#i feel like he’ll cut it mid summer

[venus-b]

i wonder if joes hair will get this long again

[fairyhaos]

❖ all mother nature's fault // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.9k+ words

tags: non-idol au, fluff, established relationship, crack, me furthering my 'joshua hong has erratic hay fever' hc, kinda sick fic

warnings: mentions of medicine ??

notes: good lord,,, sick!shua is just so pathetic (fond)

“Joshua? Shua, are you there?” 

You step into Joshua and Jeonghan’s shared apartment, humming a little to yourself as you take off your sunglasses, the spare keys that Joshua had given you dangling in your hands.

It’s a delightfully sunny day, and you’re dressed all nicely, fully sun-screened and ready to go out. Joshua had asked you yesterday if you wanted to go on a walk in the park today, and you’d never say no to spending a sunny, lovely day out with your boyfriend.

But at 11am, Joshua hadn’t appeared on your doorstep, so you’ve come looking for him in his own home.

“Joshua?” you call again, padding through the apartment to stop at his bedroom, knocking on his door. “Are you in here? Can I come in?”

“The door’s open,” a voice says, and you open the door to see Jeonghan sitting on the bed, holding a box of tissues next to a sprawled-out Joshua.

“Oh, Jeonghan?” you say in surprise. “Why are you here?”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “I live here, too,” he says, sounding put-out.

You laugh, closing the door behind you. “You don’t live here in Joshua’s room, though,” you say, but Jeonghan just waves a hand like that little fact is irrelevant.

“I can live anywhere I want. I pay half the rent for this place.” He looks down at Joshua, and grins. “Unfortunately, the other rent payer is a little… incapacitated right now.”

And he’s right. ‘Incapacitated’ is probably the right way to describe Joshua’s state, because he’s pathetically lying spread-eagled on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, head propped up with multiple pillows. He’s still in his pyjamas. In the few minutes that you’ve been in his room, you’ve seen him take at least three tissues from Jeonghan to blow his nose.

“I’m sick,” Joshua says, and he sounds all bunged up. “No, I’m not sick. I’m going to die. I’m dying.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at how dramatically miserable he’s being, sitting next to him on the bed. “Is it your hay fever?”

“Of course it’s my hay fever,” Joshua laments, and then sniffs loudly. He turns his head, looking at you through puffed-up eyes, before sniffing again. “I can feel all the pollen particles attacking my body right now.”

“That bad, huh?” you say, pushing his hair back from his forehead. Joshua stares hazily at you. “It shouldn’t be this terrible, though. It’s been raining for the past week.”

Joshua whines, flopping around on the bed like a child. “I don’t even know. But I keep—keep—ah—” He sneezes then, mid-sentence, covering his mouth with his hand, and then promptly reaches for a tissue to wipe his hand and his nose. “Keep sneezing.”

You hum, trying not to laugh aloud at his misfortune. You exchange amused grins with Jeonghan. Your boyfriend is the only person you know who gets hayfever, and what makes it worse is that it’s the most random hayfever you’ve ever seen.

He could take you for a date to a flower field in the middle of summer and not have his eyes water at all, but during one random week in the middle of autumn, he’ll be sneezing so hard that he could blow over a jenga tower.

That happened, once. It’s the only time you’ve ever seen Seungcheol genuinely cry with laughter.

“My poor darling Shua,” you coo, trying not to smile too hard at the memories whilst Joshua looks so pathetically sad next to you. His eyes are all puffed up, and he looks so miserable and it’s actually a little adorable.

“I know, your poor darling Shua,” Joshua says miserably, his words coming out all distorted due to his blocked nose. 

“Poor Jeonghan, too,” Jeonghan cuts in. “He called me over just so I could hold the tissue box for him.” He lightly bonks Joshua on the head with the tissues. “Meanie.”

“I’m the one actually dying here,” Joshua says, and wow, he really does sound ill. “I feel terrible. I feel like one of those hanahaki victims in those fics you keep sending me.”

“You can’t compare yourself to my hanahaki recommendations if you laughed at the fics for an entire five minutes after I send them to you,” Jeonghan says, stabbing a finger in Joshua’s direction.

“Well, they’re always totally unrealistic! And why are you even reading fanfiction about that sort of stuff?”

“Hey, they’re good stories!” Jeonghan says, holding his hands up defensively. It makes him lift the tissue box into the air just as Joshua was about to take one, prompting your boyfriend to whine as he stretches fruitlessly. “And the genre only ever comes up in fanfiction. I love hanahaki stories.”

“He loves reading about other people’s pain,” Joshua says in your direction, and he forcefully yanks Jeonghan’s arm downwards so he can take a tissue. Holding it up to his nose, his voice is muffled as he says, “That’s why he’s here right now. To laugh at my pain.”

“You brought me here to laugh at your pain.” Jeonghan hits him over the head with the tissue box once again.

“I brought you here to comfort me,” Joshua cries as loudly as he can, which isn’t very loud, because his voice is all croaky. “You’ve just been laughing at me the whole time!”

“Should have known that I would do that. How many years have we known each other, Shua? Do you really still not know your best friend at all?”

“Apparently not,” Joshua grumbles, sniffing. “Next time you’re sick, I’m going to destroy all the tissues in your house.”

You’re practically crying with laughter, listening to the two bickering, and this is something that is always the funniest to watch. Jeonghan and Joshua bounce off each other so well, both having equal sass and equal wit to be able to do this, though one might not think so when meeting them for the first time.

Joshua’s just always too busy holding up his gentleman image to properly rip into Jeonghan.

“Gonna destroy all your tissues and then ban you from ever buying any more,” Joshua is still threatening, poking at Jeonghan with his snot-covered tissue. “You little monster. I hate you.”

“You’re the one cursing at me?” Jeonghan says, incredulous. “How am I the monster here? Y/N! Do you think I’m the monster here?”

You’re giggling into your hand, trying not to be too loud, and when Jeonghan directs the question at you, you startle and let out another surprised laugh. “Um… I don’t know.”

“You have to side with me,” Joshua insists croakily at you, snatching the tissue box from Jeonghan so he can get his own tissues. “Y/N, please? I’m literally your boyfriend.” 

He smiles weakly at you, then, in an attempt to gain your favour, and even though his eyes are all red and his nose is still leaking you can’t help but think that he looks utterly, utterly adorable.

That’s not gonna stop you from messing with him, though.

You shake your head, smiling. “Yeah, but you ditched me on what was supposed to be our date today, so I don’t know if I should side with you.”

Joshua’s eyes widen as best as they can, betrayed, and Jeonghan cackles.

“You’re so mean,” Joshua mumbles, dabbing at his nose, and then kicks Jeonghan when the man won’t shut up. “Hey, stop laughing! It’s not that funny.” He looks at you again, and if possible, he looks even more miserable. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like that.”

That makes you laugh, and you reach over to pet his hair consolingly. “I’ll tell you what. You let me take care of you today, and I’ll agree with you that Jeonghan’s the one in the wrong here.”

Joshua blinks, like he’s processing your words, before nodding. “Deal.” He looks over at Jeonghan, and kicks him again. “You heard Y/N. Get out.”

“Excuse me?” Jeonghan gasps in mock offence as Joshua continues prodding him with his toes. “How dare you!”

“I’m not your boyfriend, so you don’t have to take care of me anymore,” Joshua said, and then he grinned up at you, all watery-eyed but still devastatingly adoring. “Y/N’s here now.” You smile down at him, and he seems to positively light up under your gaze.

And then he sneezes.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Jeonghan says, as Joshua starts going through some sort of sneezing fit. “Goodness me, you’re even pulling out the sneezing attack in an attempt to get rid of me.”

You laugh, shuffling closer to your boyfriend and taking the tissue box from Jeonghan, handing Joshua tissue after tissue and helping him prop himself up so he doesn’t choke on his own gasps for air. “Sorry, Jeonghan, we just really want you gone.”

“I’ll remember this,” Jeonghan says, pretending to be all upset even as he practically lunges for the door. “I’ll remember this act of treachery!”

And then, with a neat click of the door, he’s gone.

The room becomes quieter, then, and Joshua’s sneezes die down into little sniffles. You place more pillows behind him, helping him sit up, patting his hair affectionately as he attempts to take in a deep breath. You weren’t joking when you said that you’d take care of him, and he seems to notice it, eyeing you over the tissues that he’s blowing his nose with.

“I’ve already taken antihistamines,” he says, as if preempting your question. “This is me all already drugged up.”

You chuckle, pinching his cheek. Taking the dirty tissues from him, you deposit them into the bin beside his bed. “Wow. Your hay fever is really bad today,” you say, and he snuggles into your side with a long-suffering sigh.

“Yeah. It really is.”

There’s silence for a moment, as Joshua miserably tries to breathe and you run your fingers through his hair.

And then Joshua sits up a little, looking at you.

“Sorry for not being able to take you out on that walk today,” he apologises, eyes big and wet and sincere. You just smile pinching his reddened cheek and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m not actually mad. You know that, right?”

Joshua shrugs. “Still. I feel like I should say sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” you say easily. “It’s the weather’s fault. It’s ‘cause of all that pollen that you’re in this state right now.”

“Hm. You’re right.” A grave look comes over him as he nods, eyes darting up to you. “Will you fight the weather for my honour, Y/N?”

That makes you laugh, surprised. “Your honour?”

“My honour is totally destroyed right now,” he says, dead serious. “Baby, I’ve been defeated by tiny little flower particles! I definitely think that you should fight for my honour.”

He’s being so serious about this that you can't help but laugh, leaning down to kiss his cheek even though he protests that he’s all sticky and disgusting right now. But it’s Joshua, so you peck him on the cheek anyway, and then kiss his hair.

“Sure,” you say, and when he looks at you again, your eyes sparkle brighter than a thousand suns. “I’ll fight Mother Nature for your honour, Shua.”

He beams. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

A beat.

“Quick question… how do you feel about going on walks in the rain from now on?”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[justfangirlstuffs]

rain showers from the cozy autumn prompts? either for sea slugs or enthralling you enthralling me? - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

GREY DAYS

Featuring @scarredlove's sea slug boys. <3

Wordcount: 3050

Grey. It dominated the mid-autumn skies, blotting out the sun with thick storm clouds and drizzly rain. You were home alone, hunkered under a thick blanket, still in your pajamas. You’d felt little urgency to get dressed since, according to the weather forecast, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. It wouldn’t be so bad if it hadn’t been like this for the past two days now. The monotony was getting to you.

Going over to your window, you pried the window open. A misting of rain carried on a light breeze was there to greet you. You closed your eyes and called out with your heart, picturing him in your mind’s eye before calling out his name.

“Sun? I’d really like to see you.”

Moon would likely be asleep, and Eclipse was always touch and go. Sun was typically the safest be, especially during the daytime. You waited for a minute or so, staring out into the gloom as raindrops misted across your front. Pretty soon you were starting to shiver from the chill.

You shut the window, leaving it open just a crack before moving towards your bed, intent on burrowing under your blankets until you warm up again. The squeak of sliding wood announced an arrival at your window. Your head whipped around, expecting to see a flourish of bright reds and yellows akin to a summer’s dawn. Instead, you were met with dusky maroons and pale gold across a backdrop of inky black.

“Oh… hey,” you greeted lamely.

Gold eyes surveyed you as Eclipse cocked his head to the side, the frills around his face twitching in what might have been irritation. “I wasn’t aware my company was that big of a disappointment.”

“No, not at all,” you said hurriedly. “I was just…”

You were cut off as Eclipse’s huge hand grasped the top of your head and playfully tousled your hair. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Don’t be so uptight.”

“To be fair, it’s hard to tell you’re joking when you look like you’re about to bite my face off,” you muttered.

Eclipse’s fingers grasped around your jaw and bent down so that his sharp smile was gleaming inches from your face. “I’ll only bite if you ask me to,” he said in a husky whisper that rolled through you with the force of an undertow threatening to pull you under. 

His low chuckle made you huff petulantly in the face of his antics. He wanted a reaction, and he got it. So, you wrapped your arms around him and bit into his shoulder. A low hiss sounded next to your ear, not of pain, but of surprise. 

“I see someone is feeling spritely today.” Amusement highlighted the otherwise dark tones dancing in your ears like a comforting melody. You gasped as you felt teeth dig into your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but firm enough to send a spark of thrill and contentment curling in your gut.

“I thought you said only if I asked,” you murmured teasingly.

“You didn’t need to use words for me to know, Angelfish.” His voice caressed your ear, his mouth ghosting over the sensitive flesh, making your skin heat.

Still, you wanted a reaction and you’d gotten it. You’d take the win. “So, where’s Sun?”

Eclipse drew away enough to meet your gaze. “Sunny sends his regards, but he isn’t feeling well. So I came in his stead.”

Concern pricked at your heart like an icepick. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be just fine,” Eclipse assured, his hand smoothing down over your hair to fix what he’d mussed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said brightly. “Today’s been… fine.”

Eclipse squinted at you. “Just ‘fine’?”

“Yeah, maybe a little lonely. Bit of cabin fever building up.”

“I can certainly help with that. If you think I make an adequate substitute,” Eclipse remarked wryly.

“I suppose I can suffer your company for a bit,” you returned with a grin.

“Shall I steal you away then?”

“You’re gonna have to catch me first.”

Eclipse’s eyes widened in surprise as you bolted to the door and fled the bedroom. At first, you didn’t think he was following you until you glanced over your shoulder and squeaked out an ‘oh shit’. The slug was surprisingly fast out of the water, and his flowing robes made it look like he was gliding across the floor like it was ice. You scrambled down the stairs three at a time, landing awkwardly but managing to avoid turning an ankle. Even with your efforts, you were barely keeping ahead, turning a corner just in time as Eclipse’s claws swiped for you.

Your downfall came when you fled to the living room, your foot sliding out from underneath you when you stepped on a pile of magazines your cousin had left lying on the floor. A yelp of surprise left you, but before you crashed into the wall, a pair of hands caught you, one cradling your head while the other was secured around your waist. Chest puffing, you stared up at Eclipse whose face was pinched up with concern.

“Thanks for that,” you mumbled.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he murmured, and you were helplessly lowered down onto the carpeted floor. “I’m still debating what to do with you, now that I’ve caught you.”

The words sent a shiver of delight rolling up your spine, causing you to squirm beneath him. In a single motion, Eclipse pinned both wrists above your head, securing them with a single hand while the other tapped a finger against your cheek. Your heart, already accelerated from the chase, went in twofold from the action. You struggled, more experimental than an actual bid for escape, your body pushing and pressing against the constraints that were his body and his hands. The motion seemed to excite him, and you couldn’t help but grin. Eclipse may be the ‘big’ brother, but he was still the baby. He liked having attention just as much as Sun and Moon, even if he was sometimes brusque about it.

“I’m still up for you stealing me away,” you said. Not that you were bothered by the positioning, but the floor was starting to become just a touch uncomfortable.

Eclipse seemed to sense this, as he relinquished pinning you in favor of scooping you up off the floor. “Let’s be off then.”

“Wait, I should probably change,” you suggested.

“There’s a change of clothes waiting for you there,” he told you. “From your last visit.”

“Oh, I was wondering where those went…”

Eclipse kissed your forehead, and you were quick to slide into unconsciousness. When you next awoke, you were in their sea cave, their home. Eclipse said it was a way to expedite travel but… you wondered if it was because they wanted to keep the location of their home a secret, even from you. Which… fair. Everyone was entitled to have a secret or two.

However, it wasn’t Eclipse whom you awoke to, but surprisingly Moon instead who had curled around you a cradled you in the folds of his cloak while you slept. “Hello, sea star,” he greeted with a wide grin.

“Ah, I got ditched,” you said with a mock sigh. “Tell Eclipse my heart is broken beyond repair, and I shant ever recover.”

Moon snickered. “He said he was sorry, but he wanted to look after Sun.”

“Is Sun going to be alright?” you asked.

“Just a stomach ache. Ate something he shouldn’t have. I’d take you to see him but he gets extra cranky on rainy days.”

“And he won’t get cranky knowing you’re hogging me to yourself tonight?”

“He’ll live.”

The cave had been strung with lanterns that glowed a soft sepia, and a woodfire housed in a circle of stones crackled merrily, providing warmth against the otherwise wet and chilly weather.

“Did you do all this?” you asked Moon in surprise.

“Most of it,” he said with a shy smile. “The others helped some.”

You sidled up to the fire to help dry you off. You were always soaking wet whenever they brought you to their home, so you at least suspected that they took you underwater through the ocean to get there.

“Moon, when you bring me here how do you… I mean how do I…” You paused, trying to figure out how to word your question.

He seemed to figure out what you were gunning for. “Breath spell,” he said simply. “Allows humans to breathe underwater for a time.”

“Wow, that’s incredible and super useful,” you murmured. 

It didn’t escape your notice that Moon was keeping a respectful distance from the fire. Probably afraid of drying out or his robes catching aflame. Moon once told you that it was their robes that allowed them to come and go from the sea, and should anything happen to them, they would be stuck on land forever, cut off from the sea, from their home. Thus, they safeguarded them and hardly ever took them off.

Once you were mostly dry and your clothes only slightly damp, you shuffled over to Moon who had been fidgeting restlessly as he waited for you. He happily invited you into his space, pulling you back into the crook of his lap.

“Missed you,” he murmured, nuzzling your ear.

“Missed you too, Moonie.” You bit your lip when you felt his teeth gently bite and nibble along your neck, occasionally pressing a gentle kiss over the skin.

“The sea salt tastes so good when it’s on you,” he purred.

“You always were the biter out of the three,” you remarked with a soft chuckle.

Back when they were just little slugs living in your aquarium, you used to stick your hand in the water and wait for them to swim close enough to touch. Moon was almost always the first to approach, and he would weave himself between your fingers and nibble on the tips. You found rubbing a spot just under his ‘chin’ caused him to lazily spin, allowing you to run your finger along the length of his body.

“You never seemed to mind,” Moon murmured, nuzzling against your neck.

“I didn’t,” you answered honestly.

With a mischievous grin, Moon took one of your hands and brought it towards his mouth. Your cheeks heated and your heart skipped when he took one of your fingers into his mouth and softly bit. It was a little unnerving, having your fingers in between teeth that looked like they could serrate through a cinder block. However, you trusted that Moon wouldn’t do something so vicious as to bite off your fingers. He was always sweet and gentle, even if he had a bit of an impish streak.

“I’d like to go swimming with you sometime.” The statement was more a request than anything.

“Mm, sounds like fun,” Moon chuckled. “I can chase you through the seaweed beds and kelps forests.”

“Not sure how much of a chase it’ll be considering you boys can easily outswim me,” you remarked with a laugh. “But yeah, I’d love that.” You reached under his chin and gave it a soft scritch.

Moon’s eyes dilated and he let loose a rumbling purr, flipping onto his back with you on top. You squeaked in surprise and he grinned up at you. “Do that again.”

—

At some point, during your cuddles with Moon, you passed out again. You hadn’t meant to, but whenever he started humming at doing his light show, you couldn’t help it. Considering you had a touch of insomnia the night before, the added sleep was nice and left you feeling more refreshed. Even though you didn’t hear the rain anymore, the low rumblings of thunder still reached your ears. Opening your eyes, you found that once more your partners had changed during your time in snoozeville.

“Did you have a nice nap?” a warm voice asked.

You lifted your head to find you’d been making a pillow of Sun’s lap. His long fingers were stroking through your hair, threatening to lull you back into a dozing state. The fire Moon built had burned down, leaving only smoldering embers desperate to hang on and stay alight. Judging by how dark the sky was, it was nearing the evening time. Just before Sun was usually due to start winding down in his activities.

“How are you?” you asked, your concern resurfacing. “They told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m doing better,” he said softly. Though looking at him, he definitely seemed off. His colors were far less lustrous than usual, and his eyes typically gleamed so brightly were dim. But he smiled that sweet smile at you. “Besides, I couldn’t let those brutes have you all to themselves. Do you like your gift, by the way?”

“My…” The question trailed off when you noticed that something dangled from your wrist that wasn’t there before. You stared in amazement as you found a chain of sea shells, pearls, and a sea star glimmering around your wrist, threaded by an elastic band.

“Did you make this?” you asked in astonishment.

“Yes,” Sun said proudly. “It took me a bit, but each piece of that is from a willing donor.”

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” you said, trying to find better words but failing miserably. “I love it.”

“I’m glad… and I’m sorry,” Sun murmured. “I wanted to see you. I just… didn’t want you to see me so…” He hummed, absently brushing a hand over the array of appendages surrounding his face. “I’m supposed to be your Sun. Your little ray of happiness, even when things are at their darkest.”

“Sun…” You reached out a hand but stopped. You grabbed your water bottle, spraying the water over your hands to clean them. “May I touch you?”

A faint smile passed over Sun’s mouth as he reached his hands out your clasp yours. “My precious pearl is so very thoughtful.”

You gently squeeze his long fingers. “It’s okay to have an off day. I have them all the time. You’ve helped me through a lot of them. So, I’ll gladly help you through yours.”

Sun effortlessly pulled you into his lap, enveloping you in soft folds of butter yellow and cherry red. He took one of your hands and brought them to one of his rays. “You can feel them… if you like.”

You carefully brushed your fingers over the delicate appendage, and it twitched against your touch. The texture was incredibly sleek and smooth and the more attention you gave it, you could hear a rumbling purr building within Sun’s chest. His large hands combed over your hair, rubbed over your back and brushed over the exposed skin of your arms and legs.

The explorative touches made you smile, once more thinking about Sun’s tank days. You had learned fairly quickly that you had to let Sun come to you, to let him be touched how he wanted. Then, once he felt like he was dominating the situation, he wouldn’t stop brushing and nuzzling your hand until you pulled it out of the tank and he would wriggle in his sluggy form of an indignant pout. Not a whole lot has changed on that front, but lately, Sun was getting better about letting you touch him. So long as your hands were clean first and you gave him fair warning. As for him, well… you basically gave him permission to touch as much as he pleased, so long as he was willing to back off when you became uncomfortable.

You shivered when his cool fingers snuck beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing over the curve of your stomach and the arch of your back. “You’re so warm,” he mrumured, his purrs thrumming through your body. You were turning into putty between his fingers as they fondled and caressed you in their gentle exploration. His hand splayed over the bare skin of your back as he hugged you flush against him. Your heart knocked loudly in your ribcage as you felt like you might disappear amongst the swaths of color that surrounded you.

“S-Sun…” You bit back a groan as his fingers gently pressed into your taut back muscles. As much as you wanted him to do it again, you weren’t quite ready for him to go any farther. “That’s a bit much.”

Sun hummed his disappointment, but his hands slipped out from beneath your shirt. “Apologies,” he said, keeping his hands busy by cradling your face. “I got a bit enthusiastic there.”

“I love your enthusiasm,” you told him, smiling in reassurance. Leaning up, you gave him a soft peck on his cheek.

The rays around his face twitched and almost seemed to curl towards you. Those eyes, they were gleaming again. So bright and endless, like the sea. You could swim in those eyes. Or drown in them. Titling your head back, Sun pressed his lips to yours. His usual eagerness was absent, instead chose to slowly savor your kiss. It wasn’t long before you felt that drunken giddiness and your hands grasped at the air, only for Sun to catch your hand in his and hold fast to you, keeping you from sinking too far too fast.

Your whole world tilted, and when your mouth was at last relinquished, you found Sun lying back on the sand with you lying atop his chest. “I’m tired,” he murmured.

“That’s okay,” you said, relaxing against him. “I’ll stay if you want.”

His fingers raked through your hair before rubbing lazy circles over your back. “I’d like that very much, pearl.”

The two of you lay there, just soaking up each other’s presence. Occasionally Sun would say something, and you would answer, but you knew it was just him trying to keep you entertained when he didn’t need to. You didn’t mind at all when he dozed off, trapping you in the folds of his arms in the process. So much for that change of clothes. 

As you lay there, you started to sing the ‘rain, rain, go away song’. Sun’s arms hugged you closer, a content sigh humming through him and through you, eliciting visions of sunlight rippling through water. Reminding you both that no matter how grey the days were, the sun would shine again.

[navnae]

Bad Influence (18+)

Paring: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Warnings: Dom Eddie Munson , Dom/sub, Anal S3x, Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Rough S3x, Rough Kissing, Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Steve Harrington Has a Praise Kink, Eddie Munson Hates Steve’s Dad, Watching

Summary: Eddie knows that Steve’s dad doesn’t like him and he goes out of his way to show it. Eddie needed to show him that he was here to stay and there was nothing he could do about it. If he believed Eddie was a bad influence then he was going to do a damn good job at it.

or

Eddie found a way to piss off Steve’s dad.

A/N: this is definitely not everyone’s cup of tea so if you dint like it please leave! You have been warned :)

-

After announcing that they were in a relationship, Steve and Eddie made it their duty to spend the entire summer together. That also meant Eddie had to spend his time with Steve’s family and the day would drag on for too long. He tried to be as present as possible to make a good impression but Steve’s father pushed his buttons every chance gets. Ever since he met the man he’s been disrespectful and made sure that Eddie heard all the slick comments that he could think of. Eddie thought it was because he couldn’t accept the fact that Steve liked men or he wasn’t as clean cut like everyone else in the small town. Steve informed him that it was because he smoked which Eddie took as a cover up for something else, none of it was adding up. Gradually Eddie stopped trying to be on his best behavior and spat back at Steve’s dad which always caught him off guard.

Steve scolded him about it several times and told him that he shouldn’t disrespect his father. Which Eddie had no problem with until one night when he slept over at Steve’s house he overheard an argument downstairs. Steve’s dad went on about how Eddie brought out the worst in Steve and he was the one who filled Steve’s head with homosexual tendencies. Hearing those words come out of his mouth pissed Eddie off that entire night and Steve didn’t know that he heard their conversation. Eddie’s dislike towards the older man grew every single day whenever he saw him around the house, Steve’s games, family video basically anywhere that involved Steve. He even showed at Eddie’s trailer once knowing that his company was very unwanted but that didn’t stop him because being the asshole he is, he wanted Eddie to know that he would never approve or respect anything that he did.

The thing that most people tend to forget is that Eddie rarely bites his tongue and he’ll never let anyone feel like they can treat him like shit. So when Steve’s dad least expected it Eddie was going to get him back in the most twisted and malicious way that he wouldn’t see it coming. The opportunity presented itself when Steve invited Eddie over and he emphasized that they would be by themselves. Eddie arrived at Steve’s place with all kinds of thoughts running through head as he came up with different scenarios that would make Steve’s dad blood boil. His thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening and Steve greeted him with a bright smile. Eddie let out a small gasp when Steve pulled him inside the house and started to kiss him. They made out near the door while their hands roamed over each other’s bodies.

“That’s an interesting way of saying hello.” Eddie joked after he pulled away from Steve. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him close enough so their foreheads could touch.

“I really wanted to see you and since we’re alone I thought we could,” Steve trailed off mid sentence while sliding his finger down Eddie’s clothed chest and bit his lip when he met Eddie’s gaze. “Have some fun.”

“Oh really?” Eddie asked as he raised a brow. Steve usually gave subtle hints when he was in the mood to have sex but today was very different. He looked at Eddie hungrily and eagerness could be seen all over his face.

“Mhm.” Steve hummed while pulling Eddie back into another kiss. This time Steve made it tougher than before and Eddie followed his lead. Eddie licked Steve’s bottoms lip for permission then slipped his tongue inside of his mouth earning a tiny whimper from Steve as his tongue licked deeply inside of his mouth. He pulled away leaving a string of spit that connected to both of their mouths and broke because of the distance they created.

“We should take this upstairs.” Eddie said lowly into Steve’s ear. Steve didn’t even hesitate to grab Eddie’s wrist and drag him upstairs. He was guiding him towards Steve’s bedroom like they always did but Eddie had something else in mind when he saw that Steve’s parents bedroom door was wide open. Eddie stopped in his tracks making Steve stop as well. “You’re parents are at work, right?”

“Yeah why?” Steve asked confused by what his boyfriend was up to. Eddie smirked as he pulled Steve into the empty room and started to kiss him. Steve felt his back lay against his parents mattress as Eddie pushed them closer to the bed while they kissed. They adjusted themselves on the bed and Eddie got in between Steve’s legs then leaned down to kiss him softly along his jaw. Steve let out small moans as Eddie continued to kiss further down and his hands slipped underneath Steve’s shirt to remove it. With a soft push against Eddie’s chest Steve shook his head quickly. “Eddie not here… it’s disrespectful to my parents.”

“Come on baby you know I would never disrespect them. I just thought it would be kind of fun, you know? You could be mom and I could be dad.” Eddie spoke softly. As much as he hated the man who laid his head here if Steve thought it was disrespectful then he wouldn’t push it. Before Eddie could move he was already being pulled by his shirt and met with Steve’s lips that were so desperate every time they kissed.

“I want you to be my daddy.” Steve breathed in between kisses and that’s when Eddie completely lost it. He pushed Steve onto his back then took off his shirt swiftly. Eddie threw his shirt somewhere on the floor hoping that it left a mess wherever it was. He leaned up to unbutton Steve’s pants and as he did the feeling of his erection was under Eddie’s hands. Eddie palmed the area making Steve buck his hips then another moan followed after. “Please… Eddie, I want you so badly.”

“I know baby but you have to be a good boy for me. From now on when you ask for something you’ll refer to me as what?” Eddie asked as he stopped moving completely. Steve whined at the loss of friction that Eddie gave him temporarily. He looked up at Eddie with soft eyes and blush creeping onto his face.

“Daddy.”

“There’s my good boy. Being such a good listener just for me, I’m so proud of you.” Eddie said before giving Steve a very much needed kiss for being good like always. He went back to taking care of Steve’s pants and finally took them off along with his. Both of them were hard in their boxers feeling the material press against their throbbing cocks. Eddie could see a wet patch on Steve’s boxers since they were light colored and he place his finger over the spot teasingly. Steve cried as he felt his tip leak with precum because of Eddie rubbing his finger over the sensitive area.

“Please.” Steve begged pathetically. His cock twitched just from a little bit of Eddie’s touch and he craved it for so long. Eddie wanted Steve to get comfortable with calling him daddy not only because it sounded extremely hot coming from him but it also added a few points to his score board against Steve’s dad. He wondered what would happen if he saw Steve laid out on his bed like this and Eddie had his way with him without anybody stopping him. Eddie thought this would be the perfect moment to get back at the man, little did he know that he spoke a little too soon.

“Please what?” Eddie said sternly. Steve visibly shivered at the sound of Eddie’s voice deepening and the way he showed his dominance over him. Eddie knew that he would get a reaction out of Steve because he loved being underneath his control.

“Please daddy fuck me.” Steve covered his face as the words came out of his mouth. It was truly embarrassing how turned in he was by the name calling and Eddie couldn’t stop smiling from ear to ear. Eddie felt like he was unstoppable at the moment and he enjoyed every second of it. Steve gave in easily letting the name escape his lips as if Eddie was the only person he knew that went by it. In the back of his mind he thought it was pretty weird since Eddie never requested to be called that but he wasn’t complaining in the slightest.

“Your wish is my command.” Eddie took his hands pulled down Steve’s boxers revealing his stiffened cock that was underneath. Steve whimpered as the cool air of the room hit his tip that still had precum coming out of the slit. Eddie rubbed his thumb over the head letting the sticky substance coat the surface of his thumb and Steve tried not to cum from only Eddie’s hands. “God, you’re so fucking wet. Are you that eager for me baby?”

“Y-yes I want you to fuck me until I can’t feel anything. Daddy… please.” Steve cried out helplessly all he wanted was to feel Eddie deep inside of him and take every inch of him even if he was too big it didn’t matter to Steve. Eddie couldn’t take seeing Steve vulnerable and giving himself to him like nothing else in the world was important. An idea popped into his head as he looked down at a desperate Steve waiting for him to make his next move.

“Get on all fours.” Eddie demanded. Steve didn’t waste anytime to get onto his hands and knees making himself exposed to Eddie. His hole wasn’t tight like Eddie thought it would be meaning Steve already did half the preparing himself. Without any warning Eddie slapped Steve’s ass cheek earning a sharp high pitched cry and he buried his face into the sheets. “Stretching yourself without me? I thought you were a good boy.”

“I p-promise I am. I just wanted to save you the trouble.” Steve rambled but the didn’t stop Eddie from pulling his back and slapping Steve again. Eddie left a big red mark on Steve’s skin and the stinging sensation that came with it made it impossible for Steve to keep his cries to a minimum. Light sobs started to come from the boy that tried to muffle his sounds into the sheets. Eddie pulled Steve towards him softly making him look in his direction and placed a gentle kiss on Steve’s tear stained cheek.

“It’s okay baby I’m not going to hit again but I had to punish you for doing things without me. Do you understand me?” Eddie asked softly. Steve nodded his head and Eddie pulled him into a kiss before getting back to their original position. Even though Steve was already stretched Eddie took it upon himself to stick his fingers inside of Steve’s hole. Eddie curled the two digits that pressed up against the soft spot that was inside of Steve. A loud moan filled the room as Eddie began to move his fingers in and out of his entrance, with every thrust of of Eddie’s fingers Steve clenched around them desperately wanting to get filled up by them. Steve pushed himself backwards and was met with an intense pain that came from Eddie’s fingers hitting the sensitive area.

“Daddy ah-“ Steve’s mind went blank when Eddie thrusted his fingers deeper inside making Steve whine as the pain turned into pleasure over and over again. Eddie made sure to push Steve limits every time they got to this point and the result would always be Steve being a complete wreck but loving how dirty they can get. With one last thrust of his fingers Eddie pulled out his fingers leaving Steve empty and clenching around nothing. Eddie aligned himself with Steve’s entrance and before he started to enter the faint sound of a car made him look out the window. Luckily the bed was close enough for him to see clearly outside. Eddie saw Steve’s dad car in the driveway and he stepped out of it angrily as if he had a bad day. He figured that Steve’s timing was a little off about how long his parents were going to be at work but Eddie didn’t mind because this worked perfectly in his favor.

“Since you’ve been such a good boy for me, I want you to be as loud as you possibly can. I want to hear those beautiful noises come from you. Do you think you can do that for me baby?” Eddie let a mischievous smirk onto his face when he saw Steve nod his head. He aligned himself with Steve’s entrance and slowly started push past the tight muscles. Eddie loved every moan that came from Steve being that he was loud enough for anyone to hear. He started to create a rhythm with his thrusts letting his cock disappear inside of Steve then roughly pulling it out with precum getting on the base. The sound of skin slapping filled the room and it only got louder within seconds as both of them lost themselves completely.

“H-harder Eddie, fuck.” Steve said in between moans and he gripped onto the bed sheets as Eddie slammed harder into his entrance shamelessly. Steve cried out when Eddie pushed him further down onto the bed forcing his back to arch. That made it easier for Eddie to continue to hit the same spot without a single stop. Steve felt his legs shake from trying to keep himself up and the way Eddie fucked him harder than ever it became all too much. Eddie held Steve in place when he started to become weak from the fast pace that he was going and that made him bury his face back into the sheets. While Steve was so far gone he didn’t notice that they had an audience and Eddie was glad that they did.

Standing at a good distance but visible through the doorway was Steve’s dad watching the scene in front of with utter disgust and anger. Eddie made eye contact with him every time he thrusted into Steve. He knew that he was beyond pissed and Eddie thought he might not make it out of this alive but it damn sure felt good to see the look on that bastards face as he saw his son getting destroyed by his boyfriend that he hated. Eddie didn’t want this victory to end and coincidentally Steve helped him out with that without realizing it.

“I need you to go harder… please.” Steve begged. Eddie pulled Steve by his hair earning a cry from him and he made Steve get on his knees. Pushing him down roughly onto his cock as both of them were now up right on the bed. Smoothly Eddie covered Steve’s eyes and licked the side of his neck then biting it in the process. Eddie looked directly at Steve’s dad who was completely frozen in one spot anxiously trying to decide if he should run or continue to watch even though it was pretty odd.

“What was that?” Eddie asked with playfulness in his tone. He thrusted upwards into Steve and he could barely keep himself up as his muscles tightened around Eddie. He laid on Eddie’s chest trying to catch his breath from what they were doing previously. Eddie pulled on Steve’s hair to remind him what he asked and breathlessly Steve responded.

“Fuck me harder daddy.” Steve mumbled and earned another hard tug from Eddie.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Fuck me harder daddy!” Steve screamed those words and he definitely didn’t hold back. Eddie watched as Steve’s dad eyes widen at what just heard the look of fear on his face made Eddie’s heart jump with joy. He kissed the side of Steve’s cheek and smiled against his skin.

“Good boy.” Eddie whispered. Steve was released from Eddie’s grasp and fell forward onto the bed. His body couldn’t keep with the Eddie’s movements as they became slightly rougher. Eddie continued to thrust into Steve feeling his body build up with deep inside him that needed to be released. He looked away from Steve to se that no one was standing in the doorway anymore and Eddie knew that he had officially won. Focusing on the task at hand Eddie went on to thrust a few more times before Steve came on the sheets and Eddie came inside of Steve, some of it dripped down Steve’s trembling legs that immediately gave out when Eddie pulled out of his entrance. He laid there trying to steady his breathing and ignore the soreness he felt throughout his body. Eddie kissed Steve’s backside then kissed his shoulders and placed a sweet kiss onto his lips that could barely open from him being exhausted. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

After Eddie heard Steve hum in response he quickly put on his boxers and ran downstairs. His heart was pounding from the adrenaline that he felt and he made his way towards the kitchen. Steve’s dad stood in the kitchen facing the opposite way with his hands over his face and he was mumbling things under his breath. Eddie didn’t try to hide his presence in fact he wanted Steve’s dad to him that’s why got a glass from the cabinet and loudly placed it on the counter. The older man turned around with a scared look on his face at first but then it turned it to anger. He stormed over to Eddie and got in his face very vein popping out of his head. Eddie held back a laugh as the man tried to talk to him but he couldn’t even look Eddie in the eye. The man stopped himself completely and walked away from where Eddie was standing.

“Did you enjoy the show Mr. Harrington?” Eddie asked slyly. He was playing a very dangerous game and he knew the consequences behind it but he couldn’t control himself. Steve’s dad turned around in disbelief.

“You’re a sick individual. Having my son participate in those sinful acts and doing it with eyes on you makes it even worse.” He spat at Eddie.

“Correction sir, your son asked me to participate in those ‘sinful’ acts first-“

“I don’t believe anything that comes out of your disgusting mouth. My son would never suggest to do something that sinister and once he realizes that you’re leading him down the wrong path I’ll be right here to guide him back home.” Steve’s dad was convinced that Eddie was the actual devil on earth and anything Steve did was never his decision.

“It’s about time you stepped to be a good dad for once.” Eddie was met with strong hands around his neck and a glare that could kill him. Steve’s dad tightened his grip making Eddie struggle to breath as he tried to get his hands from around his neck.

“Watch your mouth boy. I’ve been nothing but a good dad to him and I won’t let some punk like you tell me otherwise.” Steve’s dad said through gritted teeth. Eddie let out a bitter laugh.

“It seems like I took the spot in that department don’t it, Mr. Harrington?” Eddie smirked when Steve’s dad realized what he meant and he loosened his grip on Eddie’s neck. With a shocked expressing he stood in the kitchen running his hands through his thinning hair. Eddie took the glass that was on the counter and turned on the sink filling the cup up to a good amount. Before Eddie left the kitchen he turned to face Steve’s dad. “Now if you don’t mind I’m going to tend to my ‘fatherly’ duties.”

Eddie didn’t see his reaction but the faint gasp that heard as he started walking up stairs was enough for him to be satisfied.

[sunlightwoo]

feather

pairing: hueningkai x g.n reader

genre: comfort fic, almost bff2l, slight angst warnings: mentions of running someone w a car rating: 13+

wc: 654

a/n: originally this fic was supposed to be posted in july as a gift but happy late late (like literally 3 weeks late) birthday @fairybinie <3 i hope that your birthday was spent so so well and i feel like it's been such a pleasure to call you one of my close friends :(( i also wanted to say happy birthday to hyuka as well!! this fic is for both val and our favorite maknae so i hope you guys enjoy reading this!!

“I can't take another moment with him.” You groaned before tossing your phone into the backseat of the car and slumping down even further into your seat. 

It was another one of your late night drives with your best friend, Kai, when you had been distracted with the sound of your buzzing for the past 2 hours. The individual that you had been texting, or at least trying to cut off, was someone that you thought would reciprocate your feelings but it ended like any other situationship that you found yourself into. The only thing coming from them was just the same three words that you weren’t looking for. 

‘Send a pic.’

“Am I allowed to run him over with my car?” Kai asks but you sigh to yourself, shaking your head at his question. 

“I think you should be, at this point.” But you always wondered why it was so hard these days to find someone genuine. 

It had been over a year or so since your last relationship, and to say that you were still in your healing process was a bit more extreme said than done. You wanted to find your inner peace at some point, but it was hard when every other person was just like the last, making you want to rip your hair out and never be in another relationship again. 

“Why can’t I find someone that actually wants to know more about me?” You mumbled to yourself quietly and stared at your fingers that were in your lap, but what you failed to notice was the latter’s glance that was focused towards you. 

For the past three years that Kai has known you, he could’ve mistaken all of the supposed platonic dates and actions that you two have done together as purely platonic and just that. He never had thought of you in the light before where you had meant much more to him than a friend. But ever since the start of you looking for other guys to date and find love in, he realizes that he was stuck as the friend that comforts and heals your broken heart at the end of the night. 

Even if it had meant running some of them over, hypothetically, with the car that you both were sitting in right now. 

“I always like knowing more about you.” He speaks up with a small smile, making you turn your head to look at him as a playful scoff leaves your lips. 

“You’re obligated to say that, you’re my best friend.”

Right, he was stuck in the friend zone. 

Maybe someday he will tell you how much you mean to him, in terms of wanting to protect you against the world. The way that love should feel as though you’re a feather floating around in mid air, letting it take its course with ease from the moment that you have found that right person. Maybe that one day will be the day that he tells you about how he wants to be the soft summer breeze that helps keep you afloat in happiness, if you were a feather.

But that day isn’t going to be for today, as he knew that you needed him more now than any other day. 

“Then as your best friend, let’s just go home and watch some Netflix, hm? No more being sad, and let’s just take our time debriefing ourselves at home.” He suggests while holding up a french fry as an offering, a silent one that definitely has more meaning than it should at this moment. 

Another day, Kai tells himself, as he watches as you take the fry with a small smile and eat it, while nodding your head towards the direction out of the parking lot.

And when that day comes, he promises to himself that he’ll be there to keep you safe at all times; to be happy like a feather.

permanent taglist: @viastro @wooyoung-a @pwttychannie @sunwoahkim @karsohn @escapewriter @awfullytiredbuthealing @fylithia @i4deonu @flrtsbin @whereisgyu @myluv-yeonjun @allorysayshi @nlnkm @jannine00742 @rebsmoonn @jjhmk @ilvaussie @idontwanttobehereanymore @beomgyugyu @99cyj @butterflx @theoskies @biuebinnie @ja4hyvn @ilovechanhee @wccycc @invuwrld @ahnneyong @bambi-vixey @soobprised @comic-wanda @ksunwooqt @black-rose-29 @jaysbestie @glyxiebear @strawbrinkofdeath @vatterie @marsophilia @soonyoungblr @jinjccns @rosymetal @justalittlwtooshy @ineedsomezzz @serendipityjaemin @lilactangerine @baekberrie @theskzvibe @watanabehan (add yourself to my permanent taglist here!)

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[marislittlestories]

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Mature | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hogwarts Eighth Year

4/10 - chapter one, two, three - read on ao3

july 1998

Ginny shows up on Dean’s doorstep halfway through the summer, anger practically radiating off of her, “If I stayed in that house one more second, I might’ve killed someone.”

Draco isn’t quite sure how to speak to her, how to look at her. He may not be a real Death Eater, but he said and did plenty of awful things, and even meant some of them. Luna and Dean are her friends, but he is nothing better than a bully and very likely worse. He can guess, though, that grief has not brought her family together. It certainly hasn’t made Ginny anything but vicious.

She avoids him, too. They don’t talk much to each other, at least not directly, and she doesn’t stay in any room he’s in for very long. He doesn’t blame her, even if it stings. The hurt is his to feel.

He spends more time outside. He’s a little afraid of getting his hands dirty, terrified that if he goes back to the wildness of his childhood, he’ll discover that all of the ugliness and poison inside of him has killed the boy he was. Gentleness still feels clumsy when he attempts it, though he keeps trying, and he knows that he was gentle once. 

Draco remembers what he used to be, odd and vulnerable, his first instinct kindness rather than cruelty. He wants to return to it, but he’s scared that it’s out of reach now.

It’s an irrational fear. Claire is out in the garden most early mornings and late evenings, though it doesn’t really take that much tending. He asks her how he can help and passes the next four hours in her quiet company, hand buried deep in cool soil. He keeps asking. The rich brown dirt becomes a permanent fixture around his nail beds, the same way that he becomes a permanent fixture in the Thomas house and in the sleepy village of Crawley Down.

***

He returns to London on an afternoon train for Marcie’s birthday in mid-July. He’s not entirely sure what to expect. He’s never met Donna or Leroy Price, and he doesn’t even know if Marcie told them that he was coming.

Their house is tucked away in a wizarding suburb, a red brick row house situated in the center of a cul-de-sac. A boy is riding a tricycle under the watchful eye of his father, a young mother watering a pristine lawn with a baby propped on one hip. It’s idyllic in a way that makes Draco’s skin itch.

He rings the bell, and the door is answered by a middle-aged wizard with thick silver hair.

“Hello,” she says with a kind smile, “You must be Draco. I’m Donna Price.”

He allows her to usher him inside, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well. Marcie doesn’t say much, but when she does, it’s usually about you.”

Draco frowns, alarm bells ringing in his head. That doesn’t sound like Marcie at all. 

“Now, Marcie’s told us that you’re taking her somewhere?”

He laughs, a bit nervously now, “I’m sure she’s come up with a whole itinerary.”

Donna glances over at the stairs, and lowers her voice, “Thank you for coming up. I know that it can take a while, you know, for kids who have been through what they’ve been through to trust people. We’re trying to let them set the pace, but I’ll admit, we’re a little worried.”

Draco feels a rush of relief. He, admittedly, doesn’t have an overwhelming amount of faith in the Ministry and what they consider to be suitable guardians, but he has a feeling about Donna Price. 

“Of course. If it makes you feel better, Ella hardly spoke to me at all.”

She sighs, “I’ll feel better when I see her speak to anyone who isn’t Marcie. Going back to school might be good for her, for both of them. At least they’ll be able to interact with kids their own age.”

Marcie stomps down the stairs then, cutting off the conversation. Donna reaches out to squeeze his shoulder as they leave.

“Let me know if you’re going to be out late,” she says and waves them off.

Draco pulls Marcie into his side, “So, what do you want to do?”

It’s her thirteenth birthday and the world is wide open in front of them. He takes her to a movie, and on the bus she’s just as chatty as he’s used to, supplying endless questions for him to answer about Luna and Dean and Crawley Down. He tells her about Ginny, calling up old stories from school to fill in the gaps created by the careful distance that has been established between them.

“One of her brothers died in the war,” Draco explains, “And she’s having a hard time. I think it’ll be good for her to be around Dean and Luna, they’re some of her best friends.”

“Oh,” Marcie says in a small voice. 

Draco shakes his head, “You’ve met one of her brothers, actually, Ron.”

She brightens, “He’s the one who told us Ella was still alive. And he actually read Matilda.”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Well, if she’s his sister, she has to be brilliant.”

He laughs, “Exactly. She once jinxed these boys that were picking on Luna, and the entire school talked about it for weeks. No one wanted to mess with her after that.”

“I don’t like thinking of people being mean to Luna,” Marcie says.

“Me neither.”

They see Mulan, and Draco buys Marcie a bucket of popcorn that’s basically half her size and a box of toffees. Afterwards, Marcie tells him the entire plot of Howl’s Moving Castle over ice cream. It was one of the books she’d gotten during their trip, and she’s already read it through twice since.

“And then he comes to rescue her from the Witch, and he’s a mess,” she continues excitedly, “And that means he loves her! Anyways, Miss Angorian was actually the Witch’s fire demon and she takes Calcifer so she can control Howl’s heart but Sophie frees Calcifer so Howl can destroy the fire demon. Calcifer obviously fixes Sophie’s age.”

Draco nods along, “So what happens to Calcifer?”

“Well, he’s technically free, because he’s not tied to Howl anymore, but he chooses to stay. And Sophie and Howl confess their undying love or whatever.”

“I’m assuming you liked the book, since you just spent twenty minutes reciting the plot from memory, but what did you think about it?”

Marcie shrugs, “I liked the way that fairytales were real, and I really liked Sophie, but Howl was such a, a-”

“I’m not gonna get mad if you curse, Marce.”

“Howl was such a bitch to Sophie! He was literally hitting on her sister at the beginning, and he treated her so badly the entire time… I don’t know. It made me mad, how quickly she forgave him, just because he apparently loved her.”

Draco grins, “Sometimes people do irrational things, especially when they’re in love. But I think you’re right. You shouldn’t forgive someone who’s mean to you unless they really make things right.”

As they head back to the Prices’, Marcie tugs on Draco’s hand.

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Obviously,” Draco says.

Marcie smiles but it’s a little more subdued than he’s used to, “Write to me more, even if I don’t write back, okay?”

“Okay.”

***

Ginny is standing on the platform, arms wrapped tightly around herself, tender, bruise-dark skin beneath her eyes. For a moment, it’s like looking in a mirror. 

“Hey,” she says, “Dean and Luna are already asleep.”

Draco nods, and ducks his head. They start the walk across the village, neither of them speaking, no light but the moon and the torch in Ginny’s hand and the occasional lamp post.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny rushes out, “For avoiding you. I know it’s been weird, I just didn’t really know how to have this conversation, and to be honest, I really don’t want to.”

Draco looks over at her in surprise, “It’s alright. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Ginny scowls at him, “Shut up, okay? I need to get it out.”

He holds up his hands in surrender.

“Thank you. You know, for saving my life. I haven’t been feeling particularly grateful, for anything really, but especially not for being alive,” her voice gets rough at the end, like it’s painful for her to speak, gravel in her throat, “But that’s my own shit, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to give me space or leave or anything.”

“Oh,” Draco says, and then stops. 

It’s not what he had expected, at all, and he’s not sure what to do with it. It’s a small comfort to know that Ginny doesn’t hate him, but it’s swallowed by concern for her and by a bone-deep understanding. 

“So, are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

***

It’s slow going, getting comfortable with each other, or at least it feels that way. In reality, it only takes the rest of the week. Ginny no longer treats him like the plague, and then Dean teaches them a Muggle card game, and he and Ginny play with a mercilessness that Dean’s good humor and Luna’s serene whimsy cannot touch. 

They meet eyes, on opposite sides of the rough circle the four of them make on the floor, and Ginny smiles. 

***

There’s another stretch of sunny days ahead. His shoulders straighten and relax. Draco, somehow, becomes the same kind of strange and wondrous that Luna is, at least in the eyes of the older villagers. He can feel himself becoming something new, or rather, something very old, something he was once but has not been for a very long time. The weathered man who sits at the counter of the farm shop down the road calls the both of them changeling with amusement and affection. 

They begin to look similar as well. Luna’s hair lightens ever so slightly from the time spent outside, becoming nearly the same shade of cornsilk yellow that Draco’s is. Draco’s skin is less pale, more full of color, and he remembers one morning when he looks in the mirror that he used to have freckles. They reappear, scattered across the delicate bridge of his nose and then over his shoulders after a particularly warm week that the four of them spend lazing about half-dressed by the river.

Draco falls into a haze of light and laughter and calm, the kind that preceded a storm. He ignores the gathering clouds and walks down sun-warmed pavement arm-in-arm with Luna and Ginny.

***

The night is young and the air around him is heavy and full with the sound of crickets chirping. Above him there’s a clear sky and below him there is soft earth, still damp from the rain earlier in the day. It’s pleasantly warm, but muggy, so the skin at his elbow sticks together.

He’s reading in the still evening, backlit by the porch light. It’s a bit of a strain on his eyes, but he likes the solitude it provides him. He also likes the low murmur of voices he can hear from inside the house. 

No one will bother him, but they’re all just a shout away. 

He’d gotten immersed in A Tale of Two Cities, and it was almost like being home again, almost like being transported. For a while, he could exist entirely outside of the world. It’s a brand new experience, a gift, one he’ll never be able to repay Marcie for, not with all of the books in England.

He’s worked his way through a couple of the books that she’d made him buy now, moving from Dickens to Austen to Emily Bronte. He’s not sure how he feels about Wuthering Heights, altogether. It’s a bit grim, though A Tale of Two Cities had been too, and he’d liked it once he turned the last page.

As he reads, he murmurs the words under his breath. 

Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its affections. That capacity for intense attachments reminded me of her mother: still she did not resemble her: for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and pensive expression: her anger was never furious; her love never fierce: it was deep and tender. However, it must be acknowledged, she had faults to foil her gifts. A propensity to be saucy was one; and a perverse will, that indulged children invariably acquire, whether they be good tempered or cross.

He laughs a little, staring up at the stars with tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, though he would not be able to explain what they were for if someone had asked him. Before he can return to the book, Ginny cracks the back door open.

She has a complicated look on her face, one that Draco doesn’t quite know her well enough to read, “I think you should come inside.”

He leaves his book out on the brick pavers and follows her into the kitchen, where Ella and Marcie are seated at the island. There’s a kettle on already, and Marcie is chatting enthusiastically with Dean and Luna.

Everything goes quiet when he walks into the room.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asks, because he’s not sure what else to say.

Ella rolls her eyes, “Obviously, we’ve run away.”

Marcie appears to be fine, and unrepentant. Ella, however, is nervous. Her fingers are tapping out an uneven rhythm on the vinyl counter and she keeps glancing sideways at Draco, like she’s expecting him to kick them out at any second. He wants to press them for answers, but they’ve obviously had a long day and more than anything, he wants to bundle them up and hide them away from the world.

The kettle starts to whistle. Draco goes through the motions of making chamomile tea, and then he sends Ella and Marcie up to his room.

“I’ll come up and get your mugs in a few minutes, alright? I know you’re both probably tired. We can talk in the morning.”

Some of the tension eases from Ella’s shoulders. He waits until he can no longer hear their feet on the stairs, and then leans over the island, head in his hands.

“They can stay here as long as they need,” Dean says, “You know that.”

“Thank you,” Draco sighs.

Luna places a steady hand on his back, “I know you want to keep them.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he says wearily, “I have to do what's best for them, and no matter how much I love them, I can’t take care of them. Not the way they deserve.”

“I don’t understand why you think that,” Dean replies.

Draco takes a deep breath and reigns his temper in. It’s not Dean’s fault that Draco did not have the childhood he did. Draco tells himself, insistently and fiercely, that it was not his either.

“I know you don’t,” Draco looks up at him, “But love isn’t enough, not when I’m barely functioning as it is. Some day, I’m going to lose my shit, and Ella will never forgive me. She’ll take it as proof that everything she believes about how the world works is true, that she has to do everything on her own, that she can’t trust anyone. The Prices are going to fuck up, sure, everyone does and I don’t know how to explain to you how it’s different, but it is.”

Dean and Luna ignore him, as they usually do when the topic comes up, and begin telling him all of the ways that he’s competent and selfless and a million other things that don’t have any real impact on the fact that he can still feel a storm coming. Ginny, though, continues to stare at him until they’ve worn themselves out.

“I think I get it,” she says carefully, slowly, “At least part of it. I had to leave the Burrow because I could feel it piling up and I knew if I stayed, people would be in the blast radius that didn’t deserve it. I came here to relieve the pressure but you don’t think you can do that. That’s what you mean, right?”

Draco’s shoulders sag, “Yes. That.”

It doesn’t solve the problem, any of them, but it helps to know that he has someone on his side. He knows that Dean and Luna just want him to be happy, but Ginny understands that it’s not always within reach, that sometimes there is a ceiling. 

“We can’t do anything until we know what’s going on,” Ginny says, “But there are more than two options. It’s not all or nothing.”

He is overwhelmingly, impossibly grateful for Ginny. There is not just one path to walk, not anymore, and he does not have to walk it alone.

***

The sun rises on Crawley Down and Draco has not gotten nearly enough sleep for the day ahead. Claire makes him a coffee, pouring boiling water over the grounds. The dark liquid drains into a glass pot and it fills the kitchen with a rich, comforting aroma. 

“I know it’s not very patriotic of me,” she whispers with a smile, “But I don’t like tea very much.”

He puts a ridiculous amount of sugar and cream in his, and then he goes out into the garden with Claire for a while. They’re working on expanding one of the beds, taking out some of the grass to make room for it. Claire wants to put more flowers in.

“Do you really change the garden this much every year?”

“Oh heavens, no,” Claire says.

Draco tilts his head, “Why this summer then?”

She just laughs and refuses to explain herself.

By the time the girls are awake and fed, Draco feels much calmer. He sits them down outside, hoping that it’ll make them feel like they have more privacy, like it does for him. He notices his copy of Wuthering Heights, still on the ground.

“I want you to know that you can stay here as long as you need to,” Draco says, “No conditions. But I would like to know what happened, and help if I can.”

Marcie and Ella avoid his eyes and instead look at each other, a silent conversation playing out in the space between them. They seem to come to a decision, and then Ella puts an arm around Marcie’s shoulders. 

She tilts her chin up, defiant, “It wasn’t good.”

Draco’s heart plummets all the way down to the grass, past it, all the way to the center of the earth. It isn’t in his body anymore. For a moment, he is consumed by fear and guilt. If he was wrong about the Prices, if Marcie and Ella got hurt, he’ll never forgive himself. 

He forces himself to keep his voice even, his expression open, “In what way?”

Marcie reaches out and takes his hands, “It wasn’t like it was with you.”

He squeezes Marcie’s fingers and looks over at Ella, who looks generally bad-tempered. He’s not sure how to get through to her, but he needs to.

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“They wouldn’t leave us alone for more than ten seconds, and they made us have separate rooms,” Marcie frowns, “And the house is weird and alive.”

“Well, they probably just wanted to make sure you were alright, and they have a lot of rooms in their house. They probably thought it would be nice for you guys to have your own space. And that’s just how wizarding houses are.”

“But Marcie’s not a wizard,” Ella says, obviously frustrated, “And the house scares her.”

Marcie elbows her sister, “I’m not scared!”

“Have you tried talking to the Prices about any of this?”

Ella stares at him like he’s just said something completely insane, which confirms at least some of his suspicions about their upbringing. 

“Look, I’m not going to kick you out, but I do need to tell Mr. Garnier where you are and I’m going to speak to the Prices. I won’t tell them anything you told me if you don’t want me to. They’re probably really worried about you two right now.”

Marcie bows her head in guilt.

“I’m a pretty good judge of character,” he says, “And Donna seems like a kind, empathetic person. I think she wants you both to be comfortable and happy, and she’d be willing to work on some of these things if you brought them up to her. I haven’t actually met Leroy, but I imagine he’s the same.”

His assessment is, admittedly, based heavily on the feeling inside their house, the tenor of the magic flowing through it, pressed into the walls. 

Ella’s bland expression doesn’t change. 

Draco sighs and stands up, “I should probably go, before Mr. Garnier starts a manhunt.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing when he apparates to the Ministry, what it could trigger, but he takes the risk anyways. He wants to resolve this as soon as possible and he knows that it could very well take weeks, months, depending on how his conversations today go. He pushes the foreboding down as deep as it will go.

He catches Mr. Garnier just before he’s notified that Ella and Marcie are missing. Donna and Leroy arrive shortly after and they all sit down in a Ministry conference room. 

“I’m sorry, I’m a bit of a crybaby,” Leroy says, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief, “I just don’t understand why they felt like they needed to leave.”

Draco tries not to let on how exhausted he is, or how he’s still fighting back the twist in his stomach from apparition, “I still don’t know much about what their life was like before the war, I never pressed, so a lot of what I’m operating on is guesswork, but they’ve spent a lot of time alone, the two of them against the world. Ella especially feels like she’s responsible for Marcie, and she has a hard time trusting other people.”

“What can we do?” Donna asks.

“From what I understand,” Draco says, “You’re doing everything right. This might keep happening, but it’s not because of anything you’re doing or not doing. I don’t think Ella is testing you, I don’t think she’d do that with Marcie involved, but you can look at it like that if you want. Just keep showing up, keep being there.”

It’s everything he can’t promise and everything he wants to. He’s always been the first and last line of defense, the one who stayed. His tether is fraying. He’s tried to get ahead of it, tried leaving the Manor, leaving his mother, but he can’t outrun this. He can’t outrun himself. 

It’s a constructive conversation. The Ministry isn’t willing to cede legal control to the Muggle authorities, and Draco has to admit that he wouldn’t be in favor of that solution either. Here, he can throw his weight around. He can make sure that they’re safe. It means that wherever Ella and Marcie are, it’s going to be with a wizarding family. They could try to find a mixed-magic couple, one that lives in a Muggle area, but there still aren’t many options so soon after the war.

But Draco likes the Prices, and they’re willing to make it work. They’re kind, and they want to help, and they’re not Draco. Now, he just needs to talk to Ella and Marcie, who will both put up a fight. He hates the idea of fighting with either of them, but he knows that he’s more likely to actually get through to them than anyone else. 

And because Draco’s day needed a way to get worse, he runs into Harry in the Ministry lobby. Literally. He’s dead on his feet, trying his best to keep his eyes open, and then Harry is right in front of him and then they’re both on the floor.

Harry gets up quickly. Draco stays down, hoping that he’ll be absorbed into the tile, and groans in pain.

“Are you okay?”

He cracks one eye open, “Yeah.”

Harry offers a hand to help him to his feet, and Draco takes it. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that he’d die for this man, but completely unable to muster up any sort of emotion about him other than panic. It isn’t even the fluttering nervous excitement of fourth year, just blind anxiety.

Harry stares at Draco, “I thought you were- Aren’t you staying with Dean?”

“Um. Yes?” Draco blinks at him in surprise.

He scratches the side of his nose, suddenly looking anywhere but at Draco, “Ginny told me you were there, before she left.”

“Right.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment, but neither of them leave. Just when Draco has decided that he’s had enough of the agonizing silence, Harry opens his mouth.

“Here to visit Hestia, then?”

“No,” Draco doesn’t know why the conversation is still happening, but he certainly won’t be the one to end it, “Ella and Marcie ran away last night.”

“Oh my God, are they missing?”

“No, no, they showed up at Dean’s.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “How’d they get there?”

“They snuck onto the train,” Draco says, and smiles helplessly. He’s just so fucking fond of them, Ella’s unwavering determination, Marcie’s endless optimism.

“I assume they’re staying there for the time being?”

Draco shrugs, “Not sure yet. I have to talk to them again, but I’m hoping that they’ll go back to their placement.”

“But-” Harry pauses, shuffles his feet a little, “They ran away for a reason, yeah?”

Draco does not want to have this conversation for the third time in two days. He does things he doesn’t want to all the time, though, and he can’t seem to deny Harry anything. 

“They’re just kids,” he says softly, “And it’s a complicated situation. They’re not used to relying on other people, there are bound to be some growing pains. They don’t trust the Prices yet but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t the right place for them.”

“You don’t think that the best person to take care of them is the person they trust the most?”

Draco stills. There’s something very hurt in Harry’s tone of voice or maybe the set of his eyes, something that runs deeper than this conversation. He’s had enough practice now to treat this carefully.

“Marcie trusts me, but Ella doesn’t, and she never will. She felt comfortable being combative with me in a way she wasn’t with proper adults, that’s all. I’m not taking that as a sign that she would ever really trust me with herself, much less with Marcie,” Draco stops, but Harry’s gaze is still intense, “I love them, but they need more than love. They need stability. They need people who are healthy and mature and not eighteen. They need people who can actually take care of them.”

Harry shakes himself out of a kind of daze, “Sorry, that was… I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“That’s alright,” Draco says, “But, are you alright?”

He’s not sure what gives him the courage, the audacity, to ask the question and actually expect an answer, but whatever instinct he had was correct.

“I’ve been better,” Harry confesses, half sheepish and half miserable, “Ginny might’ve mentioned Ron and Hermione are abroad at the moment? I’m not really used to being alone.”

Draco has a sudden, awful urge to invite Harry to Crawley Down, nevermind that the house is practically bursting at the seams now. There are a whole host of reasons why he cannot do that, but for a moment, none of them matter.

And then they do again, and Draco pushes the feeling away. 

“Don’t be a martyr, Potter,” he says, and it feels inadequate, “You have other friends.”

Harry shrugs, but it’s less a response and more an uncomfortable roll of his shoulders.

“I really have to go, though,” Draco murmurs.

Harry nods, once, and watches Draco walk away. He can feel it, all the way around the corner and past it.

He has just one last stop to make before he returns to Crawley Down, because he will not be able to leave otherwise. He cannot get the thought of Harry here alone, staying, out of his head.

Hestia looks up as soon as he props himself in the doorway to her office.

“Are you still taking cases?”

***

He keeps it together. He fights with Ella, and then he fights with Marcie, and then he fights with Luna, which is a surreal experience that he would like to never repeat. Luna fights like she does everything else: like a dream and a wild animal and an ancient, all knowing thing. 

He keeps it together. He holds Marcie while she cries into his shoulder. He tells Ella that Marcie needs to be settled before Ella has to go back to Hogwarts in September, and the Prices are willing to do whatever it takes to make them safe. He tells them both, again, that he will never turn them away. He writes a dry, stilted letter to his mother that says very little and asks after her health three times. He accepts a strange and somehow melodic apology from Luna.

He keeps it together. He meets with Donna and Leroy again, this time carting Marcie and Ella along with him. They draw up ground rules, a shared room and a dedicated time each week to check in with each other and regular trips to the library for Marcie. 

He keeps it together. He apparates back to Crawley Down late that night so he doesn’t have to stay at the flat with his mother, and he hits a level of fatigue that makes him unable to sleep or stop crying. He bursts into tears whenever he moves and he feels nothing and he keeps it together.

On his third day without sleep, he sobs for upwards of two hours straight and shakes through the next five, vulnerable and more tired than he’s ever been. His skin, and everything beneath it, feels like one massive bruise. He descends into a kind of delirium where everything feels far away, except for every bad thing that has ever happened, which all press closer and closer until he’s walled in, surrounded.

Luna and Dean and Ginny try to stage an intervention, but Draco can’t pay attention for long enough to get through their whole speech. He won’t take anything for it either, Muggle or magical. He couldn’t even handle children’s cough medicine, there is no way he’s going to risk Dreamless Sleep, especially with the state he’s in. For all he knows, he’ll completely lose his mind and murder all of them and wake up with no memory of it.

“Draco, please,” Luna pleads, “You need to sleep. Or at least eat something.”

But he’s gone so long without eating that he doesn’t feel hungry anymore, only vacant and sick. If he eats anything, he’s going to throw up and then he’ll be thrown right back into that night. The one he can’t think about. The one that he hides from, even now, even in his own mind.

He knows it’s coming. He either dies here, in the guest room of Dean’s house, or his mind will, inevitably, recreate it. He has to eat eventually. He has to sleep eventually. The remembering is barreling towards him and all he can do is try to run faster. 

He runs until he can’t anymore, until his body forces him into unconsciousness. The dream isn’t distorted this time. It isn’t fragmented. It isn’t a dull half-memory. It is a full, clear recollection. A reliving. That’s where he meets him again, the worst person he knows, the person that he would kill if he could, the person he almost did.

Draco, at sixteen, cold and ruthless and militant, a Dark Mark on his forearm and absolutely nothing in his heart. 

He relives the night he almost died, the venom and the pain and the most horrifying part of it all, his father singing him to sleep. He screams himself out of it, lurching awake, bile rising in his throat. He rushes to the bathroom and empties his stomach of pure acid. He still hasn’t eaten. Distantly, he hears Dean and Luna and Ginny follow him into the room, voices blending into a wall of concerned noise.

He’s left gasping over the toilet, face pressed into the cold porcelain at its edge, and he can’t catch his breath, and he can feel Ginny’s panicked gaze on his back. He’s sweating, overheated, but the warmth is only skin deep.

It’s still inside of him, that glacial emptiness, the hollowed out, haunted feeling coursing through his veins. He wants to burn it out, cauterize the big, gaping wound inside of him, sear his own skin off if that’s what it takes to make it stop. He just wants it to stop. 

“Breathe, Draco,” Luna trails her fingers down his spine, somehow always knowing exactly how much physical contact he needs to feel grounded without being overwhelmed, “It’s alright. You did your best. Everything is going to be fine.”

And that’s the awful thing, isn’t it? Draco did his best. He fought and he bled and when the war was over, the people he loved were alive. He escaped Azkaban. He never has to look into his father’s eyes again and be confronted by the softness he finds in them. Draco has been handed everything he ever let himself want.

He is eighteen and he should be happy.

Instead, he’s pulling his face away from the toilet bowl and pressing the heel of his palm into the middle of his forehead. It does nothing to relieve the ache or to stop the tears from flowing freely down his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says, in the smallest voice imaginable.

Ginny shifts into the very edge of his vision and places a tentative hand on his arm, “Are you alright?”

He shakes his head and breathes, a wet shuddering thing. Dean moves closer, pressing his knees into Draco’s thigh, and now they’re all touching him. Something in his chest eases.

“I had a nightmare.”

“Do you have them a lot?”

He is expecting her to ask what it was about, so the question throws him for a moment. It almost, but not quite, startles him out of his tears.

“Not really. I used to, when I was a kid,” he says, “Nearly every night.”

“Did your parents do anything that helped?”

He stares at Ginny blankly until her expression shifts, first into sadness and then anger.

“Why did the universe give you to people who weren’t going to love you?” Luna asks, stroking his hair, “It’s not fair.”

He flinches back from her touch. He knows that Luna is trying to provide comfort, in all the ways she can, but the words and the gesture only remind him of the chilling, dreadful truth. All it does is pluck at the very nerve that he has left exposed.

“They loved me,” Draco says quietly, “He loved me.”

Ginny looks as fierce as ever, protective in a way that he’s seen many times but never directed towards him, “That was not love.”

“It was,” he insists, and then he looks to Luna and Dean, “He loved me. He didn’t even love my mom. What does it say about me, that I was a thing he could love?”

Luna lunges forward to catch him as he slumps back to the floor. He ends up cradled in her arms, rocked back and forth against her, Dean and Ginny joining her to cocoon Draco between their bodies.

“Oh, Draco, nothing. It says nothing.”

He weeps, gasping and desperate and terrible. It’s an exorcism, a blood-letting, a lightning strike. He sits on that cold tiled floor, with Luna and Dean and Ginny, and he follows their breathing like it’s one of the paths through the Manor’s woods, littered with sharp stones and fallen branches. 

The storm has not passed, but for the first time, he feels certain that it will. He knows that behind every overcast sky, the sun is waiting patiently.  He doesn’t quite believe it yet, that he could have crawled through all of that decay and cruelty and remained salvageable, but he will, someday. 

The flood waters recede and they leave behind a world washed clean, brand new and ancient. He emerges green and alive, in a way he hasn’t been since he was a child running through the forest with no shoes. It hurts. It feels like love.

He tells them about the things they have only caught glimpses of before, the venom and the terror, and that night he will never forget, when his mind bent to a breaking point. 

He makes his way around the heart of it all, and never once touches it. He does not tell them about the thing that he has buried deeper than all of it, under all of the corrosion and self-loathing, somewhere that even the most talented of legilimens could not reach, that Draco himself can only gaze at from a distance, unfeeling, like he’s looking through a badly glazed window.

Harry is a road that Draco travels with bare feet, hoping that one day it will be painless.

[a-basket-of-muses]

Muses

OCs

Carell

Name: Carell

Age: Mid twenties

Race: Half-demon

Sexuality: Homosexual

Description: Honey blonde hair that lights to a light golden in the summer and darkens to near brown in the winter.

Height: 5’9” or 175.26 cm

Forms: Human (illusion), Base: mostly human looking but with the traditional fox ears/tail/claws, Fox: Large ears with gold eyes, a marble colored coat in a mix of white, gray, silver but all four paws and legs are pitch black

Personality: Untrusting and rude at first meeting. He’ll generally be short or sarcastic with people he doesn’t know well. If you get to know him, he’ll still be sarcastic but he’ll be more willing to talk and show emotion.

TW: ABUSE

Backstory: Carell doesn’t remember much. Just that he was in the care of his father who abused and raped him as a child until he was somewhere in his teens. Then he was sold to the slave trade where he spent his young adult life in the possession of different masters. He escaped his last master by killing him and now makes a living anyways he can.

Occupation: Because of his past he’s usually a prostitute. However, he will sometimes be in construction or will even design jewelry.

Likes: Dancing, singing, music, fighting. He loves to move and use his body and can use it well. So he will sometimes combine music and dancing. Music is also his passion. He doesn’t just listen and enjoy music he FEELS it.

Dislikes: Being dirty, being in a dirty place, or someone trying to control him. He’s fiercely independent

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. Largely because Carell’s past is the same in just about every verse. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Brandon

Name: Brandon Avalon

Age: Mid Twenties

Race: Human

Sexuality: Pan or Demi?

Height: 5’11” or 180.34 cm

Description: Brown hair, cut short so it stays out of his eyes, which are also brown

Forms: Human

Personality: Kind and selfless. He's the kind of guy that will go out if his way to smile and talk to someone if it looks like they're having a bad day regardless of what's going on with him.

TW: ABUSE/SUICIDE

Backstory: His mother died giving birth to him, so he never met her. He had an older brother that he looked up to and practically worshiped. His father's second wife would abuse his older brother until his brother eventually committed suicide, leaving a note that explained everything. She went to jail and his father divorced her. So for a while it was just him and his father. He didn't get another stepmother until he was 17, but he loved her and she loved him. However, tragedy struck again when his father and stepmother were hit by a drunk driver and killed. Leaving Brandon completely on his own. To add insult to injury his family was never very financially stable, so his parents' untimely deaths saddled him with a lot of debt.

Occupation: He works as a barista in the morning, a short order chef in the afternoons/evenings and at night he'll work as a bartender.

Dislikes: Drunks and assholes. Anyone that will take advantage of someone else for their own gain.

Likes: Cooking is his love, dreams of one day running his own kitchen.

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Byron

Name: Byron Setter

Age: Early Thirties

Race: Human/Werewolf

Sexuality: Pan

Height: 6’3” or 190.5 cm

Description: Dark brown hair, with a matching beard that is kept well maintained and appropriately trimmed. Blue eyes colored more like a winter sky. So they're quite pale.

Forms: Human, Wolf: Mostly reddish brown with yellow eyes. Has a stripe(blaze) of white running between his eyes down to his nose.

Personality: He's a goofy/funny kind of guy. He'd prefer it if everyone around him was smiling and laughing.

Backstory: Of all my muses he had the most normal upbringing. He lived comfortably in middle-class as a child and has a good relationship with his parents and much older sister. His parents are now retired and are living in Paris. Though his parents are quite "old-fashioned" and tried to push gender norms on their kids it didn't always work. His sister would often teach Byron how to cook and would even paint his nails. He did go to college and now has a teaching degree.

Occupation: As stated in his backstory Byron has a degree in teaching. He specifically teaches English/Literature, usually in high school, but will teach younger kids. He won't teach higher than high school because that would require him to go back to school for a higher degree and he feels like he doesn't have the time.

Dislikes: Abusive, neglectful parents. Anyone that tries to question his teaching methods or shows that they themselves are uneducated.

Likes: Teaching his kids, dogs, reading. He'll even do knitting or cross-stitch if he has time.

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Aiden

Name: Aiden

Age: 150 years, or there about?

Race: Dragon

Sexuality: Hetero-flexable

Height: 5’10” or 177.8 cm

Description: Very average looking. Brown hair/eyes. Nothing particularly remarkable about him. He uses this to hide in plain sight

Forms: Human, Dragon: As large as a small house (yes he’s on the smaller side) with violet scales and orange eyes, both colors holding a burnt hue. Similar to a sunrise/set

Personality: Easy-going sort of guy. He doesn’t usually let things bother him. Though he does get a bit jumpy wherever someone talks about dragons still existing.

Backstory: He was born in a clutch of seven. He and his siblings often ran around and played in the fields and valleys. Aiden took to the sky first, having an affinity for air. When it was nearly time for him to be recognized as an adult his homeland was attacked. Dragon hide and fangs are valuable after all. Aiden took off, fleeing like several others. The rest were killed and the fields they cultivated and played in were burned with a cursed fire. Ensuring nothing else would grow there ever again.

Occupation: Aiden works as a street vendor. He uses his own shed scales to make necklaces, bracelets, charms or will just sell the scales as they are.

Dislikes:

Likes:

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Hotaru

Name: Hotaru

Age: Somewhere between 200 and 300 looks like she's in her twenties.

Race: Demon (Half cat, half fox)

Sexuality: Demi

Height: 5’2” or 157.48 cm

Description: Bloor red hair that drags the ground and spring green eyes

Forms: Human (real), Base: Rounded cat ears and a fluffy fox tail, claws, Fox: Traditional red fox with brown lowlights and eyes, Cat: Pure black with yellow eyes and a long slender tail.

Personality: Very polite to anything and anyone. She tends to speak very formally, especially to people she doesn't know well. But be warned, she's no pushover. She has a spine of titanium and isn't afraid to cut you down if you cross her.

Backstory: Hotaru was born to a cat mother and a fox father, who had their own farm. Both of her parents had the ability to manipulate plants. So growing vegetables was a good way for them to earn a living. Her siblings all got powers similar that would help them in a profession or in combat (as most demons prefer to fight) Water, plants, poison. Hotaru herself gained the ability to heal with her hands. An ability that is rare for any demon, but is almost unheard of for cats and foxes, both races being more combat focused. To celebrate they decided to go to a festival at a nearby town. But the town was attacked by a fire welding demon that burned everything down. She was the only survivor. Now on her own she wondered, wondering how she would survive, only to later be kidnapped and trained to be an assassin. After nearly a century there she used her skills to escape. She was able to establish herself in a human settlement as a healer, earning money from donations. Now in modern times she is quite wealthy and has gone to school several times for medicine, though she doesn't outright practice. Instead she runs her own combination of apothecary, flower shop, and aromatherapy center.

Occupation: Business owner, aromatherapist.

Dislikes: Fire. She's been terrified of fire ever since her family was killed.

Likes: She loves flowers and being able to help people.

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Constance

Name: Constance

Age: Early Twenties

Race: Mermaid

Sexuality: Straight

Height 5’6” or 167.64 cm

Description: Black hair to about mid-back and green eyes

Forms: Human, Mer: Upperbody looks mostly human. Eyes are a solid color, she has a second row of razor sharp teeth and her tail begins mid abdomen, covered in dark purple and blue scales with bright pink scales scattered throughout.

Personality: Generally naive and shy but gets confident and determined when she’s out on the field.

Backstory: She was found as a baby trapped in some fishing nets. The man that owned the net took her home to his wife and after being dry for an hour her tail split and became legs. She was never hurt by her parents, but was kept under strict conditions. In order to keep her from ever going into the water again she was told that she's allergic to water, so she can only ever have a sponge bath and that the scales that form on her legs when she cleans up are hives.

Dislikes:

Likes: Running is her favorite activity. So much so that she's on the track and field team. As long as she doesn't fall behind on her grades.

Occupation: College student. General studies because even though her parents want her to be a doctor, she doesn't know what she wants to do.

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Jason

JASON IS NOT FULLY MADE!! INTERACTING IS HOW HE GETS FLESHED OUT!

Name: Jason

Age: 3-400?

Race: Phoenix

Sexuality: ???

Height: 6'3 or 182.88 cm

Description: Black hair cut short and neat, pale skin and bright blue eyes.

Forms: Human, Avian: primary wings are the same shade of blue as his eyes in human form with highlights of pale blue and lowlights of black. His eyes also turn black.

Personality: Stoic and reserved. Doesn't always show emotion and if he does it's only with those he's very close with.

Backstory: He's a soldier, something of a spy or infiltrator so he's very good at following orders without question, even if he disagrees with those orders. He's burned and been reborn six times, mostly from life threatening injuries he got on the job, but at least twice was because he simply got too old.

Dislikes:

Likes:

Occupation:

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

Canon

Please note that my canon muses will not be 100% I will play them as on point as I can, but I will also play crack with them!

D. Gray-Man:

Kanda

Name: Yuu Kanda

Age: 9 (Chronologically), 19 (Physically), Probably around 30-40 (Actuality)

Race: Artificial Human

Sexuality:

Height: 5'11" or 152.4 cm

Description: Long black hair, with hints of blue in certain light that he prefers to keep tied up in a ponytail with two medium length locks that hang down on either side on his face and dark blue eyes.

Forms: Human

Personality: Cold and quick to anger, but he's not heartless. He maybe blunt but he's there for his friends.

"You're a strong woman."

Backstory: Kanda was originally an Exorcist that was killed along with his lady love (Probably somewhere in his late teens/early twenties). He was forcibly reborn by the Church to see if an accommodator that was killed could still use Innocence because they needed soldiers (Hence his young chronological age). After being reborn he meets and become friends with a boy named "Alma" who is his love reborn (they were both exorcists). Alma saw their real bodies and went crazy and Kanda regained SOME of his memories. And because I don't want to type it all out (seriously go read the books) Kanda kills Alma and works as an exorcist for several years, searching for his love. Eventually figures out that Alma WAS his love after meeting again (and fighting to the death) and he and Alma "die" together. Except regret keeps Kanda from resting peacefully so he returns to the Order.

Dislikes: Crowds, blue skys, naïve people, and CROWs (Order special forces)

Likes: Gardening, training, soba, meditaion, and camping

Occupation: Exorcist

Verses: Honestly there are so many verses people can come up with I feel little need to specify every one. This message will be copy/pasted to my other muses for the same reason.

(holy crap that was a lot. I'm just adding names for the others for now. They're canon so google them if you have to)

Tyki Mikk

Bookman Jr. "Lavi"

Ouran

Hikaru Hitachiin

Kyoya Ootori

[ocean-anchored]

Dear future self… January 7, 2024

This week has been pretty quiet honestly. I’ve been pet sitting Theo which has been alright. He’s sweet & cute but has no listening skills. His recall sucks so the parks haven’t been the best times, he also is high maintenance energy that it’s exhausting but I drop him off to his next sitter tmrw. I haven’t done too much this week. Been going to the dog park every day, reading a bit before bed & then watching shows. On Thursday at the dog park this guy was walking towards me & complimented my knights toque, when I looked up he was wearing a knights hat. I laughed & said wow there’s very few of us here what are the odds! & he started asking questions which sparked a continued conversation for at least half an hour. He was curious, inquisitive which was really nice. We were walking back to my car & he paused. I knew he was going to ask & we said it too & I laughed. I said it was refreshing talking to someone who showed genuine interest & curiosity & he thanked me for the compliment so we exchanged numbered. It was nice & he’s really sweet so we’ll see where that goes. I did tell him I just came out of a toxic relationship though so friendship was all I was looking for at this time.

I think it was two days after that Troy had texted me asking how I was feeling. We’ve had continued conversation through the week here & there but nothing big & then after Friday after midnight & I responded Saturday mid morning I haven’t heard back. But it’s fine. I’m not pushing it & I don’t want to force anything. I’m going to leave it to see if he’ll invite me or ask me to do something. Saturday morning I dropped Theo to day camp & went to the mountains with nova. Went to quarry park & did our usual walk & then took a different path towards grassi. It was really nice day, drive up & saw some other lakes that would be really nice in the summer. Steven dropped off some stuff later & then again I just read & watched shows. Very chill. I want this year to be more kind & giving. I mentioned giving compliments to lift people up but also I want to bless people too in ways. Before I drove out to Canmore I went to Starbucks & I paid for the persons order behind me. It felt really good. Made me happy. Then as I was driving out I prayed that God would open more doors like that for me. That he would put it on my heart to be able to bless people more wherever it was. I went to Walmart for groceries after coming back & the older lady behind me had asked the cashier

How much the reusable bags were as she needed some. I happened to have had 2 extra ones which I wasn’t sure how I only used 3 from my order but God lined it so perfectly & I gave them to her. She said she would pass that forward which was nice to hear. I giggled as I walked away, how only hours before I asked God to open more of those opportunities up. I didn’t want to go to church today but I did which I’m glad. It was a good service & the pastor talked about how we need to be cutting things off & not be dragging certain things into 2024. Whether that be relationships, emotional ties, physical items etc but we needed to be able to leave it behind & move forward. Really good & want I need to hear.

There’s a lot I want to leave in 2023. I really hope to do that this year as I move forward.

[areseebee]

If you’re still doing the fic writing meme, could you do POV for smoke break?

hello anon! yes, i will absolutely do more of the fic writing meme (in reference to this from a couple of weeks ago). this was a fun one btw, so thank you for asking.

here's james's POV in my derry girls fic Smoke Break, starting at the end of chapter 2 through mid-chapter 3 (or from michelle's flat to the awkward dublin conversation).

be warned, there are 2.7k largely unedited words below the cut.

It is really so fucking hot in Michelle’s flat. The one thing that James has always liked about Derry is the moderate temperatures. London was fine, too, usually. But the urban sprawl lent itself to warm summers and cold winters, and James doesn’t like to deal in extremes.

How he ended up with these four as his friends gives him some pause in this regard, but there are always exceptions to rules.

His shirt sticking sweatily to his back or not, he still would have been miserable – or something close to miserable – because Erin walked in wearing the shortest skirt. It’s just a movie night, didn’t she know it was a movie night? He thought he’d mentioned it was a movie night; he’d been tasked with renting the videos. She doesn’t seem like she knows, because that is only a skirt that he expects girls wear when they want someone to look at them in it.

He is happy to acquiesce, but he isn’t sure she wants him to. He’s never sure with her.

Anyway, the night is fine, even if it is really so hot in here, and he considers for a moment taking up smoking just to have an excuse to go outside with Erin and Michelle; it’s probably better for him to stay here with Orla and Clare anyway, he hardly ever gets to see them anymore. He still watches them from his spot on the floor, though, and he notices when Michelle slips into the neighbour’s flat and doesn’t follow Erin out.

Well, she needs company then. She’s outside all alone.

When he stands up, he feels the drinks for the first time, really feels them. He should have some water when he gets back, but it’s fine for now, it’s not too bad, it’s actually right in that sweet buzzing spot that he always wishes he could make last all night. It’s a dangerous spot; it’s easy to chase it with more drinks, trying to extend it, but that’s always a bad idea. He just has to accept that he’s feeling it now, and let it run its course to its inevitable hungover end.

But it makes it easy for him to go outside. Though, it’s probably not the drinks that make it easy to go outside. James could be stone cold sober and would still be walking this path down the stairs and around the corner.

He can’t really help himself, not with her. Maybe he had tried to stay away for the summer, had tried to convince himself it would be better that way, not to disrupt where his life was now, but it was probably inevitable to end up back here, in Derry. Even if he hadn’t lost his flat, he probably still would have landed here, once he knew that Erin wouldn’t be staying in Belfast. He couldn’t help himself.

She doesn’t seem surprised to see him, thank God. Or, if she is, she still seems pleased. She’s always seeming pleased when he shows up anywhere she’s at these days. It’s been making him think – well, it’s been making him think a lot of things. Things that he probably shouldn’t be thinking.

It seems like she really likes to have him around, and if she’s going to let him then he’s not going to miss out. But it sort of keeps surprising him. He thought she’d tell him to stop coming into her work by, like, the third time he did it, but she never did. And once when he’d missed a day, she seemed almost mad, accusatory. Well, if she was going to act that way about it then it really made everything very simple. He never missed a day after that.

He has to stop himself wondering all the time if it means something. Because it’s Erin, and things don’t seem to mean what he thinks they mean with her. She’ll say something, and he’ll think – 

She looks at him a lot these days. He catches her. And that probably says just as much about him because he wouldn’t be catching her if he wasn’t looking too.

He’s not sure if it’s because he’s been gone for so long, but things feel different. Like maybe she –

He hates that she’s actually out here smoking, but he gets it. It’s different when you’re drinking. He hates that she smokes those fucking things, but it’s kind of mesmerizing to watch it, the way she’s so delicate when she lifts it up to her mouth.

She’s really crap at blowing smoke rings, but it gives him an excuse to look at her mouth.

God, he’s blitzed. It’s more than he thought, but he’s just trying to focus, focus on her. It’s easy. Especially when she’s saying that she likes his hair even though Michelle keeps telling him it's minging like this. He wonders what it would feel like to have her hands in it.

She’s looking at him. He can tell he should be saying something, she’s looking at him like he should be saying something, but all he can think about is that he doesn’t really have anything to say, even though he does, he has so much to say. He has so much to say, but he can’t just say it.

He hates that she smokes, but he really likes that he gets this time with her – separate, apart. A few minutes when it’s just them. He likes that it means she gets to be here with him right now, her cheeks looking so pink and she’s just looking at him, and he’s looking back. And when she parts her lips – she’s going to say something, he really shouldn’t do this, it’s rude – all he can think about is how pretty they are.

And then he’s done it. He’s kissed her. He’s kissed her, and it’s been a year and, like, seven weeks exactly since he last kissed her, but it’s the first time he’s ever kissed her like this. And maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, but the more he does it, the more it feels like letting out an exhale he’d been holding in since he saw her the first time again.

Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, but she’s doing it right back, and she’s making it really hard for him to be kind and not press her too hard up against the wall behind her. She’s doing this thing with her hands in his hair – it feels as good as he thought it would – and he can feel the hem of her skirt from where it’s touching the thigh he has wedged between her legs (God, the thought –) and she’s making these noises and he just wants to touch everywhere. But at least he can keep himself from doing that. He’s drunk, but he’s not that –

The thought doesn’t even finish because he hears “Erin?” and oh God, oh fuck, that’s Clare and this was such a bad, such a very bad – and Erin is pulling away, thank God, because he needs a second. What if she stays? What if Clare stays out here, and what if – well, he’s mostly annoyed because he wasn’t done yet.

He manages to make an appearance, and fortunately Clare goes back inside, which is good because James just wants to touch again. Which he does.

And then Erin is urging him to stop, but why stop? Why stop when she’s breathing out his name like that, like they’re not just snogging, like they’re –? Except she’s saying it again, and it registers as insistent and that is enough for him to stop.

He’s breathless and – and giddy and this is just the best, except – well she’s not really looking at him. She’s tugging awkwardly at her clothes like she wishes there was more to them, and she’s not looking at him. It’s ok, it’s probably for the best, he needs to get himself together.

She tries to reach up and touch him once, and he jerks back, and feels immediately bad about it, but, like – it would just be better if she didn’t.

Anyway, it’s starting to become distracting that she’s not looking at him, and it’s sobering – like actually sobering. And that’s when the anxiety sets in because she won’t look at him, and she seems, like, really uncomfortable and oh fuck, he really fucked this.

She didn’t ask him to come out here, she didn’t tell him to – he followed her out, she was just minding her own business until he – and they’ve been drinking and, God, how did he go from talking to this? He’d only been thinking about – well he knew what he’d been thinking about, but what feels more important was what he wasn’t thinking about which was whether or not she even wanted him to do this, any of this.

He has to say something, apologize. And so he does. And she says it’s ok, and she does finally look at him, but it doesn’t feel right, not at all. She still sits close to him when they go back inside, but it’s just not right.

He has trouble falling asleep that night. He’s so intensely aware that Erin is just there, like a foot away from him in bed. He should have just slept in the living room with Orla, but he’d remembered the bugs and he hadn’t been thinking (again) and now he was in here, so the most he could do was turn his back.

The next morning he is as hungover as he expected, but only half of it feels like the alcohol. When Clare tells him about her travel plans, she asks him when he’s going to come visit her, and “What about now?” just falls out of his mouth. She’s really pleased, and her ma will be happy to see him too, she’s got all sorts of things planned, but she won’t be able to take off work if that’s ok with him.

Fine, fine with him – he just needs to get out. He’ll only go to Dublin for a couple of days, but it’ll be good because he doesn’t think he can have the conversation yet with Erin. The conversation that he needs to have with her. And it’s the right thing to do to remove himself for a little bit. God, she couldn’t even look at him.

And when he’s in Dublin, he thinks all the time that it was a good idea. For the first couple of days, he knows it’s a good idea. They’re sightseeing, and when Clare is at work, James walks around on his own for hours which is great at first until he starts realizing that he’s cataloging all of the things he thinks Erin would like to do when she visits Clare later that summer. Like, has she ever seen Trinity Library? She would love it there, he keeps thinking she’d love it there.

At a certain point, like around day three, he starts to think morosely that he’s only putting off the inevitable.

And Clare keeps asking him weird questions, like if he’s seeing anyone in London. Or seeing anyone not in London. And he’s not really sure why she keeps asking because the answer is always no – she’d know already if it weren’t.

It’s day five when Clare asks him pointedly how much longer he’s planning to stay – he suspects he’s probably usurped someone else’s spot in her flat, someone who he knows he’ll hear all about as soon as Clare is ready to tell – and he buys his bus ticket back.

When he gets back home, he calls Michelle which he knows is probably pointless because she’s never home, but maybe he’ll catch her and he can just go see her instead of Erin. But it’s what he suspected – she doesn’t answer – and so he figures he’s got no other options left.

He steels himself to walk in the door for way longer than he should, and when he finally walks in she’s not even there at the front. He almost takes a step in the direction of the back – he knows she’s back there – but he stops, and finally just sits at the bar to wait.

He hears Michelle before he sees her, but his eyes are for Erin. Who is hardly even looking at him again. Oh God, he did really fuck it. Fuck.

It’s weird, but Michelle’s talking at least, until all of a sudden she’s leaving and, finally, Erin looks at him. She starts to talk, and she sounds fine, it feels fine, but he’s not sure he should be relieved, or if this is just a precursor to something else, something worse.

Even so, he needs to talk to her, and he’s glad when she says he can walk her home. It’s awkward, it’s so awkward – how does he even begin to start talking about this? So he takes up the first thread she offers.

He knows what he wants to say: he knows he messed up, he’s sick at the thought that she would feel like she needed to avoid him for any reason, he knows that she doesn’t want something with him, anything with him – she’s made that very clear – and he should never have tried to act any differently, to push any boundaries.

But he can only say it the way he’s saying right now, talking nonsense about Dublin. How the fuck did he start talking about Dublin, and he’s losing the thread of it – was she supposed to be Dublin, or…?

He finally gets it all out, says all the things he wants to say, and he’s preparing himself for what she’s going to say next. If she needs more time, whatever, whatever she wants.

And then she says – wait, what did she just say?

There is no fucking way she just said what he thought she said.

It feels out of body, the way he manages to say “I’d want that too.” He cannot believe the words are coming out of his mouth so easily like this.

But then she’s staring at him, open-mouthed, and he wants to scream at himself because all of a sudden he’s worried that he’s fucking this up again in real time. Had he learned absolutely nothing?

He’s misunderstood again, but he’s not going to leave, he’s going to fix it right now. He wants her to know – nothing serious. Like, really. If she’s saying what he thinks she’s saying, then he’s on board, and she doesn’t have to worry. Whatever she wants. She can kiss him again, that is fine, that is totally fine. If that’s what she wants.

He gets it. They’re 19. It’s ok. He gets it. It sounds nice, it sounds fun. He knows, he’s known for a long time, why she wouldn’t want anything more. They’re 19. Is this what she wants?

It is. She’s agreeing. It is. And James’s brain feels like it has just broken, the way he feels stunned like this while simultaneously trying to figure out how he can contrive for this to happen as soon as humanly possible.

He could kiss her right now, he could – he could invite her over. Deidre’s out. He already knows. She’s at work. And, God, he should really be embarrassed about this, stumbling over himself like this. And he needs to be careful. Because he’d said “nothing serious,” and he needed to act like nothing serious or he was going to scare her again, she was going to see right through him. She probably already could, but that – well that was just going to have to be ok with him because he can’t help it, not around her.

He can’t believe she’s saying yes, she never says yes to him. But maybe this was the key all along – nothing serious. He’s always asked, “do you want to?” and her response has always been “someday,” but maybe someday wasn’t ever coming, not the way he’d thought about it.

But that – that was ok. Because she’s agreeing. Like it’s nothing. 

Because it is nothing. Nothing serious. He has to remember that.

[dramioneficrecommendations]

Best Draco/Hermione Fics Dramione Shippers Read in 2020

A few days ago, I asked you what were the best Dramione fics you'd read in 2020. Here's the huge list of your excellent recs (in alphabetical order):

A Creature Most Unusual by JMilz: Draco Malfoy is on a mission. Unfortunately, Hermione Granger catches him in the act. When she sees that he has adopted a rather unusual magical creature, she becomes determined to make sure he takes care of it. Little does she know, the animal may hold her key to eternal glory . . . and a whirlwind romance. M, 9 Chapters, 24,460 Words

A Little More Alive, Far Less Lost by MGL_Dramione_Lover: After Draco's post-war trial, he finds himself attending his 8th year at Hogwarts with Hermione. As remorse and acceptance replace anger and hate, the old enemies begin a friendship that sparks into much more than they ever hoped for. Hermione's goal as Head Girl is to banish old prejudices and unite the school while Draco's only wish is to become a man worthy of her love. M, 22 Chapters, 84,823

A New Light by mithrilstarlight: Draco spent six years doing his best to keep his head down. Then he runs into Hermione Granger. Turns out, they actually have a lot in common.Chapters posted M/W/F. T, 18 Chapters, 33,876 Words

A Second Look by RiverWriter: Her best friend's life was a mess and she would have done anything to make things better for him and his sons. So, when she found her former enemy in a similar situation her heart went out to him as well... and the beautiful blond baby in his arms didn't hurt his case. It was certainly enough for her to give him a second look. M, 30 Chapters, 127,243 Words

All that is Rare by smithandbarrowman: In the wizarding world, it has long been assumed that men are Alphas and women are Omegas. However, when Hermione Granger discovers that assumptions are rarely factual, her status as one of only a handful of female alphas that has ever existed has men falling at her feet.But there’s only one man she wants, and like the male alphas before her, the hunt is on until he bears her mark. E, 31 Chapters, 119,755 Words

All the Wrong Things by LovesBitca8: Sequel to "The Right Thing to Do" - Draco's POV. Part 2 of the "Rights and Wrongs" series. E, 24 Chapters, 160,297 Words

All You Want by senlinyu: Eighth Year at Hogwarts was supposed to be Hermione’s. And it is, just not in the way she expects. Omegaverse fic. E, 36 Chapters, 172,651

apples & cream by LovesBitca8: She could have taken her things and gone through his Floo without a word. She could have ignored him on Monday morning, as though last night had been no more than a fever dream and too much Firewhisky. But she’d come back to bed. Inspired by the lovely NikitaJuice's "apples & cream." E, 1 Chapter, 1,426 Words

Beginning and End by mightbewriting: Years. Broken into months into weeks into days—into hours, minutes, seconds—into moments. Simple at one end, complex at the other. In Draco’s experience, moments, even when simple, had a habit of becoming irretrievable. Moments grew, stretched, multiplied into ages and eras that defined whole stretches of measurable time. Draco regretted several moments in his life, some within his control, some without: all of them irretrievable in nature. At a certain point, wedged between ‘what-ifs’ of his own devising, he’d stopped trying to keep track of those regrettable moments: now and then, pushing and pulling, coming and going, beginning and end. Moments were only moments for just as long. After that, he had no control. A Draco POV prequel to Wait and Hope. E, 48 Chapters, 242,100 Words

Bells on a Hill by HeyJude19: Left by his fiancée a month before the ceremony, Draco never got his dream wedding, so agreeing to assist Granger with her own wedding planning to distract himself from his broken engagement seems like a great idea—though Draco probably shouldn't fall in love with the bride-to-be. Based very (very) loosely on The Wedding Singer. T, WIP

Bending Light by scullymurphy: Draco Malfoy was in exile, though they called it protection. It was the summer after sixth year and he'd taken Dumbledore's offer, defected to the other side and been sent away to a small town in Italy for his troubles. No magic, few rules, and not a lot to do - until Hermione Granger showed up. M, WIP

Break for me by Ada_P_Rix: COMPLETE _______________ "-I told them this wouldn’t work.” He cut in through gritted teeth as he kept his eyes on Hermione, making her pulse quicken and she couldn’t help but clench her thighs together at the rough, husky tone of his voice. He didn’t miss it; his eyes landed on her thighs and they darkened even further. “I can’t help her when all I feel like I want to do is pin her down and fuck her into the mattress.” _______________ Hermione gets into a little accident at work and is infected with a hybrid potion created to cause certain heightened side effects. Draco offers to stick around to give his work partner a little support ... if he can Occlude long enough to resist her... E, 7 Chapters, 45,107 Words

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by Onyx_and_Elm: For a moment, she's almost giddy. Because Draco Malfoy's been ruined by this war and he's as out of place as she is and — yes, he has scars too. He's got an even bigger one. She wonders whether one day they'll compare sizes. E, 51 Chapters, 148,908 Words

Bring Him to His Knees by Musyc: Draco is on the case of a murderer, but to investigate, he needs a fake relationship - and a kink club play partner. When Hermione volunteers to take the role, both do their best to maintain the lie without letting each other know the truth: neither of them are acting. E, WIP

Calendar Boys by anne_ammons, Nadiapolyakova (Rijaya83): She had thrown out the idea on a lark, but now Hermione Granger was tasked with bringing the charity calendar to life. What was one more thing on her list? An art/writing collaboration between nadiapolyakova and anne_ammons - twelve photos and a piece of the story behind them. M, WIP

Cherry Mint by dirtymudblood: "He could smell her. Even multiple train cars away, he could smell her. Except, Draco didn’t know who she was. He ignored his natural instincts to pant like a dog and follow the scent to the omega in the beginning stages of heat. Instead he willed himself to rub his knuckles against the rough wood of the table in front of him." E, 27 Chapters, 58,081 Words

Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights by bexchan: One of them is desperately trying to remember their past while the other is forever trying to escape theirs. It's seven years after the war and Draco has managed to avoid almost everyone from Hogwarts, living a lonely life on a small island, far away from the wizarding community. But a familiar face in a cafe window capsizes his world into chaos. Dramione. EWE. Memory fic. M, WIP

Difficult by provocative envy: COMPLETE: "I should," I repeated. "But I don't want to." And then he smiled, and I was wrecked. HG/DM. M, 30 Chapters, 87,041 Words

Don't Look Back by Onyx_and_Elm: It’s the smell of it. Chemical. Bitter and sharp as a raw edge on metal. Just a hint of it as she passes him at breakfast — but enough to stop her dead, mid-step. There is Wolfsbane in his tea. E, WIP

Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time by monsterleadmehome: She scoffs. “If you must know, he ‘elected’ me because he thinks our shared animosity will keep you in check. He’s also not worried about you trying to shag me as a distraction.” He leans back, stubbing out his cigarette on the banister. His eyes rove over her from crown to toe and back. She lifts her chin and tries not to shiver. “Well, he’s right about that.” Lucius Malfoy hires Hermione Granger to whip his son into shape so he can find a pure-blood bride and receive his inheritance. What could go wrong? E, 10 Chapters, 48,092 Words

Draco's Gift by TriDogMom: Draco gives Hermione a gift because of an instructional YouTube video. M, 1 Chapter, 1,705 Words

Dragon in the Dark by GracefulLioness: The battle is won, Voldemort is dead, but the war is far from over. In the new Death Eater regime, Draco Malfoy does what he must to survive and keep his mother safe. Now a highly trained assassin, Draco has learned to think of his targets as inhuman beings, but when he is tasked with killing someone from his past, he can no longer hide from the horrors of the world around him. E, 31 Chapters, 164,782 Words

For a Present Under the Tree by grace_lou_freebush: When Draco and Hermione eloped, the Wizarding World turned against them. Hermione is stuck in a low level, low paying Ministry job with no hope of upward movement. Draco can't even convince someone to hire him. Now, it's Christmas, and Draco knows Hermione deserves the world - or at the least a Christmas gift. He finds the perfect hair comb to replace the horrid Muggle brush she's been making due with, and he'll do anything to afford the paltry present so he can have something to put under the Christmas tree for his wife. Making a beeline for the jewelry box containing the hair combs, Draco rifled through them, landing on an ivory comb with queen anne rose carvings and gold filigree detailing. He brought it to the startled shopkeeper and set it down gently. Pulling his sixth generation Malfoy heirloom pocket watch from his coat, he shoved it in the wizard's face without second guessing himself. "I would like to make an exchange." E, 1 Chapter, 10,141 Words

Fortuitous by MrsRen: Recently divorced Draco doesn't believe in the ideology of having one true love. He certainly doesn't expect to meet his match in a Halloween themed coffee shop, but fate has a peculiar way of giving you just what you need. M, 13 Chapters, 93,695 Words

Fuck, Marry, Avada by Lilian_Silver: Some years after the war, the gang meets up at the Leaky to play a silly game, with very real consequences. E, 1 Chapter, 3,106 Words

Give Me An Hour by RZZMG: As the war continues to rage on around them, Hermione Granger decides to seduce fellow Order Member, Draco Malfoy, one night while at Grimmauld Place... and everything between them changes after that. Fic follows the "five times" trope, and is dedicated to raspberryjukebox. One-shot. A/U-Extended War scenario. Dramione. Drama-Romance-Hot Shag! COMPLETE! M, 1 Chapter, 3,251 Words

Good Girl by arabellaleyes: Hermione is tired of their normal routine in the bedroom. What will happen when she asks Draco to spice things up? One-shot. Complete. M, 1 Chapter, 9,000 Words

Hindsight by floorcoaster: It's a New Year and Hermione decides it's time to make some changes. T, 12 Chapters, 167,694 Words

How to Love Thy Neighbour by WhatSoMalfoy: After her relationship with Ron falls apart, Hermione attempts to juggle a personal muggle life with a professional wizarding one. After encountering her high school nemesis in the most unlikely place, Hermione adds another ball to the juggling mix. M, 14 Chapters, 41,992 Words

How to Move On by longdistance: It's been nearly a decade since the war. A long time since she locked herself away. A long time since he faced his mistakes. She's what he wants. He's what she needs. It's time for both of them to figure out how to move on. M, WIP

Hydrotherapy by eilonwy: Draco finds a trip to the showers after playing Quidditch... enlightening. E, 2 Chapters, 7,163 Words

I Choose You by melanoradrood: At the end of Fifth Year, Hermione finds out why It is that none have approached her with a Marital Contract, the only way she can remain in the Wizarding World after Graduation. It has already been signed by her Magical Guardian, someone she has never met - she is to be the next Lady Malfoy. A year and a half later, she is a married witch, but still, Draco Malfoy, who had chosen her above all others, had not spoken of it. In fact, they barely spoke at all. And when trouble heads their way, Hermione means to change that. Really, she means to change a lot of things. E, 5 Chapters, 24,527 Words

Isolation by Bex-chan: He can't leave the room. Her room. And it's all the Order's fault. Confined to a small space with only the Mudblood for company, something's going to give. Maybe his sanity. Maybe not. "There," she spat. "Now your Blood's filthy too!" DM/HG. PostHBP. Now complete with epilogue. M, 49 Chapters, 284,050 Words

It Happened in Egypt by bionically: Wandless in Egypt: Draco's stranded in Egypt, but luckily, there's a Granger in sight. Now, if only he could be prevented from strangling her. Fun times abroad: It was supposed to be a leisurely solo trip down the Nile. Hermione didn't factor in one blond man from her past and all his drama. Then, of course, there's the fact that everyone's after him. Much hilarity ensues. Maybe. *** A rom-com adventure/mystery featuring two unwilling partners on the run from Lucius Malfoy, alien-hunters, Muggle police, and local wizards engaged in a civil war. T, WIP

Love and Other Misfortunes by senlinyu: Draco Malfoy is dying. He's part-Veela and needs his mate to survive. Post-war, Hermione Granger is a workaholic, up to her eyeballs in legal activism on behalf of Magical Beings, and hasn't yet noticed that Malfoy is the Magical Being who needs her most. “Because I don’t want to be saved by you just because you feel like you have to.” He was properly furious now. “I’m in love with you." Hermione stared at him. She knew but somehow hearing him say it made the air shimmer with magic. "I’m in love with you,” he said again, despairingly. “And that means I want you to be as happy as you possibly can. And you won’t be, not with me.” M, 23 Chapters, 98,584 Words 

Manacled by senlinyu: Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Hermione Granger has an Order secret, lost but hidden in her mind, so she is sent as an enslaved surrogate to the High Reeve until her mind can be cracked.Now illustrated by Avendell. E, 77 Chapters, 370,473 Words

Measure Of A Man by inadaze22: To truly know someone is to differentiate between who they once were, who they are now, and who they're capable of being. Hermione realises the duality of one man as she rectifies what she knows of the past and begins to understand the pieces of who Draco Malfoy is now: a father, a son, and a man. E, WIP

Meet the Malfoys by raven_maiden: 4 Works, 21, 442 Words

of flavoured names and coloured sounds by Pink Panda (Ejacyeolation): "He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him."In which Draco just wants to know what colour Hermione's moans would be. He also wants to know if her skin would taste as sweet as her surname or maybe as intoxicating as her given name. E, 2 Chapters, 10,351

Once Upon a Night by longdistance: One night will change everything. M, 17 Chapters, 57,444 Words

One and Done by PacificRimbaud: Hermione Granger has a career she loves, friends she can depend on, and a nice set of hand towels for her new flat. She's single and tired of tiresome men, but that doesn't stop her from wearing beautiful lingerie underneath her serious Ministry skirts. Or having pictures taken in naughty knickers. Just once. For herself. Draco Malfoy doesn't get upset at the sight of blood, which is good, because he sees a lot of it. What he doesn't see a lot of is Hermione Granger in her unmentionables. Usually. A series of meetings and mix-ups in which one cannot possibly mean done. E, 4 Chapters, 35,011 Words

Our shared silence by Vofastudum: She wakes up one morning and everyone is just gone, vanished like they never existed at all. Everyone but Him. And in this silent solitude, he's all she has. Hermione and Draco alone in empty castle. Mystery and a plot twist you didn't see coming! EDITED 10/2020 M, 17 Chapters, 40,149 Words

Pinned by bionically: Draco doesn't know what he's expecting when he follows Blaise down a dark alley, but it certainly isn't this. For a man with an addictive personality, this isn't going to turn out well. Assigned trope: Voyeurism *** Or, a chance encounter with a frizzy-haired witch from his misbegotten past in the last place anyone should have expected to see her sets Draco's disordered life on its ear. The path to redemption is truly paved with unexpected surprises. E, 20 Chapters, 110,886 Words

Really Sell It by RoseHarperMaxwell: Draco's having a rough eighth year, and Hermione's going to make it better for him. "Well, it’s clear what needs to happen.” She gripped his chin, tilting his head to make sure she hadn’t missed any injuries, before looking straight into his eyes. “You’re my boyfriend now.” *Featuring fake dating, exhibitionism, and sex-positive Hermione Granger. Submission for Farewell to Summer: The 31 Flavors of Smut Fest. E, 1 Chapters, 7,612 Words

Remain Nameless by HeyJude19: How did it feel? It felt like he was barely holding it together. She, of all people, should shun him. Or yell at him. Curse him. Spit at him. Take out her wand and blast him off the face of the earth. It was crushing guilt and relief and confusion all at once when he looked at Hermione Granger. The monotony of Draco’s daily routine had become both a lifeline and a noose. But this new habit of grabbing coffee with Hermione Granger is quickly becoming a reason to get out of bed and is unfortunately forcing him to re-evaluate his inconsequential existence. Hermione is living her life in fragments, separate pieces scattered about, and she can’t find a way to step back and let the full picture form. Why are morning meetings with Draco Malfoy the only thing that make sense anymore? E, 51 Chapters, 312,315 Words

Remember Us As War (but call us forgiveness) by Anyaparadox: Following the devastation of the Battle of Hogwarts, The Wizarding Population Growth Act is put into effect. All witches and wizards will be matched with their most compatible partner. Failure to comply will not be tolerated. Survival is key. Hermione reminds herself of this. Survival. She can fix this, if only she can survive. The war has made this a task she is equipped for. Marrying Draco Malfoy will hardly be the worst thing she's ever endured. M, WIP

Ring A Ring O' Roses by Gallivant: Dark Magic, Dark Wizards and a mysterious and deadly Dark Flux, which, in the wrong hands, has the terrifying potential to mass-murder Muggles and Muggle-borns ... It’s been fourteen years since the end of the Second Wizarding War and the Wizarding World is settled, stable and seemingly safe… Hermione Weasley has it all: a loving family, a successful career - and happiness… of sorts. But a series of unexpected events is about to turn her life upside-down, threatening those she loves, fatally undermining the peace between worlds that has prevailed for centuries … changing life as she knows it, possibly forever. If working with Draco Malfoy was the last thing Hermione Weasley ever wanted, falling for your enemy was the least expected. A quest to thwart a magical weapon of mass destruction has devastating consequences. A race to save the world, becomes a race to save themselves… M, 65 Chapters, 527,141 Chapters

Set Fire to the Rain by HarleyQuinn1317: What happens when the one you're destined for is the last person you should ever be with... When the Ministry of Magic asks for volunteers for their Marriage Initiative, Hermione Granger must come to terms with the one terrible deed she committed during the Second Wizarding War. Can she find it in her heart to forgive herself and finally learn to let love in? E, WIP

Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll: Hermione didn't escape from the war unscathed, and when she finally decides on a solution to her problems she's left to explore it on her own. A chance encounter with Draco Malfoy sets her world on it's head and leads her down a path towards healing that she would never have anticipated. E, 18 Chapters, 65,079 Words

The Art of Seating Etiquette by inadaze22: Hermione believes that every problem has a solution, and that solution can be found in a book. That is, until Draco starts sitting to her right every Friday. She has no answers until help comes in the form of an unlikely source: Ron Weasley. E, 1 Chapter, 9,734 Words

The Auction by LovesBitca8: In the wake of the Dark Lord’s triumph over Harry Potter, the defeated must learn their new place. Hermione Granger, former Golden Girl, has been captured and reduced to human chattel. Sold to the highest bidder as the top prize at an auction of Order members and sympathizers, she is thrust into the rabid, waiting hands of the Death Eaters. But despite the horrors of Voldemort’s new world, help—and hope—seem to arise from the most unlikely of places. PART 3 of the RIGHTS AND WRONGS series. E, 41 Chapters, 325,702 Words

The Binding by Curly_Kay: “Okay, what we know so far.” Hermione listed, "One, our magic is drawing us together. Two, we can use each other’s wands. Three, there were actual sparks when you touched me."After an infant binding ritual magically joins Hermione and Draco to counteract the Black family blood curse, they must navigate the secret binding through their years together at Hogwarts. E, 35 Chapters, 175,451 Words

The Carnal Club by Ada_P_Rix: COMPLETE The Halloween Ball is fast approaching with Hermione at the helm.... What a delightful time to suddenly learn of a centuries old secret sex-game club that is currently ran by a Blonde haired Slytherin. Oh, and it only happens once a year every October, when the winner takes all at the Halloween Ball ...The First Rule of Carnal Club: You do not talk about Carnal Club. E, 8 Chapters, 43,306 Words

The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy by Speechwriter (batmansymbol): The night that Harry and Dumbledore return from the cave, the Death Eaters are delayed from reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower for one more minute. Draco Malfoy lowers his wand. A Deathly Hallows rewrite in which Draco accepts Dumbledore's offer to fake his death and go into hiding with the Order of the Phoenix. T, WIP

The Erised Effect by Ada_P_Rix: Hermione and Pansy work in a shop together. Draco, Harry, Theo and Blaise all work together at the Ministry. They all meet up every Friday at the pub to have drinks. Pansy has a new fantasy potion that she likes to call 'The Erised Effect' that she's keen to try out on willing participants ... Boys are so easy to manipulate when alcohol is involved .... E, 13 Chapters, 88,852 Words

The Fallout by everythursday: Hermione learns about growing up through the redemption of Draco Malfoy. E, 49 Chapters, 310,229 Words

The Figures of Figuring Out by Vofastudum: You were the biggest riddle in my life. You were the one I couldn't figure out. You were the only thing I couldn't find a pattern to. You were something I couldn't look up from any book. Unwritten, with no instructions. And I was used to finding solutions! Post-war eight-year secret romance. Edited 12/2020 M, 13 Chapters, 26,951 Words

The Flat in Bath by Ada_P_Rix: Loosely inspired by 365 Days...-- Malfoy grabbed her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. “Don’t you dare, Granger...” He told her roughly as his intense gaze bored into her own. “I fucking forbid you to come until I’ve had enough of you...” Draco caught her cheeks now between the fingers of his free hand and then snapped her head to the side and licked her earlobe, trailing down to her jawline. “...one flutter of those delicious walls of yours and you’re going to wish you never opened your legs for me.” -- __________________ Hermione is kidnapped during a raid and taken captive by someone who doesn't plan on 'torturing' her in the conventional way... E, WIP

The Gloriana Set by ThebeMoon: The War is won, and Hermione Granger is back at Hogwarts as an “Eighth Year”, feeling reckless and determined to shed her prim bookworm persona. She will do as she pleases, and anyone who doesn’t like it will see the business end of her wand. Also returning is Draco Malfoy, universally hated but determined to restore his family’s name. Hermione’s hopes for a quiet school year are quickly dashed as she contends with mischievous First Years, killer plants, enchanted hair accessories, a totally inappropriate Moaning Myrtle, renegade Death Eaters, a nice vampire, a poorly named study group, a depraved party, and mysterious, threatening blood messages on the castle walls. We have redemption, partial redemption and (sadly or hilariously) no redemption at all. Throw in a snarky, disturbingly attractive Draco with his own secret agenda, and we have a very slow-burn Dramione with a side of who-dun-it. COMPLETE! M, 81 Chapters, 271,830 Words

The Library of Alexandria by senlinyu: The Library of Alexandria is not for just any witch or wizard. Many bookworms may try but few are permitted to pass through its doors. The books residing there are ancient and powerful and, if one happens to make a mistake, the consequences can be rather—novel. E, 6 Chapters, 26,383 Words

The List by AureliaBlack90: After her divorce, Hermione decides to get out of town to recover from the pain of her lost relationship and the miscarriage she suffered a year previously. She arrives in the Cotswolds depressed and aimless but compiles a list of things to do that she hopes will help her get back on her feet. In the midst of her journey to find healing she keeps running into Draco Malfoy, who is nothing like she remembered him. He invites her into his world, and Hermione finds exactly what she was looking for - in the place she least expected it. E, 10 Chapters, 70,526 Words

The Manuscript by alexandra_emerson: Five 1/2 years after the war, in the middle of a big fight with Draco, Hermione finds a manuscript. It’s a retelling of her and Draco’s love story, written by him. She never realized how much he was struggling before she read his words. Snippet: I could spend my whole life apologizing to you Hermione, and it would never be enough. Post-war, angst-filled Dramione with a happy ending. M, 21 Chapters, 154,918 Words

The Memory of You by PotionChemist: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger fell in love against all odds, but there was one big problem — he was already married. Pressured, Hermione does something she promised herself she would never do again and erases their affair from his memory. Completely devastated, she avoids seeing Draco or the Malfoys at all costs. But is their love too strong? Are they inevitable? What will happen if he finds out about their previous relationship? E, WIP

The Mountain and The Sea by AlexisDanaan: Hermione Granger was perfectly happy with her life, her job as a Healer Trainee, her ugly cat and her cute little house in the countryside. And then Draco Malfoy had to go and mess that all up, typical git. Post-Hogwarts, EWE, OOC, creature!fic. E, 12 Chapters, 40,441 Words

The Nietzsche Classes by Beringae: The Ministry takes action against the remaining prejudice in the wizarding society and asks Hermione for help. “What do you want? Money? Power? Name your price, Granger. I’m not about to let pride get in my way when an Azkaban sentence is on the line.” M, 15 Chapters, 45,807 Words

The Phoenix Potion by FedonCiadale: Twenty years after the battle of Hogwarts.... Harry is head auror and is worried about cases where Muggleborn children meet with accidents, Ron is a famous Quidditch keeper. Both haven't talked to Hermione for ages and certainly not to her husband, Draco Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy struggles with a curse, and Neville and Luna try to stay friends with all. The key to solving the problems may lie in the past, a time nobody really wants to revisit and some can't. T, 111 Chapters, 237,745 Words

The Potioneers by omnenomnom: They need each other unfortunately. Hermione has tricked Draco under her tutelage, arrogant attitude and all. But she would be simple to think he would accept it quietly. They have both have secrets to hide, old wounds better left to fester, and a world full of mermaids, dragons, and magic to explore. T, 53 Chapters, 196,559 Words

The Pretense by Colubrina: Voldemort died, but the Death Eaters live on. Hermione Granger traded herself to Draco Malfoy in exchange for safe passage for core Order members. Now he's pretending to love her, Narcissa is pretending to believe that, and Hermione is walking a tightrope behind enemy lines as she figures out what is going on. Unfortunately, people fall off tightropes. (no non-con) T, 50 Chapters, 108,164 Words

The Right Thing To Do by LovesBitca8: Hermione felt the pounding in her ears again. She would see him for the first time since the Great Hall, gaunt and stricken at the Slytherin table with his mother clutching his arm. She hadn't meant to look for him. Not in the corridors, not beneath the white sheets of the fallen, not on the way to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, but she was a stupid girl. E, 36 Chapters, 174,911 Words

The Seven Year Witch by TheLastLynx: A boy and a girl have been meeting – coincidentally – for seven summers. While they pretty much hate one another most of the year, for those secret summer moments, they manage to see each other in a different light. But will that be enough to bring them together? A Dramione story about growing up and changing perspective, told along - and in-between - the lines of canon. M, WIP

Thirty Times Lucky by galfoy: "Granger, I can't hire you on any longer," Draco said. Hermione stared at him. Losing her job might actually mean losing the War, and she had to bargain, but there was literally nothing she had that he would want. Or was there? M, 2 Chapters, 7,128 Words

Traditions by raven_maiden: She straddled him slowly, still biting her lip, her hands on his shoulders. He held her hips tightly as he stared up at her. “So beautiful,” he whispered, and she flushed prettily, like she always did from his compliments. “You never need to hide from me.” ** Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell in love during the war. One year later, they're heading home for the holidays so he can finally meet her parents. There's just one teeny little problem: her parents think they're both Muggles. E, 14 Chapters, 68,767 Words

Waifs and Strays by Kyonomiko: War leaves a lot of orphans in its wake. Hermione is one, by her own hand, and she struggles with the realities of her situation. When she finds an orphaned familiar, it seems meant to be, giving and receiving comfort helping to heal her fractured heart. Unfortunately, the animal is actually a wizard, and he has his own issues. M, 31 Chapters, 118,152 Words

What You Think Is Right by icepower55: Six years after the war, Hermione parents are dying and her marriage to Draco is crumbling. Nothing seems logical in her life anymore. Her healer tells her to start writing about it, so she does, as a way to figure things out, and remind herself along the way. Hell is proximity without intimacy -Dante's Inferno M, WIP

When the Bell Tolls by everythursday: As a Dark revival begins to rise four years after the war, Hermione Granger is placed on the assignment of putting an end to them – and her first task is to recruit the Ministry's best hope and last option in the form of Draco Malfoy. E, 20 Chapters, 148,033 Words

Wreck by JMilz: Serving as Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger is finally at the peak of her career. With a beautiful family, a successful book, and the public on her side, her life should be a fairytale. Unfortunately, there is trouble in paradise, and when Draco Malfoy pays her a visit, she begins recalling their history and questioning her marriage. The reality is: every relationship is hard. M, 53 Chapters, 187,992 Words

Thanks to every person who contributed (I hope I've mentioned everyone. If not, let me know. 😊): @certified-arsehole @fedonciadale kiwim22 @really-sad-devil-guy endless-musings @headfullofnargles @pinksunsets-world @rosseliz01 @dramioneden @all-consuming @elricsister @injailoutsoon12 reclusivebird @mariakov81 @notthatchhavi @mordanbooqs @haaatch @hpsassenach @ybaeby @farmgirl-in @coyg-81 @eiramrelyat metterschling-plus-two @a-maidens-fantasy @sansacat @vofastudum @lexayeon @1800-rewrite @aneiria-writes @anonymouslydramione 

It took much longer to compile this list than I thought it would. Hopefully, I didn’t skip anything. 🙈

Happy New Year. May it be better than the previous one and full of great Dramione fics and fanarts! 🥳🥳🥳

And here’s the 2019 list: https://dramioneficrecommendations.tumblr.com/post/190216354767/what-is-the-best-dramione-fic-you-read-in-2019

[interact-if]

Day 5 of our Pride Month event with Abigail!

Abigail, Author of Willow Creek Run

It’s finally summer and you’re spending it in your childhood home of Willow Creek. It’s a small, idyllic town in mid-America filled with rolling green hills, winding streams, and miles and miles of horse country. Most of the population learned to ride before they learned to walk, and you are no exception. 

You’ve agreed to help out at your father’s training and boarding stable because he’s fallen on hard times and can’t afford the summer help he needs. He’s been missing payments to the bank, and if he doesn’t pay in full soon they’ll either take the farm or he’ll be forced to sell out to his old rival, Alexander Mannor. 

Your only hope is to win the town’s summer-end competition, Willow Creek Run, and use the prize money and prestige to pay your father’s debts and save the farm. The problem is that you don’t have a horse of your own to enter and you haven’t competed in years.

Just when it looks like all hope is lost, a mysterious horse turns up on your father’s property with no sign of an owner and a wild look in its eye. Could this be the sign you’ve been looking for? You have the whole summer to train your horse, make friends (or enemies!), and do your best to prepare for Willow Creek Run.

Read More about Willow Creek Run here. Demo: TBA

[INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!]

Q1 - Please, introduce yourself and tell us a bit about your project(s)!|

I’m Abigail, and I’ve been a certified horse kid and literature nerd my whole life. I studied English Lit in college and currently work for a major Thoroughbred breeding operation so it shouldn’t come as a huge surprise that this project is a marriage of my two great loves. Willow Creek Run is essentially every cheesy horse girl movie you’ve ever seen condensed into one, formatted as IF, and made by someone who cares way more about accuracy than Hollywood producers. 

Q2 - What or who are some of your biggest inspirations?

My passion for horses is a huge inspiration for this story and since I live and work on a farm that’s pretty easy to come by! Writing-wise I take inspiration from everything I read, even if it’s things I don’t want to emulate. Lately I’ve read Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy and Origin by Dan Brown.

Q3- What excites you most about IF? What drew you to the medium?

I love love love how full of possibilities this medium is. The character creation experience is so customizable even when you’ve got a player character that has more set traits, and I think it’s so powerful to be able to see and feel the way your choices influence the narrative. 

I originally stumbled onto the medium with RPG video games, most notably Dragon Age: Origin, and searched for more from there until I made my way to Tumblr. 

Q4 - Are your characters influenced by your identity? How?

As an asexual person I grew up with hardly any representation to look to, so my characters definitely reflect my experience whether indirectly or not. I think above all else my identity has lent itself to my determination to put equal emphasis on friendship routes as romantic ones. It drives me crazy that true, meaningful friendships are so often written and viewed as somehow ‘less than’ romantic relationships when that couldn’t be further from the truth. One isn’t inherently better or worse than the other, and the way my characters navigate their relationships definitely reflects my feelings on this. 

Q5 - What are you most excited about sharing related to your project?

I don’t want to spoil too much, but I’m really excited to see the response to the different endings I have planned out! They’re all distinct, and hopefully will give a real weight to the choices the player makes as they go. I’m also really looking forward to creating the horse-centric media I would have loved to see growing up - you don’t know true pain until you see an Arabian horse marketed as a wild Mustang (looking at you, Flicka franchise), and to spare anyone from that will make this project worthwhile. 

Q6 - What would you like to see more of in LGBT+ fiction/IF community?

I am a huge proponent of messy characters. Yes, it’s important not to fall into the bottomless pit of harmful stereotypes, but it’s also important that you don’t trap yourself by becoming obsessed with perfect, unproblematic representation. I would love to see an ace character who wears their heart on their sleeve and rescues kittens from trees. I would also love to see an ace character who commits war crimes for fun. 

Q7- Lastly, what advice would you give to your creators and readers?

Consume and create media that you’re passionate about! It’s just not worth your time or energy if you aren’t having any fun. 

[lomlwintersoldier]

Break Me Down II

Masterlist | Part 1

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: oof more sexual tension, mechanic!bucky

A/N: i wrote this over and over again and i realized it wasn’t working because I was trying to fit it al into 2 parts sooo....there will be a third part to tie all this up <3 

Since that day in the gym with you, Bucky can’t seem to get you out of his head. He finds that when he turns a corner, a part of him hopes he’ll run into you, to repeat the fleeting moments he’d had with you before. When he enters a room, his heart jumps in the half second it takes to find you, and when his eyes do land on you, it’s like he can hardly breathe. You’ve gotten under his skin and all the denial he felt previously about his feelings for you had disappeared. Your smile, your laughter, your darkening eyes when you're serious, and the way you look at him...he could bask in your stare forever. 

But, he can’t let on his feelings to you just yet so instead he chooses to work on the 1965 Ford Mustang that’s been sitting in his garage for weeks. He missed getting his hands greasy while he was dating Serena, she’d typically preferred when he focused all his energy on her so his own interests, such as fixing up “vintage” cars (seriously, he was older than this car by like 30 years) took a backseat. 

He heads down to the old, leftover garage at the back of the compound where he kept his beauty away from Tony’s Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Porsches knowing the billionaire would make fun of him for having a relatively cheap and ordinary car. 

It’s pleasant to be out in the sun, working on his car, bathing in the summer heat as a light breeze blows through him every few minutes; it reminds him of the times he’d worked on various cars back in the day. Modern cars were so different from the old clunkers he used to fix up so it was a learning curve, but it wasn’t long before he fell into his rhythm and the hours passed like minutes.

It’s mid afternoon by the time he realizes he’s stuck on one of the final parts of the job. His hands, albeit expert and surprisingly delicate, were too big to get to the parts he needed deep in the hood of the car, and he sighs in frustration. He leans over the hood, hands gripping either side as he chews on the toothpick in his mouth quizzically.

Then, he has a wonderful idea.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   “Ms. Y/N, Mr. Barnes is requesting your presence in the garage.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice booms over the intercom, startling you from the book you were reading. 

“What? What does he need me for?” You inquire intently as you sit up on the couch, pushing the throw blanket that enveloped you away from your heated skin. 

“He simply requested your help. The task is undetermined,” her feminine yet robotic voice replies. 

Your heart jumps a bit although you can’t fathom what he could need your help with. Following that day in the gym, you’d found yourself holding your breath whenever you passed the common room, the kitchen, his room, just hoping that you could get a glimpse of him. You wanted his hands on you, to breathe his air, to look into those eyes again. 

And it appears you now have that opportunity.

The walk down to the garages feels endless and you find yourself walking quickly, too quickly. You didn’t want to seem as eager as your speed would show so you slow down to a snail's pace until finally, you reach the side of the compound you’re sure you’ll find him in.

You see him before he sees you and...damn. Does he look enticing. 

His back faces towards you as he bends over the hood of the vintage red car he’s working on, the white tank top he’s wearing gloriously displaying the black and gold arm the Wakandan’s gave him. Sweat glints on the exposed skin and you resist the urge to bit your lip. When he turns, a wide smile crosses his face and you suddenly feel like your cheeks are on fire. 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky calls out to you as you stride over. “Think you can help me sus out this problem with the engine?” 

You look at him quizzically as you plant your hands on your hips, glancing at the cherry red car before you. “I don’t really know anything about cars…” 

He grins, straightening up as he wipes his grease-covered hands on the towel he has tucked in the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to.” 

“I just need your hands,” he holds his flesh hand out for you, daring you to take it with a smirk on his face. 

“Come on, doll,” he laughs. “It’s not hard.”

You roll your eyes before placing your hand in his. Gently leading you by the hand to the front of the car, Bucky points at the mess of black parts that rest under the rather simplistic hood. “There's a part under here,” he gestures towards the left side of the car, “that I can’t get to. Hand’s too big.” He raises his large metal hand and wiggles his fingers playfully. A surprised laugh escapes your lips. “This is what you asked me to come out here for?” You ask incredulously.  “Do you know how far this place is from the main building?”

“You have small hands,” he chuckles as he takes your hand and presses his palm to yours, spreading your fingers to match his and he’s right. Your hands are far smaller than his.

But now, hand pressed to his, you're abruptly aware of his presence, of his large and imposing body that towers over you as he stares intently into your eyes. Locks of his dark hair have fallen out of his bun and frame his face, the strands so close to tickling your cheek. Your eyes drop to his lips and you think, I could just….he’s right here….

“We should fix this car,” you exclaim, breaking both of you out of the moment as you drop your hand from his. You spin away leaning both your hands on the car, focusing very hard on the engine in front of you. 

You can practically hear the smile in Bucky’s voice when he says, “alright doll, I need you to wiggle those pretty little fingers down...here.” 

He places your hand over where he wants you to go as he rests his other hand on your hip. Trying to not be too distracted by his touch, you follow his instructions, reaching through the tight crevice he was unable to worm his digits between. 

“Now take...this,” Bucky murmurs against your ear as he presses his chest to your back, handing you a part with the hand that just moments ago rested on your waist. He smells of sandalwood and cypress, a deliciously intoxicating aroma that is just wholeheartedly Bucky.

As you work, you realize you no longer have autonomy over your limbs. Your hands have become his as if you’re a marionette and he, the expert puppeteer. He guides you through the process, never letting your body move more than a few inches away from his as you listen intently to everything he whispers to you. 

As you connect the last part, you circle around to face him, parting yourself from his chest. In response, he leans forward, practically caging you in against the car. Breaths intermingle, hearts beat faster. 

Fuck it, you think. 

Without stopping to contemplate the choice you’re about to make, you lean up onto your toes, connecting your lips to his with a fervor that initially catches him off guard, but he quickly sinks into your kiss, his scorching hands falling to your waist as he pulls you against him. His tongue forces its way into your mouth as you entangle your fingers in his hair, almost pulling it as you fight for dominance. 

This kiss is filled with all the tension you’ve felt over the last couple of weeks, a desperate result of the stolen glances and held breaths in each others presences. So close and so far at the same time but now, in this moment, there is only the two of you, existing in perfect sync as you ride out this impatient longing together. 

When you finally pull away, you’re out of breath, but you leave your arms tangled around his neck as his drop to your hips, resting lowly enough that his fingers graze your ass.

“What was that?” He laughs as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“You were getting too cocky,” you smirk as you push away from him, beginning to strut away the same way he did with you all those days before but you’re suddenly yanked back by the hand. Faster than you can react, he's got you enveloped in his arms and he’s walking you backwards until your back hits the cold cement wall of the garage.

“What’re you-” Bucky cuts your words off by crashing his lips to yours. 

While the kiss was passionate before, there’s suddenly a need, an urgent craving that you can practically feel brewing beneath his skin, a hunger so deep you’re unsure you can satisfy him. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, keeping you so tightly pressed against him that you’re almost certain no one else exists, it’s Bucky, it’s just Bucky. All of him is almost overwhelming. This kiss is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, it sets your body on fire, ignites electricity in your veins and leaves you frantically reaching for more.  

“Was I, doll?” He murmurs heatedly against your lips. “Was I too cocky for you?” 

His hips dig into yours and you tear your face from his, breathless and gasping for air. He wastes no time in moving to your neck, sucking and kissing and biting, earning your quiet moans as he gyrates his pelvis to yours. Your legs have gone weak and the only thing keeping you standing is his waist pressed between your legs.

“Bucky!” You exclaim when he bites the sensitive skin just above your collarbones particularly hard. He takes your cry as a signal to move back up to your lips, giving you one last, harsh kiss before pulling away. 

But this time he doesn’t walk away. He keeps you pressed forcefully against him, the fiery heat between the two of you voraciously palpable as both of you try to catch your breath. 

“Come up to my room,” you breathe as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. His eyes fix on yours, his brow furrowing as your lips part in hunger, wanting more, wanting him. 

“You sure you want that, baby?” His right, flesh hand cups your cheek and you see a tinge of real concern in his eyes, despite the bravado in his voice.

Instead of responding, you lean up and gently bite the soft skin of his neck, earning a groan from his delicious mouth. 

“More than I’ve ever been.” 

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

Next Part: Coming soon! <3

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[nishiannoya]

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ

f!reader x hanamaki takahiro, fluff, language, a little suggestive, established relationship (650 word count)

۞ it's unspoken between you that you'll never let the world catch on to just how in love you two actually are.

Everyone assumes…

…that you and Makki are a weird couple. It's not that you're a strange match, if anything you two are probably the only people in the world who could date the other functionally. But the two of you together well, you're a couple of weirdos.

...that neither of you take your relationship too seriously despite being together for a long time. You two constantly pick on and purposely annoy each other around company, as well as joke about breaking up and leaving one another for a sugar daddy/momma.

...that your sex life is insane and terrifying. For whatever reason you both think it's normal to talk openly about your bedroom escapades with just about anybody. Certainly doesn't help that you're always play fighting and calling each other strange and questionable nicknames.

...that you two aren't the sentimental and mushy types. Your social media feeds are nothing but pictures of you two trying to embarrass each other with pranks and ugly pictures of one another mid sneeze or drooling during a nap. The "nicest" public picture of you two is of you shotgunning beers at his older sister's wedding. You both act like you would rather die than take posed couple's pics.

...that you're more attached than he is. You're always teasing him with PDA and affection. He likes to act like you're not funny or that your flirting and wiles have no effect on him just to watch you pout.

...that you two are a more free-spirited couple and will probably never actually settle down for a traditional domestic life. He's always saying dogs are better than kids and that weddings are a financial waste. You're always going off about the diamond industry scam and that your dream wedding has an Elvis impersonator officiating in a Las Vegas drive-thru.

Nobody knows…

...that when alone, you're love, sweetness, and beautiful while he's sweet boy, love of my life, and my baby.

...that he loves letting you know that he's so proud of you. He'll wrap you up in his arms and kiss your face and wipe your tears if you get overwhelmed by his words of affirmation.

...that you didn't believe you were cut out for love until you gave him a chance. Lots of short failed relationships before, but something just clicked and you both were willing to work for one another, even though it never feels like work at all.

...that you've lost count of the times he's left your shared apartment for work or an interview, only to turn right around and come back because he forgot to give you a kiss.

...that in bed he's always telling you 'you're so gorgeous' and 'I love you so fucking much' as he cradles your face in his hand, thumb brushing your cheekbone so sweetly with his forehead against yours while you rock together.

...that he falls asleep most nights holding your hand, sometimes even pulling and holding it over his heart. Your hands will get sweaty, but he unconsciously squeezes tighter if you try to slip away.

...that you wake up earlier than him most mornings and find yourself tearing up at how beautiful he looks with his strawberry locks and lashes resting against his skin.

…that sometimes he'll hug you from behind, hands at your middle while his fingertips roam the surface of your belly, whispering that he wants a baby with you so badly.

You're completely unaware…

...that he keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet and smiles like dork whenever he sees it. You're wearing a white sundress that has him daydreaming about you as a summer bride.

...that he's had a ring hidden away for some time now, just waiting for the day he feels worthy.

He doesn't know…

...that he always has been, and that you're waiting for the day he believes it.

...that you have a box of love letters and poems and songs you've written over the years that's all just been practice for your vows.

ADULT CONTENT BLOG - Minors / Ageless & Blank Blogs are allowed to like and comment on this post, but please refrain from reblogging, and ABSOLUTELY DO NOT FOLLOW OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[heliads]

The Football Player (Part One)

Based on this request: “Bucky is a football player and you are a fan of the team but you're also really shy. Secretly Bucky also developed a crush on you. He sees you getting mocked by some idiots and he gets in between to stand up for you. Later then he asks you for a walk and he kisses you.”

masterlist / part two

According to every ounce of common sense still left in your body, you should be paying attention. You’re in school, might as well actually learn something, right? You have a test next period, and if you were smart or wanted to pass at all, you should be focusing right now, tracking every single word that your professor is saying. The only problem is that you’re not doing this whatsoever. No, your gaze is instead directed out the window, where a certain football team is just beginning practice.

It’s not like you were intentionally trying to get distracted. You had come to the classroom right on time, pencils lined up and notebook out, ready to start the day. Your gaze just happened to accidentally shift to the window instead, and when you saw number seventeen in red and gold, well, how could you focus on math at a time like this? You’d seen James Barnes around the school many times, but he never ceases to amaze you.

Honestly, even talking about him tends to light a fire behind your cheeks. You’ve seen this movie dozens of times before: shy, studious girl falls for the football player, hijinks ensue. However, this isn’t a Hollywood blockbuster. Bucky is a star member of the team, and you’re just a fan of your school’s football games. Whenever you do icebreakers in class and you’re forced to describe yourself in one word, you always reach for ‘bookish’ or ‘smiling’. Certainly never ‘superbly athletic’ or ‘on Bucky’s radar in any way’. Those aren’t even one word.

However, you never quite seem to let yourself be brought back to reality. Time and time again, you don the red and gold colors of your school- Mid-Capital University, or MCU, ready to go cheer on the team and your favorite player especially so. In fact, there’s a game tonight, you’ll be going with your friend. No matter how many times you laugh at yourself, though, you can’t shake your crush. You doubt it’ll be going away anytime soon.

The night is young, the shouts loud. You cheer with your friend and the rest of the school as the football team runs out onto the field. Their manager, a Mr. Stark, watches from the sidelines, yelling directions or complaining about how much the equipment is going to cost. The team jogs over to their captain, Steve Rogers, to huddle up and discuss final strategy. Steve is a senior, and you’ve heard rumors that he’s chosen Sam Wilson to take his place as captain next year. He’s Bucky’s best friend, so you’ve heard, although they pretend to fight often enough that you’d think they were rivals.

Bucky is here as well now, eyes glinting from underneath his helmet. He’d had long hair for the longest time, but when he’d cut it over the summer there had been more than a few desolate sighs from the cheerleaders. You had to smile at that- at least you weren’t head-over-heels enough to give up your crush based on his hair. You weren’t that bad yet.

As you watch, the team takes their position. They’ll be playing their rivals tonight, the Hydras. Steve heads to the back, Bucky and Sam on either side of him. Further along the team, you can begin to recognize other players- Scott Lang, a kid who’s scrawny off the field but seems to grow twice in size the second he puts on his gear, Peter Parker, the freshman who managed to make it on the team within his first few days, and Natasha Romanoff, the one girl on the team who’s got a death stare promising she’ll tear any objectors to shreds.

The whistle blows, and the teams are off. You watch with bated breath as Bucky darts left, right, catches the ball from Steve and takes off down the field. Apprehension grows across the student body until at last- touchdown, your school! You rise with the others, cheering in unison. Maybe you’re just being silly, but you could swear Bucky looked at you with a smile just as he started off back towards the line.

The rest of the football game is a breeze. Your school wins easily, and Bucky definitely did his part to secure the victory. The next day, everyone is still buzzing over the catches and near misses with their friends, not wanting to miss a single moment. You suppose it’s still on your mind, which is why you’re frozen in your tracks when your new lab partner sits down beside you in biology.

It’s Bucky. Of course it is Bucky. Of course, the one time you have to have a new lab partner in class, your teacher manages to have the terrible luck to place you with the one person who reduces you to a blushing mess every time he steps within ten feet of you. Bucky slings his backpack down beside his chair, offering you an easy smile like a flyer, free of charge.

“I’m Bucky.” He says, and you remember yourself. “I know. I saw the game, you were really good. I’m Y/N, uh, by the way.” Bucky’s smile grows even wider when you mention the game, if that’s possible. “You saw the game? That’s so nice of you.” You feel like you can’t form a coherent thought. “Yeah, I went with my friends. Your team won.” You want to slap yourself in the head- of course he won, he was there. You’re stating the obvious.

But Bucky doesn’t laugh at you, or act like you’ve said anything strange. He just nods, shoulders slumping slightly as he thinks about last night’s game. “It was hard. I guess every time you go against your rival school the pressure’s just ten times worse. It took a lot to just run out on the field.”

He stiffens slightly after he says this, like he wasn’t intending on sharing that secret just yet. However, you’re just grateful that you’re not the only one saying whatever pops into your head. “I can’t blame you. If it’s worth anything, though, I thought you were great.” Bucky’s beaming smile is back, brighter than ever. “It’s worth a lot from you.”

Maybe this sudden seating arrangement won’t be that bad after all.

Your friend catches up to you the second you leave the biology room behind. She looks back and forth between you and Bucky’s retreating form, something in between astonishment and a teasing grin lingering on her face. “Tell me I didn’t just make that up. Tell me you’re actually the lab partner of the one and only Bucky Barnes, the guy you’ve been crushing on for, like, forever.”

You shove her slightly, although you can’t help but smile. “It’s true. I don’t know how, but it’s true. Guess the bio teacher really liked me that period.” Your friend loops an arm around your shoulders. “It’s not just him who really likes you. Did you see the way he was looking at you? All through class, he kept stealing glances. I think Bucky Barnes has a crush on you.”

You stop in your tracks. “That’s impossible. He would never.” Your friend crows in victory. “But he did! You don’t stare at somebody like that unless you’re hopelessly in love with them. It’s the same way you stare at him.” Indignation rises in you like a spring. “I don’t stare at him. I just observe, casually.” Your friend snorts. “Well, you casually observe him a lot. Honestly, I just see this as a success. If you can get the star football player to fall in love with you, then I think I can win the lottery or something.”

Even after your laughter rises and dies away, you can’t help but think about what your friend said. Surely it’s impossible- Bucky would never so much as talk to you outside of class, let alone have a crush on you. But your friend wasn’t exactly lying. You had seen Bucky out of the corner of your eye, the way a smile lingered on his lips when he glanced over at you. That wasn’t just nothing, right? Honestly, this whole lab partners deal might be more pressing than you ever thought possible.

The only way to move on is to go through the next day, and the next. After that, however, you have biology again, and that means finding your place next to Bucky Barnes and pretending like your heart rate isn’t skyrocketing the second he smiles up at you, saying he’s glad to see you again. Your friend keeps stealing glances your way, eyes wide and thumbs raised in an expression of impressed awe.

As it turns out, your friend isn’t the only one to see something between you and Bucky. You make your way out of the bio room, unable to hide a smile, although your happy outlook disappears the second somebody blocks your path across campus. This somebody just happens to be Mandy Fleming, bottle blonde junior who thinks she owns the school, and her entourage of preening followers.

Mandy folds her arms over her chest, considering you. Her lip purses. Evidently she finds something lacking. “You know, I don’t think we’ve had a proper conversation in a while. We need to make a few things clear.” You force a smile, trying to step around her. “Can we do it later? I have places to be.” Mandy curls her lip. “I don’t wait. This can’t wait. See, you’ve developed the unfortunate habit of spending too much time around Bucky Barnes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “We’re lab partners. What, you want me to ignore him?” Mandy’s eyes narrow. “That would be preferable. Next class, you’re going to go up to the professor and tell him you want to switch partners. Make something up about wanting to be closer to the board or something, I’m sure he’ll believe it.” You can barely listen to her. “And why would I do that?” Mandy takes a step closer. “Bucky is mine, not yours. I’m going to need you to back off.”

You stare at her. “You want me to switch lab partners all because a boy you’re not even dating is sitting next to me?” Mandy’s head rears back. You’ve obviously struck a nerve. “Listen here, honey. This isn’t an issue about me, it’s an issue about you. What, did you really think Bucky would ever even give you the time of day? You’re a nobody, a nothing, somebody not even worth a fraction of his time. Honestly, I’m doing him a favor by getting rid of you. He doesn’t want to see you, not for a second.”

With every word, you can feel your confidence plummeting. Mandy notices this, a smirk burning even deeper into her lips. Sometimes, you swear she can smell fear just like an animal. “You’re worried because you know I’m right. You’re pathetic, really, and Bucky Barnes wants nothing to do with you.” Just as you feel like you want to go back to your dorm room and never see the light of day again, a voice rings out from behind you. It’s a voice you recognize instantly, and one that Mandy does too, as she shrinks back the second she hears it.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” Bucky steps forward, taking a place next to you. Mandy forces a smile. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about. Y/N and I are just having a little chat about homework. We had homework, right, a textbook reading and-” Bucky cuts her off coolly. “I heard every word. If you think I’d want to choose you over her, you’re wrong. She’s a hundred times the girl you’ll ever be.”

Mandy stammers, fishing around for words but coming up with nothing. It’s almost cathartic to watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Y/N and I have somewhere to be. And if I hear you trying to talk to her like that again, believe me when I say that this won’t be the worst I’ll say to you.” Bucky offers you a hand like a proper gentleman, and you take it, letting him steer you away from Mandy and her followers, who are still gaping at your backs.

The second you’re out of earshot, Bucky turns to you, apologies and regret written all over his face. “I’m so sorry about that. It’s all my fault- she’s been trying to flirt with me all semester, and I finally gave up and rejected her, and now she’s taking it out on you. I wish none of this ever happened.” You manage to force a smile. “Trust me, it’s fine.”

Bucky looks at you, concern still lingering in his eyes. “Are you sure? I can talk to them again if you think they’ll bother you.” You laugh at that. “Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly alright.” Bucky smiles at that. “Well, if you are perfectly alright, I was wondering if you were busy this Saturday. I saw this new park that opened, and it looked really interesting, but if you’re busy or something we can totally do something else, or nothing at all, whatever you-”

You cut him off, unable to hide a smile at his rambling. “I think that sounds excellent. I’ll see you there?” Bucky’s face lights up. “I’ll see you there.” He gathers his courage one last time, then leans forward to kiss you. He flashes you one last perfect smile before disappearing around the corner, leaving you with a smile and the memory of his lips on yours. When you look up, you see scores of jealous girls staring at you, but for once, the attention doesn’t bother you. Why should it? You have Bucky at last, and he doesn’t want anyone but you.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

[sableseb]

request coming in bc i absolutely love all ur writing!! could you do a bucky x reader dancing together at a gala/party thrown by tony and everyone there is like 🥺 at the beautiful couple?

Thank you!! So happy you love my work!💞 Please enjoy, darling✨

word count: 1k

warnings: none, just a tiny mention of sexy activities

tags: @fuckandfluff @stucky-my-ship @greeneyedblondie44 @harrysthiccthighss @sparksforkoo @bemine-bucky @meetmeatyourworst @thewritingdoll

a/n: I haven’t wrote much fluff, so I hope I captured their emotions and atmosphere well! 

Bucky may have disliked a lot of things. Attention, small talk, crowds…but, Stark truly outdid himself this year, he had to give the ego trip that much.

The ballroom is flooded with expensive bodies. Delicate jewels hang from limp wrists and long necks, tailored suits made of the finest material cling to men sporting watches that he’s sure would pay at least a few months rent in New York.

He’s awe struck for the second time in his newly found life. A giant crystal chandelier hangs high above the golden dance floor. Marble pillars stretch into the air to meet intricate art spanning across the ceiling. It was like standing in the eye of an artist, everything is just utterly breathtaking.

The first time, though, he’s ever felt taken back by such magnificence was you. The moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew you would never leave his mind.

He saw you that cool summer evening, sitting on the lush grass in the park. You had the cutest sundress on, one that barely covered your thighs. You were just sitting there, enjoying the breeze that would blow by. It’s like the angels called him to you as the sun shone down, encasing you in a glow that made his heart stutter.

Ethereal. He always told you. And when he did, the prettiest grin would take over your face. You’d try to hide it, you’d try to convince him he was crazy. Maybe I am. I was brainwashed after all. He’d say. You’d lightly punch him in the arm and scoff at his words. But, I’ll never be blind to true beauty, doll.

He always means the words he says to you. Bucky genuinely believes your beauty is unmatched. He loves your body, the one he gets to explore each night, treading feather-like touches along the expanse of your skin, mapping you out. He loves each mole, each freckle, each stretch mark. He especially loves your eyes. They always hold such emotion. He knows what you feel without you having to say a single word. Your eyes tell all. He’d whisper. That would just earn him another punch to the arm and a scoff.

You’ll never truly fathom how much James Barnes loves you. And he’s okay with that. Because all that matters is that he knows it. He knows how far his love goes and he’ll never stop trying to convince you that you are nothing shy from perfect. Even if his attempts are futile.

The gala is a big hit. Smiles are shown, laughs are shared, champagne is flowing. Bucky hates to admit it, but he’s happy for Stark. He raises good money at these things for a new charity each year. At least he’s a humanitarian to some degree. He says to himself as he takes in more of the elegant designs the ballroom holds. 

Suddenly, his eyes land on your form walking down the winding staircase. Bucky’s eyes widen and his breath gets stuck in his throat. Your body is hugged in rhinestones. Each fraction of light that catches you bounces off the stones creating a glimmer. The dress is long, little straps rest upon your shoulders keeping everything in place. And boy, is everything in place.

Your curves draw him in, the low cut front showcases your breasts, the slit comes a little above mid thigh showing that supple flesh he could spend hours buried between. Damn those thin strap heels. They’re definitely staying on later.

“You look so handsome, Buck.” You tell him as you wrap your arms around him. 

He doesn’t think he does. He feels as if his all black suit was a little too tight. His hair is pinned back, showing every inch of his strong jaw and high cheekbones. He feels exposed without having his long hair fall over the sides of his face.

“Thank you, doll. You’re gorgeous, you know? Prettiest dame here.”

You don’t think you are. You feel like you’re a little too curvy for this dress that catches everyone’s attention. These heels make you feel as if you walk funny, almost like a newborn deer. 

Neither of you voice your doubts to the other because no matter how many insecurities flow through your minds, you both know that the other doesn’t see them. You’re both blinded by each other’s beauty. 

“Wanna dance?” You ask while looking up at him. 

Bucky really hated bringing unnecessary attention to himself. But, for you? He doesn’t hesitate to wrap a firm hand around your waist and guide you to the open floor.

The slow tempo the orchestra creates sends a calming feeling through your entire body. And being pressed up against Bucky’s firm frame only intensifies that feeling. It’s almost not real, he’s almost too beautiful. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head?” He asks you, gently guiding you across the floor in time with the music.

“Nothing,” you say. “I’m just happy is all.”

Bucky says nothing further as you bury your head into the crook of his neck. He’s never felt more content than he does now. You’re both so lost in each other that you haven’t the slightest idea of all the eyes locked onto your swaying figures.

You’re both a complete contrast to each other. Inky black meets shimmering light. It has people hooked. They can practically see the adoration around your beings and they can’t tear their eyes away from the heart clenching site.

Off in a corner, Sam slaps twenty dollars in Steve’s hand, his eyes not once leaving the pair wrapped in each other.

“I can’t believe she got him to come. Cyborg never comes to anything.”

Bucky’s advanced hearing picks up on Sam’s disbelief and nickname. He lifts his chin from your head to pinpoint his rather annoying voice. The man doesn’t know how to be quiet, ever.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with worry, fearing he’s uncomfortable.

Bucky looks back down at you. “It’s just Sam,” he tells you. “His days are limited.”

You contain the laugh that threatens to spill from your lips. “Please don’t hurt your partner,” you grin.

Bucky will do anything for you, but it takes a special kind of restraint to not choke out his teammate. 

“I can’t promise anything, doll.” He says, placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. 

There’s no place he’d rather be than in your arms, even if all eyes are on him.