#i can focus long enough to draw floating heads this year and that's it

[linovadraws]

Have some Toby and May Daye heads!

[vlrspace]

cw: angst/comfort, you get doubts about your relationship with shoto, there’s one (1) heated make out session, maybe a bit suggestive, shoto might be a bit ooc, tw: panic attack

wc: 4.2K

an: there might be some errors, i’m sorry. i have like three other fics to work on, but it’ll take me some time so stay tuned <33

when shoto confessed to you, you could hardly believe that he reciprocated your feelings. it had been a few months since then and he already showered you with so much of his love and affection, recently he’s been opening up to you some more as well.

behind his stoic behaviour, shoto is actually quite gentle and caring towards those who are close to him. he makes sure you two study together at least once a week, if you need help with training he’s happy to provide his services and he likes to take you out during the weekends. he knows you’re always there for him after a nightmare or when he gets flashbacks from his rather traumatic childhood, comforting him anytime he needs. in his opinion you’re the best thing ever happening to him, his mom told him as well how important it is to experience a kind of love where you two are giving your all in.

he’s just so lovestruck, your beauty, your personality and everything that makes you, you, he’s just so happy to call you his girlfriend. you make everything so much better when you’re around, he feels like he’s floating and you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. anyone who encounters the two of you can see it in his eyes, how the colours soften when you’re around, his sole focus on you, how you draw him in and how he’s always touching you in some way (sometimes the others call you over when they see you walk pass just to see how shoto’s expression changes in a split second, they think it’s adorable). he also knows how much you affect him and so do you because you feel the same when he’s around.

so why on earth are you experiencing these ugly emotions when he never you gave you a reason to and would never let you feel like he doesn’t want you anymore like you’re not enough for him?

lately, shoto and momo have been spending more time together due to getting paired together often during trainings and projects and you know neither of them would go behind your back like that, they always have been very close since your first year but somehow it still sets you off. you’re not some clingy girlfriend, you actually feel so sick for doubting your boyfriend like that but you’re not too sure what to do.

momo is such a beautiful girls, tall, curvy and her long black hair is falling on her shoulders so nicely. she’s intelligent and so smart, gentle and kind with everyone and again she’s beautiful, her and shoto would fit perfectly together.

you feel the book against your head before you realise your actions, aizawa stopping in the middle of his lecture to look at you in the front row and you hear bakugou barking a laugh at you when you realise you’ve been overthinking again and hit your head unconsciously in class.

“care to elaborate on that (l/n)?” aizawa raises a brow but the end of his lips are curling somewhat up. he knows what an inner turmoil feels like and he can tell that lately you’ve been in your head too much.

“i listened to my impulse thoughts sensei” you give him a wide grin to save yourself from embarrassment or raise any suspicions in your friends and most importantly in your boyfriend. it seemed to work because everyone started laughing. aizawa decided to let the class having fun and let you be before the bell rung signing another end of a school day.

shoto came to stand next to while you were packing up and and brushed a thumb against your forehead. “it didn’t hurt right?” he murmured leaning down to press a kiss against it. you hummed quietly while shaking your head and give him a small smile which he gladly returned and laced your fingers together, grabbing your bag as well while leading you out of the class and you two feel into a comfortable conversation.

when you got to the dorms you two parted to change out of your uniforms and agreed to meet in the common room later. you took a while as you were cleaning your room, only wanting to rest during the weekend so you messaged shoto that you’d come down later. he asked if you needed some help but you told him you’d be fine.

you finished just before dinnertime and you headed downstairs, finding everyone lounging around the common room. your eyes found shoto who seemed to be content while talking to momo and oh did that ugly emotion just return? you swallowed the lump in your throat, not realising how quickly it appeared while trying to remain calm.

“oh (y/n), come over here!” midoriya chimmed up loudly when he saw you, making everyone turn towards you and your eyes found shoto once again when he looked at you with a fond smile. before you walked over there, you should’ve checked if there was anymore space left because there was none as you came to a stand. shoto however curled his hands around your thighs and pulled you into his lap, his firm torso pressing tightly against you, one large hand (left) swallowing up one of yours, the other one (right) on your thighs and his chin is on the crown of your head.

once you got comfortable in his lap, the others remained their conversation with each other, inviting you in but you can barely hear them, too focused on shoto and momo. your boyfriend is talking to momo about a gala both of their parents will attend soon while shoto’s hand is stroking your thigh. you can’t say you don’t like the affection he gives you but you wish he talked to you too (he was, he hoped you would join in), but the lump in your throat was growing bigger and harder to ignore.

“my love, are you okay? you’re not as talkative like you usually are” shoto’s whispering tugs you back to reality, you feel his breath on you neck as he presses a soft kiss on it.

“is there anything bothering you? would you like to talk about it?” momo’s soft voice reaches you, but you give both a small smile.

“i’m just a bit tired, this week was rough i guess” you try to reassure them, but your voice cracks by the end of your sentence.

“we can eat in your dorm if you’d like then cuddle and watch a movie. how does that sound huh?” shoto mutters quietly into your ear, the hand on your thigh never stopping its caressing. you grab the hand that’s holding your hand, feeling how cold it is from his quirk and you start playing with it while looking down and thinking how that one hand dwarfs both of yours.

“i promised mina that we’d play uno tonight” your voice is small but shoto understands every one of your words. “and i don’t wanna ruin anyone’s night either” you are not sure how much momo was listening at this point, but it didn’t matter.

at times like this, shoto hates how you put everyone else before you, sure he prioritises you over himself, but he doesn’t want you to feel guilty over things like ruining your friends’ night by simply not feeling well enough to socialise. he knows that your friends are more than understanding of how it can be tiring at times to be a hero in training and no one would blame you for wanting some alone time. however, he decides to not press any further and wants to remain by your side for the rest of the evening (and the rest of his life).

“dinner’s ready shitheads” bakugou shouts from the kitchen since it was his turn to cook. everyone gathers around the dinner tables and some are helping with bringing out the food. momo leaves your side, not wanting to intrude any further as shoto helps you stand up from his lap and places his left hand on the small of your back and lead you towards your usual table with the dekusquad.

while you two are eating, a cold hand is placed on your right thigh and you realise how shoto was silently comforting you, not wanting his girlfriend to be sad. it made your heart flutter how kind he was with you even if he didn’t know what was up. you start to feel stupid for feeling this way.

the rest of the night goes by, you feel a little better and shoto was by your side the whole time. while playing uno, he once again placed you on his lap and you two were playing together while he hugged you close to him, head tucked between where your shoulder and neck meet.

that night shoto insisted he sleeps with you and you were more than okay with that.

you reach your downfall or more like your breaking point two weeks later, on friday during school. the weeks have been packed with group projects (both school work and training), momo and shoto have been placed together most of the time, leading you two to barely see each other and when you did it was for one of the projects where you had been placed into groups of 5. you were with momo, shoto, midoriya and kirishima, it somewhat relieved you that at least you had midoriya and kirishima with you so it wasn’t that uncomfortable (for you). the chemistry between shoto and momo was insane, they respond so well to each other and it got you wondering if you had such connection with shoto too.

maybe you should just talk to him and let him explore what could potentially happen between the two of them. but you love him so dearly, he’s like oxygen for your lungs, he’s the sun on gloomy days and he owns your heart, mind and soul. there is never a day where he doesn’t remind you how gorgeous he finds you, how much he cares for you, how much he loves you. he always treats you like a diamond, soft touches running across your skin when he’s around, caresses either cold or hot, it never really mattered to you. also how can you forget the tender kisses he leaves on your body or how he kisses your neck when you have a hard time expressing yourself, not wanting to make you feel like you’re under pressure. or when he whispers in your ears and leans down to hear you better because you only reach up to his torso. he completely dwarfs you with his height and large muscles when he circles his arms around you pulling you to his chest where you feel the most safe and protected.

you hadn’t realised how the tears started to roll down on your cheeks, only when a warm hand reaches over to cup your face while wiping them away with a thumb and started to caress the skin turning you slightly towards the owner. when you meet with your boyfriends bi-coloured eyes a loud hiccup escapes you. quickly gathering your school blazer, you storm out of the classroom without any word, running towards the toilets as you wipe your eyes harshly. the footsteps rushing after you stop when you disappear in one of the stalls.

after pulling down the toilet seat, you sit on it and bury your face in your hands, you harshly grab onto the hair at your scalp, your sobs escaped you uncontrollably as you cried. it was getting harder to breath as you started to hyperventilate and your whole body shook, the hold on your scalp became stronger making you pull your hair harder. you sounded so pathetic, oh lord when did you become so miserable?

shoto heard you from outside of the toilets, both of his fists balled tightly next to him. his heart was breaking down the longer he stood out there. he couldn’t think of anything that could’ve possibly caused you to break down, you seemed to be doing alright, so what happened? why didn’t you tell him that something was up? he knows how he sometimes has trouble with understanding with what’s going on but he would do anything to make you happy, literally anything. your happiness matters the most to him, if you’re happy then he’s happy. shoto brushed through his hair, he didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t walk in to the toilets, people might the wrong idea so he walked back to class.

when shoto walked back to class, everyone turned towards him and a few rushed to shoto, asking if everything is okay. however, his glossy eyes and his disheveled form was alarming to everyone and more importantly, where were you?

“todoroki what happened? where’s (y/n)?” midoriya asked, worry evident in his voice as he grabbed his friends shoulders.

“she-she’s in the toilets, she’s-she’s crying, i d-don’t know what’s g-going on” shoto’s voice was broken, he kept his eyes on the floor, his tears threatening to fall down on his face.

“i’m going to go and talk to her okay?” ochaco offered quietly as she gently rubbed shoto’s arm. he only nodded, he wanted to be the one to make sure you’re okay, you’re his girlfriend after all, the most precious thing in the world. ochaco left to see you but he couldn’t just stand there, he needed to get to you too.

“aizawa sensei, is it okay if todoroki goes inside the girls toilets? we can stand outside as well, to make sure we avoid any incidents, but it’s important for him to talk to (y/n)” momo turned towards aizawa, hoping to get his permission. she knows how important you are to shoto, you’re all he ever talks about when you’re not around. she still vividly remembers when he first came to her about his weird feelings and he didn’t know what to do with them or how to act around you. she remembers the amount of effort shoto put into courting you and even now when he finally has you, shoto’s efforts only increased. she always felt happy knowing how much in love you two were.

“don’t cause too much trouble” is all what aizawa said after taking a deep breath in. whatever happened between the two of you, he knows you can solve it and you two are better because he’s not blind, he can see as well how you complete each other.

“come on midoriya, iida, lets make sure no one interrupts them” momo instructed while grabbing shoto’s arm and pulled him towards the toilets.

meanwhile, ochaco tried to comfort you as much as possible, when she first heard your cries, she teared up as well. poor you must’ve been feeling really sad to cry this hard.

“(y/n), it’s ochaco. please open the door for me” she gently coaxed you, hoping that you will open it up for her and when she felt the lock open, she felt relieved. when she opened the door though, the sight of you made her feel incredibly sorry for you. you were sitting on your blazer, your tie on the floor and your shirt was unbuttoned at the top. your mascara was running down on your face and your hair was a mess, you were a mess. “oh my god, (y/n), what’s wrong?” she rushed to hug you and another sob broke out of you.

you could barely talk and she was barely able to catch what you were saying. the repeated few sentences were “i hate feeling like this”, “he deserves so much better” and “i love him so much” and ochaco got the gist of what you meant. someone made you feel insecure about yourself and you thought you weren’t worthy of shoto. but who made you feel like this and when did it become so bad?

unbeknownst to the two of you, the bicoloured boy was standing outside the stall, watching the two of you. you clung onto ochaco so tightly you hadn’t realised that he was standing there but ochaco did and she motioned for him to switch places. shoto ducked down and kneeled infront of you and ochaco gently tucked you into his arms. the second you felt the familiar arms circling around your smaller frame, you looked down to see shoto looking at you with big eyes, grey and turquoise hues looking at you with the same fondness as always but this time it’s more intense with love and affection. both of his hands came up to cup your cheeks, thumbs wiping your tears just like before and this time you stayed.

you thought you looked ugly, you’re in the middle of your breakdown, there is snot, tears and mascara everywhere but to shoto, you looked just as beautiful as always. he slid his arms back to your hips and pulled you onto him so he can keep you closer, you buried your face into his chest while he hid in your hair, hands running up and down on your back, hoping to soothe you.

it did soothe you, after a few minutes you sobs quieted down and only the occasional sniffles were heard. one of his hand found your face again and made you look up to him so you two can finally talk about what is going on because he’s extremely worried for you. you took him in now that you calmed down, his eyes were teary and his hair looked messy, the uniform on him looked very unorganised as he also removed his tie and a few buttons were undone.

“sweetheart” he whispers to catch your attention and when you look at him he continues “what’s bothering you this badly?” his left hand feels cold against your face and it helps to ground you.

“you gonna think it’s stupid” you mumble look down and fiddling with your fingers.

“tell me” he’s lips hover over your neck and his breath tickles you. “i want to know, let me help you” he presses his lips against the skin like he always does when he’s trying to comfort you. you don’t think there is any point in hiding it from him, this can’t get any worse (unless he dumps you right here and now).

“you and momo” his kisses stop but he doesn’t move his head to look at you “you two seem to be so good and the chemistry between the two of you is amazing. “you stop when he starts to leave kisses again “and lately we’ve barely been able to hang out together because of all the projects we get and i know it’s not your fault. i guess i just got insecure because i find momo very pretty and more fitting with you than myself. “you mumble and he looks down at you, grey and turquoise now swim in bewilderment and you know you messed up but continue anyways “i know you wouldn’t do anything like that to me and i tried to push these thoughts away but i can’t and i understand if you think we should break up” you look down at your hands, still fiddling. there, you said it.

now hold up, you think he likes momo? you think momo is a better match for him than you? you think he finds her prettier than you? you think he wants to break up with you? he doesn’t want to leave you, in fact he knows he’ll marry you when the two of you are ready for marriage and grow old together. shoto is planning to formally introduce you as his girlfriend to his family since they only met you after the afo war and you two weren’t even together yet. shoto never thought about momo that way, not when he only ever wanted you.

“how can you think like that?” he suddenly asks, fingers lifting up your chin, his eyes serious “you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, when i wake up i can’t wait to your smile or see how your eyes shine when we hold hands. the way your hand fits into mine perfectly “he holds up your hand in his and watches as your fingers lace together “yours is so much smaller and cuter, just like you. i always want to protect you and be around you no matter what. you’re so gorgeous and since i’m with you, i never thought of any other girl the same way as i thought of you and you’re the first girl that i ever felt more towards to. “his words were messy, they weren’t in the usual collected manner like now “me and momo do spend a lot of time together but there is nothing going on i promise. if you want me to spend less time with her i will, just please don’t leave me” shoto’s voice is now pleading against your lips as he leaned down, kissing you softly and when you returned the kiss, his tongue slipped into your mouth while one of his hands found your thigh, the other one on the small of your back and your hands sneaked around his neck, both of you are trying to pull the other closer.

shoto left your lips and kissed down to your jaw and neck right at your sweet spot. he licks it before sucking on the skin, you let out a small whine, grinding against him with your hips making him groan and you pull on his hair. he groaned again against your neck, leaving to go back to your lips after giving the bruised spot a kiss. this time he kissed you with more passion, hands cupping your lower cheeks underneath your skirt, your hips moving slightly but in sync. before you two could take it any further you put your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away from you but shoto leans back in and catches you in another make out session.

when you finally manage to get him to stop kissing you, you both pull away and take the other one in. both of your disheveled forms and plump lips, could give others a different idea of what actually happened.

“please next time talk to me, even if you think it’s stupid, but for me it’s never stupid if it’s you. you scared me so much when you ran away from me crying. “he thumbs your lips before reaching for your tie and pulls it over your head “i love you so much, if you’re hurt then so am i” he presses a kiss against your forehead as he fixes your uniform. “let’s get back to class, the others must be worried i’m sure” he softly smiles at you and helps you stand up, grabbing your blazer as well as he leads you out of the stalls.

you take a look into the mirror but quickly turn around when you see the mess you became. shoto only chuckles and opens the door and you just stand there dumbfounded. is he going to leave like that?

“momo can you make some make up remover and a brush?” oh my god, there were people standing outside?

“of course, is she okay? does she need anything else?” momo’s concerned voices reaches you and you feel like a monster for letting your bad thoughts get ahead of you and make her seem like a bad person.

“yeah she is, just give us a few more minutes” shoto walks back to you and turns you so he can see you better when he starts to wipe your face with a tissue, then with the make up remover, afterwards he brushes your hair too, all of this with so much care and you let out a giggle at his focused face. it makes him smile when he finally hears you giggling and gives you a soft peck on the lips. you take the brush from his hand and brush his hair and wipe his face too with a tissue. shoto’s uniform still looks messy but he doesn’t care as long as you’re here with him and you’re happy.

“i’m taking you out this weekend, somewhere just the two of us okay?” he leans down, presses his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes.

they are full of love.

“okay” you smile at him and he leans down to kiss you once more before the two of you leave the girls bathroom.

iida acted like a security guard the whole time.

you apologised to everyone for the inconvenience and mainly to momo for getting in your head so much about her, but she only patted your head and said that there is nothing to apologise for, she just want you to be happy. shoto remained by your side for the rest of the day and reassured you of his love for you.

(shoto took you to the country side that weekend, where the todoroki’s had a mansion away from everything. he also made sure you know he loves you in more than one way)

[quesadillayuri]

it's a gift! for @routeriver! for the @mcytblrholidayexchange! hi, i hope you enjoy some foolish & tina shenanigans, with quite a bit of bagina and empanada in there too, because i love those girls!

ao3 link

Foolish is a fantastic friend.

Honestly, he’d say that he’s a pretty great guy all around, and frankly, he’s been keeping it all together pretty well for a guy in his situation. He got forced into a death game, and then there were all the eggs, and the duel, and the boat leaving him behind as a meteor struck. He’s cracked to pieces, he can’t see out of one eye, and he’s more shark than he’s ever been before, which doesn’t seem like a great sign.

But, comparatively to some people, like Max who died, Foolish is doing pretty well. He looks like shit, sure, but he’s doing well.

Everyone looked like shit at the end of Purgatory, it’s part of being in Purgatory, so Foolish thought everyone would be on the same page.

Tina, apparently, didn’t get the memo.

“Okay, I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Foolish says, squinting at Tina. His vision is blurry, and he knows that he’s been going a little crazy since this started, but he doesn’t think he’s gotten to the stage of hallucinating yet. This means that, unfortunately, his very close, top ten favorite, longest known friend, Tina, is actually reapplying makeup. Tina glances at him in disdain, and makes a face.

“You wouldn’t think that, would you?” She says, looking him up and down. Foolish sputters in disbelief.

“You can’t— Tina, what? Tina, I— You cannot be serious right now?” Foolish hisses, whipping his head around like someone is going to come out with a camera and TV crew and tell him he’s on Punk’d. Tina just hums in acknowledgment, pulling at her face so that she can put a pencil-looking thing to her under eye in a way that cannot be comfortable.

Listen, Foolish loves Tina. People talk, have talked for years and years, about how they seem to butt heads, how they don’t really seem to get along, but Tina and him are friends. Like, real friends. They’re weird, in their own way, but Foolish always has weird friends. He’s friends with Bad, of all people, so everyone should really start to expect his friends to be weird. But, this is where Foolish is drawing the line, because they need to leave. They needed to leave hours ago, but Foolish couldn’t find Tina anywhere.

“Tina—” Foolish tries, but Tina shushes him, waving him off.

“Shhh,” She says, shoving her hand in his face, and he just stares at her with wide eyes. He can’t believe her, this can’t be real.

“Am I— Tina, are you real? This isn’t real, I— This isn’t real, you’re pranking me, this is a prank—” Foolish rambles, collapsing to lay down in the sand, hands over his eyes. The sun is a bright, glaring red, and Foolish thinks that he is going to be the first person to ever experience what nuclear radiation does to a totem. He’s not that interested in being a scientific anomaly, but that’s just how life goes.

Tina does not seem to care much about his crisis. When he tells her that he doesn’t want to become the Federation’s grand scientific discovery, and that his life isn’t worth a Nobel Peace Prize, or any prize, she just shoots him an absent thumbs up. Her tongue sticks out in focus, and Foolish feels a little bit like he’s going to snap into pieces.

“Tina—”

“Oh my God,” Tina hisses, “I’ll be ready in a second, just wait, asshole!”

Foolish isn’t proud of this, okay? He’s a nice guy. He’s a great guy. But, and this is important, he’s known Tina long enough that he doesn’t really need to be nice to her.

So, Foolish does what he has to do. He lassos Tina, picks her up, and launches her into the ocean.

For the first few miles, Tina just floats on top of the sea, letting Foolish do all the hard work of swimming so that she can mope around. Then, Foolish decides that he would also like to breathe air for a second, and she attempts to stay under the water so she doesn’t have to talk to him.

Foolish thinks about letting her drown. He doesn’t let her, but only because she would absolutely tell everyone that he left her to die, and he really does not want to deal with that.

It’s only on hour three that she says something, and honestly he’s regretting wishing that she would talk to him at all.

“Could we not have built a boat?” She says, spitting water out of her mouth as he speeds up. He can’t maintain the speed, but it’s good to keep her on her toes. He dives under the water too, just to humble her. It’s a little petty, but Foolish is a little petty, and she’s been so put together this whole time, that he just can’t really help himself.

She starts yelling as soon as he surfaces, which he takes as a good sign that he’s succeeded in making her angry, until he realizes that it’s actually kind of awful, because he’s the one stuck with an angry Tina for the next few hours. She starts swimming faster, just to get closer so she can yell in his ear, but she can’t keep up. He doesn’t fault her for that, because Tina is wearing seven layers of clothing at any given time and Foolish is incredibly aerodynamic. Foolish is also a shark, but he thinks the aerodynamics is what really gives him the advantage.

Once Tina has finished yelling at him, and once Foolish is done trying to get her to yell more, they drift in silence. Foolish knows which direction the island is, and the wind is, thankfully, pushing the ocean that way so he doesn’t have to work as hard, so for a little while, he’s able to chill. Tina has decided to dedicate herself to dethorning the lasso around her. It was fashioned from a vine that seemed to be pretty painful for everyone that wasn’t made of precious metals with skin that isn’t as thick as a sharks. Foolish knows Tina’s durable enough to not feel the thorns, and even if she wasn’t, the many layers of clothing do a good job at protecting her.

She’s probably just bored, being alone with her thoughts. Tina’s never liked that. Foolish doesn’t mind it nearly as much as she does. Foolish likes to think, contrary to popular belief. He used to always think aloud, but once he started living around people again, he realized that talking to yourself isn’t the best trait to have. So, he tries to keep in on lock, at least when he’s thinking about things he doesn’t want to share.

Foolish shares a lot with Tina, but it’s been a long week, and Foolish has a lot to think about for himself, so he lets her struggle on her own.

There’s something itching at him. It might be all the people left behind, by the boat they couldn’t make it to, and by Foolish who couldn’t find them: Cellbit, Baghera, Etoiles, and Bad. It might be Max, who Foolish is still trying to wrap his head around because he died and he also nuked the island. It’s not that though, because it’s something smaller. He wracks his brain, trying to figure out what’s bothering him, because he knows it’s something, someone.

He thinks it has to do with Tina.

And then Tina screams, and the thought is left behind, because holy shit, who the fuck is that?

“That’s a person, oh God—” Tina starts yelling, so Foolish starts yelling because oh, God, that is a person.

There is a person, sinking in the water beneath them, and Foolish makes the split second decision of ‘I should probably help this guy’ and dives under the water, reaching blindly for the pale, thrashing person in the water. When he makes contact, the person is distinctly furry, and Foolish recognizes the bright orange vest of the workers. The worker tries to fight Foolish’s hold, but Foolish is strong enough to get a good grasp, and he doesn’t care at all if he has to knock this guy out to stop them from drowning.

So, he does that, and he ties part of the rope around them too. The worker is... weirdly buoyant, so it’s once again, just him and Tina swimming, this time with a furry mass bobbing beside them. It’s weird, and Tina hisses every time the worker floats a little too close to her, but it’s altogether pretty alright. They make small talk, but Tina always seems half-focused on watching the guy out of the corner of her eye.

Foolish can’t remember much, but Tina being wary, paranoid, doesn’t strike him as especially strange. It should, probably, because Tina has seemed fairly upbeat and positive the whole time she’s been on the island, but it doesn’t.

Foolish puts Tina into the same category as Bad. They’re weird, obviously, and Foolish knows there’s some sort of complicated history with them, but he just can’t remember. He tries not to let it bother him. Some things he can’t change, and island-induced amnesia seems to be one of those things.

She seems happy enough when they spot the beaches of the Island, but Foolish supposes that anyone would be happy at that point.

When they climb onto land, Tina detaches herself from Foolish almost instantly, ripping the rope from around her body. They drag the unconscious worker onto land, and as Foolish stabilizes the guy, Tina scrunches the water out of her hair. Agent 18 meets them, and after a small crisis where Foolish has to confirm that yes, he is alive and yes, they should probably stop having funerals for him, they’re able to escort the other worker into the Federation building. Apparently, he was not normal, and was a worker from the other island, which makes a lot more sense.

Tina seems glad to go along with them, lamenting the ways she was rejected from the Federation as an employee. Foolish isn’t really holding out hope that she’ll actually become a worker, due to her... associations. He says as much.

“I don’t think they’ll let you in,” Foolish says, and Tina frowns at him.

“Wha— Why not?” She asks incredulously, crossing her arms, “I have all the qualifications.”

“Oh yeah,” Foolish says sarcastically, “Like being a barista! So highly qualified.” She rolls her eyes, and elbows him harshly.

“Yeah, exactly,” She says, squinting up at him, challenging him, “I’ll have you know I’m incredibly skilled.”

“I’m sure you are,” Foolish placates, before pausing. He has to figure out how to say this in a way that won’t make her yell at him. He looks to Agent 18 for help, but he is studiously ignoring both of them in favor of arranging a small prison cell around the Unnamed Freaky Eye Worker. Foolish takes a deep breath, and turns to Tina.

“Based on your...” He pauses, and Tina looks like she’s about four seconds away from smacking him, “associations, they’d probably think you’re a spy.”

“My associations?” Tina asks, and now Foolish is confused, because it seems pretty obvious. Pretty cut-and-dry, if he says so himself.

“Well, y’know, you and Bagi?” Foolish says it slowly, in case Tina is concussed and needs him to speak slower than usual. She looks a little spacey, eyes wide and mildly panicked. He continues nervously, “She’s not really on great terms with the Federation, and well— like, y’know, if she’s not on their good side, then you’re not on their good side. It’s like those people who are attached to each other and can’t be separated, like twins, conjoined twins—”

Now, Foolish could’ve kept talking. He’s pretty good at it. Tina doesn’t really let him, because Tina is Tina and Tina is a freak, so she starts coughing violently in response.

Foolish immediately stops talking, rushing over panicked to Tina because if she chokes and dies now, he’s gonna be so pissed. Tina is wide-eyed, flushed, and Foolish thinks that he either majorly fucked up his perception of events or Tina is wildly more concussed than he thought she was.

“What makes you—” She coughs again, and clears her throat. “What makes you say that?” She asks. She seems normal, but Foolish knows Tina, and Foolish knows that something is very wrong. Her eyes are sharp, and her tone is frantic, and Foolish gets the sinking suspicion that he has triggered something that he’s not sure the fallout of, but he’s sure that he doesn’t want to know the fallout of.

“Nothing,” Foolish says, turning away from Tina and pretending like he can’t feel her eyes boring into his skull. Agent 18 has, conveniently, slipped out of the room, so it’s just Foolish, Tina, and an unconscious, furry cyclops sleeping like a brick in a prison cell. “It was, uh— I was just saying, y’know, because everyone knows that you and her are like— Well, It’s nothing.”

Foolish is so good at this. He should win an award. He should win ten awards.

“It’s not nothing!” She yells, obviously not caring if their prisoner wakes up, “What do you mean everyone knows—”

“I didn’t mean anything, I just said it randomly!”

“Well, I’m just randomly telling you to continue!” Tina hisses, and Foolish feels a beat of anger in his chest. It’s a little like arguing with Bad, an age old familiarity that shouldn’t attach itself to someone that he really doesn’t have any working memories about.

“Why do you care so much?” Foolish says, like an idiot, because obviously Tina would want to know why everyone thought her and Cellbit’s cool, but kinda insane, sister were involved in some sort of... deal, or whatever.

“I don’t care,” Tina says petulantly, like an even bigger idiot, because obviously, she does.

“Obviously, you do!” Foolish says, mildly hysterical because he’s the one that’s been getting yelled at for something he thought was supposed to be obvious.

“You’re the one that cares, asshole!” Foolish’s eye twitches, but Tina just kind of glares at him, her tail lashing behind her. Foolish isn’t really paying attention to it, but if he was, he’d see that it’s less of a cat tail and more of a demon’s, with a spade tip and a sharp look to it. Tina’s eyes are dark with slit pupils, but Foolish is more focused on his own show of dramatics, tossing his hands above his head as his own eyes glow in frustration. Through the cracks in his body, a totem’s glowing light can be seen, simmering under the surface in a mildly angry boil.

“Oh my god, whatever,” Foolish groans, pushing his hood down as he runs his hand through still-wet hair. He slides down the wall to sit down, energy leaving him. He was already tired, and the adrenaline of purgatory, and having to swim for his life, and then the thrilling argument with Tina had already started to leave him. He’s just kinda tired now, and he can feel the water seeping under his skin through the cracks, leaving him feeling just kind of damp. Through just a look at Tina, he can tell that she feels similarly, collapsing down to sit next to him.

She still looks pristine, Foolish notes bitterly. Her skin is clear and glowing, and her hair has light waves from the water but no knots, and from what Foolish can see, there’s not a single cut or scar or burn on her. It’s honestly kind of frustrating.

They both just breathe, for a minute or two. Foolish lets himself wind down, but Tina seems lost in thought, brow furrowing every so often as she mumbles to herself quietly. She looks up at him, at one point, and Foolish is too tired to do anything but just kinda look back, expectantly.

“The Federation thinks we have something going on?” Tina asks, whispering. It’s a stark contrast to before, and Foolish can’t help but continue to feel like he missed something.

“Yeah,” Foolish says, and once he starts, he can’t really stop. “But, I mean, It’s not just them. We all thought something was going on, and— well, like, Cellbit said he crashed some sort of date, and Bagi told you she loved you that one time—”

“She what?” Tina interrupts shrilly, almost squealing at him. Foolish doesn’t quite block his eyes, but he flinches enough that Tina grimaces in apology, repeating herself quietly. “She what?” She says again, this time in more of a stage whisper.

“Yeah,” Foolish says, mildly amused, “I thought you were just being nice about it, but, like, I guess she said it as you were leaving. It was right at the beginning, like when teams were getting picked, and then you went to your team— and, well, like, we all knew she liked you.”

Tina looks a little shell shocked, and Foolish understands why. It’s a lot to hear that some girl is in love with you when you had no idea. Foolish has had his fair share of clueless days, so he empathizes with Tina not knowing. Tina’s very pretty, and people tend to fall in love with you when you’re incredibly pretty and kind and funny. Foolish would know. So, he’s very willing to be there as Tina figures out what to do.

“It’s okay, Tina,” He says, because he’s a great, and incredibly observant friend, “It’s just that with her liking you, the Federation won’t let you join, even if you don’t like her back. It’s very unfair.”

He’s so good at this friendship stuff.

“Wait,” Tina says, and Foolish waits, because he’s great. Tina pulls back, “You think I don’t like Bagi?”

Foolish is confused. Tina is confused. They’re both just staring at each other, as Foolish tries to piece together the puzzle in his brain. Bagi likes Tina, Foolish knew this. Tina likes Bagi, and Foolish did not know this. Together, this means that—

Something clicks.

“Oh my god,” Foolish says.

“Foolish,” Tina groans, already tired of him and his revelations.

“Oh my god!”

“Foolish, it’s really not that big a deal—”

“Tina, I had no idea—”

“You’re yelling, Foolish,”

“You’re gay?”

“Yes, I like her, it’s really not—” Tina pauses. Foolish is looking at her, incredulous. “Foolish,” Tina says, completely and utterly shell-shocked, “You didn’t know I was gay?”

“No idea,” Foolish says, “You didn’t give off any of the signs.”

“Foolish, I’ve been obsessed with her since the moment she joined. I said that she made me nervous and that she was the coolest person I’d ever met, and that I desperately wanted her to like me—”

“Oh my god,” Foolish groans, and Tina cackles at him.

“You didn’t know?” She says, breathlessly, like she can’t believe it because she can’t.

“I had no idea, I thought—” He gestures aimlessly, mildly pathetic, and Tina can’t stop laughing at him.

“What did,” She interrupts herself, laughing even harder, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, “What the fuck did you think?”

“I didn’t realize!” Foolish whines, and she doubles over, almost rolling on the ground from how hard she’s laughing. He’s embarrassed, but he’s not terribly surprised. Tina’s been obsessive over Bagi since the moment they met, but it didn’t strike him as weird or crush-y, because his mind was telling him that’s how Tina is. That’s how Tina was. Vaguely, he can grasp memories of her acting like this before, with warrior girls and tricky fairies, and he just— hadn’t thought of it.

She’s always been Tina to him, since the moment they re-met on the island. She’s indescribable, because he can’t remember anything about her, just that she is her and he’s known her and loved her for centuries. She’s his best friend, and he can’t describe her at all. Part of him is desperately, terribly sad, despite how he’s laughing with her now, because this is basic stuff. He thinks that, maybe, before the island, he would’ve known this, and he would’ve been there to meet all the girlfriends and know all the inside gossip. This time, though, he didn’t. He couldn’t remember, and then they went to Purgatory.

There’s so much about Tina that he used to know, that he should remember, and he doesn’t. It makes him a little sick, and it makes him a little sad. Mostly, it just makes him feel empty.

Foolish is a good friend, and he’s an observant guy, he really is. He can pick up on things easily, and he thinks that, maybe, in another life, he would’ve known this about Tina instantly, would’ve remembered and categorized it away in his head. The island makes things slippery, makes things harder to hold onto, both memories and objects and people.

Foolish wants to say this. Tell Tina that he’s sorry he forgot and that he misses her and that he knows her but can’t remember her and that he wants to remember.

“Congrats on coming out,” he says instead, because it’s not the time for that.

“Thanks,” Tina replies, instead of saying I know. Foolish can hear the words underneath it anyway. He wipes at the tears in his eyes, formulated from laughing so hard he almost cracked another rib, and Tina does the same, waving at her eyes with her hands, so she doesn’t mess up her makeup even further.

Oh my god, the makeup.

“Was the makeup for Bagi?” Foolish asks, and Tina stops, glancing over to him, wide-eyed.

“Um,” Tina says, “It depends. Does it look good?” Foolish groans loudly, which makes Tina flush in embarrassment, checking herself in a mirror situated on the wall to make sure it’s still good. It’s messy, from her dive in the ocean, but Tina still looks lovely, nearly sent from Heaven. The demonic influence helps, her form shifting to always look tempting and perfect compared to others, a secret invitation to Hell disguised as a welcome into Heaven, but it’s mostly her own skill and dedication to presentation.

“Looks like shit,” Foolish lies, and she smacks the side of his head with her hand.

“Oh, fuck off,” She grumbles, wiping off bits of watery mascara that have become runny due to the swim. Foolish wheezes a loud windshield-wiper laugh. Tina startles at the noise, which only causes him to laugh even louder.

There’s a grumble from the bed, and they both whip around to see the Eyeball Worker blink a bleary eye awake. This is their cue to run, and Foolish doesn’t hesitate to jump up and throw Tina over his shoulder, slamming open doors and sprinting out of the building at an unrivaled, never-seen-before speed.

“I’ll drop you at her house,” Foolish wheezes, and Tina screams in his ear as revenge.

“Put me down, asshole, I’ll find my own way home,” She says, and Foolish grins, slowing and stopping to drop her unceremoniously on her ass. He waves goodbye, as he runs in another direction, and she dazedly waves back, wobbling as she gets back on her feet.

“Fucking scumbag,” Tina says, shaking herself out, tail whipping behind her. Tina combs a hand through her hair, checking to make sure that the cat ear accessories placed over her horns are still in place, and turning around to make sure her tail is still looking like a cat tail. As she’s checking herself over, she hears a twig snap behind her somewhere, and she sighs as she fully turns to look.

“Foolish, I swear to—”

It’s Bagi. A tired, messy-looking, still kind-of-dirty Bagi, but Bagi nonetheless. It’s also a Bagi with a little girl in her arms. She’s tiny, and wide-eyed, and has tiny little horns that mimic Tina’s peeking out from under a floppy, pancake-esque hat.

“Um,” Tina says, eloquently, before her brain catches up with her and her face flares with embarrassment because, really, Tina, that’s what you say to your kind-of-girlfriend, kind-of-not that you haven’t seen for days holding a child that looks kinda like you.

“Hi,” Bagi says, like Tina’s not an idiot, and Tina falls a little bit more in love with her.

“Hi,” Tina says, because she is an idiot. She tries not to think about how bad she wants to kill herself out of embarrassment, as Bagi tries to not think about how gorgeous Tina is even with, especially with, wet hair and smudged makeup.

“Hi!” The little girl says, “I’m Empanada.” She holds out an expectant hand, and looks up at Tina with all the confidence and flair that Tina never had as a kid.

“Hello, Empanada,” Tina says, smiling softly, “I’m Tina.”

“I know,” Empanada says frankly, and Tina recoils slightly, still smiling but this time far more confusedly. Empanada clearly notices this, because she continues. “You’re my mom,” she says, “It was on my certificate. That means you can call me Em.” She rummages around in her dress pockets, squirming in Bagi’s arms before she hands Tina a carefully folded certificate that proclaims Tina as her mother, along with Bagi, Jaiden, Mouse, and Niki.

“Ah,” Tina says, “It’s lovely to meet you then, Emmy.” The nickname slips out, but Em just grins widely and holds out two arms, making grabby hands until Tina leans forward enough for her to wrap her arms tightly around Tina’s neck. She jumps out of Bagi’s arms and clings to Tina in a strong enough hug to knock her breathless.

“Hi, Eomma Tina!” Em says, head tucked over Tina’s shoulder making it so that she’s talking just loud enough for Tina’s ears to mildly ache, “It’s so, so, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Mamãe Bagi. She said that you were very nice and very smart, and she said you were really pretty, and she wasn’t lying, because you are!”

Tina turns to look at Bagi, who’s turning more red by the second. “Em,” Bagi says, mildly frantic and wide-eyed as she studiously does not make eye contact with Tina, but Em just barrels on.

“Honestly, I thought she was gonna be lying, because she clearly likes you, but she wasn’t, which is nice,” Em says, before pulling away to frown at Tina. “Do you like her too? Because she really likes you, and it’s not a normal like, but a like-like, and it would be cool if my moms were dating.”

Tina hums, and out of the corner of her eye she can see Bagi redden even further, which she didn’t even think was fully possible.

“Em,” Bagi chides, “Tina just got back. Let’s not overwhelm her with questions.” She takes Em from Tina’s arms, avoiding eye contact and physical contact by any means necessary.

“I don’t like Mamãe Bagi,” Tina says, lowering herself to Em’s line of vision. Em frowns, and Tina can hear Bagi’s breath hitch slightly, and she decides to take a risk. She taps Em’s nose, and when the girl scrunches her nose, Tina laughs softly.

“I love Bagi,” Tina says, and when it registers in her brain, Em beams with a huge smile, turning in Bagi’s arms to look up at Bagi. Tina hurriedly takes Em’s face in her hands, and when Em looks at her quizzically, Tina puts a finger up to her mouth in a shushing motion.

“Shh,” Tina whispers loudly, enough that Bagi can hear but quiet enough that Em thinks it’s a real whisper, “You can’t tell her before I do. It’s a secret.”

Em nods gravely, and makes a zipping motion over her mouth, before turning back into Bagi’s arms and giggling to herself. Tina rises from where she was crouched, and resolutely does not look at Bagi as she links their arms. She allows herself to grasp Bagi’s upper arm softly, as she walks so close to her that they’re knocking into each other.

“Let’s go home,” Tina says, finally looking at Bagi. Bagi doesn’t say much, just nods with a stupid smile on her face and lets Tina drag all three of them to her house, content to listen fondly as Em and Tina chatter quickly with each other.

[iron-sparrow]

Writing RP scenes as poetry ── 

I have never been very good at long-form writing. I know this is likely a skill issue that I can resolve with time and practice and, uh, more reading. I just really don't feel like it right now, and I'm trying not to let myself believe this is a commentary on my skill as a writer (or roleplayer). When I began roleplaying in FFXIV, however, I also started writing poetry again. Nothing exceptional, but I remembered I've always really enjoyed freeform poetry as an avenue of expression. Just clicks better for me.

So recently, I had a scene in my brain. I decided to write it out as a poem that's heavily inspired by the style 陳琛 (Chen Chen) sometimes uses.

Anyway, I'm sharing that scene below. It's from the perspective of an FFXIV OC, Ibant, who currently serves as the steward of House Valeriant.

「 When an Entire Year Passes Faster than I Can See 」 The pen doesn’t stop writing, not as long as I am awake. The bells do not slow, because they don’t care if I need rest. But my mind is always burning with a thousand anxieties that I can’t possibly think of putting it down on something soft. Softness brings to mind the image of a writer who sleeps. I know without having to look that Frydstyr is in my bed tonight because he had come to watch me work in hopes that I might think about stopping long enough to eat solid, substantial food. My empty stomach reminds me that he had brought dinner with him. The braised beef is sitting within my reach in a shallow serving dish taken from the cabinets with the nice, matching sets and silverware. He used them because he likely felt I deserved to feel special. The chiming of my clock draws me back to my current task. I realize my pen had stopped moving and the words on the page had stalled for an indeterminate time while my tired mind drifted. This isn’t paperwork I want to put off – it’s more like a labor of love. I remind myself I can’t keep hiding behind my duties if I want to be happy too with the people I’ve surrounded myself with. Yet right now, I’ve entered a race against the fast approaching date that will mark when our time here is meant to draw to an end. No one is going to leave, so just use the other papers you wrote up. I can’t reuse that contract without amending a few terms, but what would Zahret know when his head is in the clouds these days, floating higher than anyone has any right to without losing their ability to breathe. My eyes begin to lose focus so I force them to see again by blinking. The ink begins to look like words again, obediently stretching across clean parchment to be read back in my own voice. I repeat everything more than I have to, making sure the message can’t possibly be lost. I, (your name here), shall remain a loyal knight of House Valeriant, sworn to serve and protect the Valeriant bloodline. Should I specify that they would also protect Valeriants who are not related by blood? My pen touches down again and weaves another dull sentence into being. Bureaucracy is the slowest death I can imagine for passion and creativity. Fortunate, then, that I am not someone who was trained to grow words like flowers in a garden. I can’t ever argue when someone says, in jest, let Ibant handle the reports, because I find a curious joy in technicalities. No one will break this family apart on technicalities while I hold this pen. The contracts will be ironclad under the lovely veneer of knightly oaths. I hope, when they read these papers and see the names that have signed, they will fully grasp the love that they have cultivated in this house.

[thekeepersgrove]

Rye's Floating Bookshop - 2nd of Bloom

| Information | Calendar | Previous entry | Next entry |

I wake up to the sun shining in through my closed curtains, the warmth of it tempting me to stay in bed. But my new life has to start and the shop need to open. I choose to start my day without stress however, taking me time to enjoy some scones with strawberry preserve, and a nice cup of mint tea sweetened with honey for my breakfast. Even though I am a bit apprehensive about jumping into the work of running a bookshop—something with which I have no experience—there is an undercurrent of excitement to my anxiety. I have always enjoyed trying new things and having new experiences, and this is just that.

After my breakfast I head into the shop and feel a jolt of sadness at the thought of taking over my brother's work, but I shake it off to start my day. I decide to start the year with a sale to draw in customers, deciding on a theme to fit both my journey and the time of the year: New Beginnings. I set up a temporary sign on the front door announcing such and make plans to work on better posters throughout the day between customers. I do not get much work done however, as it is quite a busy day as the shop gets some foot traffic from pollen-dusted animalfolk curious about the reopening of the shop. I make sure to mention the upcoming sale to the customers who do end up making purchases, with the hope of getting the word out.

My first notable guest of the day is a young goose—a gander—who spends more time chatting at the counter than browsing the selection. I offer my help, which gets politely declined, and shift some of my focus to dealing with other customers and working on the posters for the sale while still trying to half-heartedly engage the young gander in conversation. It is tiring and the incessant chatter makes an already busy day a bit more stressful. I get to hear all about the weather—"It is quite surprising to get pollen this early in the year!"—and their plans for the day, which mostly seems to be going around and finding people to harass. I catch myself having such unfair thoughts and I push those feelings aside, chastising myself about letting my stress get the better of me. When he finds out that I am new to town he starts telling me about Hurst and its inhabitants, including his opinion on some of them—"That magpie at the bakery always looks so grumpy!"). I breathe a sigh of relief when a badger—dressed in the finest of clothes and tall enough to have to duck through the door—enters the shop and I get to excuse myself from the gander's chatter about their thoughts on the holidays celebrations yesterday. The young man huffs about the end of the conversation and leaves without buying anything.

The new figure introduces hirself as Oakleaf, the mayor of Hurst and gives me a warm welcome to hir town. They ask about what brings me here and offers hir condolences at the loss of my brother. I help hir with some recommendations—"I'm not usually a reader, but I want to support small business!"—and hir leaves the shop with a nonfiction book covering the history of the town of Thistle Down in the upper parts of the River.

Not long after noon the sound of excited children can be heard down the wharf and soon a group of boisterous schoolchildren enter the shop. I welcome them warmly and offer my help in case they wish for it. I look over at them occasionally, smiling fondly as they remind me of my nieces when they were in that age, and choose to look past the mess that they make. I can always clean it up after and I don't want to get in the way of the interest in books that they display. I patiently ask any questions they might have, even when I have to answer the same question from multiple children, and am thoroughly charmed by their chatter and the little stories they tell me. One of them shows an interest in the romance section, and I direct their attention to the more age appropriate shelf of the same genre. The child thanks me and when the group leaves they can be seen happily clutching their new book to their chest.

It feels like I'll never get anything done with the amount of customers and I do feel my patience start to wane at times. Running a shop is harder than I thought and it's a very busy first day. I get a few breaks from the stress, such as when a young fox approaches me with a question. He speaks to me about how I'm new and asks about my hometown, wondering what it is like, as he has never heard of it. I tell him about the town of Undertree and the giant tree that rises above it. I reminisce happily about the Festival of Light held when the sun starts setting before 6 pm and the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the forest around the town. He does grow bored of my reminiscing however, after I get caught up in the memories, and ask for help finding a book. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I realise that I've been acting like the young gander that I judged earlier in the day, and apologise for the ramblings of an old mouse before directing the fox to the fantasy section. He leaves with two books and bids me a good day.

At times I consider closing the shop early, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of work on the first day, but how could I have any hope of successfully running the shop if I can't handle a busy day? I want to honour the memory of my brother and feel proud of my work, so giving in so early would feel like a failure. I gather my energy, and after preparing myself a glass of chilled mint tea I face the rest of the afternoon with renewed enthusiasm. This enthusiasm is sorely needed, as the next customer to need help is an older frog gentleman who approaches me with a lot of questions about the store, the stock, and my recommendations. He shows an interest in crime fiction and while it is not my favoured genre I do give him the information I do have, and I also recommend him a thriller with similar themes as the ones he expressed interest in. He heartfully expresses his thanks as he leaves the shop after a good half hour, with a large amount of books precariously stacked in his hands.

The day nears its end when my last notable customers enters and approaches me for conversation. A small mouse, barely big enough to see over the counter, reveals that they are a scholar who travels the land in search of additions to their library. They tell me of a few of their rare finds, including a book on the mating habits of the blue suncatcher—a fish found in warm patches of water during the first half of the year. Today they are looking for mystery books, of the nonfiction kind, and I spend some showing them my selection that fits what they seek. Regretfully they find nothing that interests them that they don't already have, but they thank me for the help and express a hope that we see each other again before they leave.

The sun starts setting when the last few customers leave and I get to close the shop. After tidying up I slump into one of the couches around the fireplace, taking the chance to breathe. With all the work and customers I had today there was not enough time to finish the posters for the sale, the supplies for which are stacked neatly on the work surface at the front desk. I wonder if there is a point in trying to finish them tomorrow. I'll have to see how much time I have left over, because if it is another day like the one today I doubt I'll be able to work it into my schedule. While today was stressful and a bit overwhelming, I am happy with the day and am hopeful about my ability to keep going. I look forward to seeing what tomorrow brings.

| Total customers: 60 | Books sold: 37 (Inventory Total: 463) | Earnings: 55 (Till total: 155) |

[notnctu]

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details -  hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞  

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical 

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances. 

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.” 

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression. 

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander. 

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room. 

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head. 

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

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[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Paper Rings

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Summary: On his first ride to Hogwarts, James befriended the girl who was obsessed with shiny things. Over their schooling together, their friendship turned into so much more.

A/N: lmao I suck at summaries. Also I’m back sorry for the random hiatus (and sorry that posting will almost definitely not be consistent after this either). I had this idea months ago, inspired by Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings, and I only just got around to writing it asdfghjkl. Still obsessed with James though rip me I just want someone to love me like this.

Warnings: Mentions of eating (briefly), otherwise just a lot of fluff.

Wordcount: 4k (wow)

...

Little James Potter waved goodbye to his parents as the train took off from the platform, nervous about his first journey to the infamous Hogwarts, but excited to discover all the great things his parents had told him for himself. First though: finding a carriage.

Trying not to show his nerves, he wandered along the corridor, peeping into the carriages to see if there was one he could join. For the most part, he found them all too full, too loud to juggle his nerves, or the students too old and intimidating. The days would come where James would rule the corridors of the castle, but the eleven year old boy on the train was just hoping to make a friend he could share this new adventure with.

As fate would have it, he found just that and so much more. In a carriage to herself sat a young girl, his age, her face turned away from him looking out the window. The only thing he could see was a petite sparkling bow, sitting neatly in her (y/h/c) hair.

Without thinking about it, he knocked gently on the compartment door, sliding it open as she turned to look at him inquisitively. Her (y/e/c) eye’s glittered as her lips pulled into a smile, creating a complete sense of comfort for James to ask. “Do you mind if I sit?” She nodded eagerly, gathering up a few books she had dumped on the opposite seat and dropping them into her lap. “I’m James.” He smiled.

“(y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a short while, listening to the laughs of older students, friends reuniting after a summer apart, and watching the landscape whip by them out the window.

“I like your bow, by the way.” James spoke up, feeling glad he did when an excited smile broke across her face, looking as if he’d told her she’d won the lottery.

“Thank you! I love the way it sparkles.” She said, gently pulling it from her hair and twisting it in the sunlight, showing how rainbows danced in the glitter and were thrown across their compartment. Satisfied, she used it to clip back the hair that was now falling into her face, and their conversation moved on, following each and every thought they were having, becoming fast friends. James didn’t think the journey could get any better until two boys showed up at their door and asked if they could join them, setting everlasting friendships in stone.

As the train pulled up to Hogwarts, any nervousness James had been feeling was gone. Instead, the only thought he had was that he couldn’t be more glad he sat in the compartment of the girl with the sparkling bow.

…

Their first year passed in a blur, and the Marauders spent the majority of it in each other’s company, laughing their days away.

Now, summer had come and gone, and their second year at Hogwarts was in full swing. They walked into their charms class together, laughing about a joke Sirius had made at James’ expense. (y/n) sat next to the curly-haired boy at their desk, as Remus Sirius and Peter sat at the one adjacent to them.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I didn’t make the team last year! No first year has made a house team in like 80 years! I’m telling you though, I’ll make it on this year, and I’ll be the best chaser this school has ever seen.” James protested, huffing as he put his textbook in the middle of the table for him and (y/n) to share. She laughed at him softly, hand patting his shoulder as the other boys got lost in their own conversation.

“I know you will, Jamie. And I’ll be there cheering you on every step of the way.” His cheeks redenned at her words, but luckily their attention was turned away by Professor Flitwick.

“Now students, the charm I’ll be teaching you today is more of a fun one to start off the year than anything you’ll likely need in your everyday lives. As always, I don’t expect you to create chaos by using these charms” – he turned his gaze to a particular group of students at this point who were all busily looking elsewhere – “but simply to enlighten yourselves and to show you what magic can do. So, the charm we’ll be learning today is how to make things glitter.”

James heard an almost inaudible gasp next to him, and he could feel the excitement radiating off (y/n). He chuckled, expecting nothing less; he’d known her for a year now, and if it wasn’t the bow in her hair there was always something shiny on her at any given time.

Flitwick talked about the details of the charm, how it could be applied subtly, only giving a faint sheen, or how it could be made much more obvious. Finally, he gave them the charm and told everyone to repeat after him. “Now, like I said, just because this is a fun charm doesn’t mean it’s an easy one, and I don’t expect you to get it on your first attempt. Just keep repeating the charm and-oh!” He broke off suddenly, just as James’ vision went hazy. Once he’d focused, he saw he was surrounded by a cloud of individual glitter specs floating around them, almost as if they were in their own galaxy. His gaze shifted to its centre, shining most brilliantly of all as her proud and excited smile dazzled him, making him forget entirely they were still in their charms classroom.

“Well done Miss (y/n)!” Flitwick’s voice broke through their bubble, and slowly each star seemed to fade out of existence, until they were back in their regular old classroom, thirty pairs of eyes trained on them. “You certainly felt the spirit of the charm and went above and beyond. 10 points to (y/h). Now, if you could help Mr Potter whilst we all get back to it!”

Chatter burst out the classroom almost immediately, partners working together trying to enchant an object of theirs to take on the glittery effect. Sirius turned to her, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.

“Becoming a teachers pet now are we, (y/l/n)?” She rolled her eyes back, waving her wand to produce a cloud of glitter that settled in Sirius’ hair, contrasting sharply against its darkness.

“It’s sparklesSirius, what did you expect? Now c’mon, this is the one lesson I won’t let you not do the work in. Make some glittery greatness and I’ll bake you all some cookies when I next steal James’ cloak to go to the kitchens.” With those words, the three boys turned their entire focus to the task at hand, while James still seemed slightly awestruck next to her. “You alright, J?”

“That was amazing (y/n/n). I had no idea you could do that.”

“Well I guess you can’t know until you try.” She shrugged, picking up her quill and placing it in front of him. “Charm my quill.”

“Why me? You could just do it yourself.” James asked, confused why she didn’t do it herself since she was clearly more than capable. Once again, she shrugged, looking into his eyes as she uttered the words so nonchalantly that would stick with him for years to come.

“Well, Flitwick said you needed to practise. Plus, it’ll mean more to me if every time I look at my quill I know that you’re the reason it’s shining.”

Within a heartbeat, James had uttered the incantation and a subtle shimmer had settled over the feather, imperceptible until it was moved and caught the light. The smile he saw when he looked over at (y/n) made him vow to himself that as long as he was around, she would never have an ordinary quill again.

True to his word, every time she brought out a new quill, he was quick to snatch it from her and place the simple charm on it. It became an unspoken promise between the two of them, and every time James saw that sparkle from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

. . .

True to her word, (y/n) was there for all of James’ games, cheering him on from the side of the pitch, always the first to reach him when the game was over. High or low, win or lose, she was always there to remind him that he had played amazingly, and that she was proud of him.

After one such game in their fourth year, Gryffindor narrowly losing to Slytherin, she was at his side so quickly that he would have thought she had apparated if he knew this wasn’t possible. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, feeling the slight shaking of his shoulders. “Oh, James.” She quickly ushered him off the pitch before he attracted eyes, assuring him that Sirius and Remus would collect his things from the changing room and bring them back to his dorm. Once they reached his dorm, she sent him to shower, promising that she would be there for him once he was back.

Sure enough, he came out of the shower in fresh clothes and damp hair, and she was still on his bed, patiently waiting for him. She held her hand out to him, a silent invitation, and as soon as he took it she pulled him to her side and once again enveloped him in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you, Jamie.” She whispered, squeezing him momentarily before drawing back and looking into his glassy eyes.

“Shouldn’t be.” He murmured, avoiding her gaze. “We lost.”

“And yet you scored more goals than anyone else the entire game.” She pointed out, sincerity lacing her voice. “It’s just because the snitch is worth a stupid amount of points, honestly the game has a lot of flaws.” James smiled weakly, they often had these debates about Quidditch and it always ended in some silly way.

“I did hit Malfoy in the head with a Quaffle.” He admitted, and (y/n) could see the weight falling off his shoulders.

“The highlight of all our years.” She laughed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little box. “I got you something.” She handed it to him, and he pushed it back to her, head shaking, doubt returned.

“No I didn’t do anything to deserve it. Keep it.”

“We already had this argument and I’m not taking no for an answer.” She shoved the box into his hands and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to open it.

Reluctantly, he pulled the lid off the box to reveal a snitch, the snitch he normally kept on his person at all times, now shining with a slight iridescence. James looked up at her, thankful but a little confused at the present.

“I’ve actually been saving it for when you lose a game. Which has been hard because that’s hardly ever.” She broke off to give him a playful glare along with her words, quickly broken by her soft smile. “I know you play with the snitch when you have a lot on your mind, and when you start to doubt yourself. I wanted to remind you that you’re incredible and you should believe that yourself. So, when you see the snitch and you see it sparkle, you’ll think of me, and you’ll remember how great you are.” He was speechless, and in the silent air, she did what the two of them did best, and started to nervously babble. “Well, that’s assuming you think of me when you see sparkles, and quite frankly after all this time I’d be slightly offended if you didn’t-oof” her rambling stopped when James tackled her into a hug, knocking them both back onto the bed.

“Thank you.” Was all he said, but she could hear the emotion behind each word, everything he was trying to communicate. All she did was hold him tighter.

It was then that Sirius and Remus walked into the dorm, carrying all of James’ equipment from the game, causing James and (y/n) to jump away from each other. Blushes arose on both their faces, not that the other would have noticed, each too busy looking at opposite walls of the dorm. Sirius and Remus exchanged a knowing look, but decided to let it slide, knowing there was an inevitability to it anyway.

…

Once again, (y/n) was boarding the Hogwarts express for another year of school. She knew this year would be a stressful one, with their OWL exams coming up, but she also knew that as long as she had her boys by her side, she would be absolutely fine.

Speaking of her friends, she was currently walking along the train trying to find them. She knew that Lily and Remus were prefects now so they’d be at the front of the train, but she was struggling to find anyone else. Eventually, she found James, sitting in a carriage by himself, absentmindedly watching the view. She chuckled to herself at the situation, the reverse of their meeting all those years ago.

She slid the door open, catching his attention and his ever-so-addictive smile. “Got room for an old pal?” She asked, sitting next to him when he patted the seat, his hand enveloping hers as soon as she had, a silent communication. I missed you.

“I was starting to think you’d gotten cool and forgotten about me.” He joked, nudging her playfully.

“Piss off Potter, I was always cooler than you.” She teased back, glad to see that nothing had changed despite their time apart. It never did, they were always James and (y/n), inseparable no matter how hard anyone tried. “Where is everyone?”

“Lils and Moony are doing prefect duties, and Sirius enlisted Peter’s help to try and sneak into their carriage and get the insider information.” He rolled his eyes light-heartedly, forming air quotes around Sirius’ words as (y/n) laughed, eyes closing in amusement. “What’s that on your eyes?” James suddenly asked, stopping her laughter short as she tried to figure out what he meant.

“Oh!” She remembered. “I went to see Lils in the holidays and she was showing me this glitter eyeliner that muggles wear! Why, do you not like it?” She suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if it really was too much despite Lily’s reassurances. It was a subtle white, but still, it was glitter on her face.

“The opposite!” James was quick to answer, rushing so much to not hurt her feelings that he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying. “I think you look really beautiful (y/n/n), with or without the makeup. Besides, the glitter brings out your eyes.”

At this point, they were both blushing furiously, and James was still holding her hand, neither of them willing to let go. (y/n) couldn’t help but smile to herself, and remembered to thank Lily for the recommendation the second they were in the dorm together that evening.

…

James climbed the last step into the astronomy tower, seeing (y/n) leaning against the railing already, gazing into the night sky, a blanket and an array of snacks out on the floor behind her.

It was a ritual they’d started who knows when, a chance to wind down and escape the chaos of everyday life, to enjoy each other’s company and to feast away on whatever snacks they had managed to stow away for these evenings. Tonight’s selection looked to consist mostly of cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, with the occasional sugar quill hidden amongst the rest. “Heavy on the sugar tonight, I see.” He broke the silence teasingly, settling himself so that he was sat at (y/n)’s feet, still able to see the clear night sky above them.

“If I don’t consume my own bodyweight in sugar I think I’ll pass out I’m that exhausted.” She commented back, sinking down next to him. Automatically, his arm wound around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and resting his chin on top of her head. There weren’t words to describe the feeling of pure content as she melted into him, completely at ease.

She reached out and grabbed a chocolate frog, unwrapping it and handing the card to James with a sigh upon seeing it was one already in her collection. She bit into the chocolate, her gaze on the night sky as his was unable to break away from her, the way she settled so peacefully against him.

“The stars sparkle too, you know.” She broke the silence, voice quiet but still holding its signature melodic tone. James finally broke away from looking at her, joining her eyeline and looking at the constellations above them. Even though he wasn’t taking astronomy as a NEWT, spending so much time in the tower with (y/n) as she mapped the sky meant he knew precisely what he was looking at, and traced the constellations with his eyes.

“You know, six years of friendship and I don’t think I ever asked you why you like shiny things so much. I always just accepted it as a part of who you are.” A smile graced her face as she unconsciously twiddled her fingers.

“Don’t laugh.” She warned, and he solemnly shook his head. “I think there’s something so entrancing, so beautiful about them. I think it serves as a reminder that even the most seemingly dull thing,” she picked up another chocolate frog box at this point, waving her wand to create a light sparkle over it, “is wonderfully brilliant if you just remember to look at it in the right way. It’s a lesson we should all carry with us, and I try to remember it whenever I can. Everything is beautiful if you give it a chance.” The sparkles on the box faded in the moonlight, as (y/n) finally looked up at James, only to find him already staring back at her.

Body thinking quicker than brain, seeing her (y/e/c) eyes glimmering up at him, James leant down and pressed his lips to hers. She stifled a gasp, quickly moving her lips back against his as her hand wound gently around the back of his neck. He poured all of his admiration into the kiss, everything he had been feeling for her since he didn’t even know when, feeling his heart soar to be here with her in that moment.

Eventually, they broke away for air, and a breathy laugh fell from (y/n)’s lips, blush rising on her cheeks as she turned her face away. James reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers and gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve been drawn to you since the day I saw you in that train carriage. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, your soul. I didn’t even realise the outside matched until we came back from that summer you spent with Lily. But god, every day since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I like you, (y/n/n). I really like you.”

Around them, a shimmering cloud exploded simultaneous to a wide grin spreading across (y/n)’s face. It was their own galaxy, just like all that time ago in the charms lesson, but she was still in the centre, still giddy with excitement. “I like you too, Jamie.” Her smile turned a little sheepish. “And sorry, I think my emotions got a little out of control.” The star-like sparkles slowly dissipated around them until there was nothing left, and this time it was (y/n) who leaned up to James, connecting their lips one more time.

“You taste like chocolate.”

“I’m sure that must be awful for you, Potter”. Nothing had changed, and yet nothing would be the same either.

…

James was sat on the floor of his dorm, textbooks open in front of him, although this late in the day he was struggling to pay any attention to them. What he was focused on instead was his girlfriend, tucked into the alcove of the windowsill, absentmindedly writing away on a piece of parchment.

Her (y/h/c) hair was in plaits down her back, and in the candlelight the silver threads that James had helped her braid in this morning were casting light across the room that shifted with every little shake of her head or shrug of her shoulders.

“You’re staring again, Jamie.” She chastised, although the humour was clear in her voice. He pushed himself up from the floor with an exaggerated groan, making his way over to her and pulling her gently into his chest, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

“Can’t help it love, you’re an actual angel.” He didn’t see it but he knew she’d be rolling her eyes as she buried her face in his chest to hide the blush that was forming on her cheeks.

“Stop being so cheesy.”

“As if you don’t love it.” She pressed a kiss into his chest, resting her head against him as she went back to her writing. He tried not to pry, but he couldn’t help but catch notice of his name and his interest piqued. “Who are you writing to?”

“Euphemia.” She replied nonchalantly, not pausing her actions as he took a step away, face scrunched in confusion.

“My mother?” she paused at this, looking up at him with false exasperation.

“Do you know many other Euphemias?” She deadpanned. He shrugged, admitting her fair point, moving back to her side where she immediately snuggled back into his warmth.

“How long have you been writing to my mum?” She paused for a second, contemplating.

“Since the start of term I think. She sent an owl, I responded, we haven’t really stopped talking since. Oh, I’m coming over for Christmas by the way, she invited me. Said it wouldn’t be Christmas without the whole family there” (y/n) looked up at him, flashing a mischievous grin, expecting him to whine childishly like he normally would, complaining that he was supposed to ask her. Instead, looking more solemn than she’d seen him in a long time, he crushed her against him, holding her so tightly before he leant down and connected their lips. The kiss was bruising, but it was packed with adoration, and it left (y/n) slightly breathless. He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers as she tried to catch her breath back. “What was that for?”

“I love you. So much. You’re absolutely perfect, and I swear, I can’t wait until the day I can put a ring on that finger and make it official, make you a Potter for real. I promise, it’s going to be the most sparkling, dazzling gem you’ve ever seen. It’ll shine just as brightly as you, and it’ll always remind you that you’re beautiful, in every way, and just how much I love you.” Her hand had come to rest on his cheek, smiling throughout his little speech, parchment cast aside and forgotten about at this point.

“Don’t be silly, James.” She laughed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I love shiny things, yes, but I don’t need one to be reminded of how amazing you are, or how much I love you. Hell, you could ask me to marry you with a paper ring and I’d still say yes in a heartbeat. I’m saying yes to you, to a life. You don’t need to win me over with some ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery.” He nodded slightly, pecking her lips before moving back to where he had been sat on the floor.

(y/n) picked her parchment back up, continuing on to the letter she had been writing to Euphemia Potter, unable to help themselves from planning the Christmas festivities despite it being early November.

Deep in concentration, she startled slightly as she noticed movement coming from the corner of her eye. She looked to the side to see her boyfriend once again, although this time he was knelt before her, holding up a piece of parchment that he had hastily fashioned into a ring, coupled with a sheepish smile.

Laughing merrily, she hopped down from the windowsill, pulling him up by his jumper and kissing him passionately as she slid the piece of paper onto her finger, looking forward to the day when they were older, when they could promise this for real, knowing that they had the rest of their lives ahead of them to love each other unconditionally.

When James first stepped on that Hogwarts train, he was hoping to find a friend he could share every moment with for the next seven years. He had found that in her, a best friend, now a lover, for seven years but for so much longer. The girl with the sparkling bow turned out to be his soulmate, and he sent a prayer of thanks to the stars every day.

[ethan-torchio-angelo]

Oh, love

Summary: It takes a year of trial and error, of love and heartbreak, for the two to finally realize there's no one else they'd rather be with. Or in which she becomes they're photographer for a summer tour and falls in love with the dark haired drummer.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: swearing, angst, sexual content

A/N: I just want to say a huge thank you to @ethanesimp for proofreading and hyping this fic up, thank you so much amore! This is the first piece I've written for any of the members of maneskin, and also the longest thing I've ever written! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

January

It’s a call in the middle of the day that begins it all. She’s been in a shoot all morning, running around snapping photos of a wanna-be teen idol. She’s been here many times, being hired to do promo shots for someone who never makes it farther than this. But this call, she knows it’s different. She’s heard the name, seen some videos, she knows this won’t be like the rest. She’s instructed to clear her schedule for the week and to be in Rome by the end of the day.

The cold air hits her as she leaves the building, suitcase and camera bag in hand. This is the moment she’s been waiting for since joining the company, the chance to become a permanent fixture instead of hopping from gig to gig. She’s told that they requested her specifically, that one of the band members saw her collection from a festival last summer and was dead set on booking her for their summer tour. It’s all new to her, the feeling of being the first choice and not second best. She barely hears anything that’s said on the plane by their manager, too busy trying not to freak out.

It’s only a few hours plane ride, but it feels like a lifetime. Thoughts run wild in her head as the seconds tick by, she can’t remember the last time she’d been this excited, or nervous, for something. She’s greeted by more people from their team as she steps off the plane, and is quickly ushered to the villa they’ve been staying in. She barely has time to process the beautiful new city she’s in before she’s hidden by walls of an even more beautiful place.

They give her time to relax and unpack, but clear instructions to not leave the property without security. Things have been crazy, she’s told, since their winning last year fans have become more clever with their tactics. She laughs at some of the stories, but heeds the warning all the same. She’s seen quite a few things that have shaken her to her core, so she knows to be careful and wary.

Music floats through the halls and into her room, the band practicing on the other side of the villa. The music fills her veins with a feeling she can’t quite place, but it’s a welcome humming that gets her blood pumping. She grabs her camera and follows the melodies, laughing at the jokes thrown around in english whenever someone messes up. She angles herself behind a corner just right where she can take pictures while still being hidden from the band.

Her heart races at the scene in front of her. It’s a family like she’s never seen. They all seem to orbit around each other, pushing and pulling each other into their atmospheres. She watches Victoria dance around the room, bass in hand, strumming the lines to an old song. Thomas lays on the floor with a notebook reading off words, Damiano repeating them as he draws on eyeliner. And Ethan, who sits at his drum set, twirling the drumsticks in his hand as he observes the scene before him.

She captures picture after picture of their dynamic, taking the most of Ethan, who seems to have a magnetic pull to him. She only pulls herself from the moment when she’s spotted. “Sai, qualcuno chiamerebbe questo strano comportamento.”

The words are warm against her ear, and she jumps at the unexpected presence. She turns around, laughing to hide her embarrassment, trying to translate the words in her head. She freezes when she sees it’s Ethan, trying to figure out when he slipped away from the rest of the group.

“Ah, niente italiano. Er, it’s unusual, what you are doing.”

Another nervous laugh leaves her lips, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy. There’s something about the way the group is when no one is watching, it’s hard to ignore, it needed to be captured.”

He smiles at that. It’s soft and warm and she feels as if the world has stopped spinning. A song plays between their hearts as a silence falls over them. There’s a beauty about him that makes it hard to focus on anything but him.

A series of crashes followed by loud curses in Italian breaks the spell that they were under and Ethan pulls himself away from her to go and manage his friends. She uses this moment as an excuse to slip away and tour the rest of the house, ending in the kitchen where dinner is being prepared. She snaps a few photos of the chefs cooking, already envisioning the blog post they’ll go along with.

When everyone has made their way to the dining room a toast is made; to new adventures, to new friends, and to family. Sweet wine and light rain makes the time pass faster and the evening flows into night easily. The group parts only moments after midnight, long days ahead calling them to catch up on sleep now.

The month flows by with days and nights blurring together. It seems the studio is really the only place they call home, spending every waking moment in the room that houses their instruments. She stays with them through the long hours, snapping photos of the weird things they get themselves up to. Her hard drive slowly fills with collections of each band member, ones for the public eye and ones she sends to them to make them laugh.

The end of the month brings a party, something small to celebrate sold out tour dates. A night out to a local bar and far too many drinks. She dances with Victoria, who has become her best friend in the few weeks she’s been with them. Damiano and his girlfriend are not far away, but much more caught up in their own world. Thomas has disappeared somewhere, no doubt warming someone's bed for the night. But through all the commotion, she can’t stop watching Ethan.

He’s sitting at a table nursing the only drink he’s had that night, planning to take on the role of babysitter at the end of the night once everyones had too much to drink. He drums his fingers on the table, following the beat of each song that plays. He seems lost in his own world, content with being by himself. She moves away from Victoria, who easily finds another partner, and makes her way to the table.

“Sembri solo,” the words fall from her lips quietly as she takes a seat beside him.

He smiles at her, “Seems your little lessons are paying off.”

She blushes at that, not realizing he’d picked up on her daily lessons with their English tutor. “Only enough to not seem like a tourist.”

A small chuckle escapes his lips, and she wishes she could bottle the sound.

“But don’t change the subject. Tonight was about having fun, celebrating a big accomplishment. Yet you’re sitting here alone.”

He sighs at her insistence, “Sometimes we don’t need to celebrate everything so publicly.”

Something pulls at her heart. She can’t imagine having such a public life, but she understands how it must feel to never have anything to yourself. Before she knows what she’s doing, she places a hand on his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze, a light tingle shooting between the two of them.

She pulls her hand away quickly, a small blush forming on both their cheeks. He offers her a small smile to make the moment less awkward, and she returns it.

The night ends not too much later, the rest of the crew having decided that warm beds would be much more comfortable than the crowded bar. She helps Ethan herd their friends home, laughing along with him at their drunken antics. Victoria jokingly calls them mom and dad as they help her to bed, and the blush that was plastered on her face earlier that night makes a second appearance.

It’s almost morning by the time she makes it to her own room. Ethan isn’t far behind her, realizing for the first time tonight that they share the same hallway. “Buona notte,” comes his voice from down the hall.

She turns to face him, catching herself stuck in his stare. She can’t quite place the look in his eyes, but it gives her butterflies all the same.

“Buona notte.”

February

February brings more time in the studio and less time outside the walls of the Villa. While winter in Rome is not like the ones you’d experience in colder places, it still brings a chill to her bones. She steals one of Victoria's sweaters after a night spent lounging under the stars, a small break from a busy schedule.

A fire had been lit and a bottle of sweet wine was making its way around the group. She’d set her camera aside for the evening, planning on enjoying a night without the calls of work. She doesn’t know when it happens, but suddenly she’s swaying to a drunken beat in the arms of Damiano who can’t stop giggling at her two left feet. The man had not believed her when she said she couldn’t dance, but was now biting his tongue as they moved around the courtyard.

As the night seemed to come to a lull, a game of truth or dare was proposed and all were in agreement. She finds herself sitting beside Thomas on the floor as Victoria begins the game, a stupid dare aimed towards Damiano that earns him a new haircut. The night drags on in a flurry of laughter and silly dares. By midnight half the group is wearing someone else’s clothes, and the others have barely any on.

She’s moved to be sitting by Ethan, who has an arm casually draped across her shoulder. It shouldn’t feel so electric, his skin touching hers, but it does and it’s the only thing she can focus on. Her heart feels like it’s almost beating out of her chest and the blush on her face isn’t caused by the alcohol in her system.

Damiano is the first to notice her situation, and starts poking fun at her whenever it was his turn to ask her something. It started off innocent enough, small questions aimed towards her love life, but it soon caught the attention of Thomas who was the first one to issue a dare towards the girl. This was how she’d ended up sitting beside Ethan, cuddled into his side. Ethan was oblivious to the things going on around them, until Victoria dared her to kiss him.

It seems as though time stops, the laughter fades and the silence becomes deafening. She turns towards Ethan, a mixture of panic and excitement painted on her face. He smiles at her, “We don’t have to, amore.”

“A dares a dare.” She shrugs at him.

A round of cheers raises up around them as the two lean in. It’s meant to be only a small peck, something good enough to count in the eyes of those around them. But as she goes to pull away his hand reaches up to tangle in her hair and he pulls her closer. Their lips meet again without any hesitation and it’s like the world lights up around them. Blame it on the alcohol, but if she were to die right now she’d be happy.

They pull away a second later, a small laugh leaving both of them, chests rising at an unsteady rhythm.

“Awe, they’re blushing! How cute!” Comes the voice of Damiano, further pulling a blush from the girl.

She grabs one of the pillows beside her and aims it at his head, laughing when she misses terribly.

The night fades into morning and they all climb to the roof to watch the sunrise. It’s a moment she wants tattooed in her memories forever. She’s got her arms wrapped around Victoria and the three boys huddle around them, alcohol still flows through their veins and they’re all singing different versions of the same song.

March

The beginning of spring in Rome is magical. Flowers start to bloom, mornings are coated in a light dusting of rain, and clothing starts to become less of a necessity. She takes photos of the band trapezing the streets. The Villa studio has become too familiar, moving instead to a studio in the city.

By now, a routine has been put in place. Mornings sipping coffee and eating fresh pastries while she laughs at the varying states of wake the band is in. Afternoons in the studio, recording their new album while she collects photos and videos for their ‘making of’. Evenings spent in restaurants and bars, eating some of the best food she’s ever had, and she swears she’ll never eat anything better.

She’s never fallen in love with a city like this before. Maybe it’s the city, or maybe it’s the people she’s with, but she swears she never wants to leave. It suffocates her in the best way possible, the feeling of being home. She hopes that when the tours over and her contracts up, that she’ll move here, maybe even keep these people she’s grown so close to in the past few months.

She’s thrown out of the daydream by Thomas yelling at her in a mix of italian and english for not paying attention. It’s the middle of the afternoon, they’ve taken a lunch break at a restaurant down the block, and Thomas is expressively telling a story. His hands are in the air and he’s almost knocked his wine glass over too many times to count.

Damiano sits across from her, fiddling with her camera, snapping his own photos that he presents to her proudly. She laughs at every one, but never discourages his actions. Victoria is on her left, Ethan on her right, both vying for her approval as they argue over something. She’s overwhelmed by the different directions her brain is being tugged, but the hand that snakes its way into hers calms her.

She looks down to see Ethan rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand, a soft smile grazing his lips as they make eye contact. She returns it, whispering a small thank you to the boy.

That night, she lays in bed, in the room she’s begun to finally call hers, thinking of the boy with stars in his eyes. She doesn’t know if it’s feeling like she finally belongs somewhere, or the wine that still coats her veins, but there’s something about him that she wishes she could become a part of. She wants to wrap herself in it and never leave. She’s falling for him, hard. Vaffanculo.

April

It is Victoria's birthday and everyone has decided that she must be princess for the day. Ethan and Damiano have been up since dawn making an extravagant breakfast, something that should be put in a five star restaurant. Her and Thomas had disappeared shortly after waking, returning with a stack of presents that was almost as tall as him, and the best bouquet of flowers she could find.

After decorating the patio with anything and everything they could find, it was a mad dash to Victoria's room to wake her up. She protested, claiming that sleep was more important than being awake, but at the mention of presents she was the first one out of the room.

It was a morning of happiness, and a much needed break from their hectic schedule. She recorded the entire day, from the dramatic wake up call to the celebratory sparklers that were set off that night, it was all captured.

After breakfast the princess requested a trip to the beach, and no one would dare refuse her. They found something private, a little hidden oasis an hour's drive from the villa. They spend hours there, switching between swimming and laying in the sun. She finds herself alone on the sand with Ethan at one point, watching the others like proud parents.

She tries not to think about how close his body feels to her, how she can feel the heat his body is radiating seeping into her, the smell of his body wash. He’s invading all of her senses and she’s trying so hard to focus on anything but him. “Let’s go on a walk?”

His voice is warm as the question escapes his lips. She turns to look at him and she’s thankful to be able to blame the sun for the blush on her cheeks. She nods and gets up to follow him, brushing off the sand that’s clinging to her bathing suit and wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

They disappear down the beach, walking side by side, a comfortable silence enveloping them. It’s not till they’re halfway down the beach that either of them speaks. “Are you enjoying your time?”

She doesn’t miss the hint of worry that laces his voice, and she’s quick to reassure him that she is. “Yes, very much. This is probably the best job I’ve had in years.”

He softly chuckles at her words, “Good. Good. We’re trying to make you feel like one of us, don’t want you running away.”

She’s grateful for the confession, glad that they don’t see her as just another person that works for them. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

He bumps her shoulder with his, a small smile forming on his face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They head back to the group soon after, realizing they’ve let the day slip away and need to leave soon if they want to make their dinner reservations.

A small vineyard hidden in the valley, they’ve booked the place so it’s just them, and ordered every bottle of wine on the menu to taste. They laugh away the night, enjoying plates of delicious food and letting their minds wander. A gorgeous cake is brought out at the end, half of which ends up destroyed thanks to an impromptu food fight. More presents are opened and Victoria starts tearing up, blubbering about how much she loves the idiots she’s surrounded with.

They walk through the dark streets of Rome, singing happy birthday loudly in every language they know. It’s unusually cold, but she’s somehow been wrapped in Ethan’s jacket, his arm slung over her shoulder. She’s holding Vic’s hand, Damiano and Thomas taking turns with her camera.

The air surrounding them is electrified, she looks up into the sky and thanks the stars for the life she’s living.

May

The summer tour is fast approaching, and nerves are starting to set in. The already high energy group somehow is bouncing off the walls even more, making for an interesting collection of photos. Nerves are starting to get the better of them, and she often finds one of them wandering around the Villa at odd hours of the night. She’s good at being able to channel her nerves into something else, focusing all of the energy on a new project.

One night though, it gets the better of her. She tosses and turns in her bed for hours before she decides that sleep isn’t coming. Instead of lying in bed willing her brain to shut off, she throws on a pair of shoes and heads for the front door, thinking a walk in the warm spring air will do her some good. What she doesn’t expect to find is Ethan sitting out on the terrace, cigarette in one hand and a book in the other, lost in his own world.

She doesn’t mean to catch his attention, hoping to allow him this little bit of uninterrupted peace, but he spots her anyway. “Buona serata,” He rasps, voice laced with the quietness of the night.

“Buona serata, Ethan.” She returns the greeting.

He motions for her to sit down in the chair beside him, closing the book and placing it on the table. “What’s troubling your mind tonight?”

She’s not used to the way someone can read her so well, but there’s something about Ethan that brings her comfort in the fact that he can. “Nerves, I guess. I’ve never done a gig this big, never spent so much time with one group. I’m used to being moved around a lot, still getting used to being a permanent fixture I guess.”

The words are heavy on her tongue, never having voiced her worries out loud before. He takes a long drag of the cigarette hanging from his lips, “La vita ci dà solo ciò che sa che possiamo gestire.”

“Some would think you were a poet in a past life.”

A small laugh escapes his lips, and he shakes his head. A comfortable silence falls over them and she wishes she could bottle this feeling to keep with her forever. He turns to look at her, and it’s hard to put into words the feeling that washes over him. He’s not sure where it comes from, the urge to kiss her, but it sends him spiralling.

He reaches his hand up to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, “Le stelle brillano più luminose nei tuoi occhi, amore.”

The words and his actions cause her heart to raise and her breath to hitch. They’re close now, the closest they’ve been since that night in February, and all she can think about is that kiss that they shared.

Neither knows who leaned in first, but suddenly their lips are touching and it is everything and nothing like they remembered. While the other kiss had been hesitant and brief, this one was full of purpose. Their noses brush and their breaths tangle together, he bits her lip for a moment and a small moan escapes her. He swears it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

He grabs at her hips, lifting her from the chair and placing her so she’s straddling his lap. She tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs softly, earning a groan from the man. The sound sends shockwaves through her and she rocks her hips against his almost involuntarily. His lips move from hers to the side of her neck, pulling small whimpers from her as he nips and sucks at the skin. It’s everything she’s ever imagined and more. The feeling of his body pressed to hers, the pleasure he can so easily give to her.

She moves her hands down to fumble with the hem of his shirt and that’s when he pulls away. “While I would normally love to do that here, how about we continue this somewhere more private?”

She nods eagerly and removes herself from his lap. He all but drags her inside the villa and towards his room. She trips over her own feet and they both laugh at her clumsiness, falling into each other as he tries to catch her but trips over his own feet in turn. He leans in to kiss her again as their bodies collide, this one sweeter and softer than the previous one.

The moment passes quickly and soon she’s being dragged through the halls again, only to be met with a half asleep Damiano standing in the doorway of his room. They stop in their tracks, jumping apart, trying to act like nothing was happening. “It’s rude to have a party and not invite everyone, you know.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, glad that he didn’t know what had been happening moments prior. Ethan is quick to explain that they were just having a cup of tea on the terrace and were now heading to bed, and thankfully the lie is believed. Damiano wishes them a goodnight, heading back into his room, and the two are left in silence in the hallway.

“Maybe we should go to bed,” he whispers to her.

Her heart sinks, but she nods her head in agreement and turns to walk back down the hall to her room. She’s not really sure how the night was going to end, but this was definitely not how she wanted it to; walking in silence next to someone her heart aches for, pretending that nothing had happened between them.

He walks her up to her door, still ever the gentleman, and places a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Buona notte, amore.”

The words should not sound as sad as they do, and she tries her hardest to keep the tears welling up in her eyes at bay as she watches him turn and walk away.

June

How do you go back to being just friends after making out with someone? Well, you don’t. At least, not fully. They dance around each other without knowing it, avoiding any contact that could lead to something more or allude to something else, but there are still moments where the world seems to slip away and it’s just the two of them.

The tour kicks off at a festival in Amsterdam. Blue skies and sunny days greet them as they get off the plane. They have a day to explore before their first show, and no one can decide how to spend it. In the end, Victoria drags Thomas off to do some shopping, Damiano plans a trip to a few museums with his girlfriend, and she is left with Ethan.

She’s not truly stuck with him, but she doesn’t feel like wandering a forgein city all by herself. Since the night in the Villa, they haven’t spent longer than a few minutes alone together, both refusing to acknowledge what had happened.

A trip to the beach seems like the best place to be, and within the hour she’s lounging in the sun listening to Ethan read a book. It’s peaceful, the sound of the waves and his voice lulling her into a half sleep. She’s got a drink in her hands, something sweet and fruity, and she’s sharing a cigarette with Ethan. It’s a scene she thinks one would find in a movie.

She rolls herself over so she’s laying on her back, staring up at Ethan who sits beside her. She places her hand on his leg and traces random shapes into his skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her fingertips, and he tries to stay focused on the book in his hands but finds it hard to do so. “You are very distracting, amore.”

She looks up at him innocently and she can’t help but admire him. His hair is tucked away in a bun, but a few pieces have fallen out and are flying in the gentle breeze. He’s only wearing a pair of swim trunks, broad chest on full display. He catches her roaming eyes as they make their way back to his face, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “Or maybe I’m the one distracting you, no?”

She smiles shyly and looks away from him, because yes, he is distracting her, and she’s finding it very hard to not kiss him right now. He chuckles at her, reaching his hand towards her face and turning it back towards him. He leans down towards her, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

All she can do is nod, and a second later his lips are on hers. It’s sweet and slow, she can taste the tobacco on his lips and it’s intoxicating. She moves so she’s sitting up, leaning into him more, the world around them fading out until all that is left is them.

A few days later they find themselves in a hotel room in Munich. There’s music playing and everyone’s laughing. Her camera hasn’t left her hands all night, every moment needing to be captured as they ride the after show high.

She’s in the middle of recording Thomas’ one man act when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist. She knows exactly who it is by the scent that invades her nostrils and sends her brain into overdrive. She lets out a sudden, loud laugh, as his fingers trace themselves up and down her sides, collapsing into his chest as she struggles to breath.

He picks her up and spins her around, letting out an equally loud laugh at her protests. He’s happy, and it’s something that looks better on him than any designer outfit he could ever buy.

He falls onto one of the beds, pulling her down with him. She lands beside him tangled in his arms, he’s looking at her with a goofy grin on his face. The world seems to silence around them as their eyes lock. Her smile softens and she reaches her hand over to brush an eyelash off his cheek, he catches her hand before she can pull it away and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently.

He looks ethereal in this moment, hair strewn all over the place, a wild look in his eyes. She reaches for her camera and brings it up to capture him, never wanting to forget this moment.

The streets of Prague are empty, save for the two of them walking hand in hand down them. It’s early, almost too early to be considered an acceptable time to be awake, but they continue on nonetheless. A wild craving for something sweet had brought upon their adventure, and with the look she was giving him, he couldn’t say no to accompanying her.

They had been sitting on the balcony of her hotel room, watching the sun starting to peak out over the horizon and sharing a cigarette when she had turned to him with a mischievous look in her eyes. “I want something sweet.”

The comment had earned her an offer to order room service, but she shakes her head at the idea, standing up and walking back into the room. “No. Something real, maybe a coffee too.”

He follows her in, watching her pull on a shirt to cover the bralette she had been sitting in. “È presto, amore. Let’s go to bed. We can order something when the sun is awake also.”

She smiles at his words, but makes no move to stop dressing. She grabs her wallet and room key before heading to the door, stopping to turn and look at him, a question in her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll come with you.” He says after a moment, throwing on his jacket and walking over to her.

It’s 7:30 in the morning, the sun is starting to make it’s daily appearance, and they are happy. The small bakery they stumble into is just opening for the day and they’re greeted by the owner, an older lady with the sweetest smile. She speaks in broken English, an obvious language barrier between the group of them, but no one seems to mind.

She orders herself a poppy strudel and a coffee, Ethan ordering a croissant and an espresso, before sitting down at one of the small tables. He sits beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. He presses a soft kiss into the crown of her head and she sighs in content.

Moments like this are what she lives for. She might only be here because she works for them, but somewhere along the way she’s become part of their little family. She looks over to Ethan who’s lost in conversation with the owner, and she whispers to herself, “Penso di essermi innamorato di te.”

She doesn’t know that he hears her, his smile spreading wider across his face.

July

The turnover from June to July happens mid concert in Stockholm. She swears she can feel it, the sudden shift, a slight change in the air. She’s running around in front of the stage capturing pictures of the band in what she’s come to call their ‘natural habitat’. There’s an indescribable buzz in the air as they perform, the crowd becoming louder and louder with each song.

She keeps catching Ethans eye and there’s something primal in the way he looks at her. During a song switch, while Damiano rambles to the crowd, he motions her on stage. He tells her to get closer to everyone, promising that they won’t bite, and she giggles at him. She does what he says nonetheless, capturing some up close photos of the band and a few great shots of the crowd.

All too soon the show is ending and everyone’s piling into the car, a small party taking place in the backseat. Damiano has music blasting from his phone, Victoria and Thomas are dancing along to the beat, and Ethan is belting out the lyrics. She watches the group of them, laughing so hard her sides hurt, and she’s never felt more at home.

When they get to the hotel he’s quick to pull her towards his room, thankfully void of a roommate for the night. The second they get into the room, his lips are on hers. He pulls her close to his body and her hands tangle themselves in his hair. It’s nothing like any of their previous kisses, it’s heated and fast, every thought trying to be conveyed by the fever of it. She pulls back slightly to catch her breath and he leans in to whisper in her ear, “Join me in the shower?”

It’s not so much a question as a statement, but she nods her head eagerly, quick to follow him into the bathroom. He strips himself of the few clothes he’s wearing (most having been thrown off during the show), before turning to her. He reaches his arms out towards her, pulling her close to him and tugging on her shirt. She barely registers him pulling off her clothes, too focused on his body in front of her.

She’s never seen him so bare, and she’s having a hard time focussing on anything else. It’s not until her body hits the warm water that she snaps back to reality. He looks wild, eyes blown with lust, a wicked smile on his face. She firmly plants her lips on his, moaning into the kiss as he grabs at her. His hands are skilled and know every way to pull those delicious sounds from her lips.

It’s quick and dirty, and it is everything she has ever imagined it would be.

An hour later, she’s tangled up in the sheets of his bed, his entire being engulfing her as they watch the stars outside the window. She wonders if they are watching them too.

Paris is the city of lights, a statement she’s never been more sure of. The streets are lit with every light, shining brighter than the stars. She’s in a permanent state of bliss, after the night she shared with Ethan. Their relationship is hidden from the public, living in stolen moments and nights in hotel rooms, but she’s never been happier to be someone's dirty secret.

The band is electric on stage, something about the city they’re in taking their performance to a whole new level. The show goes on longer than it should have, but none of them even care when their manager comes over to reprimand them. They hang around to greet fans and take photos with anyone and everyone, and it’s not until security has to kick them out that they finally leave.

They find themselves in a bar, not sure what part of the city they’re in, but no one cares when the night feels like this. They drink expensive drinks that they can’t pronounce the name of, dance to songs they don’t know the words to, and feel more alive than they’ve ever felt. It’s like the world turned itself up to 11 just for them.

She dances with Ethan, not caring who sees because the night is theirs and no one cares. She kisses him in the middle of the dance floor and he pulls her into a vacant bathroom. It’s hot and heavy and the smell of alcohol envelopes them, but they couldn’t care less. Is this love? They don’t care. They’re young and dumb, and well, you only live once.

Back at the hotel they spend the night wrapped in bedsheets on the balcony, a bottle of champagne and a pack of cigarettes shared between the two of them. He points to the stars, a stupid grin on his face, “Le stelle brillano solo per noi.”

She snorts, throwing an abandoned pillow at him. He grabs her arm and pulls her into him, tickling her sides until she’s begging him to stop, tears staining her cheeks but a laugh like no other leaving her lips.

As the night bleeds into morning, and both are hazy with sleep, he whispers to her, “Sei il mio universo.”

They walk down the streets of London, his arm slung over her shoulders as she rambles away, both blissfully unaware of the few fans snapping photos down the street. They don’t notice the group of girls following them, cameras and phones in hand, capturing picture after picture of the couple.

By the time they reach the shop, the photos are already out into the world.

As they order, reposts and comments start flowing, and their phones start lighting up with notifications.

Before they can pay, she’s crying.

Rule number one of being in the public eye; never look at the comments, distance yourself from social media as much as possible, it will never end well.

The final stop in Rome was supposed to be a welcome home. A big celebration was to occur after their last concert, but now, it’s nothing more than finding the quickest way back home. She sits in one of the dressing rooms the entire show, waiting for it to end, scrolling through her social media.

She knows she shouldn’t be, that’ll all it’s doing is hurting her, making her feel worse. But she can’t stop. The comments aimed towards her and the drummer are terrible, and she wishes she could just delete herself from existence. They aren’t even dating, at least not officially, but she’s been deemed the girlfriend from hell. She’s unknowingly stolen something that never belonged to anyone to begin with.

Damianos girlfriend is in the room with her, telling her of her own horror stories dealing with fans, and she knows she’s just trying to help, but she really wishes she would just shut up. She loves the girl to death, she’s been a blessing this entire time, but she feels her mind is too far gone to be saved from the madness.

It’s only a few minutes later that the band wanders in, the usual after show high replaced with a sudden heaviness. Ethan comes to stand by her after putting his things away and pulls her into a tight hug. “Amore mio.”

He’s sweaty and could definitely use a shower, but the hug is comforting. She rubs his back soothingly, knowing this is just as hard on him as it is on her. Their management team has told everyone to remain quiet about it, disappearing from the internet until further notice while they figure out how to manage the situation. It’s maddening, the inability to speak out and protect her. He wishes he could snap his fingers and everything would be fixed, but he knows nothing is ever that easy.

They make their way back to the villa in silence, the car filled with a strangeness. She’s sandwiched between Victoria and Ethan, leaning on the bassist's shoulder, watching her play a game on her phone. It’s not how anyone wanted to end the tour, but the world is a strange and cruel place. Everything good always comes burning down.

August

There’s a party at the villa one night. Things have calmed down enough that she doesn’t spiral every time she looks at her phone, but there’s something in the way Ethan acts around her that makes her uneasy. She’s standing out on the patio, trying to avoid the questioning eyes from everyone in the house. She hasn’t spoken to Ethan all day, and the alcohol coursing through her veins makes her even angrier than she knows she should be.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him walk out the door beside her, a small scoff leaving her lips as he tries to speak to her.

“Couldn’t be bothered to talk to me all day, what’s changed that you’ve decided to grace me with your presence?”

He looks at her, stunned. “I don’t get what you mean.”

She scoffs again, placing her glass on the table across from her. “Since London you’ve done nothing but ignore me. I get that this wasn’t easy for you, but it wasn’t exactly a cake walk for me. I needed you, Ethan, and you left me.” Her voice is raw and scratchy, the feeling of wanting to cry tickling the back of her throat.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how Dami does it, how he can deal with the comments and messages. My brain won’t shut off, I can’t stop thinking about how if I had been more careful, I could’ve protected you and none of this would’ve happened. I feel stupid for thinking I could have. I hate seeing you like this, I wish I could take you away from all of this.” His voice slowly lowers, till it’s nothing more than a whisper, words meant only for her.

“I was never what you wanted, was I? This was just all some stupid game to you. I was just someone you could use to get off.” Her voice is laced with pain, a small crack coming out as she speaks.

He shakes his head, laughing slightly, and turns to look away from her. He walks a few steps before turning to face her again, “No. No, you were exactly what I wanted. You were everything to me. We were the same type of crazy.”

“I don’t understand Ethan, then what was the problem? This feels like a confession and a break up all in one.” She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, watching as he pulls a cigarette out from his pocket and lights it.

The familiar sight creates something warm in her chest, memories of summer nights like this flash through her mind. Spending the evening sitting on the balcony of different hotel rooms, sharing a cigarette between the two of them while they let the events of the day soak in. She’d give anything to go back to one of those moments. He blows a breath of smoke out and starts to speak again, “I don’t know, amore. I don’t. I want to tell you I love you, to hold you and call you mine. But I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t turn this into something it’s not. I want to, believe me, I do.” He steps towards her and reaches out his arms, “But we both know we can’t.”

She doesn’t know where the tears come from, but they’re there, pooling in her eyes. It’s only been a few months since they’ve met, there were no promises to be anything more than a summer adventure, but this doesn’t feel right. Her heart should not be breaking at the thought of losing someone she barely even knows.

He stops when he notices her state, reaching out to wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Merda. Merda! This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

She looks up at him through clouded eyes, “Then how was this supposed to go, Ethan? Breaking my heart wasn’t supposed to hurt me this bad? I was supposed to smile and tell you that I'm not madly in love with you and these past few months meant nothing to me?”

His heart breaks slowly at her words. He never meant for the night to go this way, and he wishes he could just pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her, that everything could be okay. But he can’t, so he pulls away from her, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

They’re the only words he can manage to get out without breaking down. He takes a second to watch her, memorize all the features of her face, before turning around and walking away. It’s a sight that rips her heart out, watching his form disappear back into the house. She knows this is it, the goodbye she’d been preparing for these past few weeks, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

Before she can help herself, she’s calling after him. “Being in love isn’t a weakness, you know!” But the words fall upon deaf ears.

Vic finds her standing in the same spot an hour later. She’s got a smoke lit in her hand, the third one from the pack. She hasn’t touched her lips to any of them, but the smell and the feeling of holding it brings her comfort. She was never really one to smoke, but she found it entrancing to watch Ethan do it, and right now, it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. It’s silly, how something so small can mean so much.

Her heart aches in the most unbearable way, but she can’t bring herself to do anything about it. Vic doesn’t speak, just stands beside her. She doesn’t need to ask to know that she is well aware of the events that have just unfolded, she’s just grateful for the company.

September

It’s stupidly hot in London for the time of year, but mother nature loves her unexpected heat waves. She’s home now, having left Rome shortly after the fight with Ethan, assuring their manager that she would be able to edit and upload all of the photos and videos from the comfort of her own flat.

Vic and Thomas had driven her to the airport, had walked her all the way to security and hugged her tightly before letting her go. She’d promised to keep in touch and Victoria had made her pinky swear that if she was ever in Rome again, she’d come visit. The flight was short, and she was glad the time difference was only an hour.

Her sister had picked her up and dropped her off at her flat, and she’d immediately collapsed into bed. That was three days ago, she’d barely moved since. Someone had caught her at the airport and the photos were everywhere, articles upon articles had been released, she’d had non stop messages from everyone, but all she could bring herself to do was turn her phone off.

Her photos make it to the front of magazines, her articles getting featured all over the globe, she’s made a name for herself. She gets emails from prospective clients wanting to book her in at shows, her boss sending her information for more high end gigs, but all she can think about is her drummer boy.

Her phone still sits turned off on her desk, she refuses to turn it on for anything, resorting to using only her email, but she knows everything that’s going on with the band. She’d been asked to join them again in a few months, to become a permanent part of their team. She hasn’t been able to reply.

She gets panicky thinking about seeing him again, about the things people will say if she’s caught in the same country as him. She’s stopped receiving death threats, but there’s still comments that creep in, fans thanking whatever gods made them seperate.

Victoria tries to reach out every few days, worried about the state of person she’s become, but she can’t even manage to type out an I’m okay. The world seems to be too fast and too slow, too bright and too dark, too much and not enough. Her heart aches and it’s a pain so deep she thinks she’ll never be okay again. Love is a cruel, cruel creature.

October

She finally brings herself to go back to work at the beginning of the month. She books herself in for a small band, someone no one really knows but she hopes they will one day. She’s in Amsterdam now, trying hard not to think of the memories the place brings. The band is good, the music heavy and the beat strong. They find a way to tell a story that leaves everyone with a soul searching question by the end of the night. Do you know who you are?

She’s only with them for a few nights, a short gig, but something she needed to get the ball rolling, to remember why she was doing this in the first place. After submitting the photos and writing an article that sends another wave of offers her way, she takes a few days to explore the city. It was wonderful before, when the air was warm and it felt like there was magic enveloping the city. But now, with the change of seasons, it’s even more beautiful than she remembers.

She walks the empty streets one night, huddled in the safety of her hoodie, camera in hand, and captures moments. A couple standing under a street light, a cafe closing for the night, kids running. It’s not until she hears a laugh she’s all too familiar with that her heart stops and her blood turns cold. She turns, ever so carefully, hidden behind the side of a building, and sees him.

He’s beautiful, even more than she remembers, and he looks happy. He’s walking with two girls, the resemblance making her sure it’s his sisters, but in this light she can’t be sure. She’s never met them, but he talked about them often, and she felt a pang in her chest for the homesickness he must have felt.

She tries to run, tries her hardest to get away, but she’s in an alley that leads nowhere and he’ll for sure be able to see her no matter what. The voices of the three get closer and she starts to panic, but there’s nowhere to go and she knows she’ll have to pull on her big girl pants and face him. But her heart won’t stop beating so loudly and she’s afraid she’ll break if he looks at her.

She pretends to be busy with her camera, focusing all of her attention on settings she knows are perfect, but a voice carries it’s way to her ears. “Hey stranger.”

It’s soft and it makes her knees weak and she hates herself for it. She looks up at him and his expecting eyes and her heart breaks all over again. She can’t help it, but suddenly there are tears running down her face and she can’t breathe. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

He places a hand on her shoulder but she pushes it away, “No it’s not.” She says between breaths.

“I shouldn’t be here, I should not be here. I have to go.”

She turns to leave, but one of his sisters stops her, “Let us walk you home, please. My brother may be a dumbass, but we have good genes. Let us make sure you get back safe.”

She doesn’t know why the words calm her, but she nods her head and lets the girls lead her in the direction of her hotel. The twins, Eleanora and Lucrezia, talk to her in fits of italian and english, trying to keep her brain occupied. But her whole body is on high alert, too aware of the man trailing behind them and how much of a fool she must look like. She feels like a mess, like someone drowning in a foot of water, but she can’t help it.

They walk her into the lobby of her hotel, the girls wish her a goodnight before shoving Ethan towards her. She doesn’t want to talk to him, and he must see it in her eyes because he tries to leave. But his sisters won’t let him, they stand tall and he looks like a child being scolded by his parents.

“Can we sit?” He asks, pointing to a couch.

She doesn’t want to, she wants to run up to her room and cry, but she nods. They sit and it is silent. Her stomach is in her throat, her eyes hurt from trying not to cry, but she sits and she waits. She studies his face, the crease in between his eyebrows that only forms when he’s confused or thinking, she wants to reach over and smooth it out. He turns towards her and catches her staring, a small smile forming on his lips.

He takes her in, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time in months, and something in his heart breaks. How did he ever let her go? Why was he so stupid to ruin something so beautiful?

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. “I’m so sorry, amore. I know I can’t say it enough, I know it’s not as easy as that, but I’m sorry and I love you. So much it hurts.”

The words hit her like a truck, they knock the air out of her lungs and the tears she was trying so hard to keep at bay start falling down her cheeks. She stands up so fast she gets light headed, “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

She turns and starts walking towards the elevators. He calls after her, but she’s determined to leave, to get away. He runs after her, catching her right before the doors of the elevator close, and he wishes she didn’t look so broken. The doors slip close and she is gone and he feels like he could break something.

Her room is cold and she wishes she was home in her flat. She throws herself into the shower, the water burning her skin, and she sobs. She sobs so hard her body shakes, she screams and hopes no one can hear her.

He’s still standing by the elevator, crying now, too. His body aches in a way he’s never felt before and he hates that he isn’t holding her right now. He knows he messed up, he beats himself up for it everyday, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be okay, but he has to do something.

November

The ground is covered in snow. It is peaceful and quiet. He’s not used to this, the cold and the snow, but he understands the appeal. He’s standing outside her flat, or at least what he hopes is her flat, Victoria wasn’t exactly sure which one was hers. He’s bought her favourite flowers and he’s prepared to pour his soul out to her.

He paces outside her door for what feels like hours, trying to get himself to knock, but before he can, she opens the door. “Ethan?”

Her voice is soft, his heart sings at the sound of it. He turns to face her and the sight before him takes his breath away. She’s wearing a dress that shows off everything he loved about her, a coat thrown over her arm, she looks like an angel on earth. “Do you have a moment?”

She’s running late for dinner with her sister, but she’s afraid if she says no to him, she’ll never see him again. She hasn’t forgotten that night in Amsterdam, wishes she would have been brave enough to stay and talk, but she can’t change the past. “Yes, yes. Come in.”

She lets him into her flat, taking the flowers he hands her, and brings him over to her couch. “So.”

The script he’d had prepared in his head is suddenly gone from his memories. “I’ve thought this through a thousand times, planned this out a million different ways, but I can’t figure out the right words to say. I’m sorry, amore mio. I can’t say that enough. I never should have left you, shouldn’t have let things happen the way they did. Loving you was easy, and I think that scared me.”

She takes a deep breath, not sure what to say. She feels tears bubbling in the back of her throat and she hates that this is her response to everything revolving around him. He notices the shift in her, can tell she’s about to cry, “Amore mio, please don’t cry. I’ll start and then neither of us will be able to do anything else.”

She laughs quietly at his words, “I don’t think there are any tears left inside of me. I cried them all for you.”

His heart breaks at her confession. He moves closer to her and wraps himself around her. She hates how easy it is for her to melt into his touch, but she enjoys the comfort of it. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me. I’m yours amore.”

“Please, don’t leave me again.” The words are barely more than a whisper, but he hears them.

He pulls her tight to his chest and holds her. She doesn’t care about anything else but this moment and him.

She wakes up the next morning in her bed. The sun is streaming in through the windows and she can smell Ethans body wash laced in the fibres of her bed sheets. She rolls over, expecting to see him beside her, but is met with an empty bed. Her heart sinks, afraid that everything he’d said was too good to be true, that he’d left her, again. But the sounds coming from her kitchen prove her wrong.

She gets up, quickly changing out of the dress she was wearing the night before, and follows the sound of clinking dishes. She’s greeted by the sight of a shirtless Ethan, back turned to her, hunched over her stove. There’s the smell of coffee brewing and something soft playing from the radio. If she doesn’t think too hard, she can almost imagine this being a daily occurrence.

He turns around when he hears the floorboards creak, a smile on his face, “Buongiorno amore mio.”

“Buongiorno.”

He hands her a cup of coffee and plates the pancakes he’s made. She smiles at the domesticality of it all. He sits down beside her on the couch and they eat in silence, leaning against one another. Afterwards, she washes the dishes and he dries them. Neither one of them says anything until the sun is high in the sky and they are laying in bed together. “I love you.”

It is the first time she’s said it in such a permanent way, she recites it like it is a fact written in history books. He looks down at her, she’s curled up on his chest, a hazy look on her face. He reaches down to tuck her hair behind her ear and leans his head towards her, “Ti voglio bene.” He seals the statement with a soft kiss.

It’s light and barley there, she chases after his lips as he pulls away, and he chuckles in a way that sends butterflies into her stomach. She places herself on his lap, weaving her fingers into his hair as his tether to her waist. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He stares at her, memorizing all of the features of her face. He loses himself in thoughts of days spent exactly like this, of a life he hopes isn’t just a dream. He flips them over carefully, laying her down on the bed. He hovers over her, arms on either side of her head, “I’m going to show you how much I love you.”

December

“Move in with me.”

It’s early in the morning and they’re sitting in bed sharing a pot of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, she’s leaned into his side, and he whispers those words.

She hasn’t yet told him about the offer from the band's manager, to become their permanent photographer, but it seems like the perfect moment to. “Yes.”

“Really?”

She laughs at his shock, “I was offered to come and work for the band full time, I haven’t replied yet. But I want to take the job.”

A goofy grin makes its way onto his face, “Do it! Right now. Tell them yes, come and stay with us. Be my girlfriend?”

He’s rambling and he doesn’t care. She smiles at him, her heart bursting with love for the man. “Okay, yes! Absolutely!”

Christmas is celebrated in their apartment in Rome. The band is there, her sister flies out and his family comes too. It is a day filled with love and laughter. They eat a grand lunch that they spent the previous day cooking, his mom brings a homemade panettone. They exchange gifts in the evening, and it is everything she’d dreamed of.

On New Year's Eve they make a trip to the villa. They sing songs and drink expensive wine. Fireworks light up the sky brighter than the stars. They sit out on the porch and tell stories of things that seem so far away. He’s sitting beside her, hands intertwined. He tells her about all of the things he wants to do in the new year and she is mesmerized by the way he talks.

There will be a moment in time when the world stops spinning and everything goes quiet, and she thinks that if that were to happen now, it would be the perfect way to go. Surrounded by the people she now calls family and the person she loves most in the world.

Fireworks go off in the distance, someone shouts out a drunken happy new year! and as time flows from one year to the next, she realizes that this is all that will ever matter.

[backandimbamon]

Bonnie playing with Damon's hair and he all sleepy 😊

this really took a while because… i was going to stop at the first half but i wanted to consider Bonnie’s perspective (: and then it got a lil spicy and i was like *sigh* why must you always take it there? but i mean- 👁- i always take it there because we were robbed!!! Damon is practically a self proclaimed sex god and i hate how they separated Bonnie from her sexuality, or really any form of intimacy for sooo long. and the scraps we got were NEVER enough. okay anyways yeah i’m finally done, like let’s get into it.

Damon notices that Bonnie touches him sparingly and really not because she wants to but because it happens accidentally every now and then, one of the perks about frequently invading her space.

Being stuck on the other side, there is less room for her and more for him, she’s in his world now which means it’s his duty to make her feel as uncomfortably comfortable as possible.

He notices everything; how her cheeks turn red when their knuckles brush against one another’s, how she takes in an exasperated little breath when their shoulders touch, how she rolls her eyes when he stands entirely too close. Damon hangs on to these moments because this may be his only form of female contact he’ll receive for a very, very, long time.

That is the only reason he hangs on.

Anytime she touches him intentionally, he feels a pride swell deep in his chest that he’s liked by Bonnie after a rocky road of ups and downs, fussing and fighting, he is finally deemed worthy enough for her to care about him even if it’s brief, even if it’s the smallest skin to skin contact imaginable.

And yes, he cares because if he has to spend the rest of eternity with one person, they might as well get along.

Movie night comes around so he rests his head in her lap, testing the waters, to see how she will respond to him. He senses her tense up a bit as predicted, but then she relaxes into it breath by breath like she’s doing a tricky yoga pose.

Bonnie’s body lotion makes her skin smell edible- cocoa and honey- she’ll never know but that’s why he nicknames her Bon Bon, she always smells good enough to eat. At this point, Damon can’t recall the VHS movie on the block of a television, his focus has been robbed by Bonnie and this new form of contact she allows him to try. Half of his smile sinks into the cotton of her leggings.

Her eyes never leave the screen when she laces her fingers through his hair, nails surfing through tufts of raven-black and the gesture is so shocking and embarrassingly arousing that a strangled groan gets trapped in his throat.

She panics, and he can tell by the change in her heart rate before saying. “Did I hurt you?” He has to clear his throat to speak.

“Hmmm mm, feels good,” he mumbles feigning casual so she can’t realize how he needs this so so bad that he’s fearful of it being taken away. In his mind he thinks about what if.

What if she wakes up and decides she doesn’t want to tap dance on the line between what is and isn’t acceptable for two best friends. What if she remembers that he’s actually a terrible person who has done horrendous things to her and everyone she’s ever loved.

She shouldn’t like him or try not to laugh at his jokes. Not at all. Bonnie should’ve killed him a long, long time ago because if anyone could do it, it’d be her. He can see her now, all badass and angry with a wooden stake in her hand, vengeance in her eyes, the very last thing he’d see before his lights went out forever.

Bonnie, the giver and the taker.

Bonnie, the only god he knew.

Damon finds himself thinking so intensely lately that he checks the mirror more often than not to make sure he has no brooding lines like his little brother. Stefan’s expansive forehead has the room for it, his perfectly shaped forehead does not.

She laces her fingers back through his hair again and his eyes flutter, that’s how good it feels. It’s sensational. And while he’s had his hair pulled in and out of the bedroom, the innocence of her touch makes him want to melt. He finds his lids growing heavier, like how they used to do a century-and-a-half ago when he was human.

Running through dandelion fields in the overbearing Virginia heat, the sun up above sending heavy gusts of sunshine beams, a moment he considers to be oppressive now, used to be magical then- miraculous -and despite sweating through his britches and overcoat he never cared enough to stop running through the fields. The sun was the greatest thing all those years ago, back when white was his favorite color.

And after drawing a long, hot bath, he’d sink deep into the water while the bubbles floated to the top. Damon would close his eyes, hold his breath, see if he could break his prior record. Then he’d get out and the sleep would welcome him like any drowsy being, with open arms. And there he’d fall.

Bonnie has that affect on him. She makes him think of home, his past, when times were simpler and he was human.

He feels that exhausted sometimes, a boy who’s never stopped running through dandelion fields, whether it snows or rains or burns him alive. Her fingernails rake through his scalp- orange leaves on browning grass. Ruining Stefan’s piles for the fun of it. His lids droop. Tired of being consumed by himself, by Bonnie, he admits defeat this time. When he finally drifts off, he remembers that the Virginia heat gave him this same warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

“You really don’t know how good this feels,” his final words are hoarse before he drifts off but the last thing he sees is Bonnie.

The giver and the taker, the only god he knows.

.

Bonnie refuses to relish in the magic of the moment, the fact that it’s so rare Damon ever completely lets his guard down around her. She can always feel his eyes on her, constantly watching because Damon has a presence that’s inescapable.

Being so close to him when he’s extremely vulnerable makes her realize that in all facets, he’s stunning. A stunning that’s almost suffocating but with the dynamic they possess, he only needs to know that he’s not that much of an eye sore.

Now, she stares with wide eyes while she can, memorizes the smooth expanse of skin, every strand of dark hair. Relishes in the feel of his arms around her waist, the weight of his head in her lap. It’s been a long time since she’s felt a body besides her own and as much as she likes to ignore the fact, she has needs, needs that have swelled from being in the presence of Damon for too long.

He’s sexy without any effort, she examines. His dark t-shirt has risen and his pants are low enough that she observes the waistline of (silk?) boxers, taut muscle, navel, happy trail, yeah. Bonnie drinks him in like a cool glass of milk before bedtime- never has this much pretty been in her lap before. Her hands find their way in his head again, tousles through and he nuzzles up against her in his sleep. It’s difficult to pull her eyes away from him, but when she does, the credits are rolling on the screen.

This is Damon she’s thinking about like this, her best friend and also her first best friend’s boyfriend. She repeats it again, not satisfied that the guilt isn’t drowning her like it sometimes does when she catches herself lingering on his attractiveness for too long but Mystic Falls, the real Mystic Falls seems so far away. Elena, Caroline, Matt, Alaric, her old life just seems unattainable, no bigger than a memory she occasionally mistakes for a bad dream.

There’s no denying that being away from it all, here with Damon as the only other person in the world, she feels…safe. Maybe even protected, it’s a stark contrast from the real Mystic Falls where her life is always on the line.

Bonnie starts to get up when she feels his hold on her tighten to prevent her from moving away. They play tug of war for a bit but she eventually stops fighting because Damon is a vampire after all, physical strength is going to get her nowhere. “Fine,” she grumbles, then plops down which causes the end of her top to ride up enough that she can feel the press of Damon’s nose on the curve of her waist. Despite trying to inch her shirt back down, she has no luck. Naturally Damon doesn’t mind.

He inhales her skin deeply, makes a sound of approval before groggily muttering, ���Going topless now, are we Judgey?”

She grabs his hair again, yanks his head back as a rebuttal, and Damon bites his tongue so hard that it bleeds. He has to ensure that all of the blood in his body isn’t rushing south too fast but unfortunately, he would have to sever both his arms completely off to stop the blood flow.

Bonnie realizes the dazed look in his eyes isn’t one of pain nor is it from sleep, “Not the reaction you expected, huh?” He asks, gesturing for her to look down but she doesn’t, she can’t. She’s embarrassed, and to make matters worse, a teensy bit turned on.

“You scared, Bon Bon? I thought you were big and bad,” Damon mocks, pulling between his legs to make more room in his jeans, “it’s okay. I know Jeremy left much to be desired.” He sits up with swirls of longing still in his eyes, then grabs a pillow to place in his lap.

“Scared?” She guffaws. “Of what exactly?”

“Me…You.”

“And that means?”

“You’re a smart girl, Bon, figure it out.” Damon taunts, holding her eyes with his. “It’s awfully lonely here.”

She says nothing for a while, refusing to break eye contact first. “So.”

“Soooo, I won’t tell if you won’t.” It’s almost a joke, almost because she has a feeling if she says yes to whatever sort of ambiguous proposal he’s thrown up in the air, there won’t be any laughter. If she says no, it’s no different from his usual innuendos but boy, will she wonder.

“Wanna take a walk on the wild side?” He asks in a singsong tone, eyes dropping to her lips then back up to her eyes.

There are no alarms, no cell phones, no one here that can interrupt this moment. She has to answer, though she has no idea what will come out of her mouth. Bonnie shuts her eyes to make the moment less real, as if it will change the fact that she whispers, “Just one kiss,”

They’re nose to nose when Damon whispers back, “a peck.”

She swallows his breath. “Mhmm,”

“It’s nothing,”

“Nothing.”

“As light as air,” he presses his lips to hers for a brief moment then pulls back again. “See.” He peppers more kisses on her lips, down her jaw, the side of her neck, but they’re heavier. They have a density now. His tongue is on the flesh of her shoulder, teasing up her neck. She feels the light imprint of sharp canines, arousal surges through her like a power circuit, so intense that she moans. When he makes his way back up, their mouths both open in a feral kiss that robs them of air.

Bonnie holds his face in place though he makes no attempt to move away. The pillow falls out from between them when he grabs Bonnie’s leg to straddle him.

It’s nothing.

Nothing separating them from attacking each other’s mouths, nothing stopping Damon from gripping his best friend’s hips, nothing saving Bonnie from discarding his shirt.

His skin is cool enough that she can stream together some thought in between relentless kisses. “Damon,” she tries her best to sound admonishing.

“Please, not right now.” Damon cuffs both her wrists behind her with one hand and plants a hickey just above her cleavage. She sees stars. He already knows what the inflection in her voice means- the timing couldn’t be worse.“Let’s save the guilt for tomorrow morning.” His tone is octaves lower, almost as low as his lids. He drags his eyes up to hers, and they’re so shiny she can see her reflection. “I need this, Bonnie. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just continues on with his ministrations, hypnotized by the pheromones seeping off of her in waves, wanting to memorize the scent with his tongue. She whines his name, like actually whines his name, and the feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach scares him. Bonnie is so oblivious to the appeal she carries but if she sat in his skin for a day, hell, for a moment, she would realize just how long she’s been driving him insane.

“We can’t,” she groans weakly. “We can’t.”

Damon tries to breathe easier, but that feeling is lurking in his gut. She’s right. The things he’d do to her, he’d break her in half. He removes Bonnie from his lap, separates from her warmth, her scent. Backs away until the tv threatens to fall off the stand. Everything in him tells him to go back, to reenter the magnetic pull, to poke at her forcefield.

He backs away even further if possible. Her breath catches at the distance.

Bonnie’s cheeks are flushed, warm and red like fruit. If she was an apple, she would have already been eaten down to the core. If she was a peach, it would be easier to explain why he ate her. He thinks to himself that he’s officially off the rails, comparing Bonnie to fruit like he is, but he’s trying to rationalize his irrationality. Because if Bonnie never stopped him, he’d definitely be eating something by now.

“Nothing happened.” She says, ignoring his expression and the silent plea in his eyes.

“Nothing.” He deadpans, throwing his shirt back over his head.

Damon thinks of how different things would be if he had his way. Bonnie, spent, drunk, high off of him. Bleeding and wild, pretty and dangerous, yelling for God. He would plunge Jeremy right out of her, help her find her magic again. Give her everything she could dream of. He gulps.

She doesn’t sleep with him tonight, not in the same bed. She’s on the opposite end of the boarding house when he hears her slide under the covers.

The next morning, he thinks to himself, if she even utters a word about last night, he’ll pick up from where he left off. But she doesn’t, her eyes are far away again, and the only proof he has of their adventures is the wonderful, purple hickey.

When movie night comes back around, his head is in her lap and her hand is back in his hair, running to and fro like him in his lavender fields.

That’s all he gets.

Every now and then, it’s enough.

Bonnie gives and takes, then takes away some more.

She’s the closest thing to God he’ll probably ever know.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

'i promise I'll stay on my side of the bed' with lewis and arthur 'only one bed' perhaps? *w* maybe Vivi got injured or sick and lew needs to test without crushing her, and while they're reconciled they're still awkward together but end up octopus-ing within the hour

>:3ccc yess thank you [from this]

--

“I promise I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”

The tension in Lewis’s face and shoulders is reading like he’s not saying something, but Arthur can’t figure out what and it’s frustrating. He’s so used to being able to tell what Lewis is thinking - it’s not like it’s ever been hard, the guy’s not exactly good at hiding his feelings, if anyone was paying attention - but after everything that happened, Arthur just... doesn’t know anymore. He can make guesses, sometimes, but he can never be sure. He hates it. Like he needed another reminder that even though he’s back, Arthur’s still functionally lost his best friend.

Okay. Changing subjects. That’s not helping.

“Can’t you just-?” Lewis can float. He’s never had a problem doing that before, when he wanted to rest or just sit down for a while. He’s not even going to sleep, he’s just sitting and reading - but for some reason he’s insisting he does it on the only available bed. 

“Stop being greedy. It’s not like you’re using all the space. You turn into a tiny ball when you sleep anyway.” Lewis isn’t actually looking at him, glaring daggers at his book instead.

Arthur can’t find the words to say that’s not exactly true anymore, so he gives up and just rolls over, letting his head hit the pillow with a loud fwump. Fine, he thinks vindictively. If Lewis wants to get kicked so bad, let him find out why this is a bad idea the hard way.

---

Lewis is reading peacefully when he feels the bed shift.

He looks down to see Arthur, unfurled from his normal position around a pillow, legs kicking under the thin covers like he’s trying to push something away.

Ordinarily, Lewis wouldn’t be here to see this. He’d be idling on the other end of the room, or more likely, outside trying to clear his head. Ghosts can’t sleep - or at least, he can’t, and he’s tried - so he always tries to find some other way to occupy himself while the other two slept.  Reading is usually a safe bet, or watching something, or drawing, though that last one could... get away from him.

But tonight... tonight he hadn’t wanted to do that. He’d been, well, he’d been lonely. Frankly, he’d been lonely for over a year now, but it had been easier to ignore, before. He had... other things to occupy his mind with. But now he has no revenge quest and it’s just so quiet. It was just a matter of time before he didn’t want to spend the whole night alone again.

I just want to be close to you, I don’t want to be alone felt like too much to say, too fast, and two years ago he wouldn’t have had to say it at all. Arthur would have just known, without him even having to try.

But that was then. That was before. Now everything’s different, and Arthur doesn’t know and Lewis doesn’t know if he can just say it. If Arthur even wants him near.

So he just insisted and didn’t elaborate. And if Arthur could tell he wasn’t saying the whole truth, well, it didn’t matter anyway.

But now Arthur’s twitching in his sleep and this is new. He’s never really been a restless sleeper unless he was having a nightmare, and those are rare, especially when he’s with the others...

...those were rare. Now Lewis realizes that that’s probably not true anymore.

He reaches out, intending to shake him awake and then back off - but instead Arthur’s hand finds his. And then it’s tugging him closer, grip twitching like he’s trying to tighten it but sleep is getting in the way. He makes a sharp sound that’s half muffled by the pillow, almost a whimper but not quite long enough.

Lewis changes tacks. Sets the book down on the nightstand without looking, shifts over and lies down a little more fully, pulls the still-sleeping Arthur closer until he’s nestled against his side, using his arm as a pillow. He goes still pretty quickly once they’re curled up together.

That doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t, he scolds the warm feeling blooming in his chest. Arthur is definitely still angry with him and that doesn’t mean anything.

Ghosts can’t sleep. But lying here like this, it’s easy to let his mind go quiet.

---

For the first time in... he can’t even remember how long, Arthur isn’t jolted awake out of an increasingly weird and terrible dream. He blinks his eyes a few times and then lets them close again, and the first thought he has is a surprised realization that he can’t even remember what he was dreaming about.

He’s warm. He’s comfortable. He feels leaden, and his eyes burn when he tries to open them, but for once that feeling isn’t even accompanied by frustration. He could lie here forever, it feels like.

Then his brain wakes up a little more and he realizes how wrong that is.

He forces his eyes open again and pushes himself up a little on his elbow, trying to look around. Pretty quickly he realizes he’s really close to Lewis. Actually, fuck it, he’s basically on top of Lewis.

Fuck.

Apologies fight for space in his throat as he scrambles away from the warm embrace. God dammit he knew this was a bad idea, but he’d just been expecting to- fall off the bed or get kicked awake because he was being too wiggly or something, not- not-

“Arthur?” A pair of eyelights come into view, blinking at him. 

“Shit- I-” his voice still won’t cooperate.

Lewis moves back too, and that surprises Arthur enough that he stops. It’s not like he’s moving away out of anger or disgust or anything - actually, regardless of how little Arthur can read him right now, every motion is broadcasting sheepish.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...” 

That just adds to the confusion. “What are you ap-a-apologizing for?”

Lewis looks away, fiddling with the end of one of his sleeves. “You, ah. Were having a nightmare, and I... I just thought...”

Wait, that wasn’t him? That was Lewis who brought them so close together?

Whatever. With practiced speed, he shoves all his confusion into a box so he can focus.

“Yeah, s-s-sorry, I should, uh, I should have warned you. Th-that’s why I didn’t, uh... want you to be... there. I’m not... exactly a- a qui- a quiet sleeper. Anymore.”

Lewis takes a moment to consider that. Then he glances over at the electric clock on the other side of the room. “You were pretty quiet for... three or four hours, there.”

Shit, did he really sleep for that long? No wonder he’s so tired and foggy.

...and Lewis was lying there the whole time? And didn’t wake him up?

His throat is getting tight.

He slides off the bed. He’s intending to flee the room, but he pauses.

“Why?” 

“Hm?” Lewis’s hum is fake-casual.

“I mean, you could’ve j-j-just... woken me up.” That’s not really what he’s asking. “Why did you... want to- to be here, anyway?”

“I don’t know, I...” he trails off, looking away.

Assuming he’s not going to explain, Arthur turns around again. He doesn’t get two steps before Lewis speaks.

“I missed you.”

Arthur starts to turn back around, to ask what? But Lewis is already continuing, with an air that suggests he’s been rehearsing this in his head.

“I’ve been missing you for... since...” He leaves that sentence unfinished. That’s fine; they both know what goes there anyway. “And I thought... maybe you wouldn’t mind if I... stayed close. For tonight. I’m just...” his gaze is fixed on his hands. “Making up for lost time.”

Dammit, his throat hurts and it’s getting legitimately hard to speak now. “W-well, I, uh, I don’t... don’t know if a f-f-f- a few hours is gonna put a dent in... th-that, but...”

Lewis finally looks up and meets his eyes. Almost hopeful.

Arthur walks back over and sits back down on the bed, letting himself lean against Lewis just a little. “I... I am st-still pretty tired.”

The corners of Lewis’s eyes crinkle into a smile. “Well, then... I think we can sleep for a little while longer.”

[itsblissfuloblivion]

Prompt #69 for @clarensjoy‘s Hinny FicFest 2021: "His pickup line wasn't as good as mine. Just saying"

Ao3 // FFnet

hey, tis us, last kids joining the party. hopefully it’s still alright!

.

It’s a Tuesday, so the din of the pub is a bit muted in comparison. Loud and full enough that nobody will get ideas about getting to know their table neighbours, but quiet enough that you don’t have to shout to be heard. Harry’s boot sticks to the floor as he steps inside and for a moment he’s about to let loose some colourful swears about arseholes who don’t understand that spent gum belongs in a bin, but his attention is quickly pulled away by another arsehole at the bar trying to flex his flirtation muscles.

If Harry reads the bloke’s mark’s facial expression correctly, said flex has been wholly unsuccessful so far. And Harry’s made his own study of the current focus of said bloke, since Sixth Year in fact, so Harry’s comfortable saying he’s something of an expert on Ginny Weasley.

Slowly - with a slight drag on his gummed left heel - Harry picks his way through the shadowy bits of the pub towards Ginny as she continues her valiant attempt to scan the menu. Soon, Harry’s close enough to join Ginny’s ‘enjoyment’ of her current companion.

The bloke is mid-build, just shy of Harry’s height, and almost as into his boy band hair as he is to excessive use of perfume. Things he apparently is not into include reading body language, accepting personal space boundaries, and wearing hats correctly. Harry winces - half for Ginny’s nose and half for whatever this stranger is about to have done to him - when Perfume Lover leans in closer to Ginny. “Hello, beautiful! No need to check that out, I already know what’s on the menu - me ‘n’ you.”

Harry’s suppressing his snort, and a bit of horror, at the line when Ginny leans in close, eyes sharp. If Boy Band knew what was good for him, he’d pay more attention to Ginny’s blood thirsty look than the fact that she’s drawing close. But honestly, Harry can’t fault him too much - for getting distracted that is - because one whiff of her hair and the simple warmth of her as she draws near still sends Harry’s heart pounding. That’s about where Harry’s ability to relate to Ball Cap begins and ends.

As expected, the content of Ginny’s low whisper is less ‘want to get out of here’ and more ‘guts for garters’ because the pick up artist is soon backing away with a shocked expression, stumbling over barstools and an innocent busboy.

With a grin, Harry steadies the busboy on his feet and swipes a paper napkin to drag the bulk of the gum from his boot. He doesn’t break stride as he tosses the napkin in a bin and makes his way towards Ginny, who has returned her attention to the menu and the tiny red straw between her lips.

Somehow, he doesn’t end up sprawled on the floor when she twirls it, or when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, or even when the waitress returns with a new drink. Instead, he keeps pace to end up with one arm draped around Ginny’s shoulders just as she’s left alone at the high top table. “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk past you again?”

Ginny snorts, nose crinkling as she stabs at the ice with her straw. “Reckon I’m sticking with the other bloke tonight.”

Harry frowns even as he claims the free stool closest to Ginny. “His pickup line wasn’t as good as mine,” he swipes her drink, ignoring her indignant ‘Oi!’ and takes a sip, “Just saying.”

“How about get your own drink, Mr. Just Saying?” Ginny grumbles, though the blow of her grousing is softened by the quick press of her lips to his.

“I can’t decide between the burger and the stew.”

Harry raises his hand in the hopes of beckoning someone with relevant resources to bring him a pint. He receives a nod from behind the bar and soon turns his attention back to Ginny. “Is the new Firebolt nearby?”

Ginny tears her eyes away from the menu. “Pardon? No - we���re on the Cleansweep - ”

“Oh,” Harry shakes his head, “Must’ve just been my heart taking off.”

“If you promise to shut up I’ll do that thing you like so much,” Ginny manages to mutter with a roll of her eyes, pausing only once the waitress arrives with Harry’s drink. He takes a long sip while Ginny orders - apparently having decided on the burger. When the waitress turns to him he gets the same - though changing medium rare for medium well. Plus he adds, “And can we have the stew to share? With some bread.”

Once they’re alone again, Ginny nudges his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You got me all hyped for it too,” he shrugs and slips his arm back around her, “Besides, I’m not above asking for a takeaway box.”

“Glad you seem to know the real path to my affection, that line was bloody awful. Time to move on,” Ginny winks, “I’ll keep my promise.”

“No, no. You said Boy Band had better lines than I do and now I’m proving you wrong,” Harry takes another swallow and swipes at his upper lip. “I’ll earn that thing I like the real way.”

“Which is?”

“Wooing.”

Ginny sighs. “You won’t let it go, will you?”

“Nope,” Harry pops, sitting a little taller in his chair.

“Anyhow,” Ginny says, fiddling with his fingers, “How was the meeting with Kingsley?”

“Relatively unnecessary,” Harry shrugs, “At least I think so. But you know how they like to get input and whatnot. Which means lots of almost shouting and then Kingsley puts on that face and says, ‘You’ve all given me a lot to think about.’”

“Does he change his mind much, pre to post meeting?”

“Depends who offered alternatives,” Harry answers, taking another swallow of his ale. “Which is for the best. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit people say.”

“What did you ever do to make Robards hate you so much?” Ginny asks with a chuckle when Harry’s forehead connects with her shoulder.

“I dunno, but he must. Either that or he really values my ability to half take notes and mostly doodle magical creatures.”

“Do you take requests? I want my face on the body of a harpy.”

The din of the crowd briefly increases and Harry leans close enough that Ginny’s soft flowery scent overcomes the smell of stale beer and miscellaneous fried foods. “Gin, your face is already on the body of a Harpy.”

“Har-har, you know what I mean.”

Harry shakes his head and tips so his nose nearly touches Ginny’s. “There’s something wrong with my eyes,” Ginny perks up, rapidly searching him for any injuries she neglected to notice and he continues, “There must be. Because I can’t seem to take them off you.”

She groans, shoulders slumped back against her barstool. “Harry, you have terrible eyesight. And that might have been the worst line yet.”

“Noted,” Harry nods like she’s just given him a tip on a case, “I’ll keep trying.”

“Please don’t.”

“I love a challenge.”

The waitress returns with their admittedly overdone dinner order and Ginny nearly spears Harry with the prongs of her fork. “Do not make me sick up, this smells too good to waste.”

Harry scofs. “Right. We both know you’re tougher than that. Should I remind you that your secret weapon was the Bat-Bogey Hex - a hex largely based on snot?”

“And it still is,” Ginny grins after she swallows an impressively large helping of her food. “Talking about gross, though,” she follows, eyeing Harry sideways, “any specific plans for my brother’s stag do? And don’t tell me you’ve cracked under pressure and let George organise it.”

There’s something very Molly Weasley-eque in her expression as she says it, freckles alight and splattered over her cheeks and nose in a way that always has Harry’s insides twisting and burning, without failure. So he smirks, leaning in closer.

“Which brother is that?”

Ginny kicks at his shin, wobbling on her barstool. “The one with the big nose and lanky limbs?”

“Oh, that one,” Harry widens his eyes in mock realisation. “Right, yes. No, I’m doing it."

“And?”

“And?” Harry parrots, sipping another spoonful of stew.

“Remember the bogeys, Harry,” she scowls, huffs away a red strand of hair falling on her cheeks.

His elbow planted firmly on the bar, Harry offers her his most dazzling smile, green eyes glinting mischievously behind his round glasses. “Aw, Gin, it’ll be nothing much. Just your regular boys’ night out - a little bit of getting pissed, a little bit of going to a strip club.”

Ginny laughs throatily, her head leaned back and her long, red hair grazing over her waist, eyes closed shut. “Can’t wait to read Skeeter’s take on you visiting a strip club. Honestly, Harry?”

“Nah. But we will get pissed at George’s though.”

“Figured. Good for you, you deserve it,” Ginny smiles and tops it off with a bite of warm bread. “Thanks for the laugh.”

“I aim to please,” Harry smiles back and, for a while, they both eat in contented silence, the pub’s buzz fading in the background as they enjoy each other’s presence and the feeling that they’re safe, and seen, and loved.

Later, there’s a clatter as Harry pushes his empty plate further up the bar and scans Ginny promptly before he says, “Alright, hear me out - one last try.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, bored, swishing her spoon in his direction. “Shoot.”

Harry clears his throat.

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but Snape was so fond of me he tried to adopt me, right?”

Ginny’s forehead promptly connects with the bar top.

“That’s it,” she grunts, ginger hair pooling over her arms, spread over the black countertop, “we’re leaving. Check, please,” she raises her head to speak, voice heavy with distress.

“Women,” Harry pretends to roll his eyes, “nothing ever pleases them.”

Ginny sticks her tongue out in response. She then hops off and strides towards the loo, hair flicked over her shoulder.

Harry shakes his head, grinning; he rummages through his pocket, thumbs brushing over the hardwood of his wand, feels the cold metal of the coins piled in there. Five silver ones rattle along the counter and the barman nods his thanks.

A whiff of flowery scent floats near him, her lips suddenly close to his ear as she whispers, low, “You must be absolutely knackered, because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

Harry dips his chin slowly, green eyes connecting with her mischief-laden brown ones, a wide, playful grin on her face. “Ginny Weasley, was that a pick-up line?” Harry whispers back.

“Sue me,” she winks.

“No way. I’m rather turned on, actually.”

“Good,” Ginny follows, evilly, her lips still close to Harry’s ear. “Bathroom? There’s a private space in the very last one.”

“Fuck yes,” Harry exhales, as though he’d just received a punch to the plexus, and lets her drag him after her.

[jbuchanan-barnes]

as long as we have each other

Summary: While on a mission, something unexpected happens to Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2,359

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mention of illegal weapons dealing, blood. This is the first time I'm posting something that I've written, and I'm very nervous. I feel like that should be a warning 🙈

A/N: Hi! This is for @wkemeup 's 9k writing challenge - Character A cleans Character B's wounds after a rough mission. [A]'s fingers linger over scarred muscle as they finish wrapping the bandage.

Congrats on 9k Kas!! Also, thank you to @thefanbasewhore for proof reading!!

divider credits to @bwbatta

After coming back from a two week long solo mission in Warsaw, you were just about ready to take a nice long bath and sleep for a week. As you walked off the quinjet, it was no surprise to see a certain metal armed super soldier waiting for you with his arms crossed.

As you close the space between you, his eyes rake over you from top to bottom to check for injuries. “I was starting to think your mission would never end,” Bucky says, smirking down at you. “And by the looks of it, I think you thought the same thing.” “Shut up,” you respond with a halfhearted glare. His smirk melts into a gentle smile as he pulls you into his arms. “I missed you,” Bucky replies as he buries his face into your neck. “Two weeks is too long to go without seeing you.” You hum in agreement as your hands travel to his hair. After a few moments of standing tangled together, you break the silence. “As much as I’d love to hug you forever, I’m dying to get out of this suit.” Bucky pulls out of your embrace, kisses you on the head, and gently takes your hand. You let him lead you through the compound towards your room, but before you’re able to make it past the kitchen, you’re interrupted. “Oh! Y/N, Barnes!” Tony exclaims, “Just the people I needed to talk to.” You groan just as Bucky responds. “Can it wait, Stark? Y/N just got back from Poland.” “Unfortunately,” Tony replies, “I need you both to Brazil tomorrow.” “There’s a guy who has been harboring stolen SHIELD tech since the incident at the triskelion, and he finally popped back up on our radar,” he elaborates. “You can’t send someone else?” You inquire, your lips turning down into a frown. “I’m afraid not,” Tony sounds apologetic as he responds. “I need all hands on deck for this mission. I’m even pulling Steve out of retirement.” Tony winks at you. “Luckily for you,” he continues, “This mission requires us to stay at one of the fanciest hotels in Río.” Tony glances at his watch before adding “I need you two in the briefing room by eight am tomorrow so we can go over the details before we depart. Until then, go rest Y/N.” You take a deep breath and nod as Bucky agrees.

As you finally enter your shared room, Bucky jokingly says “We should have snuck in through the back way.” “It’s fine,” you tell him dejectedly. “Tony would have found another way to contact us. It is what it is.” Your long bath would have to wait.

As you rush to take a quick shower, Bucky returns to the kitchen to make you something to eat. When he comes back, you scarf down the leftovers as Bucky takes his turn in the bathroom. By the time you’re finished, Bucky is all ready for bed. While you brush your teeth, he takes the opportunity to climb into bed and check his phone. When you walk out of the bathroom, you can’t help but take a minute to admire your boyfriend. Although he looks very attractive sitting in bed shirtless, your heart flutters at the peaceful look on his face. Bucky has been through so much, but with you, he’s totally at ease.

You’re broken out of your reverie by Bucky’s soft voice. “Hey,” he says with a gentle smile. “C’mere, doll.” You crawl into bed and let Bucky pull you into his arms. As you lay your head on his chest, Bucky idly traces random patterns onto your back. Just as you’re starting to drift off, his voice pulls you back. “How are you feeling about the mission tomorrow?” “Honestly,” you drowsily respond. “If Tony is okay with giving us all the details the day of, it should be pretty easy.” Bucky hums in agreement. “Why?” you continue. “You’re not worried about it, are you?” “Oh, no!” Bucky denies. “I just wanted to make sure you aren’t worried about it since you aren’t getting a break.” “I’ll be fine,” you say, pretending to be annoyed. “If my boyfriend will be quiet so I can sleep.” Bucky laughs and kisses your forehead. “Okay, okay!” he yields to your teasing. “Good night, sweetheart.” As you start to fall asleep, you sleepily respond. “Good night Buckaroo. I love you.” Just before you drift into unconsciousness, you hear Bucky’s quiet voice. “I love you too, doll.”

The next morning, when you arrive in the briefing room, Tony is too chipper for eight in the morning. While you would rather be in bed, he seems as if he’s already had two cups of coffee (at least). Bucky appears to be neither tired, nor overly energetic, while everyone else falls somewhere in between.

“Antonio Silva is the guy we’re looking for,” Tony begins by showing everyone a picture of the man you need to find. “He is originally from Campinas, Brazil.” Tony takes a moment to pull up a picture of the map.  “Based on our intell, he is planning on making a sale tonight in São Paulo.” “You said he has stolen tech?” you inquire. Steve takes the opportunity to speak up. “He actually worked for SHIELD before it fell. Well, hydra technically.” He turns to Natasha. “Did you see his name anywhere in the files you released?” Nat shakes her head. “No. I don’t think he was important enough to have in the files.” “I guess that explains why he turned on them and stole tech,” Sam laughs. “Either way,” Tony directs everyone’s attention back to the mission briefing. “He’s planning on selling to black market weapons dealers at the ten year anniversary gala of the hotel, and we need to stop the sale, arrest Silva, and capture the weapons dealers.” Tony pulls up a map of the hotel. “Steve will be disguised as a bartender, and Sam and I will be flying above the hotel, should anything go south. Y/N and Barnes, you two will be disguised as a mob boss and his wife looking to purchase some weapons. As soon as you make contact, make the arrest. Natasha, I want you floating around the room taking inventory of the weapons dealers in the room. A team of agents will be joining us to assist with taking people into custody should they not be compliant. Since Silva has the weapons in storage somewhere, as long as we have him and the dealers in custody, taking back the weapons should be easy. We just need the guy who knows where they are. Does anyone have any questions?” A series of no’s are heard as everyone responds. “Then everyone go pack, and be ready for the quinjet to take off in an hour.”

The flight is relatively quiet, interrupted only by Sam giving out some last minute instructions. However, as soon as the jet lands, everyone is thrown into go mode.

By the time you make it to the hall where the celebration is being held, the party is in full swing. You watch Natasha silently slip into the room in total spy mode. She glances over at you and nods slightly for you and Bucky to make your entrance. You make your way to the bar for the next few minutes as you watch Nat float around the room.

After about ten minutes, she walks up to the bar and asks Steve for a drink, discreetly informing you that all of the weapons dealers are here. Steve signals for all of the agents to fall into place as you and Bucky turn to approach Silva. Before you make it to where Silva is, he takes one look at Bucky and bolts. That’s when all hell breaks loose. Agents start drawing their guns left and right, while the dealers begin pulling out their weapons to fight back. As the gunfire starts, Tony and Sam join the fight, shield flying, while Bucky takes off after Silva. As soon as you know that they’ll be fine without you, you take off after Bucky. Once Bucky and Silva are in your line of sight, you can tell that Bucky is struggling. It’s apparent that Silva has found some way to disable Bucky’s vibranium arm. As Bucky does his best to fight one handed, Silva punches him in the nose before pulling out two knives. Before you can reach them, you watch in horror as Silva thrusts a knife into Bucky’s thigh, while slicing at his throat with the other knife. Bucky barely dodges the second blade, but not before the tip catches his collar bone.

As soon as you get to them, you tackle Silva to give Bucky the chance to reset his arm. You’re able to block a few of Silva’s attempts to stab you, and kick the knives out of his hands before Bucky joins the fight again.

When it’s apparent that you and Bucky have the upper hand again, Silva pauses. “I really didn’t want to do this to you Barnes, but you left me no choice.” Before you have time to wonder what Silva is talking about, he continues.

“Sputnik.”

Before the word is even out of his mouth, Bucky goes rigid and keels over. As he collapses, your whole world collapses with him. Shock, confusion, and panic roll through you as Steve arrives just in time to handle Silva. You rush to Bucky’s side, and as you find his steady pulse, your anxious heart settles just a little. There is chaos all around you, but you don’t have time to care as you focus on Bucky. As soon as Silva and the dealers are in custody, Sam and Steve help carry Bucky back to your hotel room. After they leave, you take the opportunity to pull out your first aid supplies. Just as you’re finishing collectiving everything you need, Bucky begins to regain consciousness.

“What happened?” His confusion is evident, even in his groggy state. “I’m not entirely sure,” you tell him, hesitantly. “Silva said a word and it was like it just flipped your off switch.” Bucky stays silent as you carefully help him sit up. “I need to clean your knife wounds,” you say gently. “Which means we need to get you out of your tactical gear.” Bucky helps you undress him to the best of his current ability, but he seemingly can’t let the situation pass without playfully making light of what’s happening. “You know, this would be a whole lot more romantic if you lit a few candles.” You snort in response and reply, “It would be a whole lot more romantic if you weren’t bleeding on the sheets.”

Once Bucky is stripped to just his boxers, you help him lean back against the headboard. Bucky silently watches as you pull out the butterfly bandages and antiseptic wipes. You’ve done this so many times that you don’t even bother to tell Bucky that it might sting. He knows the drill, but that doesn’t stop you from doing your best to be gentle. During his seventy years of being tortured and brainwashed, too many people have been rough with him and have treated him harshly. You know he’s not fragile, but you can’t help but pretend that each gentle touch will replace each bad memory of painful touches. Bucky doesn’t flinch as you wipe the cut on his thigh with the wipe. He simply watches as you move to apply the butterfly bandages in the absence of stitches. You wrap the cohesive bandage over the wound and around Bucky’s thigh, but you both know it really doesn’t matter. His wounds will stitch themselves together within a day or two anyway. As you move up to clean the cut just above his left collarbone, your eyes trace the marred scars where metal meets flesh. After you clean and bandage the cut, you let your fingers lightly trail over the scars. You follow the trail of your fingers with soft kisses before looking up to meet Bucky’s eyes. The way he’s looking at you could only be described as adoration, and he gently grabs the back of your neck to bring you in for a kiss. The kiss is soft, but no less toe curling. Like Bucky is using the kiss to convey the way he feels, without knowing how to put those feelings into words. When you break apart, you’re reminded that you need to tend to the small cuts and bruises on his face. You wipe the blood off and apply the antiseptic onto some of the smaller cuts before moving on to the bridge of Bucky’s nose. After cleaning the wound, you smile slightly as you run your finger down his nose. The action makes Bucky scrunch his nose slightly, and you laugh lightly at his reaction. The silence is comfortable and you’re both at ease with each other enough to not always require words.

You help Bucky settle into the bed before cleaning up the first aid supplies and moving to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As you finish up in the bathroom and climb into bed, Bucky breaks the lingering silence. “I’m not sure what happened earlier.” You can hear the concern in his voice. “I thought Shuri removed all the trigger words, but apparently there was a fail safe buried deep in my head.” You ponder his words before responding. “We can start looking into it tomorrow. I can call Shuri and see if she has time for us to go see her.” “For right now,” you continue, “let’s just rest.” Bucky nods before tilting your chin up so your lips can meet. He kisses you softly and slowly before pulling away. “I love you.” He tells you with conviction, like he doesn’t know what might happen tomorrow. “I love you too, James Buchanan. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.” Bucky smiles slightly while pulling you closer to him. You may not have all the answers, but you have each other. As you both drift off to sleep, that’s enough.

[gasolineghuleh]

Little Orchid

Commission for @fried-potato-13 for “something soft with Primo”. A lil bit o’ thigh riding and some fingering!

NSFW Below, No Minors.

It’s warm in the gardens and you tilt your face up towards the sun, squinting against the sharp rays in an attempt to see some of the clouds that float by lazily. When you were a younger Sibling you spent most of your time on the lawns with the Ghouls and their kits, watching the clouds and picking shapes out of them. A small smile manages to spread across your face when you remember those days of leisure, cut short by the quickly demanding classes and rote memorization. Still, you think to yourself as your smile fades slightly, there’s nowhere else on Earth you would rather be than here at the Abbey— no matter how challenging things got, the Papas always seemed to have ways to make you feel at home. 

The smell of the tea curls around your senses and snakes its way down your back, untensing your muscles as it goes and relaxing you more than you expected it to. Papa Emeritus the First leans over you with a welcoming smile on his face as he pours the aromatic mixture into your tea cup, stopping just a finger's breadth away from the rim of the cup. It’s only when he sits down and gestures towards you with a regal hand that you take a small sip, your eyes closing briefly as the full bodied taste of the tea washes over your tongue. There’s a definite taste of berries there, as well as some cloves and cinnamon. 

“Did you make this yourself, Papa?” you ask, opening your eyes again to look at the older man. He’s picked up his own tea as well, wafting it in front of him as he watches you with delicate and careful eyes. Papa Emeritus the First has grown considerably older since you came to the Abbey all those years ago, but his eyes have never lost their shrewd scrutiny that made him such an enduring leader in his time at the head of the church. They pierce through you, the white one still as clear as the day he ascended, the green one slightly cloudier with age. Something inside of you stirs in apparent interest— something you never really lost from your teenage years, when you had a crush on the man. Something he knows as well.

“Si, from the gardens. You are feeling stressed? The Cardinal has told me that your grades have fallen in Latin, and you can’t focus during Incantations and Rituals.” He leans forward a little bit, pushing a plate of warm buttered scones towards you from their place on the table. When you don’t take one immediately he narrows his eyes at you, only nodding in approval when you snatch one and take a quick bite. “When a Sibling goes from being his star pupil to suddenly forgetting their books in their room eh… We take notice. I thought it apt that I have this conversation with you, considering our past, hm? You are comfortable speaking to me, still?”

“I know, Papa.” You swallow hard, chasing the scone with a sip of tea— it really was delicious, even if your nerves made it sit like a stone in your belly. “I’m going through a lot currently. Just… I feel like I don’t belong here sometimes. Some of the other Siblings are special, and their talents are being utilized by the Church. I haven’t been given a specialty yet. I feel useless here, and it gives me a lot of mental agony.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth his face softens, becoming lined with empathy and worry. You almost instantly wish that you could take the words back, wincing inwardly as you reveal your inner thoughts to him. 

The First always has a way with getting the Siblings to open up to him, whether through confessionals or through candid tea parties, like this one. Something about his presence around you is enough to make you spill your secrets, shameful and all. Your eyes slide from the cup in your hands to the cobblestone ground at your feet as you blink hard, trying to keep your sudden tears from overflowing. You focus your gaze on a small clump of weeds that has managed to make its way through the cracks in the stone— a lone splash of verdant green against the dark red cobbles, an enduring sign of life amidst the Abbey. 

“Sister…” Papa leans forward and sets his cup on the table with a soft clink before readjusting his robes and shuffling forward to the edge of his own chair. His gloved hand comes out to rest on your knee, patting you gently until you lift your eyes to his again. “We all go through things sometimes, yes? I have gone through many. My brother, the Third, you know he deals with these things often as well.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, holding back a sniffle as you take another sip of your tea. The warm liquid is encouraging, and the soft spices in it make you feel a bit better. It blossoms across your tongue and you roll your shoulders a little, sitting up a bit straighter and looking at Papa once more. “I didn’t want to say anything to the Cardinal. I didn’t want to seem weak.” 

“Weakness does not come from admitting things, Sister. This is important to know.” Papa sits up, taking his hand off of your knee and folding them in his lap. “Admitting that you are feeling negatively once in a while does not make you weak. It makes you stronger. You see this?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t, Papa… It seems to me that admitting weakness is… Well… Weak.” The eldest Papa nods his head at your words, his eyes closing briefly as he considers his own times of weakness. When he doesn’t speak you forge ahead, the words tumbling from your tea loosened lips before you can stop them. “I always thought that admitting when I’m struggling with something would only give someone cause to take pity on me, or think I’m inferior. I came here to find the power inside of myself, and I’m afraid that I’ve lost it.”

“Oh, Sister. I know how that feels.” Papa nods his head once more and opens his eyes to look at you. You take another sip of your tea and try to still your heart as he frowns for a moment, looking at you with a question in his eyes. “Have you seen the flower I cultivated recently? The one that failed to thrive.” As you shake your head he smiles at you, standing with a loud groan as his knees crack. “Old bones, Sister, scusi. Come with me.” 

“Yes, Papa.” You hurry to obey him, setting your tea cup back onto the saucer on the table and standing, smoothing your habit on reflex as you fall into step beside him. He walks slowly and you find yourself taking much smaller steps than usual as to not out pace him. Still, the walk is soothing and you find yourself smiling softly as you watch him, his robes gliding imperiously across the well swept path towards a cultivated patch of earth. He had obviously uprooted whatever laid there previously, replacing it with a large pot that draws your attention as the two of you approach.

“When I inherited this flower, it refused to bloom.” He stops in front of a large clay pot, gesturing towards a flower. You look at it briefly, doing a double take when you realize what the thing actually looks like— a long stick pokes up out of the dark, rich soil, and the stem itself is a dark colour of brown, almost bordering on necrotic black. If you didn’t know any better, you would think the thing was dead already. “Tell me what you see, child.” 

“I see a dead plant, Papa.” Your voice is flat, toneless. Papa tsks in annoyance at you and tugs you closer to the thing, his hand looping with ease around your wrist as your heart rate speeds. He urges you to look closer with another wave of his hand and you humor him, crouching in front of the pot on the ground and staring at the plant. “I see… A dead stem with a single blossom. A bulb hanging towards the top. Drooping. Dead,” 

“Ah, you are still not noticing, Sister. Or perhaps you are noticing, but prefer to be contentious? Look beside that dead stem, if you would.” A deep sigh leaves you as your mind flashes back to long hours in his study where he used the same tone, a stern but encouraging teacher instructing a less-than-willing pupil. Still, you do as he says, squinting slightly at the dirt. There’s another stem beside it, just peeking up out of the soil— a soft green colour, and laced with dark red. So dark against the soil that you missed it entirely when you looked at it at first. 

“Is it that?” you ask, pointing towards it. You stand up as he starts to speak, folding your arms across your chest as you look between him and the plant. It’s a small thing, but the look on his face is serene and full of a love for it. You feel your heart melt slightly at his own display of emotion, softening your face as you listen to him speak.

“Si, sorella. You are using your eyes now, it seems. This plant is called an orchid. It’s alive and well, and blooming quite nicely. To the outside world it appears ugly… Weak.” Papa turns himself towards you, his two toned gaze cutting to your heart. “It appears weak until you know what it has to offer. Then, under a guided and trained hand, it appears beautiful. Powerful. Strong.” 

“I see.” You nod, chewing on your lower lip. 

“I do not think that you do.” Papa steps forward slightly, his forefinger and thumb gripping your chin as he tilts your face towards his own. “You think that you are like an orchid, it seems. Weak on the outside when people who do not know you view you. But I can cultivate you. I can make you strong.” 

“Papa, are you saying that I need a tutor who isn’t the Cardinal?” You can feel a flush forming under your habit, quickly rising up your neck. His eyes never waiver, locked onto yours with a purpose— instead, they narrow slightly as his grip on your chin grows tighter, forcing you to hold your eyes to his as he’s done so many times.

“Perhaps. Perhaps I am merely saying that a tutor who knows you would be more apt to drawing out your strengths.” His eyes flicker between your own before he stops, nodding to himself and smiling. “There it is, Sister. You have a hunger in you. A hunger that I saw years ago when I taught you as my own. A power that you feel coursing through your veins when you gain the knowledge that I have. Do you remember that?”

“I do. Long nights in your office. Hot fires. Dark words. Black books.” Despite the sunny day, you feel a cold finger trail its way down your spine. The things that Papa taught you in his office were things that the Clergy didn’t trust to most of the Siblings housed at the Abbey. For the longest time, you had thought he had given up on you as a student— the thought of doing it again sent a thrill through the core of you. “Am I meant to learn that again?” Excitement clenches your throat, makes your words tight. 

“I think, given the circumstances, I should take you on as my personal student again. The Cardinal does not have the necessary skills to draw out your, as you say, weaknesses.” His eyes finally leave your face as his hand drops, shielding his eyes as he looks up towards the sun. “At nightfall, you make your way to my office. The old path. Do you remember it?”

“Yes. With ease, Papa.” You nod fervently, not willing to say anything that may jeopardize his sudden choice to take you under his wing again. The possibility of power- of beginning what two of you had last time- makes your knees tremble with excitement that’s quickly becoming difficult to hide. 

“Very good. Tonight, Sister.” Papa inclines his head towards you as he would any other Sibling of Sin and strides past you with ease. You turn to watch him go, marveling at how much smoother he appears to be walking since your conversation. Perhaps his frailty really was an act.

Dinner is an anxiety laden affair for you as your thoughts keep casting back towards the time in the gardens. Not only did it feel good to get your feelings out of your mind and into the open, but the acceptance that Papa heard it with had settled that part of your thoughts. Now the anxiety came from what may happen when you go to him tonight. Your relationship as teacher and pupil was fraught with unspoken tension, only released when you finally fell into bed with him. Words that you couldn’t say spilled forth as secrets across his skin, whispered into the hollow behind his ear when you thought he was asleep. 

It’s only now, standing in the middle of the hallway alone, that your heart begins to race. The other Siblings say their usual goodbyes in the small antechamber outside the mess hall, leaving you as they practically run back to their own rooms to sleep. Your pulse beats against your temples in a staccato rhythm that makes you dizzy as your feet find the all too familiar path that you used ages ago. It’s still well kept, clean and swept of any dust that seems to linger in the Abbey. The tapestry is still tacked to the inside of the wall just as you remember it, and you give yourself a quick countdown before you tear it aside.

“Sister. You came.” 

Papa Emeritus the First sits in his customary chair by an already stoked fire, dressed in a pair of matching pajamas. The red silken material seems to shimmer and move in the crackling flames from the hearth, and your eyes can’t help but linger on the illusion. You allow the curtain to drop back into place as you walk into the room with a gait that’s surely more confident than you feel. As you approach him, as if by habit, you reach up and pull off your hair covering, allowing it to drop to the floor with a quiet sound. 

“Of course I came, Papa. Did you think I wouldn't?” Even as the question leaves your lips he’s already shaking his head, dropping his leg from his knee and patting his lap for you. You pause for a moment to pull your shoes off before slipping with ease into his lap, as though you’ve always belonged there. Instantly his arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you closer to him, pressing your back against the still strong planes of his chest. 

“Never in a million years, my little bird.” His lips brush just against your ear lobe with a  touch so faint you could have imagined it. Already you can feel the heat rising from your core to the surface of your skin, blushing you with faint red kisses. Papa’s arm tightens around your midsection for a moment before he presses a more firm kiss to your neck. “I think we should start with a bit of emptying the mind. Especially if I’m only going to fill it with more information later.” 

“Is that what you think?” you ask, your voice still coy and taunting even as your hands shake with nerves that you haven’t felt in ages. You feel like you’re young again, with a man for the first time. You know all of the paths that his hands are going to take but it takes your breath away even still. 

Papa doesn’t bother with words. 

His hand, ungloved, slips under the hem of your habit and crawls slowly up your thigh. You spread your legs for him with ease and he allows you to slot your leg between his own, effectively straddling his thigh as you do so. Even as you sink back into the familiar feeling of his body you can hear him chuckle to himself, his lips tracing a heated path across your neck until he turns your face towards him gently. Papa captures your lips in his, for the first time in what feels like forever, and you can’t help the sigh that slips past. 

Your body melds against his like no time has passed at all and your hips start to move unbidden across his leg. Papa groans behind you as you start to move yourself across his thigh, pressing your cunt down into the strong muscle of his leg. You can feel his chest reverberating with his own deep groans of pleasure, his free hand dropping down to grip his cock through his pajama pants. When his hips roll up against yours you stifle a moan, grinding yourself harder against him momentarily. 

“Sister,” Papa says through a deep breath as he breaks the kiss. Papa rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as he squeezes his cock in one hand and pets the soft skin of your thigh with the other. “You are sure that this is what you need right now? This will make you feel happy?” 

“Nothing would make me happier, Papa. To do this, and to be your student again.” Satisfied, he kisses you once more, finally dipping his fingers below the hem of your panties. When the pad of his index finger finds your clit you jump, moaning sharply when he doesn’t recede— instead, he pushes himself against you harder, dropping his hand from himself to further pin you place as he rocks his cock upward. His finger rubs the soft bundle of nerves in a tight circle, pressing you against him with his now free hand as you gasp and writhe in his arms. 

“Give in to me, hm? Like you used to, Sister. We had so much fun together here, in front of the fire. Do you remember the time I made you see God? Or was it Sathanas that tickled your fancy that evening?” His words curl across you like smoke, going in one ear and out the other before you have time to register what he’s said to you. You nod anyway, your eyes slipping closed as the pleasure intensifies. You’re only barely able to grind yourself down onto his leg anymore and you gasp loudly when he jolts you, bouncing you roughly on his leg for a moment. 

“Papa!” you groan, your hand flying out to grip the arm of the chair in a white knuckled grasp. His lips only curve in a smile against your skin as his finger dips lower. Papa teases your entrance lightly, running his finger through your slick folds as he continues to whisper to you, hips moving under you all the while. 

“It has been so long since I touched you like this, little bird. Like I used to. Do you know how long I laid awake after we ended things, wishing that your warm body was on my lap again? Wishing that you were knelt in front of me, wishing to receive Unholy Communion?” It’s all you can do to gasp and nod, the muscles of your core starting to tense as you get closer to your climax. As if sensing it, Papa pulls his hand away from you with a speed that leaves you dizzy. “Show me. Show me how much you missed this.” 

You don’t need to wait for instructions. You know what he wants. 

Reaching out your other hand to grip the arm of the chair on the opposite side, you grind your hips down onto his thigh, letting out a shuddering moan when the friction manages to rub perfectly along your aching clit. It feels good, and you know that you can get yourself there with ease. His warmth underneath you, hard cock pressing against the small of your back, is more than enough for you to focus on as you press yourself down again. This time, his other hand falls to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft skin there as he guides your movements. Soon enough you settle into a rocking rhythm along his thigh, gasps and moans falling from your lips with every movement. 

“You’re so good for me, little bird. Can you cum like this? I want to feel you shake with pleasure on top of me. Cum for me.” Papa’s words are move than enough to tip you over and you lean back against him, writhing on his lap as you shudder and gasp your way through an orgasm. 

He barely gives you any time to come down before his hand is at your waist again, diving beneath your panties as his fingers fumble for your entrance. Both of you groan in tandem as his fingers slip inside of you with ease, his hips jerking with the sudden feeling of your slickness along his fingers. When Papa tilts his fingers inside of you, crooking them upward until he finds the sensitive spot inside you, you fold backwards against him, your hips jerking upwards to meet his hand. 

“You always loved this, didn’t you?” he asks, pulling you against him as he peppers your neck with soft kisses. You nod and murmur an agreement as his hand moves faster, eliciting lewd sounds from where the two of you are connected. “Does it feel nice to be back in the arms of your Papa? This is where you belong, you know. You are so strong, Sister… So strong that I think it scares you sometimes, hm?”

“Wh- what do you mean, Papa?” You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, your hands aching as you dig your fingers into the arms of the chair. Satan only knows how many times you’ve been in this position before. 

“You can feel it. When you cum for me this time, remember how strong you are. This feeling. It comes from inside of you, si? Knowledge and power… And the strength to seduce the oldest Emeritus. This takes… work.” With this, Papa seals your lips in another kiss, softer than the last one as his hand moves faster. When his tongue sweeps across your lower lip you keen, cumming hard against his hand and rocking your hips against him. 

The two of you sit there for a moment, both breathing heavily, and it’s only now that you realize that he’s cum as well. You can feel his cock still hot and heavy against the small of your back, throbbing just lightly with his heartbeat as it slows after his climax. Papa leans forward and lays his chin on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours as he holds you tightly to him— no words are needed between the two of you. They never have been. 

It’s only later when, curled up with Papa in his cavernous and red sheeted bed, that you think to ask about his proposal. 

“You truly want to teach me again, Papa? You weren’t just trying to bed me?” You reach up and poke his nose lightly, laughing when he snorts awake from where he was drifting off. 

“Yes, Sister. Of course I do.” His face splits in a large yawn and his arm pulls you closer to him before he resumes speaking. “Everything I said in my gardens I meant. You are my orchid. I will make you see yourself as one.” 

“An orchid…” You trail off, thinking for a moment.  “Papa?” you finally say, piping up after a few moments of silence. His deep breaths stutter once more and you can practically hear him roll his eyes at the ceiling.

“Yes, Sister? It is past 10. I would like to be sleeping now.” Papa’s words are clipped, and you know that you’re beginning to press your luck. He has a hard 9:30 pm bedtime, and you’ve already pushed him well past that in front of the fire earlier. 

“This will be fast,” you promise.  

“Then what?” His tone is grumpy, but only on the surface. You know that he’s beyond thrilled to have you back in his chambers in the most intimate of ways, and you wouldn’t trade your current position for anything in the world. Papa’s orchid. 

Except…

“Is there any other flower I could be?” 

[lothirielswandc]

I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM (Starring John Constantine's Impeccable Parenting skills)

*This is a one-shot special for 3k views; it can be read regardless of where you are in the story*

— TWO YEARS AGO —

— LONDON —

“This is so stupid.”

“Oi! I’m not enjoying myself, either. I could be doing a lot more interesting things on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’m sure liver failure is a big commitment.”

“Okay,” Zatanna scooted forward, leaning between Raven and Constantine from the back seat. Raven’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel. When she glanced in the rearview mirror, she saw Etrigan calmly lick his thumb and turn the page on his copy of People Magazine.

“You’re a bloody seventeen year-old. How do you not know how to drive?” Constantine complained, turning in shotgun to give Raven a judgemental look.

She gritted her teeth. She did not like being in such close confines with him. His comments were getting on her nerves. And he smelled. The sharp aroma of liquor mixed with stale vomit. “I’ve been busy.”

“Like you’re one to judge, John.” Zatanna quipped, shifting to keep her uncomfortable position. “You’re terrible behind the wheel. How did you even get a license?”

“When most sods my age were reenacting the end of Thelma and Louise, I was mastering the dark arts.”

“Mastering is generous. Oh, Katy Perry’s new album is venerous,” Etrigan flipped to another page.

“Alright—we’re off topic, I don't want to be parked here all day. Set the knob to drive and let’s shove off.” Constantine grumbled.

Raven did as she was told and pulled on the “knob.” When it was level with the drive setting, the car started to inch forward in the empty parking lot.

“You’re doing great, sweetie. Let’s go over some basic driving rules first—” Zatanna offered.

Constantine dismissed her with a hand. “Blah blah blah, just ignore her. Here’s what you need to know: green means go. Yellow means go faster. Red means go when the coppers aren't looking.”

“Yeah, most of what you said is illegal,” Raven rolled her eyes. In the process, her gaze was drawn to the dashboard, “Can we turn the music on?”

“Yes.”

“No!”

Zatanna and Constantine exchanged a glare.

“She needs to focus. She’s not used to this,” Zatanna remarked.

“Any situation is improved with Led Zeppelin, Zee,” Constantine gestured at the slowly-inching car, “and this one is in dire need of some improvement. Roth, go to the stop sign. It’s time to release you into the population—and there’s a gas pedal there for a reason. Step on it.”

Raven tapped the other pedal with her foot. The car lurched forward and the stop sign blurred past as they met oncoming traffic.

“WOAH—!” Zatanna leaned over and straightened the wheel. Constantine’s face was squished up against the window. Etrigan barely glanced up from his magazine.

“I never gave Chaz enough credit for raising a daughter,” Constantine yanked himself off the glass surface, rubbing his face. “Bloody hell.”

Raven hardly caught his words. She was too busy trying to figure out the maze of roads before her. Everything was backwards: Londoners drove on the left, opposing every American street she’d been exposed to for the past few years. She hunched down, squinting, trying to stay in between the lines. Raven’s foot cried out in protest of being set at such an odd angle for a long period of time.

“You’re not even on the road—you’re in the other lane, you have to level yourself!” Constantine gripped the dashboard in front of him.

“I’m trying—stop yelling at me!” Raven snapped at him.

“Should’ve let Boston join us. He’s dead; he can't die in a car accident. He’s immune,” Constantine covered his eyes.

Something red filled the rearview mirror. “Here’s Boston—oh, fuck.”

“Shit—shit!” The car swerved. Raven winced as horns blared around her. She sank down lower in her seat.

“Boston!” Zee swatted the air that depicted the ex-trapeze artist’s spectral form. “Bad timing! We’re busy!”

“What? Etrigan texted and said you were getting ice cream.” Boston Brand settled into the empty seat behind Constantine, floating in the unoccupied space.

“You can't even eat it.” Zatanna pointed out.

“Don't rub it in! I don’t go for the food: I love scaring the kids that work at Dairy Queen by turning the machines on and off.”

Raven shook her head, keeping her eyes on the road. “I should’ve never returned to society. I should’ve stayed in Themyscira—no, I should’ve sailed to an empty island and lived out the rest of my life with a coconut named Wilson.”

“Don't steal my plan B,” Warned Constantine.

Boston’s form went through Constantine’s chair, his face hovering before the infamous Hellblazer. “You don’t look so good, Johnny. ‘Ey, kiddo, maybe you should stop by a bathroom.”

“Don’t bother. I went on that last turn.”

“Ew.” Boston shuddered and melted into the backseat. Raven chewed on her bottom lip as a traffic light appeared ahead.

“We’re turning right,” Zee instructed her.

“If you run over pedestrians, you get bonus points!”

“Boston, I will banish you to hell, so help me...”

Raven turned on the blinker and the car started to slow. She heard someone uncap a marker and scribble across parchment.

Raven’s eyes slid towards Constantine’s seat. “Are you drawing a pentagram right now?”

“It’s a sign. ‘Says impaired driver. Boston, take this and tape it to the back of the car. Give the wankers some warning.”

“Uh, this says insane driver, not impaired—”

“Shh! Just do it!”

The car steadily approached the crosswalk. Raven looked up and down the street for anyone walking, hopefully not future victims.

“Is that...Nanaue?”

The massive shark was hurrying across the road with his laptop; he was attending MIT online in order to spend more time with John. Apparently, the half-man, half-shark hybrid was an excellent tech wiz.

“Do not hit my boyfriend,” Constantine ordered.

“I'm not—although, for the record, I do not enjoy listening to you hook up with a shark every night.” Raven involuntarily shuddered, shoving away flashbacks of certain thuds late at night that reverberated throughout the House of Mystery.

“Agreed,” Boston nodded along with her. “Thank god for the vinyl records—that Marina lady’s a saint. What is she, Welsh?”

“And Greek.”

“Wow. A literal Greek goddess. Can we listen to her right now?”

“NO!”

The stop light turned yellow.

“Speed up, Raven. This light takes forever,” Zatanna replied.

“Slow down,” Constantine countered. “Do not hit Nanaue. That tall pile of earth-defying genetics is my one source of happiness.”

“High talk from the guy who just said ‘yellow’ means speed up,” Zatanna rolled her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Raven, step on it. We have places to be.”

“Why the rush, Zee? Is there a specific reason you don't want to see him—? You will stop at that crosswalk, young lady!”

“John, don't be an ass. This has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with me wanting ice cream before Boston terrifies the villagers!”

Raven had enough. She shouted over the chaos, “WILL BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP? CALM DOWN RIGHT NOW OR I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND AND NO ONE’S GETTING ICE CREAM!”

Raven turned her attention back to the road. A tower of silver with a glimmering sheen rose before her. In a hoodie with khakis.

Raven slammed on the breaks. Constantine face-planted against the windshield. Zatanna yelped as her seatbelt tugged her back against the tan leather seats. Boston went flying forward, floating past the outside of the car.

When the car fully stopped, Raven shut her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. She opened them, and a massive shark (with all limbs attached) waved at them from the front of the car.

Constantine pulled his face away from the glass (again) and turned to her, “No casualties. A broken nose. An intact boyfriend. Not bad, Roth.”

Boston floated back to the car, scowling, “Uh, I’d like to revisit the ‘no casualties’ part!”

Etrigan finally looked up from his copy of People Magazine, “Are we there yet? Why is Constantine covered in sweat?”

“Because parenting bloody sucks, that's why!”

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

[definitelynotsuzumi]

Zapped to Another World

Genshin Impact x Fem!Reader

I wrote this in my spare time when I was working back in November and thought that I should share this ^-^ 

Depending on the comments/notes and if I have spare time, I may be updating this. 

[Masterlist]

The rain poured down your umbrella. The clouds coloured the sky a dark grey as you ran for the bus. You sighed as you reached the traffic light. Yup, you were definitely not going to be able to catch it now.

School had ended for the year, which meant more free time for you and the new game you had recently gotten into. Genshin Impact.

You could not help but smile at the thought of it. With school out of the picture, you could finally focus on the game completely. There was so many things to do. Farming for artifacts, completing your daily commissions…

You sloshed your way over as the lights turned green. While you love that school is out, you honestly hated the wet weather that came with the winter break and the feeling of wet socks on your feet. After safely crossing the road, you winced as a white truck rushed by, soaking your clothes through as the giant puddle you have been trying to avoid poured onto your skirt and legs.

You let out a sigh as you quickly took shelter under a tree nearby to try and wring out the remaining water when it happened.

“Just my luck…”You muttered as you clumsily balanced your umbrella, “Can it get any worse?”

Just as those words left your lips, it happened. A white flash lit the sky for a brief second. But it was too late. Thousands of volts came cascading upon your body and everything turned white.

“This is your fault.” You heard a voice. It sounded like a young, sulky boy.

“How is this my fault? You’re the one who lashed out when I put down that +4 card down.”

“THAT AIN’T FAIR STILL! I WAS SO CLOSE TO WINNING AND YOU BLEW IT!”

“Uh…What’s going on?” You blinked as your vision settled. You sat in what looked like a library of sorts, with several shelves lining the walls and a long white and gold marble table in the centre of it all. A girl with long, platinum hair glared down at her male counterpart, who huffed in annoyance.

“How about you explain it to her, Artem.”

“Sorry, but I don’t speak to cheaters.”

“Oh for gods sake- fine. We apologize for uhm…Killing you. Truly, a thousand apologies. If only someone can control their temper for once in their life-“ The girl shot a dirty look at Artem.

“LIKE YOU ARE ONE TO TALK! SOLARIA, YOU SINGED MY EYEBROWS OVER KILLING YOU IN AMONG US!”

“Well excuse you! My anger was perfectly justified! You voted me out even when I told you the truth and that I was innocent!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO EMBROIDER AND GROOM THEM BACK TO NORMAL AGAIN?”

“Could you guys please stop fighting for 10 seconds?” You yelled over the noise. The girl and boy finally stopped, leaving you to rub at your ringing ears.

You sighed. Kids were always a handful back in your home. You had to take care of your cousins whenever your aunt was over, and it often resulted with your ears ringing and your head pounding.

“What’s done is done. I’m…well, dead and I seriously have no idea where I am.” You said, trying to stay composed.

“Well…In your human terms, this is kind of like the After Life.” The boy, Artem explained, sighing as he put down his Uno cards.

“Or well, it shouldn’t since…You were supposed to live for like, another 50 to 60 years. But someone messed it up.” The girl, Solaria, summoned a book from a shelf. You blinked as a weathered leather book with gilded, golden pages floated down onto the table.

“Shut up. I said that I was sorry, didn’t I?” Artem groaned.

“Sir Artem, are you losing your braincells? I was the one who apologized. You still owe the human an apology.” Solaria bit back icily.  

With a wave of her hand, the pages of the book flipped and she studied it carefully for a minute before looking back up.

“Well, as a soul now, you have an option. You can go into Elysium or be reincarnated.” Solaria sighed as Artem huffed again.

“Huh. What do you know? Elysium sounds real good right about now-“You thought out loud as Artem’s eyes turned wide with fear.

“Please don’t go into Elysium!” Artem yelled. The books shook in the shelves as his voice echoed.

“Ow, inside voice please? Hasn’t your mother taught you better?” You winced in pain. It seems that immortals had a throat of steel, judging from the way they could shout infinitely.

“I’m really sorry, but if Dad finds out I brought in another human because I accidentally killed them…He’s going to banish me…To Earth…” Artem looked down onto the table.

He was unable to meet your eyes as you stared at him with bemusement.

“Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, please…Reconsider on our offer to reincarnate. He is on thin ice with Father and if he is banished, I’d have to take on his duties as well. I’m pretty exhausted with the workload as it is.” Solaria sighed.

“As long as it’s not Earth, I’m cool with it.” You looked up at the ceiling, which took your breath away. The entire solar system was on it. With it, was the familiar sphere of white, green and blue.

“Hm, that is easy enough. I could reincarnate you into my world.” Artem brightened up.

Solaria sighed with relief.

“And to make up for it, I could buff you up with a couple of blessings here and there-“

“Within reason.” Solaria cut in, with a sharp look at Artem.

“Psssh, as if it’s hard to make a Gnosis.” Artem had considerably relaxed after hearing your statement.

“Are you serious? Don’t you even know the situation down at Teyvat?!” Your eyes widened. Were they talking about what you were thinking of?

Artem rose to his feet, the ivory wings on his lower back flaring. His eyes gleamed gold as he stared down his sister.

“It’s my world. I do what I like with it. If you don’t like it, get a world of your own.”

“You only got your world because Mother took pity on you. Don’t act all big when you have killed so many humans.”  Solaria hummed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll only grant this human the bare minimum. Anything more, and I’ll let Father know of your deeds thus far, even if it means more work for me.” Solaria glared back. Her eyes gleamed silver as she did so. You felt a shiver run down your spine. 

“That’s all that I’ll need then. Work on your blessings and gifts. I’ll work on mine.” Artem turned away from his sister. The siblings set to work, the atmosphere of ice cold professionalism now in the air.

Solaria rose from her place on the table. With a flick of a finger, the Uno cards vanished with a burst of gold sparkles. The leather book floated beside her as she constantly referred to its pages while flying around the room.

“Hmm…Not much of a combatant, I see. Polearms and swords will probably be hard for you. Perhaps…A catalyst?” She pulled out a bright blue book adorned in gold, with feathers sticking out.

Blowing off any dust from the beautiful book, she casually tossed it over her shoulder and onto you. You instinctively brought your arms up to protect your face but as the book hit your arms, it disappeared into a burst of gold.

“Huh?” You blinked as you saw the book reappear beside you, its pages flipping.

Solaria returned with a satchel and a bag of gold coins. Looking satisfied as she noticed the book beside you, she inserted the bag of coins into the satchel before sliding it over your shoulder. Solaria hummed to herself before smiling again.

Reaching behind her neck, Solaria detached a shimmering teardrop necklace before slipping it around yours.

“There’s nothing special about it, apart from it glowing. I thought it would be a nice touch.” Solaria winked at you. 

Tilting your chin up, you froze with shock as she pressed her lips against yours.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh, please. Don’t be flustered. That was merely a blessing of mine. It will help you when you need to speak with the natives of the land.” Solaria coolly said as she wiped her mouth.  

You were still reeling in shock. Your throat seemed to tighten as you coughed. 

“..Thank you, for agreeing with us on our selfish request. To be forcibly stripped of our powers can be the worst pain and humiliation a god or goddess can bear.” Solaria murmured to you as she hurried to the end of the room, where she knelt and seemed to draw symbols in gold.

You held back your tongue. ‘What about me? I got zapped to death here.’ You thought to yourself.

“It is done. Please step into that summoning circle there.” Artem held a floating, golden cylinder in his hands. Solaria rose from her place on the floor, gesturing for you to come over.

It was a Gnosis! You were quick to obey as you hurried to Solaria’s side.

Stepping into the centre, you turned to face Artem and Solaria, who stood side by side. They flared their wings as you sensed an energy swirl around you.

“I, Artem, God of the Moon, grant you passage and dominion over my world, Teyvat. Do you accept, (Y/N) (L/N)?” Artem’s voice echoed in your ears.

“I accept.” As the words left your lips, the Gnosis within his hands flew into your chest. You gasped as it did so, a heat spreading rapidly across your chest.

“Be safe on your travels, (Y/N) (L/N).” Solaria flashed a warm smile as you coughed.

“Resigno!”

The gold summoning circle glowed bright blue and you found yourself falling through the blue skies.

You screeched ungracefully as you fell from the sky headfirst. The green grass was coming up way too fast. 

‘Am I going to die again?’ You thought as you held out your arms to break your fall, only for a huge gust of wind to cushion your fall. 

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise as a person clad in green floated beside you. 

It was a young boy with 2 braids, which gleamed blue in the light. His eyes were a beautiful mix of green and blue. 

‘Venti?’ You gaped as he grabbed your hands and guided you back onto the ground. 

“Never thought I’d have an audience during my practice session. Are you okay?” Venti grinned at you. 

“Never...Never better. Thank you...”You gave a thumbs up as you got air back into your lungs again. 

His deft fingers plucked at his harp as he sat down on the soft grass. 

“It’s no problem. But what brings you here anyways? Not many people know of this spot.” Venti tilted his head. It seemed as though you uncovered his secret place. 

“I- uh well...Accidents happen. I’m not a mad fan or a stalker, I swear. Well, maybe I am a fan but still.” You rambled but you forced yourself to stop talking and to breath. Venti is real and he is in front of me. Venti is real and he is in front of me. 

Your heart was beating fast. 

‘I should say something smart, introduce myself or something.’ You thought to yourself as you composed yourself. 

You wanted to at least tell him your name but the words are out faster than you can stop them. 

“Wanna grab a drink?”