#its so so hard to find ones that are WHITE. not blonde not 'platinum blonde' not grey but white... and im not buying new ones. lol.

[sar3nka]

I'm sitting and coughing like crazy to a point I cannot sleep btw

[chitter17]

albedo and his three brothers. some headcanons and design elements under the cut :)

---

albedo, compared to the others, has the yellowest blonde hair - with droopy blue eyes, freckles, and his signature golden star birthmark on his neck. i didnt change his design much because i think his current design is already very nice !!

his personality is already layed out in the game so i didnt change much! hes reserved, but not the socially anxious type. he just prefers not to deal with social interaction because he thinks its easier that way. he doesn't hold himself back, and just says whats on his mind (and/or asks for assistance when needed.) he has a very professional attitude on the outside, but a soft and comforting nature to his close friends and family.

this is a contrast from dorian, or "rubedo", who has more platinum blonde hair, and purple-red eyes. he also has moles, instead of freckles. his marking is more of a purple-red color, and has more points to it. (he can also hide and change it!) his hair is also unbraided, but in a ponytail. he has somewhat of a permanent scowl on his face, and his eyes are downturned while albedo's are more droopy. i think his real name is rubedo, to match with albedo (both are stages in alchemy) but after rhinedottir abandons him, he changes it to "dorian" to match his brother, durin. (his name is dorian in the games files, so i made a story to go with it. but i also believe he's inspired by the story "the picture of dorian gray")

his personality is more brash & brazen compared to albedo, as he has some un-resolved baggage surrounding rhinedottir abandoning him in durin's stomach (aka: the dragon in dragonspine). he resents albedo for having the life he couldn't have despite being created by rhinedottir first. he was merely the testing stage of albedo's existence. he doesn't have a vision, and he cant control the elements, but he miraculously has powers of his own. he uses durin's blood (or crimson agate) which manifests much like albedo's geo element. his power is strongest when in dragonspine near durin's heart, so if he went to mondstadt city, it would be much weaker.

whopperflower, or just "whoppy", is dorian's creation that he made from studying albedos books and notes (that he stole, by the way.) so obviously, i gave him cryo whopperflower traits. his design is more similar to albedo because dorian projected his issues onto him a bit ... whoppy has white markings on his neck and forehead that match other flowers, and his leaf colors extend onto his hair :) he's fully capable of mimicking something else, but his true form is a whopperflower - and i wanted to make all of them have distinctive designs, so i gave him a little sprout on his head :)

whoppy's personality is quiet and obedient. since he was created by dorian, he listens to pretty much everything he says and has a hard time gaining his own free will. dorian doesn't control him after the fight in shadows admist snowstorms, so he still has to learn how to think for himself... he also wields the element of cryo without a vision, because he's a whopperflower :-)

the last one is what i like to call "glitchbedo" and he's based off of this glitch. i think it would be interesting if he was an unknown identity from the abyss, who roams around dragonspine, before he saw albedo and tried to steal his appearance. albedo finds him roaming around mindlessly one day and pretty much takes him in. when trying to make him talk however, loud static noises come out instead. (i got this idea from this comic!)

he's just ... a black void?? that's it. his head is tilted permanently for some reason. he can't write or speak but he can understand tevyats language. he's a very mysterious guy... im still trying to figure out how i want to characterize him -_- something like paper jam dipper from gravity falls, maybe ??

[niuttuc]

Tell you about my mtg oc?

Well I would love to hear what you think of my main boy, Marcel Delaswan!

Marcel was born on the plane of Floramore in a quite little village. His father spent his time chasing a Chevalier dream, leaving his son to be raised almost exclusively by his mother. It was not always easy Marcel’s mother worked hard as the local washer woman, and was often ill of health. This left Marcel a great deal of time to himself as a child which he spent playing in the flowering meadows, making friends with the local fairies.

It would be this same fairies who would come to his aid when his mother fell deathly ill one day. They lead Marcel into the nearby enchanted wood where they thought him all about the healing properties of the magical flora. Only when he finally left the forest arms full of herbs and flowers it make his mother better, two years had past.

With nowhere to go Marcel spent some time living in the enchanted forest a casualty leaving to trade healing herbs for food, clothing and other necessities. His time in the forest changing him, his straw blond hair becoming a shimmering platinum, flecks of sliver formed in his eyes, as his skin became as smooth and white as porcelain. Had he stayed in the forest he might have become a full fae, but fate had other plans.

For one day a Duke came to the village chasing rumors of a fae with healing abilities, only to find a lost forest child instead. But the noble was desperate and took the child in hopes that the fae had thought him something his healers did not know. Arriving at the Duke’s castle Marcel learned that his wife had passed in childbirth and now his infant son was deathly sick with a fever. The same fever that had taken his mother from him.

Having healed his child Marcel became a ward and second son to the duke. He was given the best education a noble could provide, greatly extending his understanding of the healing and magical arts. Leading to Marcel becoming the personal physician to the man who was like the father he never had.

So when the duke was attacked by some beast while on a hunt, an attack that left him cursed and slowly losing his humanity. Marcel pushed himself to his braking point and found he could do nothing to help his liege.

It an act of desperation Marcel sought out darker magics for aid, seeking counsel from one of the most powerful witches on Floramore. The old crone gave Marcel a ritual that would help his lord.

With no other options Marcel preformed this ritual, never fully understanding that he was riding his liege of his affliction by moving it down his bloodline.

Not until he found his lords son over the body of his governess, throat ripped out and blood dripping from his mouth.

Marcel dose not recall much of what happened next. He recalls stumbling back, his hand brushing something. He recalls the boy lunging at him, then a bright light and he was the starring up at the stained glass visage of a winged woman. A bloody sword in his hand.

It was here on Innistrad Marcel learned just what it was that had attacked his liege, some fowl thing called a vampire that had found its way to his home plane.

Marcel now travels the multiverse learning everything he can about Vampires. So that one day he might create a cure and make some amends for the wrong he has done.

Alright, a lot to unpack here, but let's start simple: Vampires in magic are incredibly diverse depending on the plane. Is Marcel focused on any particular kind or trying to synthesize whatever they have in common that might be applicable?

[sentinelpri]

Yukon (NSFW)

It’s half past one in the morning when Gohan pulls up to Piccolo’s humble abode in the shitty white pick up that the Namekian always rolls his eyes at. They can both fly, so he isn’t sure why the half-Saiyan insists on using a human vehicle, but he never questions it out loud.

Perhaps it’s one of Gohan’s many attempts to escape his capabilities and fit in with the other humans, or perhaps it’s a more convenient choice that Piccolo simply can’t wrap his head around. Piccolo is just thankful that Bulma thought to install a driveway for the tiny capsule house that she insisted on giving him to put in the middle of the forest by Goku’s home after the defeat of Cell. 

Piccolo has been antsy for the last half hour or so. He woke up to the feeling of Gohan’s intense ki heading his way and decided to wait by the window of his dining room. He doesn’t need to sleep, anyway, but without Gohan to train with and without any big space emperors or scary androids or pink blob monsters to defeat, the days go by too slowly for his liking. So, he sleeps through them.

As the Namekian sits at the window with a cup of hot tea and stares into the vast forest, a sigh falls from in between his lips. He knows that when Gohan comes to the door, he’s going to have to go out there and spar with him- not that it’s a bad thing, but it’s freezing cold and snow is falling from the clouds above them to cover the lush grass and trees in a thin blanket of white. It’s going to be a stark contrast to the mug of tea in his hands and the warm, cozy bed he was in less than an hour ago.

Yet, he finds that he’s excited about seeing his former protege, because when is he not? Even though he tries to hide it, he can hear Nail in the back of his mind, teasing him about just how fast he gets up from his spot at the table to answer the door. 

The door opens with a light swoosh from the wind outside. In front of Piccolo stands Gohan, who’s dressed head to toe in a beige winter set with a dark brown coat, a big beanie, earmuffs, and a matching scarf. Gohan’s square, silver-rimmed glasses compliment the little pieces of raven hair that peek out of the beanie’s hems as well as his big onyx eyes and rosily flushed skin.

“Piccolo-”

“Gohan-”

They both try to speak at the same time, only to stop. Awkward silence ensues.

Piccolo’s heart races.

‘Your feelings for him aren’t the same anymore. Something’s different. What’s going on with you? Your heart is racing.’

‘Shut up, Nail.’

Oh, how time changes things. 

“Do you wanna spar?” Gohan finally asks while scratching the back of his neck and averting his gaze.

“Sure.”

Piccolo steps outside into the bitter cold and follows Gohan out into the forest. The snow continues to fall, hard and fast, blown into their eyes by the billowing wind. They make it to a rather heavily forested area that offers them some protection from the harsh climate, and yet, Gohan still seems bothered by it as they start to dress down.

“Ugh, I can barely see shit,” Gohan complains with a small laugh. He continues to do so as he removes his beanie, glasses, gloves, earmuffs, and scarf. Everything else, as inconvenient as it is to fight in, he leaves on. Piccolo stays mostly dressed as well, only dropping his weighted gear before getting into a comfortable fighting stance. “This snow’s really heavy…”

Piccolo rolls his eyes. 

Gohan transforms in the blink of an eye, a smile on his face as he does. Kempt raven locks shoot straight up and glow platinum blond. That familiar onyx, darker than the night sky, shifts into a shade of seafoam that’s reminiscent of an emerald ocean. The calm pitch of dusk is momentarily interrupted by the flashes of gold and white that ripple from Gohan’s Super Saiyan form. 

Even after all these years, that form of Gohan’s still has Piccolo in awe at its beauty. 

Or maybe it’s just Gohan himself. After all, Piccolo has never gawked at Goku, Vegeta, Trunks, or Goten, nor has he found any of them haunting every dream and waking moment of his. He’s never thought of them as gorgeous golden gods like he has with Gohan. 

Fuck, he should stop. In fact, he should have stopped this years ago, but he hasn’t. 

The Namekian stands still for a moment, and then, Gohan is darting forward. 

Following a half hour of sparring, Piccolo and Gohan find themselves laying on the snow-dusted grass and staring up at the sky. Both of them are still much stronger than an average human, but they’re out of shape and out of practice. Ten years ago, they would’ve been able to spar for hours without breaks. Now, neither of them could last even one hour. Piccolo can’t help but laugh at that dim reality as the sound of the waterfall rushing down a few yards away echoes in his ears in perfect sync with Gohan’s breathy chuckles. 

They sit up at the same time. Gohan’s platinum blond locks and seafoam eyes revert back to raven and onyx. Piccolo dares to look Gohan in the eye and gulps when their gazes meet. Onyx burns into charcoal, and Piccolo swears he isn’t functioning right because of it. So, he looks away. 

Gohan rests his head against Piccolo’s shoulder. It’s warm and soft just like the half-Saiyan himself. When Gohan was younger, Piccolo would’ve either shoved him off and bitched about it or subtly moved away. Nowadays, however, he appreciates the gesture and goes as far as to encourage it by wrapping an arm around Gohan’s body and pulling the ravenette into his side.

The snow continues falling, a little lighter now. It starts to die down at the same time that Gohan starts to doze off.

Piccolo thinks back to a conversation he and Goku had a few years ago. They aren’t friends. They’ve never been friends, really- more like forced allies, two people who understood each other but could never agree on much aside from common goals. Brothers in arms, perhaps. Regardless of the odd nature of their relationship, they’ve had conversations as if they were the best of friends, because when you’re a warrior like Goku or an outlier like Piccolo, your choice of people to converse with is limited.

It was a weird conversation, mostly consisting of Goku going on a rare philosophical ramble about what love really means and asking Piccolo for his opinion after expressing that he himself once thought that love was some sort of food. Though the Namekian was tempted not to answer the inquiry at the time, he knew that Goku didn’t have any bad intentions, so he knew there was no harm in doing so. Hence, he told Goku what he thought love was.

And, to him, love is the only thing that motivates people to change. Love is something that makes those who feel it rearrange every little piece of themselves to make room for pieces of the people they love; for their loved ones’ hobbies, goals, wants, and needs. After all, Gohan is the only one Piccolo has ever bothered listening to talk about subjects as boring as quantum physics or advanced trigonometry. Gohan is also the only one that Piccolo would drop everything to spend time with, and the only one that Piccolo tries to make happy.

So, all in all, Gohan is the only one he’s ever really loved. That discussion with Goku so long ago made him realize that, but he’s shoved it all down into the depths of his subconscious in a failed attempt to make it go away.

Years have passed. Gohan is twenty five now. Things have changed and Gohan is living his life as normally as he can, teaching at some nice college, living with Videl in a nice home in a nice area just a couple miles away from his mother, and giving up fighting for nicer things like the rest of his friends and family should have years ago. 

Everything is different. Yet, Piccolo’s feelings for Gohan have remained the same since his former student graduated high school. 

It’s clear that Gohan is fast asleep based on the soft snores that fall from between his rosy lips. Piccolo pulls him down so that he doesn’t strain his neck or back. With a bit of adjusting, Piccolo has the back of Gohan’s head rested comfortably on one of his muscular thighs. He’s careful to lean forward to block Gohan’s face and hair from the remnants of the dying snow that falls upon them. 

Piccolo nips at his bottom lip with his fangs and stares at the half-Saiyan in his lap. Part of him wants to wake Gohan up and part of him wants to just leave him there. The emotions bubbling in his chest are embarrassing and scary. He can hear Kami and Nail piping up like volcanic lava in the back of his subconscious, both of them practically screaming at him about how badly he needs to acknowledge his feelings for Gohan out loud before it’s too late to do so.

‘You know, he’s not a kid anymore,’ Kami muses, to which Piccolo scoffs and silently replies-

‘No, but he was when we met and I’m the only good authority figure he’s ever had. Acting on these feelings would ruin that, and I’d be taking advantage of him.’

‘You guys are less than a decade apart! You haven’t been an ‘authority figure’ since he was a preteen,’ Nail argues with an indignant tone of annoyance.

‘We age differently than both Saiyans and humans. It’s not a fair comparison to make.’

‘Would you like to hear what I think?’ Kami questions, and though Piccolo is tempted to say ‘no’, Kami’s advice tends to be useful enough for him to at least consider it.

‘What is it, Kami?’

‘I think you’re using the whopping- what, four?- year age difference as an excuse to reject Gohan before he can reject you.’

‘He has a point.’

‘And why the hell would I need an excuse to reject him? It’s a valid reason, not that I have a chance anyway. So, why?’

‘Because you’re scared of rejection. You always have been.’

Piccolo blinks at the sensation that comes from those words. His stomach churns. With that, Kami and Nail fade away once more. Piccolo stares down at Gohan again and frowns. There’s nothing for him to do except sit there and stay silent, enjoying the younger man’s presence while he can. In a rare display of affection, Piccolo gently runs his claws through Gohan’s raven locks to get the tangles out while attempting to encapsulate this moment in his mind.

After all, what else is there for Piccolo to do when he has the whole world in his lap?

Rejection. Kami is silent now, but his theory echoes in Piccolo’s mind. More than two decades have passed since he last fought Goku, but naturally, his sins still follow him whenever he tries to go anywhere that isn’t in an empty forest or an isolated ice cap in the middle of the ocean. On the rare occasion that he’s in public, he gets stared at. He sees people look at him with fear in their eyes, and he hears everything they say when they whisper to each other about the fact that he’s a seven foot tall green ‘monster’ with talons and a turban. Here and there, older folks will recognize him from the martial arts tournament where he fought Goku or even mistake him for his father, which never goes well.

It’s embarrassing. Piccolo gave up on world domination when he threw his life away for Gohan in their battle against Nappa and Vegeta so long ago. The dragon balls would have been usable on the half-Saiyan, who was still so little back then, but Piccolo didn’t want him to have to go through that kind of pain; through dying. So, he sacrificed himself without a thought, for his first and only friend. He knew then and there that whatever evil streak he had left in him from his father was long gone. 

Unfortunately, not a lot of people know about everything he’s gone through since he last fought Goku, and humans are a species of people who are driven primarily by fear. Piccolo has fully accepted society’s rejection of him. 

He doesn’t want to hurt people anymore. He doesn’t want to scare them. He just wants to belong with someone. Unfortunately, he doesn’t belong with humans, Saiyans, or even with his own race. He never blended in with any of the Namekians he met after fighting Frieza, otherwise he would’ve gone back with them to New Namek. They’re all soft, peace loving people that have hobbies like gardening and studying medicine and collecting cute nick nacks. The warrior clans take their training even more seriously than Piccolo does, only training to defend themselves should any foreign invaders try to take over New Namek, never for catharsis or for fun. 

The only person who’s ever made him feel like he’s belonged somewhere has been Gohan.  

Gohan is the only one that hasn’t rejected him yet.

Piccolo isn’t sure what he would do if it happened. If Gohan were to reject him, he would finally be alone for the first time since he took the half-Saiyan under his wing. He remembers what it feels like to be alone, too, and he doesn’t want to go back to that- no, he can’t go back to that.

So, Kami is right, Piccolo decides.

He’s terrified that Gohan will reject him and leave him alone. After so many years of being friends, he’s terrified that he’ll lose that. The time since he and Gohan met feels like it’s gone by in a flash, over twenty years condensed into a slideshow of memories that Piccolo thinks of every so often. 

But right now, as he sits in the snowy grass staring down at the half-Saiyan, time feels so ungodly slow- so slow that it’s almost like they haven’t grown apart at all since Gohan left the countryside for college and then for his teaching career. 

Piccolo’s charcoal eyes go low, scanning Gohan’s face.

Then, the reality hits him that Gohan might be gone from him for the rest of their time left on this beautiful yet terrible planet. Piccolo thinks about them and about all of the pieces of his life he’s rearranged over the years to fit certain pieces of Gohan’s in along with it, only for it to all fall apart.

He tries to convince himself that he doesn’t mind. They’re both so much older now, and as much as he misses spending time with the half-Saiyan, he doesn’t miss when they were younger, constantly being thrown into fights they wanted nothing to do with to keep their loved ones safe, the anxiety that came with knowing that he was the only one who would bother keeping Gohan alive aside from Krillin. Now that they’re older, they’re free, and Piccolo knows that’s all Gohan ever needed to be happy.

A harsh gust of wind blows by and snaps Gohan awake in its wake. He sits up in Piccolo’s lap a little too fast with his cheeks even redder than they were before.

“Piccolo…?”

Piccolo tenses up. Was pulling Gohan into his lap to sleep too forward? Maybe he shouldn’t have done it.

“Yes, Gohan?” He replies.

“Oh, God, I didn’t realize I fell asleep on you like that!” The professor suddenly exclaims and sits up straight, pushing himself as far away from his former mentor as possible. He bows his head in an apologetic manner that Piccolo can’t help but find somewhat cute. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“No, you’re fine,” Piccolo insists while holding back a frown. He quickly misses Gohan’s warmth and supplements it by reaching forward to place a reassuring hand on Gohan’s shoulder. Admittedly, it’s not nearly as good as having Gohan peacefully sleeping in his lap. Piccolo manages to make due with it, even pulling back when Gohan looks at him with dilated pupils. Humans’ pupils dilating means they’re scared, doesn’t it? Piccolo is only half-sure about that, but he seems to recall reading it in an anatomy scroll while spending time on Dende’s lookout. He’ll have to look that up on his cellphone later to see if he’s remembering correctly. “You… You can even stay over if you want. I’m sure you’re tired and I’ve heard that operating a vehicle this late can increase your chances of getting into an accident on the road. The guest room is open for you any time.”

“...Okay, sure,” Gohan nods and stands up. Piccolo stands as well. He watches with curious eyes as Gohan pulls out his cellphone. Though Bulma bought the Namekian one a long time ago, he hardly uses it. Gohan and Bulma are the only people who bother trying to contact him anyway regardless of the fact that the rest of the Z-Fighters have his number. At most, he’ll get bored and use the stupid thing to watch nature documentaries or google something he’s curious about. “I’ll text Videl to let her know that I won’t be home tonight; don’t want her waiting up for me.”

Videl Satan. Piccolo finds that he likes the earthling, though Gohan doesn’t talk much about her. From his understanding, Videl is Gohan’s best friend out of all of the humans he’s associated with since attending high school. Currently, Videl is Gohan’s roommate, as paying for a nice house by yourself these days is apparently very difficult. Piccolo also knows that the two have been on a date that didn’t work out all too well, and Nail has teased him plenty for his jealousy of Videl over it. 

Piccolo doesn’t say anything at the mention of Videl, simply turning back and flying to his home. Gohan follows him inside, but not before shaking the snow off of his boots and dusting the flakes off of his coat. His discarded accessories from before they started sparring are awkwardly bundled in his large, pale hands as he enters the capsule house behind Piccolo and closes the door. 

Something that Piccolo appreciates about Gohan is that, while he’s eloquent and able to communicate very extensively with his words, they’ve come to an understanding about the fact that it isn’t always necessary for him to do so when it’s just the two of them. Gohan understands that Piccolo isn’t always very talkative, and just like the half-Saiyan has adapted to everyone else in his life and fit them in like the pieces to a puzzle, he’s learned to communicate with Piccolo wordlessly. 

So, when they enter the Namekian’s home, nothing is said for a while. Gohan knows to take his shoes and socks off on the mat by the door and to put them in the corner by Piccolo’s shoes. He also knows not to say anything about the obnoxiously large talons on Piccolo’s feet like he did the first time Piccolo had him over at the capsule house. He knows to set his things in the guest room before meeting Piccolo in the kitchen and sitting by the window.

Piccolo knows that Gohan is hungry. Hell, Gohan has never refused food in his life. Piccolo suspects that Gohan’s perpetual hunger is one of the only things he actually inherited from Goku. 

Despite the fact that he himself lives on water, he keeps human food around for Gohan’s visits and has learned to prepare it somewhat decently. Or, maybe his cooking sucks and Gohan is both too polite and too thankful for the effort to actually comment on it. Either way, Gohan always eats the food, so Piccolo never asks. He quietly prepares four servings of instant ramen and puts an abhorrent amount of spices in it since that’s what Gohan seems to like. Occasionally, he’ll glance back at the professor, who has shed his coat and left it on the back of the chair he’s sitting in. The lenses of his glasses glare with the shine of the moonlight pouring in.

Gohan’s muscles, still prominent even after all these years, shift and ripple underneath the white thermal shirt he’s wearing as he turns to stare out the kitchen window. His raven locks are still swept by the wind and Piccolo wants nothing more than to comb through them with his fingers again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pours Gohan’s ramen into a bowl and makes both of them a cup of hot chai. Gohan’s is loaded with milk and sugar while his own is left as is. 

When Piccolo serves the food and the tea, he notices that something is off with Gohan. The younger man actually hesitates before gulping it down, and not only that, but he forgets to thank Piccolo for making it. At first, Piccolo doesn’t say a word about it, simply sitting down across from Gohan at the table and sipping his tea. He knew Gohan was feeling nostalgic or reminiscent or something tonight, as he probably wouldn’t have come over otherwise. Now, though, he’s starting to wonder if Gohan is upset.

“What’s on your mind?” Piccolo questions, eyes cast towards the window rather than Gohan.

“What?” Gohan stammers back with bright red cheeks.

“You’ve been off tonight. Is there a reason you came over? It doesn’t feel like a normal visit,” The Namekian clarifies.

“I, uh,” Gohan pauses. It’s clear that he’s nervous and trying to come up with some sort of excuse or lie. Piccolo just rolls his eyes at it, embarrassed at how bad Gohan is at this, even after having known him for so many years. Then again, that’s what he likes about Gohan. Unlike Goku who doesn’t think to lie and unlike Vegeta who would lie to his face with concerning ease, Gohan lies and is just embarrassingly bad at it. Piccolo has always found it amusing. “I just wanted to see you.”

“I can tell when you’re lying.”

“It’s not important, Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan insists with a dismissive wave. “I promise.”

Piccolo’s face scrunches. He hasn’t heard ‘Mr. Piccolo’ since Gohan was a preteen. The formal title makes him cringe as he’s reminded of just how much his feelings have changed in the last decade. 

“Why are you calling me that?” He demands and firmly sets his mug down on the table with a clink. “You haven’t called me that in years.”

“I don’t know, I guess sometimes I revert back to it when I-...” Gohan starts, talking a little too fast, only to cut himself off. Then, he mirrors Goku in how he offers a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his head whilst looking away. The smile on his rosy lips is awkward at best and guilty at worst. Piccolo’s brow furrows at it. “Ah, never mind.”

“No, finish what you were going to say,” Piccolo argues, to which Gohan surprisingly relents.

“Sometimes, you make me really nervous, so I-”

“Don’t tell me I still scare you after all these years.”

Then, suddenly, Gohan overflows like mercury, tears falling from his onyx eyes and onto Piccolo’s dining room table as the half-Saiyan balls up his fists in his lap and sobs. 

Piccolo sits there, still in the dining room chair, still across from Gohan. Now, he’s just uncomfortable and awkward. Even Kami and Nail are completely silent, not offering any advice or even a joke about how he’s backed himself into this seemingly inescapable corner. He doesn’t know whether he should just sit there or get up and go over to Gohan to comfort him. He pauses and waits for the half-Saiyan to say something- anything.

But, between all the tears, Gohan says nothing. He simply wipes his eyes and laughs.

For whatever reason, Gohan is laughing at him. Piccolo owlishly blinks at the ravenette. 

“I revert back to it when I get nervous,” Gohan sniffles and stares down at the table. Their cups of tea as well as Gohan’s empty bowl of food are forgotten as Piccolo gulps and cautiously runs his eyes over the younger man. Gohan’s shoulders are shaking with a mixture of his laughter and his tears, and his eyes- such a dark shade of black and so haunting- are glowing with an uncertainty that Piccolo knows all too well. “You make me nervous, Piccolo. I don’t know how you still haven’t figured it out after all these years. I’m not good at hiding it, either. Vegeta knows, Bulma knows, Videl knows, mom has interrogated me about it for years, Trunks and Goten have even started making jokes… Are you really that dense?”

Piccolo thinks his heart might have dropped all the way to the bottom of his stomach. Suddenly, the air in his house is so hot that it raises goosebumps on his skin and there’s butterflies fluttering throughout his body. He’s nauseous and excited and terrified, all at the same time. He knows what Gohan is talking about, yet he finds himself unable to believe that the half-Saiyan would bring up how their dynamic has changed so suddenly… After all the time that’s passed, too.

Why now?

“What?” The Namekian whispers. Though his body remains still, the words that come out of his mouth are shaky. “What are you talking about?”

Finally, Gohan comes out with it.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Gohan confesses with determination in his onyx eyes.

Piccolo has thought about this exact scenario and about how it would play out in his head a million times over. He has fantasized time and time again about all the smooth words he would say to sweep Gohan off his feet. He’s thought about taking Gohan into his arms and connecting their lips in a frenzy of passion and relief. But now that it’s actually happening- Gohan sitting right in front of him, in the flesh, confessing his love for Piccolo so earnestly- he realizes he can’t go through with any of it.

Piccolo knows that he has to do the right thing here. Gohan is sensitive and emotionally vulnerable. What if he doesn’t know how to tell the difference between platonic love and romantic love? What if he’s merely confused? What if he’s just desperate and lonely enough to use Piccolo as an outlet because the older man is the one he’s most familiar with? What if it’s just a puppy dog crush that Gohan ends up getting over in the span of a few weeks? Young humans do that stupid shit all the time, according to Bulma and Chi Chi. 

“Gohan… You aren’t saying what I think you’re saying, are you? Tell me I’m reading this wrong, that I’m-” Piccolo clears his throat and averts his gaze before continuing. “-that I’m just missing some sort of human social cue and that you aren’t actually suggesting that you might be in-”

“No. Whatever you’re thinking I’m saying is probably right,” Gohan confirms the very thing that Piccolo feared. Then, the professor rests his elbows on the table and holds his head in his hands. “Is it really that hard for you to believe?”

“...Yes,” Piccolo nods. His heart is slamming against his chest. “Yes, it is hard for me to believe. You’ve been my student since you were a toddler, Gohan. What would your parents think? And your little brother? Your friends? Your students?”

Gohan shakes his head and starts to scramble for some sort of argument. Piccolo can see and feel the panic welling up. Watching Gohan right now is like watching a drowning man in the middle of an ocean, flailing his arms, hoping that someone will see and rescue him. Piccolo looks away in an attempt to just let Gohan sink in the sea of his unwise feelings.

“You’re not that much older than me and-”

“That doesn’t matter, it’s about the maturity gap and the power differential-” Piccolo starts to rebut, but Gohan doesn’t let him finish.

“Are we really going to sit here and pretend that you’re still stronger than me? That you still have some sort of power over me?” Gohan demands with a raised voice, slamming a single fist down on the wooden table. The force behind it is enough to leave cracks throughout the entire piece of furniture. Piccolo imagines Gohan in a day or two from now, frantically apologizing about breaking his table and offering to buy him a new one. Right now, however, the professor is red in the face and clearly angry. “God dammit, Piccolo, I’ve been an adult for seven years and you’re going to sit here and tell me that you can’t acknowledge my feelings because you’re afraid of what people will say!? Why have I always been old enough to defend the planet and murder aliens but not old enough to do anything else? You haven’t even taught me anything since I was a preteen! You’re not my teacher- you’re my friend, but I want more than that. Since when do you care what people think, anyway?”

“I don’t care what people think, at least not anymore, but I don’t want to be seen as a creep by the people you love. People already think I’m a monster… I’m not going to drag you down with me. You’re intelligent and you have a good career, a good education, and a pretty face. As long as I’m not too close to you, you’ll prosper with the other humans, and you’ll maintain the good relationship you’ve had with your family. I’m certain that if your mother were to discover these feelings of yours, she’d kill me or disown you, or both. I don’t even know what your father would say, and I can imagine Goten now; he’d never let you live it down. It’s more for your sake than it is for mine.”

“Does that mean you don’t love me back, then?” Gohan whispers with a frown that rips Piccolo’s heart in two.

Deep down, the Namekian knows he should lie. He should tell Gohan that he’s never had any romantic feelings for him and that he never will. 

And yet, he can’t.

“I didn’t say that, necessarily,” Piccolo mumbles the words, only to hate himself for doing so when he sees the hope that flickers up in Gohan’s eyes. “Don’t. Don’t do this to me-”

“So, you do love me back,” Gohan practically beams and stands up so fast that his chair makes an abhorrent screech against the tile floor. 

Piccolo recoils and places his hands over his ears.

“I didn’t say that either-”

“Which is it then?”

“I do love you,” He admits. “But we shouldn’t do this. Listen, Gohan-”

“No-” Gohan tries to cut him off, but Piccolo doesn’t allow it, standing up and looming over the professor from across the table so he can talk.

“Just listen, will you? If you’re going to listen to anything I’m going to say tonight, it needs to be this, Gohan. I love you very much, and I have for a long time, but you and I are both smart enough to know that we shouldn’t do this. This situation, it… It holds a lot more weight than you want to admit. If we’re together, your family life will be in shambles. Your parents will be disappointed, your brother will tease you to no end, and all of your father’s friends- Yamcha, Tien Shinhan, Chiaotzu, Bulma, Vegeta, Master Roshi, all of them- will think lowly of both of us. You’ll never make normal friends, never have a normal family with children or grandchildren of your own. Everyone we know will judge us for it for a long time if not for the rest of our lives. Don’t you care about any of that?”

After what seems like an eternity, Piccolo finishes his ramble, practically drinking in the crisp air around them by the end of it. Gohan frowns up at him like he’s somehow offended. Meanwhile, Piccolo is standing there, shaking and purple-faced from the heavy blush that spreads across his cheeks. He doesn’t remember doing so, but in the midst of his frustration, he must’ve placed his hands flat on the table, because now Gohan is reaching forward and placing his palms on top of the backs of Piccolo’s hands.

“Nothing in my life has ever been normal, Piccolo. I don’t want normal, I want you.”

Piccolo swallows tightly.

“You want me.”

“I do,” Gohan reiterates with a nod, and it almost makes Piccolo give in.

Almost.

“No.”

“What?” 

“I said no.”

“But… I don’t understand,” Gohan’s face drops. He crosses his arms over his own body, almost as if he’s hugging himself. “I told you I don’t care about the consequences, I mean- we both love each other, what’s the problem?”

“I’m not going to ruin your life for this, Gohan. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. I’ve worked incredibly hard to keep you alive for all these years, and your mother has done everything within her means to let you live your teenage years and early adulthood like a normal human- like you’ve always deserved to. I shouldn’t have taken you when I did. You never should’ve had to fight mine or your father’s battles, never should’ve had to fight to keep me and everyone else alive just because you happened to be strong. The least I can do to repay you for saving the planet so long ago and saving me is to let you live a normal life. I refuse to ruin the work we have all put into you for this potential relationship. So, no. I know you hate rejection, and you’re going to be mad at me for a while, and that’s okay, but no. I’m not going to do this with you. You’ll thank me in a few years when you find some human to settle down and start a normal life with.”

Gohan raises his hand. 

“But-”

“No buts,” Piccolo raises his voice so suddenly that Gohan flinches at the booming sound of it. Piccolo ignores the ensuing guilt in favor of turning and starting to walk towards his bedroom. Hopefully, he can lock himself in there for the rest of the night and sleep this off- or maybe he’ll wake up and this will be rendered yet another one of his dreams about Gohan. “I’m right and we both know it. You’re too smart to be dragged down into a life with me, into a life of fighting and isolation and solitude… It’s so lonely, Gohan. You don’t deserve to know how bad it feels.”

The Namekian only gets a few steps in before he feels a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind, trapping him there. He could probably throw Gohan off if he really wanted, but the thing is, he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to lean into the touch and give in already. Still, he tries to keep his resolve.

“Piccolo…”

“What are you doing?” Piccolo snaps and wriggles. Gohan doesn’t relent. “Listen, if this is some last resort of yours, it’s not gonna work on me. You may as well give up now.”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Gohan practically begs and buries his face in Piccolo’s back. He can feel the half-Saiyan’s tears soaking through the back of his gi. Gohan’s voice cracks as he continues. “Please. If you don’t want this, that’s okay, but I can’t have you here wanting me as much as I want you only for you to reject me because you think I’m not adult enough to make my own decisions. Reject me because I’m not good enough for you, push me away. Tell me that you really don’t want this… That you don’t love me.”

Piccolo’s brow furrows. Gohan would rather be rejected for not being ‘good enough’ than for being too young and inexperienced. Piccolo supposes it makes sense, but still. Rejecting Gohan at all is proving hard enough. The last thing he wants to do is lie to the younger man and give him more self-esteem issues than he already has.

“I…” Piccolo begins, only to stop and shake his head. “I can’t. I can’t lie to you, Gohan.”

“What’s going on in your mind right now?”

“I’m scared that you don’t know what you’re doing and that I’m going to be taking advantage of you if we go through with this.”

“You’ve spent the last two decades protecting me, Piccolo. You can stop now,” Gohan murmurs, tone gentle and reassuring. The tension starts to seep out of Piccolo as the younger man’s long, nimble fingers dance across the blue sash around his waist. “You’ve made your amends. You’re not a monster anymore- you were never a monster to start with, just...”

Finally, something in Piccolo breaks. He turns around and pushes Gohan into the wall, keeping the professor there with an arm on either side of his head. Gohan seems to shrink underneath Piccolo’s gaze, appearing so small despite his impressive physique and stature.

“Are you sure about this?” Piccolo probes.

His eyes narrow, running up and down Gohan’s face. The utter determination laced through Gohan’s expression is astounding, to say the least. Piccolo tries to convince himself that this is just another really good dream and that he’s sure to wake up any minute now.

“I’m more sure about this than I’ve been about anything in my life,” Gohan confirms and reaches forward to place his hands on Piccolo’s chest.  “I want you.”

And that’s all it takes for Piccolo to crumble like broken rock underneath Gohan’s soft gaze and tentative touch. He leans forward and brushes their lips together, careful and unsure at first. When Gohan kisses him back so tenderly, Piccolo can’t help how he leans in to deepen it and clasps the half-Saiyan’s wrists in his hands. 

Gohan is built like the Greek gods that Piccolo has seen in all of the human mythology scrolls, tall and cut like stone, yet the beginnings of his toned arms feel thin within the confines of Piccolo’s awkwardly oversized fingers and palms. Gohan seems to pay it no mind, only leaning into the touch until their chests are pressed together and one of his legs is hiked up to rest on Piccolo’s sharp hip bone. 

Piccolo doesn’t know how or why this is happening, just that it is and that he doesn’t want it to stop any time soon. His heart is beating to the rhythm of Gohan’s drum as he lets go of Gohan’s wrists, only to then grab the underneath of Gohan’s thighs to drag him up. Gohan plays along seamlessly with how he wraps both legs around Piccolo’s waist and lets the Namekian whisk him out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. 

Right when he gently drapes Gohan over the cheap, fuzzy blanket that covers his bed, Piccolo opens his eyes and stops to process the fact that they’re actually about to have sex. While he isn’t the most educated about human or Namekian mating customs (or really about anything that isn’t fighting or wastelands), even he can sense the passion bouncing off of them; the sexual tension so thick he could cut it with his sharp talons if he so wished- the lust in the air that’s so heavy he can barely breathe in it.

“Gohan,” Piccolo gulps, eyes darting around the room before landing on the half-Saiyan. He slowly crawls over Gohan and flinches when the bed creaks at their combined weight. “Gohan, are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” Gohan nods. His onyx eyes run up and down Piccolo’s body with unmistakable desire. 

Underneath the calming hush of the dying snowfall and the moonlight that illuminates Gohan’s pale skin so beautifully, something clicks into place.

Piccolo thinks he might be dying. 

Two or three hours ago, he was convinced that Gohan would never fall in love with him in their lifetime. 

An hour or two ago, he was hellbent on rejecting Gohan’s newfound romantic advances no matter what it took. 

Half an hour ago, he had Gohan against the kitchen wall, their lips pressed together in a frenzy of pent up passion and love.

And currently, he has Gohan splayed out on his fuzzy blankets on his back. The half-Saiyan’s onyx eyes are full of desire and his cheeks are flushed a beautiful bright red from the closeness of Piccolo hovering right above him. 

“No, I don’t know what I’m doing. Not really, anyway,” Piccolo answers with furrowed brows. Despite all of his combat experience and the combined thirty-ish years he’s spent on planet earth since being created to kill Goku, he’s never trusted anyone enough to let them see past his harsh exterior and get to know him, let alone trusted anyone enough to have sex. He’s slightly familiar with how it works, but he isn’t confident in his knowledge of human or Saiyan biology- nor does he know which will be more prevalent in Gohan, assuming that the two are any different from each other. “I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear this, but I’ve never… You know.”

“Had sex before?” Gohan finishes the statement for him. A half smile ghosts over his lips. “Actually, it’s not all that surprising when I think about it. Can you even…?”

Piccolo rushes to answer, a little embarrassed at the implication that he’s unable to have sex. He hasn’t done it with another person, sure, but he’s had enough alone time over the years to get the gist of how his body works. The only real problem is that he’s unsure of how sexually compatible him and Gohan will be.

“Uh, yeah- I mean, I can, and I think we can, but it may be a little different than whatever it is you’re expecting.”

“I haven’t done it with anyone before either,” Gohan confesses, to which Piccolo lets out a sigh of relief. But then, his stomach drops. This is Gohan’s first time. To humans, that’s an important milestone in life. He’s heard all of Goku’s friends like Yamcha and Krillin talk about it in such a vulgar yet sentimental manner that he’s able to understand just how prevalent sex is in human culture; especially the first time someone has it. What if he fucks it up for Gohan? Whatever anxiety he has about that is alleviated, though, as Gohan reaches up to place his hands on Piccolo’s cheeks. There’s a warm hand on either side of the Namekian’s face and a thumb gently caressing one of his high cheekbones. “It’s fine, though, I promise. We’ll figure it out together.”

A flurry of feelings hit Piccolo all at once. First, relief. Second, embarrassment. Third, utter love and adoration. He isn’t sure which to lean into, so for a moment, he just remains there, wordless and watching over Gohan with blush-purple cheeks and wide charcoal eyes. 

“I…”

“What’s wrong?” Gohan asks in a whisper.

“Nothing, this is all just really sappy of you,” Piccolo admits.

A beat of silence drums on, slow and romantic until Gohan interrupts it with-

“How do you wanna do this? Wanna just strip down and go from there?”

“Yeah, sure,” Piccolo swallows.

His throat is tight. His heart is beating out of his chest, and he can’t focus on anything but Gohan, Gohan, Gohan; Gohan, who is somehow in love with the monster that is him after all these years- Gohan, who is staring up at him so adoringly- Gohan, who is willing to be open and vulnerable with Piccolo, the monster that he is. 

At that thought, Piccolo hesitates. Gohan is a lot… Smaller than him. The younger man is roughly half his weight and two feet shorter than him, and quite a bit thinner as well. Not quite fragile, but not as sturdy as a Namekian, either. Though his Saiyan biology allows him to keep a frame that’s much more cut and durable than the average human man, Gohan has definitely lost some bulk since he stopped fighting to pursue his passion for education. Piccolo fears that he’ll lose control and shatter Gohan like glass with his own monstrous strength.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you really sure about this?”

Gohan’s brows pinch together in frustration at the same time that an indignant pout takes over his lips and cheeks. 

“I already told you-”

“I know, but it’s so sudden, and I don’t think you’ve really thought through the implications and the consequences of this- hell, Gohan, what if I hurt you?”

Surprisingly, Gohan stops. The frustration on his face fades to nothing as he reaches down to start popping open the buttons of his top in a way so tantalizing that it has Piccolo’s mouth watering.

“I’ve wanted this for a fucking decade, Piccolo. I want to give myself to you,” Pop, pop, pop. Gohan, who is usually so gentle and so careful, practically rips his shirt off and throws it across the room. It smacks into the wall before pathetically falling to the floor. Gohan continues, reaching up to undo the blue sash around Piccolo’s purple gi. Admittedly, Gohan slows down for Piccolo, which the Namekian is grateful for. His sash is removed with grace and dropped to the rug on the floor beside the bed. Gohan then tugs at the gi Piccolo is still wearing, clearly impatient but not impatient enough to rip Piccolo’s clothes off or pressure him into doing something he doesn’t want to do. “I want you to hurt me. I’ll be fine, I promise. Seriously.”

“...I’m not going to hurt you- at least not on purpose,” Piccolo mumbles and averts his gaze while shrugging his gi off of his shoulders. The garment falls down to his waist, caught on his sharp hip bones. The entirety of his broad chest and muscular arms are revealed to Gohan. He can’t help but feel self-conscious; his body is so much bigger, so much more different than Gohan’s. If not for the utter admiration in Gohan’s expression, Piccolo would be terrified of the half-Saiyan being disgusted by it. “If you’re sure…Then okay. Let’s do it.”

They strip the rest of the way down, Piccolo discarding his gi with his sash and Gohan taking care of the rest of his own layers. Most of it ends up on a pathetic pile on the floor, forgotten by the two men, who are busy staring each other up and down. Piccolo notices that Gohan’s thin, pale frame is like something carved out of marble or stone, unblemished and smooth like the peaceful life he’s been living. 

Unlike Piccolo, he’s not covered in scars or stretch marks from muscles built by endless decades of battle and training. Unlike Piccolo, Gohan isn’t naturally built to fight. The softness in his eyes reflects that, too. 

Gohan has broad shoulders and a narrow chest, a defined v-line and sharp abs. His chest rises and falls with each and every slow, heavy breath of his as Piccolo looks further down. Gohan’s muscular thighs are pinned between Piccolo’s knees, and briefly, the Namekian imagines what his head would feel like with the insides of said thighs crushing his head. He also thinks about the half-hard cock between Gohan’s legs, colored rosy like his cheeks, uncut and veiny. It’s not too different from Piccolo’s own, just smaller and… Well, not green with a ribbed pink base- nor is it accompanied by a slick pussy just a few inches below it like Piccolo’s is.

Piccolo’s eyes roam shamelessly. It’s the first time that he’s taken Gohan in like this and allowed himself to memorize every curve and dip and every muscle and vein without scolding himself for being such a monster afterwards. 

Tonight, he’s done being a monster. Tonight, he’s a lover instead, and hopefully, that’s what Gohan sees as well.

“Oh, wow, you… You have both,” Gohan suddenly stammers out.

It takes everything in Piccolo not to shrivel up and die from the embarrassment on his plush bed. 

“Excuse me? What do you mean I have ‘both’?” Piccolo demands with purple cheeks.

“I, um,” Gohan offers a nervous laugh that makes Piccolo flash back to where they were at the kitchen table just earlier with Gohan trying to insist that nothing was wrong when in reality, he was harboring the same deep-seeded feelings that Piccolo has had for years. “Sorry, that probably came off a little rude, but what I meant was… Female presenting humans tend to have a vagina while male presenting humans tend to have a penis. It looks like you have the Namekian equivalent to both. I think the technical term is hermaphrodite, but-”

“God, you’re a fucking nerd,” Piccolo spits out in embarrassment. He thinks he’s put the pieces together now between Gohan’s unsexy-sex-talk, the few bits of human sex he’s seen through human media, and the few things he’s heard from Nail and Kami about how both his and Gohan’s people procreate. “What do we do now?”

“I, uh…” Gohan wriggles on the bed, clearly anxious. His eyes flicker between Piccolo’s face and the duvet. “Do you wanna do me?”

“Don’t… Don’t you have to prepare for that sort of thing?” Piccolo murmurs.

“I already did.”

“Wait, what? Are you telling me you planned for this to happen!?”

“No? I mean, not necessarily,” Gohan stammers, and as he does, Piccolo’s heart skips a beat. The thought that Gohan anticipated for this to happen all along is actually somewhat comforting. It reminds him that no, he didn’t force this, and no, he’s not the monster that everyone has always made him out to be. Gohan wants this just as much as he does… Gohan actually wants him back. “But… I did want to be prepared just in case it did. I already douched in the shower before coming here, and if you don’t know what that is-”

“I think I’ll pass on the explanation. I’ll take your word for it, but so God help me, if this ends up backfiring somehow because you’re rushing it, I’m never going to let you live it down.”

“Okay, okay, I hear you,” The ravenette laughs and fumbles with his shaky hands to reach for his discarded pants. He takes a tiny clear bottle filled with a pink, gel-like substance out of his pockets. Piccolo can’t read the label because it’s in English, but he recognizes the shape of strawberries to the side of the brand’s logo. “Just, um… Here, I have some lube, I can stretch myself out to take you if you wanna watch.”

“What’s lube?” Piccolo asks, assuming that ‘lube’ must be the substance in the bottle the half-Saiyan beneath him is currently twisting the cap off of.

“It’s a liquid that you use to make things wet before or during penetration or grinding so it doesn’t hurt as much. It makes it a little easier.”

Gohan pours some of the slick gel onto his fingers and spreads his legs just far enough to pump two of his lube-covered digits into his tight entrance. The scent of artificial strawberry flavoring wafts through the air as the bottle is abandoned somewhere under one of the pillows. Gohan’s spare hand drifts to his cock, which he pumps slowly and teasingly, similar to how Piccolo would please himself were he alone. The Namekian realizes that he overthought everything all along- despite some minor anatomical differences, he and Gohan will end up being sexually compatible. 

They’ll be just fine.

Piccolo watches in awe while attempting to hide the relief and excitement threatening to break through his expression. In the midst of it all, however, he finds himself feeling guilty for just looming over Gohan with his jaw slack while the younger man does all the work. So, he reaches forward with shaky hands and speaks-

“I’d rather do it for you… If I can. I feel useless just sitting here watching you.”

“But Piccolo… Your nails,” Gohan freezes and reminds him. “Won’t they hurt?”

“I know, they’re sharp. I wasn’t planning on using my fingers. I’d rather not mutilate your insides with my talons tonight if we can avoid it… Not that I think I’d be able to cram the length of my fingers all the way up there anyway,” Piccolo clarifies with a small chuckle and shifts so he’s on his elbows and knees between Gohan’s legs. 

“O-Oh, um, okay…? Then what exactly are you planning?” Gohan whispers and props himself up on his elbows, seemingly to observe whatever it is that Piccolo plans on doing. The Namekian doesn’t bother warning him, just grabs his calves and places them over his shoulders before burying his face in the ravenette’s heat and prodding it open with his tongue. “Fuck…!”

At the exclamation, that of which is paired with a gasp, Piccolo perks his head up and looks at Gohan worriedly. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks between the flavor of strawberry lube and hot, sweaty skin on his tongue. 

Were the night not so intense, Piccolo thinks he would tease Gohan for both his desperation and the ridiculous choice of lube. He decides he can do that some other time and maintains eye contact with a flustered, trembling Gohan. 

“No, no, it’s just… I wasn’t prepared for you to do that, but you can keep going… If you want.”

“If I want? Really?” Piccolo shakes his head and gets ready to dive back in with a final remark. “I’ve been waiting years for this, Gohan. Of course I want to… You’re something else.”

With that, the older man resumes his motions. His long, thick fingers wrap around Gohan’s calves to keep them atop his broad shoulders as his slick tongue delves into the ravenette’s needy hole. It’s not for long that he gets to eat the half-Saiyan out, though, as he’s quickly interjected by Gohan saying-

“Stop, stop,” It’s breathy and rushed in a way that sounds almost panicked, so Piccolo immediately stops and peers up at Gohan with furrowed brows. “Oh, thank God.”

“Was I doing something wrong?” Piccolo, embarrassed, speaks and averts his eyes.

“No, I was just about to cum,” Gohan frantically objects with a nervous laugh and a heavy blush. “Or, finish, I mean- reach climax? I don’t know what terms Namekians use, but I’m sure you understand-”

“For the love of God, stop, you sound like such a nerd right now,” Piccolo huffs with a sort of half-smile. He meets Gohan’s eyes.  “Do I need to slow down or something, or did you just not want it to end until…?”

“The, uh, the second one,” Gohan clears his throat and anxiously fiddles with his fingers. “Don’t wanna cum until you’re actually inside me, y’know? It is our first time.”

“Yeah, okay. How do you want to position this?”

“I wanna be looking at you,” Is the first thing Gohan says. Piccolo wonders if that’s the custom for humans or Saiyans or both- if it’s somehow better that way, or maybe it’s just Gohan’s sentimental side coming out. He doesn’t dare comment on it, lest he scare Gohan back into his shy shell. “So… Maybe I can stay on my back like this and you can get between my legs? I’ll tilt my hips up a bit and wrap my legs around your waist so it’s not as hard for you. I think it’s called missionary…?”

“Okay, sure.”

They’re already pretty close to the position that Gohan described, so Piccolo doesn’t have to do too much adjusting to get them there. He simply sits up on his knees and pulls Gohan’s legs around his waist.

“You look good from this angle. Absolutely beautiful,” Gohan compliments with a sappy grin, but it flusters Piccolo too much for him to acknowledge it, so he changes the subject instead.

“Are you really sure about this?” Piccolo asks one last time while stroking his cock with a handful of lube and tracing some of the slick substance around the circumference of Gohan’s asshole, convinced that whatever God- Kami in his subconscious, King Yemma in the afterlife, King Kai on that sad little planet- is going to smite him for daring to touch such a pure, perfect, loving soul like this when he’s such a monster.

But he’s done being a monster, he tells himself. He shakes his head to clear it of the thought and hones in on Gohan’s response, which is a rather frustrated and aggressive-

“So God help me, if you ask that one more time-” The angry half-threat is promptly cut off by Piccolo lining the head of his lubed cock up with the outer rim of Gohan’s ass and cautiously pushing in. “Oh, God-”

Gohan cuts himself off and turns his head to the side, one cheek against the pillow. His kiss-bruised lips are parted in a moan. The rest of his expression is twisted in some mixture between pain and pleasure. He clenches down around Piccolo’s cock hard, so hard that the Namekian nearly doubles over from it. It’s somewhat uncomfortable but it also feels good in a way so intimate that he suspects his heart may burst. Then, Gohan’s eyes flutter open to meet his and Piccolo is confident that he must be dreaming- either that or dying.

Neither of those things prove to be true, though. He is very much alive and very much awake, he can tell by the blood drumming so quickly through his veins and his heart slamming against his chest, by the smell of worn off cologne and sweat coming from Gohan that’s too real to be a dream or heaven or anything but real, here, and now.

“Are… Are you okay, Gohan? What do you want me to do?” Piccolo questions.

“Move, please.”

So, he does. He pulls his hips back far enough that the only part of his cock left in Gohan is the head, and then, he pushes back in to the hilt. Gohan jumps at first. Maybe he’s just startled or maybe Piccolo’s size is somewhat overstimulating and somewhat painful, but he doesn’t complain, so Piccolo continues doing what he was told to do; move. 

Initially, part of him suspected this to be an hour or two hour ordeal. With it being their first time, Piccolo didn’t expect Gohan to rush into it, let alone allow penetration, but here they are. Piccolo isn’t complaining, either. The sensation that comes from Gohan’s velvety wetness squeezing around him so tightly is heavenly enough that he nearly cums after a few thrusts. It’s so intense that Piccolo has to clench his fists to keep himself from finishing too fast. 

It’s a little awkward at the start regardless of how good it feels because of his inexperience, but Piccolo manages to put together what Gohan does and doesn’t like in the bedroom from the noises he makes in response to the Namekian’s actions. At one point, he has to grab the abandoned lube once more and hastily pour more on so as to not hurt them with any sort of dryness. Eventually, he finds a good rhythm with slow yet thorough thrusts that drag his dick wonderfully along the length of Gohan’s gummy walls. He simultaneously balances his weight on one arm beside Gohan’s body on the mattress so he can have a free hand to reach down and stroke the half-Saiyan’s cock in sync with his thrusts. Gohan bucks into his hand with a whiny, breathy whisper of Piccolo’s name.

“Piccolo, I’m- I’m-” Gohan starts to stutter out, clearly desperate to communicate something but too overwhelmed by the pleasure to get the words out. Tears start to well up in his eyes and fall from the corners, the movements of his hips become progressively shakier, and his hands are scrambling to find something- anything- to grip onto for some sort of purchase. First, Gohan grabs at the bed sheets, then at the pillow his head is on, then at his own hair, and finally, those strong hands are placed palm-first on either side of Piccolo’s face. He looks Piccolo dead in the eye, so vulnerable and ready to fall apart, a picture of something so beautiful that Piccolo never thought he’d get to see in his lifetime outside of his dreams. “I’m going to cum…! I’m so close, Piccolo!”

Gohan cries out. Piccolo doesn’t get overexcited and pick up speed, nor does he get nervous and slow down. Instead, he continues the pace he’s been at for the last few minutes, pistoning his hips into Gohan’s in a way that’s slow yet rough. 

Gohan’s short yet sharp nails dig into the jade-hued skin of his back just hard enough to break skin. Piccolo refuses to acknowledge the pain. He’s too absorbed in how Gohan’s tight ass flutters around him so beautifully at the same time the ravenette tenses. Cum spills from Gohan’s hard dick and onto his own perfectly chiseled and pale abdomen.

“Do you want me to stop now?” Piccolo asks and slows down just a tad.

Gohan shakes his head.

“No, no, I want you to finish. Go ahead, keep going, please…!”

Piccolo wonders if Gohan’s sure about this or if he’s just saying it to be overly considerate, but he doesn’t ask. He’s too horny and too desperate to care, so he follows Gohan’s instructions and pulls his hips back before pushing them into the younger man once more.

When Piccolo finishes, it feels like fireworks, bright and loud and hot and overwhelming. The Namekian manages to give a few more sharp, focused thrusts before the new sensation of orgasm crashes over him and tears his world into tiny little pieces. With a couple more weak pivots of his hips, he comes to a slow still to fill Gohan up with his cum. All the while, the younger man clings to Piccolo like his life depends on it and lets out a weak whine that Piccolo tries to memorize the sound of.

And then it’s over. Piccolo collapses, all two hundred fifty pounds of him on top of Gohan’s thin frame. Were it anyone else, Piccolo would be afraid of crushing them, but he knows Gohan can handle it, so he makes no move to get up. Even with his ear against Gohan’s shoulder rather than his chest, he can hear the half-Saiyan’s heart slamming against his chest. As fast as Gohan showed up to spar with Piccolo and confess his love, Gohan somehow managed to lure Piccolo into bed with him. Not that he’s complaining, of course…

Looking up at Gohan, who appears utterly exhausted yet so blissed out and utterly in love, Piccolo doesn’t think he’d have it any other way despite him arguing against it so vehemently in his tiny kitchen less than an hour ago.

“You’re not going to make me go home now, are you?” Is the first thing Gohan says as they start to catch their breath.

Piccolo isn’t sure whether he should feel guilty or amused at that.

“Of course not,” Piccolo answers after a long pause to gather his feelings. Gohan seems to let out a sigh of relief, only to gasp when Piccolo lifts himself up with his hands on the bed and slowly pulls out. The noise that results is uncomfortable, an odd squelch sound that Piccolo is sure he’s never heard before despite decades of putting holes through bodies, breaking limbs, and witnessing violent deaths. He tries to ignore it by continuing to talk while flopping back onto the other side of the bed. “I’m not sure how happy your mother’s going to be about you not coming home tonight, but you know you always have a place here. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

“She’ll live,” Gohan shrugs, and then it’s quiet for a moment. The ravenette shifts his legs uncomfortable and Piccolo is confused until he remembers- “Do you have some, uh, wipes… Or something?”

Piccolo blanks. He’s covered with sweat and remnants of his own cum, and Gohan is covered in sweat and even more of his cum. Were he prepared for something like this to happen, he would have had a towel, wipes, napkins- literally anything other than nothing- ready for him and Gohan to use, but in their throes of passion, he neglected to take the clean up into account.

“No, not really… That’s my bad. We can take a shower, though, if you want.”

“Sure,” Gohan agrees and slowly tries to stand up, only to trip over himself immediately.

Thankfully, Piccolo makes it in time to catch Gohan and lift him up in his arms.

“Your legs gave out, didn’t they? I guess I’ll just have to carry you, but don’t get used to it. We’ll take a bath instead.” 

Gohan nods, and with that, Piccolo heads to the bathroom with Gohan in tow.

“You know I love you, right?” Gohan says, totally unprompted. It’s so sudden and unexpected that Piccolo damn-near drops him. “Really. I mean that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Piccolo responds with a half-smile and looks down at Gohan, who’s staring back up at him so earnestly. Relief washes over him like warm water, and for the first time in years, he finally feels at ease. Maybe acting on his feelings wasn’t such a terrible thing to do after all. “And I love you, too. Thank you, Gohan.”

“For what?”

“Loving me… Even though I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster, and how could I not love you? You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I meant everything I said earlier.”

“I know you meant it, and I know you love me,” Piccolo sighs and, in a display of true affection, leans down to kiss the top of Gohan’s head- sweat be damned. “And I love you, too.”

[mejomonster]

Hair toning notes for myself:

Roots too gold/warm (7N dye but turned out warm): purple conditioner on just roots for half hour.

Lengths too ashy (platinum blonde with ZERO gold left, cold greyish tint): peach lime crime mixed with conditioner (to a more pastel peach color), left on half hour. Some pieces turn a bit peach, but the overall effect is a neutral/creamy platinum white blonde hair. So it tones the ash color out. Lime crime sushi tint is IDEAL for this, but i couldn’t find any of that color on short notice so I lightened the Peach lime crime with conditioner. (I find lime crime brand pinks in particular are good for toning out blue/green tones from hair, my guess is lime crime uses some gold and orange in the pink formulas, because so far its the only thing i’ve found that can add GOLD tones back into hair after over-toning into an ash color. Colorista conditioners suck for this... I’ve tried several and the blonde/gold ones actually add more ash tones resulting in swamp green, the peach one kind of works but it’s VERY strong and true to color so i was concerned about staining and how long it may take to fade from peach back to golden blonde... in contrast to lime crime peach, which generally fades to a golden blonde in 1 month if pastel and in 2 months if put on at full intensity vibrant peach)

how to do shadow roots (aka an ombre from root application to lighter color on lengths with no hard line): Take hair clips, clip up top layers of hair and start on the lower section (the dye will be left on it longer so the color will be darker). mix root color. use hairdye application brush and brush/tap onto roots as one normally puts on hair dye (1-2 inches or wherever you want dark color to end).Take thin toothed comb, and comb the applied color down slightly another 1-2 inches (where you want the blurred color merge to be). then sweep the comb upward as you pull it out where you want color merge to end (so comb down straight then pull it out in a sweep-up motion where you want color to end). Move onto the next layer, upward until you are done. Watch the ends to make sure they don’t over-absorb color (especially if you have platinum hair ToT) and wash ends out early/asap if they start darkening more than desired (my platinum hair is so porous and mean basically ;-; ). Result: roots will be the color you used, there will be no clear demarcation line. Instead it will look like a balayage with some highlights and lowlights in the color-merge area until it’s all the uncolored hair at the bottom. Options: you can slightly vary how long down your hair you comb the color at each layer, the variation of comb-down-color may make it look less uniform. 

Example result:

Top is before (clear demarcation line), Bottom is after (blended line, looks like highlights go "up" and darker color goes "down" more to blend the color merge area)

[justaltruix227]

||Under the Surface - c!Tubbo||

Song: Surface Pressure - Encanto

Fandom: DSMP

(Fanart by smackbear)

*Bang! Bang!*  echoed through the heated room as the forge burned through its fuel. In the middle was the sturdy figure, covered in heat protection gear as he handled the hot iron swords. 

A sigh left his body as he finally gives into his emotions, remembering everything. 

"I'm the strong one, I'm not nervous." Grinding out the sides of the sword to reduce the chips and make the sharp edge, now only in a sweater and heat protection gloves he works the fine blade.

"I'm as tough as the crust of the Earth is." He removes the gloves after finally being done with the swords for the day. Easily lifting the heavy swords into their stands, the scarred figure turns to leave the large forge.

"I move mountains, I move churches." He grabs his winter coat to protect him from the coldness of Snowchester. "And I glow, 'cause I know what my worth is." The yellow radioactive symbol standing out  as it took most of the coats back. 

He opens the forges door to be met by the cold breeze. "I don't ask how hard the work is." He turns a corner, standing on top of the wall. "Got a rough indestructible surface."

"Diamonds and platinum, I find 'em, I flatten 'em." His feet lay tracks in the snow of where he once was, he turns to look out at the sea, knowing one or two of his mates are out there messing around. "I take what I'm handed, I break what's demanded, but-" A firework full of colours went off out at sea.

"Under the surface." He was still in his suit, standing behind Quackity and Jschlatt. "I feel berserk as a tightrope walker in a three-ring circus." Quackity leans in close to make the boy unsteady as Schlatt drops a large pile of paper work in his hands.

"Under the surface." Nervously the smaller ram crinkled the paper as Schlatt played with him like a cat toying with a mouse, "Was Hercules ever like, "Yo, I don't wanna fight Cerberus?""

"Under the surface." Tubbo hurrys down the hall with the papers that was given to him from Schlatt with 'TOP SECRET' on it, passing it to the man in front of him. "I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service." Wilbur took the papers with a smile.

"A flaw or a crack" He smiles back at Wilbur before panicking hearing the bigger rams voice, as if he's haunting the young ram. 

"The straw in the stack" Feeling as though the President has a grasp around him dragging him down, he struggles. 

"That breaks the camel's back." Jschlatt ushering Technoblade with the crossbow. Wilbur having his hands around Tommy's mouth so he doesn't scream out. Hands and body pressed against the box he was now in as the bow was steadied and aimed at him.

"What breaks the camel's back, it's-" 

[Tubbo_ went off with a bang due to a firework from [Subscribe to Technoblade] from Technoblade]

Blue, red and white filled the air.

"Pressure, like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop, whoa" The blood pouring from his face as the wounds stayed when he came back.

"Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa, oh, oh" Tears began to flow from his eyes, as he bandages himself.

"Give it to your sister, your sister's older." He shuffles to Tommy, the blonde beaming with joy as people cheered. Tubbo taking the pressure off Tommy he accepts the role. 

"Give her all the heavy things we can't shoulder." Becoming the President just like he was.  

"Who am I if I can't run with the ball?" He shakes his head before standing at the podium about to give his speech. 

"If I fall to" He whispers as he begins to change from his normal clothes back into a suit. 

"Pressure like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go, whoa." He turns to see Dream with Tommy, giving an ultimatum.

Feeling as though Dream has him tied like as puppet. "Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa, oh, oh." Tubbo cracks.

"Give it to your sister, your sister's stronger." He runs to Tommy, "see if she can hang on a little longer."

"Who am I if I can't carry it all?" He questions his choices and option as he turns to Dream. 

"If I falter" Dream turns away with a hard hand on Tommy's shoulder. 

"Under the surface." He paces around Fundy and Quackity, "I hide my nerves, and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us." Paranoid Technoblade would come back. 

"Under the surface." He runs and runs trying to escape Dreams grasp but he never can. "The ship doesn't swerve as it heard how big the iceberg is." As Techno and Dream began to team up.

"Under the surface." He stumbles over only to see the obsidian grid above him, "I think about my purpose, can I somehow preserve this?"

"Line up the dominoes" The tnt becoming placed.

"A light wind blows" The sound of flint and steel igniting can be heard. 

"You try to stop it tumbling" He clutches his head.

The constantly igniting and falling of tnt, "but on and on it goes." Technoblade summoning the withers.

"But wait," Hes back at Snowchester. "If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations." Ranboos standing there with Micheal in his hands, waving at him. 

Micheal being let down. He runs straight for Tubbo, tackling the rams legs so he staggered and fell. "Would that free some room up for joy."

Ranboo follows suit and falls next to him in the snow. "Or relaxation, or simple pleasure?" Giggles and soft smiles coming from all three. 

"Instead, we measure this growing pressure." Tubbo turns to get up, hands clenching.

"Keeps growing, keep going," His short steps became longer and quicker 

"'Cause all we know is." Las Nevadas. He begins to make walls, creating Walltown. 

"Pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop, whoa" The cookie outpost becoming heavily fortified. 

"Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop, whoa-oh-oh." Quackity and him discussing the outpost and agreeing to give it too him instead.

"Give it to your sister, it doesn't hurt, and" He turns to Ranboo expressing how he can help with anything. 

"See if she can handle every family burden" He flexes jokingly as he turns to the door with a large nuclear symbol on it.

He enters and quickly approaches the button. "Watch as she buckles and bends but never breaks." His hand just above the button, ready to push it.  His open palm closes into a fist. "No mistakes, just." He turns to leave. 

Standing outside the prison. "Pressure like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go, whoa." Sams sword going straight through the hybrids chest as red and green began to drip onto the grass below. A scream came from the young ram. 

"Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow, whoa, oh, oh." Tears feel heavily from the ram as the fight continued around him. 

"Give it to your sister and never wonder." He yells at Ghostboo, "If the same pressure would've pulled you under." Realising the tears flowing more from the ghost he pulls away, tugging at his own hair. 

"Who am I if I don't have what it takes?" He screams

"No cracks, no breaks"  Technoblade giving him the picture of Micheal Ranboo was holding before death. 

"No mistakes, no pressure." He readies himself to reek havoc on those who's wronged his family.

[genedara]

* Why have you disturbed our sleep; awakened us from our ancient slumber? You will die! Like the others before you; one by one we will take you. *

(( The following content contains subject material that may be triggering or disturbing to some. Themes included are horrific imagery and graphic violence. Read at your own discretion. ))

When Tristian came to he could not recognize his surroundings. His head hurt something fierce, a throbbing bump on the left side of his head. Half of his head was covered in dried blood, most of which was stuck in his hair. He could feel himself being dragged along the ground, face down. Whoever was dragging him held onto Tristian by the collar of his shirt, pushing the fabric to its limits. A pained groan escaped him when his head bounced off a small rock in the path. His kidnapper came to a halt, dropping their prey. Tristan tried rolling over, only to find that he had been bound together with a thick, hemp rope, itchy and uncomfortable.

“Aaah! Ow, fuck!” Tristian cried out when his kidnapper grabbed a fist full of hair and slammed his head against the ground. After three blows to his already damaged forehead, Tristian was sent back into the waiting arms of unconsciousness.

——

“WAKE UP!” A woman screamed in Tristian’s air before backhanding him, her hand leaving a red mark on his cheek.

“Wuh, huh?” The young human mumbled, his head bobbing around as he struggled to work through the intense pain of nearly having your skull cracked open. Words failed him, his mouth moving slowly and letting out a series of long, pained moans.

“Shut the fuck up,” the woman yelled, slapping Tristian a second time, the blow landing on the same spot as the last backhand.

The woman reached out and grabbed Tristian by his hair, pulling hard on his long brown bangs. He let out a pained yelp as her hand brushed against the massive welt on his forehead. It felt as if his head were going to split into two, his brain pulsing against his skull, each beat sending an icy lance of pain across his whole body. He struggled to open his eyes, eyelids flickering open and shut. His surroundings were a blur and all he could make out was how poorly lit the room was. It was also considerably colder and damp, indicating they were possibly in a basement of some kind. The smell of copper and earth saturated the air with the lingering scent of burnt hair.

Eventually sight returned to Tristian, allowing him to finally make out the woman’s face. She was one of the Quel’dorei he had grown to love, looking to be in the middle of her lifespan. Platinum blonde hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail, her bangs tucked behind her long, pointed ears. The elf was conventionally pretty with light brown freckles peppering the area around her nose. A pair of dull white eyes glared back at Tristian as he studied the face of the woman. He couldn’t fathom someone so beautiful having such a wicked streak to them. Weren’t these elves supposed to be one of the good guys?

“Wh-what do you want with me,” Tristian managed to get out, a stress induced stutter slowing his speech.

The woman said nothing and instead reached up with her free hand, grabbing Tristian by the chin. She roughly turned his head from side to side and then up and down, inspecting his face and neck. His chin was released and the elf’s hand dipped down to the collar of his shirt. With little to no effort she tore the fabric in two, the sound of cloth tearing sounding like a gunshot in the silent cellar. Tristian’s breathing quickened, feel like a pig being inspected by the butcher to determine his worth. Is that what this was? Was she going to eat him? Did people even do that?

“You will do,” the elf finally replied, her voice monotone, sounding bored with the situation and giving zero answers to the man’s questions.

“What do you mean?” Tristian asked, his voice shaking, teeth clattering together as a chill ran down his spine.

The woman offered no reply.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!” Tristian shouted, straining against the ropes that bound him. “Let me go this instant! HELP! HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!”

Tristian could feel his heart pounding against his sternum, feeling his pulse with every fiber of his being. He was absolutely terrified and assumed that tonight was the night he died. He had hoped, had prayed, for a long and healthy life. Was this what the gods had in store for him? Was this really the end for him?

“If you scream again I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to you,” came the woman’s reply, her voice soft yet commanding. There was an edge to her voice, giving Tristian the sense that she could end his life at any point.

There definitely was something wrong about the woman. The more Tristian studied her studying him the more he felt that this woman was not an ordinary person. Sure, evil exists in the world, but this woman felt truly evil, as if her very soul was tainted, cursed to forever live outside of society as an outcast, hunting others purely for sport.

The woman released Tristian’s chin, letting his head droop down. A strand of spit slid out of his mouth, slowly oozing downward, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. She then sat up, having been sitting in a wooden chair in front of Tristian and dragged it off to the side. Both hands gripped the bound man’s shirt and roughly grabbed him forward and tossed him down to the dirt floor. He could smell the soil, momentarily going back in time to when he had helped his father on the farm in Westfall. Gods, those were the good days. Tristian silently begged the gods for their mercy, hoping for an easy way out of the situation he had been forced into.

Tristian snapped back to reality, rolled over to his back and sat up, kneeling before his captor. He looked up at the beautiful elf, gazing into her milky white eyes. She circled around him a few times before she started drawing shapes in the dirt. The elf drew a large circle around Tristian with his body sitting in the center of a pentagram. Once the circle was complete she would then start drawing ancient runes, each one giving off a dull purple glow when she finished writing it out. When the entire spell was laid out around the bound man the air grew chilly, each breath sending a plum of steam as the temperature dropped below freezing.

Outside the ruined cabin the sky gradually drew darker and darker with each passing second before cloaking the immediate area in total darkness. A roll of thunder sounded off in the distance as a purple bolt of lightning struck out against the ground with enough force to send chunks of dirt into the air. Another bolt flashed, quickly followed by another, quickly drawing closer and closer to the cabin.

Back inside the cellar, the elf walked a slow circle around Tristian, eyes locked onto him. A smile slowly spread across her face and continued to grow unnaturally wide, splitting her face in two. Her lips pulled back to reveal a set of sharp fangs lining her mouth, slick with saliva. Her eyes the shifted to an inky darkness, something twisted writing around in the woman’s white irises. She reached out with one hand as she walked laps around the man, grinning at him with pure malice.

“Khandar,” the woman droned, her voice low and menacing. “Estrada.”

“Khandos thrus indactu,” she continued to say, her voice dropping an octave with each word, which seemed to echo in the confined space. Tristian cast his gaze around the room, doing his best not to hyperventilate. The shadows writhed in place, looking like an army of tentacles sprouting up from the earth. “Nosfrandus.”

Tristian could feel a pressure building up inside his chest, his heart pounding against his rib cage. The more she spoke the more painful the pressure became, going from a tingly sensation to feeling as if his nerves were on fire. Every fiber of his being was wrapped in a blanket of agony, his brain unable to process it all at once. He wasn’t aware of it, but Tristian had started to scream about halfway through her incantation. His eyes were squeezed shut, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead, eventually running down his dirty face.

“Khandar dematos,” the woman shouted, her voice impossibly low and distorted. She flung her arms into the air, as if she were praising the gods. The walls of the cellar had begun to shake, the ceiling letting loose clumps of decades old dust. “Khandar!”

On the last word it sounded as if the world had violently and suddenly exploded. A bolt of purple lightning blasted through the wooden ceiling, striking the bound man as if drawn to him. His high pitched wails of pain only grew louder when his flesh caught fire. Black flames licked his skin before it started to melt away, oozing down to a flesh colored puddle at the man’s feet. As the fire consumed him, he trashed around, sending droplets of his own body in every direction.

The woman looked on the scene, her twisted grin splitting her once beautiful face in half. She watched with joy as he struggled against the ropes, his flesh pooling at his dirt caked feet. The elf drew in a lungful of air, taking in Tristian’s suffering as if it were a pleasant fragrance. His pain fed her and gave her power, the woman drinking deep of the agony that radiated from the burning sacrifice. She continued to watch as his intestines spilled out of his stomach after a large hole had formed. His organs hit the ground with a wet slap, the rest of them following suit. It was then that his screaming stopped and his body went still.

Tristian was dead.

The woman just smiled at the mess, gazing at her work with reverence.

“En'othk uulg'shuul. Mh'za uulwi skshgn kar. Log'loth w'oq Ongg!”

As the woman spoke, small black legs poked out of the soil, wriggling around as their owners righted themselves. An army of insectoids worked their way out of the ground and marched over to the puddle of human flesh. They would then begin to feast on it, noisily lapping up the liquified flesh with glee. It had been years since their last meal and the woman was happy to provide.

“Kulaq w'ajj, hwa-ksh brraglac,” the woman said before casually strolling up a flight of stairs, humming a morbid tune as she moved.

It was time for the work to continue for He must feed.

[byeol-ssi]

anemo boys in studio ghibli aus

✦ xiao. kazuha. x gn!reader | part two.

✦ tags: spoilers if you haven't seen the films!

xiao *. ⋆ princess mononoke

you brace yourself for a rough landing, grunting as you find yourself entangled with another set of limbs.

you’re left with no time to react to your head thudding against the ragged earth — nor the wound at your side — as your attention narrows in towards the sudden glint of a silver blade that hovers inches above your throat.

you’re met with crazed eyes at the far end of the weapon. “i already gave you fair warning to stay away from me!” XIAO snarls. a bitter loathing coated his voice as his weight pinned you down.

you faintly register the gash on his cheek, an unprecedented result of your confrontation with the local villagers earlier. the muddled part of your brain tells you to reach out and wipe the blood away — hoping that it could be just as easy to erase the anguish he’s endured from and for mankind’s sins.

“stop—” a sharp arrow of pain pierces through you, making you wheeze, “—punishing yourself.”

the blade moves dangerously closer, its tip nearly piercing your flesh. it makes you swallow. hard.

“i won’t hesitate to cut your throat if that will get you to stop uttering such foolish nonsense!” he threatened darkly, a stark contrast to his honey-amber eyes ablaze with heat.

they resembled sunlight boughs, their brilliance rivaling the low-hanging moon set upon the velvet night sky behind him.

pretty, you deliriously think.

perhaps it was the blood loss. or that you were probably already experiencing a severe concussion. whatever the case, you don’t recall the words that slip past your lips as you stare up at the adeptus.

“you’re ... beautiful.” you breathe out, voice dropping to nothing but a breeze before your entire vision goes dark.

xiao staggers back in surprise. his spear clatters to the ground, yet he barely hears it echoing harshly throughout the forlorn forest.

there’s a strange sensation in his heart, making him subconsciously reach for his chest.

greatly unfamiliar, but not ... unpleasant.

he shakes his head. he mustn't be swayed by your words, he tells himself, even if he's witnessed just how much you've endured to meet him.

to save him, you declared.

in one swift movement, he already had you in his arms, holding you close and near to his heart — feeling as if that was where you were always meant to be.

he presses his forehead against yours, praying that if you were truly meant to be his salvation, the archons would give you another chance at life.

and the heat of your skin on his has him swearing that even if his prayers went unheard and unanswered, he'd stop at nothing to save you.

kaedehara kazuha *. ⋆ howl's moving castle

"pardon me — wherever have you been?"

a firm yet gentle hand lands on your shoulder. you glance beside you to see an unfamiliar face with platinum blonde hair as white as new parchment.

the inebriated group of men who had been initially blocking your path turned their attention towards the newcomer. "who're you?"

"i'm with them. why don't you all step aside?" he smiles politely, except shallow insincerity swam in his eyes, devoid of warmth and betraying the good-naturedness of his tone.

it was enough for the men to sober up and walk away with their tails between their legs.

once out of earshot, you breathe a sigh of relief and turn to your savior. "thank you ... ?"

"KAZUHA," he introduced smoothly, angling himself closer in the process — close enough for his hair to brush your neck. "allow me to escort you from this point forth."

"oh, it's completely alright!" you began to shake your head profusely. "you have my deepest gratitude but i—"

he links your arms together before you've finished speaking. in a low voice, he whispers, "i'm being pursued at the moment, so i need you to act calmly. let us walk."

your eyes widen yet you don't tear away from him. instead, you clutch his arm, noticing how he took every next step with haste. your peripheral view catches the shadows of soldiers, and it seemed that your companion was aware of them too.

"i apologize for getting you involved," he says hurriedly. "this way—" you take a sharp turn at a corner, only to find yourselves face to face with a dead end.

your heart thumps at the idea of being caught — even if you were technically a forced accomplice. kazuha's name wasn't unfamiliar, but you weren't sure of his identity nonetheless.

"hold on." it's the only warning he leaves you with before a steady arm wraps around your waist, and you yelp involuntarily when you realize that your feet had left the road entirely.

"extend your legs and keep walking," kazuha instructs gently. his voice soothes your nerves — keeping you grounded despite being several feet up in the air. "you're doing well, do not be frightened."

in a few seconds, you manage to completely forget about your worries and an expression of unadulterated bliss overtakes your features.

you lean into him and kazuha's arm curls in a little closer. a little tighter. mesmerized by how easily you've put your entire trust into the palm of his hands.

"i won't let you fall," he assures.

you look at your joined hands before meeting his eyes. as you tilt your head and smile, a nervous flutter beats in his chest. "you promise?"

he squeezes your hand. "i do."

your time with him feels all too short when he carefully lands you on the balcony of your destination. "i'll draw them off, so wait here until the coast is clear."

all you could do was nod, still breathless and slightly dazed.

he chuckles before taking your hand once more, pressing a gentle kiss atop your knuckles.

"that's my darling." he bows before descending somewhere into the crowd below — and as quickly as he'd whisked you away, did he similarly disappear.

you wonder if you were fated to meet with him again. you wanted to tell him that he'd already broken his promise the moment he had quite literally swept you off your feet.

since it seemed like you'd already fallen.

✦ byeol's notes: part two coming sometime within the weekend! unsure if this has been done before, but i was missing the films dearly — i'm hoping to rewatch when i have time :))

✦ reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! thank you and ily <3

[heliads]

okay, but I just saw the part 2 for the Draco x Grindelwald reader, and I audibly squealed - my pups looked like I've gone mad lol. This is just so awesome - can you like, maybe do a third part? that's fluffy and funny with the reader hanging with Narcissa and Lucius, and her parents get there, and they're also pleased with her choice of husband? and like, reader just smirks and goes along with it, much to both parents' pleasure, and Draco nearly chokes at the thought? they've just ben through too much pain in this part lol, a little fluff and fun wouldn't hurt. Thank you so much!

so i acknowledge that you asked for fluff but... we can't let him be too happy, can we? he gets better at the end lol don't worry

part two / masterlist

Draco Malfoy can’t go. Not yet. For one thing, Hogwarts is still full of students and professors who are expecting everyone to stay here, and by leaving, he’ll seem like he’s running, further confirming the belief in everyone’s minds that he’s a traitor. For another thing, Draco feels as if he owes it to stay. He did this, didn’t he? No matter what anyone says, he was a part of the plan to get Death Eaters in the school.

He’s not alone, though. Y/N stays, thank Merlin, and everyone’s in a strong enough state of chaos that they don’t really notice an additional student. Draco can’t believe this himself- he’d notice Y/N in a crowd of thousands, so how is it that the other young witches and wizards scarcely bat an eye? Can’t they tell that she’s someone far more worth seeing than the rest of them?

Still, he’s glad to have her. Draco can sense the hateful glares radiating off of his back from almost every corner of the room. Harry Potter knows the truth, Draco can practically feel it, which means he must have told Hermione and Ron or mentioned as much to half of the other Gryffindors. Besides, the Slytherin table has always been in the spotlight, and after a Death Eater attack, they’re plunged back into the rumors again. Draco has always been proud to be the worst of the lot, but the constant judgment is wearing on him now.

That’s when he’s glad to look to his side and see Y/N still there, feeling her hand wrapped around his. Even when things get hard, when the weight of all his guilt threatens to bury him alive, Y/N is there to pull him out.

He needs her now, especially so. The day of Dumbledore’s funeral arrives like a low-slung thundercloud crackling across the heavens, refusing to leave Draco’s sight until he acknowledges its presence. Dumbledore is dead because of him; even if Draco wasn’t the one to fire off the killing spell, he was supposed to, and that’s good enough for his conscience. No matter if he had no choice, or if You Know Who would have killed Draco if he stumbled, Draco can’t shake the guilt.

The Hogwarts student body is sitting in rows of chairs out on a hill in the grounds, watching the white marble tomb ahead of them. Draco has thought about this day a lot, especially in the past couple months, but he never thought he’d be this affected by it. Seeing all of the grieving students and professors reminds Draco of memories he’d long since forgotten, all of the moments Draco had witnessed with the headmaster that are now dragged before his eyes once more.

As much as Draco would like to pretend otherwise, Dumbledore wasn’t just some aged target of the Dark Lord. He was an iconic character in wizarding hero to the young, platinum blond boy who couldn’t wait to make his mark in the world, he was a silent guardian of the entire school and therefore Draco’s rise through it. Draco can remember a time in the second year, when his father had been called to the school to deal with something about the family house elf.

Draco had been nervous, certain that it was all his fault, and even if it wasn’t, his father would find a way to blame it on him. Draco had hovered outside the entrance to Dumbledore’s office for quite some time, trying to figure out how to convince himself to go inside and see what was the matter, but he had scarcely made up his mind to knock when Dumbledore came out. The old man had smiled once at Draco, said something comforting about how everything had been taken care of and there was nothing to worry about it.

Although Draco has always clung to his pretense that he couldn’t care less about it anyway, he still remembers the way Dumbledore had made him feel- afloat and swimming in a sea that wanted nothing more than to drag him under. Even when Draco was ready to end the headmaster’s life, Dumbledore still had forgiveness in his eyes. It’s a shame, then, that Draco can’t seem to forgive himself.

Y/N waits with Draco until the crowds empty, standing on a hill nearby so they can watch the ebb and flow of mourners. “It’s not your fault, you know. Dumbledore knew someone was coming for him. If it wasn’t you, it would have been Blaise Zabini or Marcus Flint or Theodore Nott or any number of other Slytherins, and I doubt they would have been able to have as strong a conscience as you do now.”

Draco’s lips flatten into a thin line. “I still did it, though.”

Y/N squeezes his hand. “There was a time about a year ago when I was told to kill somebody, back at Durmstrang. This time, it was Karkaroff telling me to do it. No one thought twice about the whole matter- I was Grindelwald’s descendant, so I should have had no problem with getting my hands bloody. They never thought twice about asking anyone else.”

This gets Draco’s attention. He’s long had the feeling that Y/N has a great number of dark secrets in her past, most of which she keeps tucked away. Learning at least one of them is a miracle.

“And did you do it?”

Y/N inclines her head, although the gesture seems painful as she remembers the night of the crime. “I didn’t know how to back down, and I was afraid to do anything except kill him. I can still remember the exact look in the man’s eyes when I did it. I see it most nights, too. The point is, Draco, as someone who’s had to go through with this kind of thing, I couldn’t be happier that you didn’t do it. Walking away is a blessing. Trust me on that.”

Draco exhales slowly, letting the last of his worries leave him like smoke from a still-hot wick. It’s as if he can see every trouble dissipating into the sky, melting away into the breeze to leave him utterly whole once more.

“Let’s make good of that blessing, then. Both of us.”

Y/N’s smile is radiant. “I think that sounds good to me.”

The school year is almost over, and it feels like no time has passed before Draco is getting on the Hogwarts Express. However, when the train docks, he doesn’t head to Malfoy Manor, but seeks out a girl waiting for him at the platform. It’s been accepted by now that the safest place for Draco and his family will be at Y/N’s home, so he’ll be portkeying there with her.

Just for fun, though, they don’t head back immediately. Instead, they make a few errant trips across the countryside, dashing in crowded pubs and finding ancient ruins full of spells that Draco doesn’t think have been spoken aloud in centuries. In the end, when Draco’s lungs feel lighter than the very air they breathe, and the name ‘Dumbledore’ hasn’t crossed his head in a very long time, they allow themselves to go back to the manor.

Draco has been to a great number of magical houses, but he has never found one to match Malfoy Manor in grandeur. This place, however, might manage a tie. Draco’s home is all dark wood carvings, deep emerald walls papered over with rumors, and wrought iron tying up all kinds of loose ends. The L/N family manor, however, is pure in a way that cuts to the bone, white marble that whispers of blood long spilt, roaring fires that burn more than wood, and ancient portraits of people who have been missing for almost as long as the world has been alive.

It’s a different kind of fear, he thinks, the fear that comes with knowing power for all of your life. His home and Y/N’s are two sides of the same coin, alike in cunning but different in the manner of how to get one’s will done. It’s fascinating, and Draco can tell at once that he could never hope to uncover all the secrets hiding in a place like this if he tried.

He does try, though. Y/N spent quite a great deal of her childhood in this hall, amongst others, and she and Draco rediscover most of the things the manor has attempted to keep secret. Draco still does his best to win over her parents, of course, and assuage the worries of his, but he can’t deny that his favorite memories from that summer are spent with Y/N.

Speaking of Y/N’s parents, Draco was terrified to meet the elder L/Ns at first, but he is proud to admit that he’s quickly won them over. Apparently, they were just as thrilled to hear that their daughter was corresponding with a Malfoy as Narcissa and Lucius were to discover Y/N’s connection to Grindelwald.

Soon, Draco finds himself having long, earnest discussions with both families over glasses of shining amber liquid, debating the merits of wizarding laws and how they can best be circumvented. He still feels a spark of pride whenever he manages to impress Y/N’s parents, especially because it means seeing the same happiness on Y/N’s face whenever he looks over at her, which is quite often.

Draco doesn’t know when he realized that he’d gladly sink the rest of his mornings and evenings into a place like this, but the knowledge comforts him, in a way. Wouldn’t it be something, to stay here, keep making memories that mean more than any other experience Draco’s ever had?

He brings up a shallow version of the thought when he’s talking with Y/N one day, and she smiles to think of it. “I’m still expecting to see Malfoy Manor, by the way. I’ve shown you my history, I want to see yours.”

Draco smiles, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the back of her hand. They keep drifting closer, as the days pass by, legs brushing up against each other and heads being leaned up against all too welcome chests. Draco thinks that he’d like to forget the world in her, lose track of where he starts and she ends until there is only them, one collective spirit facing off against everything else.

“I’d like for you to see it too. There are some books I have back at home that I think you’d love.”

Y/N’s eyes dance with mirth. “See, you’ve got my interest now. The surest way to a girl’s heart is to promise her books.”

Draco smirks. “Does this mean I’ve got your heart, then?”

Y/N laughs, and the sound makes the entire room seem a dozen shades brighter. “Oh, you’ve had it a long time. I assumed you knew.”

“Maybe I just like hearing it,” Draco says, and he means it. Listening to Y/N talk about the future of them makes him want to fight to have that future, even if it means taking on the Dark Lord himself.

As it turns out, Draco and Y/N aren’t the only ones thinking about a future. They’re sitting around a crackling fire a few nights later when Y/N’s mother turns to her daughter, a contemplative look on her face.

“I’ve appreciated this visit, you know. You have excellent taste in future husbands.”

Draco chokes and fights the urge to blush like mad, although he’s only mildly sure that he avoided it.

Y/N, on the other hand, just bares a wolf’s fierce grin at the world. “Thank you, I pride myself on it.”

Draco barely manages to pull himself out of an abashed yet thrilled haze. The thought of it is brilliant, he has to admit. Somewhere, maybe years in the future, he could be meeting Y/N down an aisle, reciting vows to never leave her side. He’d make those very promises now, he thinks, if it means they’ll both be fine. There’s a ring Draco has seen before in Malfoy Manor, some ancient heirloom that likely sings of its own magic, that would look stunning compared on Y/N’s finger.

He could give it to her, could call Y/N his in more than just his head. He’s been joking before, or careful not to let himself hope too hard about all the might-have-beens, but the possibilities unfold before Draco like a map. These are dark times, he knows that, but he’ll hold the light himself if it carries him closer to that future with her.

So, he smiles along with the girl he loves. “I think I’d like that too.”

He can see the pleased looks on the faces of Y/N’s parents, as well as the delight on Narcissa and Lucius. Most of all, though, he can see the way Y/N’s expression transfixes into wonder when Draco speaks. It’s more than wonder, though, it’s better. It’s hope, hope that they’ll do better and be able to see the world do better. Draco is willing to gamble on the chance that they’ll make it. Anything to see this through.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7

[yuumisagi]

Anonymous said

How the Gojo, Nanami Yaga react if s/o was strong and tough sorceror but would get scared when they watch scary movies???

STRONG S/O WHO IS AFRAID OF SCARY MOVIES

❦ when he discovers a new cute side of yours

pick a character ༄ gojo nanami yaga

content. no warnings bebs

notes. i've got so much angst writing ideas y'all help me ಥ_ಥ

➤ GOJO SATORU

you, gojo, and geto used to go on missions together as the strongest trio back then, until you all got stronger and started to go on missions separately

you were a strong and fearless sorcerer who’s immensely feared by curses and respected among the jujutsu world (and the strongest sorcerer is your boyfriend hehe <3)

no matter how strong your opponents were, you never backed down from a fight and that’s what gojo loves about you

fast forward to the present, you just came back from an abroad trip and gojo’s bringing the students to see a movie, so he asked you to join them because he didn’t want to be the only “adult”

hoping to relieve your stress, you agreed to go - just to find out that it was a horror movie

you knew you had to keep a tough front because gojo would definitely tease you if he found out that you - one of the strongest sorcerers - were scared of this kind of movies

but bad news — how could you hide your fear when he bought couple seats for you two

he had his arm around your waist while you were trying to squint as hard as you can, hoping that the blurry vision would help you be less afraid

“i didn’t know you had poor eyesight”

“because i don’t?” you stopped squinting to prevent gojo from asking further

very timely, a jump scare along with its frightening, loud sound ended up making you flinch

“oho is our mighty y/n scared?”

“no”

a moment of silence between you two

“AAHEY WHAT’S THAT!?”

he pointed to the ground over your side, which made you accidentally let out a nervous squeal “eek- huiahd what what” while also jumping onto him, arms wrapped around his neck

brrr you don’t know how much you’ve made his ego boost

“oh, it was nothing. sorry i have a bad eyesight”

pfft his six eyes be like: 👁👄👁 am i a joke to you?

you glared at the platinum-haired man child before sitting back down with your arms crossed, unamused

although it’s pretty evident that gojo’s enjoying this newly discovered side of you

“aww is my baby scared of horror movies~ should we sneak out then~” he cooed, hugging you close

“aren’t you a responsible teacher~”

“but this cutie is scared, aren’t you~”

“i’m a sorcerer, satoru. i can handle thi-”

it was as if even the film is on gojo’s side today because..

jump scare.

made you flinch again mid sentence and your eyes tightly shut

that’s when you felt something grazing your ears and the bridge of your nose

you opened your eyes to find out that it was satoru’s sunglasses that you’re wearing

“you can sleep on my shoulder. do you need airpods too?”

what’s with this mature gojo satoru?

anyways, you cuddled up to gojo and slept for the rest of the movie

and you regretted that you ever thought he was mature because immediately after you guys got back to jujutsu high, the man child himself made up a parody to perform in front of the other staffs

“yeah y/n was like ’oh gojo-senpai i’m so scared kya!’ and i was like ’here, take my shoulder’ *sparkly handsome eyes*˚✧₊⁎❝≀ˍ̮ ❝⁎⁺˳✧༚”

yes you smacked tf outta him

not to mention how he later purchased a black wig and a white dress to scare you

he just wanted to see that side of you again 👀👉👈

➤ NANAMI KENTO

unlike with gojo, nanami held respect for you

not just because you’re strong but you and nanami were also like-minded as model sorcerers who followed the rules despite having hatred towards the system

you and your blonde-haired sorcerer got together after fighting alongside each other in a couple missions

but these days, the increasing amount of curses wasn’t letting you spend time with him because you’re both always on a mission

finally on a day that you and nanami were both free, you guys decided to go on your first movie date together

“i heard the movie ’it’ is good” you recalled the suggestion by gojo without even knowing what the movie’s about

and because nanami never knew your movie preferences, he purchased the earliest tickets then you guys quickly got into your seats

nanami doesn’t watch movies often, so he was impressed to see how realistic some of the scenes were, especially with the clown’s appearance

he was very much immersed in the movie, analyzing every detail and silently complimenting their acting skills in his head

he wondered what you thought about this movie

so he turned to you just to see you covering your ears with your hands and your eyes not even looking at the screen

it was a bit surprising to know that you were scared of these kinds of movies, but he felt more worried than surprised

“are you okay?” his hand lightly patted on your back, yet it made you flinch

you looked at him while you took one hand to cover your sight to the screen

“yeah i’m okay”

which was obviously a lie and he knew because he noticed that your voice was shaking

“are you scared?”

“..no”

you answered like he’d buy your lies, which he didn’t, as he intensely stared at you until you finally admitted to the truth “…yeah”

“should we leave then?”

“it’s fine kento, that would be a waste of money”

a loud thud from the movie caused you to cling onto his arm

“see?” his other arm stroked the back of your head before he held your hand to lead you out of the cinema “let’s go get something to eat”

you insisted to pay for dinner because he already bought the tickets and you let it go to waste

“okay” he said

and he paid.

his reason was: because you already suffered emotionally in the cinema

anyways, nanami sure gave gojo a beating he deserved for the recommendation which was actually a prank to see how you’d react to horror movies

“uargh but how was the movie tho~ was y/n scared?”

“i didn’t like it” nanami replied as he gave gojo another smack

he didn’t tell anyone how you were so scared back in the movie theatre despite being such a strong sorcerer who fought way disgusting curses all the time

because he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, especially with gojo who would annoy the hell out of you if he knew

ever since, he would take notes about what makes you uncomfortable and he’d always ask you before doing anything to make sure you’re okay with it

occasional head pats as he rethinks about how cute you were when you clung onto him — not that you knew about that 👀

➤ YAGA MASAMICHI

you were his top student back then and a teacher at jujutsu high at the present

he liked that you were stubborn, how you’d refuse to give up in any fight, because it was the reason why you’re so strong today

and also why he ended up with you after accepting your persistent affections

one day, you found a dvd with ‘instant family’ written on the covers which seemed to be a comedy movie

so you and yaga had a movie night that day

after inserting the dvd into the player, the screen played a scene of a well instead of what you expected to see

and a pale, long-haired figure in a white dress came out from it, scaring you as you screech and jump on yaga, who was sitting next to you on the couch

someone must have accidentally messed up the dvds with the wrong covers

he let out a short laugh, surprised to see you being more scared of a ghost than those curses you normally exorcise with ease

“are you scared of this?”

you nodded quietly because you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it with words

“wait here for a sec”

as he stood up, you pulled the hem of his sweater “wait, where are you going?” your eyes a bit teary

couldn’t resist your don’t leave me here alone eyes, he carried you with one arm and went to turn of the dvd player, shutting down the tv

then he proceeds to carry you to the kitchen as he took an ice cream box from the freezer and gave it to you along with a spoon before heading back to the previous location

of course, he also brought some of his cursed corpse dolls and some of his cute normal plushies to surround you on the couch

you sat still and ate the ice cream as yaga looks for the correct dvd of ’instant family’, which he finally did, so he placed that in the player and went to sit with you

“you’re still a kid after all” he smiled at you while patting your head, before bringing his arm to hold you by your waist

“no, i’m not. i’m a teacher”

“okay teacher, eat your ice cream”

ever since that day, his view of you pretty much changed

he started to spoil you more with sweets and randomly gift you cute plushies just because

and he also doesn’t say this, but he lowkey hopes gojo or something would scare you so he’d be able to see you depend on him, which was a rare sight since you’re normally independent and strong yourself

but he wouldn’t let anyone know and tease you about this because he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable (and mr. yaga himself would rather not have gojo or anyone chummy up with you as they tease)

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖊 and 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖙 ? ⇢ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡

© 2021 yuumisagi — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, steal, translate, or repost my works on any platform.

[manias-wordcount]

In Silence (Kazuha x Reader) PART TWO

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 𝗦𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗨𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗢𝗣𝗦

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

We ought not waste the moonlight

The boy had only one red streak in his hair.

It stood out boldly within his messy platinum blonde ponytail. The color of his matched perfectly with the color of his attire and eyes. The red was different, but it had found its home perfectly through his image. 

Those are the same words you would use to describe just how well he’d get along with your family for the next coming days. 

In favor of ignoring the very pressing argument that seems to be going inside your house, you take the opportunity to turn to the young boy and introduce yourself. You know very little of what was currently happening in Inazuma. News like that takes a long time to reach the countryside you call home. And when it does, it’s often by the hands of Captain Beidou- who takes all the necessary precautions to allow your siblings the innocence and freedom they deserve as children. By extension, that makes it hard to relay information to you. You’re never really all too far from the prying ears of your younger siblings. 

But regardless of what is happening in Inazuma, you know that Captain Beidou wouldn’t have let just any foreign stranger around your family. A family that she considers and respects as reverently as her crew. So if this boy was here, silently looking over your siblings playing as if he hadn’t seen joy in decades, then that means Captain Beidou needs him to be here. And you’re okay with that. Mostly. Somewhat. 

But given that you’ve been around eight little ones during your every waking moment, you find that you have an abundance of patience and a willingness to hear someone out (you’re heard enough tit-for-tat to last anyone a lifetime, you’re more than sure of this). At the very least, hear them out long enough to hear them tell you their name. 

That’s why your first words to him are your first and last name. It’s accompanied by a hand you stick out for him to shake- a pleasantry the two of you seem equally unused to for similar although vastly different reasons. But that’s something you find out much later. Presently, your focus is on the way he hesitates in accepting your awkward handshake and the way a snow-white bandage drapes itself around his delicate-looking right hand. There’s a story behind it, you’re sure of it. It’s in the way he carries himself. But that’s just another thing you eventually find out about later.

“Kaedehara Kazuha.” He states, and you’re floored by how beautiful his voice sounds. “Just Kazuha is fine though.”

You nod as he tells you this before insisting that he calls you by your first name too. A ghost of a smile flashes onto his face. But just as quickly as it appears, it goes away. And you’re left to wonder if you had imagined it.

Luckily, that’s not a thought you have to settle on for long because you’re suddenly met with the sound of shrieking followed by a small body throwing itself at your legs. As irritating as your little siblings can be with all their energy and their running around, you can’t say you aren’t glad for this distraction. You hadn’t socialized with anyone your age in a long time. There just wasn’t anyone close enough for you to speak to in such a familiar manner. You hadn’t really thought far enough ahead to think about how you probably needed to say something after introducing yourself in order to keep the conversation going. 

Hoping whichever little one is clinging to your legs right now can offer you either an out or a continuation to this failure of a conversation, you look down to see it’s your youngest brother. He looks up at you and gives a little shriek before offering a gummy smile at you before trying to climb your legs. Your heart softens a little bit at the display, and you find yourself rolling your eyes as you pick up the four-year-old and hold him against your hip. 

Your brother eyes Kazuha with quiet interest for a moment. It’s an unnerving bout of silence, considering you never really know what children are about to say. It’s always in the air of whether or not the first thing that comes out of his mouth is a cute compliment or a blunt insult. That's why you always try to prepare yourself for anything. There’s no telling just how much crowd control you have to do at any given moment when there’s an outspoken toddler involved. 

Fortunately, your brother gives you exactly what you asked for in such an unexpected way. After his long, long, long starring session at Kazuha, he murmurs one thing and one thing alone:

“Leaf.”

At first, you’re not sure what your little brother is referring to, but you know it’s significant enough to draw attention to because it gets Kazuha to raise eyebrows to raise behind that curtain-y mess of bangs he has. 

“Yes,” He confirms quietly, though you’re not quite sure what the two of them are talking about at the moment. “I’m quite fond of them.”

A small smile spreads across Kazuha’s face. Only this time, it doesn’t disappear in an instant. It’s enough to tell you that the look you saw on his face earlier was real. But it also told you that happiness was a luxury he seemed to rarely afford. Nonetheless, this particular smile stays for a while as the young boy gazes at you and your brother, eyes alight with the beginnings of a bold, new idea. 

“Would you like to see something interesting?” He asks in that same soft tone he always carries with him as he takes a step closer to the two of you. You assumed he was only talking to your little brother, who offered up a very enthusiastic and wide-eyed cheer at the platinum-haired boy. To your surprise, Kazuha’s eyes flicker to yours, as if asking for your approval. It only takes a moment for you to get over your startled stutters (it’s not your fault his eyes are always intense! Plus, he’s kind of cute…) before you’re able to offer a pitiful squawk of a “sure” to him. 

With that, the young boy straightens up and nods at the two of you before turning on his heel and walking away. You watch his back for a moment, a little confused about what exactly this “something interesting” is supposed to be. But when he doesn’t slow, or look back to see if you’re following him, you’re quick to scramble behind him. In truth, he doesn’t walk that far. All he does is move the three of you away from your house and the dock the Crux is docking on. To your surprise, he takes you a few paces away from where you guys were originally standing but he stops moving with his back towards you, feet digging into the sandy shores in front of your family’s property. 

For a second, nothing happens. It’s just you, your brother, the sound of his babbling, and Kazuha standing a little over ten feet away from you. You open your mouth to ask if everything was alright or if there was something you and your brother were supposed to be looking around carefully for when all of sudden, it happens. And you swear it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

Without warning, the wind picks up around Kazuha. Almost immediately, Kazuha uses the wind to leap high into the air. For just a fraction of a second, he floats. The moments he has while airborne are very short, but it's more than enough to amaze you as you watch on, slack-jawed with disbelief. And then, quicker than your eye could blink, you see a thin gleam in the air that starts near his bandaged hand. 

A sword.

There’s no time to think about how you know it's a blade despite how fast the image flashes before your eyes. Because once again, he fills you and your brother with awe as he finishes the next part of his trick with the utmost finesse and flair.

Midair, Kazuha grabs his sword, twirls it in front of him, and slams it down. Because he’s so high up in the air, the impact of his landing is more than you expected, but you can’t help but be blown away (no pun intended) at what happens when the blade buries itself into the ground at his feet. What you see, you can only really describe as pure anemo energy. You’ve never seen anemo at work like this before, but you can’t help but grow absolutely amazed as a funnel of wind surrounds him and his sword. 

And that’s when you finally notice it. Or, notice them, you should say. But amidst the wind that blankets him, you’re finally able to spot it. First, you notice the greenish-blue gem-like orb, hanging off of his back. A real-life Anemo Vision, your mind screams at you, and it belongs to a kid your age! You can’t help but laugh in delight at the display- at the source of all of his beautiful powers. And when the winds start to die down, you see it. The second and last thing you notice from him.

The deep, rich red maple leaf print adorns his clothes as the real thing falls silently around him. You can’t help but wonder when the maple leaves came from considering there were no maple trees for miles and miles. And then you can’t help but wonder if the leaves are all that remains with him from his home. 

~

It’s sometime after Captain Beidou leaves do you find yourself being pulled into the house to be briefed on the current situation. By this point, the summer is much higher in the sky. Time creeps towards your typical lunch hour, but it’s not quite there yet. So while you wonder what’s for lunch, you watch the Crux sail off into the distance, taking the morning mist with them in the process.

The time before that is spent with the rest of the crew members- each one whispering to you what they know about Kazuha as you stand off to the side and watch the blonde boy effortlessly juggle your siblings' attention with anemo tricks and stories. To be honest, the crew doesn’t offer much more than what you can initially pick and pull out of your first and only interaction with him. He has a calm disposition and a quiet manner of speaking, but he isn’t quite the shy type. His tone is formal but he’s pretty carefree and strong-willed. He’s guarded but for a reason. He seems to hold many secrets close to his chest. 

When you were finally brought inside the family home, you were a little wary of leaving Kazuha alone with your siblings. He was gentle enough with them and seemed to be great with kids. His nonchalance seemed to be a thing of wonder to the little ones when he would just barely crack a smile at their silly little antics. But while you were worried about leaving Kazuha to fend for himself, your parents were worried about something different. 

“I don’t like this, dad.” Your father said immediately after you closed the door from coming inside. He shoots your grandfather a look before standing up and moving to speak out of the window and glaring at where Kazuha stood. “He’s a fugitive and he’s being left alone with my kids.”

“He’s just a boy!” Your grandmother is quick to scold your father with a swift swat to the arm. “And you know he’d be considered a fugitive! Anyone in their right mind would run from something like that! Think of all that he’s been through! Besides, he’s probably no older than this one right here.”

Her last words are referring to you, something she makes known to you with a warm smile. You return it graciously, knowing she means well even if she did imply that because of your age, you weren’t exactly considered to be a threat to anyone. It’s not really your fault that your hunting and fighting skills weren’t what they used to be after spending all your time tending to animals and children. Despite your grandmother’s words, your mother quite visibly frets nearby and begins to agree with your dad. 

“No, no, he’s right.” Your mother begins, rubbing her hands together nervously, her protective mama-bear nature starting to spotlight. “Maybe this was a bad idea. Do you think he would mind if we asked him to stay somewhere else? We can always tell Beidou where he is when she comes back-”

BAM.

The house freezes as your mother stops short in the middle of her sentence, interrupted by your grandfather slamming his hands down on the dinner table. He sat at the very end of the long table that you all would gather for mealtimes, the reigning patriarch of the family. The look on his face was stern, and his eyes clouded with seriousness. You swallowed down your nerves as you watched your grandfather eye your dad. The staring contest doesn’t last long, as your dad instantly adverts his eyes with a grumble. It’s not a cowardly defeat you just saw, it’s the way the world works. For as long as the family remains in this house, the oldest firstborn of each generation makes the final decision. When your grandfather passes, the responsibility falls upon your dad. And when your dad is gone, it falls to you. 

But your grandfather is quite the opposite of dead right now. He’s lively. With fury. 

Silent fury. 

“He is a guest.” Your grandfather insists quietly. But what he lacks in volume, he makes up for with a twitch of his lip that shows he’s seconds away from snarling. “He will stay here. He will sleep under this roof. He will eat under this roof. And he will be treated with dignity. With honor. And with respect. Am I clear?”

He looks at you and the rest of the adults in the room one by one. Your mother relents with a shaky nod while your father clenches his jaw and offers nothing but silent compliance. When your grandfather looks at you, the hard look in his eyes softens. You think he can tell you’ve already grown a soft spot for Kazuha in the short time you’ve known the boy. You don’t really know. Grandparents just seem to have a knack for those kinds of things. When your grandfather finally turns to your grandmother, she swats his arm too as she rolls her eyes. 

“I’ve always been on your side about this!” She exclaims with a roll of her eyes before muttering: “The first time you’ve been right about something in a while though...”

 After that, arrangements for how long Kazuha is staying with your family are discussed while you help your grandmother prepare lunch for everyone. It’s during those moments do you begin to find out more about the blonde standing outside on the front lawn. While the Crux could only vouch for what they saw, it was your grandparents and your parents that revealed his history to you. Not explicitly, of course. Nothing was ever that easy as the eldest siblings. But you managed to get bits and pieces as you stir a big, piping hot bowl of Bamboo Shoot Soup. And as you were stacking pieces of cooked poultry and mushrooms together onto a Chicken-Mushroom Skewer, you finally felt that you were able to piece enough to understand what was going on. 

Kaedehara Kazuha was a masterless samurai with an anemo vision who hailed from Inazuma. And when the Electro Archon Ba’al declared that all visions should be turned over to her, so began the Vision Hunt. With that came Kazuha’s fight to flee his homeland, and his life as a fugitive. Somehow, he made it onto Captain Beidou’s radar, who took him in despite the bounty on his hands. And now, Captain Beidou needs him to stay here. With your family. With you.

For three days. 

~

By the time lunch was finished, served, cleaned off of the table, it was more than obvious you were attached to Kazuha’s side. And he was attached to yours as well. 

When you called for your siblings and Kazuha to come in, he’s surprised by the way you handled the rowdiness of your eight, hungry younger sisters and brothers. Despite the chaos, it’s clear that they ultimately listen to what you tell them to do. While there are still moments of obvious and extremely annoying defiance, it’s clear how much respect and love they hold for you. Something he clearly witnessed first hand as he decides to plop down in the seat next to you for lunch, blocking out anyone who wanted it. 

The glares he was met with were nothing to sneeze at. Even your youngest brother had some of your grandfather’s fire behind his eyes. But while Kazuha respects the way you control a storm, you find yourself in awe of how he faces a storm head-on. 

He meets each one of your more expressive sibling’s “playful” glares with an unimpressed glance of his own, your family watching the whole ordeal with curious eyes. It takes everything in you not to shout when your grandmother recovers from the initial shock of the whole ordeal whispers across the table to you: “Promise you’ll marry him while I’m still alive, okay?”

She sends you a dramatic wink and a thumbs up and you’re instantly flustered, hoping, wishing, praying, Kazuha didn’t hear what your grandmother just stage-whispered to you. And to your embarrassment, you find out later that yes, he very much did hear what your grandmother said to you (read: the entire table). 

But as the food is passed out the mood changes. Your siblings are back to looking at Kazuha like he’s the greatest thing since Mora existed. They eat up his soft stories and descriptions of mealtime with his clan back in Inazuma. Your siblings don’t pick up on the way he only speaks of the past and doesn’t dare to wish on the future. But you do. 

And when the melancholy tone in his voice becomes even too much for you to handle, you push him to talk more about his life as a wandering samurai. The concept of being a nomad is so foreign to your family, that your siblings eat up his words like they’re your father’s Chicken Tofu Pudding. He’s a fantastic storyteller. His subtle uses of inflection are enough to draw in anyone and to keep them wondering and wondering in a way that you’ve only seen Captain Beidou do.

But with every story, every twist, and every cliffhanger Kazuha tells, he always makes sure to look back at you.  

That’s why it comes to no one’s surprise that the two of you can’t seem to separate after lunch. You find any excuse to spend time with him for the rest of the day. And it seems he finds some of his own too.

 He helps you in the kitchen, despite your insistence that you’re “fine, I promise!” as you clean up after lunch. He helps you with your siblings as you lay the youngest ones down for their naps. He helps you with your afternoon chores and listens intently as you give him a tour of your family home. He follows you through nooks and crannies as you introduce him to every animal on the property (including that extra cat you’re not sure is yours) and breathes in the open air of your life of solitude in the Liyue countryside.  

And somehow, you find yourself sitting on the docks with him after sunset. You’re kicked out of the kitchen for tonight, something you don’t really mind as Cured Pork Dry Hotpot isn’t really your specialty. And so, looking to find something to do, Kazuha takes initiative and leads you here. He sits cross-legged on the wooden dock as you tug your clothes up and take off your sandals in order to enjoy the feel of the water between your toes. He’s easy to talk to, you realize as soon as you’re knee-deep into a story about how your favorite color rarely changes due to something your siblings did to you four years ago that you’re still a little mad about. But he’s even easier to listen to. 

You called it in the beginning, but the sound of his voice is absolutely gorgeous. His voice, the water, and the quiet tickles of the wind are the perfect combination. He speaks to you softly, unphased by the way his hand is thrown around by the breeze as he looks you in your eyes for all that he says and does. It pulls you in like a trance until you find that it’s lulling you into a daze. You’re cornered, captured, and trapped yet you welcome it. Even as his words begin to blur, you hold onto what you could hear and let yourself lose yourself in it. In his voice. In him. 

And then, he stops.

The last of his words are being carried off into the wind when you finally refocus your attention again. He’s gazing out in the distance. His eyes train themselves on the horizon line as he stares in silence. Your face twists up in confusion, but you nonetheless follow his gaze in an attempt to see what he sees. To your surprise, it’s nothing. It’s a normal sunset over the shimmering sea. You think to yourself how it’s nothing you haven’t seen before when Kazuha suddenly calls your name.

You turn to look at Kazuha, surprised by the blonde’s choice to speak in this otherwise silent moment. But he’s not looking at you. His eyes are this on the horizon. The look on his face is glossy and distant and all too serious for the little moment you two were previously sharing. 

“There’s a storm coming.” He says lightly. His eyes flicker to you, only for a moment, before going back to look out at sea. 

And with that, the blonde slowly stands up and turns to walk back to your home. Your home filled your large, bustling family and all its cracks and ridges and lingering scents of good food. Before he leaves, he offers you his hand and helps you stand up. Red eyes linger on yours for mere moments, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. But you say nothing because he says nothing. Instead, the two of you walk back to the house. In silence. 

Hands intertwined as backs face the ocean. You wonder what’s left to come of his next two days here.

Of his next two days with you.

[holden-caulfield]

Let's Make A Deal

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: draco and reader get hurt during a quidditch match and they wake up in the hospital wing together.

Warnings: mentions of blood (nothing too graphic i think, but if you're not ok with it don't read this!)

Word Count: 2040

This idea came to me unexpectedly and i thought it was really cool. I hope you think so too :)

//

It was the day of the match: gryffindor vs slytherin. The stalls were filled with hundreds of people sporting the colors of the two teams, creating two giant moving blocks of red and green. The teams were already hovering on their brooms throughout the entire pitch and with them, you. You were one of the chasers for the gryffindor team, fast and agile, second only to Harry Potter who dashed through the air at the speed of lightning.

On the other team, the slytherins were getting ready, trying to intimidate your squad with all kinds of dirty looks. They did in fact intimidate you, but not because of their mean glares, because you knew they would have been ready to do anything to win. Much was at stake that day: the victory, the quidditch cup and honor.

When Madame Hooch blew the whistle, everyone sprinted for their respective balls: you went for the quaffle. The game was going smoothly, maybe even too smoothly as you and the other chasers kept on scoring for gryffindor. The reason, as you soon noticed, was because the bludgers weren't hindering you: one of them was currently being thrown around by Fred and George while the other one was ruthlessly pursuing the slytherin seeker, Draco Malfoy. A rogue bludger, you reckoned.

The seeker was trying desperately to get rid of it, but no matter how hard he tried, the bludger was always hot on his tail.

"What are you doing, y/l/n?!" shouted Oliver Wood from his post in front of the giant hoops as you stopped in mid-air to look at Harry and Draco being mercilessly chased by the big iron ball.

"That's a rogue bludger, we have to stop the game!"

"You can't stop quidditch! Plus, it's only helping us, keep scoring!" you scowled at Oliver knowing that nothing was more important than winning the cup for him and resumed the game, but as you took hold of the quaffle, the bludger snapped past you, almost making you lose control of your broom. The slytherin beaters had managed to free Draco from the rogue bludger, but it wasn't long until the ball chased him again.

Both Draco and Harry had now seen the golden snitch and were sprinting to grab it before the other.

"Malfoy!" you shouted at the top of your lungs, but it was of no use. The sudden distraction of the snitch made Draco forget about the bludger that hit him square in the head, causing him to fall down towards the ground at a frightening pace. You rushed towards the boy without a second thought: he might have been your opponent, but such a fall could have even killed him and you wouldn't have allowed it. You caught him inches from the ground and jumped down from your broom, laying him down.

"Malfoy! Hey, Malfoy!" he was unconscious, the bludger had hit him quite well.

Draco might have been done with the bludger, but the bludger wasn't done with Draco: you saw it dashing in the sky and descending at a dangerous speed towards the blond boy. You acted on impulse and covered him with your body, shielding him from the hard sphere that would have surely damaged him even more.

"Y/n! Get away from there!" you heard Fred shouting before the bludger struck you on your back. You let out a harrowing shriek, supporting yourself on your elbows not to crush the boy underneath you. You gritted your teeth as the bludger kept on beating you, only increasing its strength. You felt tears pool in your eyes as you felt your back breaking with every new hit, until it stopped.

Madame Hooch had managed to destroy the rogue bludger and you simply rolled beside Draco's unconscious body, eyes still tightly closed as you felt blood soaking your robes. A large crowd formed around you and the slytherin and you did your best to get up from the ground, but instead clutched your back with your hands, crossing your arms in front of you.

"Oh for Marlin's sake, how are you feeling, dear?" Madame Hooch questioned, looking distraught as she kneeled down in front of you and Draco.

"I'm not complaining. I'm not the one who has been hit in the face by that demonic thing." you managed to breathe out. Talking made the pain in your back even more excruciating and you bit your lip in order not to shriek again, almost drawing blood from your lips.

Dumbledore and other professors had joined the circle that was surrounding you, staving off all of your teammates and the other slytherins, eyes widening after seeing the state in which you and the other boy were in: you were writhing on the ground, trying to find a position in which you wouldn't feel like shards of glass were puncturing your skin, while the slytherin laid completely still on the grass, his platinum blond head now getting increasingly redder in the point the bludger had hit him.

The two of you were immediately brought in the hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey almost killed the professors after seeing two students in such conditions. She cursed quidditch and its 'barbaric ways', all the while examining your back and Draco's head. Madame Pomfrey gave you a glass of some liquid and focused her attention of the boy laying on the bed next to yours.

"Will he be alright?" you asked softly, peeking over her shoulder to see if the blond had awaken yet.

"Drink that and then get some sleep, miss y/l/n. Broken backs are serious stuff and I can't do much for the pain."

"But will he be ok?" you insisted. Madame Pomfrey sighed and turned to you.

"He will, but do yourself a favor and get some sleep. When you will wake up, you'll ask him yourself." that seemed to be enough for you and you drank the glittering liquid in the glass. The pain decreased only slightly, but enough to allow you to fall in a deep slumber. Deep but not peaceful since the only scenes that replayed in your head were the one that happened earlier that day. You found yourself questioning your choices: why did you blindly took his place? Why didn't you just let him on the ground by himself? Not even his teammates had rushed to help him, so why did you? But, as you kept falling more and more asleep, you couldn't find any answer.

The next morning you still felt a searing pain in your back, but it was far more bearable than the night before. You were still half asleep, eyes closed, when you heard someone whispering next to you. You kept your eyes sealed, focusing on the voice to hear it better.

"Come on, wake up. Please wake up." you weren't sure whose voice it was: it was deep and slightly hoarse, as if the person had just stopped crying.

"Come on, you have to wake up. You endured a bloody rogue bludger and you can't wake up?" you heard the voice assert, slightly chuckling and sniffling. The voice stopped talking for a moment. You felt a pair of hands grasping yours and holding it tenderly, drawing mindless pattern on its back.

"I'm pretty sure you can't hear me now, so i want to thank you. You didn't have to do it and yet you did." you recognized the voice to be Draco's, but you remained silent.

"I don't know why, no one would have done what you did, especially a gryffindor." he sniffled once more.

"You have been incredibly daft. You could have been seriously injured and for what? For me? You are an idiot if i ever saw one." he continued, giggling lightly. You could almost picture him in your mind, his bandaged head, his grey teary eyes and his cheeky grin.

"I never thought i would have had a chance with you but now that i almost got you killed i know for a fact." you desperately wanted to open your eyes and tell him that he still had a chance. Hell, he had even more than a chance, but you kept them closed. He remained silent for a few seconds again, still caressing your hand, and then you felt a light drop wet the back of it.

"Please wake up. I need to see you're alright."

"Why?" you asked, opening slightly your eyes with a smug grin on your face. He left your hand and immediately got up and distanced himself from you, thoroughly ashamed.

"How much did you hear?" he asked almost panicked.

"Oh, i don't know... i heard you insulting me though. That's not a very nice thing to do when talking to someone on an hospital bed." you replied cheekily and his cheeks heated up a little. You stretched your arm out and motioned for him to sit down again. When he did, you offered him you hand once more and, after eyeing it suspiciously for a moment, he gingerly took it in his own.

"Do you want to know something funny?" you asked playfully and he raised an eyebrow at you.

"You had a chance with me until you called me an idiot." you stated and he chuckled once more.

"So you heard that too, huh?"

"Seems so."

"Does it hurt?" he asked, suddenly conscious of the whole reason why you were there.

"Less than before. But don't change the topic." you said and you tried to sit up, but underestimated your pain and winced.

"Woah, woah. Stay down, i'll go call Madame Pomfrey." you grasped his hand firmly, preventing him from leaving you alone.

"Don't. I'm fine." he looked at you with concern written all over his face. "Please, stay."

His eyes softened and sat again in his chair, moving it slightly closer to the edge of your bed.

"How's your head?" you asked. As you had imagined, he had a white bandage across his head, with a red stain on the back.

"I'll survive." he shrugged his shoulders before continuing, "Thanks to you." you grinned widely at his words and shook your head in fake disapproval, causing a loose strand of hair to fall in front of your face. He instantly tucked it behind your ear, his hand lingering there before returning in his lap.

"Well, i don't think you would be doing too good if it hadn't been for Madame Pomfrey!" you corrected, still holding his hand in yours.

"Of course, but if it hadn't been for you, Madame Pomfrey couldn't have done much... They told me what you did."

"And...? It was heroic, wasn't it?" you said proudly, feigning superiority with a smug smirk.

"I stand by what i said. You are an idiot if i ever saw one." he replied matter-of-factly, but still in a playful manner.

"Oh, you hurt me, Malfoy!" he tried to stifle a laugh but couldn't and instead shook his head lightly. Your eyes suddenly widened and Draco's did too as soon as he noticed.

"Are you ok? What happened?"

"Who won the match?" Draco stared at you, mouth agape, a look of incredulity in his silvery eyes as he scoffed slightly.

"Well? Who won?" you asked again, expectantly.

"I don't know. Pomfrey hasn't let anyone inside het." you stayed silent, pondering for a few seconds.

"Let's make a deal."

"A deal?"

"A deal. If gryffindor won, i'll forget you ever called me an idiot and we can go on a date."

Draco's lips curled up slightly, "and what if slytherin won?"

You waited for a moment, staring at him in defy.

"Then we don't talk ever again." you said inching closer with your face towards the boy. Draco had a one-sided smile plastered on his face and his eyes narrowed at you. He extended his hand out and you shook it, sealing the deal. Right in that moment, Fred and George burst inside, with Madame Pomfrey in tow, trying to restrain the twins.

"Y/n! Still alive?" shouted Fred.

"Out of here now! They need to rest!"

"Madame Pomfrey, can i talk with them for a moment?" you tried asking, but she was not having any of it.

"You need to rest! You'll see them later!" and she started to usher Fred and George outside by force. You glanced at Draco who was looking at the scene very amused, then back at the twins.

"Who won the match?" you inquired, almost shouting, and the twins managed to respond before being shut outside by Madame Pomfrey.

"It's postponed."

//

Taglist <3

@turn-to-page-394-please @gwlvr @dracosaccount @astoria-malfcy @dracomalfoys-wh0re @ch0kemedracomalfoy @cherie-draco

[if your name is crossed out, check your privacy settings!]

[simplysimpingsimp]

hello, how are you ? plz zenitsu and tanjiro with a kind and shy, very beautiful russian s/o who has long soft light blond hair(almost like platinum), a very pale skin and purple eyes, she's a human but with the blood of a royal founding demon(she's working with them), thank you ! 🛐

Hi hi anon!! Aww thank you for asking, I’m doing okay! I hope you are as well :D First of all I’m super sorry for taking a while to get to your request TT Ahh what a interesting request !! I like it :D as always, I’m super sorry for any mistakes — especially this one, my smooth brain couldn’t exactly interpret if you meant working with the demon slayer corps or the demon TT so please let me know through another ask/dm if I got it wrong and if you’d like me to rewrite it !! I will gladly do so <3 I wrote this one as her working with the demon slayers so please let me know if you meant the latter TT

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🌼 𝟸/𝟹 𝙺𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚔𝚘 𝚂𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚁𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕 𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚂/𝙾

🌼 𝙺𝙽𝚈 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

🌼 𝙵𝚝. 𝚃𝚊𝚗𝚓𝚒𝚛𝚘, 𝚉𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚞

🌼 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: 𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚎𝚛

🌼 𝚃𝚆/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

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𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒋𝒊𝒓𝒐

definitely fell in love with pretty light amethyst like eye color she had

He would frequently find himself getting lost in them, and the warmth of her gaze was enough to make his blush

Tanjiro would often play with her long hair, complimenting its beauty and how it looked magical as it looked almost white in sunlight

Y/n would love whenever he’d try to braid her hair and when he tried practicing any type of hairstyle though she did dread the knots

Don’t worry Tanjiro would work really hard untangling every little knot while profusely apologizing

Tanjiro would definitely be surprised to hear of their connection to a Royal founding demon though he didn’t understand how she was human and lacked any traces of demon blood in her scent

“Mm…my family got its wealth off the blood of the innocent,” her voice quiet and soft, “So now…I must repent and atone for their killing by sacrificing my life slaying demons…”

Tanjiro would pat her head with a gentle smile on his lips, the warmth of his smile speaking for him

He would constantly hug her when he could and would definitely be fascinated by her soft Russian accent

He frequently complimented her voice and just casually asking her to say certain things just to hear how she speaks

Tanjiro would love to kiss her forehead frequently as he always enjoyed when she would do it to him too TT

🌿—————————————————————🌿

🌻—————————————————————🌻

𝒁𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒖

would just be a blushing and stuttering mess around her

She would giggle quietly at his antics which would make him fangirl and scream out of pure bliss

Mans would definitely think she was some sort of goddess from the lightness of her hair and how regal her air was

Would probably nickname her ‘princess’ or something simp-y

Zenitsu would make them flower crowns when he could calling them a beautiful ethereal goddess

He would also always style and play with her hair when he could — I feel like he would sniff her hair both intentionally and unintentionally,, man’s really just loved the floral scent TT

He would probably cry finding out they have the blood and association of a demon mostly out of initial fear

Would probably forget and go back to his scheduled routine of being in love with her

Zenitsu was a definite fan of her softly accented voice, there was nothing like hearing the way she would say his name

He would have a whole fangirl moment doing literal flips hearing her say his name “WAAAAAAH N/N SAID MY NAAAAME”

He would also ask her to say the randomest things just to hear how she would pronounce them

He would constantly cling to her or hold her hand, Zenitsu trusted her entirely with his life

ᴇɴᴅ

🌻—————————————————————🌻

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛɪɴɢ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ

ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!! ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ ɪɴ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs/

ᴀsᴋs/ɪᴅᴇᴀs/ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛs/ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs/ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ!! sᴇᴇ

ʏᴀʟʟ sᴏᴏɴ <3

ᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs: 19

[hops-hunny]

Pride Lost, Feelings Found

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: They/Them

Word Count: 2.2k

Request: @summerstardust  “Could you do a Neville with a gender neutral reader. It can fluff/smut/bit of both 🤷, whatever you want. With the prompts: 4. "You think she looks at me? Am I invisible?”, 12. "I’ve always liked you, you’ve just never noticed.” and 17. "Make me fall in love with you.”

Maybe where Neville is secretly crushing on the reader from afar and the reader is told, in some way, about this and he just runs away from the scene. Then the reader follows and finds him and tells him that they want to get to know him.

Don’t feel pressured to use this idea, though. I am just feeling a bit angsty at the moment. Thank you! :)”

Summary: It all crumbles down before Neville’s eyes, but it’s replaced with something he’d never expect.

Warnings: angst but it turns to fluff!!

A/N: Ok ok, if you want a part 2 with what happens after reader says that? Lmk and I’ll probably write it! I’m so sorry this took so long esp for one of my favorite readers. I hope you enjoy <3

4. "You think she looks at me? Am I invisible?” 

12. "I’ve always liked you, you’ve just never noticed.” 

17. "Make me fall in love with you.”

Sometimes Neville wish he had never noticed (Y/n). But when you shine as bright as they did, how couldn't you notice? They bewitching, enchanting everyone around them with a simple smile, him included. However when miracles as amazing as (Y/n) come to be, so does a lot of attention. He adored everything about them, the way they always smeared their ink on their scroll when they wrote, how they’d walk into class every morning with that same sleepy expression, even down to the way they’d always have to pull their socks up because they got the wrong size and they’d fall down. They was his dream partner. But sadly, that’s the thing about dream lovers, they’re meant to stay dreams.

From as long as Neville could remember, he had been on the bottom of the social ladder. Hell, when your familiar (who is also a toad) causes a wild goose chase during your first years at a new school, it’s really not hard to understand why. If it had been someone else instead of him, he would've made fun of them too. He was a loser and no one would ever let him forget. Not his friends, not Malfoy, not anyone. But they did. In all his years at Hogwarts, (Y/n) had never made him feel like a loser. Every interaction the two of them had made him feel normal, like himself.

Granted every interaction they had was small. Accidentally bumping into them in the halls, a tight lip smile when eye contact was made. One time he thought (Y/n) was waving to him but was in fact waving to their friend behind him but luckily they hadn't seen (Malfoy definitely did..). Out of all the people who could have noticed the way he looked at them or the way his cheeks would turn red when they'd pass him it had to be Malloy. That was awful for a multitude of reasons. One being that for some reason, (L/n) and Malfoy were the best of friends. Everyday he wished that it was him who got sat next to them in potions instead of that weasel of a boy. The second reason being that despite knowing how Neville felt for them, he still had yet to do anything with the information. To most people, they’d be relieved if Malfoy found out one of their most personal pieces of information and had yet to do anything but, Neville knew better. Draco was a vile creature and if he hadn’t teased him about it yet, that surely meant something even greater was coming. Something truly awful and devastating. 

The first week after Malfoy found out had Neville staying up to the break of dawn, stirring around restlessly at the thought of what he’d do. Would he spill something on him when he was set to have a class with them, tape a note to the back of his shirt with the information on it, or worse...no, no. Not even Malfoy was cruel enough to do that! If anything, if he was going to tell (Y/n) he’d probably do it when Neville wasn’t around so they could come up to him and reject him at random. Although it was sad, what got Neville to sleep at night was imagining that they already knew. That (Y/n) was more than aware and it was only a matter of time till they’d reject him and his life would go back to normal without any pesky thoughts of how beautiful he found them to be.

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

Seamus’s words went in one of Neville’s ears and right back out of the other, sounding like white noise to the boy. He couldn’t listen to whatever idiotic thing he was going on about. How could he when (Y/n) was a few feet away, looking just as gorgeous as they usually did? It was hard not to focus on them, the way their pretty lips would curl into a smile, giggling at something one of their friends had said. He felt a smile grace his own lips at the sight, letting out a noise of protest as Ron chucked a cushion at his head.

“Are you even, listening Longbottom?” he heard him ask, still not ripping his eyes away from the (y/h/h) across the hall.

“You think they look at me? Am I invisible?” he asked in a hushed tone, as if he was to speak any louder, they would somehow hear them despite them being so far away. Seamus let out a loud snort, beginning to cackle as he slapped the boy on the back a bit too hard.

“Fat chance, Longbottom! You think (L/n) would notice you? They wouldn’t even notice me, and that’s saying something!” Seamus wheezed out. Neville shot him a pointed glare, fuming from the boy’s words. He shoved him off the couch, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not that people don’t notice you Seamus….it’s that they do for all the wrong reasons.” Dean pointed out, causing the other 3 to laugh, growing louder as Seamus failed to push himself off the ground. 

“Oh don’t worry, Longbottom. (L/n) will be sure to notice you soon enough.” he froze at the sound of the cold voice, turning around to look at the platinum blonde prince himself. Draco stood their, smirking. Crabbe and Goyle tried to nod along when in reality, they had no idea what their leader was going on about. Neville gulped, standing up to face him completely.

“W-what do you mean?” he asked him, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. Draco simply shrugged, beginning to walk in the opposite direction. He turned around briefly looking the boy up and down.

“Means exactly what I said. Nothing more, nothing less. Well as much as I’d love to stay around and lose brain cells with you idiots, I’ve got better things to attend to.” and with that he left.

“Don’t worry, Nev. Draco is always just talk, I’m sure nothing will come of it.” Harry said, offering the boy a reassuring smile. Although Neville knew he meant well, he couldn’t stop the sinking, tight feeling in his chest. Draco had yet to do something so he had no reason to feel this way, but it was just a hunch that the worst was yet to come.

Even hours later, as Neville lay in his bed that night, all he could think about were the words that echoed throughout his head over and over.

“Oh don’t worry, Longbottom. (L/n) will be sure to notice you soon enough.”

He didn’t know if he was grateful for how vague that was or if it was the bane of his days. Draco could’ve meant anything by that, all he knew is whatever it meant the intent behind his words were less than kind. He turned again, sighing as he looked out the window. There was a full moon tonight, a beautiful silver halo of light dancing its way around it. 

“Merlin, save me please.” he pleaded quietly, to no one in particular. Every bit of hope, every positive thought laced in his words. Although he prepared for the worse to happen, he had a sliver of hope that it wouldn’t. That tomorrow he’d wake up and his day would be as mundane as usual, just the way he’d like it. And if he was lucky (Y/n) would give him a small smile in the hall.

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

Neville’s small sliver of hope had grown into an entire cake. Looking back on earlier in the week, he was worried for absolutely nothing! Malfoy once again was all bark and no bite which for once, he was glad for! He let out a sigh of content as he made his way from the library, heading in the direction of the main corridor. He saw Seamus give him an uncharacteristically serious look from the small crowd that was gathered around something. As he grew closer, in the middle of the circle he saw Draco stood on a crate as (Y/n) sat next to him, listening as he read something from a paper. 

“Nev, you might wanna...might wanna leave.” Seamus whispered to him. However, he looked as people stared at him, some giggling while some look sympathetic.

“Why? What’s going o-”

“Here’s another one I found in his bin! ‘Dear (Y/n), although I’ll never give you this letter, I can’t help but write about how amazing you are! When I saw you help that injured bird the other day, I wanted nothing more than to help you tend to it. I find it funny how even when you’re sad, you manage to brighten up my day.’ God how dorky is this loser? I can’t believe he fancies you so much (Y/n)!” Draco howled in laughter, a few others joining him. Neville found himself at the forefront of the circle, frozen in his spot. That was his letter! He had started writing them as a way of coping with his feelings, knowing that the person he fancied would always be out of reach of him. “Anything to say for yourself, Longbottom?”

Neville felt tears well in his eyes, the warmth of them mixing with the heat of his red flushed face. “I...I..” he looked at (Y/n) who look like they had something to say however, he didn’t wanna stick around to hear it. Without another word, he ran off, tears streaming down his face as soon as he was far enough from anyone. In his time of despair, he ran to his only place of comfort. The one place that he wasn’t Neville, the loser who just had his feelings ripped from safe keeping in front of half the students in his year. The place where he was just Neville.

He took in a deep breath of the familiar muggy air of the greenhouse, relaxing slightly as he took a seat on the ground. “God I’m so stupid!” he wailed, tears flowing down his face. His crying grew harder, harsh hiccups shaking and jolting his body as he screamed into his knees. He knew there was a matter of time before (Y/n) was to find out, he just didn’t know it’d be like this. If this was just the pain from them learning about his feelings, he didn’t wanna know how bad he’d be wounded when they came to reject him. Neville’s head jolted up at the sound of soft footsteps making their way over to him. He noticed the familiar pair of black shoes, turning his head as they kneeled down in front of him.

“I thought you may be here! You always seemed so passionate about plants during herbology so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to check here first.” (Y/n) said, placing a hand on the boy’s knee. He looked down at where they connected, feeling his face flush slightly from the contact. “You know, your friends care about you a lot. After you ran off, Ginny came up and socked Draco straight in the face. It was quite a sight really.” they let out a soft giggle at the memory. “Hermione went in to drag her off but when she saw how smug Draco looked, she couldn’t help but to join in. While they did that, your other friends set off looking for you and I did too.”

“Why?” he asked, catching their attention. The (y/h/h) gave him a confused look, tilting their head to the side. “Why did you come looking for me? Don’t you hate me now? Gross, stupid Longbottom having a crush on Hogwart’s sweetheart. How pathetic, huh?” he sniffled, ripping his eyes away from them. He knew if he was to continue to look, a completely new set of tears would be triggered.

“Why wouldn’t I? I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t! Although I don’t know much about you, I do know you’re a kind individual and you didn’t deserve what Draco did to you.” they said in a soft tone, moving into the spot next to Neville. They sat in silence for a moment before (Y/n) cleared their throat, looking over at him once more. “How long?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, how long have you liked me for? I wasn’t even aware until today.” they queried curiously.

“I’ve always liked you, you’ve just never noticed. I don’t blame you for not noticing though, we’re from two different worlds. You’ve got everyone in hogwarts begging for a moment of your time and you hang out with some of the most elite and prestigious people in the castle.” he sniffled some, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he set his hand down on the cold cement ground. “It was stupid of me to let my feelings last for so long.”

“Why was it stupid?” they asked, scooting closer to him. Neville turned to look at them, losing his breath at their closeness.

“Because you don’t feel the same..not that I expected you to. You didn’t even know I existed until today.” he let out a huff of air. (Y/n) bit the inside of their cheek before placing their hand on top of Neville’s, tangling their fingers together.

“You’re right, I don’t feel the same,” they started, tightening their grip as the boy began to get up. “But that doesn’t mean I never will. Let’s get to know each other a bit more.” they leaned in closer, the feeling of both of their breath being exchanged like whispers amongst their lips. 

“Make me fall in love with you.”

TAGSLIST:@vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff  @clancyscookies @beewitchedlou​ 

@nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend​ @redpanda-poetry​ @vibingaesthetically​

[wreckofawriter]

Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader also Blaise Zabini x reader if you squint.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Blood, swears twice? Angsty (fluff ending)

Summary: Hanahaki Disease AU! You are despareatly in love with your bestfriend. His unrequainted love causes flowers to grow in your lungs which you are forced to cough up until death overcomes you. The only removal of this sickness is a spell which also takes every memory of the loved one with it.

A/n: look at my dumb ass post late for my own event... this fic is for the first week of Cliche Month. My cliche was Hanahaki Disease. Check out the other writers work. They are amazing!!

    Roses used to be your favorite flower. Their delicate petals stained with glaring crimson intrigued you since you reached for one in your mother’s garden and pulled away with a bloodied hand. They could be found around you constantly; arranged in sparkling vases and patterned on your dresses. Bouquets were gifted to you by friends and family during holidays and birthdays, they surrounded you. 

    Now as you coughed into the toilet of the girl’s lavatory you wished to never see a rose again. You could feel the thorns tearing you apart, your throat sliced to ribbons as you clutched the stark white porcelain. You heaved a final time, petals falling into the clear water, the blood upon them staining it pink. You felt dizzy, copper thick in your mouth. You choked out a sob, tears spilling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. You brought your hand to your face, whipping your mouth with its back and blinking back a fresh wave of cries. You pushed yourself to your feet, knees sore from resting on cold tile too long. You flushed, watching as the red and white petals spiraled from view. 

    You stepped from the stall going to the mirror and dabbing away melting makeup, a few practice smiles at your reflection flashed before you exited the secluded room. 

    Hanahaki disease had been glorified around you for years. The aesthetic and purity of its cause and symptoms making it seem like some dream or fairytale. You had learned quite quickly it was anything but. While everyone talked of the beauty of growing flowers within you they never talked about the pain of thorns piercing you with every breath or the blood which lingered on your taste blood because of never-ending cuts and tears of skin. They never talked about the stab you felt each time the person you loved looked your way or the times you had to swallow petals to keep your quickening death a secret. 

    Blood and roses painted a pretty picture but they stopped being so charming as you choked them out every few hours. 

    You walked quickly to class, each step you took emitting pain in your chest, pain which you had gotten phenomenal at ignoring. Snape didn’t bat an eyelash, despite the fact that you were six minutes late. The stabs grew searing as you took a seat next to the scowling blonde who had unintentionally bloomed flowers in your chest.  

    “Where the hell were you?” Draco scoffed his tone cold.

    “Bathroom.” You replied plainly, eyes tracing the slope of his nose as he turned away from you. Your eyes continued to follow his profile, creating trails on his jawline and under his light grey eyes. 

    Draco turned back to you, “Is there something on my face?” 

    You shook your head, feeling petals flutter in your stomach, thorns following. 

    He said nothing, eyes flicking around your profile, looking for clues of your strange behavior. “Are you sick?” He asked, “You look pale.” 

    You shook your head yet again, “I feel fine.” Lies came so easily recently.

    Draco didn’t give in easily, his gaze searching your own as if he could read through your words to your failing heart. “You’ve seemed off recently,” he stated turning back to the lesson.

    “I don’t know what you mean.” You replied. Lying really had become effortless.

    Draco didn’t like your sudden disappearances and untrustworthy excuses. You had been distant and unfamiliar in recent days. Your schedule seemed skewed, jokes, and laughter seeming to die as you rushed to unexplained meetings with no one before reappearing thirty minutes later with blood on your sleeves. You always smelled of the liquid, copper had replaced your floral shampoo and tropical perfumes. Everything about you simply felt wrong, like an invisible switch had been flipped leaving you as an imposter. 

    You forced a thin smile at the girl across from you as she said her greetings. Pansy dug into her plate of eggs, glaring up at you suspiciously. Your relationship with the girl had always rested on the edge of a knife. She despised your relationship with Draco, her eyes going green whenever you were seen together. You wish you could tell her there was really nothing to worry about. 

    “You’re hiding something.” She satiated plainly.

    You scrunched your nose in mock confusion, “What?”

    A scoff rose from her lips, “I’m not stupid y/l/n. Something is up with you, everyone can see it.” 

    “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You huffed rolling your eyes, hoping she didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms, fear of being discovered chilling you to the bone. 

    Blaise sat down next to you sensing the tense atmosphere and glancing between you both, “This about Draco?” He asked cautiously.

    You shook your head quickly, a stab of agony shooting through you at his mention. 

    The boy shrugged, snatching a bagel and beginning to dress it with jam, “Anyway, you guys are coming to Hogsmeade right?”

    Pansy answered excitedly her high pitch making you wish you’d stayed in bed. The conversation droned for a moment and you focused on your breathing. You knew the time which you would be able to do such a necessary act was limited. It was only a matter of time before thorns punctured a lung or pushed through your heart. 

    “You’re going right y/n?” Blaise asked, drawing you into the words spoken between them. 

    You bit your cheek, “I don’t think so.” 

    Blaise groaned, “Come on, we always go! It’s like a tradition.”

    You frowned, “You didn’t go last week.”

    The trap he had fallen into struck quickly, “Well doesn’t matter, you need to go.” he recovered.

    “And why’s that?” You hummed nursing an orange juice that tasted of copper. 

    “Draco gets pissy when you don’t come.” He explained. The words would have made your heart soar if vines weren’t threaded through your veins. “Especially after quidditch practices.” 

    You sighed, “Draco isn’t my responsibi-” you were cut off by a spear thrust into your chest. The glass you held fell from your grip and shattered on the table. Eyes darted towards you in confusion as you bent over in agony. 

    A muffled voice broke through your momentary disconnection from the conscious world.

“Y/n are you okay?” 

Your eyes fluttered open as you gasped for air, tears pooling in your eyes, “I’m fine.” you rasped standing quickly from your seat as you felt petals push up your throat. You sprint from the room without another word, hand clasping over your lips as you desperately tried to swallow the floral arrangement crawling up towards your lips. You managed to make it three corridors before collapsing to the ground, heads turned, eyes locking with you as let out a rattling set of coughs. 

You didn’t hear the words of concern or cries for help as your mouth filled with blood. You felt something push from your mouth landing on your hands lightly. A rose blossom stared back at you as you opened your eyes. Its white petals unfurled stunningly, deep crimson puddles pooled between them. Red dripped lazily down your hands and you began to cough again. Thorns tore through your flesh escaping into the light of the world drenched in red, petals floated in the small puddle of blood around you like tiny boats in a lake of fire. 

You hiccuped twice, the pain the action caused forcing tears down your cheeks. Your ears rang with shouts and gasps, your hands tightening around the flowers you held, only then noticing the cuts which littered your palms. 

Blaise thundered around the corner, shoving people out of the way to see what they had gathered around. His eyes widened when he saw you, blood drenching the front of your uniform, tears mixing with crimson as they dripped off your chin. But the most alarming thing which sat in that hallway where the roses. Four of them, in full bloom, were littered around you, their meaning sinking terror into Blaise’s head. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands coming to your shoulders.

“Shit y/n,” he mumbled feeling his eyes prick.

You were sobbing, wincing with every shake your body gave, “I can’t forget.” You whimpered, “Please, I don’t wanna die but I can’t forget him.” Your begs were cut off as you began to cough again.

You felt numb. The potions you had been given driving away not only pain but every other feeling your body had manifested. Moving felt like wading through thick mud, the weight of the blankets adding to the confusion of your nerves. 

The ceiling of the hospital wing had become boring hours before, the dark of the night staining the white a deep blue. Your brain ran through memory after memory, thinking that if they replayed through your consciousness enough they would be stuck there, even after they were cut from your body with the flowers within you. You could hear his voice, smell his cologne, and feel his hair. The pain of your body had left but that of your mind had been so deeply engraved it was hard to distinguish from the former. 

The ache you felt from the image of his angry tears and hoarse screams were far worse than the occasional stab of a thorn. Maybe it would be better to forget. Forget the pain, the love, all of it. To forget him. Yet every time you thought of the idea your eyes welled with tears and that unsettling ache of your chest worsened. 

Memories became more and more recent as the melody of the platinum blonde continued to play. Those of a few hours ago were the freshest, still crisp around the edges, full of brilliant colors. 

You didn't want him to find out, let alone find out from someone who wasn't you. Yet Blasie had told him the second after he had dropped you where you now lay, betraying everything within you. 

He had come into the wing still dressed in his quidditch robes, broom in his left hand as he stormed through the previously quiet area. 

"How dare you." He had seethed, broom hitting the ground with a clatter. 

Your eyes had become focused solely on him the second his voice had graced you.

"How fucking DARE you!" His eyes were glossy with fury.

"Mr. Malfoy!"  Pompfery shouted behind him

You were in a confused daze, dull pain shooting through you as Draco neared. "What?" 

He was in front of you now tears sliding down his flushed cheeks as he gripped the metal of the bed frame.

"You can't just fall in love with me!" He shouted, "You can't just, j-just," his voice faltered and fell and he slumped forward. 

You sat up wanting to move towards him, "I'm sorry." You whimpered a hand coming to rest on his own.

He snatched himself away from you, "You were just going to let yourself die?" 

You paused another stab of pain dulled by medication sending white to your vision. Were you going to let yourself die? Die for the memories of this boy? It seemed a bit pitiful as you thought about it. "I don’t know." 

Draco was appalled, his mind reeling as you stared up at him, eyes wide and glistening, "Don't put your blood on my hands." He hissed turning and storming from the room.

You called after him, voice straining, throat burning. He didn't spare a single glance back and you were left staring at his disregard broom as blossoms bubbled in your throat.

Draco had always had an easy way out when he was younger. His mother loved to spoil him and his father would keep him out of trouble with little effort. He had easy choices that were made for him. But recently things have been different. The expectations of his parents raised as he wanted to do nothing but flee from the life they had given him.

You had been safety for him. Your lack of questions and secret intent made you a safe haven. He didn't have to worry about your thoughts of him because he knew they were positive. He didn't have to be concerned with his reputation or his future or his family. He could just exist with you. Exist freely. The bonds which held him to the earth disappeared in your presence and he could float amongst the pink clouds which you lived. 

You were his best friend. And now you were going to be ripped away from him. And there was no one to blame but himself. His unreturned feelings were killing you, this was all his fault. And now your memories would be pulled from you and you would become nothing more than a stranger. 

It hurt to know you may have died for him. Died to keep him in your mind. It hurt to know all the blood you had spilled stained his palms. 

The dorm rooms were darkened, the murky waters of the lake filtering soft moonlight through their depths. Sleep seemed like a faraway friend to Draco as he stared out at nothing. His thoughts were washed together like paint doused in water. A strange dream-like haze had rested over his life since he saw you on that bed. His thumb ran over the bumps of his knuckles, where your hand had rested hours before.

"You shouldn't have blamed her." 

Draco didn't look up, his eyes locked into the dark waters, "I know." 

Blaise sat down next to him, legs crossed, "You should apologize." 

"I know." 

There was a long pause. Neither boy knew what they were supposed to say.

Draco felt his eyes sting, resent bubbling in his stomach, and having nowhere to go, "I don't want to lose her." 

Blaise sighed, "You are either going to have to lose her or love her. It's up to you." 

But it wasn't up to him. He couldn't choose to love you. 

The next day was unsure like a scene that was cut from a movie. Draco spent his time lingering in his hazy consciousness. The thoughts of losing you slowly driving him insane. His vision swam with your image in hallways, eyes falling through him. He would be a stranger to you. And he would have to keep it that way for your own safety. He would be forced to watch his best friend live her life without the memories they shared. The sting of realization grew with each moment.

Your pain had begun to fade. You weren't sure if it was because of the medication or if your body was simply shutting down. The latest you could get McGonagall to cast the spell was tomorrow night. Then every moment you and Draco had shared would be flushed away. 

At least the coughing fits had stopped, thorns no longer tearing your throat to pieces. No more roses covered in blood. You felt a sense of peace.

Your far away mind was drawn back by Madam Pompfery's shrill voice. 

"You may absolutely not visit her!" 

"I just want to apologize!" Another tone retorted.

You sat up quickly, blankets shoved to the side as your bare feet made contact with the ground. 

The argument grew louder as you neared, words turning harsh. 

"Draco?" You called, peeking around the corner to see Madame Pomfrey standing with her back to you blocking the doorway, the blonde just in front of her.

"You should be in bed." The nurse scolded me, turning to look at you.

"I want to see him." You stated firmly.

She had now turned to face you fully, "Go back to bed y/l/n." 

You glared back at the woman, "Let him in." 

There was silence, you're gaze unwavering as the older woman slowly caved. 

"Make it quick Malfoy."

You wanted to choke on the awkward silence that followed after the woman departed. Dracos eyes were glued to you as your own darted between your feet and the nearby wall. 

“She’s right. You should be in bed.” he spoke.

You shrugged, “I was feeling better. The medication helps.”

“You shouldn’t be standing regardless.” He huffed walking past you towards the bed you had been in a few minutes before. 

    You rolled your eyes but followed him, knowing he was right didn’t make you feel any better. 

    “I'm sorry about before,” Draco mumbled as you set yourself against the headboard. You tilted your head in a silent question, “I shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday. It's not your fault.”

    You cracked a small smile, head tilting back until it hit the wall. “Of course it's my fault.” 

    Draco was silent and you gazed at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes were cast at his feet, the melancholy look on his face making you sour. 

    “Please don’t be sad.” You muttered, “I can't have my last memory of you be sad.”

    Despite your plea, his eyes grew misty, the weight on his chest so heavy he thought it might crush him. 

    Your feet felt light and for a moment you thought you might be dying. Your head felt so clear, you wouldn't have been surprised if Draco started saying you were floating off your bed. Your chest felt warm and fuzzy, like hot chocolate after hours in the snow. 

    “I can’t lose you.” Draco sobbed, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “I can’t lose you, y/n. Please don’t leave me.”

    Part of you wanted to slap him, “It's not a choice.” You swallowed thickly, “I didn’t choose to fall in love with you.” It was the truth. You didn’t choose to plunge into the deep waters of absolute devotion. You were pushed. Pushed by each smile and laugh. By each joke and eye roll. He had pushed you into the whirlpool of love and you had been sucked deep under. And now you couldn’t breathe.

    “I can’t watch you forget me.” He croaked his head held in his hands, “I love you y/n, you can't become a stranger to me. I couldn’t watch you live without me. I couldn't live with these memories knowing you don't have them.” 

    Suddenly the lack of pain made sense. The light, fuzzy feeling overwhelming your body was comprehensible, “Say it again.”

    Draco met your eyes, “What?”

    “Say you love me again.”

    His eyes widened, momentary surprise taking him before it was pushed aside by a rush of relief, “I love you.”

    It was like a drug drawn from his lips, it burnt like whiskey down your throat, warmth filling you. You sat forward quickly, hands coming to cup his cheeks, damp and sticky with tears. Droplets of your own gathered, rivers of relief dripping off your chin.

    Your lips met hastily. The taste of salt mixed with the bitterness of blood was unsavory but neither of you seemed to care as you pulled him closer. Kiss deepening as his hands fell to your waist. You found yourself sinking deeper into the water you had fallen into, oxygen suddenly filling your thirsting lungs.

    You were unaware of the thorns that filled Blaise’s. Yellow petals spilled from his lips, his throat filled with blood. As you tucked your head into Draco's chest, his was buried into his hands, tears filling his eyes. He was hopeless, the thorns would tear him apart and you would put roses on his grave

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

[thatslikely]

Seeker - D.M.

Seeker- Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (unspecified house but not slytherin) 

Warnings: none! just lots of fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: This is my first ever fic!  I hope I potray Draco accurately!  Feel free to D.M. me for any requests or anything like that.  I’d also really love feedback, positive or negative.  Special thanks to my friend Ocean, who is an amazing author and editor <3

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name - Y/L/N is Your Last Name - Y/H is Your House

----

Draco Malfoy.

Anyone who has ever graced the steps of Hogwarts during his reign is bound to have heard the name.  The poor first years hear about the hexing of their friends after so much as glancing at his striking blond hair.  The second year Quidditch players hear about his skill and precision on a broom.  Even the O.W.L.s-stressed fifth years hear of his (almost) unparalleled smarts.  

You, of course, heard all these things too.  You’d seen firsthand his occasional ruthlessness.  There was no doubt in your mind he was a force to be reckoned with.  You never let his daunting image intrude your thoughts, however.  He would never have a reason to bother you; so why should you care what he did?

That all seemed true until Quidditch results came back for your house.  Your eyes scanned over names on the list until you saw your name next to the title of Seeker.  You were thrilled to be on the team.  You worked so hard over the summer, waking up at dawn to fly laps around the lush forests by your home.  

After everyone in the common room was informed of your new title, they all congratulated you for what seemed like hours.  They all chanted “Y/N!” at the top of their lungs or gave you encouraging pats on the back.  After a while of sober celebration, someone finally managed to sneak in a few bottles of Firewhiskey.  You eagerly downed a shot or two before your head started to feel fuzzy.  The music and chatter of the party seemed to make your head pound, and you decided you needed some fresh air to clear your head.  

The moment you stepped out of the bustling common room, you felt way better.  Your whole body calmed, releasing the tension you didn’t know you had.  While you could still very well feel the effects of the Firewhiskey, you felt clear enough to walk all the way to the Owlery.  

The Owlery had always been a place of comfort for you.  You had never owned an owl for yourself, instead opting for an adorable black cat, but something about the flying creatures comforted you.  Maybe it was their piercing yellow eyes or their fluffy feathers that seemed to stick out in any direction, or maybe just because they remind you of whenever your mother’s owl brings sweet letters at breakfast every month.  

The air tonight was chilly, but you were simply grateful that it was too early in the year for snow because whenever Hogwarts was covered in soft white blankets, the steps up to the Owlery were dangerously icy.  Thankfully, the only things on the steps were your boots and the occasional fluttering orange leaf.  

Once you reached the top, you breathed a sigh of relief.  The thoughts of you becoming the new Seeker came back to you and you were able to celebrate a little bit again.  Before you could fully imagine yourself flying around the Quidditch pitch in search of the shiny Golden Snitch, you were interrupted suddenly by none other than Draco Malfoy’s taunting words.  

“Well, well, well.  Who do we have here?  Y/L/N?”

You froze.  In all the times you had been to the Owlery at night, this was the first time you had company.  And his company at that.  His voice seemed strong and almost amused.  Before you could give him a response, he kept going.

“You’re the new Y/H Seeker, aren’t you?  Maybe this year I’ll have some actual competition, though I doubt it.”

You felt your face heat up in rage, a feeling you rarely expressed.  The Firewhiskey must’ve brought it out of me, you thought with a sigh.  You knew you wouldn’t want to say something you’d regret, especially to your new Slytherin rival.  

“I think you might be pleasantly surprised, Malfoy.  I’ve been training all summer.”

Draco didn’t deserve to know that you had been practicing all summer, and the summer before that, but you inexplicably felt the need to prove yourself to him.  He always seemed to be one step ahead of you, though.

“And I’ve been training for Quidditch since I could walk, Y/N.  You’re not special.”

His comment stung a little.  But you knew you deserved to be Seeker, and you could prove that to him next match.  

“What brings you up here so late anyways?”

“That, Y/L/N, is none of your concern.  I could, however, ask you the same thing.”

“Just getting away from the crowd is all.  The Common Room’s loud as all hell.”  Why did you tell him that?  He didn’t need to know anything about you or your common room.  

Draco pulled up the sleeve of his black blazer, presumably looking at his watch.  You didn’t notice how Draco’s platinum blond hair shined so handsomely in the moonlight until he pushed himself off of the wall he was so casually leaning on to walk towards you.  

“It’s past curfew, Y/N.  I could so easily tell my Slytherin prefects that I found you out so late at night, especially after a loud night in the Common Room…”  The smirk on his face as he looked up into your eyes was so charming but mischievous.  

“You wouldn’t da-” you muttered, before quickly getting cut off.

“I won’t tell them, though, only because I plan on crushing you next game.  The look on your face as I hold the Snitch will be priceless.”

You desperately tried to find some way to rebut what he said, but his words it seemed, took the air from your lungs.  You watched him, stunned, as he casually handed a black envelope to what you assumed was his owl.  As the owl flew out of the window and into the pitch-black sky, he walked towards the doorway, which you happened to still be standing in.  

He purposely brushed your shoulder as he walked past you and down the stairs. Without even looking back, he simply said, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You stood there, almost breathless.  That had quite possibly been the strangest and most unexpected interaction you’ve ever had.  You’d always seen Draco as some stereotypical bully, but you never realized how truly witty and quick-on-his-feet he was.  He would be a tough opponent, both on the field and off.

----

Quidditch practice these past few weeks has been very tiring but helpful.  Every time you mounted your broom it made you feel that much more confident, which was good because you needed as much of that as you could get if you wanted to even stand a chance against Draco.  By the time the first match came around, you felt as though you could easily beat the green-jerseyed players.  

The practice room pep-talk before the game was finally the moment your confidence was cemented.  As your captain stood on the bench, yelling and inspiring, you were on top of the world.  You could see Malfoy zooming on his broom far behind you as you reached for the Snitch, its shiny metal now covered up with your worn leather gloves.  You could hear the crowd cheering your name as Draco sat in awe of you.  

That daydream was short-lived however when everyone got up from the benches to grab their brooms and fly into the stadium.  As you proudly mounted your broom, a sudden spike of anxiety hit your chest.  Of all the times nerves had to hit, did it have to be two seconds before the match began?

The stadium was filled to the brim with students from each of the four houses. The large pillars of red, yellow, blue, and green emitted cheers as your team glided on the field, doing a fun formation along with it.  Not long after, the green and silver-clad team swooped onto the field.  They flew around the oval-shaped pitch in the shape of a very coordinated V.  It was more intimidating than you’d like to admit.

As the Slytherins settled down and hovered in the air, ready for the match to start, you saw Malfoy send you an intimidating glare. You rolled your eyes in return before the referee shouted a loud, “brooms up!”

With those simple two words, you darted off towards the top of the pitch.  You gripped the broom as if your life depended on it, which it might.  Your eyes scanned the field for any signs of the snitch before you saw a flash of blonde next to you.  

“Scared, Y/L/N?”  Draco spat, clearly trying to tease you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”  You smirked, your gaze reaching his enticing silver eyes.  He cocked his eyebrow at you, playfully, before you sped off, the air from the tail of your broom blowing his pale locks over his eyes.  

The Golden Snitch had caught your eye while you hovered up with Malfoy, and now you surely had the advantage.  You were mere feet away from the golden snitch, with the blonde Seeker trailing behind you.  The crowd sat captivated, wondering who would reach the snitch first.  Just as your fingers brushed the golden sphere, it shot straight up, out of your grasp.  You both wasted no time shooting upwards on your brooms.  He was now at your side, both your arms reached up to the sky.

Suddenly, you felt the metal of the snitch in the palm of your gloves.  But you also felt something else, and you almost fell off your broom at the sight of Draco’s fingers intertwined with yours, both of your palms wrapped around the snitch.  

Without hesitation, you both recoiled from each other, your interwoven hands breaking apart, which sent the snitch flying.  Your face got red and hot with embarrassment, and by the expression and color of Draco’s face, he felt the same.  He managed to mime himself gagging before he swooped in the opposite direction in search of the snitch once again.

----

As you stepped through the painting guarding your common room, you could already hear the screams and cheers.  Some people chanted your name, some people talked about the highlights from the match, and there was loud music blaring in the background.  Your close victory that afternoon definitely produced some happy house-mates.  

You weren’t in much of partying mood tonight though.  The match had worn you out, and you were ready to lay down.  You did have a lot to think about, after all.  The way you and Draco’s hands fit together perfectly around the snitch, or the way his face contorted into a frown when the Slytherins accepted defeat.  Or even the way, when your team picked you up in celebration,, a smile pricked at the sides of his mouth, barely noticeable.

You didn’t know why you couldn’t get Draco out of your mind.  You guys were rivals, but the way his image played back in your mind, you didn’t feel hatred.  You didn’t feel a big success by proving what he said in the Owlery wrong.  

You finally came to the conclusion that maybe it was because you thought he was handsome.  Just a little bit, of course.  The way his blonde hair blew in the wind was attractive, sure, but you didn’t like him or anything.  You’d never even talked to him before the night at the Owlery.  He was just the Slytherin Seeker, as you were just the Y/H Seeker to him.  Simple.

Except, you didn’t know that he also thought the same about you.  The way you smiled in victory after his (very close) loss made it sting just a little bit less.  The disapproving stares from his fellow green-wearing peers didn't hurt his pride as much when he remembered you two’s hands together around the snitch.

It’s only because she’s my rival, he thought to himself, but he couldn’t even fool himself with that lie.  All he really knew was, he had to talk to you tomorrow.

----

“Congrats on the win yesterday, Y/N.  But don’t think next time I won’t hesitate to push you off that cheap broom of yours.”  Draco spat.  He never really had a way with words, especially with people he took interest in.  He really did try to make it as nice as he could.

You merely smirked at his comment as you sat down at your table in the Great Hall.  “It’s okay, Draco.  I know you just can't accept that you got beat.”  He huffed a bit at your comment, but his expression quickly changed to that of a sarcastic smile.

He reached across the table and grabbed a goblet of pumpkin juice, much to your surprise.  Just as quickly, he sat down next to you.  You finally got a good look, and smell, of him for the first time.  His silver eyes and blonde hair looked as alluring as ever, and he smelled really good, like green apples and cologne.  

Just as you were about to ask why he decided to sit with you, of all people, he stated, “It’s rude to stare, you know?”

“Sorry, it’s just weird seeing someone in those green robes of yours sitting at our table.”  You replied sheepishly, snapping out of your trance.  

He only let out a small chuckle before grabbing a green apple from the middle of the table.  He gave it a small toss before looking back at you.  You glanced into his eyes, which apparently you like to get lost in, but you couldn’t read what emotion ran through them.  

“Why did you decide to sit here, by the way?  Don’t you have some first years to hex?” You asked, partially defensive and partially curious.  

Your friends, and some other fellow house-mates, all watched in anticipation for his response, but instead he said, “If my prescence bothers you that much, I can just go back to my table.  My ego won’t be too hurt.”  He gave his signature smirk at the end of the sentence, clearly not taking it seriously.

“I didn’t mean it like that, okay?  I don’t mind the Slytherin prince sitting at our table for one day.  Two may be pushing it.”  He didn’t answer your question though, about why he wanted to sit here.  It did seem a little odd, but you weren’t complaining.  

“Very funny.  Well, I’m afraid I can’t stay much longer.  I have more pressing matters, like preparing to absolutely crush you next Quidditch match.”

He left just as fast as he had come, still grasping the green apple in his hand.  Once he was back to his throne at the Slytherin table, you glanced down to where he was previously sitting, only to find a shiny black envelope resting on the bench.  It had your initials written down in silver ink, the same shade as his eyes.  You quickly shoved it beneath your robes, so your friends wouldn’t see.

Once you were safely out of the field of vision of the Great Hall, you broke the emerald green seal of the envelope.  You pulled out a crisp, white piece of parchment.  Your eyes read the inked black text, which read:

That’s strange, you thought, he’s top of the class for potions.  Why would he need my notes?  You quickly brushed it off as you just overthinking.  Clearly, he only sat at our table and wrote me this letter because of stupid Potions class.  Right?  

I need your Potions notes from last class.  Meet me at the astronomy tower at 11.  

D.M.  

Eleven o’clock came around faster than you expected, and you were rushing out of your dorm in order to make it.  Luckily all your dormmates were still up, gossiping the night away.  Much to your surprise, they didn’t question where you were going, besides knowing that you had to give a friend some homework.  You didn’t blame them, it did seem like a lame way to spend your after-curfew hours. 

By the time you had finally gotten to the top, Draco stood with his back to you, his chisled hands holding onto the cold railing.  You walked up to him quietly, your Potions homework fluttering in the wind.  His eyes weren’t focused on you or your notes though; instead they were pointed at the crystal-clear sky.  The moonlight bounced magnificently off of his platinum blonde hair once again, just like it did at the Owlery.  

The air was colder than it was last time you had seen him against the inky-black sky, and you started to shiver.  All you wanted was to be back within the walls of your cozy dorm.  You let a signaling cough emerge from your throat as you leaned against the rail.  

Instead of asking about the Potions notes, he asked, “Aren’t you cold?  Why didn’t you bring a jacket?”  

His eyes still seemed glued to the shining stars, but you did notice his hand sliding down the rail, closer to you.  Your eyebrows furrowed as you grumbled, “Yes.  I’m freezing!”  

He let out a small chuckle as a response before his eyes finally moved to you.  “I’ll only be a minute… unless you want to stay longer.”  

Despite the uncomfortably cold temperature outside, you felt your cheeks get warmer.  You kept telling yourself it was only because he did seem a bit good-looking tonight, dressed in his signature black turtleneck, with a matching long black peacoat on top.  Suddenly, the cold didn’t feel so bad.

“Likely, Malfoy.  Here’s the Potions notes you asked for.”  You slowly handed over the ruffled papers.  For a second you thought you saw a look of confusion flash onto his face, but a small grateful smile covered it up almost instantly.  

You continued to shiver, and your nose started turning pink.  Draco almost felt bad for dragging you up here, for the Potions notes of course, so he sent an enticing offer your way.

“You look absolutely miserable, Y/N.  I think if we can sneak into the kitchens, I could make you some tea.  Though I do expect a favor from you in return, of course.”  

Your eyes lit up at the idea of a warm cup of tea, especially made by none other than Draco Malfoy, who was supposed to be your Quidditch rival.  Even you couldn’t come up with an excuse about enjoying his company this time.  

----

Draco stood one of the many kitchen counters, swirling an ornate sliver spoon in your warm tea.  Once it was stirred to his satisfaction, he handed the steaming cup to you with a warm and genuine smile, one rarely seen by anyone.  You smiled back thankfully, before taking a large sip.  The tea tasted nearly perfect, which surprised you.  Someone who was raised with house elves doing everything for them had made a delicious tea.  

“I must say, I’m impressed, Draco.  I never pegged you to be a tea expert.”

“What can I say?  I’m a man of many talents.”  His sarcastic and slightly cocky attitude was back once again, though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.  

After the evidence of your late-night tea making had been erased, he leaned against the counter, a content smile on the corners of his lips.  Your shivering was long gone, replaced by a cozy warmth from the tea.  

Comfortable silence filled the room for many minutes before he simply said, “You know, Y/N, I’d like to get to know you better.  I don’t think we have to be Quidditch rivals, off the field at least.”

“I feel the same.  Though don’t get your feelings hurt when I absolutely beat you again.”

“I bet I could get the snitch years before you, with my eyes closed!”

“Like you did the other day, right?”  He put up a sarcasticly angry face on, but you could see the fire of determination in his eyes.  He really would try to get you next match.  But you would never let him.

After a night full of talking with the dashing Slytherin, you soon grew too tired to continue.  The tea must’ve made you extra sleepy because soon enough you could barely think straight.  You held onto poor Draco for dear life as he carefully walked you back to your common room.  

He put on his classic face of annoyance, but underneath you saw that his mind was filled with nothing but admiration.  As you finally reached the painting, you withdrew your hand from his shoulder.  Since you were so sleepy, he thought you wouldnt notice the loving look on his face as you walked through the doorway.  You waved him goodnight.

“Night, love.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” he smiled.

And that was the start of something wonderful.

You can read Part 2 here!