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defdaily · 3 years

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‪[TRANSLATION] Arena Homme+ Magazine April 2021 Issue featuring JAY B

Translated by defdaily.

JAY B is free and starting again from scratch. That is what JAY B has in mind. GOT7’s leader announced that he would be leaving JYPE as the group stays together. JAY B is preparing to debut as a solo musician while planning to also release mixtapes and hold exhibitions as Def. We had a chat with JAY B, who has gained more freedom and strength, at the swimming pool about courage, depression, literature and aspirations.

Did you come here alone?

Yes. I took a taxi here. I was the type to go around freely even when I was in JYPE but catching the taxi to work this time around felt new.

All GOT7 members decided to leave JYP but stay together as a group. As a leader, you needed to make a decision, right?

Although we ended up leaving JYPE, we wanted to continue as GOT7. We all agreed to leave [JYPE] and try it between ourselves.The product made from me taking responsibility/taking charge was the single 'Encore’ that was released not too long ago. I was involved in the whole process with a new record label. I was happy to see a good response [to the single]. It was lacking in some areas but I was just very proud that we were able to show a different step. Since we showed through this single that “we did not disband”, what’s next is more important. When we left JYPE, Director Jung Wook mentioned "Your role as a leader starts now." I'm realizing it now.

”I wanted to learn everything about the process of releasing an album and how difficult it is. I wanted to start again from scratch.”

Your role as a leader actually starts now.

I used to find the role of a leader burdensome at times but now I feel a greater sense of responsibility. While supporting each person’s journey, I thought I needed to be the one to step up once we got back together. We also talk regularly in our group chat. Not long ago, Jackson went to China. When Mark went to the USA, I could see him off but when Jackson was leaving, we couldn’t be together because of a schedule. So I told him to have a safe flight, apologised for not being able to see him off and thanked him too. He replied saying he’ll take care and be back.

What motivated you to leave the large agency you've been working with for a long time?

The thought came to mind suddenly as we were promoting as GOT7. Am I taking all these benefits I get for granted? When a schedule is released I just do it, and when they ask me to confirm things I do, but what kind of long process has it gone through before it came to me? Who sends a request and how is it processed? Why am I only waiting until it reaches me and simply watching it unfold? I wanted to be directly involved in that process. I wanted to learn everything about the process of releasing an album and how difficult it is. I want to be humble and start from the bottom again.

Didn't you need the courage?

Of course I did. I was also afraid. My position has risen to all the way up here, but when it comes to my actual knowledge, I think I'm only down there. I was afraid that the difference would feel too big once I left the company. But I think I would have been more afraid if I stayed at JYPE. Since that difference would have grown bigger and bigger. My real self is here, so I should face it head-on a little faster. That's what I thought.

As JAY B or as Def. who releases mixtapes and holds exhibitions, you must have had the desire to do something new.

I want to do research and build it up step by step without haste. JAY B will show hip hop and RnB music that appeals to the general public and Def. will do activities that Def. wants to do. It could be mixtapes or exhibitions, or other different kinds of fictions. Def. is the nickname I used as a bboy before I became a trainee. It’s like air floating about freely. It could be house or soul or acoustic or even modern rock. In a way, you can say that Def. is close to my “main self” but since I debuted as JAY B, I’ll also show a devoted side of myself through JAY B. I want to be a person who can do both what he has to do and what he wants to do freely.

Listening to your mixtapes, and hearing that you like the styles of D’Angelo and Ray Charles, you seem to be attached to the Southern US rhythm and blues and soul music.

I do like them a lot. I like the entire hip-hop culture that originated from there. That culture also includes DJing, graffiti and even bboying. Since I started as a bboy, I would look up older videos to watch, study the culture and also look into what each dance move symbolizes, with my bboying crew and that's how I became fascinated. What captivated me the most was their obstinacy. I felt respect towards the conviction and obstinacy they carried with their culture.

Is that mood still incorporated in your music and dance?

Yes. For example, I don’t think choreography is dance. I think dancing is when music plays and you like the rhythm and start humming and bobbing your head and moving your body. I think dancing is a free act you do out of enjoyment.

What was the reason you joined an idol group after starting out as a bboy?

I gained an interest in music too, not just dancing. When I was young, I listened to D’Angelo’s music and wanted to become a singer like him. But I was rebellious when I first joined JYPE. Haha. I was even suspended for a month once as a trainee. I definitely said hello but they said I didn’t so they said "If you're going to be stubborn, then go home" and me with my young heart replied “Then I shall head home.” and left. Then I met up with my bboying crew after a long time, and in just a few months it turned into a different world. The crew members were above me and I was worried because I could feel myself far away by myself. Should I go back to bboying? Should I continue as a trainee? In the end, I wanted to do my very best in whatever I chose so I decided to focus on becoming a singer. Since I wanted to do music, it was a choice I made with no regrets.

You started as a dancer and ended up as a main vocalist. What was music to you back then?

It was a challenge. Trainees are divided into singing and dancing. I joined as a dancer but what I wanted to do was become a singer and not just do dance. But since I was put into the dancing division, I worked even harder with singing to break that prejudice. I often felt defeated. I still feel defeated with singing. Haha. But music is about endless research. Now it’s more about research than studying.

You grew up as an only child to your parents who did farming?

I was an ordinary kid. I enjoyed Haruki’s Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage and thought the “colourless” kid was just like me. I was a calm kid who helped his parents with their farm work. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t have any older siblings but they said I used to talk to myself a lot. My mother said there was a way she would know if I was home or not. If I was home, she would hear me talk to myself and be like “Oh really?” “Yes really” haha.

It’s extraordinary to read Haruki at that age.

There was an older friend that I knew and he was really cool. He looked really cool reading on the bus with his legs crossed. He said “Hey, Read a book and build up some knowledge.” As I was trying to be cool like him, I gained a favourite author and started reading more since I enjoyed it.

What kind of books do you like?

When I was a teenager I often read Kafka On The Shore. It felt like Kafka was just like me, and so while reading it, I even cried. The style of Murakami Radio was also interesting. The ending phrase “But I like that more…” was very witty. I’m collecting books from secondhand bookstores from authors who won the Young Author awards. I like Lee Jang-wook's short story Byeon Hee-bong. The main character knows the actor Byun Hee-bong, but the world doesn't know him. He would ask "Don't you know Byun Hee-bong from the movie The Host?" But no one knows. I like stories that don’t intend to be funny but they end up making me giggle.

What do you read these days?

I try to read poetry. I purchased and read the first volume that appeared on Moonji’s Poetry Collection, but it has too many Hanja characters. Haha. I started with Munhwak’s Poetry Collection. I have volumes 1 to 85. I also read poet Park Joon's collection of poems and poet Lee Eun-gyu's Affectionate Name. I even underlined and wrote things down.

Among the idols and musicians I’ve met, I think you are the most extensive reader.

We went on tours often and we would have a lot of time in my hotel room. When I went out I took pictures and when I stayed in my hotel room I read books. When I go on an overseas tour, I pack around 30 books in my suitcase. Then I bring back the books that left an impression on me, and those that didn’t sometimes I dispose of them there. These days, I look for independent publications too. I often look for independent publishing bookstores in Nakseongdae or Haebangchon. There are many books that contain honest stories that are not refined, and the power of those sentences is great.

How does reading influence your work?

The poetic expressions with poetic license help when writing lyrics. You read a new sentence and think “What is this expressing?” You receive inspiration from that image being expressed in a new way. I think of lyrics as poetry too. There are times I write how I feel honestly, but when I want to include a certain meaning I’d want to write the lyrics like poetry.

In your photo exhibition <ALONE> last year, you took pictures of objects and signs in the middle of the road.

Wouldn't it feel very lonely if you think about it from an object’s point of view? The camera captures just an instance but the object will stay there. I think each person has an insatiable loneliness. I like the artist Seonglib’s works, and I feel loneliness in his drawings. I don't know why I keep talking about loneliness, I guess I’m familiar with loneliness.

Seems like you take more pictures of objects and landscapes than people.

I don’t really like taking pictures of people. You can clearly see a person’s emotions in their eyes. I prefer hiding things rather than revealing them too much. I prefer objects, backgrounds, and natural objects rather than subjects that openly express 'It's me!'. Tranquil things, I like when you go past something and go “that’s how it was.” I try my best since my job requires being presented to people but that’s also how I am.

Who do you like as a movie director?

I like Woody Allen’s directing. My favourite is Match Point. It's a love story that goes beyond taboos, and it's electrifying. The face of the actor who secretly asks the reunited lover to give him her number remains in my memory for a long time. How could he direct such a real-looking, raw look in their eyes? When I was a theater and film major, I used to take directing classes rather than acting. If I were to direct a film, I would like to shoot an eccentric witty romantic comedy like Love Fiction directed by Jeon Gye-soo.

Are you self-conscious as an artist?

I’m interested in a variety of genres, and interact with crews often, but I think goofing off just because they are an artist is an arrogant attitude. Everyone is their own artist, no matter what they do, right? I'm not trying to be pretentious, I just think there's a difference in expression, and people who work in the office are also doing their own art. That’s why I’m a little shy about the title “artist.” Is there a need to be puffed up with pride because I’m an artist? I’m just a person.

While filming for “What's in my bag” and revealed your medications for depression and panic disorder. When did you face your depression?

I didn’t know I had depression. I thought I was being weak for a short while and let it pass. But on an occasion I got examined and found out I had depression. They asked how I lived by without going to the psychiatrist. I said I just thought I was the type to feel blue. Haha. I’m the type that doesn’t show [what is wrong] but they said I was in a state where I needed treatment. After going to counselling and taking medications, I’m much better now.

“I just wanted to talk about it. It may not show, but depression is both a common and dangerous illness.”

I think you’re cool for having the courage to talk about this.

I got diagnosed and looked at the people around me. There are friends who are ashamed of it and try to hide it, and there are friends who talk about it as if it’s insignificant. I just wanted to talk about it. It may not show, but it’s both a common and dangerous illness. A mental illness is an illness too. Among my fans, or those who read this interview, if there is someone who feels depressed, don’t be ashamed of it and I hope you receive treatment and overcome it. It’s not an embarrassing thing and it doesn’t need to be hidden. And I was filming content where I show what’s inside my bag; I can’t lie. I wish everyone would be healthy.

Are you bad at lying?

Yes. If I have to tell a lie, I think it’s just better to not say anything. Since I’m the type that’s honest and straightforward, I also don’t like beating around the bush.

Can you share a way one can take a step forward towards recovering from depression?

Look at the world in a broad view. Know that there are many places you haven’t been to yet and there are many things you haven’t felt yet. It's also good to take a walk and go off your usual route and take a path you've never been on. Small adventures can also be of great help. Just by leaving the house you’re already halfway there. I think there are more ways you can refresh yourself outside rather than inside. Also, I thought I was an honest person but after being diagnosed with depression, I thought I should be more honest with myself and more faithful to myself. At times like this, think of yourself before others.

What do you believe in?

I just believe in god. I don’t have a religion. I don’t know what kind of existence god is but I do believe that there is a god. When I’m thankful or am having a hard time, I pray. “Thank you.” “Please let me get through this wisely.”

What is the greatest motivation that moves you?

As long as I’m alive, I want to continue doing work that will leave a message. I believe that there is no next life. I think I should live this time diligently to the fullest. To have no regrets.

Translated by defdaily.

#jaebeom #def.#lim jaebeom #jay b #GOT7 jb #interviewtrans #jb trans #jb interview #defdaily:trans

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moni-harmonia · 2 years

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Ok so I think we have all the minigames from the event now and I wanted to just quickly say what I think of them.

The poem minigame is quite simple but it was fine, this update really wants us to use the camera but I like that because it’s been a while since the last camera event.

The duel minigame is just simple fighting but I really like it because of the blocking mechanic. Lately I’ve been getting better at blocking when playing Zelda BOTW so it’s become something that feels satisfying and fun to do, and each battle become harder.

The flower minigame is really fun. I love this kind of games that feel like puzzles. Reproducing an image is enjoyable when you finally get it right, but I think them giving us the easy answer if we don’t solve it in like 30 seconds is a little insulting? lol. A hint is ok but don’t just give us the answer straight up, it’s not that difficult.

But then... the theatre mechanicus... I’m mad about it. It’s a minigame I enjoyed ever since they used it the first time. But them removing the multiplayer option is a grave mistake imo. It’s not necessary but it made it more fun for me. And I also find the stages too easy. They give you power ups so that you can use your characters to help, but I don’t need really them, I don’t even need to look at the screen to get a good score. I put the mechanicus, let the game start and that’s it. It’s underwhelming for a minigame that we’ve seen three times already, this is for me a step back.

Anyway, not the best minigames for a festival but not the worse either. At least the story segments are great to make this festival memorable.

#Just rambling #Genshin Impact #2.6 update #Irodori Festival #mine

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songofsutarima · 2 years

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Drink

I have been told that there is something

That can be drank or smoked when it comes to creating

I don’t mean to be what some would say is a ‘fan of drinks’.

But something needs to quiet this mind that constantly thinks

And all it takes is a piece of ice

To smoothen the silencing vice.

You would think it would quiet, that it would soften

But really it looses my wrist, makes me write more often.

I am not so earnest, to try to drown In the drink.

Hemming my way, stitching together what I think

Is something that comes quickly, smoothly

Because my brain is screaming. My pen, always moving.

That being said

What you’ve read

Did have something to do with a man being dead

Perhaps not now, but accelerating toward what is ahead.

And when I hit my wall

When the breeze hints at the fall

When gravity grabs harder than all

When I take the plummet; answer the call

Before the kiss of earth

I will give birth

To full glorious wings

On the wind will be a song that sings.

Not of me, not of pride,

Just an alcoholic who survived the ride.

Attempting to pass on in writing

Wisdom given me from fighting

From trying to touch the bottom of a cask

From drinking every drop being my task.

It might be sad, possibly upsetting

That I spent plenty of time consistently betting

My life on me, dumb, drunk, blind

Hoping an innocent wreck I might find.

But I’ve been blessed

Unlike my friends who rest

Always, ever, the thought makes me shiver

That it could have been me to push them into the river.

So I try to be better than racing by highway with trees.

I hide them from me, give someone my keys.

Because I need to be home

If I want to roam

Freely inside and find a rhyme

Now that it’s not a gambling time.

I tried to die, I tried to see

In my mind what I couldn’t be.

And it drove to 1-2-0

Drunk, stupid, feeling low.

But instead now I sit on my chair

Drunk, thinking, twirling my hair

I do not do the dumb things of past

I thank god for making me last

For letting me miss those that could have been killed

When I was drowning, driving for thrills.

Now it’s just at home, hand locked with quill

On my paper is the only place I spill

I don’t go out, I don’t get billed.

I’d rather be at home, empty cup, the page filled.

Now that I’m not being dumb, drunk, stupid

Now that I have a wife, I’ve been hit by Cupid.

I stay at home, I try to survive

To live is for what I strive.

But even so, I need to write

And sometimes my fuel is light.

So I find a drink, perhaps a spark

Anything to help with some art.

I pace how it all goes down

So I don’t go too fast, so I don’t drown.

Even so, it can happen so fast.

Writing poems, refilling my glass.

I don’t have an issue, I’m pretty sure

It’s not a disease, I’m not in need of a cure

I just need some gas, a touch in the tank

Just some cash to withdraw from the bank.

To exchange for some words, a touch of art

Unfortunately bottles can unlock my heart.

It could be something else, just a spark

Something to relight the room when my mind goes dark.

So I try to pour shot after shot

Scratching til the pen is hot.

Because now is my time off, my time free

My time to let the poet live, to be me.

And no, I know it’s not a perfect model

In sobriety, my poet doesn’t dawdle

Two days, four bottles

A little fuel for full throttle.

#poems on tumblr #new poem #rhyme poetry #poetry

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barricadebops · 3 years

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A combination of 2, 5, 7 and 11. For my loves E and R.

Prompts:

"Is there a reason why you're blushing like that?"/"OH you're jealous!"/"Please just kiss me already." /"I think I'm in love with you."

The creak of the door opened wide enough to spill streams of light into the dark room as Grantaire turned away and groaned, an arm draped across his eyes.

See, it wasn't that he was sick or had a headache that he needed to stay in bed and rest, and that the light was currently unbearable. None of that was true.

The matter at hand was that the day prior, Grantaire had broken his leg attempting to help Musichetta move into her new apartment with Joly and Bossuet, and it seemed Bossuet's bad luck was spreading to infect others with the way Grantaire had tripped and fallen down the stairs, breaking his leg in a rather painful manner.

Now that he thought of it, Bossuet was near him when the accident occurred. Yes, it seemed Bossuet was definitely spreading his bad luck onto the others, starting with him.

And the thing is, it was just a broken leg. It wasn't as if he had caught the plague and was going to die. But Joly ordered him strict bed rest for the rest of that day continuing into tomorrow, and as much of a jolly man Joly could be, he could also muster quite the threatening smile when it came to medical matters.

So Grantaire wasn't taking chances. Besides, even if he wanted to, it's not like Enjolras would let him. His boyfriend was taking this whole role of "personal-carer" (he said he refused to call himself a "doctor" on accounts that doing so would erase the years of hard work people like Combeferre and Joly go through to become one--Grantaire personally thought it didn't matter because none of this was necessary anyways, but hey, what does he know) a bit too seriously if you asked Grantaire.

His boyfriend. God what a sentence. Grantaire could probably heal himself with those words only if this were some magic-kids cartoon or something.

So no, he wasn't physically sick; he was sick of having to lie in bed all day. He didn't feel sick. He wasn't sick. Hell, he didn't even have a hangover. As long as he used his crutches, he could move along.

But alas. Joly. If he was here, he knows Joly would make some sort of a jollity out of being confined to the bed.

His attention was drawn out of his head and back to the present as the bed dipped by his side and he pitched his eyes up to Enjolras' familiar blue pair.

Well, there wasn't much positive about his predicament, but the extra time with Enjolras? That was likely the one good thing that came out of this.

Not that he didn't get enough time with him. But any extra time he got to spend with him was all the better.

By his side above him, Enjolras laid a hand on his chest. "Are you feeling alright?" he murmured, mindful of the silence that preceded his entry into the room.

Grantaire grinned up at him. "I broke my leg, Enjolras, I didn't have a stroke." All the same, he raised his own hand to curl around Enjolras', brushing a thumb over his soft skin.

"It was worth asking," was all he replied softly.

He rubbed another circle on Enjolras' hand before raising it up to his lips and pressing a light kiss on it. Enjolras' smile grew more brilliant even in the dim of the room. He chalked it up to the brightness of his, as Jehan once put it in a poem, exquisite teeth.

At the red that bloomed on Enjolras' cheeks, he smiled and teased, "Is there a reason why you're blushing like that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Why yes," he grinned harder at the way his blush grew darker, and he paused a moment to press another lingering kiss on his knuckles, "I would like to know."

Enjolras carded a hand through his curls, prompting a satisfied hum from Grantaire. "Live in suspense."

He reached up his hand not already occupied with holding Enjolras' own and twirled a finger around a stray curl on the side of Enjolras' face.

"I thought lecture ended at three? It's--" he glanced briefly at the clock-- "five now. I'm not trying to keep you trapped at home, I can tell from personal experience it's not fun, but you've gotta understand my curiosity here."

Enjolras hummed. "Well, one of your classmates--I think he said his name was Sadiq--he said you left your newest project in Dr. Alvarez' classroom, but that her room was still open. And I would have passed the building on my way back here anyways, so I thought I could bring it home so you could still work on it. If you're up for it, that is."

Grantaire's eyebrows knit in concern. "Enj that canvas is by far one of the heaviest things I've painted on before. You walked all the way home carrying that thing?"

With a teasing smile, Enjolras said, "It's my secret superpower."

He quirked an eyebrow.

Enjolras chuckled. "Alright, no I didn't walk home. The canvas does have some considerable weight to it. But I did bring it home; Maxence was driving me home, and he said he wasn't in any rush. And don't worry, I'm the one who loaded the project into the car, I know it's important. And I made sure he drove extra slow and careful too. So… here I am."

Quite on the contrary, the idea of Enjolras on an extra slow car-ride with Maxence didn't exactly please Grantaire. Really the thought of Maxence anywhere near Enjolras didn't please him.

He knew these were his insecurities at play. He knew he should probably address them before his behaviour turned toxic. But really, there had to be some merit to his dislike and suspicion of the man. He saw the way he would look at Enjolras, the way his touches would always linger just the slightest bit too long. And of course, Enjolras, who himself was quite the tactile person with his friends, never thought anything wrong of it.

But everytime he was there with Enjolras, offering "companionship" by walking out of class with him, or walking him to his next lecture, or offering to help study a concept at the coffeeshop a sizeable distance away from the Cafe Musain--Grantaire couldn't help it; he seethed.

Some of that displeasure must have shown on his face, or must have made itself heard in the beat of silence he allowed to stretch on for just a moment too long for it to not have been charged, but not with any sort of buzzing of joy.

Enjolras' face immediately faltered. "Is something wrong?" He hesitated. "Should I have left it?"

And despite the fact that his mind was clouded over in a haze of resentment at the mention of Maxence, he still had enough of it in him that he couldn't stand the way Enjolras' lips pulled down at the corners. He forced a smile on his lips as he strained to say, "No, why would you ever think that? Your mind, Enjolras, I swear I don't know where you get your ideas from sometimes, it's unreal--"

"Grantaire," Enjolras interrupted. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

But Grantaire himself had never been one for answering what had been asked of him, so instead he smirked a little this time and lightly squeezed Enjolras' hand still held in his own.

Sighing, he could tell Enjolras knew there was no point in pursuing a topic he knew he wouldn't get answers to, so instead he shifted and moved Grantaire head up off his pillow so he could instead lie his head in Enjolras' lap. He let out a contented sigh and burrowed closer as he felt his boyfriend's hand slip into his curls, stroking softly.

"Combeferre and Courfeyrac really need to sort things out," Enjolras murmured quietly. "I swear I'm going to lose it with the pining in that house. It's thick enough to--"

"To cut with a knife?" he finished lazily. Enjolras hummed an affirmative.

"Exactly. I mean, how any two fools can be this oblivious I have no clue. Courfeyrac keeps going out of his way to do all these things for Combeferre, and while I generally don't like using this phrase because of the way it tends to imply that romantic relationships are somehow superior to platonic ones even though that's not true at all, it's clear to anyone that Courfeyrac's trying to show he thinks of Combeferre as maybe more than a friend, and I don't know how Combeferre--who himself is clearly in love with Courfeyrac!--can miss them, I mean the gestures are clear enough--"

He hummed distractedly, too taken with the way Enjolras' hand felt in his hair. "Like the way Maxence drives you around all the time?"

The hand in his hair stopped stroking abruptly. "What?"

Grantaire peaked his eyes open in confusion before shutting them closed again, wondering why Enjolras stopped before the memory of the last few seconds struck him hard enough to make his eyes fly open once more as he realized what he said.

"Wait, no, I--"

"Why does that matter?"

He glanced away nervously, only to find once he looked back at his boyfriend, that Enjolras didn't look angry or even miffed. If anything, there seemed to be a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

His throat dried; he wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to react. "I…"

Enjolras tilted his head, peering into his eyes with a sort of intensity it seemed only he possessed, though offset just the slightest bit by the way he seemed to be biting back a smile. "What's wrong with that? In fact, it's better when considering carpooling is a good choice to reduce emissions--though not the best way, mind you--and it saves time too. I don't see what's wrong. Maybe it's his vehicle?"

"Enjolras--"

"Or maybe--wait!" Enjolras' grin broke out in full this time. "OH you're jealous!"

Grantaire let out a long-suffering groan. "You're going to tease me about it?"

Enjolras made a dramatic show of thinking. "Well," he started, "if I did tease you, you would kind of deserve it for being stupid enough to be jealous of someone I clearly see as a friend."

"Well he clearly sees you as much more than that," he muttered darkly in reply.

Enjolras pulled a hand through his hair, though this time was more to call attention to his eyes once more. "I know that, Grantaire. And I've been meaning to talk to him about it, too," he said softly.

His eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "Wait, you--?"

"I'm not entirely oblivious, you know," he continued with a hint of amusement. "I know that he's been… trying to get past the territory of friendship. But of course, I'm not exactly looking for that with him. And I'm going to talk to him about it soon." He paused for a second before continuing on, "You, however, should comfort yourself with the trust that I hope you have in me, enough to know I wouldn't be dishonest to you in that kind of way ever."

He sighed. "I know. I don't doubt you, I just…" he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence, even if he could recognize the emotions swirling around in his head.

Enjolras cupped his cheek, and he gazed above into his face, an expression so gentle it almost made one wonder how it could turn severe, though it did happen on occasion. "We'll talk about this later, but we will talk about it," is all he said.

"I'm sorry."

Enjolras leaned forward, his curls reaching low enough to tickle Grantaire's forehead. "You are forgiven," he whispered before pressing a soft kiss to his skin.

Grantaire closed his eyes took a moment to revel in the feeling of Enjolras' lips on his skin, humming in content for the while they lingered, and attempting to stifle his disappointment when he drew back. Of course, his attempts were no good and Enjolras laughed.

"Too quick?" he asked, teasing. Grantaire opened his eyes once more and grinned.

"Always too quick. Would it be too fast to ask for another?"

"That depends." Enjolras scratched softly at his head. "What's the magic word?"

Grantaire's grin grew. "Magic words, you mean. All hail Feuilly our saviour."

Enjolras let out a surprised laugh. "While that is true, it wasn't what I was looking for." He shrugged his shoulders and smiled down at him mischievously. "Looks like no kiss for you--"

"No!" he interrupted. Enjolras' laughs grew more vibrant, making Grantaire soften at the sight of it. "Please?"

"Hm. Please what?" Enjolras continued to tease.

"Please just kiss me already."

This time, when Enjolras' lips kissed his own, he could feel the way they stretched into a smile, prompting Grantaire to smile into the kiss too.

When Enjolras drew back, Grantaire had thought he had never seen quite so lovely a sight in so long. If Enjolras at his most fiery was like the radiance of the bright sun, then at his gentleness he had to be the soft colours of the morning's dawn.

And for Grantaire, who had for so long seen only dark night, it was surely a most beautiful sight. One that ought not to be corrupted with a toxicity such as jealousy.

"I think I'm in love with you," he muttered in amazement.

At that, Enjolras' smile simply grew even more dazzling.

"I'd sure hope so, or this engagement ring you bought me really would have been a bit of a waste," his fiance said, joy evident in his speech. "But know that I love you too."

#I FINALLY FINISHED A PROMPT #my God this is months old #anon PLEASE forgive me I was going though a bit of a rough patch #ah yes the end in which I reveal they're engaged how original #les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #ExR #les mis fic #enjoltaire fic #les miserables fic #annie writes stories #long post

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quillify-tries-to-talk · 3 years

Text

Yet Another Rewrite (Part 2)

For the thomstair appreciation week by @youngreckless ik it's over. Sorry I'm late :(

You can read part 1 here then come back and read this one.

Thomas and Alastair working things out part 2. Enjoy!

Tw: mentions of racism, bullying, abuse, colonialism

"Even our angels have mercy, Thomas." His voice was hollow now.

Despair threatened to pull him under. It wasn't worth it. Anything. He would always be like this. It was a miracle even Cordelia was able to look him in the eye without hate. He did deserve this, he thought, settling back on his bed, all the fight drained. He deserved every blow and every bruise he'd inflicted on others.

Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa

Funny that he now remembered his Latin lessons.

The bed dipped under Thomas's heavier weight, and he felt a flash of warmth when hesitant fingers crept over his skin. Too close. He was too close.

Let go, he wanted to say, but lies seemed to evade him whenever Thomas Lightwood was present. His eyes looked dark brown in the dim lighting. There were dents on his bottom lip where he must have bitten it. It took everything in him to not let his hands rise and trace the lines of his jaw.

"I remember Paris."

Alastair's eyes widened. He sat frozen, and Thomas took that as his cue to continue. "You were kind to me when I was very alone, and I am grateful." He looked up, face a bit red. "It was the first time I realized you could be kind.”

He tried not to let the last comment needle him. “It is my favorite memory of Paris as well.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know you were there with Charles.”

His jaw went tight. Not that. Anything but that. "Charles Fairchild? What about him?”

Thomas cocked his head to the side, his expression innocent. “Wouldn’t that be your best memory of Paris?”

“Exactly what are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything." His tone indicated the exact opposite though. Cheeky little–

"I’ve seen the way you look at Charles, the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Alastair, and I’m asking …” Thomas shook his head, sighing.

He was going to say it. Right here. Angel help him.

“I suppose I’m asking if you’re like me.”

There it was.

Perhaps he could salvage this conversation. He gathered his thoughts, straightened out of his slouching position.

“Thomas Lightwood,” he said. “I am nothing like you."

Thomas stared as if he'd been clubbed on the head, eyes dazed in shock again. He was shuffling from side to side, probably preparing to launch himself far, far away from him.

A bit more effort, dâdâsh, Layla said in his head, amused and exasperated.

Right. “I am nothing like you, Thomas." His breathing was faltering again, throat closing up, fighting against the vulnerability he was exposing. “Because you are one of the better people I have ever known. You have a kind nature and a heart like some knight out of legend. Brave and proud and true and strong. All of it.”

He smiled bitterly. “And all the time you have known me, I have been a terrible person. So, you see. We are nothing at all alike.”

His head snapped up, surprise etched on his features. His eyes started twinkling again. What was he doing to him? Even looking at him made Alastair want to smile.

He hadn't wanted to smile in a long, long time.

"I'm not—" Thomas broke off. "That's not what I meant."

Don't I know that, eshgham? "I know what you meant." His voice had softened. The words hung in the air for a moment. But he needed some answers of his own now. "How did you know about Charles?"

“You wouldn’t tell me what you were doing in Paris,” Thomas replied. Alastair thought he heard a note of hurt in his voice, but promptly dismissed the notion. “But you mentioned Charles, over and over again, like you got pleasure out of just saying his name. And when you came to London this summer, I saw the way you looked at him. I know what it is to have to hide the—the signs of affection.”

“Then I imagine you may have noticed I don’t look at Charles that way anymore.”

What did you just say, Carstairs? Admitting to your own failures now? Couldn't even hold on to first love?

His jaw tightened again. Get out of my head, baba. Charles. Get out, both of you.

“I suppose I did,” Thomas said. “Though for the past four months, I’ve been trying not to look at you. I told myself I hated you. But I could never really make myself. When Elias died, all I could think about was you. What you must be feeling.”

His father's name reopened the gashes on his heart. Heat sparked behind his eyelids. “I insulted your father and blackened his name. You were under no obligation to care about mine.”

“I know, but sometimes I think that it is much harder to lose someone who we are on bad terms with than it is to lose someone with whom all is well.”

“Bloody hell, Thomas. You should hate me, not be thinking about what I must be feeling—” Alastair passed a hand over his face. It came back wet with tears. He didn’t even know when that happened. He’d never had an audience for his crying before.

"But I do," said Thomas softly. His fingers ghosted higher along Alastair's wrist, making his heart skip a beat. Once, twice, three times.

Bewildered, he marvelled at the sensation such a small touch could cause.

"I'm sorry." Thomas's voice was soft, filled with guilt. His head bowed as if in prayer. "I—what you said. What happened at school." His gaze trailed over Alastair's features, and he shook his head. "I always found you beautiful. Then and now. I didn't know people hated how you looked. You're like a poem, but in human form."

"Poem," Alastair repeated numbly. If his brain had short-circuited before, it was blown to bits now. No one had ever called him that.

Charles had called him a beautiful secret. His safe haven. His comfort and best friend.

Never a poem.

"Yes." Thomas's cheeks were slowly flushing rose. Another nice contrast with his skin and hair. "Graceful. Elegant. Confident. You were always so poised and sharp. Like one of Jamie's knives. You were smart, managed to turn people over. They listened to you. Look what you did just now. I didn't know what to do. If I wanted you. Or if I wanted to be you. Remember when I followed you around school?"

Alastair's rusty throat muscles regained a bit of their ability. He wanted me? It wasn’t the best, but it was okay. Charles had wanted him. It hadn’t been too bad. Until the end. Until the horror of his actions had dawned on him. Until he realized that all his time spent with Charles had been wasted in tending to his needs, not Alastair’s. He hadn’t even known a relationship required his own needs to be taken care of. That it was a necessity.

"I remember,” he managed. “Then I met you in Paris and you’d grown up and turned into Michelangelo’s David. I thought you were beautiful. But I was still caught up with Charles—” He broke off, regret weighting his stomach. “Just another thing I’ve wasted. Your regard for me. I wasted my time and my affection on Charles. I wasted my chance with you.”

Thomas blinked. And blinked. And blinked. A pulse had started in the base of his neck, thudding against the delicate skin. Alastair raised his eyes only to find him already staring.

"Thomas?" His name tasted strange on his tongue.

"You said angels too have mercy," he said in answer. "I—I must apologize. I'll admit I didn't know how people treated your family. I have been sheltered in that regard."

"You must know where those indigo-dyed silks came from," said Alastair softly. They were from India. Ariadne had mentioned it during their little dance, the news that had trickled in. The brown-skinned, hollow-eyed servants brought in for labour by mundanes and Shadowhunters alike. "Or why England never has a shortage of adamas, but my country does."

That one was still going on. Britain liked guising their nefarious schemes behind offers of trade.

He released a sigh, shaking his head in despondence. "They never tell you. Layla and I knew because we saw it happen; we know our histories ever since we could walk and talk. And it still happens. It's more than demons and humans for us. It’s always been that way." He held one brown hand up to the light, and Thomas’s eyes followed. “This isn’t apparently how we were supposed to look. I tried changing that, and it did work for sometime but.. I hated myself even then. I hated my family and my culture and my books. Do you flinch from your own face, Thomas? I always did. Still do, sometimes.

“I hate that my skin isn’t like yours. If it was, perhaps people wouldn’t have said so many things. Perhaps I wouldn’t have as many bruises.” He leaned his head back against the wall, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “In another life, perhaps we would’ve had our chance, you and I.”

His words ended with a plaintive note; the bone-deep weariness that there was nothing he could do, aside from ripping off his own skin or trying to be like his father. In appearance, at least. They remained silent for a long while, but it was the thoughtful sort. Alastair didn't know how many hours he passed by just counting the cracks in the walls when Thomas's voice pierced the quiet.

"Teach me."

He jerked awake. "What?"

"You said there are things I don't know about you. About where you come from and what you and Cordelia have to face. And… perhaps I'd like to know. I'd like to understand how the world works." A small smile ticked up the corners of his mouth, and Alastair found himself besotted by the expression.

By the Angel. Definitely not coming out in one piece.

"You'd like to… umm…" Words had fled when he'd needed them most. Damn you, Thomas.

Thomas’s fingers enclosed over his wrists. The warmth was steadying, comforting. His expression was hesitant, at odds with the way his body commandeered space. “I want help. Really, truly. I found myself fascinated in Spain by the difference in language and culture. And then Paris. One-time travel gave me a different perspective, so imagine what more knowledge would do.” He was practically shaking with excitement at the prospect of learning of his ancestor’s atrocities. “You’ll be teaching me, so it won’t feel like a debt to you.”

“Are you sure you want to know, Thomas? People have done some terrible things.”

“I need to know what I’m redeeming myself for before I ask for forgiveness.” His hazel eyes were clear, expression determined. Like a knight readied for battle. A scholar rewriting history on pages.

Alastair felt his throat tighten at his excitement. He wasn’t used to any of this. Apologies. Forgiveness. Love. Hope. His story was supposed to have died after all his attempts to apologize to The Merry Thieves. He’d failed then to ask for friends, so why would someone give him another chance?

“And maybe you’re wrong,” Thomas added in what was supposed to be a nonchalant tone, but Alastair detected a slight tremor in it. ��About me.”

“Speak sense, Lightwood.” His tone sharpened, a defense against his wrecked emotional state. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this.” In answer, Thomas hooked his hands around Alastair’s shoulders, and the sudden onslaught of warmth and gentleness made his body sway with the sheer impossibility of the situation. No glass. No manipulation. Nothing but warmth and truth and compromise. The good sort.

This had to be a dream. He would wake up any time now, but he couldn’t stop staring at him. Couldn't stop admiring his smile, the brightness of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, that damned pulse at his throat. And more. His strength. His passion for learning. His bravery in venturing after a killer alone. The openness of his heart.

I’m not worth it, Alastair wanted to say, but by then his head had fallen on his shoulder, nestled in the crook of Thomas’s neck. He felt lighter than air. For the first time, his head felt empty of anything: trouble, grief, responsibilities, duties. It was just them. Thomas with his arms around him, holding him in the storm of his life. His heartbeat was a steady clock that Alastair could time his breaths to.

With Charles it had been all heat and desire, and the furious pounding of his heart in the thrill of being wanted by someone. This felt like coming home, sitting down for a cup of tea with his favourite book. Warm and right and natural. Tears slipped down his cheeks, freed after years and years of being locked away for the sake of his family.

Thomas set his lips to Alastair’s brow.

His body seized up at the soft pressure. It felt like someone had poured sunlight into his veins. Another tear slipped down his cheek. Impossible. Wake up, now. Happiness wasn’t a part of your life. But he was still here, feeling Thomas lean his cheek against his hair. Through the swirl of emotions, he heard his voice again.

“We’ll get past this together. I will relearn you, Alastair.” The sound of his name on Thomas’s lips sent his heart careening again. “Negaran nabash.”

Don't worry. Even with the different cadence, it would’ve been hard to miss. Thomas had just spoken in Persian.

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow. “Where did you learn that?”

“Oh. Umm. Just something…” That adorable smile surfaced again. “A little hobby? Like Kit and his test tubes?”

Shaking his head, Alastair allowed himself a little smile. Perhaps, it had been worth it to risk his neck. For this. Only for this.

Taglist: @cherilyn-rose @youngreckless @eugeniaslongsword @nott-the-best (2nd part eeeeeeee🥳🥳🥳) @cant-think-of-anything @livingformyself

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idreamofplaid · 3 years

Text

Living a Lie

Summary: Sometimes happiness waits on the other side of pain and misunderstanding.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Dean mentioned

Word Count: 3826

A/N: The expansion of my Masterlist continues. This is another one of my early fics that I’ve revised a little and am reposting. At the time I wrote it, I wanted to explore the effect someone’s looks can have on them wherever they may fall on the spectrum of what is considered conventionally attractive.

READER’S POV

There had been a time Sam picked up girls in bars, not with the frequency Dean had, but he'd done it. Now, he was doing it again. Dean had stopped entirely because he was in love, monogamous, and completely happy. Dean spent his nights sharing a bed with his soul mate. Sam prowled bars, and you hid away, alone, in your room.

Your heart broke again every time Sam didn't come home. The pain was fresh like it was the first time, like somehow your heart had mended, had rebuilt itself just to be shattered again. A heart in pieces leaves an emptiness in the center of your being, but all the broken shards are still there, the sharp edges piercing you from the inside out. That was how it felt when night fell, and Sam wasn’t in the bunker. You knew where he was and what he was doing.

Those were sleepless nights for you, nights spent hearing Sam's voice in your head. You'd always been too romantic for your own damn good. How could you be sitting here in the dark, back against your headboard, clutching your pillow tightly to your chest while you cried over the loss of a man you'd never had? He wasn't a man you were going to have. You'd seen pictures of Jessica. You just weren't his type. Sure, you could dye your hair blonde. That still wouldn't make you model gorgeous with a perfect body.

You were smart, maybe not Stanford smart, but who knows? You might have been if you'd actually studied in high school instead of sitting in the back of class scribbling love poems in your notebooks. You had more than one regret and missed opportunity in your life.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Sam's footsteps coming down the hall. He had to pass your room to get to his. That's when you got your brilliant idea. You jumped up and flicked on the lights, splashed cold water on your face at the sink, and reached for your makeup bag to erase the evidence of your crying.

Minutes later you were knocking on Sam's door. He opened the door dressed for bed, and you smiled your prettiest for him. "Can I come in?" He opened the door wider giving you room to walk inside and stood with his arm over his head, hand on the door as he leaned against it watching you.

You took a seat on the end of his bed and waited. Sam closed the door and walked closer to the bed. He was still looking at you with an unspoken question in his green eyes touched with warm honey.

He didn't move any closer, and he didn't say anything. Your broken heart made you bold. "Your night didn't go the way you had planned?"

Sam raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Planned?"

"Yeah. You know. You didn't go home with anyone." You looked down as you said it, unable to meet his eyes and say it out loud.

Sam sat down next to you, head bowed, his hand under his hair on the back of his neck. "Uhh...no, I didn't go home with anyone."

You inched closer to him until your thigh was touching his. He looked at your bare leg and swallowed. You hadn't worn anything to bed but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties.

"You don't have to spend the night alone, Sam." You reached for his hand and moved it to the inside of your thigh parting your legs slightly. His hand covered a large portion of your leg. It was warm and solid, and the feel of it made your core quiver.

SAM'S POV

Your skin is so soft, and you smell so good. How am I supposed to resist this? Resist you when I've wanted you for so long? I can't. I just can't. I'm sorry. You should be touched by a man you love, not me. I love you, but you deserve more than something one sided. That's why I haven't said anything or made a move. Maybe I shouldn't have put you on a pedestal, but I did. In my mind, that's where you belong.

I slide my hand along your smooth skin stopping at the top of your thigh, take a deep breath, and pull you closer to me with my other arm so I can kiss you. Your mouth opens under mine, and my tongue eases inside. Everything about you is so sweet. I'll never forget the way you taste. I want to leave some trace of me on you, some mark, some memory that you were mine for a little while. I pull you down on the bed with me and roll on top of you.

My kiss gets deeper; you accept it and respond. My hand is moving over your hip and under your shirt. I'm already halfway to hard. My hand is resting on your waist, and I keep kissing you, taking it slow.

I've thought about kissing you so many times, but my imagination never got it right. My hand continues its move up your body over your stomach, and I feel you pull back the tiniest bit. Alarm bells go off in my head. You're beneath me, in my arms. I want you so much, but if you’re not absolutely sure…. I pull back and look at you. "I can't do this, Y/N."

The expression on your face sent a pain straight to my heart. The next thing I felt was your hands pushing against my chest. "Get off of me!" I sat back, and you were off the bed instantly, glaring at me through tears.

"Really, Sam? Am I that much of a disappointment? Just tell me I'm not good enough for you. Just tell me!" You stormed across the room fumbling with the doorknob before you managed to get it open.

You turned back to me. I was frozen in place trying to absorb the shock of being snatched out of the soft, perfect dream that I'd been lost in seconds before. "Go back to the bar, Sam. It's early. I'm sure there are plenty of tall blondes there with long legs, or petite brunettes, or whatever the hell you want. Take your pick; you can, and I'm sure she'll be happy to satisfy you."

The slamming of the door got my brain working again. I almost fell off the bed in my hurry to get to you, to explain. By the time I got the door open, there was no sign of you in the hall. I ran toward your room calling your name. When I got there I wanted to crash through the door, but I controlled my near desperation to let you know what I truly felt, that I would never think you weren’t good enough. It’s me who isn’t good enough for you.

I knocked on the door. Seconds passed. You weren't going to answer it. I didn't blame you, believing what you did. "Y/N. Y/N. Please. You don't understand. Let me explain. It's not what you think. At all. It's nothing like what you think."

READER'S POV

Sam had stopped knocking on the door, but he hadn't stopped talking. You were leaning against the door listening. "Please let me in, Y/N. I'll tell you everything. Just let me in." He sounded genuinely upset.

Even now, after what he'd done, you still wanted to comfort him. You wanted to take the hurt from his voice. Slowly, you opened the door. His chest was rising and falling fast. This really had affected him. That didn't make sense. You'd offered him sex. Scratch that. You'd offered him you, and he wasn't interested. Now, he was upset? You saw the relief wash over his face. "Y/N?"

In a flat voice you said,"You can come in." He stepped just inside the room. You walked to the bed and sat down. "Stay over there."

Sam folded his hands in front of him, drawing your attention to the bulge that was still in his pajama pants. He focused on the floor in front of where you were sitting. "Why did you do it, Sam? Do you know what it feels like to be cast aside like that?" You swallowed and shook your head, fighting back another wave of tears. "No, you don't, because practically every woman that sees you wants you. If you spend the night alone, it's because you choose to."

He raised his head to look straight into your eyes. "I've chosen to spend a lot of nights alone. Do you know why?" He paused. "Because I met you. I started noticing these little things about you like you chew on your bottom lip when you're trying to figure something out. You run your hands through your hair and put it behind your ears all the time; it's enough to drive a guy crazy. You always eat your French fries first. When you want to relax or calm down, you listen to rain or ocean waves. Then one day you smiled at me like you had probably hundreds of times before, but that time was different. That time I felt my stomach do a little flip, and I knew I was in love with you."

A tear slipped down your cheek. Sam's voice was deep and gentle as he kept talking. "Then Dean got married, and right in front of me every day I saw what it was like to share your life with someone. He had everything I wanted. My brother was happy."

Sam looked up to the ceiling; tears collected in the corners of his eyes. He looked back down, blinked, and they fell. Then he raised his eyes back to yours. "So, I started going to bars because it was too hard to be here, but I was never going to find what I was looking for there because it was already here, and I knew it. I wanted to be with you."

"Sam?" His name came out of your mouth as a whisper.

"The problem was you didn't want it. I saw your reaction when waitresses would flirt with me at the diners we went to. You'd tense up or get fidgety. You didn't like it. You thought I was one of those guys who likes to play those games, using my looks to stroke my own ego."

You put your hand over your mouth and held it there before you moved it down to your chin, fingers shaking. "Sam, I never thought that about you. I thought I could never measure up to those women who were flirting with you. That’s what I didn’t like, that I was someone who could never get your attention." Your hand was shaking harder now.

Sam crossed the room in three steps and wrapped his arms around you. He held you and rested his chin on top of your head. "Don't you know you're beautiful, Y/N?"

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with tears. "How would I know that, Sam? No one has ever told me." He squinted his eyes slightly and brushed the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "And, if that's what you thought then why did you stop?" Your voice caught, and your words came out unsteady. "I was going to give myself to you." You were shaking in his arms.

Sam stroked your hair, touching you like you were precious. It made you cry even more. His voice was steady and soothing. "Shhh. That's why I couldn't do it. You should only give yourself to someone you love as much as I love you. Anything less than that isn't the way it should be for you. It isn't what I want for you." He placed a single kiss on top of your head.

You lay your hand on his chest where you had shoved him earlier, so close to his heart. "Sam, I do love you."

SAM'S POV

Your touch was light, and your hand felt tiny on my chest. I held you tighter, processing what you'd just said. After a few seconds, I pulled back from you far enough to see your face. The truth was in your eyes; I could see it. You do love me.

I knew this kiss was important. We would remember it for the rest of our lives, talk about it in the middle of the night when we settled back into bed after one of us got up to take care of our baby. I barely touched your lips with mine at first, but it wasn't long before everything I felt for you that I'd kept bottled up inside came out in that kiss. My hands were holding your face, and I slid one of them into your hair. You felt so warm and willing. My body was responding to you, hardening again.

Your hand rubbed down my side grabbing the bottom of my t-shirt. You started to pull it up. I broke the kiss long enough to take it off, then my mouth was back on yours. I felt your hands on my back, and I wanted to feel your skin. I rested my cheek against yours, slowly easing my hand back under your shirt where it had been before. I whispered to you "Is this okay?" I kept my hand still, waiting for your answer.

I felt you tremble. "My body isn't what you're used to, Sam."

I brushed my fingertips across your stomach looking for any sign that you didn't want me to. "You're perfect, Y/N. I'm going to show you just how beautiful you are." I felt your head nod against mine, so I moved my hand up a little higher and cupped your breast. You sucked in a breath and let it out in a tiny gasp. I kneaded gently, moving my thumb back and forth across your nipple until it was hard. You arched your back, rolled your hips, and let out the sweetest, softest moan I could have ever imagined. The way you sound is beautiful. I did the same with your other breast, kissing your neck while I touched you.

All your little moans and noises had me totally hard and throbbing for you. I moved my hand back down your stomach and under the waistband of your panties. You whimpered when I slid my finger between your folds, and you were so wet your juices were running over my hand. Avoiding your clit for now, I put one finger inside you and your moans got louder. "Sam."

I moved that finger in and out, establishing a rhythm. "I've got you, Y/N." You were tight around just my finger, and my dick twitched. I added another finger, taking all the time you needed to stretch you and get you ready for me. I held you close while I pumped them into you. When you were writhing against me, I touched my thumb to your clit and started making little circles. Then I changed the motion, dragging my thumb over your clit in time with my fingers moving in and out of you. When I thought you were ready, I added a third. You clenched around my fingers and tightened your hold on my shoulders. The feel of your hands clutching me like that made me moan, imagining what you would do once I was inside you.

I went back to making circles, faster this time. "Let go, Y/N, let go." You came on my fingers, your nails digging into my shoulder. I worked you through your orgasm then put both of my arms around you. You were panting. I kissed you,taking those little breaths into me. I could still feel you shaking in my arms. "I love you, Y/N. I love you."

I held you until you stilled in my arms and were calm again. You shifted, sitting back and looking at my chest. You reached out and touched me gingerly. "I'm sorry I pushed you off me the way I did." You leaned down kissing the places on my chest where your hands had pushed against me.

When you sat back, I put my hand under your chin tilting your face up. "Let me see you, Y/N." You only hesitated a second before you lifted your shirt over your head and put it down beside you. I think I held my breath when you reached to take off your panties. You are beautiful. Your body is all feminine, soft curves I want to kiss and caress. Seeing you makes me harder. The tip of my cock is leaking; I feel it. You lift your hips and slide your panties down your legs.

My mouth drops open, and I Iick my lips pulling the bottom one into my mouth. I can see the uncertainty on your face. "Do you trust me, Y/N?"

You close the distance between us and lay your head on my chest. "Yes." It may only be one word, but it's exactly what I need.

I put my arms around you, my hands on the bare skin of your back, and I lower you gently to the bed. "I'll make this good for you; I promise." I take your earlobe into my mouth sucking lightly. "You are beautiful, Y/N, and sexy. Do you know how much I want you?" I push my pelvis against you, so you can feel my erection. "That's because of you. It's for you." I move my mouth down the side of your neck, kissing you the entire way. Your skin is sweet; it occurred to me then that I'll fall asleep tonight with the taste of you on my tongue.

I kiss my way across your shoulder. Then I lift my head to put my mouth on your breast. I start by kissing a soft circle around the edge then move to the center to flick my tongue over your nipple. My lips close around you and start to suck. A groan escapes from my throat, deep and full of need. I'm so hard for you now that I don't know how much longer I can take this, but I will.

I move my mouth to your other breast, careful of my teeth. Tonight I'm making love to you slowly, gently, and completely. I want you to forget that I've ever been with anyone but you. I want you to understand who you are to me and never again feel the need to compare yourself to another woman. I swirl my tongue around and over your nub until it stands up firm in my mouth, my fingers rolling your other nipple still moist from my mouth keeping it just as tight.

You're squirming under me. I lick down the center of your stomach right to your core, and you open your legs for me. I put my hands on your hips to hold you still. You are so wet my face is covered in your slick as soon as my tongue touches you, and I drink in everything you give me. My tongue is flattened against your clit. I’m stroking it slow, teasing before moving down to push my tongue inside you. I thrust it as deep as I can go. Your voice is pleading with me. "Sam. Sam." I go back to your clit, pointing my tongue and moving over it as fast as I can. You're fisting the sheets.

"Put your hands in my hair, Y/N. Hold me where you want me." You did exactly what I said and pulled my hair hard. That turned me on even more. You were close to coming again. Your thighs were shaking. I put two fingers inside you and crooked them rubbing your g-spot until you fell apart. I kissed your stomach softly while you came down from your orgasm, keeping my fingers inside you. "You are beautiful, Y/N. Absolutely perfect."

Your expression is gentle and a little blissed out from the two orgasms, but your words are clear and certain. "Sam, I want all of you. I want you to come inside me. Give me what I gave to you." I kissed you one more time just below your belly button then stood up long enough to take off my pants. Naked, I crawled back up your body and propped myself on my forearm so I could brush your hair off your cheek. It amazes me that every part of you is just so soft.

My face was just inches from yours. I was memorizing the way you looked right now. "Are you sure?" Your eyes were filled with everything I'd ever wanted to see there. Love. Trust. Desire.

"Yes." You lay your hand on my cheek. “I’m completely sure.”

I couldn't take my eyes away from yours as I lined myself up with your opening. I wanted to see the look on your face when I entered you for the first time.

READER'S POV

You felt the end of Sam's shaft touch you. The way he was looking at you made you feel wanted and, yes, beautiful. You felt the stretch as he pushed inside. He stopped with just the tip, letting you get used to his size. Your eyes closed and fluttered back open. "I love you, Sam." He slid in another inch.

"I love you too, Y/N.” He went deeper, inch by inch, until he was all the way inside you. He started to move, and you grabbed onto his shoulders. His thrusts were so deep they were hitting your cervix. Your walls tightened around him. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. He moved faster then slowed down. "I don't know how much longer I can last, Y/N. I'm so close."

Through all your pants and moans you managed to say, "You don't need to. Just love me. Don't hold back."

He pumped into you deep and fast. You felt him throb releasing his seed into you. "Sam!" You scratched down his back. "I'm coming again. Sam." You squeezed your eyes shut tight. Everything went black. Then you felt him rolling over, bringing you with him so that your body was part way on his, and he was cradling you against him.

You lay with your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat for a long time. Finally, it slowed back down to its normal rate. Sam was combing his fingers through your hair. "Can you forgive me, Y/N? All those nights I wasn't here, I should have been."

You snuggled closer into him. "You didn't owe me anything, Sam. There's nothing to forgive. Just don't ever do it again. Let me be enough. I want to be enough for you."

"You're everything, Y/N. Everything."

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @petitgateau911 @thinkinghardhardlythinking

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @autumninavonlea @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @waywardnerd67 @fullmooner @sams-sass @beskaradberoya

#sam x reader #sam angst #sam smut #sam fluff #sam oneshot #sam in love

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panda-noosh · 3 years

Text

lost in translation {draco malfoy x reader}

words: 11.8k

summary: draco finds a notebook filled with beautiful, painful words. he keeps it for himself. he promises he’ll give it back to the rightful owner when he eventually finds them.

genre: angst

notes: support my writing or ask about commissions! - masterlist - i literally don’t know what plot is any more okay. also i listened to i love you by billie eilish on loop whilst writing this so feel free to put that on if you want.

---

draco sees the words every time he closes his eyes.

repeated stanzas, never leaving him alone. a mouthful of words no mind should ever be able to conjure. a haunting imagination capable of driving even the sanest people out of sanity.

he found the book on a winters day at hogwarts. christmas time was just round the corner, meaning most of his friends had already fled the castle in favour of homes, somewhere out in the muggle world, where they could spend the holidays with families who cared for them as families often cared for each other.

draco decided to stay at hogwarts.

he didn’t want to - not really. his father was just being difficult, and he wanted to face the man even less than he wanted to spend the holidays with people like potter and teachers who didn’t like him because of his family name.

he is entirely on his own this holiday season, and it depresses him more than he would ever be willing to let on.

because, you see, the thing with draco malfoy is, weakness has been a taboo subject amongst his family for as long as he can remember. his father drilled into his conscience that malfoys always have their heads held high, that they must be able to cope entirely on their own in any circumstance, because that’s what strength is. needing no one. fending only for yourself. living life to get what you want without worrying about anybody else.

this is why draco doesn’t sit with the other students during the christmas feast. instead, he finds himself traipsing through the library, poking at spines of books so old the writing has been smudged and worn, the contents made up of words once spoken in england, now lost to time.

the place smells dusty. it makes him sneeze, and he grimaces when he pulls his finger away from a shelf to see it coated in a thick layer of dust which he hastily wipes on his already gravy-stained robes. his stomach grumbles with the reminder of the christmas feast waiting downstairs for him - all he needs to do is pull a chair up and dig in. none of the teachers will mind. the students might be a bit iffy, but when has draco ever cared about what they think?

instead, he slumps against the wall, pulls a book into his lap and starts to read.

he’s so engrossed in the old text that he doesn’t hear the library door opening. he doesn’t hear peeve’s taunting cackles until they’re right over his head, peeves pointed toes very nearly scraping his slicked back hair.

draco’s head snaps up. above him, the poltergeist laughs, throwing his head back.

“peeves!” draco scrambles to his feet, swatting at the poltergeist. “oh, for christ’s sake, do you ever give it a rest?”

“all alone for christmas, are you, malfoy?” the poltergeist taunts. “surely daddy can afford you a way home with all that money the dark lord’s been shovelling into his pockets!”

draco’s face burns. “go away, you annoying little roach, before i get the hoover!”

peeves only laughs harder. “what a threat that was! wait till i tell the headmaster about that one.” and before draco can say anything else, peeves has grabbed a single, tiny book from the edge of a bookshelf and dropped it on draco’s head.

it crashes against the crown of his skull and bounces to the floor unceremoniously, flipping open upon the carpet. draco makes to yell, his fury bubbling over, but his voice is lost to the sudden emptiness of the room as peeves does what peeves does best and disappears.

draco groans through gritted teeth, rubbing the spot the book bounced from. it aches a little bit, which is surprising considering the size of the book. not a textbook. not really anything any of his teachers would ask him to check out of the library. instead, it’s spiral bound, the words not typed, but handwritten in sloppy scrawl, like the author was in a rush when transferring their thoughts onto paper.

draco frowns; why should a book such as this be in the schools library?

he picks it up by the corner, as if afraid the book might bite him - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. the book, however, makes no strange movements. draco feels no strange, magical pull coming from the pages. in fact, if he were to use his common sense, he would believe the book to be straight from the muggle world.

that alone should have been enough to deter him, but his father isn’t here, so he opens it and starts reading.

the first few pages are awkward poetry. awkward essays, a person’s thoughts and opinions filtered with the fear of someone reading over their shoulder, perhaps. draco can tell the author was holding back, but the further he flips, the looser said author seems to become. they start using words. just words, so beautiful and magical and heartfelt that draco finds himself enraptured with every one. he struggles to put the book down, curling into his tiny corner in the library, enamoured by such language. he wonders for the brief moment he is able to take his eyes off the page if perhaps the book has been cast under a spell, if perhaps there is a spell in this world that puts heaven and hell into words and has transferred it to the very book he holds in his hands.

draco has spent so long getting lost in the talents of wizards that he sometimes forgets muggles have talents and hobbies, too. there are creatives in the world who can create emotions from such small things. there are people outside the world of magic and wizardry who can do magical things, too.

he has the evidence in his hand.

---

he keeps the evidence in his hand all throughout the year.

he comes back to it after particularly stressful classes to remind himself that not all is bad; that’s the magic these poems and essays have on him. he could probably recite each one word for word, but he never does, because they belong to him now. he’s claimed them as a comfort blanket, something he needs to get through the day. he’s found an addiction within these words that he can’t let go of, not just yet, not until he figures out who wrote them.

and that’s really all it boils down to - he wants to put a face to the mind that created the world he so desperately wants to share.

it’s a tuesday afternoon in feburary when blaise asks him about the book.

“are you ever gonna share what’s in that notebook you keep carrying around?”

the question startles draco. he thought he was being so subtle. he hardly ever brings the notebook out to face the light of day, only ever reading it behind the curtains of his poster bed in the dorms.

nonetheless, he doesn’t deny it’s existence. he doesn’t want to sound stupid.

he pokes at the vegetables on his plate and, without looking up, mumbles, “not really any of your business, is it?”

blaise scoffs. “alright, be like that then. you carry that thing around like a little girl and her secret diary.”

“are you trying to tease me, blaise? because you just sound stupid.”

blaise rolls his eyes; he’s one of the few people that don’t get properly offended when malfoy fails to bite his tongue.

“and anyway,” draco continues, “i don’t carry it around. it stays in my bed.”

“oh, really?”

“yes, and that’s where it’s staying.”

“so is it yours, or did you take it from someone?”

draco pauses. “it’s mine.”

“i’ve never seen you write in a notebook before. not even in class.”

draco shrugs; he hasn’t got a very good answer to that, because the statement is true. he tends to get others to write his notes for him when he can get away with it.

blaise sighs. he leans back in his seat, folding his skinny arms across his chest. “so are you a poet now? some kind of shakespeare?”

draco raises a brow. “some kind of what?”

blaise waves a dismissive hand. “it’s a muggle thing. just answer the part you understood.”

“i’m not a poet,” draco grumbles. “the poems in the book aren’t even mine. i found it when i was in the library a few months back, and thought it was interesting.” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like this notebook has always just been a background prop in his everyday life. “it’s stupid, really. muggle stuff.”

“so why are you so obsessed with it?”

“i’m not obsessed!” draco’s grip tightens on the edge of his chair; he’s tired after a long day of quidditch practice, and honestly, he doesn’t want to deal with his friends bullshit any longer than he has to. “now, blaise, can you start minding your own business before we have some issues?”

that shuts blaise right up. together, they eat the remainders of their dinners before draco excuses himself and leaves the table. his mind is reeling, heart thumping both with embarrassment and annoyance; he knows he’s popular amongst the slytherins. in a way, he asked to be centre of attention when he started mouthing off about the importance of the malfoy household all those years back, but it’s frustrating that he can’t even do a bit of light reading without getting asked about it. he thought he was being so subtle, keeping the curtains closed every time he read, never taking the notebook from the confines of the dorms, never uttering a word about it to-

his shoulder crashes into yours.

“shit.”

draco stumbles back, catching himself on the wall. he’s too dazed to say anything, but his anger is rising, and he’s prepared to start yelling-

but then he opens his eyes and sees you there, fumbling with a pile of posters that have spilled across the glossy corridor floor. draco blinks, glancing from you to the posters and back again.

“i’m so sorry,” you mumble. “so sorry. i knew the pile was too high, but hermione had to go to-”

“why don’t you just-” draco flicks his wand. immediately, the posters gather in a whirlwind and fly into his outstretched arms, a neat little stack, good as new.

you look up, dazed. your eyes are gorgeous, plagued with evidence of exhaustion, but riveting nonetheless. draco recognises you only vaguely, and the few memories he has of these quick glimpses have never left him dissatisfied.

“oh,” you say after a moment. “right. spells. magic. i forgot about that.”

draco narrows his eyes.

you stumble to your feet, wiping trembling hands on your robes. it leaves a streak of dirt against the black, and that’s when draco sees the red and gold lining of house gryffindor.

“sorry,” you repeat. “i mean, thank you, for - like - helping me. i completely forgot i could just-” you swish your hands in a mock gesture of wand-movement before laughing awkwardly. “weird, right? that i would - uh - forget that in a school of magic. when i’m a wizard. ha ha.”

draco nods, because he really has nothing to say. he can’t keep his eyes off you, your awkward movements, the way you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. most gryffindor’s would be hurling insults at him by now - hell, he would be hurling insults at the gryffindor’s, too, but his words are caught in his throat and he can’t even properly function.

so he looks down at the pile of posters in his arms.

“CREATIVE WRITING 101!”

you snatch the first poster off the pile as if that will stop draco from reading it. “it’s nothing. something stupid, really.”

he looks at you again. “you like creative writing?”

you shrug.

“that’s such a muggle hobby to have. where’s the fun in it?”

and for the first time this entire meeting, you scowl. you hastily snatch the posters out of draco’s arms, struggling to keep them neat and tidy in your own, but when draco raises his wand to help you out a second time, you swat his hand away and say, “i don’t need your help.”

“you’re going to drop them again-”

you’re already backing away. “you don’t need to come, you know. me dropping these in front of you wasn’t a bloody invite.”

draco blinks. “i didn’t mean it like-”

you run a hand through your hair, nearly stumbling over your own shoes yet again. draco lunges forward in his attempts to catch you, but you yell something incoherent in his direction, apologise profusely to a first year you nearly elbow in the nose before you turn on your heel and head back the way you came.

draco stares at your retreating form, unable to fully comprehend what he did wrong. he doesn’t think he said anything offensive, let alone anything that would prompt you to nearly wipe yourself out in your attempts to get away.

but then again, he isn’t really sure why he cares.

----

it’s weird how - after one brief meeting - you suddenly appear at every corner draco takes.

he never noticed you in his potion’s class before, but now he can’t avoid you. you sit at the back, a pen lodged between your teeth, brows furrowed together; despite your eventful meeting with draco only a few days prior, you don’t seem to have nearly as much interest in his sudden presence as he has with yours. he keeps glancing at you, not-so-subtly turning in his chair every now and then just to make sure you’re not some kind of illusion. nobody in the classroom is acting like anything is out of place, so maybe you have been his classmate for a while, and he just never noticed.

he finds that a little hard to believe, but he has to take reality as it comes to him, or else he’ll go insane.

he doesn’t talk to you for nearly a week, because he’s a little afraid of what you’ll have to say. he’s a little afraid you’ll say nothing at all, that you might have forgotten who he is entirely.

it’s you who makes the first move.

it startles draco nearly out of his skin. he’s packing up his stuff, ignoring goyle’s ramblings to his left, when you slip your hand in his robe pocket. he jumps, spinning around just enough to dislodge your grappling fingers, and he’s seconds away from whipping out his wand to hex you when he freezes, eyes meeting your own, heart immediately plummeting into his stomach.

you smile, wide and polite. “hello, old friend.”

“can you get out of my pockets?” draco hisses, swatting your hand away when you make another attempt to dive into his robes. “what do you want?”

“a pen,” you reply. “i broke mine.”

“i don’t have a pen.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his quill. “i have a quill.”

“aaaah, my bad.” you snatch the instrument from him before grabbing his hand. he yelps, stumbling a little bit. he beams bright red when the noise he just made actually registers in his head, and he makes a mental note to scold goyle for snickering behind him.

“what are you doing?” draco demands. he tries not to get too flustered at the height difference between you - your head could very easily rest in the crook of his neck, and he hates that he kind of wants to experience what that feels like.

you scribble words into his palm. “this is the time and place for the creative writing clubs first meeting.”

draco blinks. “what?”

“time and place for the-”

“why do you want me to go?”

you scowl, not once looking up from the jagged lines of draco’s palm. “i don’t, but hermione’s asked me to gather as many people as i can find, and i think you kind of owe me one after being so rude the other day in the hallway.”

draco falters; so you remember.

“i wasn’t being rude at all,” he grumbles. “you’re just sensitive.”

“maybe.” you drop his palm and shove his quill back in his pocket. “if you want to come, be my guest; it’s going to be a lot of fun. lots of - uh - writing and stuff, i can assure you.”

draco scowls. “i won’t be going.”

“okay.”

“so this entire conversation was pointless.”

you fold your arms over your chest, as if challenging him. “okay, draco. i’m not forcing you to come if you don’t want to, but - you know - i’ll save you a seat or whatever.”

and draco doesn’t understand why that is the promise that tears him down, why that is the thing that makes his mind up for him. even as he gives you no solid answer, he knows he now has plans automatically built into his schedule to see you again, no matter how much he dreads the thought of it.

he looks down at the writing on his palm, and his heart stops.

just for a second. a brief moment of death, before life is pushed back into him when his brain kicks into overdrive and he’s certain he’s going to pass away for real with how fast his heart is suddenly beating.

he blinks rapidly. goyle is saying something, and the students are filtering out, but draco is lost, lost, spiralling as he recognises the messy scrawl, smudged even though it shouldn’t be, messy but coherent, familiar and amazing.

he’s read heaven written in this exact same handwriting. he’s read heaven, and hell, and earth, and space, and the moon, and the stars, and he’s experienced an entire new existence written in this very handwriting. it’s the same handwriting that covers every single page of his sacred notebook, hidden in his pillow case back at the dorms. it’s the same handwriting that gives a form to the aches and pains and anxieties of the person who has just walked away from him, the person who’s brain draco has lived in since christmas.

----

“you’re actually going?”

“it’s the least i can do.” draco fixes the collar of his robes, ruffles his hair a little bit. “i did nearly wipe them out in the hallway a few days ago.”

“that was an accident.” pansy throws herself across draco’s bed, as she often does when she wants the attention he has never given her. he simply glares at her reflection through the mirror, silently willing her to get up and leave so he can set off for the history of magic classroom in which the creative writing club is meeting tonight.

pansy, however, doesn’t take the hint.

“i just think this y/n person is trying to get in your head,” she continues. “your head, your bed, all of the above...”

draco’s face warms. “you can think whatever you want, pansy, but i’m going whether you like it or not. in case you’ve forgotten, you have absolutely no say in the way i live my life.”

pansy rolls onto her stomach, tugs on the back of draco’s robes. “oh, you’ve made that very clear, malfoy. don’t come running back to me when you show up to this stupid muggle club and get ostracised for being who you are.”

draco clenches his jaw, stepping out of pansy’s reach all without turning round. he knows she’s right, of course - there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to show up tonight, only to be met by the usual hostile glares he gets from everybody outside the slytherin house. he brought it upon himself, and he knows that - but he’s trying to fix it. he’s trying to prove himself as a good person to you.

to the world. not just you.

he swallows and turns. pansy stares up at him, hands curled beneath her chin, that sleezy little smile on her face. draco grimaces, points to the door and says, “the girls dorms are up the other staircase.”

pansy’s smile falls. she scowls, stands up and leaves without another word. draco doesn’t care that he’s pissed her off - pansy, in recent months, has become a little bit too much. he’s given her the most wiggle room he can provide, and she has done nothing but bombard him further.

he shakes the thought of his friend from his mind as he walks over to his bed and digs around in his pillow case. inside, he finds the poetry book he so desperately cares for, flicking to a page he has marked; he’s highlighted a few passages, and he reads them over as he steadies his breathing. this is such new territory for him. if his father finds out what he’s up to right now, he’ll be getting a very stern speaking to, possibly even a back-hand to the face if his father is in a particularly bad mood.

but then draco remembers your expression, your hand digging around in his pocket, your stumbled words that somehow manage to pull together so beautifully when you want to express yourself.

he has to see you tonight, whether it’s in a creative writing club or not. he’ll take just running into you in the hallway again, but to reach that point, he has to actually leave the dorms.

he stuffs the book back into his pillow case, flattens a particularly frustrating strand of hair, and walks out the door.

---

the history of magic classroom is dimly lit.

draco has seen pictures of muggle poetry readings before; they kind of remind him a little bit of exorcisms, and the set-up he’s currently walking into is no exception.

there’s candles lit upon every desk, the lights dimmed to create some kind of ambience that draco doesn’t understand. people are sat in a circle - people in every colour of robe, though draco is the only slytherin, it seems. this makes him a little nervous, and he hovers in the doorway, eyes tracing the scene in desperate search of you.

he spots you in a matter of seconds. you’re leaning over a candle, frowning into the flame like you can’t quite understand why it’s flickering like that.

draco makes a b-line for you.

you look up only when he’s by your side, and immediately your expression brightens. those eyes of yours widen a little bit, a smile adorning your face. you straighten up, grab draco’s arm, and he’s certain he’s going to explode.

“you made it!” you exclaim. “i can’t believe you actually came, mate; full of surprises, you are.”

draco frowns, feigning frustration, like this is something he went out of his way to attend. “why are you staring at the flame so intensely?”

“i’m staring at the flame so intensely-” you put on a pompous british accent, just to tease him, and draco doesn’t mind, “-because apparently you can turn the flames a different colour with the right spell, but it’s not working for me. watch.”

you elbow draco in the side, prompting him to shuffle over and give you more room. draco folds his arms over his chest, watching as you kneel down until your cheek is very nearly pressed against the desk. you point your wand at the flames and wave it, just once, but nothing happens. the flames barely even flicker.

you blow it out in frustration. “fuck that.”

draco laughs. he doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s bursting out of him at the sight of your furrowed brows, and your pouting lips. you scowl at him, and it startles him how unsurprised you are to hear such a noise escape a man like draco malfoy.

draco shakes his head and nudges you to the side. “watch.”

you grab his wrist. “no. nope. absolutely not.”

“what? i’m gonna-”

“you’re gonna show me up, is what you’re gonna do, and i didn’t ask for it.” you pluck his wand from his fingers and stuff it back in his robes. draco has to fight the urge to shudder, your fingertips tracing across his ribcage as you fumble for his inside pocket.

you pull away then, shaking your head. “it doesn’t even matter, anyway; you show me up in every other class we have together.”

draco scoffs. “and i can assume you’re going to show me up tonight, so we’re even.”

you grin, because draco is right, and you both know he is right.

you make a bit more idle chat before the final people make an appearance, and you’re finally asked to sit down. draco is confused to see hermione granger being the leader of this group of creatives, as he’s almost certain he’s never read anything more beautiful than your work; surely you should be up at the front, guiding people through the craft of writing, a craft you have so brilliantly perfected.

draco sits beside you and says nothing. he fiddles with his fingers, coughing into his fist, rolling his eyes anytime someone makes a stupid suggestion. honestly, granger can talk forever, and draco is starting to get bored within the first ten minutes. all he wants is to hear you recite something, or for you to just. . . say anything about any of your pieces; draco could probably do it for you if that didn’t look creepy and uncalled for. he could stand at the front of this group and recite whatever piece of poetry he wanted from the notebook he took so long ago, and then maybe you’d get the recognition you deserve. maybe then you’d be able to share your potential instead of just sitting by draco’s side in a circle of poet-wanna-be’s.

finally, hermione turns her attention on you, however.

“y/n,” granger chirps. you jump, fumble with your wand, let it drop on the floor to roll beneath draco’s chair. he rolls his eyes and picks it up for you as you struggle to respond to hermione’s summons.

“uh, y-yeah? yes? did you ask me something?”

hermione’s brows furrow. “do you ever pay attention to anything i’m saying?”

“sometimes,” you reply, sheepishly. “definitely sometimes.”

hermione rolls her eyes. “anyway - i was just wondering if you’ve done any writing recently that you’d like to share.”

draco tenses. he flicks his eyes to his left to see you awkwardly ringing your hands in your lap, biting your lower lip.

“uh....”

“none?” hermione demands, eyes popping. “but i thought-”

“i’ve been a bit busy,” you grumble. “it’s not that big of a bloody deal, hermione, goodness me.”

“well, yes, i - i know that, but-” hermione gestures vaguely. “this is a creative writing club. i asked all of you to bring something with you. do you not even have an old piece of writing you could share with us?”

“nope.”

draco’s heart leaps. “what?”

and suddenly, all eyes are on him.

he slouches in his seat, but keeps his gaze on you. you stare back at him, eyes wide, clearly shocked at his contribution.

“you’ve got nothing?” he prompts.

you can’t even reply. you just stare, and draco knows he’s being confusing, is aware that maybe he should just shut his mouth. or, better yet, do everyone a favour and walk out before he says any more stupid things that will do nothing but embarrass both you and him.

“okay,” he grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. “okay, fine. that’s fine.” he looks up, meets hermione’s eyes. “you know what, granger, i don’t think this little club is my cup of tea. i’m going to head back to bed.”

hermione blinks. no one says anything when draco stands and walks out, but he expected nothing less. he wasn’t welcome there in the first place. he should never have even made an appearance. he should have stayed in bed and let his feelings fester until he fell asleep.

feelings are stupid anyway.

----

he ignores you.

in fact, he starts treating you how he treats everybody else - like they’re beneath him. a habit he once wanted to escape from has yet again become his comfort blanket, the thing shielding him from talking to you. every time you try making conversation, he sneers and walks off, barely even giving you the time of day.

in truth, he knows what happened is no big deal. everyone probably forgot about it as soon as he left the room, getting absorbed in their own works of poetry. however, draco knows you want to discuss it, that you probably want answers he is far too afraid to give you. if he starts explaining why he said what he said, he’ll have to talk about the notebook, and then you might ask for it back, and draco is selfish because he doesn’t think he can give it back just yet. it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

and so, he just ignores you.

he sits in potions and pretends you don’t exist. he walks past you at lunch and doesn’t even give you a smile. he looks over your head every time you stand to wave at him. he doesn’t want to risk any inkling of conversation trickling in between you.

pansy notices this, of course, but draco isn’t surprised. with how closely pansy has taken to watching over you and him, it would be more surprising to think she hadn’t caught on to the situation.

she sits beside him at lunch, slamming her tray of greens down just loud enough that a few heads turn - including your own. draco quickly snaps his eyes down to his plate, trying to pretend he wasn’t just staring at the back of your head.

“so,” pansy begins.

draco licks the stuffing from his fork.

pansy leans in, elbow hitting against his. “so. how did it go?”

“how did what go?”

“your little date with y/n! you never updated me on it!”

draco scowls. “that was days ago, pansy.”

“exactly. so now that i’ve got you trapped, you can fill me in on all the details.” she leans even closer, if that is possible. draco can smell the old woman’s perfume wafting from her robes and has to take a glass of water to quell the itch it summons to his throat. “y/n doesn’t look too happy with you, i’ll say that much. i sit behind them in care of magical creatures, and they’ve been awfully quiet since the club meeting; care to explain?”

“why is it any of your business?”

pansy grins. “because i told you someone like y/n wasn’t worth the trouble; a gryffindor, draco, really? were the robes not a big enough red flag for you?”

draco scowls. “first of all, pansy, y/n and i are just friends, and have always been just friends. i’m not doing anything to impress them.”

pansy scoffs, finally moving away to start spearing at her dinner with her fork. “how stupid do you think i am? how stupid do you think we all are? goyle doesn’t keep your little infatuation a secret, you know. he told us all about how close you and y/n get in potions together.”

draco’s grip tightens on his fork. “close isn’t really the right word.”

“the bickering? the way they make you laugh? the way you help them with their potions when they’re struggling so snape won’t tell them off? that sounds awful close to me, draco.”

he has no answer to that. his chest aches, memories of such delightful times flooding his mind and making him crave it all again. he remembers those times when he would glance over his shoulder to see you running your hands through your hair, struggling to comprehend what on earth snape has just ordered you to do; if it was anyone else, draco wouldn’t have given them the light of day, but seeing the fear in your eyes every time snape gave you even the briefest flicker of attention saw draco abandoning goyle to come save the day at your desk.

“so what went wrong?” pansy continues. “a lovers tiff?”

draco closes his eyes. “it was nothing, pansy; just me being an idiot again.”

pansy gasps, eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “you? being an idiot? and you’re openly admitting to it! goodness me, y/n must be a lot more skilled at magic than they let on, huh?”

“i don’t know what to do.”

it’s a plea. draco knows it’s a plea. in his heart, the cracks are beginning to form, and he can’t pretend any longer. he watches the back of your head - has been watching the back of your head since the meeting, because that’s the only glimpse of you he will let himself have. it hurts to see you laughing, smiling, slapping ron weasley on the arm. it shows you’re healing, moving on from your attempts to get draco to listen.

he’s ruined everything.

pansy leans forward. her voice is softer now, surprisingly kind. “draco, are you serious about this? i know i’ve been teasing, but do you actually like y/n in that way?”

draco bites the inside of his cheek. he remembers the times he had with you, how he used to laugh so freely with little care as to who heard. you teased him and made him feel normal, and he isn’t sure when his appreciation for you went past the poetry you wrote and emerged into you as a human being, but it’s happened, and he’s nodding to pansy’s question before he can think better of it.

pansy draws back, letting out a shaky breath. “wow, okay. . . this is definitely new territory for me. for you. i’m not sure how to go about it.”

“i took their notebook from them,” he mumbles.

pansy raises a brow. “their - their notebook?”

“y/n writes,” he explains. “beautiful things. addictive things, and i found their notebook in the library over christmas and i kept it for myself. i only found out it was theirs a few days ago, but. . . i never told them i have it. i got scared to.”

pansy pauses. draco’s never used that word in a sentence before. it sounds fake, like he’s made it up and just thrown it at the end of his sentence for the fun of it.

“well, that would be a good place to start, i think.”

his eyes snap up. “what?”

“give them their notebook back.” she says this like it’s obvious, raising her brows. “it’s a good way to start a conversation, and once the conversation’s been breached, you can go on to explain everything else - it’s pretty simple when you get your head around it, draco.”

he blinks. it does make sense, but again, there comes that burning protectiveness he can’t seem to shake.

selfish, selfish, selfish.

he glances over at the gryffindor table. you’ve got your head thrown back again, laughing so loudly and so carefree that draco’s heart trembles because he isn’t the one making you laugh like that. it’s ron. it’s harry. it’s everyone who thinks he’s an awful human being, bringing joy to the one person who’s ever seen him as decent. they’ve probably told you a joke about how draco’s scum, how he’ll never amount of anything, how he claimed his spot at the top purely because of his father.

fury pools in the pit of draco’s stomach. he spears his food with his fork, pushes away from the table and walks out of the dining hall before giving pansy an answer as to whether he simple plan is one he’ll actually take into consideration.

but now that he’s storming through the halls towards the slytherin common room, he knows it’s not something he can just consider. he can never move on with you with your notebook stuffed in his pillow case. he needs to be honest, and he needs to apologise, and these are all things he struggles with greatly, but all things he needs to learn before he loses you for good.

---

the notebook hasn’t seen the light of day past draco’s dorm since christmas.

it feels weird carrying it so freely now, slowly making his way through the halls with it pressed against his chest, the spirals digging into his lower arm. people look at him, but nobody bats an eye at the notebook, and why would they? it’s not suspicious. most of them probably think it’s nothing more than a school notebook, used for taking notes in classes.

still, his anxiety runs at a million miles per hour. he wants to yell at anyone who even glimpses the tiny square peeking from over his arms. he wants to tell them it’s none of their business.

but he doesn’t. he keeps walking until he’s reached the gryffindor common room.

it’s just his luck that ron weasley is the one stood outside. the ginger lad spots draco immediately, and it’s reflex when draco scowls and says, “got nothing better to do, weasley?”

ron glares. “what are you doing here, malfoy? the slytherin common room is back the way you came.”

“good thing i’m not going to the slytherin common room.” he nods towards the portrait hole. “is y/n in there?”

ron pauses. “what do you want with y/n?”

“i need to talk to them.” he swallows before gently unravelling the notebook from his arms. “i accidentally grabbed this in potions - i need to give it to them.”

“right, give it here then.” ron reaches for it, and draco stumbles back. he stumbles, not even bothering to swat ron’s hand away as pure panic seizes him. ron pulls back hastily, eyes widening at draco’s response.

draco, through gritted teeth, says, “just go get y/n for me, will you?”

ron stares at him a second longer before turning on his heel and walking back into the gryffindor common room. draco tries calming himself down in the minutes it takes for ron to reappear with you at his side.

the attempts are futile.

the minute he lays eyes on you, his heart starts thundering in a way that confuses him to no ends; he shouldn’t feel like this over someone so ordinary, and in truth, that’s what you are. you’re a student, just like him, struggling through school life, just like him. you go about your day in almost the exact same way as he does, and yet he’s never before felt so intrigued by another individual.

when your eyes meet his, you don’t smile. you don’t even look surprised. you grip the front of your night gown, glaring at him, not saying a word in greeting; draco’s mouth has gone dry, however, and saying anything is the absolute last thing on his mind when you’re standing in front of him, hair a mess, more beautiful and casual than he’s ever seen you.

ron is the one who has to break the silence. “he said he’s got a notebook for you.”

draco inhales sharply, suddenly remembering the artefact clutched in his hands. your eyes drift to it, and for a moment, you look puzzled. your eyebrows scrunch together, head tilting a little before you say, “that’s mine?”

draco thrusts it in your direction. “please take it.” he turns to ron. “and you - please leave.”

ron looks offended, looking at you for back-up, but your eyes are peeled on the notebook, not paying even the slightest bit of attention to ron. in the end, the weasley man rolls his eyes and stalks back into the gryffindor common room, leaving the corridor empty besides you and draco.

and draco feels every sliver of tension like it’s been injected into his bone marrow. flashes of his behaviour play on loop in his brain, the way he ignored you, the amount of times he scowled at you every time you tried speaking to him; he never meant any of it, of course, considering you’re the most fascinating person he’s ever come across, but he did it anyway, and that’s what he has to patch up.

somehow, he has to patch this up.

he looks to the floor, tucking the notebook back against his chest when you don’t take it from his hands. the silence is crushing, but draco has absolutely no idea what to say to fill it in - pansy made this all sound so easy; he would hand you the notebook, and a conversation would immediately stem from that.

but no. draco’s mind has gone completely blank, and you still look furious, and neither of you are doing anything to resolve the mess he has made.

finally, however, draco can’t take it any more. “i found your notebook.”

“yeah. ron said.” you pluck it out of his arms. “where did you even find this? it’s so old.”

“in the library.”

“the library? what was it doing there?”

draco shrugs. “how would i know that?”

“considering you’re the one who stole it-”

“i didn’t steal it. i just didn’t know who it belonged to.” a lie. he shouldn’t be lying. that’s a bad way to go about things. “i mean, i took it back to my dorm with me, kept it safe, but - like - i was of course going to give it back once i figured out who the owner was.”

you hum. “i’m sure you were.” you flick open the pages, immediately spotting a passage draco has highlighted in bright orange pen. “you tabbed it?”

he shrugs. “sometimes i read it when i got bored.”

“i should be angry at you for that, you know - that’s a big invasion of privacy.”

“yeah. you should be.” he looks up sheepishly. “are you?”

you pause, eyes continuing to drift over the pages of your own work, work you haven’t seen or reread since at least christmas time. you don’t look impressed, or angry, or anything at all, really. you just read the lines and nod, as if taking inventory.

then, you look up and say, “i’m more angry at the way you��ve been treating me this past week.”

draco wilts. he knew it was coming, that this was the main source of hostility for the both of you, but he really thought the presence of the notebook would somehow buy him some time, maybe make this conversation a bit easier.

you snap the notebook closed, shoving it into the pocket of your night gown. “you didn’t even tell me what i did wrong!”

“you didn’t do anything wrong!”

“then why were you acting like that? why couldn’t you just talk to me?”

draco squeezes his eyes closed, trails his hands through his hair, tries to calm down before he says something he’ll immediately regret. “you know, it’s a lot more complicated than you’re making it out to be.”

you pull back, puzzled. “how is it complicated? you’re nearly eighteen years old, draco! it shouldn’t be complicated to talk to someone when you’re mad at them!”

“ i wasn’t mad at you! i thought you were mad at me!”

you throw your head back and laugh, and this is the very noise draco has been craving for days, but he doesn’t want to hear it now, not here, not in this context. you’re not taking him seriously. you’re not listening.

“this is the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard,” you cackle. “is this about the fucking club meeting? you think i gave a shit about what you said?”

draco shakes his head. “again, love, it’s not as simple as that.”

“then explain it to me. explain to me what the hell was going through your head to make that switch flip so suddenly.”

something inside draco snaps, a string he didn’t even realise was being pulled so taut.

“do you wanna know what’s been going through my head recently?” his voice drops, your expression faltering. “it’s that fucking notebook of yours. it’s been all i can think about for weeks, because i can’t wrap my head around the idea of you being the author of those poems.”

you blink. “w-what?”

“you’re so carefree. you’re so. . . so you, y/n, and it seems impossible to me - unfathomable! - that you could be thinking such harrowing thoughts and not a single person has picked up on it besides me - and i’ve only done so by complete accident.” he inhales, runs a hand through his hair. “i’ve read your poems a thousand times over, and even though i know they came from you, i still can’t put your face to the words. i still can’t figure out how on earth you and that notebook are related in any way, and it’s been driving me insane. i want to help you, and it’s driving me insane.”

again, you blink. the corridor goes quiet. draco’s breathing slows, stabilises, and he has no idea what he’s just said, or if any of it makes sense, but there is a weight off his chest that provides such a great amount of relief he wants to cry.

finally, you swallow. your knuckles protrude from your hand with how tight your grip on the notebook is. your eyes stray to the ground, throat bobbing, mouth opening for just a second before you seem to think better of it and go silent again.

draco takes a step back. “look, you can have it back,” he says. “i don’t want it any more. i don’t - i don’t need it any more. but i just want you to know i’m sorry, and i never wanted to hurt your feelings. i was just. . . feeling things, and it wasn’t normal for me, and i got scared.” he raises his hands in mock surrender, taking another step back. “feel free to never talk to me again. i’ll understand.”

he waits for another second. hope springs to his chest, hope that you will tell him not to go, that you’ll forgive him on the spot and the two of you can live happily ever after, but it doesn’t work that way. you meet his eyes and nod, before turning on your heel and heading back into the gryffindor common room.

---

“how did you mess that up again?”

draco presses his knuckles into his eyes, as if pushing goyle’s words out of his brain. he should never have told the other slytherin about his encounter with you, but goyle was the first person on the scene, and malfoy just lost control; he needed to rant to someone. he needed to get it off his chest.

and it seems now goyle has suddenly developed a perfect memory, as two days after the meeting in the corridor, he has not let the subject drop.

the two sit together in defence against the dark arts; their teacher has long since left the classroom in search of some more work sheets for them to get cracking with, and the class has erupted into an expected chorus of conversations. draco wants nothing more than to put his head on the table and ignore the world, take this break as a chance to catch up on some of the sleep he has been robbed of these past few weeks, but goyle doesn’t let him go that easily.

the bigger boy leans over and taps draco on the back of the head. “come on, man, talk to me. there’s got to be something we can do.”

“there is nothing,” draco barks through gritted teeth. “and i’m sick of repeating myself, goyle, so shut your trap before i shut it for you.”

goyle sighs, leaning back in his seat. “so y/n just. . . didn’t even say anything? they just walked off without a word?”

“they did, which i took as a clear sign they never want to see me again.”

“do you not think you might be looking too deeply into that reaction?”

draco glares, eyes bloodshot, probably more terrifying than they have ever been. “tell me where on earth i could have looked too deeply.”

goyle shrugs. “well, you did admit to spilling this massive, emotional speech over them in the middle of the night - maybe they just didn’t know what to say at the time. i bet if you go up to them now and ask for a follow-up conversation, they’d be more than willing to sit down and discuss everything.”

“there’s nothing to discuss. i said everything i wanted to say, and y/n rejected me - i’m man enough to take it at face value and move on.”

a lie, of course, but draco just wants goyle to shut up. he wants to continue sulking on his own, because that’s what he does best. he doesn’t need friends patting him on the back, trying to cheer him up. he knows he’s messed up, and he’s willing to suffer in solitude for his stupidity.

“i’ve just never seen you act like this around anyone.”

draco’s head snaps up. “what do you mean?”

but he knows exactly what goyle means, because goyle is telling the truth. nobody has ever made draco this stupid. nobody has ever plagued his mind like this, and it’s driving him insane.

goyle folds his beefy arms across his chest. “i’m not saying it’s a bad thing, draco; sometimes it’s nice to see you unravel a little bit. god knows you’ve had a stick rammed up your ass for long enough.”

draco rolls his eyes. “well, there’s no point in dwelling on it; nothing is going to happen. whatever friendship y/n and i had is gone, and i’m just gonna have to accept it.”

goyle scowls, but draco pays him no attention. instead, he goes back to idly tapping his pen against his bottom lip, trying desperately to put his own words into play. he just needs to get over you. he needs to go back to the cold hearted, uncaring wizard he was raised to be, because that was the only version of himself that never got hurt. he never let himself get hurt. it’s strange how you walk into his life, and suddenly that entire side of him is being stripped away, replaced by this oversensitive, overthinking, annoying piece of shit who suddenly relies on someone else to get them through the day.

draco hates it, but he hates the idea of not having that even more.

----

“so are you going to tell me why y/n won’t talk about you?”

draco looks up, his scowl a reflex when he makes eye contact with ron weasley. he stands over him, arms folded over his chest, wearing a set of school robes with little burn marks pecked into the material; draco has half a mind to tease him for it, before finding he has absolutely no energy to do such a thing right now.

instead, he leans back against the tree he has been sat under, gazing at the sky as mountains of homework piles up in his dormitory - piles of homework he has yet to touch, because every time he tries focusing his mind on a single task, it veers off and he can’t do anything.

ron raises a brow at draco’s silence. “no? you’re both gonna keep your mouths shut?”

“i don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

“no, of course you don’t.” and then, ron does the most surprising thing - he slumps down next to draco, their shoulders clicking. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you fucked things up again.”

draco swallows, closing his eyes. “again, none of your business, weasley.”

“good answer. it makes perfect sense now.” ron nudges his arm. “what happened?”

and draco knows it’s out of character. of all the people he could rant to, ron weasley should - and always has been - the absolute last on his list, but he looks at ron and he’s reminded that he is your friend, that ron makes you laugh, and he’s probably cheered you on during this uncomfortable time with draco. with that knowledge comes a sense of warmth, a gratefulness he’s never felt before, one he doesn’t completely understand.

but he leans into it, because he’s too tired to fight it off. with his cheek pressed against his knees, he tells ron the whole story, from start to finish. he goes back as far as christmas, that god-forsaken day in the library when he wanted nothing more than to enjoy a nice bit of light reading whilst he ignored the rest of the students downstairs, how peeves had dropped that notebook on his head, and he’d grown attached to it, rereading the poems every day until the day he had to surrender it back to you.

“sounds quite stalkerish,” ron comments.

draco scoffs. “it does, doesn’t it?”

ron sighs, shifting slightly. in the distance, a group of first years run screaming away from the whomping willow. a stone gargoyle shakes its winds atop the astronomy tower. such beautiful sights, and yet draco can’t feel a thing.

“okay, look,” ron says. “don’t get any of this twisted, alright? i still hate you. more than i thought humanly possible.”

“cheers.”

“but, i care about y/n. a whole lot. they’re like family to me. they’ve been miserable these past few days, and it’s starting to take a toll on me. so, i’m here to give you a bit of advice.” he turns, leans in, lowers his voice. “don’t give up so easily.”

draco jerks away. ron snickers, leaning back against the tree, gazing out at the green grass without a care in the world; draco, however, is stunned, heart racing though he doesn’t even know why. those words just hold so much hope, a hope he hasn’t let himself feel since it happened. he was slowly coming to terms with the idea of never talking to you again, and here ron weasley walks into the scene, ruining everything - like always.

draco splutters, swallows, pulls himself together. “w-why do you say that?”

“i thought it was obvious, mate,” ron replies. “y/n clearly has a soft spot for you. god only knows why, but that’s neither here nor there. all i care about right now is the fact they’ve been moping around for days, not even laughing at my jokes or anything. it’s getting exhausting when all you need to do is talk, and this entire thing could be resolved.”

“it’s not as easy as that.”

ron raises a brow. “oh? and why not?”

draco opens his mouth to respond, because he’s certain he has one. however, when he thinks about it, there really isn’t a decent answer to that question; he’s young, dumb, embarrassed. he stole your notebook, gave it back, confessed his feelings and then fled the scene - the only reason he hasn’t spoken to you since that fateful day is because he doesn’t want to bring up his own embarrassing gestures ever again. the quicker he buries them, the better.

but at the cost of you? maybe he should rethink it.

ron laughs. he stares at the side of draco’s face, pure amusement dancing across his features. draco scowls, because that’s what draco always does when he sees even the slightest flicker of joy on the weasley boys face; it’s become routine by now, even if he doesn’t feel the same contempt he’s so used to.

“it’s bizarre, isn’t it, that i’d be the one giving you relationship advice,” he says.

“it’s bizarre you’re helping me out at all, to be honest.”

“i’m not as heartless as you like to think i am, malfoy.” he stands, wiping his hands down his robes, smearing muck on the already dirty cloth. “if anyone asks, we were arguing and i won.”

draco blinks. “thank you, weasley. i mean it.”

ron rolls his eyes. “i’m sure you do. now never speak to me again.” he turns on his heel and strolls back down the hill without a second glance in draco’s direction.

----

draco’s heart is going to burst from his chest.

he’s been in this state far too often these past few weeks. he wants it to stop. he wants to go back to a life where he didn’t have a care in the world, where he owned this school, where he had the confidence that has carried his family name for decades.

the only way he’s going to reach that point again is by sorting things out with you.

or at least letting you know how he feels, because he can’t deny any of it any more. he can’t go around pretending you mean nothing to him. no, he still can’t explain where these feelings came from, if they started with the poetry and grew, or if they started that very day he laid eyes on you in first year and thought you were the prettiest one of his lousy classmates. he can’t explain any of it, but he doesn’t need to try. he doesn’t need to go as far back at that. all he needs to do is talk to you, let you know that you have changed him in very scary ways, and then he can move on. no matter your reaction, he can move on.

at least, that’s what he tells himself as he walks through the school corridors in search of you. it’s already getting dark, the january days lasting what seems like only a handful of minutes. students are flooding from their last classes of the day, and it’s only when draco spots a gryffindor bustling through the crowd does he stop.

he grabs the unsuspecting student by the arm, not even surprised nor offended by his look of pure disgust. draco simply grins, because that’s reflex for him, before saying, “have you seen y/n l/n anywhere?”

the boy furrows his brows. “i saw them talking to filch when i was walking to class. what do you want with them?”

draco raises a brow; talking to filch? what could you possibly want with argus filch of all people?

draco shoves the gryffindor away, thanking him with a nod before he turns and starts towards the caretakers office. he’s never been there before, mainly because he’s never wasted his time trying to hold a decent conversation with the caretaker, but he finds it in good enough time - an ordinary brown door, decorated only with the name ‘argus filch’ written across it in what looks like normal, muggle sharpie pen.

draco racks his knuckles against it, uncertain if he’s doing any of this right. in all his years at hogwarts, he’s seen filch in his office only a handful of times, and even if he just happens to be in his office now, what will draco even ask him? what he was talking to you about? if he somehow knows where you went after the conversation was over?

he waits there, however, because he has no other leads, and he needs to talk to you. he needs to get this over with, or else he won’t be able to sleep, and he can’t afford to be groggy during quiddith practice; he’s been performing bad enough these past few weeks, and if he can just get this off his chest-

the door swings open.

it isn’t filch.

“argus, i promise i’ll be done in-”

you pause. your eyes widen. your mouth snaps closed, grip tightening on the door frame, and draco is certain he’s going to explode at any moment.

“y/n.”

your name is a whisper, barely audible over the sound of his racing heartbeat. he doesn’t even know if he said it, or maybe it was just a thought. at this moment in time, the two things are interchangeable.

“draco.” you swallow, shuffle awkwardly, look to the floor in a rare look of timidity. “w-what are you doing here?”

“i was looking for you.” he speaks fast, like he’s running out of time, and maybe he is. maybe you’re only giving him a few seconds before the memories flood back and you slam the door on his face, ruining his chances once and for all. maybe you think his attempts are idiotic, embarrassing, and you’re only letting him talk out of pity.

but you don’t slam the door on his face. not at all. you stand there, looking more beautiful than draco has ever seen you, even though nothing has really changed.

draco swallows, curling his fingers into fists. “someone told me you - you were in here.”

your eyes snap up. “i didn’t tell anyone where i was. that was kind of the whole point.”

draco nods like he understands, because part of him kind of does - hiding away, pretending you are the only person to exist. it’s a comfort sometimes.

“what do you want, draco?”

and just like that, everything he wanted to say is swept from his brain.

you fold your arms over your chest, one foot tapping rapidly against the floor. “d-did you have anything to say to me?”

you almost sound hopeful.

“ron told me not to give up so easily.”

you pause.

draco rushes on, because he knows he hasn’t done this right. he’s gone so far off script, and he hasn’t even got to the main point of his argument.

“i don’t listen to weasley - ever. quite frankly, his advice is usually more detrimental than helpful, but - but he told me earlier to come find you. he told me you weren’t doing so good-”

“ron-”

“and i don’t know if that’s true on your end, but it’s true for me.”

you blink.

draco exhales shakily, running a ringed hand through his hair. “i’m not doing so good, y/n. i don’t like the way we left things. i don’t like the fact that we left things at all. i should have explained myself a bit better, or come to you sooner, but you know how i am. god, you know how i am better than anyone else in the world, so please, please understand that i’m trying so hard to put my dignity aside to let you know how much i care about you.”

there is a silence. a silence so heavy that draco feels crippled beneath it, unable to do anything but wait in anticipation for a response he might not even deserve. he’s done so many things wrong - not just with you, but with life in general. he is a bad person, and he knows this, and he’s trying to change, because you don’t deserve a bad person.

you swallow. he watches your throat bob.

“i don’t know if i believe you.”

your words are a whisper, but they shatter everything around him like they were screamed at the top of your lungs.

he shakes his head dumbly, like that is answer enough. he wants to say something to argue his case, but his tongue feels heavy and a cloud has passed over his brain.

“draco, i don’t know if i believe you,” you correct, sounding almost desperate. “y-you treated me like shit for no reason. you took my notebook and didn’t give it back. you’re a dick to my friends-”

“i know,” he bursts through gritted teeth, like he is in physical pain. “y/n, i know. i know, and i’ve been beating myself up over it for weeks. but that’s what i do - that’s what i’ve always done. i play the victim card and blame everybody else for my wrongdoings, and it’s childish. i’m trying to stop. i’m really, really trying.”

you open your mouth to respond, but draco takes one look at the tears in your eyes and barrels on, suddenly desperate to dig himself further into the dirt.

“you know what? i don’t even know why i’m here. i’m sorry. i should just - i should just leave you alone and let you get on with your life. you and i were never meant to be together, and i just need to accept that and move on.” he can’t stop talking. he can’t stop hating himself. “i’m sorry, though. for everything i did to upset you. for every stupid thing i said or did - know i didn’t mean it. from the bottom of my heart, y/n, i would never hurt you. never. so that’s why i’m gonna go. i’m gonna leave you alone. i’m g-gonna support you in whatever you want to do in the future. as long as you’re happy.”

he tries for a smile, because that’s the way you’re meant to end these things, isn’t it? you smile, and you shake their hand or something, but draco can’t bring himself to do that, so he turns on his heel instead. he turns away from you, knowing this will be the last time, that there is absolutely no going back, no matter what horrible advice ron weasley gives him. he needs to get over you. he needs to let you go once and-

“draco.”

you grab his wrist and he stumbles. he stumbles because of your grip, but he stumbles, too, because his name on your lips will never get old. it’s music to him, music he never listens to because his father always said it was a waste of time. he basks in it, spinning around to meet your eyes, and his heart crumbles at the tears now rolling down your cheeks.

his own eyes widen. “y/n-”

“you’re so stupid,” you sob. “so fucking stupid, do you know that?” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a desperate hug. you sob into his shoulder, and draco is frozen, hands hovering over the small of your back, unsure how to take this reaction. “you’re literally the most idiotic person i’ve ever met in my life. how is it you? how is it always you?”

draco blinks. “how is what always me?”

“everything!” you wail, hugging him tighter. “it’s just always you, draco. always.”

and draco still has no idea what you mean, but he’s learning to understand that maybe he doesn’t need to know what you mean all the time. maybe he just needs to be there for you to yell and cry and make no sense, and that will be enough.

he wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. he’s never been any good at hugs, but he’s melting into this one.

“idiot,” you whisper into his neck. “thinking i’m just gonna let you leave like that. . . thinking i don’t like you back. . . thinking i’ve stopped thinking about you for even a second these past few days. . .”

draco holds you tighter.

you pull away after a moment, quickly swiping your hand beneath your eyes. they are puffy now, red-rimmed, and draco knows he will have to explain this to ron in some way or the other without giving ron the benefit of knowing his advice might have actually been beneficial for once.

“i think we both messed up a little bit,” you mumble through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “my reaction wasn’t exactly very helpful, was it?”

“well. . . no, but-” draco exhales. “i meant what i said, y/n; i never meant to hurt you. i would never do that.”

your smile trembles. draco has only a second to smile back before you’re throwing your arms around him again, pulling him in for a hug that he is getting strangely fond of.

----

your pen scratches against the paper. draco can’t sleep; he doesn’t really want to sleep, despite the hours of classes and quiddith practice he has to endure in a few hours time.

you never sleep. not really. draco is convinced you live entirely off caffeine and words, staying up into the early hours of the morning with that notebook of yours, your muggle pen darting back and forth over the pages. he scolds you for it sometimes, but he’s always smiling, and you always roll your eyes in response.

now, however, he has one arm thrown over your shoulders, watching you work. it’s already three in the morning, but he’s too enamoured to bother falling asleep; he’d rather stay up and watch you work.

“bic,” he says out of nowhere, shattering the hours of silence the two of you had collected.

you pause, looking up. your eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. draco smiles.

“what?”

“bic.” he nods at the pen in your hand. “that’s the name of your fancy muggle quill, isn’t it?”

you frown, taking another second to catch onto what he means, despite the clear explanation he has just given. however, it eventually dawns on you, and you frown even more.

“oh, right. yeah. bic. that’s the brand name.” you place it in draco’s hand. he holds it close to his face, squinting to read the tiny letters written in the plastic. “the best pens in the world, i’d say; much more practical than those bloody quills we have to use in class.”

“nothing wrong with our quills,” draco says, tilting the pen back and forth, examining every inch of it. “mine cost me a good lot of money.”

you scoff, snatching the pen back. “i’m sure it did. waste of a good lot of money, too, when you could have just bought a pack of twelve bic pens for a fiver.”

draco furrows his brows. “a fiver? what’s that in real money?”

you roll your eyes, smiling fondly, and it’s that very smile that has draco leaning forward to peck you on the lips. it takes you out of your work, which he knows will frustrate you in the morning when you wake up to see you didn’t get as much done as you might have liked, but for now, he doesn’t really care. not when you’re melting against him, dropping your dumb bic pen into the crease of your notebook so you can cling to him with both hands.

there are some days when draco thinks you love him only out of pity. he was the boy who lost himself to his feelings for you. he was the boy who came crawling back, the boy who was lost when he didn’t have you by his side. some days, draco has to ask you if you really want to be part of this relationship.

but then you go and kiss him like this, and he is left with no doubt that you’ve meant every single “i love you.” then you go and hold his hand at the gryffindor table, smile fondly at him as he bickers with your friends, and he knows this relationship is not a chore for you. maybe, if he lets himself hope, he can convince himself that you love him as much as he loves you.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #malfoy #malfoy fic #malfoy fanfic #malfoy fanfiction #draco fic #draco fanfic #draco fanfiction #draco #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic

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didnt-want-to-be-a-halfblood · 3 years

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Kitten Me This

Heyyyy, so I know some people that have weak wifi connection and can’t access Ao3 so I decided to post my fic here, too.

Summary: "No, no, you don't understand. Lou..." Will took a deep breath, petting the cat gingerly as if afraid it would suddenly shatter in his hands. "This is Nico."

"Nico... di Angelo? Your boyfriend, Nico? Son of Hades? That Nico?"

"Yes! That Nico! He's been turned into a cat!"

***

"Lou! LOUUU!" Shouted Will as he practically broke down the door to the Hecate cabin.

"What??" Lou Ellen opened the door, irritation evident on her face. Her dark hair was rumpled, and her winged eyeliner was slightly smudged on one side as if she'd just woken up from a mid-afternoon nap. "You do realize that this cabin is built with magical stones? If you dislodged one with all your yelling and banging-"

"Yes, I could explode or turn into a tree- That's not important!" He moved past her and collapsed dramatically onto the nearest bed. "This is an emergency! Look!" He lifted up a small bundle of black fur.

"What's that?" Lou Ellen stepped closer to examine the bundle. The fur twitched and two brown eyes looked back at her. "A kitten? Did you bother me during meditation-"

"You weren't meditating, you were sleeping-"

"-To try and get me to take care of this scruffy thing? Will, my cabin is too dangerous to house an animal like this. It'd be getting into potions, ruining spells, and my younger siblings will try and do transformation experiments on it. Leave it here and it'll be a piglet by tomorrow."

"No, no, you don't understand. Lou..." Will took a deep breath, petting the cat gingerly as if afraid it would suddenly shatter in his hands. "This is Nico."

"Nico... di Angelo? Your boyfriend, Nico? Son of Hades? That Nico?"

"Yes! That Nico! He's been turned into a cat!" Will set the kitten on the bed, and the little guy stretched before laying down, curling up into a perfect little fuzzy black circle. It was admittedly a super cute cat.

"Are you sure that's Nico?" Lou Ellen hesitantly reached out to pet the kitten. Immediately, the cat perked its head up and hissed at her. It wasn't particularly scary, but she got the message: No touching.

"It's okay, Nico." Will cooed. "This is Lou Ellen? Remember her? She's our friend." He gently ran his fingers through its fur and cat-Nico began to purr softly.

"Okay, maybe he is Nico." She admitted. "What happened, exactly?"

Will shrugged, "We were sitting by the campfire, just talking! And I was like 'Oh, by the way I was thinking instead of going to normal lunch today maybe we could go someplace special to celebrate our anniversary.' And I searched through my bag to find my coupons for 'Benedetta's Pasta' which is this Italian pasta place in New York, and okay yeah it's not the fanciest pasta place in the world, but they do have a guy who knows how to play Taylor Swift songs on accordion and-"

"William. Focus." Lou Ellen snapped her fingers. "The longer this takes the harder it could be to transform him back."

"RIght! Uh, and when I looked up Nico was gone! And this little guy was sitting on the log, just staring at me!"

"You didn't see anything else?"

"No, I was looking for coupons."

"No magic sparks or incantations or flashes of light?"

"No, I was busy looking for coupons!!"

"Will, there's only so much I can do if I don't know how he turned into a cat. He needs the same kind of magic used to transform him into this to transform him back."

"Oh gods." Will put his head in his hands. "You're the most powerful, talented sorcerer we have at camp. If you can't do it then it's hopeless." Will sniffed as if beginning to cry.

Lou Ellen sighed. "You really think I'm the most powerful?"

"And smart, too." Will pouted up at her, hitting her with puppy-dog eyes. "If anyone can figure out how to save Nico, it's you."

"Ugh, fine. Alright. Let's talk to the satyrs and nymphs. They can talk to animals. Maybe Nico himself can tell us what happened."

So, the daughter of Hecate and the son of Apollo walked through the forest until they wound up by the riverbank. All things considered, it was a beautiful day. Hopefully the day was perfect enough that all the nymphs would be in a good mood and willing to help. Will stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Hi! Hello! Um, I was wondering if someone could help us? We're trying to communicate with this cat." Will lifted the black kitten above his head like baby Simba in the Lion King movie.

No response.

"Please?" Will tried again. "He's actually my boyfriend and I'd really like him to not be a cat anymore by the end of the day, y'know? Isn't there anyone here who knows what it's like to be in love? To have that love taken away from you?"

No response. No movement. The trees and bushes and plant life didn't say a word.

Lou Ellen put a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiled sweetly. "Why don't you let me try?"

"Sure."

"Hey!" Lou Ellen shouted harshly. "Listen up! This here is a child of Apollo! If someone doesn't give us five minutes of their time then he's going to start reciting some of his dad's greatest poems of the 20th century! And Apollo wrote a lot of haikus in the 80s." It was definitely spoken as a threat.

The trees and bushes began to rustle as if talking with one another. Will nodded to Lou Ellen in approval. They waited for about two minutes before she spoke again.

"Okay, Will! That's it! From the top, the poetry reading begins now! Don't say I didn't warn you all-"

"Wait!" Juniper hastily walked toward them. "I'm here! It's okay, everyone. I'm here now!"

"Hey, Juniper!" Will smiled, happy to see a friendly face. "What's up?"

"Will." She smiled back. "I was just out talking to Rosemary. She needed relationship advice." Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "A lot of shrubs are envious of my stable relationship with Grover. They find most satyrs to be... unreliable in showing consistent affection. Grover and I? We're the satyr-nymph power couple. I'm kind of like the local marriage counselor nowadays."

"And I'm sure you're wonderful at it." Will said sincerely. "Can you talk to cats?"

"Hmm, well, my feline might be a little rusty. We mostly get squirrels and birds out here, but I'll see what I can do!"

"That's all I ask." Will leaned down and carefully set cat-Nico on the ground. The kitten curiously sniffed at the grass.

"Cute little guy." Juniper grinned. "Tell me little one, what's your name? How did you come to be like this?" The cat gave a little meow-squeak in response. "I see..."

"What?" Will looked back and forth between Juniper and his feline boyfriend. "Does he not remember who he is?"

"They go by the title 'The Ruler of All Darkness.' Claims to have come to the mortal realm to 'incite fear into my enemies.'"

"Nico is always so dramatic..."

"You're one to talk." Lou Ellen rolled her eyes.

"Juniper, can you ask him if he remembers me?"

Juniper asked.

"'Yes, the one who smells of sunshine. Indeed, he is tolerable.' And... something about being worried you're going to abandon it?"

"What, just because he's a cat now? Nico, I would never!" Will leaned down and let the kitten nuzzle his hand. "Neeks, we're going to change you back. And- and if for some reason we can't, that's... that's okay. Alright? You'll stay with me, you'll be the most pampered and taken care of cat in the whole world. You..." Will got choked up at this point. "So what if the love of my life is a cat now? So what if... if... We can't do any of the things we planned to do together? So what if at the most you'll only live to be another twenty years?" Will started actively sobbing. "I won't abandon you. Ever. I'm sorry, Neeks. I should've payed attention. I should've stopped this from happening. I should've-"

"It's okay, WIll." Lou Ellen hugged him. "Shh, it's okay. Maybe we still don't know how to change him back yet, but we will. I promise."

Will leaned into her and cried. "This is all my fault."

Juniper joined in on the hug. "I can ask around and see if any of the nymphs saw what happened. We have eyes and ears everywhere, surely someone saw something..."

And who knows how long Will would've kept crying when suddenly they all froze at the sound of a familiar voice.

"There you are!" Nico's voice rang out from behind them. "Will, I've been looking everywhere for you!"

They turned slowly to face a very human, very not-a-cat Nico di Angelo. He was dressed in a nicely tailored suit and his hair had been neatly brushed. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, but they were beginning to wilt as Nico's anxiousness caused them to decay.

"Why... why is everyone crying?" Nico awkwardly tugged on his suit. "Why are you guys looking at me like that?"

"Nico! You're- you're human!" Will stood up, glancing down at the kitten.

"How nice of you to notice." Nico said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I mean..." Will frantically looked to Juniper. "But he said 'Ruler of All Darkness.'"

"Hmm... To be fair, most cats talk that way."

"She said." Lou Ellen corrected, examining the cat, much to the kitten's displeasure.

"What?" Will asked.

"She. This cat is female. Animal transformations can sometimes change the sex of the person in question, but not usually. That's, like, basic shapeshifting 101."

"I..."

"Can someone explain to me what's going on?" Nico crossed his arms. "Will, I thought you wanted to go out for lunch? We're going to be late."

"Uhh." Will took the cat from Lou Ellen. "I got us this cat for our anniversary!" The black kitten stared at Nico and gave a pitiful meow.

"You what?" Nico sighed. "I tell you 'Hey, babe, give me five minutes and I'll shadow-travel to Italy to find us a real Italian restaurant for lunch.' And I come back to find this?"

"Ohh, is that what you said? I didn't hear you exactly because I was... busy looking for coupons." Will sheepishly avoided eye-contact with Lou Ellen. Still, he could feel her death glare.

"Will, I love you, but you are not using coupons at a restaurant for our anniversary. I'm rich. Just let me pay." Nico walked up to Will and traded him the flowers for the kitten. "Where did you even find this thing?"

"Uhh..."

The kitten reached out a paw and booped Nico on the nose. It gave another soft meow.

"Oh,' Juniper giggled. "She said, 'You smell like death. Perhaps we shall form an alliance, bathe in the blood of our enemies. Together, we can destroy them all.'"

"You got us a homicidal kitten?" Nico laughed. Gods Will loves it when Nico laughs.

"Only the best for you, babe." Will casually winked, ignoring his eyes were slightly swollen from crying.

Lou Ellen huffed. "I'm going back to bed. Will, you useless homosexual, you owe me." She marched away. Juniper politely nodded to Will and Nico before following suit. She probably had more couples counseling to do.

"C'mon, Solace. Let's get you dressed. We can go shopping for our newest little family member after lunch." Nico cooed at the kitten and she snuggled up against him. "Or maybe we can sneak her into the restaurant. Would you like that, piccolina?" Nico proceeded to call her a series of cutesy names that Will didn't understand.

"Nico?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"Interesting. You know what, Will?"

"What?"

"I love you, too." Nico gave him a peck on the cheek. "C'mon, let's go..." They walked together in silence for a moment. "So, you thought I turned into a cat, huh?"

"Okay, in my defense, weirder things have happened!! It was a perfectly reasonable conclusion to come to, alright!! You absolutely would've done the same thing-"

"Ha! Yeah, right-"

"You totally would have! Look, I'm just saying-"

The End.

#my fic #solangelo #Nico di Angelo #Will Solace #lou ellen blackstone #juniper #pjo #toa #hoo

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misslilli · 3 years

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It'll get better soon guys, don't worry 🤗

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 24 - It Takes A Village

[ Felix ]

It’s close to December and my favorite holiday is coming up fast, the lights are already up all around town and in school we make paper snowmen and sing Christmas songs. It’s supposed to be the most cheerful time of the year, but people in my life are sad, which in turn also puts a damper on my Christmas spirit.

Dad is not doing very well, he’s working all the time and doesn’t say much, he just goes through the motions of our day. One day, he just forgets to pick me up from school because he has worked through the night and fell asleep at the dining room table during the day.

Principal Skinner can’t reach him or my mom, who is in Europe right now, so he calls my other emergency contact, my grandma. I don’t know what exactly he tells her, but she’s coming all the way from Connecticut and the Principal will drive me home to check on my dad.

I’m excited that grandma’s coming, she’s really awesome! She’s straightforward and very, very strict and doesn’t like to cuddle, much, but her no-nonsense way of running a household may be exactly what we need right now. And she also makes a mean lasagna!

When we get to the house, dad is beside himself, apologizing to us over and over again for falling asleep and he looks a little relieved when Principal Skinner tells him that grandma is coming over to help.

I launch myself at her - I’m permitted exactly two hugs, one hello and one goodbye - when she walks through the door and immediately try to get her to make lasagna for dinner. She sends me up to my room to play for a bit, while she talks to dad and cleans up the mess in the kitchen. Afterwards, she really makes lasagna, yes!

——————

[ Teena ]

When I got the call from Principal Skinner, I was very worried about what I’d find when I got to the house, I’ve been called to pick up the pieces only once before.

It was after Diana left Fox and Felix and what I found then was a disoriented and confused three-year old who kept asking for his mom and a devastated dad and husband, unable to care for his child in his own heartbreak.

Thankfully, it’s not that bad this time, but I can tell that something has happened. Fox has been avoiding my calls for weeks now, only having Felix talk to me over the phone. I know that Sam knows something, but she wouldn’t tell me no matter how hard I pressed.

So the first thing I do when I get to the boys’s house is send Felix off to his room and sit down my son onto the couch to talk.

“Tell me what happened, Fox.”

And he goes on to me the whole story, from the first day of school where he met a woman that had upended both of their lives, to the birthday party - Sam has actually told me about that one, I thought it was a really sweet story - and the Halloween fair right up until the Basketball fiasco and the last time he saw her, where she asked him to give her some space until she has figured some things out.

“What do I do now mom? I hate myself for scaring her off like that and I can’t stop the tailspin of thinking I’m not good enough for her anyway, with that broken mess that’s our family…”

“I’ll tell you what to do now. You give her space like she asked you to and you get your act together in the meantime. Felix needs you to take care of him, it won’t do to wallow in self-pity. And ask yourself this: How can you expect someone to love you if you don’t love yourself? Go see Connie and fix your self-worth issues because you’re a good man and you absolutely deserve someone who makes you happy.”

“Thanks mom, for everything. I’ve already scheduled extra therapy lessons with Connie. You know what makes this whole thing even harder? I have to see her every damn day at school when I pick up Felix.”

“I’ll pick him up from now on. You focus on yourself, without distractions.” Maybe I’ll even get to meet her, I’m fairly curious about this Rainbow Woman myself.

—————

[ Felix ]

At recess in school, everyone’s on their best behavior, holding their collective breaths because Miss Scully is in a bad mood today. Actually, she’s been irritable for the past two weeks, with a very short fuse and absolutely no tolerance for disobedience.

Since her classroom is right next to ours, we can sometimes hear her yell at her kids for something or other and even our class flinches when it happens.

Right now, she’s over at the playground, leaning into two boys who have gotten into a fist-fight over a game of tag and I’m silently glad I’m sitting over here with Miss Anderson. I look up at my teacher, curious.

“Miss Anderson, why is Miss Scully so angry all the time?”

“I can’t tell you, Felix, I’m sorry.”

“Because you don’t know, or because you don’t want me to know?” When she changes the subject pointedly, I know it’s the second one. ‘Ugh, why don’t adults tell children anything, it’s driving me crazy! Dad won’t tell me anything and now this.’

Grandma picks me up again today and on our way to the car, we run into Miss Scully. 'Uh oh, I hope she doesn’t go off on grandma, I don’t think that will go over very well.’ My grandma can be scary sometimes, too!

“Hey Miss Scully, this is my grandma, she’s staying with us for a while now! Grandma, this is Miss Scully, she’s the fourth-grade teacher.”

——————

[ Teena ]

I’m happy to see that my son has raised Felix to be a polite child when he introduces the tiny red-head I’ve heard so much about.

“Grandma’s not actually my name, Felix. I’m Teena Mulder, it’s nice to meet you Miss Scully!” Holding out my hand, I try to seize her up.

Her handshake is firm and her posture is ram-rod-straight, all professional, but her eyes betray her poised exterior, because I can see flashes of sadness when she looks down at Felix. I can only guess that she’s not having an easy time with everything, herself.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Mulder. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got an appointment to get to. I’ll see you tomorrow, Felix. Goodbye, Mrs. Mulder.”

With that, she’s off to get her bike and Felix breathes a sigh of relief.

“Whew, thank God, she didn’t get mad at you like she got mad at the two boys at recess today.”

I’m a bit puzzled by his odd statement, but on the car ride, he tells me all about the incident in great detail. I get the feeling that these stories are a staple in the boys’s days and I can begin to understand why my son would rather not hear Felix go on and on about what she did and what she said right now.

—————

[ DS ]

My therapist has told me that it has to get worse before it gets better, but this is getting ridiculous. I can’t sleep more than a few hours at night, which leaves me irritable in the morning and with an incredibly short fuse at school, going off on my kids for the littlest infractions.

They’re so terrified and confused, they end up making even more mistakes, which in turn sets me off even more - it’s a vicious circle that leaves me frustrated with myself and more times that I’d like to admit to, I’ve lost it in the teacher’s bathroom.

Meeting Mrs. Mulder today was unexpected and I tried hard to keep it together for a few minutes, but I can’t stand looking at Felix’s innocent face for a longer period of time, so I bolted right after the introductions.

I actually did have an appointment, with my therapist, and today she suggested I write down my feelings in a journal to get them off my chest and reflect on them.

During the night, I wake after only a few hours of sleep spent tossing and turning. Unable to fall back asleep for yet another night, I drag myself our of bed and downstairs, turning the TV in the living room, hoping it’ll lull me back to sleep.

“10 things I hate about you” is on and by the time Julia Stiles recites her poem, I’m bawling into a pillow. I remember the homework I’ve been given, so I grab a piece of paper and a pen and begin writing.

“Miss Scully’s list of 10 things I hate about you”

The words of the title swim before my eyes as I scribble my feelings onto the patient paper. The poem I write is slightly different from the one in the movie, but writing it all out really does help.

I fold the paper up carefully and toss it in the trash before heading back up to bed.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis

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bogkeep · 3 years

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theo’s tarot collection

hi hello i suffer from a terrible ailment called I Keep Acquiring New Tarot Decks Even Though I Am A Tarot Newbie.... so i figured i could do a little writeup about my decks if anyone is interested in that :’) basically i started doing tarot in 2019 because i couldn’t get a hold of a therapist (i was put on a year long waitlist WAHOO) so i basically. self-medicated with tarot readings hahaha. i had a friend who gave me a lot of really good advice and had done some readings for me before who felt immensely comforting. the way i read them is like... it allows you to confront your situation and your emotions through a new angle, but you gotta be brave enough to do it - or ask someone to do it for you. it can be a really intense but also cathartic experience. it’s not for everyone! but i like it. i still consider myself a novice and still learning so i am not in ANY way trying to paint myself as a Knowledgabl Tarot Witch - in a perfect timeline that’s who i wish i was, but i’m ultimately just some guy with a solid appreciation for art and personal growth.

ANYWAY... onto my DECKS (the tumblr post will probably squish the quality outta my photos so i’m gonna link the URLs for Full View)

Children of Litha by Alexandria Huntington

i consider this my main and first deck (i am NOT counting the official homestuck deck i bought as a teen just because i wanted to look at the art. no offense to the homestuck deck i’m just not gonna use fandom decks)! i picked it out but my Tarot Friend gifted it to me... i think it’s a very good starter deck for me personally, and it’s the deck i’ve bonded with and used the most. i even put a fancy sticker on the box as part of the bonding process. i always feel so bad for all of my other decks because i haven’t been able to dedicate as much time for them as i have this one... so it’s definitely the deck i go to for the most accurate readings for myself. Vibes and Thematic Coherence: the art in this is so beautiful and elegant. the symbolism more or less draws on the classic smith-waite deck, but redrawn for its theme. i like that it has a very consistent imagery! out of the major arcana, the fool is the only fully human character - every other character is part animal in some way or other. then the suit of swords depicts birds, winged insects and the air element, coins depict ungulates and equines and earth, wands has felines and canines and fiery imagery, and cups has fish and creatures of and in the sea. the court cards have humans. the suit symbols are always depicted consistently, as white silhouettes. there are also two extra cards: the all and the void. Pamphlet: the reason i think this was a good starter deck is because both because the art feels very intuitive about what it depicts (to me, at least), the descriptions in the pamphlet describe what is happening and why the artist chose this motif for this card. it has honestly helped me remember the meanings a lot, because i’ll be reading the other decks and be like “oh that’s the octopus card i know what the octopus card is about”. there are also little poems next to the main descriptions that work as a pretty solid tl;dr for the core meanings. i also like that the court cards are referred to in the sense of like... a knight is “a young person with masculine energy” rather than “a young man”. it feels more fluid and vibe-y about gender than traditional decks ya feel. on a range from Abstract to Directness this one feels like it sits pretty comfortable in the middle, maybe leaning on Abstractness. it has always given me gentle instructions and advice.

Cardfeel: the cards are very smooth and nice with gold edges. the cards are not NOT solid, but i wish they had been a little thicker because i’m always afraid i’m going to accidentally damage them - but that’s probably a feeling i have about most of my possessions tbh!! i think they’re a good size, too, at least for my small hands. they’re more on the long/slender side so they are good for me to shuffle. i also like the box, it’s a hard flip box with a magnet. i think u can’t go wrong with that. this is the deck i’ve travelled with the most (did u know hotel beds are the best tarot reading spaces. for some reason they just Work). The Spacious Tarot by Annie Ruygt and Carrie Mallon

this is one i really like a lot and want to use more! i absolutely adore the concept of it, but it’s a little harder for me to read than the Litha one. Vibes and Thematic Coherence: this one is like!!! it’s about the open space and the quietness. the vibes are IMMACULATE. the cards aren’t filled to the brim with happenstance and symbolism, but they each feel like a little refuge. very meditative. i also like that the court cards are not gendered at all - there is no page, knight, queen and king, but rather child, explorer, guardian and elder. i am really into that, especially as steps of mastery of their suit. i do think that this deck is probably easier to read if you’re more experienced with tarot meanings and symbolisms, because the illustrations aren’t necessarily that intuitive. Pamphlet: i haven’t read through this one very much, but i think it’s more on the abstract side of the Abstract to Direct scale. it might just feel like that because it describes what the card symbolizes without drawing much on what the card depicts - it is generally a pretty abstract and meditative deck. i like it for what it is! but it’s harder for me to read than my main Litha deck. Cardfeel: there’s something about the cardfeel i wish was different. they’re perfectly ok cards, they’re smooth and not too thin, but i still wish they had had more heft or something. while the cards fit very well into my hands i think maybe they could’ve been Larger to emphasize their motifs of openness and space. or texture. or gilded edges. i really don’t know what i want. the box however is very good and easy to open and use!! never underestimate a good box.

Tarot of the Divine by Yoshi Toshitani

this is a deck i Had To Get because i knew the artist was working on it and i was always Planning To... it is not a deck i use very often but i absolutey adore it. you can also get it with an accompanying fairytale book, i thought i had ordered that but i was Wronge. Vibes and Thematic Coherency: it depicts motifs and characters from stories, myths, and fairytales from a vast variety of cultures. it’s AMAZING. the art is so clean and crisp and i was VERY EXCITED to find a card drawing on a sami story (page of coins)! i don’t have a lot to say except that yoshi yoshitani has done some incredible work on this. Pamphlet: while i do not have the Fairytale Book edition, the pamphlet is really super nice because it shows pictures of the cards, lists what story it depicts and where the story is from, gives a short description for how this scene or character embodies the card. it then lists some of the Card Characteristics beneath. very simple but very nice. i really like pamphlets that explain Why the artist picked the motifs they did - for me personally it really helps me connect to the deck and their symbols. it’s probably more on the Direct side of the scale thanks to this. Cardfeel: these are textured!! they feel like the playing card deck my grandmother has, which feels apt to me. textures make the cards feel solid to me. they’re also a very nice size to hold. the edges are not guilded, but with the white frames it looks good and nice. the box is nice but also Large, possibly to fit with the book? might not be ideal for travel, but there’s nothing stopping you from getting a different box or pouch.

The Star Spinner Tarot by Trung Le Nguyen

my most recent deck... i KNEW about the artist and the deck from before, but wasn’t PLANNING to get it, but then i saw it in the comic book store and i wasn’t able to pass it by. no regrets, it’s a wonderful deck. Vibes and Thematic Coherence: absolutely lovely art and style. it’s another deck drawing on fairytale themed motifs. i’m loving the use of colors and circles. it also has four different cards for the Lovers so you can choose which one(s) speak to you the most, something i think is just wonderful. i think the only thing i found a little... odd? was that the suit of Wands looks kinda same-y, which isn’t a bad thing, but it was the only suit that looked that way to me. they’re still very very nice. ALSO THE BACK OF THE CARDS ARE SHINY. I JUST THINK THAT’S VERY LOVELY. as a Physical Product these are chef’s kiss. Pamphlet: on the Abstract to Directness scale, these are VERY DIRECT. the pamphlet doesn’t say a lot about why the cards depict what they do, but go straight into card meaning, and in a very unambiguous way. i think it can both work very well, leaving you little room to avoid your feelings, but it also has a higher margin to miss completely. for being such a cutesy deck full of fairies the pamphlet is definitely giving you a smack at the side of your head. i haven’t used this deck a lot yet due to its newness, but i definitely want to try it out more to see what it does to me.

Cardfeel: out of all of my decks i think this has the best cardfeel... the cards feel really solid, and have a very good size that feel just right for them. like i sort of fell in love with the deck when i actually started shuffling it and browsing the cards. buying cards - especially on the internet - can be a gamble because you Can’t Know The Cardfeel. with decks like the Spacious Tarot i got a little dissappointed, but this one was a very pleasant surprise. also the box is very good and look like a work of art. The Fyodor Pavlov Tarot

honestly one of my new favourite decks that i ABSOLUTELY am going to use more and become more familiar with. also a deck that i knew the artist was working on, and supported the kickstarter the moment it was announced. my deck also came with two Magician cards and i don’t know why. extra wizard for me??? Vibes and Thematic Coherence: the look and feel of this deck is Immaculate. it looks very classical and traditional (and absolutely gorgeous), it is grounded in the classical smith-waite imagery but Expands Upon It, draws on the diversity of human culture and experiences... also loving the energy of “THIS CARD IS TRANS NOW AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT” many cards have (most famously the Lovers, but i don’t want to post pics of any of the cards depicting nudity or risqué themes on tumblr). i absolutely adore the knight of coins card (THE HORSE IS HIS FRIEND AND SERVICE ANIMAL!!). it’s just Really Very Good. also the backside has pretty Shiny stars and i like it. Pamphlet: i really like this one. it is a deeply personal pamphlet, where fyodor pavlov directly discusses his relationship to the cards and why he chose the motifs he did. it feels really grounded in the world we live in, and also such a vulnerable thing to share with us all. it’s on the Direct side of the scale without necessarily telling you “the card is definitely this one thing”. my only wish is that it was easier to navigate at a glance. Cardfeel: THEY ARE TEXTURED!!! these cards are definitely long and slender and benefit someone with larger hands than mine, but i still like them a lot. i do wish they had been a smidge heavier just so i wouldn’t worry so much about damaging them... but i don’t want to be ungrateful. the deck and the box are wonderfully crafted. The Botanica Tarot by Kevin Jay Stanton

oh boy did i support the kickstarter for this one... i had actually bought the major arcana when it was the only version available, and then the artist decided to make a full deck. it’s an absolute work of art. Vibes and Thematic Coherence: oh boy oh boy does it serve vibes and thematic coherence. it’s Plants all the way down, OBVIOUSLY, but also like... every card in the minor arcana depicts their suit in its own way. like the range of coins/currency from various times and cultures?? AMAZING. looking at the art of this deck is a DELIGHT. every card manages to be beautiful and interesting despite there not being a single living creature depicted on any of them. i WILL say they, same as the spacious tarot, are not the most intuitive to read if you’re not super familiar with either the Plants or the meanings of the cards. Pamphlet: you can fit so much plant knowledge in this one. i got a version of the deck with a beautiful little book, but there’s also a small pamphlet that follows the deck itself (which i admittedly have not looked too closely at yet). there’s descriptions for why this specific plant has been chosen for each card, and then some Card Meaning Keywords. so definitely on the Abstract side of my imaginary tarot pamphlet scale, because you mostly have plant symbolism to go on. i haven’t done a lot of readings with this deck, i’ll be honest - but it’s a beautiful treasure that i adore. Cardfeel: they’re Smoothe and Guilded edges. they can feel a little wide for my hands, but not so much that i cannot shuffle. i think maybe a smidge of texture wouldve been good with this deck since it would fit the look of the painted art. i also did get like... a big kickstarter reward version of this deck. it came in a tin box with extra treasures and a cloth and pins... the actual card box itself is beautiful to look at, but i have to say that the one i got is VERY HARD TO OPEN. i might transfer the cards into a pouch if i want to be reading them more often. IKEA deck

yes this is a meme deck and i don’t really use it but I WANTED TO SHARE... i think the major arcana is very cool and funny, but i was dissappointed to find that the suit cards are just “ikea part but Multiple Times”. it also does not come with a pamphlet. also yes yes it’s funny that the names of the cards are spelled in a “silly ikea word language” BUT IKEA NAMES ARE JUST SWEDISH....... IT’S NOT A SECRET LANGUAGE IT’S JUST SWEDISH............ it’s a funny deck to have and it doesn’t take up much space so eh! shrugs!!! The Lubanko Tarot by Emily Lubanko

another kickstarter deck... it’s gorgeous but there is a chance i might gift it to someone else. not because i regret getting it or don’t like it, but because i already have so many decks that speak to me, while this one gives me vibes of serving someone else better. does that make any sense? i admittedly haven’t looked at the pamplet so much so i think i’m going to skip that description for this one. Vibes and Thematic Coherency: the MOVEMENT and the COLORS... it’s Capturing Feelings in a really good way. i mean. i got it for the vibes and it’s serving vibes. Cardfeel: Smoothe Cards. shiny silver edges, like a slippery fish in a rapid river. it feels good and right for this deck. also good box. i know most of these decks have Good Box, it’s just the botanica one that let me down by being difficult. The Oriens Tarot by AmbiSun

i don’t have this deck anymore, i gifted it to my boyfriend... i found these pics on my twitter. it’s one of the first decks i supported on kickstarter and it’s VERY pretty, and it has HOLOGRAPHIC RAINBOW EDGES HOT DAMN. it’s another one of those instances where i Yearned for it and then found that it didn’t fit me as well as i had hoped. tarot is just one of those things where you have to find what Works for you. at this time the children of litha was working so well for me and i really liked the depiction of animals in it, i wasn’t able to connect to another animal deck in the same way... and it was before my tarot collection snowballed into what i have now. C’EST LA VIE ... i don’t have a smith-waite deck. i’m a fake tarot fan. i am however familiarizing myself by following Jessica Dore on twitter and subscribing to her monthly newsletters. i really love how she talks about these cards and how she interprets them.

#tarot #i have also backed the alleymans tarot on kickstarter because of course i have.#i'll get back to you when i have it.

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

A Lover’s Kiss

Summary: After an unfortunate encounter with a mage, Jaskier finds himself cursed to never be kissed again unless he can find someone who loves him. Enter Geralt. (Also on my AO3)

Based on the prompt: A little bit of the bards chaotic behaviour getting him into some curse and Geralt saving the day? by @innocentcinnamonpun

Geralt swore as he approached the tavern where he’d left Jaskier. He could hear the brawling from the street and the sound drew out a long heavy sigh from the witcher. He hadn’t been away on the hunt long, it was why Jaskier had opted to stay behind to play his lute for coin instead. It was supposed to be the less dangerous place to be, and yet Jaskier had a penchant for trouble that Geralt just couldn’t fathom.

He consider drawing his sword before entering the tavern but that would most likely get them both in trouble. If he was lucky he’d be able to grab Jaskier by the scruff of his neck and pull them both out of there before any real damage was done. He huffed and double checked the fastenings on his armour before pushing open the door to the tavern.

As expected, Jaskier was in the middle of the fray. His doublet was torn open and he was pressed up against the wall by a cloaked individual who had a hand gripped around Jaskier’s neck. Geralt snarled and crossed the room, his presence creating a familiar silence in the tavern.

“Leave him be.” He growled.

The cloaked figure, a blonde woman with a freckled face and soft brown eyes, laughed a cold humourless laugh. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because whatever it is that you think he’s done. I can assure you he’s not worth it.” Geralt shot a weary glare at his friend.

Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed, presumably from too much wine, and his bright blue eyes were twinkling in the candle light.

“Geralt!” He grinned which was quite frankly a foolish reaction for someone who was about thirty seconds from being choked to death. “How was the hunt? Successful I take it.”

Geralt shrugged. “Drowners are dead. More worried about my bard that is currently in a death grip.”

“Shut up!” The woman hissed and Jaskier gasped as her grip tightened. Any protests he may have had were cut off by the lack of air. “Both of you!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and sighed. “What did he do?”

Jaskier croaked and mumbled something intelligible.

“This bastard tried to seduce my wife!” The woman hissed.

Geralt was almost tempted to leave the bard to his fate. How many times did he have to save Jaskier’s life because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself? The rumours of Jaskier being a eunuch hadn’t lasted long as his friend’s insatiable appetite for sexual pleasure had put those rumours to rest rather quickly. Geralt had two options that he could think of, use Axii on the woman and convince her that Jaskier hadn’t even looked at her wife, which was risky in front of a whole tavern, or find a way to put Jaskier’s lecherous ways to a stop, for good.

“I’m afraid there’s been a miscommunication.” Geralt grunted. “The man’s a bard.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” The woman cackled. “I know he’s a bard!”

“And part of his job is to charm people out of their gold.” Geralt continued with a tilt of his head. Jaskier was still gasping which meant he was just about able to breathe but he would probably pass out soon if Geralt couldn’t get the woman to release her grip.

“But not into their beds, witcher!” She snapped, and pressed her fingers harder against Jaskier’s neck.

The bard finally had the decency to look afraid, his startling blue eyes met Geralt’s wide and now full of worry. Geralt scowled and licked his lips.

“An act, I assure you.” He said through gritted teeth, as calmly as he could manage. “Please just let him go.”

“No!”

Geralt panicked as Jaskier’s eyes started to roll back. “We’re married!” He blurted out.

The blonde dropped Jaskier and Geralt caught the bard in his arms. Jaskier gripped onto Geralt’s armour and gasped loudly as he tried to catch his breath. “Geralt!” He mumbled. “Oh gods, I thought I was gone that time.”

The woman folded her arms in front of her chest and watched them both with narrowed eyes. “Married?” She asked.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, partly to steady him, and nodded. It was too late to back out now. “Married.” He agreed firmly.

“What?” Jaskier spluttered and Geralt jabbed him in the ribs. “Oh yes, married! I umm… I’m just surprised to hear Geralt say that out loud. We were keeping it a secret.” He muttered before standing up straight and rubbing his neck, wincing as his fingers brushed over tender skin.

Geralt frowned. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

The bard nodded. “I’ve had worse from jilted lovers…” He paused and grinned mischievously up at Geralt. “Husband.” He sang happily and kissed Geralt firmly on the lips.

Geralt grunted in surprise but allowed Jaskier to kiss him. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact Jaskier was a good kisser. Geralt suddenly knew why his bard had never struggled to find a partner to warm his bed. Before he knew what was happening, Geralt was kissing back. He found he wanted to kiss Jaskier, which was a shocking revelation to him. Up until that point he’d only really thought of the bard as a friend, and even then he’d never admitted it before now. The vibration of Geralt’s medallion was the only warning he had before he was torn from Jaskier’s lips and pulled violently away from the bard by some unseen force.

“Oi!” Jaskier snapped as he too was flung back against the wall. “I was enjoying that!”

“If you really are married then I assure you there won’t be a problem.” The woman who was apparently some kind of mage hissed. “You, bard, will not be able to kiss or bed anyone who is not in love with you.”

Jaskier spluttered. “Oh yeah, sure, Not a problem. None what so ever!” He smiled too sweetly, trying to regain his composure.

Geralt couldn’t help the faint smile that graced his lips. Now that was one problem solved for the foreseeable future, although he also did not doubt the bard’s ability to make anyone fall in love with him. At least it would put an end to the more casual trysts.

Geralt glowered at the blonde one last time for good measure before grabbing Jaskier’s hand and pulling him away from her. “Whilst I appreciate your concern, witch, if I see your hands on my husband again, there’ll be trouble.” He growled and then tugged Jaskier from the tavern.

They’d barely moved two feet away from the door when Jaskier let out a long groan. “Geralt.” He whined. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Geralt smirked and patted his bard on the shoulder. “You should have thought about that before you tried to sleep with a married woman, again.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you! I’ll have you know that she didn’t tell me!”

“They never do.” Geralt sighed. “Come on, let’s get Roach and move on.”

Jaskier grumbled and pulled on the lute strap across his chest. “Easy for you to say, you’ve not been cursed.”

____________

Jaskier was going mad. It had been three months since his run in with the mage and he hadn’t even been able to go to a brothel to satisfy his more lustful urges. It was like a constant itch just under his skin that he couldn’t scratch. It was irritable and quick to anger, even Geralt was pissing him off more than usual and normally Jaskier had a remarkable tolerance for the witcher’s grumpy moods.

He had hoped that the mage’s curse had been faked but a few failed attempts at even just kissing some truly stunning people had proved his hopes to be false. He hadn’t even had the time to woo anyone. He’d been too busy travelling with Geralt and gathering new stories for his ballads and poems.

It didn’t escape his notice that his last kiss had been the witcher, and oh what a kiss it had been! He hadn’t expected Geralt to kiss him back. He’d simply been taking advantage of the witcher’s lie to satisfy his own curiosity. Honestly, he’d been in love with Geralt since the moment he’d laid eyes on him in Posada but he’d never really expected to have a chance to kiss his crush, so he really couldn’t be blamed for seizing the opportunity when it arose.

He sighed and plucked too harshly at the strings on his lute. The tightest, highest string snapped under his fingers and he yelped. “Bollocks!” He groaned and sucked the now bleeding fingertip.

Geralt looked up from where he was prodding the fire with a stick and sniffed the air. “You’re bleeding?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can see that, Geralt.” He hissed and stuck his fingers back in his mouth.

Geralt sighed and crossed the camp in two long strides, taking Jaskier’s wrist gently in his hands and pulling the bleeding fingers from Jaskier’s mouth. He examined the wound carefully and hummed.

“I have some salve if you want but that should heal quickly on its own.” Geralt murmured and gave him a soft smile.

He’d been doing that a lot recently, smiling, especially at Jaskier. It was wreaking havoc with Jaskier’s feelings. His love for Geralt was burning brighter than it had in years. It almost felt like the brand new fire he’d felt in those first few years of travelling. After a while it had dulled to embers, never dying but more manageable and less painful, but now that love resembled a pyre or a brazier, a wildfire that spread through his entire body and there was nothing he could do to put it out.

It probably didn’t help that he couldn’t temper the flames with another warm body in his bed.

He was truly going mad.

He pulled his bleeding fingers from Geralt’s hand and glared at the witcher. “I’m fine, witcher.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not fine, Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yeah well, whose fault is that?” He snapped. “Married.” He muttered. “You couldn’t have thought of a better excuse?”

Geralt scoffed. “I saved your life, Jaskier.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the witcher and then flailed his arms. “To the contrary! I am dying, Geralt!”

“Stop being so dramatic.” Geralt grumbled.

“I am a bard!” Jaskier pouted. “Bards need to be kissed! To be loved!”

Geralt’s brow furrow and he huffed, spinning around so Jaskier couldn’t see his face.

“Oh yeah sure, just runaway from your mistakes. Again.” He snapped. He winced at his own words. It was a low blow after Cintra but Jaskier wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind. He made a note to apologise later when he’d managed to calm down a bit.

“Fuck.” Geralt growled and then spun around again, freakishly fast. He cupped Jaskier’s face in his hands and pulled Jaskier into a blistering kiss.

Jaskier squeaked, surprised by the sudden movement. Of all the things he’d expected Geralt to do, kissing him had been the last thing on the list. He’d been hoping to get away with not getting punched in the gut again after his cruel words.

But Geralt’s lips were on his and all other thoughts left his head. Geralt was kissing him…

Geralt was kissing him.

He pushed back on Geralt’s chest firmly with an indignant yelp. “Geralt!” He pointed at the witcher accusingly and stumbled back. “You. You kissed me!?”

Geralt blushed. Jaskier hadn’t even realised that was possible for witchers but here was Geralt blushing brighter than a ruby in the sunlight and all because he’d kissed Jaskier. The witcher grunted and stalked over to Roach.

“Oh no. No, no, no. No!” Jaskier trotted after him. “No riding away from me now, Geralt.”

“Shut up Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

“You love me!” Jaskier blurted out and then covered his mouth with his hands to stop a peal of laughter from escaping his lips. “You love me.” He mumbled again.

“Apparently so.” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier beamed at the witcher and bopped him on the nose. “Since when?” He laughed.

Geralt snarled and scrunched up his nose. “Doesn’t matter.”

Jaskier sighed dramatically. “Of course it matters, Geralt. It matters to me.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Jaskier tilted his head and gave the witcher his most charming smile. “Because I would like to know how long we could have been snogging each other senseless for.” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?”

“Oh my dear witcher. Surely you know that I love you? I’ve not exactly been subtle with the songs and the whole…” He waved his hands “following you around the Continent thing.”

“What?!” Geralt repeated with wide eyes.

Jaskier sighed and shook his head, taking Geralt’s hand in his. “I love you, Geralt. I have loved you since the moment I saw you. So forgive me for wondering when you began to feel the same way.”

“Not sure. Some time after the mage and the curse.” He grumbled. “Maybe before that. I never did like it when you fucked around.”

Jaskier laughed. “Oh ho ho! Geralt were you jealous?”

“No!” The witcher snarled. “Maybe.”

Jaskier couldn’t take it anymore he squeezed Geralt’s hand and leaned in for another kiss. Neither of them were surprised this time. It wasn’t as heated as the last kiss, they knew they could finally take their time to relish in the feeling. The kiss was slow and filled with all the yearning that had followed Jaskier around for years. He poured his heart and soul into the kiss hoping Geralt would see that it was alright to love him, that he didn’t need to hide it.

Geralt hummed as they pulled away. Jaskier opened his eyes to find his friend gazing at him with gorgeous amber eyes, smiling that half smile that drove Jaskier mad. “You love me.” Geralt murmured as his fingers stroked Jaskier cheek.

Jaskier nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “I do. I always have.”

Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s and closed his eyes. Jaskier smiled and chuckled, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist. “She was right then.”

“Who was right, darling?”

“The curse. It won’t be a problem after all.” Geralt laughed quietly at the revelation and Jaskier soon joined in before pulling the witcher into another kiss.

The first of many, he hoped.

Tag List: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @genkitaco

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing #a lover's kiss #I wrote this during Skyrim loading screens today #i hate skyrim loading screens #Sorry it took a while!

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