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surplus-of-sarcasm · 1 year

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Story # 27

TW: Blood, knife, injury, angst, death mentions, implied past torture, choking, bruises, a little flirty by the end

Notes: I am so sorry for disappearing. Had writer's block. Have this kinda long piece I spent days writing. I hope it is up to your standards.

Villain's eyes met the empty, stone cold ones reflected back at her in the mirror, a sight utterly devoid of life. It almost made her wish to laugh, the fact that she still expected something different every time, all while repeating the same patterns, much like an insane man does.

She looked away before her eyes would catch the patchwork of bruises across her cheekbones, the cracked lips with a faint stain of cherry lipstick and the scratch on her nose that always seemed to reopen no matter what.

It was even funnier, how vain she used to be, so painfully aware of minor details and tidbits she knew were inconsequential. But maybe that also meant she had the mind to worry about such things, rather than the decaying mess that remained, barely even functioning, almost primitive really.

But it didn't matter. None of it made a difference. She would just continue her cycle of monotonous tasks, and she wouldn't bother to dwell on the sentimental aspect of it. The villain went from loving change, to abhoring it, to completely disregarding it.

Ignorance is bliss. Words of wisdom; the most comfortable example to live by.

The criminal let out another tired sigh, not the first and definitely not the last as she walked back to her room, forgetting why she even left in the first place.

The cool midnight air seemed to hit her abruptly, as the stray hairs of her messy hairstyle flew even further out of place and the sheer curtains on her window swung back and forth. Except she didn't remember having her window open. . .

Hero made no effort to hide himself at all, sitting on her windowsill and leaning casually against the frame. At the sight of her, the crime-fighter gave her a soft smirk, more self-satisfied than anything else. "I really don't get why you'd keep the windows closed on a night like this," he drawled lazily, closing his eyes, letting the moonlight illuminate half of his form.

"What do you want, Hero?" she asked impatiently, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she reached for a knife in her sweatpants's pocket, always there in case she needed it. There was no point in asking how he got in; the man loved being cryptic to an infuriating degree, part of the theatricality he employed to paint over his jaded side.

The hero was definitely a better actor than she was.

"I'm bored," he remarked, rolling his eyes and sauntering over to the door, almost completely disregarding her presence.

"Enough games," she hissed, twisting the blade in her hand so that the blade was pressed against the hero's carotid artery, bitingly cold against his skin, letting a streak of crimson snake down his neck.

"Agreed," he answered coolly, wrenching the knife out of her hand and tossing it back with an air of absolute casualness, yet his eyes were still flashing with danger, a subtle warning sign the villain knew not to ignore but didn't care much about following.

"You don't actually want me dead, love," he attested, looking down at his nails appreciatevely as though they were perfectly manicured (the way they usually were), and not actually dirty and chipped with an impossible amount of blood caked underneath them.

She only replied with a vicious snarl, lunging at him, twisting her fingers around his neck and pressing down on his windpipe and smiling savagely as he let out a pathetic choking noise. The villain wasn't exactly a sadist, but the hero's ego, even if it was mostly an act, was infuriating.

Still, he ripped her hands off his neck, gasping for air, and he slammed his leg into her shins regardless. The villain almost felt foolish remembering the hero was much stronger than he looked, which was saying something, considering that even with the slight diminishing of his figure, the hero was still somewhat lean.

The force of his kick sent her stumbling back, and if she hadn't held onto the desk with a white-knuckled grip, she would've lost her footing. Not that the hero gave her a chance to react much beyond that, trying to shove her to the side with more ruthlessness than she was used to from him. The villain was correct in assuming the crime-fighter had been holding back in those previous fights.

Well, so was she.

As the hero's hand crawled up her arm, ready to pop her elbow out of the joint it was tethered to, something entirely savage painted across his visage, she quickly broke her hand out of his hold, punching his nose, making his eyes water. She used that momentary distraction to her advantage, aiming a kick to his shins to get him to lose his footing.

Except all Hero did was laugh, moving his leg out of the way only narrowly, the near-miss so frustrating she let out one of the filthiest curses she knew. "You think I haven't memorised your tricks by now? Do you really think so poorly of my intelligence, my dear?" he sneered, giving her a split lip as he slammed his knuckles in her face.

"You goddamn bastard," she growled, pure venom dripping from her tone as she grit her teeth so hard it hurt. She wanted blood all over him, staining his skin crimson, pooling around his mangled corpse. She wanted to rip the hero's heart from his chest, just wished for his infuriating cackles to stop, for his existence to be no more. The desire was so deep and profound, it was exhausting, slowly eating away at her.

The villain raced out of the room, the hero on her heels, faster than she'd remembered. His energy seemed limitless, his own thirst for destroying her just as powerful as her own for him.

Ironic how they hated one another as fiercely and as passionately as lovers yearned for each other.

While the hero had the advantage of strength, the villain had a much better knowledge of her own home than he ever would, not that he really paid any visits. Her hands worked like machinery as she pulled her throwing knives from underneath a floorboard and concealed herself in the shadows, trying to keep her shallow breathing quiet and her eyes wide open, wishing she could see behind her, trying to find her monster of a nemesis before he found her.

"Oh, come on. I missed it when you weren't a coward," he taunted. He wasn't normally this reckless, compromising remaining hidden for a worthless, petty insult. Maybe the hero's fragile ego was no longer a pretence anymore.

"Is not being a fool cowardice to you?" She threw a knife, and he dodged only narrowly, still it left a jagged scratch across his cheekbone, stabbing through the drywall instead of his flesh the way it was meant to. The hero ripped it out of the wall, throwing it back, missing terribly. Close combat had always been his strong point, but accuracy with projectiles was more the villain's thing. Instants later, her second knife was already between two of his ribs.

The hero, stoic as ever, bit down on his lips to stop himself from howling out in pain. He didn't collapse to the ground the way she desperately wanted him to. He was nothing, if not a fighter.

"The next one goes in your heart," she bit out, ready to strike, to end her worst nightmare.

"You know," the hero attested thoughtfully, an enigmatic look in his eyes, "I don't even get why you claim to want me dead so bad. If you really did, you'd try harder. But even if you really had any half-baked desires to kill me, why?" he asked, stalking towards her, trying to keep the breathlessness out of his tone, but otherwise showing no signs of discomfort. A knife to the ribs was a far cry from what he'd been subjected to before anyway.

"Why?" she breathed out, voice barely above a whisper but trembling with rage. She knew he was trying to aggravate her emotions, invoke her ire and manipulate that to his advantage. But it was just too much, too heavy of a burden, too painful to address calmly and rationally. "I trusted you, and you left me for dead!" she screamed, shameful tears streaming down her face against her will.

For a moment, something in the hero's demeanour shifted, sobering up only slightly as the cold indifference thawed and his eyes went a little wide.

If the villain hadn't known him so well, wasn't used to seeing his face so much that she'd unintentionally memorised his features, she wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible change to his features. She cursed herself for getting lost, even for an instant in those cruel, midnight blue eyes, in the way they softened. The way they could be tormenting, gentle, almost loving, happy, smug; so many tricks he could play with those eyes that she hated staring into, whirlpools that sucked you in and never let you go.

"I didn't have a choice," he bit out tersely, wrapping a hand around her neck and choking, his other hand pinning her arms down so that she wouldn't be able to break out of his hold. "The agency found out that I never tried to kill you. And for that, I was punished. They had me 'retrained' for a few months of hell. They threatened to kill my goddamn brother," he snarled, his bruising grip on her neck tightening.

"And I still let you live. I knew you would make it. You really think that it was an accident you survived? I still risked all this for you!" His voice broke, and she could already feel his own hot tears on her skin, no matter how hard the hero tried to bite down on his lips and stifle his own tears.

Even someone as stoic as the hero fell prey to the vulnerability strong emotion demanded, and his grip loosened against his will, only slightly, but enough for the villain to wriggle out.

She fell to the floor, gasping for air, hoping with every fibre of her being that the hero didn't try anything else. She wasn't sure she had enough energy to resist. But the hero looked too exhausted to even think straight. "Why did you, then? If we are enemies and no more, if all we feel is hate towards one another, then why not keep it simpler?" she breathed out, her gaze refusing to meet his own, her tone barely above a whisper.

To her shock, Hero laughed, a broken sound through his hitching breath, through tears that stopped faster than they should. "Can't you tell? You know me, I avoid the things I hate until they force me to meet them. Yet, I ran right back to you, pathetic as always." He was sitting down on the floor now, leaning against the wall, his wound taking a toll on him.

"Pathetic?" she questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

"Running with my own two legs to someone who only wishes to kill me."

"I. . .I don't think I do. What's the point? What is left in my life for me to fight so hard for? I thought it was a game, that you thought I was some toy for your entertainment. And I know that this might be my worst mistake, but. . . " she trailed off, getting up from where she was and walking over to the hero and offering him her outstretched hand.

Terrified as he looked, he tentatively slid his own hand into hers as she walked towards her living room. "Trust isn't on my list of favourite things," he'd told her the first time they'd met, like an off-hand joke of sorts, but it couldn't be more truthful now.

With the hero lying down on her lap, his breathing uneven and medical supplies from the bathroom cabinet around her, the villain carefully grasped onto the knife in his abdomen and swiftly pulled it out, with a sharp hiss escaping from the crime-fighter.

"Easy," she whispered, running a hand through his hair, lifting most of his shirt up and setting the filthy knife down on the coffee table, surprised to notice the hero's breathing slowed.

It was a flesh wound, definitely somewhat deep, but not as horrible as she'd feared. It was strange that the hero didn't fidget, or let out any noises of distress as she cleaned up his wound, but again, the man wasn't particularly fond of vulnerability, and this much of it must have been overwhelming anyway.

It was even stranger how even when he was wounded, there was something weirdly beautiful about the crime-stopper. Sure, he was muscled, and that was attractive, but she already knew; could already tell from the costumes he wore. He'd become a lot more slender anyway, probably a side-effect of whatever the agency had subjected him to. His body was riddled with scars, different shapes and colours, some seeming to be from years ago, and some barely weeks old, criss-crossed on his skin in irregular patterns that each came with a story, some definitely more gruesome than others.

His face was beat-up, covered in scattered bruises, the skin dry and dark circles under his eyes. It all made him look older than he really was. And it's not that he wasn't naturally handsome, it was the fact that being this much of a mess, he shouldn't have still looked this good, especially that before, when she'd started fighting him, the hero was almost a little meticulous when it came to his looks.

A lot like she used to be.

"There," she added, breaking the empty silence with finality to her tone when she finished bandaging up the hero's wound and tending to his smaller cuts, even the bruises on his face, an activity that felt strangely intimate, even if it was purely out of necessity. She found him an old, zip-up jacket she'd had to steal from a random man during a robbery to divert the attention of the authorities.

He pulled himself up, putting it on, careful not to jostle the wound too much. "Can you hand me the gel you used for my bruises?"

Raising an eyebrow, she gave it to the hero, wondering if he had any bruises she couldn't see, but instead he inched closer to rub the gel into the marks on her neck, surprisingly gentle. A little paradoxical how touching the contusions hurt, but the hero's fingers working through the tension in the villain's muscles was entirely soothing.

"I mean, I gave you these, so it's only fair if I fix what I did," he explained, "though, I think you really don't mind," he added, letting his lip curl upwards with a soft smirk and a playful look dance across his eyes.

It was embarrassingly flustering how relaxed the hero seemed to be as he shifted his position to lie down on her lap, but for a moment the cockiness faded as his gaze, oddly reminiscent of a lost puppy met her amber eyes, searching for reassurance.

She nodded her approval at him, and he let tightness seep out his posture as he made himself comfortable. One of his hands wrapped around her arm, pressing his lips, surprisingly velvet-soft in a passionate kiss to the back of her hand. The crime-stopper traced haphazard patterns into the skin of her arm, a cheeky, almost boyish smile on his face.

"Pretty," she mumbled in a silky voice, scratching at the hero's scalp and almost brushing through the tousled hair with her fingers. "Can't believe I let myself mess you up."

"Come on, you just despise how unbearably attractive blood looks against my skin. Still, you're awfully ravishing, angel," he purred, still running his fingers along her arm.

Villain was incredibly far from an angel, and thus she'd never been called that before; she had enough comparisons to the Devil to her heart's content, though. But it sounded so honey-sweet in Hero's warm voice that it really didn't matter.

Love, much like wildflowers, will thrive in the strangest of environments. It is as unpredictably powerful as hate, but in the right circumstances, more rewarding than it is taxing. Maybe it cannot fix a broken past, but it creates a sweeter present and a kinder future, persevering even through the trials and tribulations it must endure.

I think you asked me to tag you for fics with h/c in them, but if you don't want to, or I got it wrong pls tell me @roblingoblin285

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggas @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakiii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @whatiswhumpblog

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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tatooinequeeen · 2 years

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Wherever I May Roam

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Ao3

Spotify Playlist

Triggers: fingering, consensual sex

Epilogue: Ride It Hard

True to your predictions you were late getting to Soap’s house and him and his new fiance were not at all surprised. Your hair was mussed and Ghost was wearing that sleepy satisfied grin under his mask that only you knew was there but somehow Soap could sense. After your twin declarations of love and commitment you couldn’t help but make love right there on your bedroom floor. While your sex life had been hot and heavy these past months you both felt you couldn’t get enough of one another, the electric heat that had been there from the first day had only intensified as time marched on.

Soap’s fiance whom you absolutely adore and were becoming fast besties with made a delicious meal and you were feeling over the moon kind of happy, with Ghost’s hand resting on your thigh and the conversation light and pleasant. You helped Soap with the dishes to be a courteous guest and on your way to rejoin everyone you were pulled backward into the guest bathroom by a pair of strong arms eliciting a squeak from you. “I believe you promised we could have some quick and dirty sex in Soap’s guest bathroom, love.” Ghost’s breath dances across the back of your neck, sending shivers up and down your spine. “I suppose I did say that didn’t, I?” You grind your hips back into his erection and he growls into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Naughty girl.” You keep up your assault because you know exactly what drives him wild until he can’t stand it any longer and he grabs your waist to put you up on the counter. The light in the bathroom is off so the only thing you can see is a faint silhouette of him as your eyes adjust to the dark. He runs his big hands up your thighs under the skirt of your dress to the apex of your thighs where he finds you wet and waiting. “God, how are you already this wet for me?” You preen under the praise and lean back letting him feel you. “Been thinking about this for a while, kind of thrilling knowing we could be caught at any moment, huh?” He works his fingers under your panties and into your slick folds causing you to lean your head back on a quiet moan.

“Better be quiet princess, or we’ll get caught.” He works a finger into your pussy and curls it up hitting your g-spot expertly causing your legs to spasm and you to gasp. He reaches his other hand up and covers your mouth which you’re so thankful for, you have a loud streak when it comes to Ghost and you know Soap would catch you if you were left to keep yourself quiet right now. He pumps another finger into you while rubbing his palm against your clit giving you the friction you need to detonate like a bomb on the tips of his fingers. You moan around his hand and bite down on his palm while you ride out your orgasm until you see stars on the edges of your vision. Your breath is coming hard through your nose and lean back against the mirror above the sink as your body gives in to the endorphins coursing through your system. Ghost gives you about thirty seconds to bask in the post orgasm bliss and then he’s grabbing you off the counter and bending you at the waist, ripping your panties off and stuffing them in his pocket. You open your mouth to protest but he growls in a low way that causes you to bite your lip instead.

“Hold onto the counter, I’m going to fuck you hard and fast.” His voice is low and the feeling of the mushroom head of his hard cock lining up with the entrance to your pussy has you ready to come again purely from the anticipation of having him inside of you. He rocks his hips forward and enters you, stretching you in a decadent and debauched way that has you biting your lip hard enough to draw blood from the pleasure of it. He hilts himself inside of you and you can barely breathe around the way he fills you, you fit so perfectly together but you’ll never get over how massive he feels or how you can feel every single ridge of him with how tight you are around him. He reaches forward to palm your shoulder, his other hand anchored at your hip and whispers, “Don’t forget to be quiet, baby.” You nod but he’s already pulling out and thrusting back into you, setting your mouth into a silent scream, the edge of pain from being stretched so fully and the danger of doing this in your best friend’s guest bathroom has you spiraling and he’s just getting started. True to his word, Ghost fucks you hard against Soap’s bathroom counter. His pace is absolutely perfect, you come around him once and on the second round he follows you over the edge and when you feel him climax inside you, you let out a moan that was far too loud not to be heard. Ghost lets out a chuckle and pulls out, using a washcloth to delicately clean between your legs while you hold onto the counter and try to regain control of your limbs.

A knock at the door and Soap’s unintelligible mumbling sends you both into a laughing fit and you fall into Ghost’s arms, he kisses the top of your head and you hug him tight to you.

Oops, caught red handed.

Notes from Tatooinequeen; Surprise I got a burst of inspo and got this done on the same day. Low key sad it’s over???

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty fluff #call of duty fanfic #cod mwii #ghost fanfiction

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cosmiclove-heavenstruck · 3 years

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Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Wordcount: 12200 words (Yes, really. Do you ever just start to write a little oneshot and then it turns out as a fic with over 10000 words?)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, sexual tension but no smut, fluff, slight angst, slow burn i guess

Summary: Harry asks you to teach him how to dance for the upcoming Spring Ball.

a/n: Set in Harry’s sixth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (The beginning is inspired by this oneshot)

Not many could say that they had faced Voldemort more than once and had survived, but Harry Potter was one of the few lucky ones that had gotten away every time. And if that wasn’t enough, Harry had defeated horrifying creatures, had broken into the Ministry and had saved the wizarding world several times – more or less accidentally, but hey. He had dealt with Umbridge and fought Death Eaters.

To the world, he was a hero, he was the Boy Who Lived.

So yes, his record of fighting the evil was quite impressive for a sixteen-year-old. But there was one thing he knew he would never impress anyone with and that were his dance skills.

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

Everyone who had watched his poor attempt at a waltz at the Yule Ball knew it had been an embarrassing disaster, and a blessing when he had stopped – merely for Parvati Patil’s feet.

Everyone who had watched knew that Harry Potter had never before set foot on a dancefloor. And you had watched. You had watched with great interest because secretly, you had wished for him to ask you to the ball. But when there had been only two weeks left and Dean Thomas had asked you after Transfiguration class, you had said yes.

There you were, sitting with Dean beside Seamus and Lavender as well as Ron and his date Padma, your eyes glued to the raven-haired boy getting terribly out of step. You watched, of course, under the pretence that you found it disgracefully hilarious.

Harry had never thought about asking you to the Yule Ball, if he was quite honest with himself. He had been after Cho, and he waited way too long to ask her, so she was already going with Cedric. And you had a date with Dean.

As good as Harry was with fighting the dark and the evil, as bad was he with social interactions. He had no problem producing a Patronus, but he was absolutely useless when it came to talking to girls.

You were the opposite.

Yes, the boggart may had made you faint in front of your whole class, but on the other hand, talking seemed like the easiest task in the world. Whether it was a chat with a teacher or speaking to strangers, though you did not thrive off of that.

There was one other thing that made you stand out to the other girls (and boys) in your year: You knew how to dance, from a simple disco fox to a more complicated waltz.

So, when Professor Slughorn announced a Spring ball for the students in sixth and seventh year, Harry knew you were his only chance if he did not want to make a fool out of himself again. He asked you (after a whole week of practicing in front of the mirror), with heated cheeks and a fast-beating heart, if you could teach him how to dance.

You felt a bit taken by surprise by this request, but agreed, nonetheless.

Friday evenings, eight to nine o’clock, were now reserved for your weekly dance lessons.

Looking at Harry’s history, it should be no big deal to dance with a girl when you had already come across the most dangerous things existing in the wizarding world. He should not be nervous; what was the girl teaching you how to dance against gigantic spiders who saw you as their dessert?

Well, everything.

The thing was, Harry could prepare spells and charms, he knew what he had to do when he was faced with a Dementor or a Boggart. His mind, however, went completely blank when it came to you, like his nerves were on fire. To say he was nervous was an underestimation.

Harry ran his hand through the mess of black locks in a rather useless attempt to flatten them. They jumped back up immediately as he let go, pointing in every direction but the one he wanted them to. Stupid genes.

Sometimes he wished he had inherited his mother’s hair. It would have been fun to be mistaken as a Weasley and he could pretend he and Ron were actually brothers.

To keep his hands busy, Harry smoothened the plaid shirt he had thrown on before darting another glance at the clock over the door of the abandoned classroom on the fifth floor. 8:01 o’clock.

His fingers drummed against the wooden desk he was leaning on to release his excited tension, which only worked until the door opened, and he jumped up into a straight position.

You stepped inside, a vinyl clammed under your arm and an apologizing smile on your lips.

“Sorry I’m late, Snape held me off,” You said, placing your bag on the table Harry had leaned on previously.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Uh, are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah. I mean Snape just almost failed my assignment, but I found a new song to dance to, and I’m pretty sure you’ll like it,” You said as you rushed over to the old vinyl player in the corner and unwrapped the black record.

Harry followed your every movement. You could feel his eyes on you and bit down on your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“It’s a bit slower than the other one, so it will be easier for you to follow,” You added and pulled the vinyl out, stroking a streak of Y/H/C hair behind your ear, your back still facing him.

When the record was placed correctly into the player, you turned back around and led Harry by the hand to the middle of the classroom. This simple touch alone made Harry’s head spin, and it did not help when you placed his hand onto your waist.

“Are you ready?” You asked and he nodded. “Good, follow my lead.”

There was nothing but admirable beauty, the way you moved to the soft piano music filling the room, Harry thought, and he hated himself for not realising sooner. You were like a sunset, and he was afraid to look right at you because what if you saw all the feelings swelling in his heart that dared to overspill at any moment.

You had been right, he adored the music you had brought with you, but he adored you even more.

You thought he looked at his feet because he was afraid to mess up the steps.

“Hey,” You said softly, taking the hand from his shoulder to lift his chin. “Eyes up.”

“Yes. Right. Sorry.”

A sheepish smile spread over his face and your heart beat hectically against your rip cage as his emerald green eyes met yours.

It took Harry a great deal of strength to not break out of the dance routine he had so intensely studied and kiss you. But your hand slipped away from under his chin back to his shoulder and the moment was lost, like so many others.

Staying professional was not so simple for you either, as much as you liked to deny it. You liked Harry, more than friends should like each other, but who could blame you? Harry was very handsome, with his messy hair and those green eyes, he was sweet and caring, and he was dancing with you in an abandoned classroom, his hand on your waist.

Looking at it from this angle, there seemed to be no reason as to why you were so careful to deny your feelings.

Well, there was one problem: You thought he wanted to ask Cho to the ball to make up for the Yule Ball.

Harry was pretty oblivious when it came to love. Neither had he thought about you as more than friends before sixth year, nor had he realised that the feelings he had felt for Cho two years ago were similar to the ones he had for you now, though they were much more intense.

The worst part was that you two had been friends for three year and since then, you had spent a week of every summer holiday at the Burrow. Harry knew you; he knew that you liked his crappy jokes and his sarcastic comments, but never before had his stomach tingled when you laughed at them. Never before had there been goose bumps all over his skin when you hugged him. And to hell, never before had he acknowledged how goddamn beautiful you were.

“You’re getting really good.” You ripped him out of his thoughts.

“Oh. Really?” He asked.

It would be brilliant if he could dance without thinking about it all the time, fearing he could step on your feet.

“Yes, really,” You replied, grinning.

“Well, I- I suppose I have a good teacher.”

The piano music faded out and you stopped in the middle of the room, slipping your hand out of his. It was a good excuse to turn around and start the vinyl again, so you did not have to answer anything.

Harry stood there for a second, gulping and scratching his neck. He should not have said that.

What he had said flattered you, but it was only a knife dressed like compliment, stroking over your heart to stab you right after. All of this was amicable, temporary, fickle. All of this was for Cho.

You sat the needle back on the record.

“What’s it called? The song, I mean,” Harry asked quietly.

“‘Il Reste du Temps’. The rest of time.” You walked back up to him and took his hand, leading you two into the dance. With his hand on your lower back, he pulled you a bit closer than last time.

“So, there are only two weeks left. You have asked Cho by now, I suppose?” You asked to remind your thoughts of reality.

Harry narrowed his eyebrows, not sure how you had come to the conclusion he still liked Cho. She was great, for sure, but she wasn’t you.

“Oh. Uh, not really, no,” He answered. Your heart jumped.

“Well, you should hurry up. You don’t wanna wait until last minute like last time.”

“I- yeah, I mean, I don’t- I don’t want to go with Cho.”

You stepped forward even though you were supposed to draw back and stomp on his left foot. His hand around yours clenched for a second at the sudden pain.

“Shit. Sorry.” You quickly brought you two back into the right footstep order. “You’re not asking Cho?”

“No. I wanna- No.” Harry stopped himself from talking any further. He couldn’t ask you. He just couldn’t.

“Well, who do you wanna ask?” You said.

Maybe it was Ginny. She was gorgeous, phenomenal at Quidditch and in the Slugclub. Nothing you could say about yourself.

Harry opened his mouth and stammered. “It’s, uh, you know…some…girl.”

Oh yes, great save, Harry, congratulations, He thought to himself, couldn’t be any vaguer, could you? For Merlin’s sake, look at her, she is completely confused.

You were pretty even when you were confused, with your eyebrows drawn together over your eyes curiously inspecting him – Stop.

“Ah, okay. The lucky girl’s a secret,” You said, laughing lightly. It was definitely Ginny.

“No, I mean, she’s –”

“It’s not my concern who you’ll ask, Harry,” You interrupted to calm him down. “As long as you ask her.”

Harry didn’t know what to reply to that. You really saw them just as friends.

The two of you danced for a while and Harry tried to memorise every golden speck in your dark eyes, every freckle, every curve, just so he could imagine you instead of the person he would dance with in a fortnight. If he would even go. Because what point was there to go to a ball if the one person he wanted to dance with more than anything else would not be there with him?

You tried to enjoy the closeness while it lasted. But the voices crowding your mind all shouted that he would never see you the way you saw him. That his face would never be so close ever again. That his hands would never rest on your body the way they did now, and never with any other intention than for the sake of learning how to dance, learning how to impress Ginny or whoever he would ask.

“Have you – have you asked anyone yet? To go to the ball with you?” Harry disrupted your thoughts and pulled you back into reality.

“No. I don’t even know if I’ll go,” You said and Harry’s heart dropped. “I mean, I’ll come to watch you dance, that’s for sure.”

Now his heart was way up in his throat, beating like hell. He swallowed and forced himself to answer. “No pressure then.”

You grinned at his comment. “Oh please, you can dance better than most of sixth and seventh year combined by now. You remember the spin I showed you last time?”

Harry nodded. He lifted his left arm and put a little pressure on your waist. You performed a small twirl before he caught you again, hand on your side. He smiled proudly.

“Really good.” The music stopped and you looked at the clock on the wall behind Harry. 8:57 o’clock. “I guess that’s it for today.”

Harry smiled sadly but you thought it was just your mind, playing you a trick. You packed the record back into the cover while Harry shouldered his back bag, handing yours to you. Then he held the door open for you, and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

Harry had already pulled out the Marauders Map to check if the way back to the Gryffindor tower was clear. You weren’t technically allowed out after nine p.m. because of the new safety measurements, but it was part of the charm.

“Filch’s down on the first floor and Snape’s in his office,” Harry informed you.

“Okay.” You nodded.

Quietly and side by side, you two walked back to the Gryffindor tower. There was plenty of silence to break, plenty of time to ask you to the ball, Harry thought. But he was too afraid.

–

“It’s not that easy, alright?”

“Bloody hell, you spent every Friday evening with her! Half of our year thinks you’re secretly doing it in that classroom.”

For that, Ron earned a jab into his ribs. The two made their way through the masses of students down the last staircase to the Great Hall.

“Ow! It’s not my fault, you can’t open your mouth.”

“Oh, I can’t open my mouth? Have you asked Hermione yet?”

Harry was sure this would shut Ron up, but he was wrong.

“I asked her six weeks ago and she said yes, mate.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, stunned. “Wot?”

“Merlin, do you ever listen to me?”

Ron shook his head, walking to breakfast. Harry needed a few seconds before he could move again, then he caught up with his best friend. He was about to say something back when Ron’s sister Ginny interrupted them, wrapping her arms around both of Harry and Ron’s shoulders.

“Morning boys,” She greeted them enthusiastically.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was covered in a pale blue and yellow, the upcoming sun shining golden through the high windows.

“So.” Hermione poured both of you a glass of pumpkin juice. “How was it yesterday?”

“Mhm?” You looked up from your toast.

She sighed as if her question was rather obvious. “The dance lesson with Harry?”

“Oh.” You shrugged. “Normal.”

“So, nothing happened? Nothing you want to tell me?” She asked further.

You eyed her suspiciously, but she kept an innocent face expression.

“It’s not like we could do much besides dancing.”

Lavender beside you snickered and Parvati snorted into her coffee.

“Believe me, there is a lot you could do in that hour besides dancing,” Parvati said.

“God, no! Have you met Harry?” Lavender said bemusedly. “Like he's the type to have secret sex.”

“Still waters run deep,” Parvati replied, a smug grin on her lips. “Don't they, Y/N?”

Hermione crunched her nose at the suggestive tone as you narrowed your eyes at the two girls, shaking your head.

“Yes, keep making fun of my non-existing love life.”

You grabbed the strawberry marmalade, determined to ignore any topic concerning Harry. While you had lain awake last night, you had decided to bury your feelings for him all together and get over it. This would be easier once your dance lessons came to an end and the ball was done.

“Well, it does exist for everyone else,” Lavender interposed.

“And it would exist for you, too, if you would finally do something,” Hermione said, leaning forward.

“What?” You asked. “I mean, yeah, I like him, but he is definitely not into me like that. And I can't force him to be.”

Hermione groaned, and Parvati rummaged through her bag, pulling out a piece of parchment and making some space on the table.

“Okay, let’s see,” She began, “He asked you to teach him to dance. Big step for him, you know that. He always stares at you during Quidditch instead of the Snitch. Wood would've killed him by now. He always sits beside you. He definitely smelled you in Amortentia, regarding how he looked at you during that class. And since then, he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He –”

“He does not,” You said, grabbing her wrist to stop her from writing any further.

“Yeah, he does,” Lavender argued. “Look!”

You turned to spot Harry alongside Ron and his sister Ginny coming through the doorway, and for one second, your eyes met. Then Ginny said something, and Harry looked at her, laughing.

You sighed and stuffed the rest of your toast down your throat to get rid of the sour feeling twirling and burning in your stomach.

“Well, Ginny’s pretty funny,” Hermione tried.

“Yeah, she’s funny and pretty and she likes everything he likes.”

“None of that matters because he fell in love with you and not Ginny,” Lavender said, smiling brightly.

“He did not – not what you said.”

“He did! The list doesn’t lie.”

Parvati waved the parchment through the air, and you snatched it out of her hand, drowning it in the pumpkin juice before anyone could read it. Hermione curled her lip as she watched the paper soaking up the orange liquid, sinking to the ground of the jug.

In the same moment, Harry, Ron and Ginny reached your table, and to your surprise, Harry really did sit down beside you, your knees touching shortly while he climbed over the bench. The sudden touch sent sparks through your body and filled you with a comfortable warm which was quickly extinguished by Ginny sitting down next to Harry.

You didn’t want to be jealous.

There was no need to compare yourself to Ginny, you were two completely different people. But hearing her talk about Quidditch to the guys and seeing her flicking her beautiful hair over her slim shoulder made it so obvious how perfect for Harry she was. You couldn’t compete with that, in fact, you didn’t even want to compete with that.

No, you would get over your feelings and maybe ask someone else to spend the next Hogsmeade weekend with you. Those evenings with Harry, those moments too good to be true would stay somewhere deep down in your heart, locked away from the real world.

The weekend left as fast as it had come, and soon enough Harry and you both found yourselves in your day-to-day school life, studying for an upcoming Charms test and writing essays for Snape and McGonagall.

There wasn’t much time to think about each other, yet Harry managed to glance up from his homework a few times to stare at you opposite from him, snuggled into an armchair while flicking through a book. He noticed that you captured your tongue between your lips or mouthed single words to yourself whenever you were so deeply sunken into thoughts that you forgot the many people around you.

The latter found Harry very impressive because he was never that relaxed if more than three people were with him. Your lips on the other hand found Harry... well, much more interesting than his homework was the least to say.

Every day he woke up thinking that today, he would ask you. But whenever he came close to ask, he changed the topic or was distracted by friends and classmates.

Even Ron had given up with his jokes by now, which was a very bad sign and a nonverbal way to say, Man, you fucked up.

–

You had decided to make the last of your dance lessons a memorable one. An hour of pretending, of being close to someone you know you would never be this close to ever again.

Therefore, you had asked your older sister to send some of your favourite records from home, which you were now sorting through in the abandoned classroom. It was ten minutes to eight and you were sipping a butterbeer to cool your nerves. All those times before you had been as calm as ever, but today you were on the edge.

The door opened and you turned to find Harry in the doorway, hair messy as ever.

“Hi,” He said and the corners of his lips jumped up into a lopsided smile.

“Hey. You’re early.”

“Could say the same about you.”

“Yeah, you could,” You mumbled, pushing the needle of the record player down onto the vinyl.

Classic music filled the air and you walked over to Harry to lead him to the middle of the room after he had dropped his back bag to the floor. With the high heels on your feet, you were almost eye to eye, your nose at the height of his lips.

For a wonder, he did not need your instruction to place his hand on your waist and pulled you much closer than usual.

Harry felt his heart beating in his throat. Being this close to you was galvanic, every nerve was burning, and then again, for the first time in two months, he was able to close his eyes and let himself sink in, to melt with the music, to feel the tact pulsating through his whole body. It was what you had tried to teach him all along.

And yet his tongue was tied. He just had to ask. Would you like to go to the ball with me? One simple question. You had told him yourself to not wait until last-minute to ask, and now with every minute, every hour, every day passing it felt more ridiculous. He had known that he wanted to ask you and only you to the ball, but every time he thought about forming the question, his mouth failed him.

Your eyes lay calmly on him, tapping his shoulder in time to the music while secretly trying to remember every little detail of his face: His prominent eyebrows curved over his emerald green eyes, his flushed cheeks and the dimples created by his light smile lying on his lips.

Harry had become, for lack of a better word, quite fantastic at slow dancing. There was confidence in the way he moved through the room and held onto you, mingled with a certain elegance and appreciation of the art he was participating in. A good teacher, he had called you. Well, regarding slow dances, yes.

But there was one other thing he had yet to learn.

“You’re really good, you know that?” You said, and his smile brightened.

“Yeah? Or are you just saying that because it’s my last lesson?” He asked.

“No, I mean it. You know, I wrote my sister last week and she send some of my vinyl discs from home,” You told him as the music slowly faded out and let your hand slip from his shoulder and hand to turn to the record player, not noticing how his fingers lingered a moment longer on your waist.

Harry watched how you sorted through the discs, not able to make use of their names in any way. The only record he had come across before those dance lessons had been one by a singer named Bonnie Tyler, who Aunt Petunia secretly listened to on repeat during the summer when Uncle Vernon went grocery shopping or mowed the lawn.

Harry wasn’t a big fan, which was pretty much the only thing he had in common with his cousin Dudley.

“Here. To dancing and a nice Spring ball.” Harry snapped out of his thoughts. You held out a bottle of butterbeer, which he took and snapped its bottle top off, regarding for a moment to say something along the lines like To you, for teaching me how to dance or To us, but that seemed a bit too much.

Therefore, he went with a simple “Cheers” and touched glasses with you.

While he took a big sip in hopes it would make him braver, you decided on a turquoise and pink coloured disc with a man dancing on the front, the words Footloose in ornate writing covering its front. He couldn’t help but notice the grin you tried to hide, as if knowing something he didn’t.

“What’s that?” He asked, leaning against the table beside you and putting his beer aside.

“That’s what the cool kids dance to.”

You placed the needle onto the record. Drums began to play a fast rhythm, mixed with an electric guitar, and you slipped off your high heels, now only in tights. Harry watched with fearful curiosity how you snapped your fingers in time, bopping your head with closed eyes to internalise the music.

Every movement of your feet, your hips, your shoulders was nonchalant, effortless and... well, simply cool.

“Come on!” You said loudly over the music, waving Harry closer.

“No, no, that’s –” He shook his head, heat flushing his cheeks, and crossed his arms.

“Yes!”

You danced up to him, grabbing him by his hands and pulling him to the middle of the room.

Harry had improvised a lot when it came to fighting evil. His whole trip to the ministry had been decided because of his gut instinct, because he had thought he knew what he was doing. Well, that was probably a bar example. He had made everything worse back then.

But everything he had done to fight off the hundreds of Dementors at the Great Lake, or the creatures in the maze two years ago, or Voldemort at the graveyard, every single thing had been purely and spontaneously improvised.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he was that good at improvising dance moves, but you had other plans.

“Come on, don’t you trust me?” You said as his fingers clenched around your hands, unable to let go, like a man clinging onto a life buoy in the middle of the ocean.

And Harry wanted to say back that of course he trusted you, more than he probably knew himself, but all that came out was a “Yeah” which sounded more like a laugh than an actual word because of the grin stretched across his lips.

“Just dance the way you dance when no one’s watching,” You said.

“I don’t – I don’t do that,” He admitted, feeling how his cheeks burned under the unbelieving look coming from you.

“Okay, then close your eyes and just – just do it. Here, I’ll do it, too!”

You closed your eyes, smiling brightly, and slipped your fingers out of his, twirling on the spot like you usually only did behind closed doors, and clapping your hands in time with the music.

Harry couldn’t rip his gaze off of you, the way your body moved without any shame, your ridiculous head banging while acting like you play the guitar – air guitar, that’s what it was called, he had seen Dudley and his friends doing it, but never with so much... passion?

You were quite passionate about dancing, much more passionate than you were about school or Quidditch, and it fascinated him. How you could let loose, could forget what everyone thought of you, and he wanted to feel it too, wanted to not think that everyone was judging him.

So, Harry closed his eyes, concentrated on the beat of the music and your hands clapping, and then he did what you had been doing: Moving his arms, his legs, his feet, all a bit offbeat, all much less cool than what you did, but it had the effect he had wished for.

He forgot. Forgot about everything going on, everything in the past, everything that would come. It was like the music had deleted Voldemort from his mind. There was only his body and those absurdly freeing dance moves he would have been ashamed off any other time.

But not with you.

“Hey, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, look at you!” You shouted over the music, and Harry ripped his eyes open in the same moment as you grab his hands again. He slowed his legs.

“You said you wouldn’t look,” He said breathlessly, very aware of his fast-beating heart.

But if he was honest, he did not mind that you had seen him. If he could choose any of his friends to watch him dance like this, it would definitely be you.

“I had to, I’m sorry!” You laughed, and the song came to an end. “Oh, I have something even better, you’ll like that!”

You hit him friendly in the chest and rushed over to your pile of vinyl discs, wrapping the Footloose back up and pulling out another one from a white and pink packaging with two people on the front.

Harry would’ve never believed that dance lessons would be more exhausting than Quidditch training, but he had soon been disabused. He took a huge sip from his bottle of butterbeer and watched how you placed the needle on the disc before reaching for your own bottle.

“‘You broke my heart – ‘cause I couldn't dance – you didn’t even want me around!’” You were mouthing along the words the singer was speaking in an overdramatic seriousness, holding your bottle like a microphone. Harry was grinning at you, afraid of what would come next. “‘And now I'm back – to let you know – I can really shake 'em down!’”

The music dropped in, and you shook your hips, hands on your black skirt.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Dirty Dancing,” You dared as Harry stayed at his spot, and he shrugged helplessly.

You shook your head at him with a smile on your lips, placed your bottle away and pulled him away from the table until you two were almost as close as in your usual dance lessons.

“Okay, like this.” You grabbed him gently by the waist and pushed him a bit down so his legs were slightly bent. Harry’s heart jumped at the unexpected touch. “Good, yeah, look at what I’m doing.”

Your grip became firmer, circularly moving his hips like you did. His eyes jumped up between your face and your waist, and he tried his best to copy your movements while calming his heart speed down.

“Yes, good! Now, your upper body, look at me – yeah! Good, eyes up,” You reminded him, and he glanced at your face, his cheeks flushed.

“Is that okay?” You asked, stepping closer so your hips almost touch, and he nodded. You took his hand, placed it on your lower back, and wrapped your own arms around his neck, just like Johnny and Baby had done it in the beginning of Dirty Dancing.

“That’s good!” You encouraged him, and he grinned at you, his face bright red. “You know, in the movie, they have another dance with a lift.”

“You’re not gonna make me do that, are you?” He asked.

You shook your head, laughing. “No, definitely not without training and a mattress,” You said, slowing your hip movements. “Maybe after the ball. I mean –”

The words had just slipped out of your mouth without thinking about them before. But Harry smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of his forehead, while I’ve Had The Time Of My Life began to play, and Bill Medley’s voice filled the room.

Harry felt like he was on fire. If you wanted to continue the dance lessons next year it must be because you liked him. In some way, you liked him, and it was very hard for him to concentrate during this dance. And training on a mattress would not make that easier – Stop it, stop it, just answer!

“Yeah, okay,” He said, and your heart jumped up in excitement. You smiled back at him and grabbed his free hand with yours, leading you back into a simple dance routine fitting the music. Harry followed almost effortlessly, only shortly glancing at his feet.

“I’ll have to demand payment if we keep doing this.”

“What kind of payment?”

His hand on your lower back pushed you a bit closer, you were almost chest to chest. Was he... flirting with you?

Whatever it was, it made you speechless, and in a moment of incautiousness, your eyes fell down to his lips. You held your breath for a second as you looked back up into his eyes, slowing your movements. He returned your gaze, but just as you were about to gather all your courage, his eyes shifted to the door of the classroom, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

“What?” You asked, turning around.

“Filch,” He said and not far down the hall, you heard the meowing of Mrs. Norris.

Panic flared up inside of you as you saw the clock on the wall: Half past nine.

“Argh, fuck.”

You let go off him and rushed over to the table with the record play on top, shoving your vinyl discs into your schoolbag and collecting your high heels in a hurry.

Outside in the hallway, the scratchy voice of Filch mixed with the clicking of his cat’s claws on the stone tiles. Harry had grabbed his bag from the floor and fished out his Invisibility Cloak. As you turned around, he had reached you and enveloped you two in the cloak, standing almost as close to you as a few seconds ago.

“Have you found someone, Mrs. Norris?” Filch’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Is someone out of bed at night?”

“We have to get out,” You whispered, not very keen on getting detention any time soon.

“If we open the door now, he’ll know someone disguised is there,” Harry answered.

“How often have you snuck out of bed at night?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a lopsided smile.

“Enough times to know what to do.”

The scratching on the classroom door reminded Harry that, despite the fact that they were invisible, it was still pretty obvious that someone had been in here. Harry flicked his wand at the ceiling light right in time – the candles went out and the two of you were coated in darkness just before Filch pushed the door open and the light from his lantern fell onto the stone floor. You held your breath, hoping he would leave again.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Norris’ red eyes scanned the room and the greyish cat walked up to you as if she could actually see you. Instinctively, you wanted to move backwards, but Harry’s arm wrapped around you, holding you in place. You looked up to him and he slowly shook his head.

Mrs. Norris eyed you for a few more seconds before she suddenly jumped onto the table behind you, walking up to the two almost emptied butterbeer bottles and bumping her head against them.

“Oh no.” Your voice was no more than a whisper. “I didn’t –”

Harry placed his hand over your mouth, forcing you to keep quiet.

“Sorry,” You mumbled.

Filch had turned away from the other side of the room he had inspected and was now walking over to his cat. With his arm around your mid, Harry pulled you two quietly away from the table he was now inspecting. You weren’t entirely sure whether it was the panic of escaping Filch or Harry’s chest pressed against your back, but the butterflies in your stomach were jittery as though they were on drugs, and your heart beat unbelievably fast.

Harry felt your heartbeat. He felt the pulsating blood in your veins on your neck where his arm lay, reaching up to your mouth. You were barely breathing, and he figured it was because he was holding you like he was about to kidnap you.

“Run when we’re in the hallway,” He whispered, eyes steadily watching Filch, and removed his hand from your lips to grab your free hand. You nodded shortly. Fortunately, Filch had left the door open, and in one swift motion, Harry had steered you outside.

Fingers still interlocked with yours, he began to run, you by his side. And despite the fact that you two had almost been caught, despite that you had been interrupted when he had felt most confident, despite the ruined moment, he felt light and free and happy.

You were clutching your shoes, slithering over the cold tiles in your black tights, and Harry, looking at you, almost missed the last step of the stairs leading to the portrait of the Fat Lady. He held onto you as he staggered, and you giggled breathlessly, pulling him back up.

“That – stupid – fucking – cat. Can she see through your cloak?” You asked.

Harry shrugged and ruffled through his messy hair.

“Don’t know. I think, but I’m glad she can’t talk,” He said, and a grin spread over your lips, which he returned.

He caught your eyes, looking at you like before, like there was something he needed to say – the tingling feeling in your core got overwhelmed by heart-racing panic and because of some sour mix of uncertainty and fear, you slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak, taking a few steps away from Harry.

Not a second later, he emerged as well, fighting to keep the smile on his face like his heart hadn't just sunk so deep he wasn't sure if it was even still connected to his veins.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah!” Your voice was too loud, too squeaky to convince him. “Yeah, I – I'm sorry, it's just been a long week and I'm really tired. I'm gonna – gonna go...”

You gestured to the portrait behind you, avoiding his eyes, and turned to escape the situation.

Harry stared at the spot where you had vanished into the common room, his fingers clenching around the fabric of his cloak before tossing it to the ground. It didn't give the satisfying sound he had wanted to make, so he sent a “Fuck!” after it.

“Young boy, that is not a very appropriate language, now, is it?”

His eyes flew up to the Fat Lady, who had apparently watched with great interest. “Besides, what are you doing that late out of bed? I mean I know it gets later on Fridays for the two of you but it's later than usual today –”

“Chinese Fireball.”

“I just don't know what you are doing during that hour. There are rumours, for sure –”

“I told you the password, now will you open the fucking portrait? Chinese Fireball.”

“Oh, fine.” She let the portrait swing forward. “I'll find out by myself... maybe visit some paintings down on fifth floor...”

Harry ignored the Fat Lady.

He also ignored Ron calling after him from the sofa in front of the fireplace, as well as Hermione's questioning look and all the other people staring at him as he darted through the common room and up the stairs, slamming the door of his dorm shut behind him.

He ignored them because the only person he wanted to be seen with had just left him standing in the hallway and he wasn't even sure why.

The first time you saw each other again was three days later in Potions. You had ignored him on purpose, which you knew was obvious to him: Leaving the Great Hall whenever he stepped inside, sitting as far from him in the common room as possible, avoiding his eyes... that did not leave that much room for speculations.

You didn't want to hurt him, you really didn't, but you couldn't be friends any longer, especially not after last Friday. You weren't even sure what exactly had happened – had he really flirted with you or had that been your imagination? Probably the latter. He had asked someone else the ball after all. Right?

Parvati nudged you with her elbow, and you snapped out of your thoughts, noticing the hole in your parchment created by your quill. The two of you sat in the far back of Professor Slughorn’s class, who was in the middle of telling one of his anecdotes instead of teaching about Veritaserum.

“What’s going on?” She asked in a hushed voice. “You’ve been weird since Friday.”

Lavender, who sat in front of you, turned around. “Is it because of – you know?”

She gestured towards Harry in his usual place diagonally across from you. You sighed, placed your quill aside to rub your hands over your face and shrugged. You had also avoided any questions from your friends about Friday, mostly because you could not even answer them yourself.

“I thought he would ask you,” Lavender whispered while throwing a quick glance at Slughorn to make sure he was still occupied with his story. “Didn’t he?”

“No,” You mouthed. Parvati shook her head.

“Man, you’d think he had grown a set of balls after all. If it turns out he just used you to look good in front of Ginny, I swear to Merlin –”

“Well, that’s what it looks like, I mean, he had enough time to ask you,” Lavender said.

Before you could reply anything, Parvati had grabbed her wand and leaned forward. In the next second, the blue Jobberknoll feathers on Harry’s desk burst into flames with an ear-piercing noise.

Both Harry and Ron jumped up, startled from the sudden explosion, and Hermione let out a little shriek as one of the sparks got caught up in her locks. Snickering came from the Slytherin table, and Crabbe and Goyle were stupidly grinning.

“Was that you? Stupid tosspot, I’ll shove that feather up your –,” Ron swore loudly, fists high and ready to walk over to the Slytherins, who had gotten up as well and were throwing insults through the room.

“Calm down, m’boys, no need to get abusive.”

Slughorn stepped between the two fronts while both Harry and Hermione pulled Ron back down onto his chair. With a wave of Slughorn’s wand, the feathers stopped burning and were as good as new.

“Have you gone mental?” You asked during the turmoil. Parvati shrugged and innocently shoved her wand aside.

“You’re my friend and if he hurt you, he’ll get what he deserves –”

“He didn’t hurt me!” You whispered angrily. “I was the one who panicked, I ran away that evening because I was afraid of what he would say! Not Harry. I left him like the idiot I am even though he – he was super nice and said he wanted to learn more –”

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Sorry, Professor, I was just –”

“Talking to Ms. Patil, I noticed. Could you still answer my question?” Slughorn eyed you, and so were all the other students.

“Uh...yes... if you could repeat it? Sir.” You said, and once again snickering echoed through the classroom, the loudest coming from Pansy Parkinson.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Parvati reaching for her wand again, and you quickly pressed her hand down to the table, awkwardly smiling at Slughorn.

“I asked if you could tell me anything about the usage of Veritaserum in court,” He kindly repeated and you straightened your back, ignoring Hermione’s raised hand.

“Well, the potion is strictly banned by the British Ministry of Magic, therefore they don’t use it during interrogations and such, which is also because, like any other potion, it’s not infallible. But I read that in some Asian countries, the accused can choose if they want to take Veritaserum before they give testimony. Unfortunately, in some courts they give the accused failed Veritaserum in order to alter the given testimony fraudulently.”

You had never read about that, you were – ironically – making it up, but Slughorn didn’t seem to notice.

“Very well, that’ll be five points for Gryffindor,” He said. “That reminds me of –”

As Slughorn fell back into his old habit of telling personal stories during class, you sank back into your chair and stared at the chapped top of the desk for the rest of the lesson.

Only the bell ripped Slughorn out of his monologue, and over the rustling of chairs, he told the class to read the next chapter of Advanced Potion Making until Wednesday.

“Courtyard?” You asked Parvati as to where to spend your free lesson.

“Yeah, but I got a question about that graded essay from last week. Just go ahead, I’ll catch up with you,” She answered and made her way to the front. Alongside with Lavender, you were one of the first to leave the Potions classroom.

“I wish I hadn’t picked Arithmancy,” Lavender complained.

“You can sleep longer on Thursdays, remember?” You said as you reached the entrance hall. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Lavender began to climb up the stairs to the third floor, and you walked down the hallway. It was freezing cold outside, but the courtyard was beautiful during every time of the year, especially in the early mornings when the sun melted the iced-up grass and you could share a hot chocolate with your friends on one of the benches.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

You turned to spot none other than Theodore Nott running up to you, his Slytherin scarf loosely around his neck.

“Hi,” He said as he had reached you.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You asked.

“Actually, yeah. I wanted to ask if you have a dance to spare at the Spring ball? I mean, I know you’re going with Potter, I just wanted one dance with someone professional –”

“I’m not going with Harry,” You blurted out. Theodore narrowed his eyebrows.

“What?” He asked, a bemused smile on his lips.

You gulped and shook your head, crossing your arms. “I’m not going with... anyone.”

“Oh. Well, then,” His body relaxed visibly, and he raised his eyebrows, “do you wanna go with me?”

You opened your mouth, an agreement already on the tip of your tongue, but you knew that was just out of desperation and not because you actually wanted to go to the ball with Theodore.

“Hey, you know what, no pressure at all, okay?” He said, placing his hand on your shoulder casually. “I’ll be at the ball anyway, so if you want to dance then, I’m free.”

You nodded. “Thank you, Theodore. I’ll think about it.”

“You can call me Theo. Only if you want to, obviously.”

A grin crept upon your face. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll think about it.”

Whatever Harry had felt the two days prior, it was nothing compared to the sour feeling circulating in his stomach now, like some dragon-creature spitting fire and tearing at his entrails with sharp claws. Inside of him, everything was clenching and itching, but on the outside, he was numb.

Like his brain had been disconnected from his muscles, wherefore he was only able to stare at Theodore Nott and his stupid, complacent grin and his hand on your shoulder while he asked you to the ball.

This wasn’t fair. How come everyone else but him was able to do it, how come everybody else had managed to find a date, when – to be honest – he had been provided with one of the best initial situations? How come the only thing he was apparently fit for was getting himself into trouble and escaping death every goddamn year? Harry had kind of forgotten about all that was to come, all that Dumbledore had told him, and the memory Slughorn was still tending like dark secret simply because of you.

The worst thing wasn’t that Theodore Nott had just asked you to go to the Spring ball with him. No, the worst thing was that you had agreed.

The only thing that was left for him was to run, which he did now: Up to the Gryffindor tower, tossing his back bag into a corner and grabbing his Firebolt from under the bed, then back down to the Quidditch pitch in record time.

Flying was one of the most freeing activities known to Harry, especially in the cool, fresh morning air with no one else around. High above the frozen grass and the wooden stands, much higher than probably allowed without any teacher near by, Harry paused to watch the sun over the Forbidden Forest.

He wondered if you had ever flown before, if you knew how brilliant it was to hover a thousand feet above the ground, far away from all the problems. Far away from Ron asking what the bloody hell was wrong with him. Far away from Hermione telling him that it was his own fault for waiting so long but that you surely weren’t interested like that in that tosser Theodore (though she would probably word it much more formal).

Time was relative up here, Harry had noticed over the years, so he closed his eyes and shut the world out for a moment. Saturday was still light-years away anyway, so –

“Harry, is that you?”

He almost fell from his broom.

With his heart still beating way to fast and adrenalin pumping though his veins, he turned his broom around to find no one other that Luna standing inside commentary box and waving up to him. Oh well. So much for being alone.

He steered his Firebolt down to the blonde witch and landed beside her.

“What are you doing her, Luna?” He asked as climbed from his broomstick. “Don’t you have classes right now?”

“Oh, yes. But I saw that you are sad so I asked Professor Sprout if I could go because I’m not feeling very well,” She explained and sat down on one of the benches.

“You lied to a professor?”

“Oh, no,” She said, looking at him with her dreamy blue eyes. “I don’t feel well when my friends are sad.”

Harry didn’t know what to reply to that, so he simply sat down next to her. Luna had such a strange, but calm energy, like a pulsating, pink bubble inhibiting her, and if you were lucky, she let you inside this bubble and you could shut the world out for a moment.

“Harry, why are you sad?” Luna asked softly after a while.

“Because... because I like someone who doesn’t like me back,” He said.

Luna placed her hand upon his, and he saw that she had painted her fingernails in every colour of the rainbow. Though that was probably Ginny’s work.

“I think Y/N likes you very much,” She said. Harry scoffed.

“Not the way I like her,” He said. “She just agreed to go to the ball with Nott. I saw it. She looked happy. And when I wanted to ask her last week, she ran away.”

“You know, first I thought you wanted to go to the ball with somebody else,” She said. “I thought maybe you wanted to ask Cho again and wanted to prepare this time. And maybe Y/N thought so, too.”

Harry looked up at the blonde girl.

“She did ask me if I was going to ask Cho,” He said, remembering one of the dance lessons.

“And did you tell her that you actually want to ask her?”

“No,” He admitted, burying his face in his hands. “I panicked... and now it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. You should still go to the ball, and then you should tell her,” Luna said.

“How? I can’t do it when we’re alone, I certainly can’t do it when there’s a hundred people around,” Harry said miserably.

“Well, then don’t.” Luna shrugged. “If you want her to be with Theodore –”

“I don’t want that,” He interrupted her. “Of course, I don’t.”

“Then go to the ball and tell her. I know you can do that.”

Saturday evening came around faster than you liked it to. Over the last four days, you had noticed Theodore’s eyes on you more than once during the meals or potions class, but it did not cause the tingling feeling in your stomach you would like his looks to cause.

If anything, you felt a pressure to talk to him and to spend time with him because you would go to the ball together. But you did not give in to that pressure and avoided him as much as possible, which led to you often leaving the potions classroom as one of the first.

To be honest, you were much more concentrated on Harry.

Harry who did not sit beside you during meals anymore. Harry who did not look in your direction but rather stared at his plate. Harry who looked like he had just lived through a very miserable week.

And you knew that was because you had left him standing in the hallway last Friday night. Maybe he had figured that you had feelings for him and that was his way of dealing with it: Distancing himself from you.

You wished you had not run. You wished you could’ve stayed in that abandoned classroom forever, your favourite song playing and his arms around you.

–

“What eyeshadow should I use?”

“The darker one.”

“Y/N?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, looking up from where you sat on the floor in your puffy, ankle-long purple-pink dress. Parvati held out her eyeshadow palette, eyebrows raised as she sceptically eyed you. Her black hair was still wrapped around a dozen curlers. Lavender had spent all morning on them.

“Yes, the darker one,” You said. “Brings out your eyes.”

Thankfully, that answer seemed to satisfy her enough to not ask how you were doing. She and Lavender had already asked that over a million times, but you had reassured them that you were totally okay.

Parvati turned back to face the mirror.

“When did you want to meet with Nott?” Lavender asked. She kneeled in front of her trunk, pondering whether she should wear black or silver heels.

“Half past seven,” You mumbled, picking at the tulle of your dress.

Theodore had held you back yesterday after Defence against the Dark Arts to tell you that he would be at the Great Hall at 7:30 and that you were welcome to eat dinner with him and his friends – which included people like Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson; people you usually avoided by all means, people that had laughed at you for tripping over the last step of a stair, for not knowing an answer to one of Snape’s stupid questions, or for simply being Muggleborn.

You had never been less interested in going to a social event. All you wanted to do was lay in bed under your blanket and erase the last week out of your mind.

“Oh, come on, darling, we talked about this.” Lavender came over and squished your cheeks, brushing away a tear. “Today is not the day to sulk about some guy who doesn’t return your feelings. Today is your day, and you’re gonna have fun with us. Don’t let some guy ruin that. Okay?”

You sniffed and nodded, not able to answer because she cupped your cheeks so solidly. Lavender smiled and kissed your forehead.

“That’s right,” She said. “We’re gonna have some dinner and dance a bit and if by then you still feel bad, we can go back to our dorm.”

“And if Harry dares to talk to you, he’s gonna know what’s it feels like to be kicked in the balls with a heel,” Parvati added dryly. You laughed.

The Great Hall was decorated with yellow, pink and purple banners, and the four long house tables had been exchanged with much smaller, round ones scattered where the staff table usually stood, on each of them a vase filled with rosa tulips and white daffodils.

The ceiling did not mirror the night sky outside but a beautiful, orange sunset lighting up the dance floor in the middle. Opposite from the many tables, on the other end of the hall, Slughorn had organised a stage with a cover band. Next to the stage hung a long parchment onto which everyone could write requests.

You spotted your Potions teacher, dressed in a bright green suit, next to Dumbledore, his robes a terrible pink, both of them writing down their song requests.

“A Galleon that Dumbledore is a Spice Girls fan,” Lavender said grinning as she had followed your eyes.

“Bet,” Parvati said, grabbing three drinks from a passing waiter. “Here. Cheers.”

The three of you clinked glasses and took a sip of the red punch – it tasted strongly of various fruits, coconut, and bitter alcohol.

You let your eyes glide further over the hall and the people that sat together in groups around the tables, some of them already eating. Secretly, you were looking for Harry, though you only discovered Ginny in between Luna and Hermione, all of them chatting happily, and a few tables behind them, Theodore.

He waved as he saw you, gesturing to come over. You forced yourself to smile and wave back at him.

“I’ll see you later,” You said, chugging down the rest of your drink.

“Tell us if he’s being an asshole,” Parvati said. “Or really any of them.”

“And have some fun,” Lavender added.

You took one last look at your friends – Parvati in her silk, almond white, slim dress, and Lavender with flowers in her hair, their arms linked together – and swallowed thickly before turning and making your way through the crowd towards Theodore, though you made sure to give the table with Ginny a wide berth.

“Hi, Y/N,” Theodore greeted you, pecking a swift kiss on your left cheek. His eyes, however, were gliding over the room filling with more and more students. “We’ve already ordered some drinks, come on.”

You took a step back after the kiss, blinking quickly, then noticed how the other people around the table were staring at you:

Pansy and Daphne eyed you and your dress dismissively, and Blaise sipped on his wine, eyebrows raised. Only Draco was slumped in his chair and chewed on a gum, not wasting a single glance at you. He looked as uninterested in this Spring Ball as you felt.

An hour ago, you sure as hell wouldn’t have believed to relate to bloody Draco Malfoy.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N,” You said, forcing a smile on your face and holding out your hand towards Pansy, as she sat closest to you. “I like your dress. Matches your earrings.”

That compliment seemed to leave a mark. Her judging look softened and she shook your hand.

After introducing yourself to everyone (well, except Draco, who had only shortly nodded at you), you sat down in between Theodore and Blaise, and ordered something to eat.

Pansy and Daphne were huddled together the whole time, giggling and pointing at others, while Draco raised a complaint about every meal on the menu or really any other small inconvenience that had the unfortune to be spotted by him (“I can’t eat that, it has tomatoes in it. Nothing on here is gluten free. I’ll write father first thing in the morning. Pansy, will you shut the fuck up for a second? That’s not even a real band. God, I hate this place.”).

“He’s a whiny bitch most of the time, but his family has a great holiday chalet in France,” Blaise said to you after Draco had shot you an annoyed look for asking if you should ask the band to play a different song. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be friends with him.”

“I hope you choke on that disgusting wine,” Draco muttered, and you chuckled.

“Sure, darling,” Blaise replied, sharing a look with you. Until now, Blaise had surprisingly talked the most with you, and it turned out he wasn’t half as bad as you had always thought he would be.

Theodore on the other hand had only occasionally asked you how your meal was and how long you had planned to stay. His eyes had not held contact with yours for longer than a second and were still searching for something in the crowd, which was – by the way – having fun on the dance floor while you had not moved in almost an hour.

It wasn’t until a particularly beautiful girl from Ravenclaw strode past your table that Theodore hooked his foot around the leg of your chair to pull you closer and placed his hand on your upper thigh, giving you his full attention for the first time that night.

“Have I told you that you look very pretty tonight?” He asked, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“Er – no,” You said, darting a confused look towards the Ravenclaw girl.

“Well, you do,” Theodore went on and turned your head back to face him by stroking his thumb over your cheek before pressing his lips onto the skin beneath your ear. They felt chapped and not pleasant in any way. You cringed.

“Uh, sorry, but that’s maybe a bit early, don’t you think?” You said, drawing back and shoving his hand from your thigh.

“She’s gone anyway, Theo,” Blaise said. You did not understand.

“Who’s gone?” You asked, looking back and forth between Theodore and the others, who all seemed to know something you didn’t. Pansy giggled.

“Nothing,” Theodore said. His sweet voice had turned bitter, and you felt like that was your fault. He stood up. “I’ll get some more punch.”

The band segued from an upbeat song into a much slower one, and the light of the candles magically dimmed.

“Do you want to dance maybe?” You asked Theodore as a way to make up for your rejection, but he had already pushed past a group of chatting seventh years, not turning around.

You sank back into your chair, picking at the tulle of your dress again. Was it too early to tell Lavender and Parvati that you wanted to go back to your dorm?

“Girl, if I were you, I would get out of here as quickly as possible,” Blaise said. You looked up at him. “He’s not worth it. And he’s not here for you. So don’t waste your energy.”

“But he asked me to the ball,” You said weakly.

“Did he? Or did he just ask for some time with you to make his ex-girlfriend jealous?”

“He – well – he…”

But Blaise looked at you and you knew that he was right, that this was never about you but some other girl. It was always about some other girl.

“Excuse me, I’ll get some fresh air,” You said and made your way through the tables towards the doors.

The last time, everyone had watched him. Now it was Harry’s turn to watch everyone else try their best on the dance floor. He wasn’t sure what was worse; to be laughed at by the others while stepping on Parvati’s feet every other second or to watch not only Hermione and Ron but also Ginny and Luna, as well as Seamus and Dean dancing closely, arms around the other.

They all had no idea what they were doing, Harry could tell, but they were having fun anyway. He had never seen Hermione this happy.

“Oh, flashback.”

Harry looked up. Parvati sat down next to him on the chair that Ron had left over half an hour ago.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, taking another sip of butterbeer, and turned back to the dance floor right in time to see Dean kissing Seamus passionately in the middle of the room.

“And you are not dancing because…?” Parvati asked. Harry crossed his arms.

“If you’re here to make fun of me or to blow up my butterbeer, feel free to fuck off.”

Parvati chuckled. “Sorry about that. But seriously, why are you sitting here miserably after all those dance lessons?”

Harry tried to make out if she was actually serious or if this was her way to revenge herself for the Yule Ball.

“Are you kidding me?” He asked. Parvati narrowed her eyebrows, now visibly puzzled.

“No, I’m genuinely asking –”

“Well, it’s not that fucking easy to slow dance if you have no date, is it,” He said crossly.

Parvati gaped at him, but he was certainly not in the mood for this. It had cost him all his strength to not look for you in the crowd all evening, he did not need reminding of you not liking him back by Parvati.

Before she could say anything else, he placed his butterbeer bottle on the table and darted outside, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his suit and eyes directed to the floor.

Harry’s feet guided him towards the courtyard. The music played by the band wasn’t as loud out here, and the cold night air was lively in contrary to the sticky, perfumed air inside the Great Hall.

He kicked some of the grass away and walked towards the bench underneath the willow, watching how its branches weighed in the wind and thought how you were probably having as much fun as his friends, or maybe even more, considering Nott was infamous for snogging in various broom closets.

Harry’s stomach turned at the thought of that. He wished he had a time turner to make it right.

The moon stood high on the deep blue night sky, illuminating the courtyard you had unconsciously walked to. Grey clouds had approached, and tiny raindrops were falling to the ground, steadily drumming onto the roofs of Hogwarts.

On your way out of the Great Hall, you had caught a glimpse of Theodore sticking his tongue down the throat of that Ravenclaw girl, but to be honest, it didn’t matter that he was making out with someone else. It would’ve just been nice if you could have had a forewarning.

You thought you were the only single soul wandering about, then spotted a figure sitting on a bench. You were about to turn and search for some other place to wallow in your feelings, when you recognised the messy hair.

Maybe this was the time to make up for running away. Maybe this was the time to be honest.

Harry looked up when he noticed someone coming closer, the tulle of your dress rustling over the wet grass. His heart jumped and he forgot to breathe for a moment.

“Hello,” You said, voice echoing over the empty courtyard. “Can I sit?”

“Of course.”

Harry scooted to the side to make some space for you. You sat down next to him, leaving maybe a hand width between the two of you. The wide branches of the willow guided you from the cold rain.

“You weren’t dancing,” You said, staring at the grass instead of his face.

You would understand if he did not want to talk, if he just walked away. He didn’t owe you an explanation for why he had not asked you to the ball or why was sitting here instead of inside with Ginny or whoever he had asked.

“You weren’t either, were you?” Harry replied. “You and Nott.”

“No, he’s busy with someone else, so… no. Not dancing.”

“Oh.” Harry shuffled. His knee bumped against yours. “Well, he’s an idiot then.”

You smiled, not moving your knee away from his.

“Yeah…but I don’t mind, really.”

“You should,” Harry said, and he meant it. No one should be treated like that. “If anyone should be dancing, it’s you.”

You looked up at him. Harry was already watching you, and it filled you with warmth despite the freezing cold. There wasn’t a single sign of hurt on his face, just a soft curiosity lying in his green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “for running away last Friday. I had to sort out some things.”

“What things?” He asked quietly.

“Some…” Your heartbeat sped up. Be honest, you told yourself. “Some feelings.”

“Oh.” Harry tried to figure out what you meant by that, but the way you looked at him made his mind go blank. “You mean you…”

“I really like dancing with you,” You said. Harry felt his heart beating faster than ever against his ribcage. He wondered if you could hear it. “And I wouldn’t have done those lessons with anyone.”

The music from inside the Great Hall was growing louder, overshadowing the rain; someone must’ve opened the doors to let in some fresh air. The band was playing a slower, French song and it stung in your heart. It was one of your favourites.

When you turned back to Harry, he was standing up. For a second you thought he wanted to leave, to go back inside, then –

“May I have this dance?” Harry held out is right hand, and you did not have to think twice if you should take it or not.

He helped you up from the bench and led into the middle of the lawn, the rain still pattering onto the grass and the stone tiles. It smelled strongly of petrichor, and you thought that this was much closer to spring than the decorations in the Great Hall.

Harry’s hand found its place on your back, pulling you closer to him. You placed your hand on his shoulder, tapping his skin with your finger in time to the music out of habit, and met his eyes, reflecting the moon light in them.

Had you ever told him how beautiful he was?

The two of you moved, swaying back and forth. Harry realised that he did not even need to concentrate on the steps, he knew them by heart. The closeness of you took his breath away, the way your fingers held onto his, the way there was little to no room between your torso and his. You were smiling at him, despite the cold and the rain. Harry felt his stomach tingling.

“What’s it called?” Harry asked quietly, not wanting to drown out the music.

“‘Je Te Laisserai Des Mots’. I’ll leave you words,” You translated, having memorised the lyrics in your mind. “I’ll leave you words underneath your door, underneath the singing moon. Near the place where your feet pass by…hidden in the holes of wintertime and when you’re alone for a moment.”

You paused and Harry’s eyes fell to his feet, not able to take your gaze any longer. There were words on the tip of his tongue he did not dare to say – afraid, to ruin the moment. He wanted to stay here forever.

“Eyes up,” You said, placing your hand underneath his chin to lift his head up.

More French words reached your ears; Harry figured they were the same sentence repeated over and over, but even if he had been able to understand French, he wouldn’t have been able to translate them because of your hand still resting under his chin.

“Kiss me whenever you want,” You whispered. “Kiss me whenever you want. Kiss me –”

And then, Harry let go of his fears and kissed you.

After all it still took you by surprise how he loosened his fingers from yours to cup your face, pulling you as close to him as possible, until there was no space in between, noses bumping against each other. Both of your hands slung themselves around his neck, caressing his skin and driving up through messy hair.

His lips matched yours, gliding smoothly over one another, smearing your lip gloss everywhere until all you tasted was strawberries and sweet alcohol. With his chest against yours, Harry was glad to notice your heart beating as fast as his did, though that was also because he really needed to breathe – not that he wanted to, he would have been totally okay with never breaking away from the kiss if it was always going to feel this soft and freeing.

It was you in the end that had to carefully pull his face away from yours, heavily breathing in and out. You brushed his wet hair out of his forehead and let your fingers slide over his temples and cheeks down to his neck.

“That offer,” Harry began breathlessly, tucking a strand of hair he had accidentally drawn from your pinned-up hair behind your ear, “about continuing the dance lessons…that still stands, right?”

Your lips curved upwards into a smile. “Of course.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, mirroring your smile before leaning down again to close the gap between your lips.

#Harry Potter #Harry James Potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #fluff #oneshot #my writing #angst #slow burn

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shootybangbang · 3 years

Note

Can i request an Arthur/sadistic female reader please？i really want to see him all messed up because of...you know🥺

(btw, pls check out the requester's art. her arthur content is 😩👌)

[Oneshot]: In which you still don't know how to tie an overhand knot

[Rating]: Explicit

[Note]: this is so fucking horny that i feel i have to apologize in advance. unedited and a little rough around the edges, feel free to point out errors or give criticism

———

“Huh,” you muse aloud. “Looks like the gallery’s putting up a new exhibition this weekend.”

With one hand, you spread the newspaper across the bed and skip to page three. With the other, you continue to stroke Arthur’s cock, twisting your wrist a little to smooth your palm against its dripping tip. The man himself groans as you touch him, and the frame of his body trembles beneath where you’ve straddled yourself over his thighs.

His breaths are quickening again. “Please,” Arthur rasps, his voice hoarse with exertion and desperation alike. You indulge him with another slow, teasing pump of your fist as you continue to pick through the St Denis Tribune, humming thoughtfully as you peruse the newspaper’s Arts and Entertainment section.

“I’m beggin’ you, girl.” He sounds as though he’s teetering on the very edge of agony and ecstasy, and venturing perilously close to the latter. “C’mon. Please.”

“Looks like it’s mostly Impressionists this time. Let’s see here… a selection of Seurats and Monets… a couple Renoirs… oh, some Degas too?” With a mild expression that belies the depth of torture you’ve been putting him through, you slow your hand to a stop. He makes a choked, unhappy noise in the back of his throat that you heartily ignore. “That’s pretty bold of them, considering the reception they gave that Chatenay fellow you told me about.”

Growling, Arthur starts fumbling with the (admittedly badly tied) restraints securing his arms behind his back, twisting his wrists in an attempt to find a loose end.

“Easy there.” You run the pad of your thumb along the ridge delineating the head of his cock, slicking against the precum beaded at its tip. “I’ll give you what you want soon enough.”

“Been hearin’ you say that for almost half an hour now,” he replies, glaring. “You enjoyin’ yourself?”

“Immensely.”

“Better savor it while you can, because I promise you — I’m gonna remember this the next time I get you beneath me.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? What‘re you gonna do then?”

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he says.

“No,” you reply with a beatific smile.

He narrows his eyes and lowers his voice to something smooth and dangerous: the sort of tone you’ve known him to use for threats he actually intends to follow through on. “When it’s my turn,” he says. “I ain’t gonna tie you up. Won’t need to. Because with you, all I need is my hands.”

A shiver runs down your spine. The man’s wrists may be bound, but you’re still very much at his mercy. In all actuality, your authority here amounts to only a length of rope and his own good humor.

You let out a soft, involuntary whimper at the very thought of it.

“Gonna pin you down when I fuck you,” he continues. He’s smirking now, clearly enjoying the demonstrable effect his words have on you. “Lay you down on your stomach and keep you under me, where you belong.”

You’re half-tempted to loose the rope and let him do just that. Instead, you grab the hem of your shift with both hands and pull the garment over your head in a single fluid motion. It’s 1899, after all. High time for a woman to take charge of her own pleasure.

The dim glow of the oil lamp bathes your bare skin in a wash of gold and amber as you settle yourself against him, pressing the wet line of your slit along the length of his cock. “Go on,” you tell him. “What else?”

Arthur swallows hard and licks his lips, then draws in a sharp intake of breath as you roll your hips forward — just a brief stir of movement, but more than enough to make him twitch beneath you. “Drive you to the brink the same way you’re doin’ to me now,” he says weakly. “Take my time with you, nice and slow. Make you really beg for it.”

“Mm-hmm.” Another roll of your hips, this time with just enough pressure to grant him a touch of warmth.

Finally, he breaks. And it’s truly a sight to behold: Arthur Morgan, a man who you’d thought would break your spine like a toothpick the first time you’d met, openly begging for the simple privilege of being allowed between your thighs.

“God, please,” he groans. “You can’t do this to me. Can’t let me feel how wet you are and just leave me like this.”

“Of course I can.” You relent. “But I won’t. So be a good boy and stay still for me, alright?”

His cock weighs heavy in your hand as you guide him between your thighs. Arthur lets out a harsh gasp and instinctively thrusts upwards — but you immediately withdraw, and he finds nothing but the cruel emptiness of absence waiting to receive him.

“Thought I told you to stay still,” you repeat sternly.

He nods with the frantic desperation of a badly-trained dog begging for a meal. Hungry and eager, but standing to attention with as much obedience he can muster. Which isn’t much, even on the best of days, but he is trying. And for that, he deserves something in return.

You take him in slowly, both out of principle and necessity. Just a taste of him first, then the gradual descent, a long and drawn out consumption that he has barely the means to endure.

His gaze still hasn’t left you. There is an intensity in it that once might have frightened you, an azure bright as broken glass and twice as sharp. The purity of emotion in them strikes you to the bone, makes your throat tighten and your dominance waver — there is a depth of devotion there that borders on the absolute.

When you move against him, he squeezes his eyes shut against the sheer force of sensation that floods through. Arthur makes a low, pained noise in the back of his throat and confesses, “I ain’t gonna last long.”

You lean forward and kiss him, then start a slow, rocking motion with your hips that spurs him to whimper your name against your lips, a small cry of warning before you feel the first twitches of his cock. Arthur bucks up once, twice, then shudders beneath you as his seed pulses deep, blooms hot and slick inside your core.

“Goddammit,” he hisses. “Didn’t think I’d— ah, fuck…”

You ride on, grinding through the last, weakening throbs of his orgasm and until he lets out a final, heavy sigh. Arthur regards you with loose-limbed exhaustion, lolling his head against your pillows as he flashes you a drained, weary grin. “Alright,” he says. “Untie me and get up here so I can—”

“No need,” you say brightly, then lift your hips in a brief mockery of release before sheathing him again and sending him reeling into oversensitivity.

Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasps, wincing. “What’re you—”

“Too much?”

“Didn’t say that,” he says. His jaw is clenched tight and his voice is faint, but the look on his face is one of stubborn determination.

You test him with another slow, sinuous slide of your hips. This time, he meets you with a shallow thrust of his own. He’s breathing hard, each exhale shivery with exertion. “Keep goin’,” he urges. “I can take it.”

The added lubrication of his come eases the friction of him, soothes the inevitable ache of penetration. You settle for an unhurried, leisurely rhythm that allows you to fully appreciate the slickness of each stroke, the accompanying warmth of his seed still spread through your core.

Arthur’s gaze darts downwards to the base of his shaft, where the drip of his come has begun to pool. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Just beautiful.”

He snakes his right arm free from his bonds and abruptly flips you onto your back with a well-timed shove.

“What— how did you…?”

“Sweetheart,” Arthur says, his voice warm and affectionately condescending. “You still can’t tie an overhand knot for shit.”

“But I double-checked this time!”

“Not very well, apparently.” He hitches your thighs around his waist and cages you in beneath him, then lowers his mouth to the slope of your neck. A brief, gentle nip — not hard enough to hurt, but more than enough to convey his renewed authority. “God, but you’re a greedy little thing, ain’t you?” he growls against your skin. “Just one load of my spend ain’t enough?”

“Thought you’d appreciate the challenge, since you’re always so— oh, shit,” you gasp, clutching at his shoulders when he drives himself downwards with a sharp, savage thrust.

“Go on.” Arthur says. He’s panting now, his dark blond hair slicked against his forehead with sweat. “Weren’t you sayin’ somethin’ about me?”

You let out an indecipherable whine that bears only a passing resemblance to human language.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs, low and tender. Arthur cups the side of your face against his palm and traces his thumb over your cheekbone, then presses a chaste kiss to your brow. “Can’t even talk right when I’m fucking her proper.”

He’ll no doubt be insufferably smug about this later, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, distracted as you are by the view of him rutting against you, his shaft still streaked with his previous release. He’s fucking his own come back into me, you think to yourself, and that thought alone blinds out all else and leaves you blank with pleasure.

Arthur takes you hard and fast. Far rougher than his usual handling, which can sometimes be almost excruciatingly cautious. He kisses you clumsily, then lowers his mouth to the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting until the first, faint traces of tomorrow’s bruises begin to darken.

And with this, it’s not long before the first delirious ripples of your own orgasm begin to crest.

Every muscle drawn and tensed, dissolving into an inward ache of arousal that spurs you to grip him tight and whimper, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to keep his face in view. With a fierce satisfaction, you savor the sudden weakness in his expression when he feels you contract against him, then his harsh groan and the stutter of his hips as he follows, spilling what seed he has left.

Arthur keeps himself hilted until the very last shivers of exhilaration fade, then pulls away with a reluctance usually reserved for long farewells. The overflow of his come is thick and heavy as it drips from between your thighs, and the look on his face as he beholds it is one of tired appreciation.

Then he flops onto his side, totally spent. “You’re a real demon,” he sighs. “You know that?”

“A real demon would go for round three,” you reply faintly, staring dreamy-eyed up at the ceiling.

Arthur groans at the mere suggestion of it. “I think that’d actually kill me.”

When you curl up against him, he automatically throws an arm over your side, the action at this point an instinct secondary only to breathing, and brushes his mouth over the back of your neck.

As you ebb towards sleep, you murmur as an afterthought, “Didn’t you say you were gonna make me beg?”

He lets out a weary chuckle. “Well,” he says, “There’s always tomorrow.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #rdr2 #red dead redemption #fic #smut #my work #this makes my kinks so apparent that i want to crawl into a hole and die #sorry for being gross :’^)

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pleasantanathema · 4 years

Text

Invasive Species

Pairing: Hawks x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Yandere, Dubious Non/Con, Stalking, Possessive Actions

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N:This is a part of the bnharem pen pals collab that can be found here! Please check out everyone else’s amazing work for this very unique smutty collaboration.

The noise was so faint, a gentle peck against the glass, the sound muffled by the mild summer breeze, that you hadn’t heard it. And so, the paper became lifeless, drifting down onto the floor to rest until you found it. You were startled when you saw it—a blood red feather, with a crisp, folded note tied to it, lying in your floor, the feather ruffling in the wind from the open window. Your heart pounded in your chest. You had seen feathers like that before, felt them against your skin and in your hair as a winged hero carried you to safety from a burning building just yesterday. But you’d been one of many, he saved so many people, yet he left a feather for you?

You’ll always be safe with me around.

–Hawks

You smiled at his writing, finding it to be much neater and prettier than you expected from a man in his twenties. What a kind, considerate hero to send you such an endearing promise. No wonder he topped the popularity polls, you mused, sitting on your bed and re-reading the little note. You tapped the feather against your lips, twirling it between your fingers. You remembered how he was able to control the nimble things, sending feathers zipping across the sky to pull people by their collars and the back of their shirts to safety. Surely he would want it back, right? You felt it twitch within your hand as if it could read your mind.

Quickly, you searched your desk, ripping at a piece of paper to create a slip similar to the size of his note. You took a breath before writing, not wanting your handwriting to seem unsteady or nervous. You wondered if anyone ever wrote him back, or if people kept his feathers like trophies.

Thank you, Hawks. I’m grateful that someone will be watching after me.

You signed your name in the bottom corner.

The crimson feather darted away when you placed it on your window sill, jumping like it was alive. It carried your note back to waiting hands and a cheeky smile, to a man only a few rooftops away. Avian eyes narrowed and darkened at your innocent words.

You didn’t realize it at the time, but your message was an invitation to a very dangerous game.

The next little letter came about a week later, long after the sun had set and your eyes were heavy. The quill against the glass spooked you, the sound reminiscent of sharp nails tapping to get your attention. You opened the window and the feather fluttered past your cheek, landing perfectly in the middle of your desk like it belonged there. You rubbed your eyes as you sat down to read it, flicking on the dim light that you had just turned off to go to sleep.

You couldn’t help the way you smiled when you saw that this letter was personally addressed to you.

Sorry for making you wait so long. I’m not used to writing letters. But your handwriting is so pretty, I thought I could implore you for another? Please tell me something about you.

–Hawks

You blinked at the paper, thumbs crinkling the edges. There was something about the letter that made your heart thump a little harder in your chest, blood racing in your veins. You realized that you were not one of many to receive an assuring note from the hero; no, you had been sought out by him, plucked and singled out of the crowd. Hawks had remembered you in particular. A small bit of adrenaline kicked into your system as you picked up your pen.

This is going to sound like I’m trying to be sweet on you, but I’ve actually always loved birds. My favorite are the pretty red song birds that I hear outside my windows in the evening.

There was a compulsion for you to keep this response letter a little longer. You mulled it over, hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. You weren’t lying, those cute little song birds did bring you joy, but there was a tinge in your heart to impress him, to make him smile as he read your letter.

And as quick as the feather flew in, it flew away, a red streak across the star speckled sky. You finally curled up in bed, a concoction of excitement and content brewing in your chest. You held your pillow a little closer, dreaming of the brush of soft wings against your skin.

But those wings were dark, casting shadows in the moonlight, now only a single rooftop away from you. Hawks held your letter in his hand, golden gaze locked onto the color of your curtains. He wondered if you’d ever become privy enough to shut them.

He read your words over and over again, smiling at how coy you were. He knew you were clever, but he didn’t expect you to be so daring. He brushed his hair behind his ear, pressing the small scrap of paper to his nose, trying to get a hint of the sweetness he had smelled in your hair when he plucked you from that building. You were so darling in his arms; he loved how you clung to him, small hands around his neck like you would collapse without him, even when he had you safe on the ground.

The letter in his hand felt like the key into your life, and all too quickly he found himself writing back to you. And in the depths of the night, this particular letter and feather were hand delivered by the pretty bird from outside your window, though you’d never know it.

___________________________________________________________

You found the letter tucked neatly into the corner of your window, the one closest to your bed. It had been the first thing your eyes focused on as you awoke, the crimson barbs of the feather gleaming in the early morning light. You laid in the comfort of your warm bed for a few moments just gazing at the sight, sleepy mind trying to piece together how and why the winged hero had taken an interest in you. He was so handsome, so popular, so tantalizing in a curious way.

The summer breeze was warm even so early in the day. You left the window open to allow a current of fresh air in, settling back into your pillows as you unfolded the note.

I suppose liking birds is something we have in common. Those pretty red song birds outside your window are actually cardinals…an invasive species in Japan, but pretty nonetheless.

P.S. Perhaps I could soon become your favorite red bird.

–Hawks

You read it a few times, worrying your lip as your eyes raked over every word. There was something to be read between the lines, only you worried you weren’t finding the hidden meaning. Why mention that the birds were invasive species? It made them sound impish and not as lovely knowing they weren’t really supposed to be there. Yet their morning calls were beautiful, melodic, a comfort to your ears from the open window. And was Hawks…flirting with you? His post script seemed so playful and nonchalant, and reading it had your cheeks turning pink.

You busied yourself with your morning routine as you debated how to reply. You didn’t know Hawks, you didn’t even know how he found out where you lived, and yet he was flirting with you so offhandedly, like he expected you to return his dalliances. Had he come early this morning before starting his hero work? Or did he work at night, and sent a feather before returning home? There was so little that you knew about him that it made you nervous to be stepping into such an unknown situation, but surely it didn’t mean much to him. You were a little nobody; he was the number two hero.

Even still, in a way, it felt so romantic, finding hand written letters from him, like you were out of time, floating in a midsummer bliss. But it also felt disquieting, like you were stepping out into a vast, unknown ocean.

You sat down to write to him before you left to begin your day. The feather in your hand was so light, so soft, and you gently stroked your thumb over the barbs, watching them split apart and then find one another again. The hollow shaft seemed to quake in response. You were reminded of how every feather appeared to be alive, controlled by their far-off master. They were so sensitive to every touch, every gust of wind. You dipped your finger against the edge, watching the alluring color bleed against your skin.

Can you feel what your feathers feel, Hawks?

And you set the feather free once again, having to block the sun from your eyes as you watched it dance away, note dangling from a long forgotten ribbon you had found in your drawer.

But soon, you forgot about it, carried away by the daily musings of your life.

______________________________________________________________

As for Hawks, he thought about it all day, carried your little note in his pocket as he attended to his heroic duties across the city. The image of your window, of your little home where it was tucked away, always remained in the back of his mind. He was itching to go back to the rooftop from where he watched you; he wanted to see your reaction as you opened his letter, watch you ponder how to respond. He was quickly becoming addicted to you, to watching you when you least expected it.

He had perfectly crafted his response by the end of his day, broad wings hurrying him to his favorite resting spot. Your city apartment was so high up, no one from below could dream of looking up to see you. But he could see you, he had scouted the best from which to watch you. He was just high enough where you couldn’t peer back at him, the perfect perch for a predator to watch his prey. From the neighboring rooftop he could see the entirety of your bedroom. It was like a painting on the wall of a museum, wonderfully on display for him to admire, especially when you came home.

He rested his cheek in his palm as he watched you come in your bedroom door. He could practically hear you sigh as you dropped your bag, stretching your arms above your head to rid yourself of the small tensions your day had brought you. And this was his favorite part—you quickly shimmied out of your pants, a little dance as you bounced back and forth on your heels, pulling one leg up and then the other. You then bent over and pulled your favorite pair of soft shorts from the floor, having unceremoniously dropped them there the night before. You looked so good in those, he mused, the cozy fabric stretched so snugly upon your hips, curving just right across your backside.

He waited for you to get comfortable, then plucked a feather from his wings, tying his note to it with the ribbon you’d sent out this morning. He grinned at how you jumped when the feather flew through the crack in your window. He made a little show of having it swirl around you before landing it on your desk.

I can feel everything that my feathers touch—the wind, water, sound vibrations, they’re a part of me. You should give this one a kiss before you send it back.

The name’s Keigo, by the way. Takami Keigo.

Did you always blush like that when you opened his letters? He watched you stand up and pace around, thumb between your pretty lips, lost in thought. Soon you grabbed the note again, plopping on the edge of your bed to read it over. Your legs crossed and uncrossed, a smile finally pulling at your cheeks. He watched with delight as you picked up the feather, tingles immediately spreading across his skin at the feel of your fingers.

He groaned as you brushed your fingertips over the barbs. He pulled at his tinted eyewear, bringing them to rest upon his head so he could watch you more closely. A lock of hair twisted around his finger as he anxiously waited for you to do as he asked, to kiss his feather, to let him have a fleeting moment where he felt the ghost of your lips upon his skin.

But you didn’t, you just kept stroking the long red feather, teasing him. His brows furrowed as you stopped, watching you sit the feather back on your desk, along with his note. How could you…how could you not respond to him right away? Why not give him what he desired?

Hawks watched in disbelief as you sauntered out of your bedroom into another part of your little home.

He waited for what felt like hours for you to come back. He should’ve left when the sun went down, he chided himself, bringing his wings closer to his body. Autumn was in the wind. He had almost left, was even picking himself up and shoving his hands into his pockets when your room lit up like a beacon calling him back. So he settled back into his spot, golden eyes watching your every move.

His breath caught in his throat when you began to shed your clothes—all of them. He’d watched you for over a week now, and finally you were fully naked before him. You looked ethereal with the dim light of your room spilling over your curves, every single line of your body on display. He found himself sitting up straighter, perched on the balls of his feet like at any moment he was going to leap into your arms.

Were you…? Oh fuck, you were walking to your desk, sitting down and taking a pen into your hand. Instantly he was hard, fingers encircling his cock with a death grip as you picked up the feather, his feather, and admired it for a moment. He could feel your breath blowing against the soft barbs, the warmth spreading over him like a blanket from the breeze. But you sat it down, electing to instead write him back, treating him to the lovely sight of your naked back arched over your desk, the elegant sinews of your shoulders on exhibit.

And then you were in your window, your naked body so temptingly close. He wanted to reach out and touch you, to feel the weight of your breasts within his palms.

As soon as he felt the wind blowing against the feather, he pulled it back to him. He always knew when it was your feather returning to him, even when he couldn’t see it. He could sense the heft of the paper tied to it, pulling at the feather like it wanted to sink to the ground. He even recognized the tenderness in your touch, felt how you always twisted the feather between your fingers.

You’re cheeky, Keigo. A kiss? I hardly know you. Maybe one day.

He scoffed at your words, folding the note back into its creases. Your light flickered off, the moonlight the only illumination for him to gaze into your little world. He watched you climb onto your bed, expecting you to curl up in your favorite spot and drift away into your dreams.

He was very happily mistaken.

Your hands were on your body, one cupping your breast, the other slipping into your mouth. He stroked his cock through his pants at the sight, eyes wide and ravenous as he watched the scene unfold before him. You were slow, thorough, taking your time running your hand over your curves, twisting at your nipples. Your fingers left your mouth and traveled south, to another pair of lips he had yet to see. You spread your legs, teasing yourself as your head dipped back against the pillow.

Hawks was desperately moving his head, angling his body to try to see what sweetness was waiting for him between your legs. But your thigh was in the way, blocking his view, and he huffed indignantly as he unzipped his cargo pants. His cock was achingly hot as he released it, the night air bringing a refreshing chill to his scorching skin. He wrapped his hand a little too firmly around himself, closing his eyes for only a brief moment to imagine how tight you’d be around his cock.

Your face was awash with pleasure, lips hanging open. He silently vowed to etch that look upon your face himself.He watched you intently, memorizing every movement, every place that you touched yourself. He could’ve observed you for hours, if it wasn’t for his unrelenting need to orgasm. He pumped himself to the paces you set, alternating between fast and slow, wanting to cum the moment you did. But the moment he saw your back arch, his keen hearing picking up on a high pitched moan through the window, he lost control, spilling himself all over his hand and down the front of his shirt, dripping onto his pants.

He’d been so caught up in his own ecstasy that he missed yours. He only saw you in the afterglow, your curves sinking into the mattress as sleep overcame you.

He wrote you a quick letter, leaving it wedged against your window sill. He took a moment to admire you up close, hand pressing to the glass to steady the silent flapping of his wings.

___________________________________________________________

But I know you.

There was no signature to the note, only large fingerprints upon your window.

They were like little specters, ghastly against the morning dew.

Your stomach dropped at the sight, dread bubbling to the surface. He had hand delivered this note, had been at your window, had seen you at some time in the night. You pulled your sheets to your chest, recalling that you’d fallen asleep on your comforter naked last night, only waking in the early hours of dawn to finally crawl under the covers. Had he seen you? Is that what he meant?

He reminded you of Hermes, a winged protector of humans, but a trickster god nonetheless, flittering around the country with a bright smile and witty banter, but perhaps something darker in his heart. Maybe he was worse than Hermes, maybe more dreadful, more sinful. For a while there had been something nagging at you, pulling at the strings of your intuition and whispering danger. But now…now that feeling had blossomed into fear.

You decided you had indulged the winged hero enough. There was no need to reply. Any romance you had felt from the actions withered away, dying out like a flower left in the sun.

You started to close your curtains when you came home most days, just in case.

Weeks went by, and autumn came. The cardinals stopped singing, with no other red feathers or letters in sight.

But sometimes you could hear rustling outside, see familiar shadows pass by.

He was on your television screen, too, newsfeeds obsessed with the most popular hero. He was always being praised for saving more people, for helping rescue and clean up after a disaster. He was darling on the screen, blonde hair always slightly a mess from flying. He seemed so handsome, so harmless, but you could see the glint in his eyes. He was something wicked, something enticing, and you hated that you had thought about him every day since his last letter.

The morning you found his note, you had thrown the paper in the trash, and thrown the feather back out the window. But by evening, it had fluttered back, red and sweet like a rose growing against the glass. You’d left it there, hoping the wind would take it away, but days went by and it was still hanging on, a reminder of his presence. A storm was on the horizon when you relented and took the feather in. There was something inside of you that couldn’t bear to see the cherry colored barbs wilt in the rain.

You tucked it away in your desk drawer, not as a reminder, but to just to get it out of sight. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Some of your nights were restless, plagued with thoughts of him, of Keigo Takami peeking into your window, of his plush wings against your skin.

____________________________________________________________

It was after an especially long, grueling day, that you gave in to your repressed thoughts.

You stood at the foot of your bed, ready to climb in, when some unknown force had you turning on your heels. It was like your hands had a mind of their own, pulling open the drawer and plucking the crimson feather from its resting place. You twirled it before you, nostalgia creeping across your skin as you remembered how the feathers used to look in the summer sky.

The feather felt like red silk upon your lips when you kissed it. You wondered if he could still feel it, after all these months.

You laughed at the inane thought, kicking off your shorts as you finally found your way into bed. You gazed up at the ceiling, counting the moonbeams that had slithered in through the cracks in the curtains. You hadn’t closed them all the way, but you rarely did anymore.

You sighed, closing your eyes and trying to imagine yourself somewhere else. Your fingers drifted down to the hem of your underwear, toying with the edges. You thought of strong arms around you, thick hands in place of your own. You thought of a new hero you had read about earlier, some young, recently graduated young buck from a hero program. You bit into your lip as you tried to recall his name. All you could remember were wild plumes of purple hair, which looked so luscious and soft in the online videos. You tried to imagine him, or someone like him, at least, pressing themselves between your legs.

Your fingers rubbed lazy circles on your clit, warming your body up. But you couldn’t stay focused on one thought, the problems of your day tiptoeing back into your conscious as you tried to pleasure yourself. Your other hand slipped under your big t-shirt, tugging rather roughly at your nipple as you tried to bring yourself back into a different headspace. You increased the speed of your fingers, only to find yourself panting in dissatisfaction at your actions.

“Fuck,” you called in frustration to the darkness.

“Seems like you need some help, little bird.”

You had never expected the darkness to call back.

Your whole body stilled, going completely numb as you opened your eyes.

Hawks stood near your desk, absentmindedly fiddling with the feather you’d left on its surface. The window was open, curtains billowing and brushing against dark wings that eclipsed the moonlight. You felt like the shadows his wings cast were smothering you, sinking around your lungs like an inky vice, keeping your voice trapped within your chest.

He had the audacity to smile at you. His hands were deep in his pockets, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked haphazardly thrown upon his shoulders. You wanted to run away, but you felt glued to the bed, beguiled by smoldering golden eyes as he approached.

“I know what you like, you know. Watched you do it so many times now.”

You braced yourself against the bed, the sheets slipping down as you crawled back, gaze transfixed on the predator placing his knees on the downy comforter. He was so quick, grabbing your leg and pulling you towards him. His smile never wavered as he pressed a wet kiss to your ankle, tongue sneaking out to catch a taste of your skin. You whimpered at his words, tongue too heavy in your mouth to form ones of your own.

“Cat got your tongue? Come on, I want to hear that pretty voice. Say the magic word, and I’ll be happy to help you out.”

It was like you were engulfed by his presence. The air smelled like him as he spread his wings, gently ruffling them before settling them back down to his sides. He smelled like rain, felt like a raging storm from above you, all dark clouds and lightning as his quick fingers started to move up your calves, keeping your legs spread to accommodate him upon the bed.

“N-no.”

Your voice was weak, just a hot gasp of breath into the room.

“You sure about that, baby? I promise I know exactly how to touch you.”

To prove his point, a hurried hand wrapped around your hip, thumb slipping under the fabric of your underwear to skim across your hip bone. You shuttered, his touch was too warm, feeling like he was burning his thumbprint into your skin. But it felt good, the pressure behind the digit so firm, making you feel so real against your body’s borders, feel alive at the jolt of pleasure that ran down your spine.

But with his body hovering above yours, it felt like there was a heavy weight falling onto your chest, pushing you down, down, down, deep into the mattress and holding you hostage. You wanted to push him away, to scream, to pull at his wings until it hurt him. But you were quiet, frozen in place, entranced by golden curls in the moonlight. And he knew it too.

“I’m going to show you everything I’ve learned by watching you,” his head dipped down, smile hanging just above your face, “and show you a few new things I know you’ll love.”

“Hawks,” you breathed out, hands finally moving and finding purchase against his chest. You wanted your tone to sound berating, angry, but instead your voice sounded pleading.

The brush of his lips against yours was so delicate, a penumbra against supple flesh.

“Keigo,” he corrected, the syllables of his name pressing into your lips.

He drank you in with a heavy groan, kissing you like a man starved for touch. You couldn’t close your eyes, too shocked at the sudden intrusion. Just moments ago you were dreaming of a man between your legs, and now one was here, he was real, eyes shut as he moved his lips against yours. Your sight was blurred by forming tears, your vision focused on the black lines that adorned his eyes. They were so beautiful, so stark against his soft skin, a reminder of how truly avian he was; a reminder of his primordial instincts.

The hand on your hip drew your body up into his, fingers now gripping at your ass with bruising strength. Your mouth fell agape at the stinging pain of his roughness, allowing his hot tongue to slip between your lips. You fisted his shirt, trying to push him away, only to be met with lithe muscles straining underneath the fabric. You were reminded that he might be slender, but he was still a trained fighter, the number two hero, and he could do anything he liked to you.

He was brash, eager, desperate to finally touch you. His kiss was sloppy and wet, full of hearty groans as his hips bucked against your own. Your eyes finally shut, mind trying to picture someone else above you, someone who didn’t stalk you, scare you, but yet you could only imagine him. His presence was suffocating, his smell saccharine, the brush of his fluttering wings addictive.

“I knew you kept my feather,” he panted against your lips, his head dipping to your neck where he pressed open mouthed kisses to your beating pulse, “I knew you’d call out for me.”

“Hawks, no, that’s not what I was—”

He forcefully sucked at your neck, the sharp pain silencing you.

“Keigo,” he reprimanded against your skin, “come on, you didn��t miss me? Not even a little?”

“How can I miss you when I know you’re always there?”

He chuckled, sitting back and plucking your hands from their tight grip against his shirt. He held a wrist in each hand, settling them on either side of your face, pinning you down under his strong arms.

“I wanted to write you so many more letters, but I was worried that you’d throw them away.”

“I would have.” You sneered, wiggling in his grip.

“But why? I told you that you’d always be safe with me around, little bird.”

“You’re stalking me, Hawks—”

The grip on your wrists tightened, his thick fingers crushing the delicate bones, a warning.

“I’m watching over you.”

He gradually removed his hands from your wrists, the movement slow, steady, his keen eyes watching to see if you would react. Your skin was throbbing, bones aching from his relentless grasp. You didn’t move.

“And look at how I found you, baby, so desperate for help.”

His fingers pressed between your legs, rubbing against your clothed sex. Pleasure ran through your veins like a shock wave, your legs instinctively closing around his forearm. He sat back on his knees, marveling over how your body reacted to such a simple touch. He moved a little faster, a little harder, middle finger pressed firmly against your slit. He daringly pressed in, the fabric of your underwear keeling at his actions, sinking inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already, is this all for me?”

You could only shake your head no, too stunned to open your mouth to speak. He smirked, running his other hand through his hair, whistling at the vexing sight before him. For so many nights he’d wanted to be right here, in your bed, your thighs spread across his own as he touched you, toyed with you, proved to you that he could please you.

He kept his hand on your pussy, using the other to lift up your shirt, fingers searing across your belly. They kept moving upwards, pushing your shirt away to reveal your breasts. He licked his lips at the sight, fingers itching to pull at your nipples.

“Say the magic word,” his voice was lower now, more sinister, “say it, and I’ll touch you how you like.”

Did you even have a choice?

His hands were perfectly still, like he was a man stopped in time. You blinked at him, once, twice, wondering how something so beautiful could be so nefarious. He looked like a fallen angel, like his feathers had been dipped in blood and he was going to paint you with them. Your heart rate slowed, any adrenaline you had to fight beginning to flush from your veins. Your pussy was aching, the tip of his finger stretching you just enough to make you want more.

“Please.”

His eyes snapped to you, black pupils narrowed.

“A little louder,” he commanded, “and say my name.”

You swallowed, tongue wetting your lips. Your fingers dug into the sheets, still next to your face where he had left them. You were sweating, overcome with the feeling of your naked chest heaving with shaky breaths.

“Please…Keigo.”

The dam broke, sensations flooding over you as he moved freely over your body. Your shirt was gone in an instant, your torso thumping back to the bed before you even realized he had ripped the material over your head. His shirt was gone, too, being shimmied over his wings and tossed into the floor. He was so quick, nimble fingers ridding you of your panties in the blink of an eye. And then he was on you, two fingers sunk deep into your pussy before you could even think to breathe.

You cried out, body arching as he pumped the digits into you at high velocity, your slick walls clenching. You felt his flaxen hair tickle your chest as his warm mouth sucked one of your nipples into the wet cavern, tongue shamelessly flicking over the hardening bud. Fuck, he felt so good, so warm, so real against your body, so much better than your own hands.

His teeth pulled at your nipple, white hot heat surging through your body in response.

“Keigo!” You scolded, but your voice was so high pitched, so laden with lust, that he mistook it for praise.

He continued to nip at your breast, fingers still plunging in and out of your pussy, the sounds lewd to your ears. His pace was wild and excited, making your skin tingle from all the attention. He sucked at your nipple, releasing the bud with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting his flushed lips to your darkening skin. He nuzzled his face to the underside of your breast, leaving you gasping as he sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin, nose pressing into the fleshy mound.

His fingers slowed as he sat back to look over your writhing body. He smirked, curling his fingers just right, pads brushing against the soft, flat place buried deep inside of you.

His free hand encircled your jaw, pursing your lips.

“Watch me, little bird.”

You nodded in his grip, keeping your eyes on his as he came to lay between your thighs. He draped one leg across his shoulder, allowing him to angle his head as he pressed a kiss to your clit. You moaned wantonly, worrying your lip between your teeth as you watched him. He was smiling at you, warm golden eyes hypnotizing you to keep observing. He was ready to put on a show, to let you see how observant he was, how he knew your body like the back of his hand without ever touching you before now.

The way he licked at your clit was intoxicating, little hot swirls with the tip, then heavy strokes with a flat tongue, alternating just how you liked. That sizzling coil inside your belly began to tighten. He was moaning against your wet flesh, the vibrations tingling down your pussy lips. He was enjoying himself, savoring you like an expensive meal he’d waited ages to try. His fingers kept in pace with his mouth, stroking you just right, strumming you like the devil would his fiddle within his hands.

He then employed a trick he learned from watching you. With his other hand, he spread your labia, exposing your sensitive clit even more to his hungry mouth. You shivered at the onslaught of pleasure, body so hot you felt like you could burst into flames, melt into the bed, die a little death. You whimpered, still wholly spellbound by the vision between your legs. Hawks’ wings seemed to shutter with every moan you made, the red plumage highly attuned to every sound, every move of your body.

Every touch, every lick, was so sinful and wicked. You tried to remind yourself that you didn’t want this, that Hawks was dangerous, that he had stalked you for weeks and could only tempt you so expertly because he watched you through your windows. But he was so beautiful, so devilishly divine between your legs, hot tongue swirling figure eights against your clit, fingers beckoning you to come undone.

“You like this.” He said it between long licks, fingers beginning a new, more ruthless pace inside of you.

A string of curses left your lips, your thighs beginning to quiver against his shoulders.

“No, no, please no,” you said the words to yourself, the pleasure he was creating becoming unbearable between your legs. He continued to lap against your folds, fingers spreading you wider, keeping you open and unprotected for him. He knew you were close, could feel your walls tightening. He added a third finger just to be cruel, to watch you shrink against the sheets as your back arched for him.

“Cum on my face, baby, I know you’ve thought about it before.”

To your shame, you absolutely shattered around him at his words, your pussy spasming, your orgasm flooding all of your senses. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you were blissfully pinned down by his feathers, asphyxiated by his overbearing presence within your room, within your body. He stopped his ministrations, electing to watch you unfold for him from between your legs, eyes brighter than ever before. He could see the muscles within your lower stomach contracting, could feel your orgasm upon his fingers, slick coating them in gentle waves, all for him. The sight was more glorious than he ever imagined, the girl of his dreams cumming all over his fingers, all over his mouth, your sweetness flooding over him.

He didn’t allow you time to breath, time to bask in the afterglow of your orgasm. He quickly pulled you into his arms, sitting you in his lap, greedily kissing your lips.

“Keigo,” you whined, pressing against his chest, trying to find a moment to breathe.

“Fuck, I love the way you say my name,” his lips were relentless, seeking yours out every time you broke away, head following you like a moth would a flame, “keep saying it, baby.”

“Keigo, get out.” You growled, threading your fingers through his hair and jerking his head away. You kept him at bay, keeping a steady pull on his blonde locks.

“Oh no, I’m not done with you.”

His eyes were so dark, his cock so hard between your dripping legs.

He was the devil, Lucifer himself, the wayward angel staring at you, waiting to devour you. And you, you summoned him.

There was no incantation that could contain him or send him away. His arms tightened around your back, one hand pulling you into him by your shoulder, the other hastily pulling himself from his pants.

“See what you do to me, little bird,” he took your hand and wrapped it around his cock, big hand using your smaller one to stroke his length, “I’m always so hard for you.”

You couldn’t help the shameless moan that tumbled from your mouth. His cock was silky smooth against your fingers, throbbing and hot, far too hot, and slick from his own pre-cum. You didn’t protest as he used your palm for his pleasure, a sly grin upon his cheeks as he felt you become complacent in his lap.

“Haw—”

The hand on your shoulder was swiftly upon your face, two fingers that tasted like your pussy invading your mouth to silence you.

“When you’re with me, you call me by my name.”

You nodded softly, eyes shifting across the planes of his face, attempting to read his serious expression. He continued to run your hand upon his length, guiding you to squeeze his swollen tip, thumb petting the underside of his cock. His thumb hooked in your cheek, not so gently tugging at the elastic flesh, studying how you let him touch you. He skated his fingers across your tongue, hoping to feel the wet muscle react to him.

“Keigo,” you mumbled against his fingers, the sound like manna from heaven to his ears.

“Good girl,” he cooed, feathers ruffling as he pushed you back onto the pillows.

You laid before him again, limbs heavy and with the ghost of his fingers still in your open mouth. He looked like a god as he towered above you, wings spreading wide as if to parade their otherworldly beauty before you.

Then you felt the weight of his hips between your legs, the press of his chest against your own, the prickle of his facial hair against your neck as he settled himself there. His hands were on you again, precipitous and heedless against your curves, twisting and pulling at your flesh to bend one leg back, hook the other around his waist.

His cock nudged at your wet heat, one of his hands guiding him inside of you, the stretch simultaneously delightful and dreadful. Protest was on your tongue, you could taste the words, feel your gut instinct to use your curled leg to kick him away. But your arms welcomed him, encircling his shoulders as you moaned for him. Your head tipped back against the pillow and he took the opportunity to latch on to you again. His tongue lapped at the sore spot he had created earlier with his mouth, tasting the saltiness of sweat upon your skin.

“You feel so good around my cock,” he groaned, hips beginning to snap into you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, his feathers brushing against your knuckles as he moved within you. You felt so full, so entirely encompassed by him, enraptured by the sweetest devil.

All your movements felt coerced, like your body was following his lead against your will. Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

You kept your eyes open for a moment, entranced by the exquisite scene above you. Keigo felt unhinged, electric against you, golden curls bouncing upon his head, red feathers dancing upon his back. But his face was smooth, pretty, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body. One of your hands trailed up to the back of his neck, weaving within his hair. His eyes fluttered open to see you, signature grin returning as he felt your touch, his hips rocking a little harder to reward you.

“Tell me how it feels to have me inside of you.”

You closed your eyes then, focusing on how effortlessly his cock glided within you. Each thrust was hasty and rough, skin slapping against skin as his cock buried itself deep within your gut. He curved just perfectly inside you, cockhead delightfully brushing against the sensitive flesh of your walls with every plunge of his hips. His hands were splayed across your hips, one dangerously close to your clit, as if teasing you.

“Fuck,” you hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly, “you feel so good.”

A bawdy sound left his throat at your words, like he’d died upon hearing them.

One of his hands slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, leg tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted.

“That’s right, little bird, I’m going to make you cum on my cock.”

Your breasts were bouncing against his chest, your nails leaving indents upon his skin, his mouth back to sucking at your neck.

“And then I’m going to cum in you, make you mine.”

You were too lost to care, every nerve under your skin desperate for his touch. His thumb glided wickedly against your clit, fanning the hellish flames of your ecstasy even hotter and higher than before. A shriek of pleasure erupted from your chest, the hand upon his head bringing him closer to you, crashing your lips together as tears gleamed in your lashes. His cock was hammering into you so ruthlessly, your clit feeling abused from his too-quick thumb.

You were coming undone too quickly and too soon, your body feeling like threads being ripped apart at the seams. He grunted into your mouth, your tongue finally coming to play against his own, battling against him as you wrestled within yourself not to cum for him again so soon. But every stroke of his cock brought a fresh burst of pleasure blooming across your body, and you were so close, so fucking close to falling off the edge.

“Say my name,” he demanded against your lips, “say my name when you cum.”

There was no reason for you to comply, you weren’t his, he didn’t own you, but everything inside of you ached to appease him, and your mouth moved on its own accord.

“K-Keigo,” you stumbled, feeling yourself climbing the orgasmic ladder, every harsh thrust of cock leading you up another rung. His arm wrapped around your back, pressing you up against him in a hectic embrace. Your face settled against his shoulder, your fingers tightening in his hair, the others drawing blood upon his back. He only purred at the pain, so determined to bring you to release that he paid it no mind. His thumb rubbed tirelessly at your swollen clit, moving it in harmony with his cock.

Suddenly your moans stopped, the air being knocked from your lungs as pure ecstasy approached again.

And then the world felt too quiet, your mind hazing over as you cried out in melodic moans, your inner walls clenching and unclenching so deliciously tight against his thick cock as you came for him. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, still plunging into your depths as he sought his own release. Your fingers relaxed against his skin, feeling like you were sinking and he was the only thing keeping you safe from the fall.

“Keigo,” it was a whisper, the barest hint of sound against his ear. But he felt, heard it, and it had him tumbling over the orgasmic edge with a roar of your name. Hot ropes of cum filled your body, his hard cock twitching against your walls.

“Fuck you’re mine, all mine.”

He murmured it against your hair, both arms now wrapping around your body. You laid there, motionless in his arms, heart pounding within your ear drums. Reality came crashing down far slower than your orgasm had, but still the consequences of your actions felt weightier against your body than the man above you.

He fell to his side next to you. But he wasn’t gone, far from it, as his hands were back on your body. One trailed across your cheek, the other dabbled between your legs, toying with his cum that leaked from within you.

He smirked, eyes catching yours, “and now you’re mine, my perfect little bird.”

You were too tired to fight back, lids heavy as he held you against his warmth, the fierce wings of an invasive species draped across your naked flesh.

#hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x you #keigo takami x reader #keigo tamaki #my hero academia #bnha #collab #hawks smut #yandere hawks #yandere #yandere keigo takami

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mythicamagic · 3 years

Note

“Call it a truce”

(For the prompt if you’d like)

They'd crossed paths eight times now inside the godforsaken maze. Naraku had placed them under some sort of spell- Kagome wasn’t totally sure if her friends were also somewhere inside. It had all happened way too quickly. One second she’d been fighting alongside her comrades- the next, waking up inside a bizarre hellscape.

Sadly the only person she’d seen thus far was Sesshoumaru of all demons. When they’d first bumped into each other- blue and gold had narrowed- both quickly turning in the opposite directions.

Gradually, however, time wore on. A continuous mist obscured every corner of the black maze, its towering walls strangled by twisting, thorny vines. Red skies hung overhead, a barrier likely preventing Sesshoumaru from flying upwards, otherwise he would've escaped by now.

Kagome had just one arrow and one weathered bow. No food, and no water. Just the clothes on her back and strung out nerves, wits starting to fray at the edges. Her footsteps sounded too loud in the empty space. The mist kept rolling, making her paranoid- imagining salivating demons and evil spirits haunting her steps.

Am I going to die in here?

Gritting blunt teeth, Kagome let out a frustrated noise- wrapping her hands around the nearest thorny vines and letting reiki burst free from her fingertips. Maybe she could just blast her way through the wall. Pink light glowed like a signal flare, shimmering and giving her a brief taste of renewed hope.

“It will not work.”

She frowned, registering Sesshoumaru’s acerbic tone. Just as he’d said, when her holy light died, the thorns remained.

Kagome glanced over her shoulder, finding him closer than expected. She shifted warily to maintain some distance. They’d refrained from talking so far during their encounters in the maze. This was unexpected. And worrying. If Sesshoumaru was out of options, things were dire.

“Flying is a no go, I’m guessing?"

He stiffly nodded in response, head tilting back to gaze hatefully at the high walls. Kagome shivered, wrapping both arms around herself. “Damn it. I have no idea what to do. I can sense Naraku’s youki but it's everywhere so there's no chance of pinpointing him. It’s soaked into the air like gasoline."

"I am also unable to locate the wretch."

Kagome blinked, glad he was reciprocating conversation.

"We're locked in a spell or under a curse, I’ve got no doubt about that. I just don’t know if these are our real bodies or not…”

Were they trapped somewhere mentally? Caged like birds?

Sesshoumaru levelled a look down to her hands, gesturing with a claw. “The cuts do not hurt?”

Kagome blinked, flexing her fingers. She hadn’t even realised they’d been pricked by the thorns. “N-no.”

“Then it appears he has either somehow trapped us within a space that has absorbed our conscious minds or put us in an area that dulls the senses. Perhaps a keeper box of some kind," Sesshoumaru said easily, as though he did this all the time.

Kagome’s heart pumped at a dizzying speed. Keeper box. She'd been in one of those before. The face of sage Tokajin came to mind. “Crap,” she whispered.

"Unpleasant memories, miko?" a lofty, entertained tone brushed her hearing.

Kagome sneered half-heartedly, "it's nothing."

Sesshoumaru's eyes glowed, smiling. As if he could see right through her. "Hn."

“We gotta get out of here," she said dismissively. "Since this is Naraku we’re dealing with- I doubt just finding the centre of this maze will let us get outta here and break the curse, and knowing him there’s no exit.”

“Hn, and yet I can think of nothing else after trying everything."

Kagome gave him a sweeping glance over, swallowing. She hadn’t seen him since he’d nearly killed Kohaku- still thankful he’d released the mind controlled boy.

They were still technically enemies despite a shared goal of killing Naraku.

Steeling herself, Kagome took a breath. She then boldly stuck a hand out towards him. “Let’s work together. We haven’t got much choice. Call it a truce.”

Silence.

Kagome chanced a look at his face.

Sesshoumaru merely stared at the offered hand unblinkingly. Kagome giggled weakly. “A-ah, you shake it. It’s an ‘across the seas’ type of gesture to show we’re sealing a deal.”

Interest livened his animalistic gaze. He briefly seemed considering, perhaps wondering about her origins. Long fingers unfurled from his palm, clasping her hand strongly. The shock of skin to skin contact and sharp claws nearly jerked Kagome enough to rip her hand free. She forced herself to stay still, feeling a surge of something shoot down to her toes.

He was warmer than expected. It surprised her that callouses roughened his palm, likely from years of swordplay. She'd always figured he was too inhumanly perfect to have such a thing. Sesshoumaru blinked slowly, remaining locked in a stare. For a moment, Kagome dumbly admired his pretty white lashes.

She caught herself staring and briskly shook his hand, prying her fingers free before gesturing to several pathways, cheeks red. “S-so which way?”

Mokomoko’s soft fur caressed the bare flesh of her lower thigh in passing as Sesshoumaru stepped towards one. “I have yet to take this path. Stay close, troublesome miko," he threw over one shoulder. "I will not slow down for you.”

“Please don’t. You walk slow enough as it is,” Kagome griped, following.

---

Demons began littering the narrow, claustrophobic spaces within the maze. Kagome had to duck and weave around Sesshoumaru as he killed them with acid or fierce swipes of his claws. It forced them to get up close and personal, occasionally plastering miko and Daiyoukai together.

His scent wafted into her unwilling nose more than once- masculine and sharp, reminding her of thunderstorms. Since she couldn’t use her reiki with much finesse yet and the close quarters put her archery skills at a disadvantage, Kagome tried her best to be helpful.

“Behind you!” she’d yell, ducking under his arm before grasping his sleeve. “On your right!”

Sesshoumaru dispatched enemies without argument or complaint, calmly moving on once they lay dead.

As time dragged on, Kagome’s legs began to ache from the endless walking. Her stomach grumbled near constantly. Her limbs and body were becoming weak.

She didn’t breathe a word about it- though noticed Sesshoumaru’s lingering attention. Turning a corner, she stumbled, an arm catching her around the waist, steadying.

Kagome’s belly fluttered, and she quickly straightened. “Thanks.”

“Hn.”

They book occasional breaks, but respite was near impossible with the continued droves of enemies. After what she could only guess to be at least 17 hours- though it felt like days, they finally arrived at the centre of the maze. Exhausted, Kagome kept a hand buried within mokomoko to keep her upright, leaning against the stability he offered. They’d shed a lot of restraint about touch around hour 9 of their journey.

As first suspected however, there was nothing in the middle of the maze. Just a plain space with a single fountain. They hadn’t come across a single exit either.

Kagome’s knees quivered a little, “d-do you have a plan B?” she rasped, throat dry. What she wouldn’t give for some water.

Sesshoumaru stared grimly ahead, slowly lowering his calm attention to her. If she could hazard a guess, he was likely thinking he could survive. He’d weather the storm of hunger and dehydration much longer than she.

“I suspect the reason Naraku lingers is because he predicted I would kill you,” his velvety voice was completely at odds with his words.

Kagome stiffened, leaning slightly away from the warmth of luxurious furs. “...That would make sense,” the admission slipped out, “he’s a sadistic prick. He’s probably watching us right now, getting his kicks from seeing us struggle.”

Sesshoumaru turned to her, lifting a clawed hand. The sharp points gleamed. They could tear through her supple flesh and bones with ease. Kagome had witnessed it enough times to know.

Rendered completely exhausted though, she had little room left for fear. She stared at him blandly, falling quiet.

He arched a brow, resting those deadly claws against her flushed skin, gradually unfurling to hold her neck. “You will not resist?”

“I’ve never taken you to be the kinda guy who would take the easy way out,” Kagome muttered, raising her chin. “Am I wrong?”

Was it her imagination or did his pupils dilate a touch?

She shivered, feeling the pads of his fingers drag against the nape of her delicate neck, thumb resting at her throat.

“No,” he rumbled softly, gripping tighter and drawing her in closer. “But since we have an audience, miko,” his voice lowered, “let us give him a show.”

Blue eyes widened- seconds before lips crashed to hers. Kagome gasped- and a sinuous tongue took advantage, shoving inside to plunder her mouth. Sensation slammed into her gut. Suddenly she was immediately aware of everything. The warmth of his palm, the dry rub of his callouses along her neck. The goosebumps rising on her flesh. How his tongue skilfully played, twined and slid against her own- and she found herself responding.

His lips were hot and quick across her own, firm and yielding and then parting to meet her tongue with his anew. Kagome’s breath shuddered. Her entire body thrummed. She found herself touching the fine, soft locks of silver hair behind his ear, strands running through her fingers like water. Their mouths broke apart, and Kagome could only give a breathy gasp as he sucked along the bent arch of her throat.

“Behind me, to the left,” he whispered, kissing her flesh bruisingly hard.

“I know,” she panted.

It happened quickly. They moved in sync- Kagome reaching for her bow and nocking her single arrow while Sesshoumaru turned, angling her to fire at the faint ripple in the sky they’d both sensed the second they’d kissed.

While the blazing firework of pure holy energy streaked into the air, the Daiyoukai followed its progress, flying with Kagome in tow. She held on around his shoulders, praying with all her might it would break through.

Her arrow pierced the demonic barrier- shattering the weak spot immediately. Sesshoumaru broke through, leaving the world of red skies and unsolvable mazes behind.

---

Kagome sucked in a gasping, strangled breath, shooting upright.

“Kagome! She’s awake, guys!”

Putting a hand to her head, she looked to her side- only to be greeted with the sight of Sesshoumaru sitting up from the ground, both of them having been sprawled out. Around them, battle raged. Inuyasha was fighting diligently, swiping madly at continuous rounds of regenerating tentacles.

Miroku and Sango seemed to be on guard duty, having been defending their unconscious bodies. Shippo immediately buried his face in Kagome’s arm, holding onto her. “You’ve been asleep for a good hour after you were both hit by that attack! Naraku kept trying to kill you! Ah- I’m so glad you’re safe!”

Kagome comforted him with a few gentle pats upon his head, murmuring softly. The shifting of weight caught her attention, and she watched as Sesshoumaru stood. He sneered softly to himself, “I do not know why you saw fit to protect this one, but I did not need your aid, humans.”

“I told ya!” Inuyasha shouted from somewhere in the distance.

“We couldn’t let you be absorbed by Naraku or he’d be even more formidable,” Sango griped.

“What my friends mean to say is- you’re welcome, Lord Sesshoumaru,” Miroku amiably smoothed over the situation.

Sesshoumaru grunted, securing his swords in place. Then, slowly, his eyes lowered.

Kagome exhaled a shuddering breath. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, cheeks burning with all the voracity of a fever, chest light and heavy all at once. Sesshoumaru’s gaze fell to the subtle parting of her mouth, before looking her in the eye for just one more lingering moment. He then moved out from behind the protection Sango and Miroku offered, racing headfirst into battle.

He just did it to break the spell, that’s all.

He’d kissed her to help flush out a weak spot from their enemy, which had opened from Naraku's shock- having lost brief control of the spell. Thinking about it as anything more than that would be foolish.

Shaking herself, Kagome followed suit. She grabbed her bow and nocked an arrow, pushing down all confused thoughts and sensations that Sesshoumaru’s wicked mouth had elicited- entering the fray alongside her friends.

#sesskag #sesshoumaru x kagome #sesskag fanfiction #sesshoumaru #kagome higurashi

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ur-riddikulus · 3 years

Text

Fear and Cuddles (Thor Odinson)

Pairing: Thor x Y/N.

Summary: You are afraid of storms and go into Thor’s room one night because he calms you down. Then he figures out and forces you to admit this to him.

Warnings: Just pure fluff and the obviousness of them loving each other and needing to get together. This may suck but honestly it’s just meant to be a short cute story.

As another roll of thunder shook the compound, you buried yourself under more covers. You were shaking in fear, the lightning flashing across the sky.

It was probably around 2 or 3 am, but honestly you didn’t know. Fear was weird, making the hours start to blend together at this point. But it could have also just been exhaustion. You hadn’t been able to sleep all night, too afraid to from the raging storm outside.

Screw this, I’m an Avenger for God’s sake, I can deal with one storm. You thought to yourself, but that confidence immediately left when moments later, another round of lightning streaked across the sky.

Everyone was probably calmly asleep, with not a care in the world. You have never been more envious of your team mates. You were so, so tired and had a long day tomorrow, but sleep wasn’t even an option with your anxiety through the roof all night.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you were having a stroke. Maybe I’m dying? You thought. At least it would take you out of your misery. After all, you can’t be scared when you’re dead. But even you were not that lucky, you supposed.

You had been battling yourself since the storm had started. Should you go to Thor’s room or not? You haven’t because it was so embarrassing, what adult was terrified of storms? But you had been friends for years, and he was just across the halls. He helped you through everything and you were too scared to be alone right now.

“No, I am not a child. I’ll be fine right here.” You promised yourself for the umpteenth time. You were resolved, you weren’t going to run into his room and bother him with something as dumb as your ridiculous fear of storms.

But when you heard wind rattling the trees in the night and huge bolts lightning light up the night sky, you were a goner. So, being the coward you were, you finally had enough. You ran out of the room, your shaking legs taking you quickly across the hall and outside the door of Thor’s room. You knocked, just to be polite, but when you heard nothing you just assumed he was sleeping. So you just quietly opened the door, tiptoed over to his bed, and crawled into it beside him.

He was snoring, loudly and deeply. If you weren’t terrified of waking him up and of course, the raging storm outside, you probably would have laughed.

You were crawling into bed very slowly, pausing whenever he would shift or a break would come in his snoring. When you were finally tucked into his bed, beside him, you were enveloped in his smell. Pine tree, the smell of rain, and a scent that was just...Thor. You breathed it in deep, the mix of it all making you feel safe and protected from the violent storm outside.

Your fear soon started washing washing away and you could feel your eyes suddenly start to droop when he moved, turning in your direction. You immediately held still, careful to not move in order to not possibly wake up the god.

He snuggled into you, holding you close and putting an arm around you. Then, his deep snores started once more. As awkward as this position was, it relaxed you even more. Thor was simply your best friend, nothing more. But you couldn’t help but be secretly glad that he was in this close, intimate position with you.

You ignored the fluttering of your heart, guessing that it was just all the anxiety you had been through that night. You leaned in and cuddled with him as well. Moments later, thunder shook the compound the loudest it had all night, but you didn’t care. You were finally calm and sleeping, a faint smile on your face as you were tucked in next to the Avenger.

You heard noises before you opened your eyes the next morning. It sounded like a shower was being turned on. You ignored it and decided to go back to bed, snuggling back into the comfy covers. Then, before you drifted back to sleep, you noticed it. Thor’s scent was all over these covers. It made no sense, none at all. That was, until you remembered last nights events. The big storm, your fear, you sneaking in and cuddling with Thor.

You shot up, cheeks blazing from embarrassment. How were you going to explain this to him? The bed was empty beside you, so you knew he was in the shower. He had to see you this morning, you were hugging him like a giant teddy bear for God’s sake.

You didn’t want anyone to know of your fear. Why would you? The rest of the Avengers went through hell and back and lived to tell the tale. They feared nothing. While you turned into a statue if you heard one roll of thunder. There was no way to get out of this. And you definitely couldn’t face him, what were you going to say? “Sorry, I am a huge baby and crawled into your bed last night because of a storm, then you cuddled me and I loved it and haven’t slept that good in years?” No, absolutely no way. You didn’t need to add even more embarrassment onto this already huge list of things to be embarrassed about.

You looked at the door, wishing you could somehow magically teleport back into your room, where you were supposed to be. Maybe your friendship could survive this, of course considering that he even wanted to be friends with you after this, the girl who crawled into bed with him at 2 am without his consent. You could just ignore it, never talk about it, and with time, maybe it will be back to normal.

You were about to run to the door when you heard the shower stop running and Thor get out of it. The bathroom door was open, and soon you saw him saunter out of it with a towel wrapped about his waist, water droplets still streaming down his chest and v-line.

Your eyes immediately opened wide at that sight. No wonder he’s a god. He was the hottest, most attractive man you’ve ever seen. Of course, as close friends you saw him shirtless sometimes, and you always thought he was attractive (I mean, you would have to be blind to not see it) but it never made you feel this...starstruck before. He was turned around, going through his dresser for clothes. So, you did the only thing you could think of it that moment.

You leaned back down and faked being asleep.

Sure, it was a coward’s move. But your pride was long gone. You already knew you were a coward last night when you crawled into bed with him.

He finished going through his clothes, picking them out and you could hear the fabric rustling so you assumed he was getting dressed. Once the sound stopped, you felt his gaze harden on you. You had to fight the urge to not move while feigning sleep, but knowing that he was staring at you was making it pretty hard.

You felt the bed dip down under his weight as he got on it beside you and snuggled right back into you like the way you were together last night.

He moved your hair behind your ear and put his lips right next to your ear. You had to fight yourself to not give him more access to your neck, which was ridiculous. Why were you being so weird around Thor lately?

You felt him breath on your ear. “I know you're awake, Y/N.” Thor said in a singsongy voice.

Your heart dropped. How were you going to explain this? In your head, you knew that Thor was a kind and understanding person, but that didn’t mean you wanted to admit that you, someone whose literally job it is to face villains, couldn’t face a storm. You just didn’t want to get laughed at.

You sighed and opened your eyes. “Surprise?” You said. Maybe you could joke your way out of this mess. He loved jokes, and you knew that his big heart would trust that you weren’t lying to him.

He smiled his trademark dazzling smile and you automatically felt more comfortable, as you always felt when you were around him. You weren’t thinking about the situation you just got yourself into, all you could think of was, “Why wasn’t Thor the god of beauty? He certainly fits the job description.”

“Uh...thank you?” He said with a little laugh and a confused look on his face.

“Oh shit...did I just say that out loud?” You’re cheeks grew red and you started to hate yourself so much for how embarrassing you are

“Maybe, but I find it very endearing.” Thor replied, still smiling.

You had to clear your head, but whenever you were around him recently, you couldn’t. You shook your head quickly to try to gain any brain cells you had left. When you looked back up you saw Thor looking at you thoughtfully.

“So, not that I didn’t love sharing a bed with you, Y/n, but why were you in my bed last night? I wasn’t aware we had scheduled what you mortals call a ‘sleep over’.”

You swallowed thickly, quickly going in between answers to this question in your head. Should you say that you were possessed and woke up here? That you were just wanting to snuggle with your best friend for the night? You audibly sigh, you never were a good liar.

“Are you okay,Y/N?” You looked up at him and his worried expression. Thor was the kindest person you had ever met, and he never failed to make your day better. He didn’t deserve to be told a lie from his best friend. Especially when you know how much he hates lies, understandably because he was told them all the time from Loki, his mischievous younger brother.

This was it. Were you going to lie and keep your fear to yourself? Or tell the truth and possibly bear the humiliation?

“Thor, I came into your room last night because I was scared. I’m afraid of storms and you always calm me down so I went in here to feel better. I’m so, so, so sorry. Really, it was-”

He cut you off by putting a finger up and saying, “Wait...you came into my room because you were scared?

“Uh...yeah?” “I calm you down and make you feel better, really?

Okay, not the way you thought this conversation was going to go at all, but at least he wasn’t focusing on your embarrassing fear.

“Yeah, of course you do. Are you not mad or something?” You asked. Why was he caring about that?

After saying that, then he looked at you like you were an idiot. “Why would I be mad? That’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And many people have something to be afraid of, me included.”

You smile at Thor, just relieved that he was such a kind person. You had nothing to be nervous about, he would always be there for you. You were curious about him mentioning that he has a fear but then just decided that was a conversation for another time.

“Thor, you are the sweetest person alive, I hope you know that.”

You both smiled and enjoyed each other’s presence. You were so grateful for such a great person in your life.

Thor yawned before saying, “You know, I was going to work out but seeing you so comfy in bed makes me want to go back to bed. Want to sleep in?”

You give Thor a look. “Only if you make me waffles when we wake up.”

He rolled his eyes. “You humans and your weird breakfasts.”

You laughed and scooted over on the bed to make room for Thor. He got more comfortable and you moved back to cuddle with him almost immediately without even having to think about it, it was just instinct for you now.

You soon went to bed but before you fell back into deep sleep, you barely heard the comforting voice of Thor say, “I love you, Y/N.” before finally dozing off. Loud thunder could be heard once more in the room but you didn't care. You were finally cozy and cuddling with your favorite Avenger, his presence keeping the fear at bay.

#thor #thor x reader #thor x y/n #thor x you #avengers #the avengers #marvel #mcu #thor odinson #thor fanfiction #fluff #thor fluff #cute #one bed #love #friends to lovers #chris hemsworth #hope this doesn't suck

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heavenfordoms · 3 years

Text

”Innocent“ Hug (Deku x fem! Reader):

Pairing(s): Deku x reader

Warning(s): 18+ minors DNI, cussing, manga spoilers, riding, death, semi-public sex, eating out

Genera: angst to fluff to smut

A/N: wait this was actually fun and easy to write for me wtf

Fandom: My hero academia (boku no hero academia)

Glossary:

Y/n = your name

Summery: Bakugou looses his life in battle and y/n goes to comfort Deku, soon Deku ends up forgetting about Bakugou as y/n rides him

You sucked in a breath, holding it for a while as you stared at the villain in front of you. You where crouched down low so you knew that he couldn’t see you. But you sure saw him. Your quirk was called memory, you could memorize anything that you wanted. The downside to this quirk is that while your mind was full of knowledge your body was weak so it was no good for battle-training, another bad thing (or more annoying then anything) is that we can’t forget it, ever, even if you wanted to. You remember every single detail of your life and every single thing that has happened to this point in grave detail. Not like you wanted to remember it, but you felt so worthless that it was almost blood to memorize everything. Like how there where five street lamps outside the bar. They where dimly lit and flickered every five second, each one after the other. The one on the very right was the first to flicker then it would go all the way to the left. Sometimes the one in the very middle would shut off at random times as the other lamps brightly shone in the night-sky.

“Could you stop mumbling?!” Katsuki whisper-yelled at you. You slightly cringed at the blonde male’s words before nodding your head in a form of acceptance (for some reason people saw that as acceptance so you did as well).

Katsuki is a young man of average height for somebody his age, with a slim, muscular build, and a fair skin tone. He has short, spiky, ash-blond hair with choppy bangs that hang over his eyebrows. His eyes are sharp and bright red in color. His hero costume is composed of a tight, black, sleeveless tank top, with an orange "X" across the middle, forming a v-neck. There are two dots along the left line of his collar, indicating the support company that designed his costume. His costume also has a metallic neck brace worn with rectangular ends that have three holes on each side. His sleeves reach from within his large grenade-like gauntlets to his biceps. His belt, which also carries grenades, holds up his baggy pants with knee guards, below which he sports black, knee-high combat boots with orange soles and eyelets. His mask is jagged and black, and as it goes around his eyes, a large, orange-rimmed flare shape protrudes from each side.

You focused your eyes off of Kastsuki and onto Dabi, the villain who was standing guard outside the bar. Dabi is a fairly tall, pale young man of a slim, somewhat-lanky build, described to be in his early twenties. He has white hair with a few red streaks at the crown that spikes upward around his head, hanging low over his eyes, which are thin, turquoise in color, and heavily lidded. Before the reveal of his true identity, his hair was dyed black. His most striking features are undoubtedly the patches of gnarled, wrinkled, purple skin that cover much of his lower face and neck, all the way down past his collarbone, below his eyes and on his arms and legs due to him having a quirk at a early age and not knowing how to control it. These appear to be attached to the rest of his skin by multiple, crude surgical staples or hoop piercings. He has several silver cartilage piercings in both ears, and a triple nostril piercing on the right side of his nose. He also seems to be lacking earlobes on both sides of his ears upon close inspection, he wears a dark blue jacket with a high, ripped collar, and matching pants, cut off above his ankles, a pair of dark dress shoes on his feet. He also has a plain pale gray, scoop-neck shirt, below which a gray belt with a circular pattern wraps around his waist, a leather satchel attached at the back.

Nobody knew his real name, until now, Dabi had revealed himself as Touya Todoroki. Everyone now calls him Touya but it never settled right in your gut to call him that. His name was Dabi to you and it will always be Dabi. It didn’t matter if he did a big entry and say that he is part of the Todoroki’s Dabi didn’t seem like them. The Todoroki’s where a strict family with ruled set in place. Endeavor, now the number one hero, had tried to welcome his family with more open arms. You could tell that Dabi’s opening was not out of grief for his family but instead out of spite. Like saying to Endeavor that he needs to take a chill pill with this whole anime redemption arc thing that he has going on for himself (and you didn’t quiet disagree with the oriole scarred man either).

You often thought of life like a anime, it was easier to explain. If somebodies life was broken they just ended up in the wrong anime. It also helped reminded you that every villain has a backstory. You never got to see their perspective in things. You never got to see what happened to the villains after they got defeated. Nope. You never got to see that, maybe if people saw the villain’s side. Everyone would hate the hero‘s and build their own path just as villains do. They make a path that no one has ever gone on, slowly making it a dirt road and them turning it again into an actual road that everyone can go on. Villains never got the roadwork. Hero’s probably always destroy it.

“So what’s the plan?” You leaned in close to Katsuki and whispered in his ear, Kastuki tensed up next to you and sucked in a breath before looking at you through pointy eyes.

”I will distract scar-man while you go and get Deku from the bar.” Kastuki explained, you nodded your head ‘yes’ before you pointing in the direction you where going to go. Kastuki grunted to himself as he crawled slowly in the opposite direction. Sending explosion at Dabi’s face before ducking behind a large wooden tool-box that had the words ”Back Bend Inc” on it in Ariel black font. Although it had been there for so long that the black ink looked to be a dark smoky gray. You quietly padded off into the opposite direction, your head ducked and eyes darting every five seconds to catch every detail around you.

Silently, you slipped into the bar. There was a wooden plank that held up the first stand, it looked to be pretty normal from here. There was dark wine stands that had a light brown color to them. The walls where colored with a sand tan. Over by the bar there was stacks and stacks of different liquor that people could have. Above was the general black chalkboard menu, there was smeared blue chalk that said “SPECIAL: Burbon” the strong smell of liquor and whisky hung in the air. There was a cigarette hanging off the ledge, still lit and everything. It looked pretty normal, but there was a slight piece of the cigarette where it was unwrapped and that told you enough to not say ’fuck it’ and have a smoke break. Turning your head slowly you walked up to Kurogiri. Information began flooding in your head about the villains and the bar. Unluckily for you everyone noticed the smartness you had and quickly found out your quirk. They began to flood your Brian with information. Information that a kid didn’t want to hear. You heard everything when you where just in High School. Now, everyone hated your quirk, everyone fucking hated it. The people who raised you said that you where a monster and that they didn’t know you anymore. But the sad part was you didnt do anything wrong. After hours of racking through your mind you couldn’t find a single moment where you did something bad. “I need to see Tomura.” You stared blankly at the mist villain. Kurogiri's entire body is made out of a dark purple mist, save for his eyes, which are glowing yellow. He normally wears a very elegant suit with a tie and has a metal brace that goes from around his collarbone to just below his eyes. It was pretty simple description of the villain, but there wasn’t much to him.

“Now?“ The male inquired, a hint of annoyance traced his smooth and calming voice. His voice sounded a lot like a gently sea softly rippling in the waves. But in actuality he was more like a thundering storm as the large ocean waves crashed harshly against large dark-gray-almost-black rocks.

“Yes, it is important.” You answered, putting a fake smile across your face. You still heard the faint sound of explosions from Katsuki and knew that you didn’t have a lot of time. Katsuki only could hold off for fifteen minutes before he went full on battle mood. And the villains would definitely think at something is up. Kurogiri hummed thoughtfully before nodding his head in agreement and holding out his purple misted hand.

”Come on dear…” The man whispered soothingly and smiling up and down at you.

“Thanks!” You chirped getting up and going behind the bar, following the villain down the stairs that creaked underneath your feet.

“BOSS!! Somebody wanted you!!” Kurogiri called, you took a deep breath before flinching as you looked into the villains base.

It was the same red bricks that seemed to be different colors every brick that was placed down to make the wall of the bar. There was smooth fake wood counter with clean royal red plush bar stools with the smallest backs on them. There was a few hero posters scattered around the base, one medium sized All Might poster hung to the right of a small screen TV. The dull gray light picketed on and off as the headlights didn’t provide much protection against the dark loom of everything. Different types of bottles hung on narrowed shelves behind the bar. Right next to the bar was a metal door, the window had cages around it and a long shiny knob that went down the left side. To the right of the door was a old faction radio station with LED lights surrounding it. It was currently playing Take Me to Church, apparently just starting to play it seeing how the introduction was still on. You narrowed your eyes before leaning against the red brick wall and giving everyone a swept gaze. All of the villains names that where forced to memorize came to your head all of a sudden.

Himiko Toga was standing in the farthest left, spinning in the red barstools.

Himiko is a relatively petite, fair-skinned girl who is very prone to blushing and is frequently described as to having a rather pretty face. She has slightly inward-tilting bright yellow eyes with thin slits, making them somewhat resemble those of a cat, and her wide mouth is also rather feline, as both her upper and lower canines are more pointed and longer than the rest of her teeth, giving her a vampire-like appearance. Her hair is a pale, dirty ash-blonde and is styled into two messy buns, with numerous wild strands sticking out at all angles from their centers and where they’re fastened, a straight fringe and two chin-length side bangs to frame her face. Himiko’s outfit consist of a plain seifuku with a Kansai collar, both the skirt and the shirt dark blue with a double white trim, which is paired with a red scarf that she ties loosely below. Over this, she wears an oversized beige cardigan with a rather long hem and cuffs, and pockets on either side, the right one shown to hold a number of trinkets on either a keychain or a cellphone strap. She sports knee-length black socks and dark brown dress shoes with thick heels, the same as the outdoor uniform shoes students traditionally wear in Japanese schools.

Tomura was standing next to Himiko, a bored expression clouding his features.

Tomura is a slim man with deathly pale skin, tinged yellow, and wrinkled a great deal around his eyes. His lips are chapped and uneven, a small mole on the right underneath, with visible scars on his right eye and under his lip. He has messy grayish-blue hair of varying lengths, the longest clumps reaching to about his shoulders, left hanging over his face in uneven waves. His eyes are normally obscured, but when visible, they are usually stretched wide in a rather maniacal manner, their bright red irises are very small.

Interestingly, when Tenko was at the age of five, he bore a striking resemblance to Izuku Midoriya, with his blue hair originally being dark black in color, while also having dried patches of skin around his eyes, though his lips were shown to be healthy in appearance. After his Quirk manifested, his appearance changed giving him a wrinkled face and changing his hair color.

Nobody else was in the base, the rest of the villains where busy surviving customers or dealing with Bakugou.

Then you saw him

Deku…

Deku has been a classmate of yours for a while, although you guy’s rarely talked to each other you always admired his strength and wisdom. Soon he became the number one hero and you became the second, Bakugou and Todoroki following closely behind. The only real reason you where able to make it to number two was due to the popularity votes for citizens. Everyone liked you, they loo up to you. So rationally you often teamed up with Deku. He was not good with the citizens since he never got a chance to talk to them due to the fact that he broke his bones in battle often but his quirk was amazing. And you didn’t have a lot of strength so that gave you time to connect with the citizens. The two of you working together helped everyone live a better place. Now seeing him tied up and helpless, it made you pretty angry.

“I would love to sit here and chat, but I got a hero to save!” You smirked as you raced on ahead and grabbed Deku, pulling him out of the chains before the villains had any time to react. Standing next to the hero you where slightly taller (mind you he hasn’t grown since high school so that wasn’t really anything to brag about being taller then him).

”HELLPPP!!!” A scream shouted from Kastuki, your eyes widened as you sprinted off to get the number three hero. Deku closely followed you as he got his quirk ready. But by the time that you rushed out you knew it was too late. Katsuki had been crushed by the blue flames that wrapped around his body.

“KACCHAN!!!” Deku screamed, DabI whipped his head around and started at the number one hero.

”You idiot!“ You hissed as you grabbed Deku’s arm and made a run for it. Dragging him out into the open where a bunch of other hero’s where’s standing just in case something happened. You noticed that they where busy on their phones and probably didn’t even hear Katsuki screaming for help. You rushed Deku to the side of the red brick building and waited for a ambulance to come pick Deku up. Once they carried him away you narrowed your eyes at the pro-hero’s.

”I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I AM GOING TO KILL YOU AND YOUR FAMILY IF YOU ACT LIKE THAT AGAUN!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH STRESS YOU PUT US THROUGH??? DYNAMIGHT COULD HAVE STILL BEEN ALIVE IF YOU HAVEN’T SAT ON YOUR ASS ALL DAY AND ACT LIKE A BUNCH OF FUCKING SLUTS!! I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO RIP ALL OF YOUR HEADS OFF, FEED THEM TO MY DOG, MAKE MY DOG SHIT OFF A BRIDGE AND SEE THE SHIT SMEERED ON THE TIRE, GET A LIGHTER AND BURN THE CAR DOWN, TAKE THE ASHES AND PUT THEM IN A GROUND, I WILL TAKE THE GROUND WHERE THE ASH IS AND MAKE IT A STRIPER CLUB, AND THEN GET A EXORCIST TO PUT YOU TO HELL!!!” You started cussing them off, the pro-hero’s shuffled uncomfortably and looked at each other with weird stares. They knew that they where in shit when they pissed you off. You weren’t very easy to piss off so when somebody pissed you off they knew they were in deep horse shit.

*** You rushed into the hospital bed where Deku was at. Your breath coming out in short puffs as you stood on the edge of the male’s bed and watched as thick tears streamed down his face. You grew soft and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down baby…I am here…” You reassured, slowly climbing on the bed and getting on him. Deku gulped thickly at the closed distance between the two of you and began sweating nervously.

“Y/n!“ You yelped, trying to scoot back. You looked up at him and gave the male a cocky smile.

“What? Are you suggesting something?” You leaned in and whispered in Deku‘s ears. Deku whined before nodding his head ‘yes‘ you rolled your eyes and began to unbutton your shirt. Popping out a few buttons in the process. Gently, you pulled down your panties and threw them to the side, lifting up your skirt and showing your ass to Deku. Deku trembled slightly and started licking at the entrance, slowly, he began eating you out. You moaned quietly before bucking Your hips backwards. Deku gasped before moaning also and continuing to do his work. Once Deku are you out for a few minutes you pulled away and Deku looked at you with large puppy dogs eyes. His Greek emerald eyes blown wide in lust.

You leaned down and took off his pants with your teeth, dragging your nails up his clothed hero uniform shirt. Deku bucked his hips up and whimpered. You smirked into the material. Once you actually got the pants down you slipped off his boxers and starting to get settled on Deku.

You and Deku had this off and on thing. You guy’s weren’t dating each other and fucked other people but it was always a delight when you got to fuck him. A smile always formed on his lips when you topped him. He always thought that everyone was going to leave him to be the top, so it was reassuring when he saw that somebody cared about him enough to dom him and show him who is in control.

You where snapped back into reality when Deku gasped in shock as you took him all in, groaning slightly at the fact that you took him with such ease because he has been in you so much. Slowly you waited for yourself to adjust (which didn’t take that long) before you started bouncing up and down. Deku threw his head back and moaned loudly as felt your walls clench around him. You kept bouncing on him up and down in a rhyme pattern.

“Come on baby, thought you liked it…” You pouted, looking down on the green haired hero and smiling cockily.

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faeriescorpio · 3 years

Text

Going Gray/Old Age

TW character death

Wilford goes gray. Egos face old age.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33467572

-------

His hair had started to fade.

Truthfully, it had been such a gradual change that Wilford hadn’t noticed it until one day Bim stepped into his television set with a head full of silver and had announced that he was going to stop dying his hair black. Wilford had stopped whatever he had been doing at the time-he can’t remember what it was anymore- to gape.

“You’re going gray?” He had managed to squawk, and Bim grinned at him proudly, mistaking his shock for admiration.

“You bet I am!” Bim said confidently. “I saw how Dr. Iplier looks, and its not that bad.” He preened in a nearby mirror. “I’m a silver fox,” He said to himself, and Wilford startled.

“Dr. Iplier is going gray?” He asked, feeling stunned. He hadn’t seen the doctor in a while, but surely-

“You need to step outside more!” Bim lectured. “I can’t believe you haven’t noticed that the doctor doesn’t have a dark hair left on his head!” He looked back at the mirror, running a hand through his hair. “Of course, I’m not there quite yet, got a few black hairs left-”

“Is everyone going gray?” Wilford demanded, jumping to his feet, and Bim chuckled.

“Practically everyone.” He peered at Wilford. “You’re even losing a bit of color, I think.”

“Excuse me,” Wilford choked out, and leapt to his feet and hurried out.

He sprinted down the hallway, passing Eric, who, Wilford noted almost absently, had become quite the man, as he headed to his room. He whipped the door shut and went to his bathroom, staring at the mirror.

His hair was starting to fade. His bubblegum pink had been reduced to a lighter shade, and amongst the dark hair he had had for so long lay a few hidden gray hairs.

Wilford stared.

Everyone was going gray. It was as if Wilford’s eyes had been opened. Dr. Iplier had let himself go, or so The Host was teasing that evening when Wilford joined the others for the meal. King was featuring a more salt-and-pepper sort of look, which was making Yandere cringe. Yandere and the Host looked the same as ever, but tale-tell wrinkles were beginning to pop up on the Host and Yandere and Eric, easily some of the youngest, were definitely starting to show signs of age.

Bing and the Googles looked the same as ever, Wilford thought, relieved, until Bing glitched in the middle of the meal and Google Prime had to take him away to be recharged.

“His battery doesn’t last as long,” He said, almost apologizing, and the other Googles muttered anxiously.

“The most recent update didn’t make me feel too great,” Green admitted quietly. “It’s a bit more complex than my systems want to handle.”

“We’re not obsolete yet,” Red muttered furiously, and Oliver stayed quiet save for the sound of his fan running.

Heart beginning to pound, Wilford scanned the others. Captain Magnum looked exhausted, his beard grayer than the rest of his hair, and the gray streaks in Yancy’s hair somehow suited him better, though his tattoos looked faded. Illinois’ hair was frighteningly impeccable, and Wilford knew that the man was stubbornly dying his hair and covering wrinkles with make-up.

“Wanna watch a movie with me after this, Jim?” Asked one of the Jims, hair still dark but looking the same as Eric and Yandere.

“You’ll just fall asleep in the middle,” The other Jim retorted, and Wilford’s stomach sank.

Only Dark looked the same as ever.

“Dark,” Wilford started slowly, and the demon looked over, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Wilford?” he asked patiently, and Wilford hesitated, feeling uncertain.

“...Nothing.” Dark hummed but thankfully let it go.

Wilford was never good with years, and normally he didn’t care, but when Silver Shepard and Ed Edgar disappeared he found himself wondering how long he had been alive.

“Google?” He whispered, entering the androids’ room late in the evening, and he opened the door and saw in the dark five shapes.

“Google!” He hissed, and a loading bar shot up.

“Waking…” it read, and it was impossible to tell if the bar was moving impossibly slow or not at all.

Wilford was off like a rocket.

The 1890’s. No, the 1880’s. No, the 1890’s was right the first time. Wilford shook his head. When had he been born? How long had he lived? Surely over a hundred years, maybe a hundred and fifty? He couldn’t remember, he didn’t know-

Dr. Iplier was gone and no one knew until the Jims had stumbled over the Host’s cold body. The double funeral had hurt, but not as much as the tired resignation on the androids’ faces.

They were quick to follow, simply never waking up from their charging pods.

Captain Magnum and Illinois went out with a bang, one disappearing on high seas and never returning after a terrible storm, the other insisting they weren’t too old for one last adventure that they didn’t have the reflexes to come back from.

He couldn’t read their tombstones, and he had to take a trip to the doctor- and didn’t that hurt, remembering they used to have a doctor?- to find out that he needed glasses. His eyesight was starting to fail him, it seemed.

The sensation of glasses seemed familiar but it made his chest feel hollow. He coughed, only half-heartedly covering his mouth.

He got a glimpse of Mark, once. Still just as youthful as ever, but he smelled of decay. Wilford didn’t see the District Attorney anywhere and tried not to think about what that could mean.

He stopped counting who was left.

At some point he stumbled into the Jims and Eric, crying in the hallway. Without a word he wrapped them up in his arms. Dark stood nearby, silently making eye contact with him, and Wilford knew they were all that were left.

He locked himself in his room, for a while. He didn’t know for how long, or really why, but when he looked in the mirror and saw nothing by gray with a faint gleam of pink, he coughed in his elbow and sighed.

He had always known he would go out with a bang, something violent. He didn’t know when that changed.

The door creaked open.

“...Wilford…?” A voice said quietly, and Wilford knew who it was before he looked up.

“Damien,” He sighed fondly, and smiled up at the man’s worried face.

Dark seemed startled at the sight of his friend- whether it was the gray or the glasses, he didn’t know.

“Willi-” Dark deflated. “Wilford,” He said instead, and his voice was soft and miserable. “I didn’t expect you to-” “To be so old?” Wilford finished wryly, gray mustache twitching, and the back of his throat tickled when he tried to chuckle. “Me neither.”

Dark looked like someone had punched him in the gut, and Wilford sighed, drinking in the sight of the still-youthful man. It seemed that Dark and Mark would be stuck alone together, fighting forever. Speaking of the villainous man, Wilford always thought Mark would kill him, not old age.

“I always thought my death would be more violent,” he admitted, and Dark made an injured sound.

“Death?” He repeated frantically, “Wilford, are you-” he choked, and Wilford took pity on the monochrome man.

“Not yet, old friend,” he said soothingly. “But soon.” Dark winced. “I have lived over a hundred years, you know, even if I can’t remember the exact number,” Wilford half-teased, half-reminded. Far longer than a normal man, he left unsaid.

Dark looked miserable, shoulders hunching, and Wilford suddenly realized that the demon had always taken Wilford’s lasting presence for granted, had never stopped to consider that Wilford was not like him.

“Wilford,” Dark croaked. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault that I’m not like you,” Wilford said, not unkindly. He kept his tone strong enough to get the point across, but also soft, because he wasn’t made at Damien, he would never be mad at Damien.

“Besides,” He continued, “Life needs a bit of madness, and if I lived forever I would start to find life boring. We couldn’t have that. I wouldn’t want that.”

Dark stared at him for a moment silently, taking the sight of his old friend in. Then he sighed, and seemed to give up some internal fight.

“What can I do for you,” He said without an asking tone, and Wilford’s eyes almost watered.

“Stay?” He asked, suddenly feeling as terribly alone as he had been up until that moment. “Just until I go?”

Dark trembled, then crossed the room far faster than Wilford could keep up with, faster than Wilford could have moved even in his prime, and wrapped his arms around Wilford tightly. Just when Wilford thought he wouldn’t be able to breathe, Dark loosened his hold.

“I can do that,” His voice cracked as Dark pressed his face into Wilford’s neck. “I can do that.”

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avocado-frog · 2 years

Text

Forget-me-not. 10

Warnings: Implied torture, isolation, manipulation, referenced child neglect, human experimentation, past child abuse Rating: T Title: 11/17/2018. 2 Word count: 7,000 Summary: Jaxon goes to his old room. Leo gets answers.

It was a familiar hallway. Jaxon was surprised he could remember it.

The white hallways were coated with streaks of blood, having never been cleaned. This was the oldest wing of the building, the worst of them all. If anyone was going to be kept anywhere, it was either there, or the wing of the building that actually was supposed to hold people, where Leo was, because he didn't want her to go down this hall.

Each room did nothing to solve the painful churning in his stomach, each painfully empty, even though the rooms shouldn't be. He should have been glad that they were.

Floor two, room fifteen. His room. His room, which he wouldn't forget, no matter how hard he was hit with a fallen tree. Not even that was enough.

Ten rooms on each floor, five on each side of the hall. The first held a medical chair and a wall full of brightly colored needles. A second had a wall with hammers and wrenches hanging off of nails. The next, an empty room with a single hospital bed, splatters of blood on every surface.

He would have heard screaming from somewhere if anyone was there, even if they were unconscious. There would have been some noise, because they never stopped, even if they weren't awake. They didn't stop. They didn't stop.

He had taken a keycard for himself off the neck of an unconscious guard from the entrance, which he planned to burn later.

Jaxon stopped opening those doors, and moved on to the door at the end of the hallway. The window on the top was broken, shards of glass along the edges. Chicken wire crisscrossed across where the glass would have been. The door was blocked off by yellow tape.

Experiment 707 written on the side of the wall, by where he needed to swipe the card. He did, clenching his hand into a fist and holding his breath, eyes squeezed shut as he opened the door. Floor two, room fifteen, experiment seven-hundred-seven.

He had been seven-hundred-six, and Dylan had been seven-hundred-five. They had been together. Ages six and three, respectively, up until Jaxon was nine and Dylan was six.

Carefully, he opened an eye. It was like he remembered. Checkered walls, checkered floor, checkered ceiling. A pile of trash in the corner, a bright lightbulb hanging from a chain in the middle. A child in a white uniform staring at the lightbulb.

Slowly, the kid tilted his head down. Flat, white hair covered a bandage on his right eye, and fell over his other eye, a dull and empty gray, instead of a vibrant silver. Despite the blank expression, a glint of fear shone in his eye when he saw Jaxon.

Jaxon stopped dead in his tracks. He had been desperately hoping it to be empty.

In the security room, Jaxon had seen two boys who looked like Leo. One with straight black hair, that looked almost dark brown like Leo's, and the other with light brown hair, like Cass. They both had freckles, like the twins, and one had the golden eyes, the other had silver. There was supposed to be a third, a boy with silver eyes, with blond hair.

And holy shit, if he hadn't wanted the closure, if he hadn't come to room fifteen, if he hadn't gone to the lab, this kid would have been left behind.

So, he approached the kid like he was a stray, baby animal, and the boy shrank back, scrambling back on his hands, looking away, anticipating something that wasn't coming. Expecting Jaxon to hurt him.

He didn't want anyone- much less a child- to be afraid of him. He could barely bring himself to kill a spider. What if it had a family? What if it had a baseball game? That'd just be cruel.

So, he put his hands out in front of him and sat down, using the faint memories of comforting a terrified toddler Dylan to help this kid. His ability to comfort small baby Dylan, as well as stray kittens. This boy was, in fact, the equivalent of a stray kitten, and he would treat him as such.

"Hello," Jaxon started out, making sure to speak as quietly as he could. The kid flinched anyway. "My name is Jaxon. Can I talk to you?"

The child looked at him for a long time, and glanced at the open door, but nodded, looking a bit guarded, cautious.

"Great. So, I bet you don't like it here, do you?" Jaxon asked, tilting his head slightly.

"...Am I changing rooms?" The kid looked carefully hopeful. He felt a little sad for him. When Jaxon hesitated, the boy's face fell. "...Oh."

"Well, not exactly. I'm talking about leaving the whole building." Jaxon smiled softly, and the kid shrank again. "You see, my brother Logan, he has a really big house, not as big as this place, but it's better. It's very warm, there's a bed," he noticed the lack of mattress in the room. Worse yet, the kid must have been sleeping on that pile of trash in the corner. "That's always a plus, huh?"

The boy shrugged limply. "Do I have a choice?"

Jaxon faltered. It wasn't like he was going to leave him here, especially in the state he was in. Saying that he didn't have a choice just felt cruel.

"Well, I uh, I can't really leave you here," Jaxon chuckled nervously. The boy eyed him suspiciously.

The boy proceeded to move away from him, silent as he pulled an old, worn stuffed rabbit, with faded purple fur, and button eyes, out of the bottom of the trash pile. Jaxon cringed at that. The kid used the wall to help himself stand up on wobbly legs.

"Can I take this?" The boy asked, walking over, unsteady. He hugged the rabbit close. "...Please?"

"Of course." Jaxon smiled, holding out his hand. A cold, thin hand slipped into his, and Jaxon made sure not to grip too tightly, but enough to prevent him from getting lost.

---

If there was anything, anything, that could tell something about her past, Leo was going to take it, and she was being given a gold mine. A place that triggered memories she had forgotten. On floor three, the research rooms.

There were no regular bedrooms, like there had been for Sam and Ryan, and she didn't want to think about what the second floor contained, though she did briefly come across Jaxon, grinning as he told a small, fragile looking kid a story about something, while the kid watched with an excited look on his face, a small glint in his left eye. He seemed to not have the right one anymore.

Leo had met him, his name was Elliot, and his toy rabbit didn't have a name yet, but Jaxon was going to help. He stared at her, and told her that she looked like Emily, her mother. She'd been relieved, as Ryan had mentioned an Elliot in an offhanded comment, and Elliot looked like the third boy in the photograph. But only barely.

So, here she was, on the research floor. She knew because it was the only room. The final flight of stairs led to an area full of employees in lab coats and blue scrubs, in front of steel tables and swivel chairs, and Leo froze.

Leo managed to straighten herself out, she had worn a white coat for a reason, and she'd suspected it was why Ryan asked why she was helping them. They'd thought she worked here. She had a keycard, anyways.

None of them were armed, she noted, as she began to back away. She could take all of them, with her fire magic, but she didn't want to kill anyone. Regardless of how evil they were. She just couldn't.

Someone noticed her presence before she could make it back to the stairs, and Leo froze up again, as she stared her mother dead in the eye.

Her mother, Emily, looked surprised for a moment, but her gaze softened, and she smiled.

Leo swallowed nervously, as the other adults turned around to look at her, and she had to remind herself that none of them were armed, so she had nothing to worry about. Leo had gotten herself into worse situations before. She felt like she was eleven years old and had picked a fight with the seniors in high school, like she ran off to her cousin's house and stayed for a whole week before her parents noticed she was gone.

Nothing to worry about. Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, and it felt like a shock to her system, cold and unfeeling and she didn't move.

When she was ten, she thought she'd run away. Feeling impossibly angry at her mother and father, they weren't ever home, she couldn't do anything by herself, nothing was going right- she thought she would run away. She packed a backpack and walked to the grocery store, before it got too cold and she went home. No one had realized she left.

"Oh, Leo. You're finally here." Emily's smile did not falter. She turned around to the people in the lab coats. "Don't worry, I'll take care of my daughter. Come, dear, we have much to discuss."

Oliver, her father, stood up, and pushed his chair in, and followed the two back down the stairs. Leo didn't resist, though she knew she should. It wasn't really an option.

This was it, a chance to find out her connection to the kids. If she played her cards right, she could find out anything she needed to know, and leave. She just needed to focus.

She started to see her parents more often again when she was eleven and had gained a sort of reputation around town. When she had the police called on her for an assault charge and her mother had come to pick her up. They played cards that night, and Leo won every round. At one point, Emily stopped the game, and said Leo was smart, smart enough to not get caught next time. That was all she asked, that Leo didn't get caught again. Warmth buzzed through her veins at the compliment. That was what she wanted, wasn't it?

Leo was led to a small room, with black walls and nothing else. She swallowed the sick feeling in her throat, and bit her lip, and tried to hide any hint of fear.

"You know, I thought you were a tad too old for dress up," Emily commented, likely about the white coat, the fake lab coat. Emily shrugged. "I always thought you could work here when you got older."

"You're smart enough, you'd pass the test," Emily continued, circling around her like a snake. Oliver stood still somewhere behind her. "If you weren't magic, you'd be the perfect candidate. Of course, we can always fix that."

"What... do you mean?" Leo asked carefully, dreading the answer.

"We've been working on a new experiment," Emily responded, as if it was an easy answer. As if that wasn't a fucking terrifying thing to say. "We were going to test it on the one across the hall, but it seems your friend beat us to it. He wasn't supposed to live this long."

Whether she meant Jaxon or the kid he was with- Elliot, Leo didn't like that at all.

Leo looked down, silently telling Jaxon to be faster, to run before they could catch him. She stayed silent and felt like a little kid. Why did this have to be so difficult?

Leo stopped frequently leaving the house when she was twelve, when the threats and rocks and screaming became too much. Rumors spread like wildfire in a town that small, and everyone knew what she was. A witch, a demon, a monster, all sorts of stuff, she was called. No one ever bothered Cass like they bothered Leo. By her twelfth birthday, she stopped talking to Cass and stopped talking to her cousins and she didn't need them. She cut them off, closed herself off, she didn't need them, didn't want their company, didn't need her parents, her neighbors, her teachers, her classmates, or her siblings. She would be the bad guy if Cass was safe.

"Even in the few days you've been gone, it seems you've forgotten everything we've told you," Emily scoffed lightly, and patted her on the head. Leo flinched. A sudden rush of anger flooded her system. "That's okay, dear. You can come home, and we'll start training you to work with us. Everything will go back to the way it was before, won't that be nice?"

Leo stepped back, eyes hardening a bit. Oliver guarded the door. She was trapped, a caged animal, she shoved her hands deep into her pockets, to hide the shaking.

Things could go back to the way it was before, won't that be nice?

Back to the way they were, going home to an empty house, a cold bedroom, a plate of pretzels for breakfast because there was no one home to tell her no, because Cass always stayed with Kai, but Leo denied their pity, because she had been told to deny their pity. Because there was no sympathy in the world, it was earned, and she hadn't earned it. Was that the reality she wanted to return to? Did she want to be trained to be a guard and hold a gun against someone? A child with seemingly no remorse, no hesitation?

Leo was thirteen years old. Her mother swore to her one night that she was heartless. And that it was a good thing, too, because sensitive people were vulnerable. If she wasn't, and if she was guarded, she would be safe. Everyone was out to kill her, they'd do it without hesitation, they'd do it without remorse, and she needed to be careful, to be safe, don't get too close to anyone, they're using you.

And she had believed it.

"No."

Leo stepped forward again, letting her hands fall out of her pockets, as she glared at her mother, the woman in front of her, Emily.

It was a lie. An obvious lie, and Leo should have been smart enough, old enough to realize it.

She had known her friends for a week. One week, and everything Leo knew crumbled. If Logan wanted to poison her, he'd have done it by now. If Jaxon was manipulating her, she would have figured it out already. Lily swore to her that Dylan took years to trust someone, and that it was remarkable how quickly they warmed up to her.

So, with that, her mother was lying. That was her evidence, and she was stricken with the sudden thought that she didn't want to leave.

Three days ago, Lily told her that as a kid, she mentioned having three brothers. Three weeks ago, Oliver had shook his head during Emily's story. Leo looked up at Emily, her mother held a confident half-smile, arms crossed as she waited during their long silence.

"Oh? And why not?" Emily stepped closer. Leo held her ground.

"...I'm not like you," Leo answered, voice low. Her parents called her evil, her neighbors thought she was a demon, her teachers thought she was a witch, her classmates believed she was a monster.

She could feel the presence of someone behind her, urging her to keep going. The same sense she had felt when she found the photograph to begin with, when she almost gave up on it. There wasn't really anybody there, she knew that.

...Her mother never took photographs of the twins as kids, at least, that was what she had been told. Her parents never spoke to her, and didn't want anything to do with her. She barely saw them.

...The picture of herself, Cass, and the triplets. And the woman behind them. Someone had to have taken that picture.

...There was a whole chunk of her childhood that she couldn't remember.

Leo took a breath. "You're not my parents, are you?."

The words slid out before she even knew what she was saying, and Emily looked surprised again. For a moment, everything clicked, and it was blissfully peaceful. And then, it hit her like a freight train.

A snake constricted around her throat, her lungs, she gasped for the breath that had suddenly been removed, simply by six words.

"That's right," Emily said smoothly, stepping forward, and for a moment, Leo was sure she had been stabbed, or punched in the stomach, or anything that could explain the burning pain that had exploded like a firework. She stared at the concrete. "I figured you'd find out soon enough."

Leo didn't look up, but still tensed as she heard the click of Emily's heels come just a bit closer. A hand landed on her shoulder, and she flinched back.

"But we aren't entirely unrelated. I'm still your aunt, and your mother and I had been as close as you and your sister. Until you were born, and your mother ran away and hid. Some five years later, and we had her killed."

Hands clenched into fists at her sides. Leo didn't move. That would have made the triplets five or six years old when their mother died. The words barely registered in her ears, becoming nothing more than a dull ring and a heavy static.

"It had to be done." Leo could sense Emily's dismissive shrug. "The memory altering experiment hadn't gone as well as we'd hoped. We needed new subjects."

Memory altering.

Oh. Okay. Checked out. Why not? Sure. Sure. Sure.

Leo didn't move.

A fog took over, she couldn't think, barely processed anything around her. The floor was cold, she felt like she was on fire. She literally, genuinely couldn't remember anything. No matter how hard she tried, she could only get a spark, something small. A headache seared through the fog if she tried to remember anything else.

Leo stood up, and the air was cold, and a swirling numbness overtook every muscle, but she managed a slight glare, and she stuck her hand out, and shot the smallest spark of blue fire at her mother, and caught her hair on fire. She turned around, where Oliver had been silent, and she told him to move, in a voice she didn't know she possessed, and Oliver held his hands up in surrender, opening the door for her.

"Don't come home," Oliver warned in a mutter as Leo stepped out. She looked at him, too tired to respond, but she understood. She had no place there. She'd be killed. Leo nodded silently.

---

"Hey."

Leo stepped into the back of the van, giving her sister, and her brothers, a small wave. Cass shot upwards, engulfing her in a sudden hug that she was not prepared for. She nearly broke down just from that, but managed to keep it together.

"You were gone for two hours. What on Earth were you doing? I nearly came in there myself!" Cass scolded, motioning for Leo to sit down. She did. Cass brought over one of her folded blankets, and Leo held it in her hands, brushing her fingers through the softness, it was something to focus on.

"Sorry," Leo mumbled, focusing on the black blanket. "I ran into... Emily and Oliver. Not our parents, by the way. Long story."

She explained their new situation, that going home wasn't even an option anymore, that their parents weren't really their parents, and their mother had been killed. Cass listened, and nodded, and provided Leo with a water bottle, which she was grateful for, and continued to be worried about her.

Leo stared at her photograph again, seeking comfort by looking at the image, she seemed to have a new clarity. It was the same picture; nothing changed. She glanced up. Ryan was sitting on the floor, using the chair as a backrest, and drawing patterns into the floor. In the picture, he was likely the small boy asleep in the woman's arms, with a white bear hoodie and gray bracelet.

Sighing, she looked down at the photo again. It didn't seem real, having names to the faces. The boy hugging Cass with a bright grin and yellow rain coat, based on the curlier hair and freckles, it must have been Sam.

Ahead of her, Sam was sitting in the chair near Ryan's spot on the floor, looking around with a wary, anxious gaze and a dull, pale face. Looking at the picture, it didn't seem like the same kid.

That left Elliot. The boy in the picture had two eyes, a noticeable difference from the Elliot of the present. She looked for the kid, panicking slightly when she didn't see him at first.

He laid with his small head pressed against her arm, otherwise completely still. Only one silver eye stared blankly into nothingness. The one in the photo had blond hair, where the current Elliot had bleached, white hair. His skin was pale enough to be considered gray, and if she couldn't feel cold puffs of air coming out of an opened mouth, she would have thought he was dead.

Elliot, very slow and very careful, pointed at the woman, apparently Leo's mother, and tapped her with a shaky finger. He then looked her dead in the eye, and made a sound with his mouth as he slid his finger across his throat, and fell over.

Well, that was somewhat concerning. Leo glanced at the kid, who bounced back up and stood, calmly walking over to Sam with his hands behind his back. Sam looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Leo couldn't tell if Elliot was saying anything, or just standing there, but either way, Sam looked very confused when Elliot turned around and sat next to Leo again, moving to lean against her.

"I'm tired. Can we go home?" Elliot asked, his voice soft, sounding more like a young child than he already was. He looked at the photo in Leo's hand for a while, and looked up at her, singular eye shining with panic. "Where are we going?"

The sudden personality shift gave her whiplash, though she recovered easily enough. Speaking with as calm of a voice as she could muster, she smiled softly. "We're going to my friend, Logan's house. We'll figure it out from there."

That didn't seem to calm him down. He had his face buried in his hands, mumbling something to himself in a hushed whisper. He rocked himself back and forth, and Leo held her hands out, hesitating, ready to catch him if he passed out.

She desperately hoped he wouldn't pass out. She was not equipped for that. It barely took him a second to calm himself down, as he took a deep breath and simply stared at the floor, unmoving.

Sam had introduced Ryan as his older brother, but the three of them looked like triplets, and Elliot had allegedly told Jaxon he was ten years old, and that's how old Sam had said he and Ryan were when they were walking down the hall, trying to find the entrance. That would put Sam as either the middle child or the youngest, with Ryan either the oldest or in the middle. She couldn't imagine Elliot as the oldest of the three, so she was going to assume Ryan as the oldest, Sam as the middle child, and Elliot as the youngest.

Three months ago, Leo would go to the aquarium, and she would know someone who would have loved it. The name would have been on the tip of her tongue, but she had forgotten, and she would brush it off.

A year ago, she would walk by the park in the summer, and sudden anxiety would spike upon seeing people there. She always felt like there was someone she was supposed to be looking after. A voice in the back of her head screamed at her, told her to find them. She didn't know who she was supposed to be looking for.

Two years ago, Leo was fourteen, and the triplets were eight. Leo had volunteered for three months at a public elementary school, and tutored the younger kids for twenty dollars. Back then, she had been asked if she had younger siblings, and she had said no, and the word had felt like acid in her throat.

Leo did have younger siblings. Four of them, in fact, if Cass counted. Three younger brothers who she had just found out about, and a twin sister. She was the oldest.

She could not remember anything from the age of ten or before. Her brothers were ten. She wanted to remember anything else about them. Anything else.

Elliot used to have glow stars on the ceiling. Sam's favorite animal had been a different type of bird depending on the day. Ryan used to beg to see the fish at the pet store.

Ryan had fallen asleep sitting up, Sam still stared at the floor, breathing slowly, and Elliot clung to a stuffed rabbit, knees drawn up close, face buried into his stuffed animal.

Leo was tired, and Cass had fallen asleep with one of the blankets she had brought. She considered falling asleep as well, but she had the triplets, her brothers, to watch over. She could make it until then.

She would protect them with her life.

-----

Something bad happened, but nobody knew what it was.

The night they came back from the lab, it'd been around nine o'clock, too late for dinner, but Logan made sandwiches and chips anyway, and it had been awkward. Leo had gone upstairs, the adrenaline crashed, she barely made it to the guest room she had stolen, and Cass had gone after her. Apparently, they needed to talk in private.

Meanwhile, the new kids, triplets at the age of ten and a half, were wary at best. They sat in their usual arrangement, with Logan on one end of the table, Lily next to him, and Dylan next to Jaxon. Leo and Cass were still gone, so Ryan sat on the opposite end of the table, and Sam and Elliot sat one chair apart.

There were two chairs left, just enough for the twins to have their own seats if they joined them for their meal of ham sandwiches and barbeque chips.

Jaxon didn't consider it a big meal by any means, but he sat across from Elliot, who stared at it like it was the most he'd seen in a week, and he'd looked up at Jaxon, silently asking him if he could really have it. Jaxon, of course, nodded and smiled. Elliot shoved it in his mouth, to Logan's dismay, like it would grow legs and jump out the window if he wasn't quick enough.

Ryan was, in fact, allergic to dairy. They hadn't known that until the kid had pulled the cheese off his sandwich with a nervous expression, and handed it off to Sam, who was glad to have the extra slice. And then Logan felt bad for not asking, and wouldn't stop apologizing.

Dylan would give Elliot side-glances every so often, looking wary, eventually turning into full-on staring at Elliot, until Jaxon had to tell them to quit it, they were freaking the poor kid out.

Both Dylan and Ryan didn't talk much, though Dylan was deaf and he suspected that Ryan simply didn't. Sam talked for Ryan most of the time, and seemed excited to have more people to talk to, while the other two weren't.

Sam chewed on his own food quietly, carefully, took in the flavors of the bread and the ham and the absurd amount of cheese. Five slices. Five.

Elliot finished first, and didn't seem to know what to do next. He stared at Jaxon with a vacant expression, and he very deeply regretted being the one who Elliot decided to follow. He wasn't a good influence.

Jaxon shoveled the last handful of chips into his mouth, and figured Logan would take his plate like he always did, and he smiled at Elliot.

"Come on, Ell! I'll take you to go find a room. I'm sure you're tired." Jaxon stood up, and the kid followed. Logan gave him a grateful look and a nod.

Elliot grabbed his hand again, routine at this point. For nine hours, where he went, Elliot latched onto his sleeve and followed.

They stopped at the bottom of the staircase. Really, Jaxon tried to keep going, but Elliot came to a dead, screeching halt.

"What's wrong?" Jaxon tilted his head at his new friend, who stood stiff, staring at the floor.

"...stairs."

Jaxon didn't take into account of the child's small and incredibly out of shape form, he would probably have an asthma attack from walking up the stairs. That must be what he was worried about.

He had no problem with picking Elliot up; the boy was approximately the weight of a malnourished cat, or maybe a puppy. Possibly a guinea pig. Whatever small animal Jaxon could compare him to, he was light, and that was the point.

So, Jaxon lifted him up and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of (very small) potatoes, while Elliot gripped onto the hood of his jacket, breathing a bit too heavily for someone who wasn't even moving.

"And we made it!" Jaxon said triumphantly, setting Elliot down with a pat on the head. "Alright, let's go find a room for you. I put all the stuff from the store in the room at the end of the hall, but if you want to share a room with your brothers, I can-"

"No."

Jaxon faltered at the bluntness. "Okay, sure. Come on, I'll show you."

So, Elliot grabbed his hand again, and it was a bit warmer than the first time, but it was still small. They walked down the hall, where Jaxon gave him a small tour. His room would be across from Ryan and Sam's, because they didn't have enough guest rooms for them to each have their own, and next to Elliot's bedroom would be Cass's room, with Leo's across from it. Then the bathroom, and then Jaxon and Dylan's, and Lily's on the other side. There was the attic as well, which he advised Elliot not to go in without telling anyone, because the door tended to lock on its own.

On the inside of Elliot's new room, the walls were a light gray, with white trim, similar to the rest of the house. Jaxon had replaced the old, red and golden sheets from when it had just been a guest room that no one used, with the purple ones they'd found at the store, and the black and navy blankets with constellations and planets adorning them. A few of the stuffed animals, including the incredibly important purple rabbit that no one under any circumstances could touch, sat limply by the lilac-colored pillow.

He had a TV on a wooden stand, and Jaxon taught Elliot the functions of every button on the remote, in case he wanted to watch a movie. Elliot crawled into the bed tiredly, but looked in sheer awe as he wrapped a blanket over his head.

Elliot stared at Jaxon as he fought with a plastic box to free a night-light, (he was ten-and-a-half, a bit too old to be scared of the dark, but Jaxon didn't blame him and wouldn't judge) and upon his success, plugged it in to the closest outlet he could find.

Other than that, the room was mostly empty and ready for further decoration in the morning, because Jaxon could tell he himself was going to crash at any given minute.

"So, normally we have breakfast at nine on the weekends. It's Fall break right now, so we're all off school this week. Feel free to sleep in."

Elliot nodded, staring wide-eyed at the TV as he flipped through a few channels, and ended up on Coraline, of all things. That movie terrified Jaxon when he was nine, and it still scared him to this day. That movie was the origin of his arachnophobia, he was sure.

Jaxon left, and he saw Logan guiding the other two to their room on the other side of the hall, and Jaxon sighed in relief, not wanting to repeat the process again.

He waited outside the door for his brother, waited for something to happen.

#writing #original work #original characters #writeblr #writers #ao3 writer #yeah i still don't know what to tag

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nose-bandaid · 3 years

Text

dolce ♪

could I request minghao x gn reader museum date? ty!

The8 (Minghao) x (gender neutral) Reader fluff | 1.2k words

synopsis: a museum date with minghao — the place where you are at peace of mind. the place where you share fond memories and can love each other sweetly and softly.

a/n: here you go lovely anon!! i hope that this is what you're going for, it's actually (very vaguely) referencing this minghao fic that i've been working on so maybe there will be a prequel !?!?! 🤔 but either way i hope you enjoy and sorry for the wait !!!!

=====

When Minghao said the location for your next date was a surprise, you didn't hold many expectations, preferring to keep it a complete mystery until the day arrived. But as you stared out the car window and recognized the route to the museum a city over, you realized you probably should've anticipated this from the way your boyfriend was so excited for the date last night.

You quirked an eyebrow his way, which he caught in the corner of his eye, smiling sheepishly in response.

"Weren't we just here a few months ago?"

"Yes — but! One, there's a new exhibit that I'm sure you're going to love and two, they added a section of paintings and I wanted to see them with you." He replied eagerly, guilt seeping into his voice.

"Okay, okay," You conceded, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I wasn't complaining, I can't wait to see what you have in store."

"I promise it will be amazing."

=====

You knew Minghao had a plan in mind, but you couldn't help getting distracted along the way, especially when you're always finding something new that you haven't notice before.

He never uttered a word of complaint, and simply followed you with a small smile on his face.

Walking in a room full of statues that were much taller than you were, you craned your neck as you examined the small details put into their beauty.

"Hey, this guy looks kind of funny," You pointed out, gesturing at a statue that pictured the final battle cry of a famous warrior. Moving into a similar pose, you put on your angriest face and tried to recreate the statue. You paid no mind to the other museum-goers passing by.

Minghao stifled a laugh. "Wait, stay like that, I want to take a picture of you." He said, pulling out his phone and swiping to the camera.

"Okay," You said through gritted teeth, trying to keep as still as possible.

"But move over a little to the left."

You did just that, shuffling to the side stiffly.

"And make your face even angrier." He called out a few seconds later.

Though your cheeks were getting sore and it already felt like you're being the angriest you could possibly be, you did your best to furrow your eyebrows even further. The corner of your lips tugged downwards.

"No, even angrier!"

"Minghaooo!" You pouted, stomping your foot in frustration. "I'm doing my best!"

In the midst of your small outburst, you heard the faint click of the camera shutter and your boyfriend tucked his phone away with a smile. "I know you were, just wanted to tease you."

You stared at him, mouth agape as you tried to comprehend what just happened. "Are you saying I did all of that for nothing?"

"Don't worry, I got the actual picture too, so your efforts didn't go to waste I promise." To make up for it, Minghao came over and planted a kiss on your forehead. "You're really cute, you know?"

You squinted your eyes at him, still suspicious. "If you say so..."

He smiled and gave you another kiss, trying to prove his good intentions. "I would never lie about that. Let's continue, shall we?"

=====

There were many reasons why you loved the museum.

It was the first place Minghao took you to after he (finally) mustered the courage to ask you out. Things were awkward and shy and blushy, but memories were made and you left with a kiss on the cheek that you wouldn't forget.

Now, everything was familiar, it was like a second home to you, with how often Minghao loved to visit for inspiration. There were so many little things that simply made your mind at ease.

It was the way your footsteps echoed in the large room. The sense of peace and comfort. The smell of old paper and faint traces of flowers. The intricate patterns etched into the white walls and marble flooring.

But most of all, it was Minghao's hands gently laced into yours.

He walked ahead of you, tugging you along as he steered from one artwork to the next. Although you had happily followed him along on this museum date, you knew he was the one who was enjoying it the most. He's been here many times now while you have only visited on a few occasions — enough to be familiar with the building. But you didn't mind turning the same corner multiple times or reading the same passage over and over again. Because no matter how mundane the activity may seem to other people, a sparkle of excitement was constant in Minghao's eyes.

And seeing him happy made you just as happy.

=====

"It's extra quiet in here." You whispered, feeling the need to match the atmosphere of the room you just entered in.

The walls were covered in paintings, surrounding a statue in the middle. The multitude of artworks screamed talent as they made their presence obvious, and yet there was an eerie sense of loneliness. Aside from the two of you, the only other people here was an old woman, silently reading the description of the statue and one of the staff in the corner.

"It is," Minghao agreed, taking in the sight. "I think that's why this is gonna be my favourite section to visit. Come."

He pulled you to one of the nooks where a small canvas hung. It was covered in hues of pink, bleeding into the charcoal sketches that were left unkept. Then there were streaks of yellows that contrasted the pice and yet blended perfectly into the medley of colours.

It was, to put it simply, beautiful.

"I did some reading about this artist before," Minghao said. "They said that they painted this with a heart full of love."

"Is that so..." You hummed, rocking back and forth on your heels as you examined the painting. You paused when it suddenly felt all too familiar.

"Wait a minute. Weren't you painting something similar to this when we first met?"

As with any other story, there was a time where the two of you were mere strangers, randomly passing by each other on a busy day.

You had a feeling Minghao was purposefully guiding you to this conclusion, but he still blushed after being called out. "Yes it was, I was trying to recreate their style. But to be honest, I didn't know what to paint until I saw you across the street one day. Better yet, you were always there when I went to the park to paint, so it felt like the perfect piece to make. You showed me what love meant."

"That's so cheesy, but I love it." You giggled.

The grip on your hand got tighter. "You really saved me on that day, you know? I don't know where I would be if I hadn't met you."

"But we're here now, aren't we?" You replied gently, pressing yourself closer to his side. "That's all that matters, we don't need to care about the could haves."

"You're right." His gaze on the painting softened as the two of you stared at it in awe for a while longer, simply taking in its beauty and the memories it carried along with it.

When you finally left the room, hands still glued to each other, you poked his arm and sent him a teasing grin. "Next time we visit, I'll be seeing one of your paintings on here, right?"

"Maybe," he nodded thoughtfully. For once, Minghao did not deny that possibility — a small change that warmed your heart greatly.

"Only if you could be the inspiration."

#newskynet #kdiner #caratwritersclub #seventeen #the8 #seventeen x reader #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #seventeen the8 #seventeen minghao #seventeen fluff #minghao fluff #the8 fluff #nose-bandaid

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kaetastic · 4 years

Text

Secrets Not To Be Told

pairing: Lucius Malfoy x Pureblood!Slytherin!Reader

summary: Draco invites his circle of friends to his manor for an allegedly said-project. This brings a friend of the boy into his father’s attention. [requested: @queenofmankind]

word count: 3k

warning: fluff, cheating, smut, fingering :)

note: the only reason i made the reader a slytherin and pureblood is because i needed her to be in the draco circle if you know what i mean. i hope this is alright! thank you so much for this request!! i truly love lucius <33 i think after posting one more request i’ll be closing it for awhile to spend more time on my posts :3

The scurrying of petite feet grazed across the stone floor, squeaking a screech every time the bare skin of the creature slapped the ground. Although the manor had been exceptionally cold the past week, the temperature had wrapped a blanket of icicles around the walls of the once a cosy home. If that ever existed with the infamous beliefs of the previous and current owners.

The floppy ears of the elf danced with every stomp of feet he took, bouncing into the air just like that of the choreography of his heart. Arms swinging by his body, he could hear his heart thrum against his eardrums. Almost as if someone had plunged their fingers through his chest to pluck out the pumping organ. There was nothing else pinned on the board in his mind, just the change of events. Need to tell Master.

The words echoed in his head, a reminder for him to get to the desired room as soon as possible. Even though the creature had been serving the Malfoys for longer than he could count on his hands, he couldn’t help but realize the different personalities of each owner. However, the ground remained stable with the current master. Slightly more merciful than the previous ones. The elf couldn’t help but shudder at the memories of being bruised to punishment. With the tainted thoughts of those who he had served, he passed a second to slam his head in the frigid wall. Bad Nory. Bad, bad Nory.

The elf barely had time for his lungs to increase to its maximum capacity and his head to digest what he was to do, his boney knuckles rapped against the wooden door. As the noise echoed into his ears in surges of wailing, no different to that of his spilt tears the night before, the creature finally understood what he had done. There wasn’t any time for him to waste by sprinting away to leave the master to be answered by silence.

Master Malfoy had ordered a clear instruction; this issue was to be solved with the towering wizard of the home. Running away was an option, but the elf couldn’t see himself walking away from the scene without punishing himself. No sound seemed to seep out of the cracks of the sealed door. With a gulp, the elf took this as a reply. So, with his blood vessels quivering set an energetic speed, he opened the door with a creak. The noise that indicated the ancient hinges lingered in the air, longer than he wanted it to be. Almost as if it was to taunt him of his grievous mistake. Was it a mistake if he was to inform a sudden issue to his master?

“What is it?” The man who occupied the lavish green armchair practically hissed, his words swerving out the cracks of his teeth in a body of a slithering serpent. Even when he had found comfort in the tranquillity of the air, nothing fell into place to his desire.

Lucius was a lucky man, some would say. The pureblood wizard had inherited money which seemed to be an endless body of water, the main reason why he had found no need to occupy a job. However, the demands he had asked, such simple ones, was of no use. His son had dragged his friends to the manor, individuals Lucius had approved of as their status.

The pureblood wizard wished for the school his son had been educated at, to find the true meaning of blood. Blood purity. There would be no use of those with half-poured blood of muggles while the other half were to be species who held great power in their hands. Not to mention the wavering group of barely a tint of magical blood in them. Draco would have his fun while his wife had occupied herself in Paris. The beginning of Christmas looked fun as Lucius was left alone.

There was no need to wait for the creature to bring up its excuse to its... excessive, boisterous noise of walking. No matter the times the wizard had scolded the elf for creating such irritating sound, the habit was ingrained in the creature.

“Master, Nory is sorry,” The elf stuttered, its eyes blaring onto the polished ground before it brushed over the overlapping strings of the carpet. “There’s a woman at the door, she said she’s Master Draco’s accompany.”

Lucius’s eyes snapped to the quivering elf, his peripheral narrowing onto its raggy clothing. Placing down the crinkling newspaper, he clicked his jaw, “I only assume that you have brought her inside because we treat guests at our utmost respect,” The elf watched as honey dripped from the wizard’s lips. Not sweet honey, never sweet honey. Venom embedded honey. The viscous liquid was ready to pierce blades. “Bring her in.”

Nodding (almost beheading his own head at the incredible speed), the creature’s feet echoed into the tranquil air, “Come in, come in.” Lucius listened to its muffled hearing before the noise of shuffling of feet amplified into the dining room.

Towering over the elf was a figure, the cloak heavily rested on her shoulders, “I’m sorry if I caused any problems. I’m Y/N, Draco had invited me.”

Lucius quirked his eyebrows at her accent, “Draco came in with his friends.”

“Oh, yes,” Y/N let out a faint laugh. “There were some problems that needed fixing, so I was late.”

Lucius noted before standing, his stride towards the door halted to stand next to the witch, “Well then, I’ll show you to Draco.” The creature was long gone, knowing its presence was not needed by the two.

Silence sang in the air, only their steps mumbled into the long hallway. Long for Y/N; a short path for the man who had grown in the manor. The same hallway his father and previous generations had sauntered through, “You’re not British, are you?”

Y/N couldn’t help the quirk of her smile, “No, I’m not. I’m a transfer from Ilvermony.”

“Your blood?”

“Pure.” That was all Lucius needed.

Lucius munched on the gentle texture of the egg, its creamy yolk caressed the muscle of his tongue with every so softness. Just the way he liked it. The bright yellow paint smeared against his porcelain teeth, cladding around to cover the source of sparkling glitter whenever the wizard was to shoot a smile. Not a smile of joyfulness because lately, life had been lacking in supplying said-happiness. Everything seemed to rather get on his nerves; no one seemed to comply with the pureblood wizard. Something that had infuriated him. Almost as if they had mocked him.

With the freshest Daily Prophet hovering on the table, blocking his view of the wide-opened door, he was too caught up on grazing his eyes over the lines of the commotion of giants. Just kill the lot if you ask me. The wizard couldn’t help but curl up the corners of his lips from his thought. While he showered himself in the enticing idea of him ruling over the wizarding world (too brutal of gushing blood to clean out the bad blood), Y/N made way into the dining room.

Too lost in the golden imagination, she took the time to take in the room. It was like no other. The rest of the house, those she had only stumbled into, of course, had been rather gloomy and full of lurking shadows compared to this one. While she had enjoyed her time in the Malfoy Manor, most of the moments of exploring the vast home with the owner’s son, she couldn’t help but be in doubt to why the room had been more... brighter.

“My wife wanted more light,” Lucius answered the question she had quirked up in her head as if he had read her mind. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, had she said it out loud? With a flick of his wand, the swooshing noise of the newspaper slicing through the air to land its back on the grand wooden table crackled. “She said she could barely see what she was eating, hence this.” Following his gesturing hands towards the window wall that had been adorned by curtains that had been hugged at their waists to prevent it from closing, Y/N hummed. The morning light glistened through the glass panes, streaking lines of golden paints against the sombre-coloured table.

The dining table was long, separating the dining room into two halves equally. Despite the enormous room, it didn’t feel spacey at all. There were clusters of iron armour statues decorating the walls, alongside moving paintings of landscapes and what Y/N would assume were family. Pushing the table aside, the twinkling chandelier was a sight to behold. Its arms, no different to that of an octopus. Teardrops of creatures that resided in the body of water draped from each rod, singing a faint song with every quiver despite the room being impeccably still.

“So, may I ask what you’re doing in my home?” Before she had the chance to think of what she was to do, a faint chuckle fell off her lips.

“Oh, right. It seems I had forgotten an item of mine.”

Lucius quirked his eyebrow, “Well, wouldn’t it have been easier for you to just send an owl?”

Y/N scratched the nape of her neck, “I have, it seems Draco had not received it.”

The wizard nodded before the clanking of metal slamming against ceramic echoed into the dining room, “Come, where was the last place you’ve left it?” Y/N was sure, with him being a pureblood- it would’ve been easier to accio the lost item. She didn’t question.

“Are they your family?” Y/N quirked up, slicing a blade through the thick air. Now that she had noticed, the hallway had not been occupied at all. Just the head of the family and her. Well, she wasn’t sure where Draco would be as Lucius had informed her that he was to do additional training.

“Yes, they are.” Lucius answered, the words lingering longer in the air as his eyes grazed over the paintings. The green wall had been plastered with squares of paintings and moving pictures. It would surely be just a cluster of dots if viewed from afar. The heads of similar blond hairs had tint features of what had been passed on onto Lucius. No doubt, it was his parents as the young Lucius sat on the chair with their hands planted on his shoulders. Oh, to be young again.

Turning her head to face the man, she inquired, “What were they like?”

Lucius pondered, a second of silence poured into the air, “Loyal.” Despite his short description of his family, Y/N knew it was more to it. There was never just one adjective for pureblood parents. However, she didn’t even bother pressing onto the manner. She gazed upon his eyes grey eyes.

The still air she once had cut into two loaves of bread had tightened around her chest as her lips rested on his. Her fingers hovered over his chest, awkwardly quivering at the peculiar position. Lucius saw a coat of darkness while his body had been leaning on hers, his ears fed with the sound of their lips; his tongue had been given a treat of the taste of her. Y/N watched as the familiar absence of light entered her peripheral, holding a sheet between her sight and her.

Although it had felt as if she had been snoozing off to the lullabies sung by the devil, she was soon shaken to her core at the realization. Yanking back to snap the sudden noise of their lips ripping away from one another, she stared at the towering man, chest heaving, “We can’t...”

“Why not?” Lucius questioned, eyebrows shooting up as his eyes narrowed at her.

A minute passed, and she had no answer to his question. Maybe it had been the captivating man who had sucked out all of her ability to grasp on reality. Or air was just not enough to supply her head, “I’m Draco’s friend, and you are his father-“ She hated that she stuttered. However, it had all to be blamed on her intermittent flickers of thought to come up with a reason. A reason to push away the man. A reason to stop him.

“You are of age, aren’t you?” Y/N nodded, though, quite reluctantly as she feared for what he was to say.

“Still, isn’t this wrong?” The words squeezed out of her throat, almost as if she didn’t want to say it.

“Nobody has to know.” Although the first thought that had popped up in his mind was his wife who was possibly sauntering on the roads of Paris, it was soon wiped off from existence as the familiar warm puffs of air-filled every crevice of his mouth. The wizard’s hands crept up, fingers trailing from his side to gingerly grasp her waist.

Nothing was uttered in the air as the two lost themselves in a rhythm they soon fell into. With her hands plastered on his shoulders, she couldn’t hold back the shudder when her fingers grazed over the chilly ornament on his neck. The pureblood wizard pulled away, his eyes brushing over her confused orbs, “Not here, come.”

Breezes of wind kissed his skin, piercing an inch of skin as if a missed arrow that had somehow managed to caress his cheeks. Lucius didn’t know how fast he had paced towards his room. Maybe it had been a foolish thing to do, but he didn’t care. Nothing else mattered but the thrumming of his heart for what he was about to do.

A cane in his hand for preventing any consequences he was to face, no walls would stay up high with the persistence of the wizard. Lucius wasn’t sure if he had felt relief when he had not seen those scrambling creatures in the hallways or up the stairs. He could’ve just pulled up the punishment cards or obliviate the house-elf. It would’ve been amusing for him to watch, but there was a slight clench in his chest that had been more than glad at the absence of the elves. What would’ve Y/N thought?

Flinching only slightly at the abrupt, boisterous noise of the door slamming shut, Y/N could barely let out a gasp before her lips were sealed shut once again. With her back against the wall beside the door, there was no time for her to gaze upon the room the wizard had dragged her into. That was until Lucius had somehow urged himself to pull away. Mumbling in a raspy voice, Y/N felt wind crawling down her back, “Undress.”

So she did. There were sprinkles of chest heaving from the air-stealing exercises despite the two shredding off their clothing. Lucius couldn’t hold himself back. The way her tongue brushed against his; the way her fingers would gently grip onto his chest was as if she had handled glass. It was entertaining, to say the least- Lucius liked it. It was different. Different than his wife.

A sharp gasp fell off her lips as the mouth that was once smeared over with freezing paint which now had been warmed up as if it rested next to a fireplace landed on her neck. Lucius’s ears trickled with wanton sounds of her moaning, quivering down his body. She knew what it did to him, yet, her body was not placed in a position for her to decide.

Tightening her grip on the crumpled cover of the bed, a staggering moan caressed her lips. Lucius pumped his sole finger at a languid pace, the corners of his lips curling up at the way her hips buckled. While she had been melting her head into the soft pillows, the same ones his wife would slumber upon, his lips descended down to flick his tongue on her pebbly buds. Y/N wasn’t sure if it had been from the second finger he had added or the way his tongue had suckled on her breasts, or both, but she didn’t bother.

She arched into his body, fingers weaved through the long locks of his hair. Lucius grunted at the sudden clench of his fingers. Her legs thrashed, wavering in shudders when he drew quick circles on her clit. Then she felt as if she had been chunked down the mists of clouds. Y/N watched as his fingers that had been coated of her coat his tongue. If there was any slight drop left, it was to be mixed with the tint of his saliva.

His fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking the hardened shaft while his eyes watched hers. Inch by inch, his pelvis had splayed against her skin. Youthful skin. And oh, if Lucius had let down his walls, he was sure he would’ve lost at the tightness around him. Breathless puffs were then dancing in his lips.

Lost in the way his tongue danced with hers, she let out an unexpected whimper as his hips pulled back. The emptiness of the inch was prominent. The feeling lingered in her. However, it was soon thrown out of the window when he had snapped his hips. The first of the many wanton noises were forgotten in a blurry haze as his thrusts started a series of moaning and groans, “Lucius...”

Her moan fell into his ears in a bouncing string, just like that of a fishing rod with bait at its hook. Y/N’s legs wrapped around his hips, another surge of pleasure crawling through her body. With his head bumping into her temple, it wasn’t long before they plunged into the sea of a familiar feeling.

Still breathless, he huffed out, his skin finally screeching of pain from his back, possibly the clawing of her nails, “Listen, my wife shouldn’t know-”

A knock on the door sliced through the still air, “Father, mother’s home.”

The faces of the two could have been seen as that of a permanent freeze.

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