your chin, fingers gently holding you in place, and pulled back so your noses touched, and your fingers were interlocked.

“Well that’s good then,” he nodded, and you practically melted under his touch. “Because neither did I.”

Then his lips were back on yours and you were kissing once more, fire scorching your nerves and the feeling in your core sending forks of lightning through your back. You were completely and utterly lost in the feeling of him, caught in his headlights as the taste of vanilla and mint filled your body.

As he started tugging at your dress and his lips moved to your mouth, you knew you were done in, and if this moment meant you gave your heart away, then so be it. His smell was so intoxicating you were melting with every stroke, every kiss, and you wondered if this was what it felt like to be high.

Slowly, as you sank to the floor, you ran your hand through your hair and wondered how you’d let this all become so fucked up, when it had always been so simple. You knew how you looked right now, and you didn’t care; this was what you’d wanted, and there was no way you were letting this go.

“You’re a mess, y/l/n,” Tom whispered, fingers slipping over smooth fabric, and it was almost too good an opportunity to miss. With a sultry smile, you leant forward, choking back a moan as you placed your mouth near his ear.

“A hot mess, actually Holland,” you hummed.

Then you were lost, falling completely into him as you made the choice that would change everything.

And you just didn’t care.

 Taglist

@zabdisamor @jinxfanfics

[ragewerthers]

One With Nature

Summary:  Gladio takes Ravus out of the city to enjoy a bit of the wilderness he loves so much. However, getting the man to see what he loves about it may be a little more difficult then he anticipated.

A/n: This is another fun f3s prompt from my friend @bgn846​! She gave me the prompt:

'Ninja kiss!! Promptio or Ravilus  “Will you get down from there?!”

I hope that you enjoy it my friend!

And you can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250872

Enjoy! :D

Word Count: 1957

------------------------------------------

There really was nothing like the great outdoors.  The smell of the wildflowers and the trees.  The feeling of shifting sunlight and shade as you walked along the trails.  What could be more peaceful?  Where could you find such serenity? “AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

Sighing heavily Gladio dropped the hammer he had been using to drive the tent spikes into the ground.  “Everything alright, Ravus?” he asked, turning to find the man flailing.  He had one hand holding a can of bug spray and the other waving frantically around his head, trying to combat some unseen pest.

“NO!  These beasts won’t leave me alone!” he called out frantically, his hair a mess as he glanced around with wild eyes.

Gladio took a moment to look around, not seeing what beast he was talking about.  “Um… sweetheart?  I don’t know wh-..,”

“THERE IT IS!” Ravus cried as he shied away from his left and made a mad dash for Gladio, rushing to stand behind him and glaring at his previous location.

Narrowing his eyes, Gladio could just make out the soft flutter of wings and the delicate colors of a field butterfly.

Snorting a bit and trying to play it off as a cough, Gladio turned his head to the side to try and catch a glance of his boyfriend.  “I think you’re safe, love,” Gladio tried to reassure, watching as the butterfly began to lazily make its way to a patch of flowers nearby.

“LIES!  Everytime you turn your back it comes for me!” Ravus grumbled, his eyes still narrowed at the small insect.  “I don’t like flutterby’s,” he mumbled and oh that was the most precious thing Gladio had ever heard.

“What did you call it?” Gladio asked, chuckling softly as Ravus finally stopped his glaring to look at him.

“A flutterby?  Like everyone else?” he said again and Gladio could’ve cooed at the sweetness of it.

“Butterfly.”

“That’s what I said!”

“No you didn’t.  Say it again.”

“Flutterby!”

“See?!”

“I said it just like you!”

“Butterfly!”

“Flutterb-.... Oh…,”

When recognition lit up Ravus’s expression followed by that adorable blush, Gladio finally couldn’t help himself.  Laughing softly he turned around and wrapped his arms around the flustered man.  Ravus instantly hid himself against his chest and shook his head.

Pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head, Gladio smiled all the more and soothed a hand over his back.  “Would it help if I said that was adorable?” he murmured, earning a little groan from his darling.

“No.  Makes it worse,” Ravus grumbled, causing Gladio to chuckle a bit more before pressing one last kiss to his head.  Stepping back he looked down at the shorter man, still noticing the blush that stayed over his nose and cheeks.

“Well I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it… because it really was adorable.  But I have to go and grab some kindling for our fire tonight so I trust I can leave you to fend our territory from the… flutterbies?” he teased, earning him a little swat to his chest and making him laugh as he shied away.

Ravus, regardless of the blush, was smiling and shook his head.  “I’ll do my best.  But I make no promises you won’t find me in the car when you get back,” he warned and honestly, Gladio wasn’t sure he was joking.

“I mean… if they really are giving you that much trouble you can always come with me?” he offered, glancing behind Ravus and noticing a few more butterflies slowly drifting their way.  “I think they’re attracted to your shampoo.”

Turning to follow Gladio’s line of sight, Ravus noticed the incoming monsters and gasped, quickly scurrying to once more stand behind Gladio.  “Well what would you have me do?!  Roll around in a mudpit like some sort of ruffian?!” he growled.

Gladio put on a contemplative expression, soon feeling a little pinch to his side making him squawk and jump to the side with a loud laugh.  “O-okay!  Okahay!  I was only joking,” he said lightly, turning to look at the man.  “So do you want to come with me?  At least then I can protect you.”

It seemed that the prospect of staying behind with the flutterby troubles was more than Ravus could stand and after a moment he nodded.  “I’ll come along.  But I swear if I don’t start to see the magic of camping soon we are sleeping in the car with the air conditioning and the lack of creepy crawlies.”

“Fair enough,” Gladio conceded.  He knew it had taken moving heaven and hell to get Ravus to leave the comfort of their apartment to try and experience the fun and relaxation of the outdoors and he refused to give in just yet to showing him how good it could be.  “Come on then.  While we still have the light working with us,” he said softly, grabbing his gear pack from his camp chair and standing at the edge of the haven, waiting for Ravus to follow.

The white haired man bit his lip nervously, still looking slightly uncertain, but one quick glance to the impending butterflies easily sent him moving forward to follow Gladio into the surrounding woods.

As soon as they entered the forest Gladio couldn’t help taking in a deep breath.  There was something so soothing about the smell of the trees and ferns that just made him feel relaxed in a way the everyday humdrum of the city couldn’t.  He loved what they had in Insomnia.  He loved their bookstore and what they had built together, but sometimes it was nice to recharge in a setting like this. “Oh!  Look at this, Gladio!” Ravus murmured from behind him.  Pausing, Gladio turned around to find Ravus stepping off the path and glancing up into a tree.  It really was impressive.  The base of the tree was wide enough that he and Ravus combined wouldn’t be able to wrap their arms around it.  Moss and ivy intertwined with some of the roots that were bent up out of the earth and the light that filtered in from the canopy sent dappled green hues over everything below.

Trying to find out what it was that had drawn Ravus’ attention, Gladio tried to follow his line of sight and instantly spotted what had caught his eye.

The tree was flowering in anticipation of the fruits it would bear.  The flowers were a soft white with fluffy yellow centers that seemed to sparkle almost ethereally.  They grew in bunches and the scent that came from them was absolutely intoxicating.

“It’s a Duscaen Orange tree,” Gladio explained as he came to stand beside his partner.  “The flowers are used to make perfumes around the Eos and have medicinal purposes, but the best part is the fruit.  You can thank this tree for your morning glass of orange juice.”

Ravus gave a little hum of acknowledgement and turned to Gladio.  “While I highly doubt this particular tree has helped in my daily dose of vitamin c… I definitely appreciate it a bit more,” he said with a soft smile, turning back and moving closer to touch the trunk of the tree.  “And… I suppose I can also appreciate your proclivity for nature.  It’s… rather beautiful at times.  When it’s not trying to nest in your hair.”

Gladio snorted at that and shook his head, setting down his backpack and moving closer to the tree as well.  “I’m glad you’re starting to see it,” he said lightly, looking up at the monster of a tree and getting a mischievous little smile.  “But to really appreciate nature… you gotta really embrace it.  Become one with it, ya know?”

This time it was Ravus’ turn to snort in amusement.  “Is that so?  And how exactly do you do th-... Gladio?” Ravus glanced next to him where the man had been standing and found nothing but foliage.  “Gladio?  Gladiolus?”  Blossoms slowly began to drift down from the canopy, landing in Ravus’s hair and making him look up.  What he saw instantly made his eyes widen with fear.

“Gladiolus Amicitia get your arse back down here this instant!  Are you crazy?!” he shouted, watching as his titan of a boyfriend acted as some sort of jacked squirrel, climbing his way up the branches and sending even more petals raining down upon him.

Gladio chuckled and looked down at his sweetheart.  “Why don’t you come up here and join me?  The view is amazing and you really feel like you’re one with nature,” he called back down and could practically feel the glare he was being given.  Really it only served to make him laugh more and he shook his head.  “Alright, alright.  I’ll be right down.  Give me a sec.”

Ravus huffed as he watched Gladio shimmy back across the branch before sitting down on it halfway and then… he tipped back.

As soon as he saw his partner falling backwards, Ravus instantly shouted and rushed forward arms out ready to catch his behemoth of a partner.

“Gladiolus!  Look ou-mmmh!”

In an instant his words were paused by soft lips meeting his own, the arms he had extended to attempt to catch the man frozen in midair.

Gladio couldn’t help smiling against Ravus’s lips, leaning back a little where he hung upside down and giving him a roguish little smile.  “Everything okay, Ravus?” he asked softly, looking at the slightly dazed expression on his partners face, the soft blush of his cheeks and the way his arms still stretched out ahead of him.

That all changed in an instant.

“What is wrong with you?!  Are you crazy?!  Are you part squirrel?!?  You’re worse than the flutt-… butt-… fluttubberblies!” Ravus began to chide, obviously worked up from Gladio’s little display of bravado if his attempt to say butterflies again.

“How on Eos could I be worse than a fluttubberbly?” Gladio chuckled, watching as Ravus scowled and swatted at his chest making him laugh a little more.

“Incorrigible!  Absolutely incorrigib-!,” once more his words were cut off as Gladio leaned forward, just so, to capture his lips.  The smile on his face almost matched the pout on his partners.  However, it wasn’t long before the kiss was being reciprocated and Gladio happily lost himself in the moment, the scent of the orange blossoms making the moment all the sweeter.

Slowly, the kiss came to its end and Ravus helped to lower his hulking partner from the tree and back onto the ground where he belonged.

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Ravus murmured, the two of them already starting back on the trail to find a few pieces of kindling for the fire.

Gladio smiled softly, reaching over and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing in the silver-haired man who easily followed.  “I promise I wasn’t trying to scare you, though seeing you rush to save me was really sweet,” he teased softly, making Ravus grumble and elbow him lightly even as he smiled.

“What can I say?  I’m chivalrous like that,” he teased back making Gladio’s own smile grow.

“Chilvary doesn’t have you running behind your significant other to escape bugs,” he teased and Ravus sputtered in indignation.

“Have you seen them?!  Monsters, Gladio.  MONSTERS!”

As Ravus began to list off all the qualities that made the butterflies beasts of the sky, Gladio couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered and his smile grew.

While Ravus may never come to appreciate nature the way he did, he hoped that for years to come the scent of orange blossoms or a glass of his morning orange juice would bring a smile to his partners lips just as much as he knew it would for him.

[dhwty-writes]

Gods

Part 5 of my gift for @heyabooboo for @thewitchersecretsanta.

Alright, I lied. I like this chapter just as much as the last. There's a lot of poetry in here, I hope that's your thing! 

Summary: Jaskier has finally reached the garden, but so many questions still remain: Where is Geralt? How will he get them both home? And who the hell is Wade?

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: very minor references to depression and truly copious amounts of poetry. You have been warned!

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

Jaskier froze mid-movement. “Oh,” he said quietly, relishing in the sound of the familiar voice. ‘Is this a dream?’ he wondered. Well, of course it was, but that was beside the point. Slowly, he turned around. "There you are," he breathed, "Geralt."

The witcher stood before him in all his glory. Or something like that. He looked… weird. Healthy enough for sure, no bandaged broken bones, no bruises, no nothing. But still, his appearance was worrying to say the least. He did not wear any shoes for starters, despite the feet-thick layer of snow in the garden. Somehow, that was the least concerning aspect of his state. No, Jaskier was much more preoccupied with the fact that Geralt's hair was not only loose, but also soft and clean. And the fact that he didn't wear any black. No, he was wearing white of all colours. Long, white robes, and golden jewellery; bracelets and anklets and delicate chains around his neck. It was... pretty, he supposed. Pretty and oh-so-very-wrong.

"I found you," Jaskier whispered, barely believing his eyes. "I actually found you. Oh, Geralt!" He ran and launched himself at his witcher. A delighted little noise escaped him when Geralt actually indulged him for a moment, holding him close, before pushing him away again.

"Jaskier," he said sternly, "what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," he replied, mechanically checking his witcher for injuries. "You didn't think I was going to let you hide here until millennia after my death, did you— Geralt, what are you even wearing?"

"They gave them to me," Geralt grumbled. "They said they wouldn't have me wear anything but the finest silks during my... stay here. They don't want their... priest dressed in rags, they said."

"Their priest?" Jaskier laughed nervously. "Geralt, whatever are you talking about?"

"The deity that governs this realm and keeps me here," he explained and frowned deeply. "Apparently, I am their priest now. They didn't tell me their name, they just said I had to figure it out myself."

Jaskier had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. Geralt's signature scowl looked a lot more like a positively adorable pout in white robes and silky curling hair. 'Oh, he's cute,' he realised, not for the first time.

"Well, worry not, dear witcher," he tried to reassure him, "for I will get you out of here in no time. I brought some frie-uh." He turned around to where the door had been with the flowers right above it. Nothing. Not even the lark was anywhere to be seen. "They were right here. Where are they?"

The chuckle that crept up to them seemed to come from all sides at once. Jaskier twirled around, in hopes of locating the speaker. "They cannot enter," a velvety voice purred into his ear, "into the centre," a ghostly hand caressed his cheek, "of my domain. Outside they will remain."

The creature rose from the fog curling around their legs a few feet away from them; a slender figure thrice as large as any man made of mist, snow, dim light, and shadows intertwining. An agonised groan spilt from Geralt's mouth as he slowly dropped to his knees, his legs trembling as if he was trying to fight the motion but couldn't help but comply.

"Wade?" Jaskier asked sceptically and ignored Geralt's splutter. Because if that was Wade, the flowers definitely could've warned him; he was not prepared for... that. Jaskier did his best to focus his vision on them—stubborn as always. But it was difficult, to say the least, akin to staring directly at the sun. As if he wasn't supposed to perceive them with his own eyes—which, of course, he wasn't. What mortal can hope to gaze at a god?

None, is the easy answer, obviously. They go mad if they do so too long. But this bard had to be half-mad already, for he couldn’t bring himself to look away. The robes they wore were quite similar to Geralt's, long and white and flowing. Their hair was unbound as well, though much longer than his witcher's, tumbling down to their feet in raven curls and barely concealing the grey mass of their chest; the only part of their body that did not seem to shift, shimmer, shine. In a way they resembled Yennefer with their fine chiselled features and their olive skin. The eyes were different, though, the piercing black of their irises was in no way less frightening.

“Wade, my old pal,” a gruff voice grumbled as the lark sat down on their shoulder. “How’s it hanging?”

They smiled benevolently albeit a bit confused. “It’s… hanging just fine, little friend of mine. How have you been? You’re cheerful, it seems.”

“Cheerful,” they parroted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. You see that buffoon there?” All three of them turned to look at him. “A right pain in the arse, he was. Took him ages to figure out your poem.”

"Oh...," he managed, barely keeping his shaking knees in check. He had absolutely no desire to kneel before his best friend's jailer. "You're.... beautiful," he stammered and while that was no ideal response either, he preferred it to the humiliation of kneeling.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Geralt cursed. "Now's not the time, bard."

Jaskier scoffed. As if he didn't know that himself. He had a witty remark ready on the tip of his tongue, but Wade was faster than him: "Be still, my dear, I'm greeting here a friend, it seems, who himself a flower deems."

"I do not deem, I named myself!" Jaskier replied, outraged. "Besides, would I be here if I were a flower? I've heard they are not welcome."

"Oh, and clever he is, too." A smile curled around their lips as they crouched down to get to Jaskier's eye level. "Who knew? It seems you have brought me quite a treat, priest. You should have told me, at least."

"Ngh," Geralt said, a pleading look in his eyes, looking back and forth between Jaskier and Wade. He could see the muscles of his jaw working, just like with Stregobor earlier. As if someone had willed him to shut up.

Rage boiled in Jaskier's stomach. "He did not bring me, for I belong to myself. As he does, for the record. He’s a person, and my friend, and I do not appreciate how you treat him."

"Silly mortal," Wade laughed and stood up straight, "he does not. He is mine to pay for the agony he brought."

"Pain? What pain? Stop speaking in riddles."

"Start listening instead, the answer's clear," Wade contested and straightened themself again. "There's a lovely home I had, but along came our witcher here. I did neither bad nor good, just dreams, not that he understood. He drew his sword and it brought war. So now he has to pay. He will stay."

"A drawn blade is hardly a war," Jaskier disagreed. "A lost home is hardly agony."

"Of course, you're too blind to see. It's not just a home I lost; there was a much higher cost."

He gnawed on his lip, waiting for Wade to elaborate. They didn't. The denizens of this strange world were not exactly forthcoming with information, much to Jaskier's chagrin. Well, in that case he had to be the direct one. Fancy that. "I have come to bring him home. Name the cost, I'll pay it in full."

Wade laughed, again, and for the first time Geralt spoke, too. "No!" he roared, " attempting to rise from his knees, but evidently held back by some invisible restraints. "No, Jaskier, you mustn't. I chose this fate for mys-"

"Then you chose wrong!" Jaskier howled, seething with anger. "How could you?” he accused him. “There are people waiting for you. People who need you." The witcher kept infuriatingly silent. "Why?" he asked, his lower lip quivering dangerously. He was not about to cry, definitely not, but it was a close call. "Why on earth would you do this to us? To yourself?"

"They wanted an immortal priest," Geralt said simply.

The deity hummed at that, combing their fingers through Geralt's hair. "It's true. I keep him here for his immortality. A priest who won't leave my side."

"You're immortal?"

He shrugged. "Immortal enough. Still have a couple of centuries to go, a couple of millennia with their help. I had no choice. It was me or..."

Ciri. Yennefer. Yes, Jaskier could see how a Child of Elder Blood or a sorceress might be a fitting replacement for someone as long-lived as Geralt. And of course, he hadn't wanted to jeopardise their safety. Of course, he'd preferred to stay himself. He loved them after all.

His eyelids fluttered shut. 'And I love Geralt.' He couldn't leave him to this fate. He couldn't— He couldn't. He had to get him out of there. 'Whatever the cost.'

"I see," he whispered and turned to Wade. "I suppose my soul would be no fitting— Hang on a moment." This whole looking up to the deity thing wasn't really doing it for him. That caused horrible cricks in the neck; netherworld or not, he sure as hell didn't want to deal with that. Once he had grown in size to match the god, he continued: "I suppose my soul would be no fitting recompense?"

The deity blinked at him in surprise but nothing beat Geralt's look on his face: "Did you- did you just grow yourself?" the witcher spluttered.

"Of course, I did," Jaskier replied, just as confused as the other two. "Didn't you know that anything is possible here?" Those were the rules of the netherworld, right? He could do whatever he could imagine. Right?

After a beat of silence, Wade laughed. "I see you are divine, too," they said delightedly. "Lucky me, that makes us two!"

"What?" Jaskier spluttered. "That's nonsense! I am no god, just a man."

"Just a man? I know none of my children's blood flows through your veins, but you're a poet, it's the same. Still, there must be more to you."

"There is not," he insisted.

"No elf, no fae?"

"No."

"No treachery at play?"

"If I say so."

"And what, man, is it that you brought here?"

"A lute."

"Why? Is it for me to hear?"

"It's for me to play."

"You say there's no fae blood in you; with my eyes I see it's true. And yet, you speak as they do."

Jaskier scoffed. He had quite enough of that Wade's antics already. "I speak as I see fit. And I would appreciate it, for you to let us go."

They tilted their head to their side. "Interesting."

They blinked. 

The world shifted around him and Jaskier felt the sudden urge to puke.

He had regained his composure just fast enough to see Wade take a seat on a towering stone throne, Geralt kneeling at his side. Another blink and a similar, though much smaller chair appeared right beneath Jaskier's behind. "You're not afraid of me," Wade noted.

"Why should I be?"

"Because I am a god. Because you're a coward and a fool. Because I made your friend my tool." They smiled viciously. "In case you forgot."

"I did not. But if I'm a coward and a fool, so are you. You imagined this garden, too. I cannot be found."

"I grew this garden from barren ground, do not teach me about its laws," they snarled. "You're bathetic, flower, more than I ever was."

"Are we here to talk or to insult each other?" Jaskier laughed. "I'm Oxenfurt studied and trained, prat, why do you even bother? Smear poems are my bread and butter."

"A brat is what you are, the worst I've met so far. So, here's a tip for you: do not bite off more than you can chew."

He crossed his arms defiantly and risked a glance down at Geralt. The witcher was following their conversation with a deep frown, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. For just a moment he wondered how many quick-witted rhymes ago they had lost him. Still, he had a mission: "I did not come here to trade puny slander, let us not meander. I want a bargain. And I will not ask again."

Wade looked at him bemusedly for a moment, then they threw their head back and roared with laughter. "You've got guts, I'd hate to see them spilt. I like your little threats. You want to bargain before you wilt? Let's."

With a flick of their wrist, the air around Geralt flickered as he was pushed further away. Jaskier could see the invisible walls rising around him, could see the horror on Geralt's face, see him scrambling to his feet, banging on the barriers with both his fists and inaudible shouts. "I'm sorry," Jaskier whispered. 'I'm not,' he knew.

A sly smile spread on the deity's face as they leaned on the armrest and rested their chin in their palm. "Go on," they invited him with a grand gesture. "Talk."

"I already told you," Jaskier sighed, exhaustion showing plain on his face. "I ask you to let him go."

"And why should I do so?"

"Please," he begged, "name a cost. I'll replace what you have lost."

"Hm," they said contemplatively, thrumming their fingers against their cheek as they stared off into the distance. Suddenly, their gaze focused on him again, the expression on their face softening. "You love him," they said gently. Still, it felt like a slap in the face.

Jaskier nodded shakily.

"You might be a coward and a fool, yet you achieved what few can do. You prevailed where many fell, shouldering your burden, and his as well. Aren't you exhausted, dear? You could stay here, the both of you. I'd take good care of you."

He shook his head defiantly. "I'd rather have you take care of me alone and let him return to those he loves."

The deity laughed. "How do you wield words so prettily if you are too blind to see what's right in front of your nose? I can do only one of those."

Jaskier frowned, not understanding. "What—"

The deity paid him no heed and kept on talking: "From god to god, I have a bargain for you, man, listen closely to what I say: win my game, and you both walk free. Lose, and you belong to me." They spread their arms wide. "What's your answer, then? Aye or nay?"

Jaskier looked at them, studying their face as closely as he could. 'That sounds almost too good to be true.' Still, there was no trace of betrayal or deceit. "If I lose, only I belong to you?" he made sure.

"That is true."

"You're asking what I choose, at a game I cannot lose?" He laughed hoarsely. "I say deal."

"A handshake's the seal." Jaskier grabbed the offered hand and they grinned widely, dangerously. "May the better dreamer win."

Jaskier returned the grin that was almost a snarl. "Let's begin."

"He should listen, too, I think," the deity said and Jaskier nodded. 

With a flick of their wrist, the walls around Geralt shattered and a roaring scream rolled over them: "Let him go! No, Jaskier, this is madness."

He stood and turned to him with a bow and a sad smile. "I have won your freedom already," he explained quietly, "that is all I came here to do. Now, please, dear, be quiet, so I can barter for mine."

"Aren't you two divine?" the deity cooed.

"Do not worry about our divinity," Jaskier told them sharply. "Worry about me."

They snorted disbelievingly and crossed their arms in front of their chest.

Jaskier imitated him. "So," he challenged, "what are we playing?"

"Ah, my dear flower, you're in for a treat," they purred and rose to their feet, still looming over Jaskier, "for you've met your rival you cannot beat. Welcome!" They bowed down to him. "To the Game of Fools. Here are the rules: One!"

A giant engraved stone slab slammed into the ground a few feet from the ground. "I start with a song. And you respond. It has to be your own, one that is just yours alone. Two!"

A second slab joined the first. "You must not speak out of turn. The speaking time is earned. Three!"

A third slab. "You cannot utter a single word that's already been heard. A song already sung does not belong." They whirled around to him. "Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." They bowed with a deep flourish. "With these rules, I'm sure you'll complete your goal."

Wait, what? Jaskier's head snapped up. "Goal?!" his voice was shriller than he had intended to. "What goal?"

"Listen closely and you'll see. Tell me, where else the fun would be." They flashed him a bright smile and said jovially: "I start. Take a seat and listen close. And if you're not quite as verbose, well," they chuckled, "don't take it too hard."

Jaskier scoffed, unable to resist the sudden urge to kneel in the snow next to Geralt. He was about to tell them that they obviously had no idea who they were dealing with. Not quite as verbose? 'I am Jaskier of Oxenfurt, Viscount to Lettenhove. I have written more songs and poems in thirty years than most poets do in their whole life. Not quite as verbose my ass.' But something told him that breaking the second rule already would end badly for him.

"Jaskier," Geralt hissed leaning over to him. Had he grown too? Or had they shrunken? A quick glance around told him that the latter was the case, the thrones looming up over the three of them impossibly tall. "Jaskier!" he hissed again.

"Shush," he answered. The deity was about to begin with their song, Jaskier couldn't risk missing it.

Still, the witcher was persistent. "Do you really think this is a good idea? Didn't you hear them? You cannot beat them."

He closed his eyes praying for patience. 'I know all of that,' he thought bitterly, 'and this is not really confidence-instilling.'

Thankfully, Wade began their performance, thus keeping Geralt from any other stupid comments:

"Men die, it’s true, but so do Sounds.

And when they do, there’s no

Formality, no-one around.

No-one will watch them go."

They had already reached the end of the first stanza when Jaskier realised belatedly that he probably should be counting syllables and lines and rhymes. 'Shit,' he cursed silently. 'So much for a good start.'

"A Sound, it dies with no last song,

No elegy or chant.

A final sigh and then it’s gone.

With efforts Men are scant.

 A Sound dies with reminiscence,

Remembrance dies with God,

A God’s death is with reverence,

A Prayer’s death’s in naught.

 In Nothingness all endings lie

When no-one’s left to dream

With the Last Poet Earth will die

The Last to write its theme.

 Men die, it’s true, but so do Gods.

From mortals they all stem.

Finds one a Priest against all odds,

It’s a new life for them."

Wade finished with a flourish and looked at him expectantly. "Well?" they asked, entirely too smug and self-satisfied for Jaskier's liking. "What do you say, flower, poet, bard? I hope this first challenge isn't too hard?"

"Too hard?" Jaskier scoffed. "What do you take me for, an amateur?"

They hummed with a smirk that betrayed that, yes, that was exactly what they took him for. 'The audacity!' Jaskier would teach them— He wanted to get up, but Geralt caught him by the wrist. "Jaskier, are you sure?"

He snorted. "Please, Geralt, apparently we're doing elegies!" Of all poetic forms to choose from, they had elected the most dull, uninspired, and ordinary of them all. With a common metre at that! He hadn't done that since his pre-Oxenfurt days! "It's as if they're trying to bore me."

"Or bait you," he warned. "Don't fall for it, bard. You're too smart for that."

"Why, Geralt, is that a compliment?" he trilled. "I never thought I'd see the day."

He huffed with feigned annoyance that hadn't fooled Jaskier for decades. 

"Don't worry about it, I know just the one. And rest assured that it is a greater work of art than that." He gestured vaguely into the deity's general direction.

"Silly mortal," Wade chided. "The true dreamer is not who crafts art of the dramatic but of the mundane. It's your turn."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, alright. You want to hear an elegy, too?"

"Are you trying to tell me you don't have one prepared?" They leaned forward with a sly smile. "Do not insult me, Jaskier."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he ribbed, and walked over to take their place.

He took a deep breath. They were right, of course, he had an elegy prepared. It hadn't started out like that; the first stanza had come to him many years ago. But then it had just kept growing. The thing was— He glanced over to Geralt, who looked at him intently. The thing was, that his witcher was not meant to ever hear it.

He wet his lips with his tongue. Nothing to be done about that now; so, he started reciting:

"In my time I have known a host of men;

Great kings and knights who met a tragic end.

And yet not one of them was greater than

Geralt of Rivia, my beloved friend."

He kept his eyes trained firmly on the ground; he couldn't bear to face Geralt now. Still, he felt his eyes burning on his skin. Jaskier felt naked all over again, even though he was still wearing clothes. It was almost worse.

"The core of men is shift and change.

He faced and braved the Trials and Trail.

For that men called him monster, mutant, strange,

A butcher, a witcher, a hero to hail."

He could hear the nigh silent gasp that escaped Geralt and his eyes snapped up involuntarily. He expected to see Geralt offended, outraged even. Instead, he just looked confused.

"For two decades I journeyed at his side,

A fragment of the century he’s seen.

No words can illustrate this witcher’s might;

He’s the most noble knight there’s ever been.

 He was not known to be a man of words,

His Path, it was a lonely road to walk.

And yet he did speak, even jest of sorts,

'twas his hands, his deeds, his eyes that did the talk."

Jaskier closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the words he spoke into existence. It felt like flying. It felt like floating.

"His pride’s his unrelenting amity,

His light a guiding star to follow

For us, his pack, his friends, his family;

Alone without him we are left hollow."

He ended his poem with a tiny gasp, just as it was meant to be. He gnawed on his lip. It felt... wrong. Unfinished.

He did not know what it was that kept him talking, nor did he know where the words came from. Suddenly, they were there as if he'd always known them. Maybe he had.

"Was it just him who fell? Or did we both

That morn find our demise in that chateau?" he whispered, his words scarcely more than a breath. As if he wasn't quite sure if they were meant to be heard.

"For, though by chance, our strings of fate were tied

He's gone, and I am dead with all my woe."

When Jaskier looked up again, all he saw were two wide golden eyes, staring at him in shock. He suddenly felt the need to throw up. "I'm sorry," he wailed. "I'm sorry, Geralt, I shouldn't have—"

"No," the witcher interrupted him and evaded his gaze. "'S good." Jaskier scowled. Was he... blushing? That couldn't be, surely. Witchers couldn't blush, Geralt had told him so himself. Surely, he had seen wrong. Surely, a quirk of the netherworld.

"You have done well," the deity decreed. "You truly are a poet, I can tell. There were worse foes I have faced. Yet, such a simple deed shan't be overly praised. Another test is due. A sonnet, is that something you can do?"

Jaskier scoffed and crossed his arms. "Honestly, Wade, do you even know what Oxenfurt is? I have read and interpreted sonnets until my eyes bled. I could write one in my sleep."

They raised their eyebrows. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"I thought you would go first," he said warily. He might not understand much about this world, but he was an expert on tales and fables, and if there was one thing, they all agreed upon, it was that you did not, under any circumstances, break the rules of a contract with a supernatural being. Circumvent them via rather liberal interpretations? Sure. Break them? Not in a thousand years. "You said so yourself."

"I said it before, I'll say it once more: you're a clever one." They snapped their fingers and Jaskier watched the rule rearrange themselves on the stone slab. "There, it's gone. Now let's continue with the fun," they clapped their hands excitedly. "Carry on."

"Alright, alright," he muttered and tugged at the collar of his doublet. A sonnet they had said? That was not an easy choice. Not for lack of suitable poems, of course. Rather the opposite was the case.

As much as he hated the rigid rules Oxenfurt had—quite literally—beaten into him, he had to admit that he had a... certain fondness for the sonnet. Alright, that was an understatement. He loved sonnets, loved the challenge to tell a story in fourteen short verses. He had written dozens, hundreds, myriads, only a fragment of which had even seen the light of day.

While he rejected Valdo Marx' notion that he was "pandering to the tastes of the masses" and thus produced inferior lyrics, there was at least some truth to it. Even he couldn't deny that his jaunty jigs and breezy ballads were much better received than poems that relied on finer nuances than raucous bawling. Such as sonnets, for example.

And while he had a travel companion for most of the time, Geralt had no sense for literature either. To him, a ballad sounded just like any other, and after one pitiful attempt from his part to try and introduce his witcher to lyrics without any music that had ended in Geralt rolling around on the floor howling with laughter, Jaskier had decided to postpone the re-introduction. Into the far, far future. 

But all of that still didn’t keep him from writing his poems. Nothing in this world or any other could. That was precisely why he wrote them at all, because he was so full of words that threatened to spill over and ruin everything. They had to go somewhere.

Long story short, there were about two dozen notebooks collecting dust in some Oxenfurt archive filled with sonnets about a certain witcher, that would never be read by anyone but a sentimental, foolish bard who had tried and failed to process his desperate yearning in poetry. But which should he choose?

"What is it, flower?" Wade asked, their hand in Geralt's hair again. He wished it would fall off. The deity just laughed. "That's beyond your power. You are just here to recite a poem. Go on."

Jaskier bared his teeth at him and launched into the first sonnet that came to his mind:

"A witcher is most valiant a knight

He’s armed with silver, magic, and with steel.

He faces any monster without fright

For conscience’s sake and not just for the deal."

It wasn't his best, probably, but it had to do. With every unbidden touch, every condescending word, his anger grew more. His anger and his determination to get Geralt out of there as soon as possible.

"A witcher is a gruesome fiend and vile;

No mercy left in his mutated heart.

He bathes in virgin blood and monster bile,

Nothing that sets his kind and prey apart.

 So, now you ask which of my tales is true.

The answer’s plain, my friend, they all are lies.

With words and tales bards build the world anew,

But life’s no simple sketch in blacks and whites.

 A witcher is the commonest of men;

We all are beasts and saints in fortune’s plan."

Wade only nodded thoughtfully. "A beautiful work," they decreed, "and seldom have I heard one that held more truth. You're wise, despite your youth."

"I am not so youthful for a man," he admitted sheepishly. "Nor am I wise. I have just seen much of the world."

"Do not sell yourself short," they chided and strode over to take his place, "we all know you're not the humble sort. With your tongue as sharp as a dagger you like to brag and swagger. Let's see if it serves you well. I've got my own poem to tell."

Jaskier ducked his head to hide his smile as he sat down next to Geralt. 'Pity,' he thought. 'Had we met under another circumstance I might've even liked them.' Alas, they had not, and so Jaskier was morally obligated to despise every word that spilt from their mouth. 'Just like the good old Oxenfurt days.'

If only it were a task as easily completed now as back then. The problem was, however, that Wade was good. They were a good performer, for a start, one who you couldn't help but follow with your eyes. Their voice was loud and clear, rising and falling at just the right parts. And the poetry. Gods, the poetry. It was just out of this realm.

"Illusion, vision, vagary; the style

Is not what makes the dream a lovely thing.

Instead, it’s joy, it’s freedom, it’s a smile.

But still does reverie deep sorrow bring."

Jaskier wanted to hate the poem. He really did. But how could he when his heart ached with every word, when his eyes filled with tears, when he found himself mouthing along to the words to remember them, recite them himself in the future? He just couldn't.

"The terrors of the night most humans fear;

They pray, they beg, they curse to no avail,

They toss, they turn, they scream for all to hear,

They try to fight and cannot help but fail.

 What makes a dream celestial and sweet?

What makes a nightmare grievous, ghastly, grim?

All fantasy grows from the unchanged seed,

Each one alike, the former’s perfect twin.

 Are all the dreamers blind? It is a shame,

Not one sees that both are one and the same."

Jaskier was clapping before he knew what was happening and Wade bowed graciously. "Jaskier," Geralt hissed sharply.

"What?" he replied innocently. "It was a good performance," he insisted. "I won't forget my manners just because I am fighting for my life."

"Thank you kindly," they said with a smile. "I truly am glad that it is to your liking. It's been a long time since I had not only an audience, but found myself among friends."

"We are not friends," Geralt growled. "Neither he nor I want to be here."

Their face fell. "And yet you both sought me out. That can't be my fault, no doubt."

"Just get on with the song!" the witcher grumbled.

"Oh, Geralt, I'm so proud of you," they purred, "you're already rhyming, too!"

He huffed an annoyed breath and scooted closer to Jaskier, leaning against his side. "You know," he whispered, "they've got a point."

"Shut up," he grunted, his pout appearing again. After a moment the witcher groped around on the floor until he found Jaskier's hand. He held on tight and Jaskier almost didn't hear his confession: "I missed you. And I'm glad you're here."

Jaskier's throat tightened, and, oh, apparently the clear skies rained salt water in the netherworld. "You're—" He cleared his throat. "You're welcome," he managed without sounding too much like he was crying. Which he wasn't, for the record. Crying, that was. Nope, definitely not, not him.

Geralt squeezed his hand, and Jaskier really would have loved to continue this conversation, but Wade was talking again: "One last round, bard, one last chance to complete your task. I hope that's not too much to ask?"

"Some task that is," he huffed. "I don't even know what I have to do!" They didn't even dignify that with an answer and he sighed. "I do not have a choice, do I?"

"Do you still insist to leave with him?"

"I do."

"Then you have to win."

"I will. Name your challenge, Wade, I will meet it."

"So be it," they bowed their head. "For the last round let us compete with poetry at its most complete, most accomplished form: a ballad."

"Of course," he muttered. After a short moment he added, because he couldn't resist: "And what might satisfy your noble palate?"

"A ballad, bard, and both of you can go. A ballad to—" They faltered. "A ballad. One that comes from you."

Jaskier eyed them warily, but nothing in their face betrayed that they had just stumbled over their words. Well, it could happen to the best of them. Carefully weighing his words, he said: "That I can do." He made an inviting gesture. "After you."

"If you wish so," they extended their arms and a lute appeared out of thin air. For a few moments, the garden was completely silent, both him and Geralt waiting with bated breath. Then, they began to sing: 

"There once was a maid as fair as summer sun

She loved to dance to the bards’ songs.

She loved to laugh, play, ride, and over hills run.

Her kindness’s famed in all kingdoms."

Jaskier gulped. The verses were joyful enough, but he knew enough about the art of ballads that he realised with the first string being plucked that this song would make him cry again. It was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful melody that made pure adoration mingle with bitter jealousy in his mouth. He knew whatever he wrote in the future, it could never be as good as what he was just listening to.

"Though her laugh was bright there was something she missed.

A part of her heart beyond gates.

So, one day she ran away into the wilderness.

Her fortune, a gift to the fates.

 This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so."

He gnawed on his lower lip, not daring to even glance sideways at Geralt. This was a sentiment he understood only too well. 'And yet,' he thought, 'here we are.'

"The maid wandered aimlessly through the lands,

Wherever her heart’s wish led her.

She was free though many knights asked for her hand

She said: “Thank you, but no, my good Sir.”

 In the end the maid’s heart led her to a garden

Filled with daisies, roses, and more.

The Gods told her: “You’re now its patron and warden.”

She dreamt it more grand than before.

 This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so.

 Though beauty surrounds her, no flower’ll replace

The joy that comes with humankind.

In her lonely garden she longs for an embrace

And all that she left behind.

 She is forced to wait until the end of time,

Alone she grows still on her throne.

All the while waiting for the gentlest rhyme,

The dream to melt a heart of stone.

 This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so."

Jaskier's breath hitched as the last note faded out, only for the deity to pluck at the strings again:

"This is my pathetic lament;

I got what I craved, but am sad even so."

His mouth formed a silent 'O' as he saw that the deity's cheeks were just as glistening with tears as his own had to be. Before his mind could even follow up, he was already on his feet, only held back by Geralt's iron grip on his wrist.

"Jaskier," he said, softer than he ever had, softer than he had any right to.

"Yes?" he breathed.

"I believe in you." And with that the anchor tethering him to his witcher's side was gone and he stood in front of the deity.

"Did you like my song?" they asked, almost hopefully.

Jaskier envied them for their dry-dreamt cheeks. "I did. I—" Slowly, he extended his hand and put it on their arm. It hurt. It hurt so much, so much worse than the trials, so much— 'This is it,' he thought, 'This is how I die.' Still, he didn't let go. "I'm sorry," he gritted out, "no-one deserves to be lonely."

They stared at him with wide eyes and jerked back suddenly. "Sing your song," they commanded.

He blinked.

There was a lute in his hands and the pressing urge to sing building in his gut. This time, Jaskier didn't really have a choice. He could count the number of his ballads that no-one had ever heard on one hand, and, well, there was a reason why they only existed in the privacy of his head. Either they weren't finished yet, or— Or.

Truly, he had no choice at all. A work in progress had to do, then. He took a deep breath and started to sing:

“Peace in our lands is of short-lived supply,

Soldiers and monsters both make children cry.

That’s why the gods let the witchers be born;

Demons they slay in foul and human form.

 Geralt of Rivia, the noblest of all

Will slay the basilisk haunting your hall.

Good folk of Aedirn, you asked for his aid,

Lo and behold, the White Wolf brought his blade.

 Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify. ”

Jaskier faltered. ‘Ah,’ he thought as he blushed furiously. ‘Right, I hadn’t edited that yet.’ He winced, expanding his interlude. Well, the child had fallen into the well already, he could also follow through now: 

“The White Wolf did not wait, he took the risk,

He set out to slay the vile basilisk.

Quickly, the White Wolf put an end to this farce

With his swords, signs, and his great muscled... arms.”

 Jaskier winced. Not what he had scribbled down drunkenly during the victory celebrations afterwards, but he sure as hell wouldn’t praise his best friend’s behind in front of some deity and Geralt himself. Contrary to popular belief, he did have some dignity.

His silver blade slashed through the vicious beast,

His silver hair’s just as glorious at least.

The basilisk knew its demise was nigh.

Both of us vanquished with the flex of a thigh.

 Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify. 

 Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify. ”

 The last notes of his ballad faded away. He already dreaded the conversation with Geralt to come, barely raising his gaze when he turned to him. 

He blinked.

The deity loomed over him thrice as tall as any man, shadows, mist and snow swirling. "You cheated," they growled like roaring thunder.

This time, Jaskier couldn't resist the need to drop to his knees. "No," he whimpered. "No, please, I didn't!"

That, however, didn't satisfy them. "That was not your ballad," they growled. Blinding white lightning flared right around the still unmoving grey area of their chest.

He whimpered and ducked his head. "Yes, it was," he tried to defend himself. "I wrote every note and line myself."

"It was not your right ballad," they insisted. "You cheated. You lost."

Thunder roared. Lightning flared.

He blinked.

[teenremus]

meeting sirius black / asking you out would include...

a/n: idk why i’m having so much trouble writing lmao oopsies it’s been a hot minute. i’ve had 0 motivation for 0 reason anyway here u go request something pls :)

gryffindor!reader

- he had his eye on you since the sorting hat ceremony

- he thought you were. so cute. and you being placed in the same house was him was just all the better

- while he had had interest, he didn't see you much after that first day and forgot about you

- until fifth year

- you were in the same potions class

- of course, it had been a while

- it wasn't until the middle of first term when he recognized you

- after dicking around with remus in the back of the class, the two of them were separated

- and your usual partner, severus, had gotten replaced

- you didn’t really know severus, besides the snide comments you’d received from him on more than one occasion

- but you weren’t too ecstatic about sirius either

- you prepared yourself for the most excruciating annoyance for a lifetime

- but it wasn’t that bad ??? surprise surprise

- it took a moment for him to piece together where he knew you from

- but when he placed it, he smirked to himself, although you didn’t seem too keen on talking to him with your head in a textbook

- he found it uncomfortably silent

- “i’m sirius, love.”

- “y/n.” you didn’t look up

- “love sounds better.”

- you hated that you blushed, but you did

- you told yourself it was just some pickup line

- but he had genuine interest in you

- it showed every day

- he’d keep talking to you

- and you started to warm up to him more and more

- not only metaphorically, but physically

- his constant compliments made your stomach do jumping jacks

- remus sat behind you during all that time

- and was getting increasingly annoyed at the slow burn

- “you going to ask her out, mate, or are you sitting around waiting for someone else to?”

- “oh, piss off, moony”

- that made him nervous though

- and he started to notice the lingering gazes from some ravenclaw fellow in your class

- when he watched him graze your hand to reach a jar of dried bat wings, he was fed up he got jealous a little too easily

- when you came back with the jars of ingredients, he spoke immediately

- “what do you think about going out with me?”

- “pardon me?”

- “what would you think of you and me getting together?”

- “i think it would be nice”

- “good”

- “so are you asking me or not, wanker?”

- “well, yeah. i thought that was clear enough.”

slytherin!reader

- you knew who sirius was

- of course you knew who sirius was

- the blood trailer your house mates had shit talked into oblivion

- and while you weren't a believer that he was a blood traitor, you did believe he was complete and utter arse

- you'd been witness of him every day leaning against one of the doors to the great hall, with a different girl

- when quidditch season started up, you had joined the team

- and after an interaction on a training field, you had learned he was on his team as well

- it was a screaming match between your team captain and his

- you had to diffuse the situation

- “michael, come on, we still have time later. we don’t have a match for a few weeks. let it go.”

- you quite literally had to pull him away

- you made eye contact with sirius and james as you turned him away, and did your best to ignore the arrogant smirks that blanketed their thankfulness

- you saw him up close again at the match against gryffindor, standing across from each other and not breaking eye contact as the ref read out the rules

- once in the air, the game had been going swimmingly

- gryffindor - 7, slytherin - 10

- the game had traveled up farther in the sky with each point gained, the crowd could barely see you anymore with the amount of clouds

- it was a struggle in getting the quaffle

- “woah! guys, look out!” someone screamed

- you stopped your broom in its place and looked to see that everyone else had done the same, and you wondered what was going on

- you looked up, and saw somebody falling

- “holy shit, that’s sirius!” it was another gryffindor you couldn’t place

- no one was making any moves to save him, some continuing on with the game and snatching quaffles again— he kept falling

- “ah, bloody hell”

- you dropped the quaffle that had been tucked under your arm and quickened your broom’s pace as you dove down to catch him

- he was just beneath your grasp, your fingers barely touching his uniform

- when you finally got ahold of the fabric, he almost pulled you down with him

- you moved your grip to his forearm instead, and stopped your broom from diving down any further, or in just a few seconds you’d end up hitting the ground

- you were sure he’d be passed out

- but apparently not

- he brushed his hair out of his face with his free hand, then held onto the broom as he looked up

- “seems ive fallen for you, y/n.”

- “that is,,, absurdly lame, sirius.”

ravenclaw!reader

- it was through detention, of course

- you’d never noticed him because you’d been sleeping

- but he knew you

- or at least, he knew of you

- he thought you were so beautiful and he truly wondered how you kept getting into detention like this

- but he wasn’t complaining

- he rarely saw you outside of whatever classroom confined the two of you, so he knew what you were doing wasn’t as much of a spectacle as his pranks were

- could’ve been cheating, he considered

- but you were a ravenclaw, he figured it was doubtful

- sirius has never spoken a word to you, by the time he had reached detention each day you were already asleep. when it was time to leave, you were one of the first to escape

- until detention was held by professor binns 

- he took wands, homework, any sources of happiness or busy work for the students to do

- including sleeping

- he wanted you to suffer in boring, magic-less silence with nothing to do but stare at the walls

- sirius was not having it

- when he got bored, he got really annoying

- he just kept asking questions

- “what’s the capital of the moon?”

- “do you reckon dumbledore keeps quills in his beard? as well as all the crumbs, of course.”

- it went on

- the continuous detentions was worth seeing you smile, even if it was beneath your hand

- you wondered if this was what you were missing out on all the times you slept

- when sirius wasn’t looking at you, you were looking at him, taking in his features

- he had almost caught you

- james definitely caught you

- but didn’t say anything, just winked in your direction to let you know he knew

- when james didn’t show up one day, sirius was alone

- or would have been, if he hadn’t sat down next to you

- “so, what’re you in for?”

- “would you believe me if i told you filch doesn’t like it when his office is broken into for fireworks?”

- he leaned back in his chair, almost impressed “hm. impressive............... but-“

- there was a long pause, and he pulled himself up again and rested his elbow on the table as he looked at you

- “i know a place you can get them for free. hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

- mcgonagall’s shushing broke the conversation

- silence again, just for a moment before she looked down at her desk

- “i’d love to.”

hufflepuff!reader

- he had run into you on the courtyard

- or rather, spotted you

- yelling unintelligibly at someone

- which is not what he expected from a hufflepuff

- a crowd was formed around you, occasional flinches as your wand waved around

- he weaseled his way through the crowd with his mates with a smile on his face, ready to spot some action

- he spotted the back of your head, arms flailing wildly as you yelled at an annoyed, but taken aback, severus snape over his continuous racist and arrogant comments about everyone and everything in the world

- which just made it even better

- sirius was losing his mind

- he had to hold onto james and remus as he laughed

- with an off insult saying "your nose is more inflated than your ego" and the accidental wave of your wand, a white spark had come out of it

- the rooting and howls of laugher had stopped all around the formed circle

- james, peter, remus and sirius has stopped as well and froze where they stood

- severus looked beyond your shoulder in shock and a smile crawled up his face

- you turned around quickly, mouth drawn open when you realized you had cast something

- a boy with dark hair was behind you, hands over his face

- when he pulled them away, his eyes were crossed in awe as he looked down at his nose

- it was twisting and turning, as it grew bigger and bigger and took up more of his face

- severus was laughing now

- “shut it” you said quickly, a short wave of your arm his lips were gone and replaced with nothing but skin

- his shouts were muffled and ignored

- “oh, my merlin. i am so, so sorry-“

- he started to laugh

- so hard he had to close his eyes

- his friends laughed with him

- “you’re laughing? you alright? that spell didn’t get to your head, did it?”

- he looked at your face for the first time

- oh, merlin, he didn’t expect you to be so pretty

- he was not ready

- this beautiful girl so worried and pampering him

- “is that your nose or are you just happy to see her, mate?” peter whispered, trying to hold back his laughter

- james was quick to speak when sirius couldn’t find his voice

- “oi! i think he deserves an escort to madame pomfrey, yeah?”

- “yeah, he’s not looking too well!” remus chimed in

- you began to walk him to the nurse, trying your hardest not to stare down the elephant on his face in the room

- “i’m y/n.”

- “i’m sirius.”

- his voice was more nasal than usual

- madame pomfrey was annoyed more than anything, but the trip lasted no more than a few minutes before his nose was back to normal

- you looked at him

- he was cuter without an absurdly large nose

- it was easier to see how the light caught in his eyes now

- “i’m so sorry-“

- “don’t worry about it, love. make it up to me with a trip to hogsmeade?”

- you were caught incredibly off guard

- “yes, i mean, yes. of course.”

[88missmarauder88]

Sirius x Reader, Part Deux

So this is a companion to the first-ever fanfic request (located a few posts down the way), which was “Sirius x Reader” in which the reader was James’s sister and she and Sirius had a “moment” whilst listening to music. 

@underworldsheiress mentioned that she’d love to see James’s and Remus’s reactions, and I discovered that I wanted to see them too! lol So this is another Sirius x Reader but featuring a lot of James and Remus. It’s quite long, I think, but it was also helping me flesh out a larger story I’ve been working on forever, so it’s serving dual purposes, and thanks for the idea!

If anyone else has any requests, please feel free to pass them along. They’re helping me so much with my other story!

Something was different.

To be more accurate, several things were different, but in your still-half-asleep state, identifying them simultaneously was an impossible task. You forced your brain -- which currently felt like it was wrapped in a thick layer of cotton -- to focus on one at a time instead.

First, there was the realisation that you had just gotten the first good night of sleep you'd had in ages. You let out a nearly inaudible sigh as you slowly began to recognise the effects you'd all but forgotten. You weren't inexplicably still exhausted. Your body felt entirely relaxed, the tension drained from your neck, shoulders, and limbs. In fact, you'd go so far as to say you felt rejuvenated, like you could actually hop up and face a day with a smile on your face for once.

Day... that was the second realisation. Your eyes remained closed, reluctant to let go of your restful state, but you could tell by the glow of your eyelids that sunlight was filling the room. You also didn't feel as though you were in your bed. You were seated on something hard, tilted back against something softer, but that wasn't a primary concern. Merlin bless the chair or floor or whatever it was you'd fallen asleep upon because you'd actually fallen asleep.

Then there was that noise. It must've been what woke you, but you couldn't for the life of you place it. A constant, repeating pattern of long, static hisses and short crackles... shhhhpop... shhhhpop... shhhhpop...

With a heavier sigh, you resigned yourself to opening your eyes but only got the job half done before quickly having to shield them with your hand, the sudden light stinging a bit too harshly. With your hand still curved at your temple to cut the glare, you tried to look in the direction of the noise, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear away the bleariness. After a few moments, you finally spotted the culprit: The arm of Sirius's turntable had reached the end of a record, and the needle was teetering back and forth on the vinyl's edge in protest.

Sirius's turntable...

The last few realisations were made much too quickly and far less rationally.

The events of the previous evening came cascading down on you like a bucket of ice water. You were in Sirius's room. You'd fallen asleep listening to music, but not before you'd... before he'd... You squeezed your eyes shut again, biting down on your bottom lip in an attempt to steady yourself. You felt worried, nervous, and confused all at once, but there was also a lightness, like a crushing weight had been lifted from your heart. Strangely, it was that last feeling you were having the most trouble processing.

As slowly as you could, you tilted yourself forwards, then scooted quietly across the floor until you could turn and look behind you. Sirius had his right shoulder buried in the rumpled blankets that hung down from the end of his bed. You'd both apparently shifted in the night, winding up back to back. It reminded you of the position you'd all been taught in Defence Against the Dark Arts -- how to stand with your comrades in battle, to ensure all angles were covered, to leave no opportunity for a blindside attack. You wondered briefly whether either of you had ever been truly relaxed in your lives.

His hair curtained his face from your view, and you frowned at the way Sirius's arms wrapped tightly around his knees, which were drawn to his chest. With a pang, you flashed back to his 11-year-old self after you'd woken him from his nightmare on the Hogwarts Express. How he'd wedged his body into the corner of the compartment as if trying to escape not only whatever had been haunting him in his sleep but also the fact you'd just seen him in a moment of weakness. You'd both changed so much since then and yet, in unguarded moments like this, were still so much the same. That point was further proven as you reached out instinctively to brush the hair off his cheek, tucking it softly behind his ear. Sirius twitched a bit at the contact, his eyelids fluttering slightly as he murmured a few unintelligible syllables. He was dreaming, but at least it didn't seem to be a nightmare.

"Mmmmmph... phh... fuck off, Prongs, whadda you know 'bout snogging..."

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, filing that away for future use, and reached over to set the turntable to rights.

"PADFOOT!"

Ugh, he's even annoying in my head...

"PADS! Get your lazy arse up!"

You froze as you realised you weren't imagining James's voice, then whirled around at the sound of Sirius speaking again.

"Sirius, we have to--"

He was still asleep. But you could've sworn you heard him say your name...

"PADS!!!"

"Sirius!" you hissed, shaking his shoulder. He started awake, eyes darting wildly around the room before landing on you. Your chest tightened as you watched his face cycle through confusion, recognition, and finally relief. You hated that it had to be short-lived.

"Sirius, James... he's in the corridor, I think he's coming down here," you whispered urgently. "What we need to do is--"

"Pads, get up, you useless sod..."

James could only be a few feet from the door now, and before you could resume relaying your plan to Sirius, he was on his feet, grabbing your forearms and hauling you back against the end of his bed. You spluttered, trying to talk through the hair in your mouth -- not all of which seemed to be your own -- as Sirius bent over you, yanking the blankets all the way off his bed and piling them unceremoniously over your head.

"Sirius!"

"Shush!"

Somehow, through the thick layers of fabric now pressing down on you, you felt two final thwaps you assumed were his pillows. Shell-shocked and completely frustrated, you let out a huff as you heard the door to Sirius's room fly open. A sudden weight collided with your shoulder, tipping you sideways, as Sirius quickly leaned back against the blanket pile.

"Padfoot, you-- what're you doing?" James's voice rang through the room. How anyone could have enough energy first thing in the morning to be that loud you had never been able to suss out.

"Listening to my new album," Sirius answered, albeit a bit more high-pitched than normal. "See?" he continued, gesturing to his turntable.

"Why in the floor? And what the hell did you do to your bed?"

As Sirius began exalting the comforts of blanket piles, Remus came wandering in behind James, yawning broadly and scratching his chest through his t-shirt.

"Merlin, James, you're loud," he said through another yawn, which abruptly ended mid-exhale as he glanced about the room. James and Sirius had paid him no mind, and Sirius was currently patting the large pile of blankets and pillows behind his back repeatedly in an apparent effort to convince James of their superiority to just sitting on the bed. As he did, the blanket at the bottom of the pile shifted slightly, revealing a house slipper with which Remus was familiar. A slow grin made its way across his lips. Suddenly, he felt very much awake.

"Well, you're a slob, for one," James was chastising. "This isn't Hogwarts. No house-elves are going to pop in here and make your bed every day, meaning it's down to my mum, and if you're in here dismantling the whole bloody room every night..."

Sirius glanced up at Remus. Something about the look on his face made James's voice fade into a background drone; he looked smug and positively delighted, which was about as common as Acromantula venom. Remus wasn't a morning person, particularly this close to the full moon. Sirius quirked an eyebrow at him, and Moony's smile grew wider still. He looked pointedly down at something to Sirius's left. Turning his head slowly, Sirius spotted your slipper. He blanched, turning back to Remus with a panicked, pleading look. Remus's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, but he managed to put his fingers to his lips, pulling them across in simulation of a zip to indicate James wouldn't hear it from him. Sirius shot him a grateful nod before grabbing a pillow and slamming it down onto your foot.

Remus rolled his eyes and let out an involuntary snort.

Underneath the violently jostling blanket pile, you were a mess -- hair rankled into a frizzy cloud, insides shaking, and you were beginning to sweat. Suddenly, a pillow came down hard on your foot, and you had to bite your tongue to prevent a yelp from escaping.

What the hell is going on out there?!

"What was that?" James demanded.

"What was what?"

"Why'd you slam that pillow down like that?"

"I thought... I thought I saw a spider."

"There aren't any spiders in this house, mate. Or actually, let me rephrase that: There never have been spiders in this house, but considering the state you've got this room in, we're probably going to be infested. Crisps packets on the table, chocolate wrappers under the bed, t-shirts every-bloody-where... look, like I was saying, you know I love you, but we don't have house-elves; you're going to have to pick up after yourself, now get up, we're setting this bed to rights..."

"NO!!!" Sirius and Remus shouted simultaneously. Under the pile, you smacked your hand against your forehead.

"Okay, what's going on," James said after a beat, his tone indicating he was done playing around. "There's something under the blankets, isn't there." He was met with silence. "What did you two sneak in here? Sirius, that had better not be a dog. I get that you think it'd be really ironically hilarious to keep one as a pet, but my dad's allergic, and--"

"You're right, Prongs, I'm sorry. It's a dog. Now get out. Moony and I will get rid of it."

"Why do I have to get out for you to get rid of it? It's got to go, but I wouldn't mind a look first."

"It's... mangy. Really awful, but it was the best I could find at the time. Ugly, big chunks of fur missing, possibly rabid-- OW!!"

You threw your elbow as hard as you could in the direction of what you hoped were Sirius's ribs. You were done playing as well. James was never going to leave without seeing what was under the blankets, and if Sirius had just listened in the first place, you wouldn't be in this mess. Scrabbling to your feet, you yanked the blankets off your head, regretting immediately your disheveled appearance and how you knew James would interpret it.

"What... the FUCK?" 

James didn't say it loudly, though, and that's how you knew things were quickly heading south. He said it with a deceptive control that you knew how to translate: danger. Well, you could be dangerous, too.

"You," you said, untangling your feet from the pile, "ask too many questions, you nosy git."

"What the hell are you doing in here? Why do you look like... that?" He was talking to you but glaring at Sirius, who looked positively stricken. He was doing his best to shrink back into the curtains around the bed, but you could also see him surveying the room for its best potential escape routes. You realised he'd likely spent the majority of his life doing the same thing at Grimmauld Place. Looking for places to hide. Cringing in anticipation of pain. Wilting under the wrath of his parents. Trying to find an escape. And he'd finally found it. He'd come here, where he belonged, where he was supposed to be safe and happy and able to breathe again, and you would be damned if you were going to let your brother make him remember where he'd come from, not even for one second.

"Not that it's any of your business, James, but we were listening to music. As for why I look like this, I assume you're observant enough to have noticed that I just crawled out from under about four bloody blankets."

"For the record, he's not very observant at all," Remus offered. "I mean, your slipper was sticking right out in plain view..."

"Shut it, Remus," James snapped, turning back to you with his eyes narrowed. "And why were you under the blankets in the first place if that's all you were doing?"

"Because your best mate wanted to avoid having you fly off the broomstick like you do every time somebody does something without asking your permission first!"

"I swear that's why, James," Sirius cut in quietly, his back still against a bedpost. "I just panicked when I heard you coming down the hall, and I didn't want you to think-- we fell asleep, and that's all we did. Sleep. We didn’t move off the floor all night."

James's eyes widened to such a degree you wondered if they mightn't just pop right out of his head, and you'd have laughed at the mental image if the circumstances had been different. As it was, you pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing deeply.

"Sirius, he didn't know I was in here all night," you muttered to the boy.

"Oh... oh, fuck," Sirius whispered, bouncing the side of his head repeatedly off the bedpost.

"He must have done," said Remus. "You're both wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday."

"Weren't you the one who just said he's not at all observant, Mr Helpful?" you asked.

"Oh, right... wow, we're all really shit at this, aren't we?" Remus grinned cheerfully. You couldn't help but giggle under your breath at that, which just set James off again.

"Sure, everything's so funny, just a big joke, and it's all on James because he was stupid enough to think he could have his best mate move in without making a move on the nearest breathing female."

Your whole body was suddenly tingling with fury, and you barely noticed that both you and Sirius had taken a subconscious step towards one another as you spoke simultaneously.

"She is not just 'some female'..."

"How dare you say that about him..."

"Bad form, James," Remus said in a low voice, his face the picture of seriousness now. "That's way out of line, mate."

"This may come as a shock, James, but not everything is about you, you arrogant prat," you said, voice shaking as angry tears began filling your eyes.

James at least looked remorseful, darting a hand through his hair and continuing on to the back of his neck, which he rubbed self-consciously while letting out a heavy breath.

"Look, I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just... I can't..."

"Come on," Remus said, grabbing James by the arm and pulling him towards the door. "You need to cool off."

James didn't protest, and as Remus pushed him into the corridor, he turned back to you and Sirius. Sirius was looking down, one hand clutching the bedpost, his breathing shallow. You regarded Remus through the shimmer of the tears you were still refusing to let fall. "I'll talk to him," the boy said quietly, giving you an encouraging smile before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

You could see in your peripheral vision that Sirius hadn't moved, so you followed suit. You could scarcely even remember now the peaceful state in which you'd woken just a little while ago, and it made you angry. You certainly didn't know what would've been said between you and Sirius once he woke up, if anything at all. Maybe you'd have just gone back to your room and let him sleep. Either way, it shouldn't have been taken out of your hands, something simple and lovely made stressful and awkward.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said finally, not looking up. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?"

"Any of it."

Your stomach lurched slightly. "That's... unfortunate to hear, I suppose."

"Good," he said, and you looked up, confused, to find him still regarding the floorboards but with a funny little half-smile on his face now. "Because I don’t mean that. But it's what has to be said for now. I should've thought about what might happen. I didn't mean to start anything between you and James."

You snorted. "If it hadn't been this, it would've been the last slice of toast at breakfast. This was nothing to do with you. You know him as well as I do at this point. If it wasn't his idea, he hates it. Until he doesn't."

Sirius nodded, finally turning to face you. "All the same, I think I should go for a bit." At the panic that must've shown on your face, he quickly added, "I just mean for the rest of the day. I'll go for a ride, come back when there's less chance of being punched in the face."

You nodded back reluctantly, and he began walking to the door, stopping abruptly a few yards short. Turning on his heels, he strode quickly back to you, moving the still-wild hair off your cheek and pressing his lips against it, lingering just long enough that it couldn't be construed as a peck. Just long enough to send the blood rushing to your head at alarming speeds. And just as quickly, he was back at the door. "See you tonight," he said as he slipped out.

You stood a few moments, wondering how your body managed to accomplish the feat, considering you felt like you'd lost all control of your motor skills. Finally, it surrendered as well, and you fell backwards into the pile of blankets, a blissful smile on your face.

"Because, Moony, of course he is. And stop snickering when I say this and answer me because I mean it: Have you ever known Sirius to be serious about anything?"

Remus complied with the no-snickering demand with effort, clearing his throat before responding.

"Yes, actually. I have. Granted, the list isn't long, but he's serious about us. His friends. He'd do anything for us, you in particular, and I believe you know that. He's serious about being nothing like his family. And besides, Prongs, it's worth saying again that I really think you're overreacting here. You know how they are about muggle music, they listen to records together all the time. They clearly weren't doing anything wrong. What's the big deal?"

"It just... felt different, I don't know how to explain it," James groused. "And since I know they don't have real feelings for each other, it would just be more frivolous flirting on his part and her being too naive to even notice what he was doing."

"I'm sorry... they don't have any what for each other?"

"Feelings. Like... fond feelings, I mean. I know they care about each other, they're friends. But most days, they're barely in a room together five minutes before they're in a row about something or trying to one up one another on a prank or just giving each other funny looks. They don't get on. Not like Lily and me..."

At that, Remus couldn't contain his laughter anymore. James glared at him.

"I'm sorry, Prongs, I really am, but we are talking about the same Lily who charmed a handful of sugar quills to chase you away from her train compartment like little daggers not two days ago, aren’t we?"

"She just doesn't know how to express her feelings for me yet."

"All right. Fair enough. Let's say for the sake of argument that's true. Then wouldn't you say it's possible two other people we know don't know how to express their feelings for one another yet either?"

James raised a quizzical brow, and Remus sighed.

"Prongs, just because your feelings for Lily are out there in the great wide open for all of us to see -- much more of than we'd like, I might add -- doesn't mean that's the way everybody acts. If you think Lily hexes you on a daily basis because she's repressing her adoration, then might it not be possible that Pads and your sister are going through something similar? To put it scientifically, sometimes, in the absence of an immovable object, two unstoppable forces have occasion to meet, and sparks will, inevitably, fly."

James looked at Remus as if he were speaking Mermish, and Remus shook his head, rolling his eyes wearily.

"They fancy each other, you nit."

James's eyes bulged for a moment, but he shook his head adamantly. "No. No way. They fight like... well, cats and dogs," he grinned.

"I'm not about to stand here and explain romantic nuance to you, Prongs, but just take me at my word for a second and then ask yourself why they wouldn't be afraid to show their feelings. Afraid of what it might mean for their friendship, how the rest of us might react, how you would react -- and well done there, by the way. Imagine for a minute what sort of mood you'd be in if you thought pursuing Lily would ruin everything else in your life."

James's predominant expression remained confusion, but Remus could see something else there now -- something that looked a bit like dawning horror. Remus decided to wrap it up with a bow for him.

"Did you happen to notice the way they stepped towards each other, not you, when you said those nasty things earlier? That they moved to defend each other first, not themselves?"

James let out an extended groan, tilting his face skyward and covering it with his hands. He remained like that for about half a minute before mumbling into his palms.

"They're bloody besotted, aren't they?"

"Afraid so, mate."

"Merlin's bollocks," James moaned into his hands. "How did I not pick up on that. Idiot, me. They're both mad as hatters, tempers with bloody millimetre fuses, it's like they were made for each other, fuuuuuck, I feel ill..."

Remus chuckled quietly as James scrubbed his hands up his face and into his hair, tugging in frustration. Remus felt for him, of course. That couldn't be an easy realisation for any bloke to make about their sister and their best mate, but better now than later, now that Sirius was living in the house. James screwed up his face and stood in silent agony for another few moments, hair jutting out in every possible direction, before his shoulders slumped and he let out a loud breath.

"Well, Moony, there's only one thing for it then," he said, straightening and looking purposefully at Remus.

Remus went cold, sucking in a startled breath. Introducing James to the facts had been something he felt needed done, and he'd definitely counted on theatrics, but he hadn't counted on an ultimatum -- or his sudden apprehension about what that "one thing" might be. If James was about to ask for his help convincing the two they were wrong for one another, he would have to think fast to devise a delicate way of telling his friend he felt the exact opposite -- not to mention prepare for another fight. Before he could speak, however, James went on.

"We'll have to force them together. It could get ugly... might be a bit like shoving two Jarveys in a bag... actually, that's exactly what it's going to be like. Pads is a stubborn sod, and she's not much better, not to mention they both curse like bloody sailors these days..."

An audible whimper of relief escaped Remus, and he burst out laughing, walking over and pulling James into a quick hug.

"What's wrong?"

"I swear, I thought you were about to ask me to help you put them off one another."

James smirked.

"Don't get me wrong, Moony, I still think the whole thing's unbelievably disgusting. But... I reckon I'll get over it. If, of course, they do one another some good. I mean, they're both absolutely mental, so who else are they going to find to put up with them, realistically. Plus, better to know your enemy and all that. And..."

He paused, his expression sobering as he adjusted his glasses.

"Whenever Sirius is in a state -- a real state, one of those ones where we can't handle him and you start worrying he’s going to do himself damage -- where do we always find him? And vice versa?" James asked.

His eyes made very clear that this particular question was the only one that really mattered. Who loved James's sister as much or more than he did? Who loved Sirius as much or more than James?

Remus nodded, patting James on the shoulder and letting the unspoken answer hang meaningfully in the air.

[rockinthebeastmode]

Doin’ Time

A/N: Hey! I finished a WIP! I’m not sure how I feel about it quite yet but I hope anyone someone enjoys it. Special thanks to @arathewallflower for reading first and assuring me it didn’t suck. You da real MVP 👌🏽😘 

Fair warning, there is pot smoking within, if it’s not your thing, I apologize. Should be easy enough to skip through. S1-esque AU. (Loosely) Inspired by Doin’ Time by Sublime. All music mentioned is youtube-linked.

You can find my other fics here.

@mmfdfanfic @eveerez @i-dream-of-emus @lilaviolet @lau-vm @hey1tskat1e @tinakegg @kneekeyta @likeashootingstarfades @girl-looking-out-window @stinemarine @lurkernolonger @crystalgiddings1993 @milllott @ssecondaryy @buddyhollyscurls

Doin’ Time

Finn Nelson was a bit of a grumpy sod.

He could admit that. He knew he could barely tolerate anyone other than his mates and family. Since football and boxing started bulking him up and he got his fringe just right, he had birds drawn to him in droves. That could be nice, except he found himself practically non-verbal with girls and that only got him so far. He remembered shotgunning a spliff to Julia Fisher and having to endure trying to talk music for all of five minutes before giving up. And who could forget his brief stint with Stacey Stringfellow? Thankfully, she wasn’t much of a thinker, much less a talker. He reckoned he would’ve stuck that one out longer had she not played Backstreet Boys every bloody time they’d make out at hers.

Honestly, he couldn’t give a rat’s arse about dating at the moment. It was the summer before his second year at Stamford City College and he just wanted to chill with his mates before his dad was back on his arse about grades and preparing for university. He’d been looking forward to a summer spent with his boys Chop and Archie, drinking pints at the Swan, seeing shows at the Basement and of course, smoking as much pot as his allowance could buy but Chop kept inviting Izzy and her mates around. He could just about handle Izzy’s exuberance sober but Chloe’s fawning over him and Archie was getting old.

Then there was Rae. Quite possibly the only girl he’d come in contact with since puberty that didn’t fall over herself over him--not that he wanted her to, mind. She annoyed the fuck out of him. 

She was loud and obnoxious and thought she was hot shit just because she could match Chop for jokes and banter with Arch, all while gossiping with the girls. He could’ve ignored her well enough if she didn’t call him out every time he was the least bit quiet or broody. And don’t even get him started on her so-called music prowess. Sure, she liked some of the same music as him but if she couldn’t appreciate one of the greats like Marley, she definitely didn’t ‘know her music’.

Either way, he planned on staying as far away from her as possible. All he needed was his mates. No girls allowed.

***

“Finny! A birdie tells me you’ve got an empty tonight,” Chop’s voice rang loudly into the phone and Finn held the receiver away from his ear, rolling his eyes with a grimace. Fucking Archie and his big mouth.

“No parties! Chopper, dad’ll murder me if we trash the place,” he quickly replied, Chop scoffing on the other end.

“Aww, c’mon, mate, it’ll be a laugh. Nothing too crazy, we’ll keep it nice and exclusive,” Chop tried to reassure him but Finn knew his game. They’d only known each other their entire lives.

“Bollocks, remember what happened last time you kept things ‘exclusive’? Kendo had half of Stamford’s drug scene in my bloody living room.”

Silence fell on the line and Finn smirked in triumph. He went to get off the phone when Chop spoke again.

“We’ll make it a mates’ night, a’right? Pizza, booze, games. Just the gang.” Finn hesitated with his response and Chop sighed, “I just picked up some spliff, I’ll smoke you out.”

Finn glanced at his dwindling stash next to his bed and groaned low.

“Fuck. Fine. What time?”

***

Around 8 that night, a knock sounded on Finn’s front door. He opened it wide to reveal Archie with a stack of pizzas in hand, Chop with a gap-toothed apologetic grin… and the girls standing behind them with a bag of snacks and bottles each. He ushered them inside with a barely forced smile, grabbing Chop by the shoulder before he could pass. The others made their way into the living room, greeting Finn cheerily and chatting amongst themselves. When they disappeared from view, Finn punched Chop in the bicep as hard as he could muster.

“Ow! Jesus Christ, Nelson!”

“Sod off, you said the gang only!”

“Soz, mate, Izzy just--” Finn cut him off, rolling his eyes.

“Of bloody course, enough said. Anything to get your lil’ Chopstick wet, yeah?” Finn groused, crossing his arms. He dodged a swipe to the head, grabbing Chop in a headlock. They tussled fruitlessly around the foyer, knocking into the walls and narrowly avoiding tumbling into the staircase. They stopped and looked up when a throat cleared from the doorway.

“Do I need to separate you two?” Archie asked, raising a brow. Finn released Chop and shoved him away, giving him a final glare.

“You’re lucky I don’t curl you up,” he grumbled. Chop pulled out a large bag, filled with numerous buds of varying greens, with accents of purple throughout.

“Smoke and make it better?” Chop replied smugly, puckering his lips with a wink. Finn smiled begrudgingly, Chop and Archie exchanging cheeky grins.

“Let’s hope so, knobhead.”

***

Izzy and Chloe looked at the bong apprehensively as Chop took the first hit too hard and coughed violently, Archie clapping him on the back. Finn shook his head with a snort, noticing Rae smirking across the circle.

“Ooh, can you roll us a spliff, Finn?” Chloe simpered, reaching out a hand to his forearm. He shifted away, ducking his head in a nod before sitting up straighter and reaching for his rolling tray on the table. He opened the stash jar, sprinkling a small pile on a paper and carefully tilting the paper to roll a small cone. As he licked the paper to seal it, he looked up and met Rae’s eyes. There was a certain glint in her eyes as she glanced him over before quickly looking away and reaching out to Archie.

“Hand it over, Arch,” she said breathily, her cheeks pinking a bit. Finn couldn’t help scoffing slightly as he tapped the weed down and twisted the end of the joint. Rae looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“There’s no filter on that one, girl,” he warned, before lighting the cone and handing it to Chloe across the circle. Rae sneered, taking the bong from Archie with a short mocking laugh.

“I’ll be fine, Finley.”

He resisted rolling his eyes, waving a hand with a derisive, “Go for it.”

Everyone’s eyes were glued to Rae as she held the bong to her lips, flicking the lighter into the bowl and sucking on the stem, the clear piece becoming white with thick smoke. She tossed the lighter at him with narrowed eyes, the bowl burning bright. The orange glow faded and the gang watched open mouthed as she effortlessly raised the bowl, inhaled the smoke within and placed the bong on the table calmly, her cheeks puffed out. She locked eyes with Finn before she exhaled a massive cloud, the room filling quickly with smoke.

“Jesus, Raemundo,” Chop wheezed, his eyes wide. Izzy and Chloe exchanged incredulous glances, Archie grinning wide.

Finn cleared his throat, looking to the side with a frown. There she went, sticking him right back in his place. She pushed the piece across the table with a grin.

“Your turn, Nelson.”

***

The girls ate their slices and watched agape as Finn and Archie scarfed down half a pizza each, with Chop clearing a full one shortly after. He patted his abdomen contently, unleashing a tremendous belch. Chloe and Rae wrinkled their noses, Izzy’s hand reaching out and swatting at Chop.

“Disgusting boy,” she admonished, Chloe frowning and placing her half-eaten slice on an empty box.

“Yeah, save some for the rest of us!” Rae chimed in with a laugh.

“I paid for it, you lot had better show some appreciation and pay up,” he jeered, pulling a jester hat from God-knows-where and holding it out expectantly. A grumble went around the room as everyone checked their pockets and each threw in small bills and change. Rae flicked in several 20p and Finn swiped one from the pile.

“Don’t you owe me one of these for last week?” he asked, flipping it in his hand a few times. Rae laughed snidely, tilting her head.

“S’pose so. But really, Finn, what good is 20p for the jukebox if you have shit taste in music?” she taunted, Chop and Archie letting out a long “ooooooh” in unison, Chloe and Izzy giggling. Finn scowled, biting his cheek. He didn’t bother responding, instead pulling the rolling tray towards him.

“Is there nothing but reggae on this playlist? It’s doing my head in,” Rae grumbled, glaring over at the stereo. Finn’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s wrong with reggae?” he argued, barely pausing in his rolling. He didn’t look at her but noticed her scoff in his periphery.

“It’s all the same, innit? Repetitive drum beat with a mediocre bassline,” Rae mocked, rolling her eyes. Finn licked the spliff closed and lit it, taking a long drag.

“I didn’t hear you bitching earlier when you were bopping around to Spiderwebs,” he retorted, stifling a smirk at her reddening cheeks. She sniffed, shrugging a bit.

“Ya can’t not dance to Gwen Stefani. No Doubt’s the exception,” she waved a hand dismissively. Finn shook his head, handing her the spliff.

“Right, whatever.”

The music faded out and Spaceman started. Rae glared at him incredulously.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Finn.”

Finn stopped the music with the remote and nodded at the stereo.

“You think you’ve got something better?”

Rae raised a brow at him and gracefully stood, going over to the system. Finn shook his head at her back, exchanging a shrug with Archie.

“Are we just gonna sit here and shoot the shit all night or what?” Archie asked, tapping his fingers restlessly. Finn couldn’t blame him. If it was just the boys, they would’ve started something up by now. The fuck were they supposed to do with a bunch of girls?

“Spin the Bottle?” Chop grinned, shooting a wink at Izzy.

“If you want to snog your girlfriend, no one’s stopping you,” Chloe grumbled, crossing her arms.

“What about a game?” Rae piped up from the stereo, pointing at the consoles and cases lined up on a table under the television. With that, Archie sat up from his bored slump. She went back to looking through Finn’s library of music as the others agreed and went about picking out a game. Finn kept a curious eye on her as she scrolled, watching her face change with each new artist. He saw her go back and forth between a couple options before clicking a song quickly and standing, turning back to the gang. The opening notes of her choice played and a fluttering started in his gut when she levelled a mischievous smile at him.

I can’t stand it! I know you planned it

“Nice one, Rae,” Archie praised, shooting Finn an amused grin. His lips quirked in return, trying desperately not to meet Rae’s gaze.

“Ta muchly, Archibald,” she chirped, her wide grin becoming impish, “S’not bad for mainstream.”

Finn felt his face burning at her nonchalant retort, but he repressed his embarrassment, turning the TV on and lowering the stereo volume slightly.

“What’re we playing, then?”

***

Finn didn’t have many choices for multiplayer games but they took turns playing rounds in some button-mashing fighting game before settling down with Guitar Hero. Finn and Archie alternated guitar and bass, Chloe taking vocals with Chop dominating the drums before attempting to show Izzy how to play. Rae just watched, laughing with them over Izzy flailing the sticks around trying to hit the colors in time and Chloe fumbling the lyrics. When they’d decided to do one more song, Chloe handed the mic to Rae.

“Here, babe, you give it a go,” she said, waving off Rae’s protesting as she went for the loo. Rae held the mic tightly as Archie scrolled through the song list.

“Any requests?” he asked Rae, smiling gently as if to reassure her. She bit her lip and perused the list, her eyes alighting on something quickly.

“Love Spreads,” she said decidedly, loosening her grip on the mic a bit. Finn barely repressed a grin at her choice. Not only was it one of his favorite songs, but his best to play. He couldn’t help wanting to impress her, especially since she’d one-upped him all night.

He kept quiet as the loading screen appeared and Chop took his place back at the drum kit, shaking a finger at Izzy. Chloe returned and the song title flashed with the runway popping up. Finn tapped his fingers along the buttons quickly before the song began.

He revelled in Rae’s widened eyes in his periphery as he nailed every note of the intro, trying desperately to keep his face straight. He broke when she uttered a low, “Jesus, Finn,” before starting to sing along.

***

Rae hadn’t taken her eyes off him since they’d shut down the game and he’d brought out the rolling tray again. The others had gone into the kitchen to make more snacks and pick out bottles for a drinking game.

“Can you stop staring at me?” he glanced up at her with a frown, “Freaks me out.”

She shook her head as if to clear it and sent him an eye roll, her lips quirking a bit.

“I was only supervising. That joint you rolled earlier was a bit limp,” she teased. To his surprise, he felt a grin tugging at his lips and he looked up through his fringe to see her smirking cheekily.

“You can just smoke outta that lung killer if you’ve got a problem with my spliffs,” he returned, nodding at the bong she’d hit perfectly earlier. She half-shrugged, her eyes bright.

“Now, Nelson, I wouldn’t wanna step on your toes. I know you like to think you’ve got superior stoner knowledge.”

“Finally something we can agree on,” he countered, giving her a crooked grin as she laughed. Chop bounded back into the room, bottle of vodka in hand, the others trailing after him with snacks and mixers.

“Right, you lot. The game is simple. Sip your drink every time they sing Roxanne,” Chop said, pouring generous amounts into six cups.

“I thought you do shots, not sips?” Rae asked, her brow furrowing.

“We did last time. What a fucking mess,” Archie chimed in, shuddering at the thought.

“Vomit everywhere--” Chop started, Izzy cutting him off.

“Didn’t Barney get alcohol poisoning?” Rae and Chloe exchanged worried glances.

“Don’t think so. He’s so dramatic.”

“Our Finn made it longest! Two whole minutes,” Chop whooped, clapping Finn on the back.

“Two minutes?” Rae snickered, glancing at Finn with a withering look.

“D’ya even know how many times they say Roxanne, Rae? It’s in the sodding 20s.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s get started then.”

They all mixed their respective drinks, Chop going to the stereo to queue up the song. Rae leaned closer to Finn, a laugh already fluttering into his ear.

“Think you’ll last longer than two minutes this time?”

“Don’t you even worry about it, Rae-Rae. I can last all night,” he whispered back, enjoying her blush almost too much.

***

The game was a bit underwhelming with mixed drinks instead of shots but it served its purpose of giving a nice buzz while they settled down for a couple movies. It wasn’t long into the second one that Izzy passed out against Chop’s shoulder, Archie barely keeping conscious from his spot on the lounge. Around the fourth time Chloe and Rae yawned almost in unison, Finn shut the movie off, the gang splitting off to tuck in.

It was a few minutes after 2am and Finn was sat in his bed, his door cracked. He could hear his friends’ snoring from the other rooms and he turned up his music slightly. He’d just opened the window for a smoke when he heard his door creak open fully.

“Finn?”

He looked over to see Rae in his doorway, rubbing her eyes lightly with one hand, a cigarette pack in her other hand.

“What’re you doing up?”

“Can’t sleep. Chop and Iz took your dad’s room, Archie took the lounge, and I was in the guest with Chlo but she keeps stealing the bloody covers,” she lamented, fiddling with the pack. She glanced at his open window and held it up.

“Fancy a spliff?”

***

“Where’s your crap reggae?” Rae teased, glancing at the entertainment center taking up half his opposite wall. Oasis drifted from the speakers, with Roll With It winding down. Finn nodded at the center with a devious grin, moving to get up and change it. She grabbed his arm to stop him with a comical, “Oh God no,” but let go almost instantly like she’d been burned. He felt a warm tingling where her fingers had wrapped around his bicep and he sat back with a shaky laugh.

The opening chords of Wonderwall filled the room as she took a rolled spliff from her pack, holding it out to him to light and hit.

“College starts soon. You excited?” Finn asked, handing her the joint back. She shrugged, dragging on it deeply. She remained silent as she let out a small cloud, watching the smoke disperse with a sigh. Finn cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say.

“It’s not so bad. Not much different from middle school,” Finn tried to reassure her but she scoffed at his words. He frowned and she smiled blithely as she tapped ashes off the spliff out the open window.

“I didn’t have the best school experience,” she explained, fiddling with a loose thread on his duvet. He nodded, not wanting to pry further and make her uncomfortable.

“You’ll have your mates though. Chlo and Iz’ll be in your classes. Arch will be there,” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, before continuing, “...I’ll be there.” Rae grinned at his words.

“All my mates, huh?” she started, her grin turning mischievous, “Maybe I don’t wanna be your friend.”

***

“So it’s just you and your dad?”

Finn nodded, glancing from the ceiling at Rae next to him. They’d been talking the better part of an hour, quickly jumping from school to music to the gang and now to their families. Rae yawned for what seemed like the millionth time and Finn closed his eyes briefly, just listening to their deep breaths for a moment.

“Mum left when I was five,” he offered, almost unconsciously, and when Rae stiffened next to him, his eyes shot open and went to her. She smiled emphatically.

“My dad left as well,” she said quietly, keeping his gaze for only a second before returning to the ceiling.

“Maybe we have more in common than I thought,” he whispered lightly, chuckling when she swatted his chest.

“Doubt it,” she goaded, scrunching her nose at him. He scrunched his back with a tired smile, closing his eyes again. His breathing had just started to deepen when Rae nudged him.

“Finn?” she whispered softly. He murmured an affirmation, fighting sleep tooth and nail.

“Are we alright?”

He turned to her, opening his eyes to meet hers curiously.

“Yea, ‘course we are,” he responded quietly. She bit her lip, nodding a little.

“We’re mates, right?” he continued, before he could think about it. Her eyes widened a bit and she smiled.

“Yea,” she closed her eyes, smile still in place, “‘Course we are.”

***

Finn woke up what seemed like minutes later, his mouth like cotton and his eyes bleary. He blinked in the sunlight pouring in and was about to sit up and close the curtains when his eyes dropped to the girl beside him.

Rae was still sound asleep, her eyelids fluttering lightly. He watched her sleep, musing that maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. Though the night began like any other, with their snarky comments and annoyed looks and silence between them, it had inexplicably gotten better as it went on. He had to admit she knew her music--not as well as he did, mind--and she was funny as fuck, despite his attempts to ignore her loud jokes with Chopper and Arch. She smoked like a pro, which he couldn’t help but find attractive. Seeing the smoke pour from between her lips was easily one of the most erotic things he’d ever experienced.

He gingerly crawled across the bed and closed the curtains, before making his way back to Rae. He slid back next to her, laying on his side facing her.

He couldn’t deny she was beautiful. Her hair was a deep inky black, long and glossy. It was splayed across his pillow, gorgeous even in its disarray. Her eyes, though closed now, were so expressive, a darkened brown that cut sharply in annoyance, but also widened and shined with humor. He remembered her eyes hardened and glazed when they talked about college but how they’d softened when he’d said they were friends. Her nose was small and pert, almost as expressive as her eyes in the way it would wrinkle and scrunch when she laughed and teased and argued. And her mouth...full pink lips that smiled widely in mirth but pursed in irritation, formed perfect smoke rings and quite frankly, were slowly driving him mad.

His quiet observation of her was interrupted by her deep breath, her eyes blinking open. He smiled as she stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes, moaning lightly.

“Hiya, sunshine,” he remarked, chuckling at the grimace she shot him. She nudged his leg with her foot and yawned again, only giving him a wave.

“What’s the time?” she whispered, stretching her legs straight before getting more comfortable. Finn glanced at his watch, trying to ignore the closeness of their legs.

“It’s half 9,” he whispered back. He bit his lip as she smirked and burrowed deeper into the covers, moving slightly closer to him in the process.

“Too early to get up,” she murmured, eyes locked on his. They stared at each other in companionable silence before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her brow furrowed and her lips quirked.

“You smell good,” she commented, her eyes still closed. Finn felt his face reddening and he swallowed hard.

“Yea? What do I smell like?” he inquired, a bit breathlessly. Her eyes opened before she answered.

“Like weed,” she declared, smirking at his answering laugh before looking over his face, her eyes drawn to his mouth then meeting his again, “and...dark intentions.”

Finn felt a hot desire twisting in his gut and he leaned closer, trying to keep his cool.

“Wow. That’s deep as fuck,” he teased, grinning as she laughed, her cheeks turning a light pink.

“Dickhead,” she replied, coming ever closer. She bit her lip and his eyes fell to it, his heart skipping a beat.

“You’re the dickhead,” he retorted, moving his face towards hers slowly. He could feel her stuttered breath on his face as he moved to close the distance between them. Their lips were just close enough to brush faintly.

She jumped from him abruptly as sounds from outside the room reached them and Chop came barrelling through the almost closed door.

“Have you seen Rae, mate, she wasn’t with Chlo in--oh,” Chop stopped himself, before grinning widely, “Don’t let me interrupt, kids!” He went to leave the room again and Finn sat up, throwing the covers off of them to reveal their clothed bodies. Chop almost looked disappointed.

“Didn’t you learn how to knock, Peters?” Finn snapped, giving Rae an apologetic frown. She shrugged, her face turning a light pink. She got up and quickly went past Chop out of the room, her voice joining the others’ out in the hall. Finn stood and threw a punch to Chop’s arm that he dodged deftly with a knowing grin.

“Had a good night then?” Chop asked, feigning innocence. Finn levelled a glare at him as they left the room.

“Fuck off, Chopper.”

***

When Chop and Finn joined the others downstairs, Archie was holding a large trash bag open while Chloe and Izzy threw in empty bottles and pizza boxes. Rae was bent over the stereo, scrolling through the library with a joint hanging between her pouted lips.

Finn crept behind her, admiring the curve of her arse for a moment before shifting to her side. He bent to her level and got as close to her ear as he dared.

“I got a request,” he spoke quietly, barely stifling a laugh when she jumped, her hand going to her chest.

“Prick,” she grumbled around the joint, smoke lingering between their faces. He simply grinned, nudging her with his shoulder. She moved a step, dragging on the spliff as she watched his fingers tap through to Primal Scream and further to Movin’ On Up. Finn chanced a glance at her when the guitar began. A smile played on her lips, tinged with surprise.

“There’s hope for you yet, Finley,” she said breezily. She held the spliff out as she stood up fully, still smiling. He took it, placing it between his smirking lips. He kept his eyes on hers as he hit it, feeling his feet moving him closer to her. She came a half a step closer to him, her gaze flicking over him quickly. She watched as he exhaled and he tried not to lose his cool under her scrutiny. Her eyes fell to his throat and she bit her lip as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Rae, we’re heading out, are you coming?” Chloe appeared to their side, looking between them with raised brows. Finn cleared his throat, glancing to Chloe before looking to the floor, feigning interest in the carpet. Rae stifled an annoyed sigh, telling her she’d be just a minute and to go on to the car. Finn met her eyes when Chloe walked off, chirping a goodbye.

“Soz, I should probably go,” she said reluctantly, already starting to turn away. Finn rushed to speak.

“I’ll give you a ring later this week, yeah?” he stated more than asked, instantly regretting his haste when she gave him a confused smile.

“Why?” she queried, shuffling her feet a bit. He grinned as reassuringly as possible.

“Because I’ve got some crap reggae to show ya,” he laughed, his face practically splitting when she rolled her eyes. He looked her over as her smile became firmer and braced himself for his next words.

“Plus...I like talking to you,” he began, moving the remaining distance to be right in front of her. “I don’t like talking to anyone,” he finished in a conspiratorial whisper. Their hands brushed from where they hung close and he felt more than saw a shiver run through her.

“Yeah, alright,” she said, barely meeting his eyes but smiling. She seemed to take a deep breath before holding her arms out for a goodbye hug.

“It’s a date,” he burst out, before leaning into her and kissing her cheek. She practically froze in front of him but recovered quickly, breathing out a laugh.

“Laters, Finn,” she said gently, her cheeks turning a deep red. He nodded, waving slightly as she walked away and out the door. His hand met his forehead in a smack and he shook his head at his dumb luck.

“I can’t believe that worked out,” Chop marveled, barking a laugh. Archie exchanged a grin with him and clapped Finn on the shoulder.

“Ol’ Finny’s in love,” he cooed, pursing his lips into a smooch. 

But Finn’s smile didn’t waver for a second.