#the way she so adamantly said NO when he mentioned wanting to reveal his identity

[princekirijo]

Watching Spiderverse again and god Gwen's whole character arc fucks me UP someone give that girl a hug PLEASE

[fangirlovestuff]

Cycle - Steve Rogers x reader ch.5

Previously:  ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4

Summary: The morning after, you quietly left. The days after, you were constantly screwing up. Will you stop thinking about Steve, or maybe you won’t need to?

Word Count: ~2,300

Warnings: explicit language, brief mentions of smut

a/n- hey lovely people! and just like that, another Steve series had come to an end. I had a lot of fun writing this series, and thank you so much to everyone who gave me feedback on it, it’s super appreciated! italics are for thoughts and divider is by @whimsicalrogers​. Enjoy!<3

The next morning you surprisingly woke up before Steve did, and used this opportunity to sneak out of his apartment, going back to your place to change before you had to be at work again.

On the way home, all kinds of thoughts flooded your mind, starting with should I have left a note? And all the way to this was the biggest fucking mistake ever, why didn't I try to resist it more, now everyone's gonna say I'm a slut, and they'll be right.

But amidst that rose the memories of last night, of the feeling of Steve surrounding you, his hot breath against your skin, falling asleep in his arms. And you knew, if you had a time machine, no matter how much you're overthinking this now – you'd do it again.

The realization caused you to shake out of your reverie, breathing out a shaky breath and looking around the street to ground yourself a little.

Nothing was gonna happen, it's all gonna be okay, and even if Steve will never talk to me again, he'll still respect what we agreed on, you calmed yourself down as you entered your apartment, getting ready for another day.

Steve entered the training room, his thoughts still wandering to the events of last night. When he woke up this morning, you were already gone, but his amplified senses could still pick up on the scent of your perfume on the sheets next to him. He understood why you did it. He was old, but he still understood the social conventions of hooking up, and he knew what it meant when he agreed. But there was still a part of him that hoped to wake up and see your face. Maybe even get a chance to see you fall apart under him once more.

He shook those thoughts away. This is what you wanted, and he should respect it. this is when your paths part. For some reason, he felt sadder than he probably should've been. And yet, he couldn't help but feel a sense of smugness at the events of last night.

When he put his bag down he was greeted by a friendly slap on his shoulder. Smirking, he immediately turned around, catching onto the arm and tossing the "attacker" onto the floor. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "You knew it was me, man," he complained as Steve extended his hand to him and he got up.

"Always be ready," Steve shrugged and moved towards the middle of the mattress-covered floor. Sam narrowed his eyes towards Steve and followed him, standing in front of him and getting into position.

"You seem to be in an awfully good mood," Sam remarked. "Any reason why?"

"You, Sam," Steve said in mock emotion, "You are my sun and stars, and getting to see you this morning is the abso—"

Sam charged at Steve, but the latter quickly dodged his punch and kicked his leg, making Sam lose his balance and fall down for the second time that morning.

Steve chuckled. "Relax, Wilson," he said, "a little sarcasm hasn't killed anyone yet, and I for one don't want that to change."

Sam's face lit up with understanding. "You finally did it you bastard! You got laid! Who was it?"

Steve couldn't keep his face from blushing. Was he really being that obvious?  "None of your business. Besides, it was a one-night thing anyway," he shrugged, trying to regain his composure.

"Hey, if you don't wanna tell me, I'm fine with that. But when Barnes gets his hands on you…" Sam grinned.

Steve groaned. "Fuck," he whispered under his breath, fully knowing if Sam managed to figure it out, Bucky would too. "That's a problem for later," he shook his head. "For now, I think you need a refresher on balance," he raised his brow at Sam.

"Whatever," Sam scoffed, "fucking super soldiers," he grumbled while he got into position once more.

It's been five days since you last talked to Steve. Not that you were counting or anything. Five days of making a complete fool out of yourself were just kind of a lot.

The first day you thought you had it under control. Even though last night didn't involve as much sleep, you drank some coffee and figured it would be okay. You started daydreaming and nearly fell asleep, leaving your mixture to cool for too long, noticing it only when Kate tapped your shoulder to get your attention and having to start it all over again.

Well, the first day should be the worst and then it'll be fine right?

The second day you were thinking about whether you should text Steve or not while you were diluting a solution you were working on, but got the different concentrations confused and needed to start again, costing you more time and materials.

The third day you thought it would surely stop. After that day you needed to get a new fire extinguisher for the lab.

The fourth was Saturday, so thankfully you didn't have opportunities to embarrass yourself anymore, right?

Except you went out with your friends, got drunk and told them that you slept with this "super" cute guy and how everyone hates you now because you mess everything up. They calmed you down and comforted you at the moment, but they also got that on video and god knows you're never living that one down.

Thankfully, drunk me was still smart enough not to tell them who it was, you mused as you watched the video, your head pounding on Sunday, the fifth day since you had last spoken to Steve Rogers.

Which brings us here, Monday morning, five days after That Night.

You entered the office, setting down your bag and going over some paperwork when Kate knocked on your door.

"Hi! Come in," you greeted her with a smile.

"Good morning," she smiled back. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you. I don't want to overstep, but you've seemed a little… distracted, these last few days, and I was wondering why? I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, obviously, but if it could help you…" she trailed off, a little awkwardly.

You sighed. "No, it's okay, I should probably give at least a little explanation for my actions. But you're gonna think it's stupid," you warned with a smile. She nodded at you to go on anyway.

You wondered how you should phrase it. "Well, I guess I've been trying not to date for a while, to focus on my career here, you know. But a few days ago I went on a date with this guy and it was wonderful, but I haven't talked to him and he didn't talk to me and I'm just… wondering if I should try to change that," you said. That was close enough to the truth.

Kate pondered what you said for a moment and then spoke. "The way I see it," she said, "you need closure. Just try to talk to him. If something comes out of it, great, if he doesn't answer, that's still fine. Either way you're better off knowing, because if the last few days are any indication, I'd say you feel very bad not knowing," she said with a teasing smile.

"Maybe you're right," you smiled. "Anyways, I'm really sorry for the last few days. But it won't happen today. At least I'm pretty sure it won't happen today," you added with a chuckle. "I'll join you in the lab in a few minutes," you smiled at her and she nodded and left.

Much like you, Steve also wasn't having a great time.

That first day he ended up seeing Bucky, which earned him pestering for the rest of the day, but he adamantly refused to reveal your identity even to Bucky.

"C'mon Buck," Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm not telling you. That's it."

"That means it's someone I know! Oh, is it – "

"Lalalala, I can't hear anything you're saying," Steve reverted to the childish method and put his hands over his ears.

"Fine, sheesh. You gonna see her again at least?" Bucky asked.

"I don't know," Steve said with a sigh.

Steve's smugness only lasted the first day, and the rest of them were filled with increasing disappointment.

The second day Bucky managed to hit him in the face with his metal arm because he wasn't paying enough attention.

The third they had a briefing for a coming up mission, and Steve nearly fell from his chair at the sound of his phone beeping, thinking it could be you.

Saturday and Sunday were spent alone in his apartment, finishing the painting of the skyline and ignoring Sam's and Bucky's texts. When he finished the painting he was so tempted to ask Bucky for your phone number and send you a picture of it, but he figured that would be weird. Instead, he started another painting, and without even noticing he started sketching your face. Way to go Rogers, you managed to be weird anyway, he thought and threw away the sketch.

When he came to work Monday, he thought he got over the whole deal.

Sam greeted him at the training room, ready for another mission. "You alright Rogers?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, my phone was just turned off," Steve shrugged, thinking Sam was wondering why he was… how do they say it? ghosting him?

"I didn't mean this weekend," Sam said, "how did you let Barns get you that good last week?"

"I guess I was just distracted," Steve shrugged, getting in position.

"You never get distracted," Sam stated, "you are literally the most prim and proper person I know. That one time Bucky and I argued for an hour next to you, and you didn't even notice, what's up?"

"That's not true, I did notice, I just ign-"

"See, that's a lie, because if you actually got distracted by what we were doing while you worked you would've asked which time I was talking about," Sam smirked.

"Whatever," Steve rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face.

"So, who's getting you so distracted? Was it mystery girl?"

"Um, yeah," Steve chuckled. "Look, it doesn't really matter right now, we should –"

"I knew it!" Sam laughed, "you just can't do one-night-stands, can you?"

"I-" Steve trailed off.

"Look man, it's just who you are. Go talk to her," Sam said.

"Maybe," Steve said, and then, without warning, made a blow at Sam that he managed to avoid.

"Always be prepared, right?" Sam said, a smug smile on his face.

"Right," Steve answered, smiling.

You were just packing up in your office, ready to go home. Thankfully, today had been free of awkward mistakes.

There was a knock at your door and you called them to come in, thinking it could be Kate, but in front of you was standing, causing you a serious Deja-vu, Steve. I spoke too soon didn't I?

"Hey," he said, scratching his neck.

"Hi," you whispered unintentionally. You cleared your throat and asked in a stronger voice, "Uh, can I help you?"

"Well, yeah," Steve said. "I wanted to ask… will you listen until the end of what I'm about to say?" he smiled and chuckled awkwardly.

"Sure," you frowned a little and came to stand in front of him.

"I was kind of… making a fool of myself the last few days. Not calling you was the main foolish thing but also, Bucky hit me in the face because I was thinking about calling you," he grimaced. "And… I know we agreed about no strings attached, but I can't stop thinking about you. In a non-creepy way," he quickly added with another awkward chuckle. "So, I wanted to ask if maybe you'd like to attach the strings?" he smiled. "Go on a date sometime? Obviously, I get it if you say no, but I just really wanted to ask. So, yeah," he looked away at the bookshelves surrounding you.

You gladly refrained from telling him about the times you’ve made a fool of yourself those days. "Yes, I'd love to go on a date sometime," you smiled and put your hand on his cheek, drawing his gaze towards yours. His face lit up with a smile, and then he was kissing you. It was the kind of kisses that left you breathless, the kind of kisses you felt like you could live on. Maybe even a true love's kiss.

"It's probably because you had a really good teacher. I mean, with that level of game, how could I say no?" you smiled.

"Probably," Steve agreed with a soft smile.

You couldn't contain yourself and kissed him again, cupping his face in your hands while his large hands were placed on your waist, drawing you close.

"Pay up, Barnes," Sam said smugly.

"No way! Look, what if the mystery girl is-"

Bucky trails off and smirks once he sees the two people who are walking through the lobby, where he and Sam were standing. Sam turns around and sees what he sees – You and Steve, walking hand in hand, giving each other total heart eyes. Steve raises your connected palms and kisses the back of your hand.

"Shit," Sam said under his breath.

"Pay up, birdman!" Bucky said with a shit-eating grin.

It's funny how life works. Right when you decide to stray clear of men, it brings you the sweetest one you've ever met, and you can't resist his baby blue eyes, looking at you so adoringly. Once you decide to be a little more of a player, change to get what you want, it brings you the most beautiful woman who doesn't need you to change at all.

In this case, opposites definitely attract. Together, they can achieve the most beautiful thing in the world – love.

and the curtain goes down on another Steve series. Thank you so much for reading, ily<3

Taglist:  @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​  @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000

Cycle Taglist: @dee-vn @alex747 @itsangelpie-supports

if you wanna join / be removed from these taglists, comment/message me! much love <3

[emma-what-son]

Is this one of the few times Emma was truly honest in an interview? (mostly)

This is an old interview from 2012. It's been a while since I read it, but only after reading it now do I realize how honest Emma really was here. I believe that we don't really know the real Emma. We know Emmione, the image she wants us to have of her.

She admits here how it was easier to be Emmione than to convince people otherwise and in the years after she really took the image to new heights. Read the full interview here.

We are seated on a velvet brown banquette at a corner table in a grand hotel in New York. Breakfast sits untouched as she stares at her face on the cover of Emma Watson: the Biography. She is dressed in a baggy jumper with her hair pulled back; her young-looking expressive face currently registers anguish. Previous interviews with Watson have portrayed her as a self-possessed, mature young woman who acknowledges her luck and gratitude in abundance. Perhaps, as she will later say, if I'd met her on a different morning, that side of her would have been present.

But there is another side. Someone who remains, despite her best efforts, emotionally overwhelmed by the vibrations of fame.

We had just begun to talk about the hazards of being a private person in a public world when, as a gesture to underline the absurdity of it all, I pulled out of my bag a copy of the unauthorised biography - a book that chronicles how it feels to be Watson, despite the fact she never met the author.

It hit a nerve. She has it in her to laugh it off, but this morning it has elicited a raw and unfiltered response. Tears fill her brown eyes, which remain unblinking and fixated on the cover image of herself. It stares back. She can't look away as she tries to make sense of it. "I read these pages and it has nothing to do with my real life, with who I am. It is a piece of fiction, but that's my face on the cover."

She is holding the book with both hands and turns suddenly defiant. "The first time I saw this book was when I was on the set in New Orleans," she states. "For The End of the World - a movie I just did. This super-cute 11- or 12-year-old girl came up to me and she had pages folded down and she had her special bookmark in it. It looked like she'd been carrying it around for a while. And she really wanted me to sign it. It's really weird that it's not just Hermione who has become someone important to people who love those books, but the idea of who Emma Watson is too."

That she refers to herself in the third person shows how removed she is from her public persona.

Indeed, she says it feels like she has three selves: Fictional Emma, Real Emma, and then the person she happens to be playing at the time. Since the age of nine, that person has been Hermione Granger.

Watson has been a famous person for 13 of her 22 years. Her tearful manner reveals she is not hardened to the realities of it. "I started off at the beginning of the [Harry Potter] series adamantly protecting my own sense of self and my identity as Emma," she says. The book has now been placed, cover down, in the space between us. "I was this nine-year-old who would be sat in these interviews going, 'No, I'm not anything like her, I'm different because of this and this and this - at nine." She sighs.

"People would say, 'You are really Hermione, aren't you?' and it went on and on till it got to a point where I said, fine. It's easier for me to say we're one person because that keeps everyone happy. I'll go with that."

The parallels were convenient to draw. Hermione and Watson were both hard-working, cerebral, academically driven students who aim high, get straight As, and are eager to please. But what separates Watson is that she's an emotional person. She has unresolved and conflicted feelings that surface occasionally, as they have on this morning. "Today is the first day of the craziness," she says, referring to the two weeks of non-stop publicity she has ahead, promoting her latest film, The Perks of Being a Wallflower. "I walk out of my apartment and there are paparazzi there. I'm flying to LA and then Toronto and then New York and back to London - it makes me emotional because it's intense."

Does she have the constitution to be a big movie star? "I've thought about that a lot," she says. "And no, I don't have the constitution to be a big movie star. Or a big celebrity." She pauses. "But I do have the constitution to be a good actress. Some of the stuff is really hard for me. But I really like my job when I'm doing my job. It's just there's this weird blur that's happened between being a celebrity and being an actress."

Okay, she was mostly honest in this interview. About her image at least, and I sympathize with her struggles growing up as a teenager, but I believe she truly enjoyed the fame that came with being an actress.

She looks exasperated. "I was interviewed at 13 or 14, and the journalist said, 'So that means you'd never have to work for money?' and I said yes. The quote was, 'I never have to work for money again,' and that quote has haunted me.

Nah, she was 18 when she said that. X

She shakes her head when I ask if she has any indulgences. "I don't have a need for a lot of money right now. I'm still renting my house. I'm travelling for film work: the studios usually put me up. I still stay at my parents' house. I have my one car - I didn't buy an expensive car because I'm a terrible driver. I'd trash it. So I pay for my phone and my laptop, and I bought a record player - I like records - nice little things like that, but I don't even feel like it [money] is there.

She forgot to mention the ski lodge she bought in 2008. X X

Her schedule is full. At the end of next year she'll begin Beauty and the Beast, and she's talking with the director, Guillermo del Toro, about whom he will cast as the Beast. The project came about when she was sent the script, and she chose del Toro as the director, a mark of her power, stature and taste.

That seems to be Emma's version of what happened. That WB had a script that they sent and that she went to Del Toro with it.

NYtimes 2012: And then I’m doing a film with Guillermo [del Toro] next summer, and I went to him and said Warner Brothers have given me the script for ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ but the only way I’d really want to do it is if you did it. And then miraculously he said, ‘Oh, funnily enough ‘Beauty and the Beast’ is my favorite fairy tale, I can’t let anyone else do this, I’ll start putting a team together.’

But it seems that Del Toro was the one who wrote the script.

From snitchseeker.com June 2012 (From Emma’s Q&A with fans), “Q1 - What’s happening with Beauty and the Beast? Emma: Guillermo del Toro, the director, has just finished editing his last film and is working on the script and pre-production for Beauty and the Beast.”

From Deadline June 2014: EXCLUSIVE: Guillermo del Toro has withdrawn as the director of Beauty, the live-action revisionist take on Beauty And The Beast that has Emma Watson attached to star. Warner Bros has started the process of finding a new director. Del Toro had other commitments, but he’s still firmly part of the movie. He wrote the script, and he’s producing the film with Denise DiNovi. Del Toro is directing the haunted house pic Crimson Peak.

We've discussed all this before of course, but I was bored so...

[prince-claremont-diaz]

Whatever We Become

Summary: In Lucas’ final year of high school before he has to face the real world, he comes across the new identical twins, Eliott and Leo. Needless to say, Lucas falls head over heels for both of them. 

Or The twin au absolutely no one asked for

Word Count: 2k

Ao3 version

Chapter Sixteen: We’re all here for you 

For the rest of the weekend, Lucas spent most of his time in bed, only occasionally getting up for food or the toilet. After getting home at almost midnight, after wandering around the city aimlessly for hours, he had done a poor job of cleaning and wrapping up his hand and then retreated to his bedroom for the rest of the night. He adamantly ignored his roommates' concerned questioning from the other side of the door, instead choosing to stay wrapped up in his duvet.

On Saturday evening, on his way back from the toilet again, Lucas noticed a piece of black fabric sticking out from under his shelf full of books, leaning down with knitted eyebrows as he lifted it up. As though burnt, he dropped it on the ground as he realised what it was; Eliott's hoodie.

Despite his best efforts to just ignore it, Lucas ended up wearing the hoodie for the rest of the weekend. It swallowed him whole, the sleeves going past his hands and the hem falling to mid thigh, allowing him to curl up in a tiny ball. He could smell Eliott every time he breathed in, filling his lungs with the familiar scent of cologne, a bit of smoke and something chocolatey.

At 2 in the morning on Monday, as Lucas curled up in the corner of his bed with Eliott's hood covering his head, Manon's voice filtered in through the bedroom door, accompanied by a hesitant knock. "Lucas?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Before he could protest, the door creaked open and Manon stepped inside. She clicked the door shut behind her, leaning against the wall and looking at Lucas tucked into the corner.

"Manon, I don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

Manon shook her head, stepping closer to the bed. She had unmistakable tear tracks on her cheeks and in the low light of his table lamp, Lucas could see her eyes sparkling from unshed tears.

"Me neither," she replied in a whisper, "Can I maybe just… sit here for a while?" Lucas nodded, pulling aside his covers to allow her to climb in next to him. Wordlessly, she settled with her head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her. She sniffled, wiping away a tear from her cheek.

They stayed like that for a while, sitting together in comfortable and mutually melancholic silence. Despite the constant sinking feeling in his chest since Eliott's disappearance, Lucas felt a sort of solace like this, easily wrapped up with a close friend in quiet affection and empathy.

After a while, Manon finally spoke up, sitting up a little and looking down at the bed. "Lucas… your hand. What happened?" she asked. Lucas followed her gaze, suddenly remembering his poor hand.

"I thought we weren't talking about it."

"But you're hurt," Manon insisted, sitting up fully and trying to take his hand, "That looks really painful, Lucas."

Lucas pulled his hand away, as if her skin were made of fire. Manon gave him a look, shoulders slumping, a pleading look in her eyes. Lucas softened, taking a deep breath. Who was he to try to defy her motherly instincts? "The other night… after something happened, I was upset and took it out on a wall," he explained vaguely, fiddling with the corner of the gauze.

"Oh, Lucas." Manon delicately held his hand, inspecting the bandages up close, turning his hand over and around. "You want me to help bandage it properly? No more questions asked," she suggested, a tiny smile perking up in the corner of her lips. Lucas nodded quietly and then they clambered out of bed and out into the hall.

Once the bandage, which was covered in dark, dried blood, was off, Manon winced at the sight. Even Lucas had a double take. All of his knuckles were red and raw, bruised at the edges, skin slightly torn to reveal raw pink. His fingers were badly scraped up as well, painted with the ugly black and blue of his bruising. "Can you move your fingers?" Manon asked, looking away from his hand and up at Lucas. Carefully, Lucas was able to open and close his hand and fingers. Though it ached, he didn't feel anything out of place. "I don't think anything's broken, nothing's swollen and you can move them." Lucas nodded again.

Manon pulled the first aid kit out from behind the mirror and properly cleaned and used antiseptic on all the many cuts and gashes. Lucas hissed at the burning of the antiseptic but stayed otherwise silent as he let her fix him. Once that was finished, she moved on to wrapping the cuts with more bandages.

"Charles dumped me," she blurted after a few minutes, almost finished wrapping his hand up, "On Friday." She finished, letting go of his hand and leaning against the sink.

Lucas frowned deeper, heart sinking. He knew how Manon felt about Charles. Sure, Lucas always thought he was a bit of a prick, but when he made his friend happy, Lucas didn't care. But now. Now Lucas was having to hug her as she cried into his shoulder at 3 am in their bathroom because of him.

"Let's just go to bed," Lucas suggested once she had calmed down somewhat, reduced to just sniffles.

Manon nodded and without another word, a silent agreement between the two of them, they both went to sleep in Lucas' room.

◇

Lucas walked into school that morning like a dead man. He didn't bother fixing his hair or eating breakfast, only changing into a different hoodie besides Eliott's. His feet scuffed the pavement, ankles weighed down by invisible chains, hood pulled up, head down, running on only a couple hours of sleep. While Manon's presence had certainly helped somewhat, it had still been near impossible to get to sleep.

As he trudged into the courtyard, muttering a somber goodbye to Manon, he caught sight of Yann, Arthur and Basile standing in their usual spot, talking animatedly about something. Upon his entrance, the boys paused their conversation to greet him.

"Woah, hey, man. What the hell happened?" Yann asked once Lucas was close, glancing down at his bandaged hand and back at the deep purple bags under his eyes.

Lucas brushed his friend's comment away, swatting his uninjured hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Can we not talk about it?" His voice, which he had barely used all weekend since screaming for Eliott, came out harsh and scratchy and surprisingly bitter. He cleared his throat.

"You sure? We're always here for you. You know that," Arthur said, grabbing one of Lucas' shoulders comfortingly, a sympathetic smile on his face. Lucas shook his head. "Okay, man, that's okay. But we're still here if you change your mind," he added, ruffling Lucas' hair under the hood.

The bell for classes rang through the courtyard and Arthur, Yann and Lucas started to make their way into the building. Basile, however, stayed back. "Aren't we gonna wait for Eliott?" he asked, holding his arms up as if to say "Duh."

"I don't think he'll be coming, Bas," Lucas said bitterly, already starting towards the school once again.

The other four followed him towards the building and then Lucas and Arthur split off together to head towards Chemistry. "You sure you don't wanna talk about it? I'm all ears," Arthur said as they made their way down the science corridor together, pushing past others trying to get to class.

"Yes, Arthur. Just leave it," he snapped, scowling at his friend. "Please." He looked pleadingly at his friend.

"Okay," Arthur replied. After a beat, "Do you wanna hear about my weekend then? My mum said the most outrageous thing at dinner on Saturday…" And without any further mention of Lucas' issues, Arthur easily slipped into a usual rant about his mother.

After trying to write notes using his injured hand, Lucas was already starting to feel the extent of his injuries. Each time he gripped his pen too hard, his whole hand ached horribly, making him wince. Initially, Arthur stayed silent, watching him write through the pain without any comment.

But eventually, when the pain was too overbearing, making him clench his jaw and tears prick in his eyes, Arthur nudged his elbow, leaning closer. "I know you said to leave it, but that looks really painful. What happened?" Arthur asked, eyes pleading and concerned.

"It's so fucked up, Arthur."

"Okay, one second," Arthur said and then he was raising his hand. "Lucas' hand hurts, can I take him to the nurse?" Arthur carefully lifted Lucas' wrist to show his bandaged hand to their teacher.

"And why do you need to go with him?"

Arthur shrugged. "What if the pain is too much and he faints in the hallway? Someone's gotta catch him." he replied nonchalantly. Lucas gaped at his friend.

Not ten seconds later, they were both out in the hallway together. "Come on," Arthur whispered, grabbing his wrist and pulling Lucas along the corridor. Lucas stumbled after him for a few minutes until they reached an empty classroom, which Arthur promptly tugged him inside and settled on top of one of the desks.

"Why did you do that?" Lucas asked, sitting down in front of Arthur on another desk and fiddling with a loose strand of his bandage.

"More privacy. Less writing for your poor hand, too," Arthur said, as if it was nothing. As if he hadn't just done one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him. "Did something happen with Eliott, then?" Arthur prompted, gesturing to Lucas' hand.

Lucas nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "It's so fucked up, Arthur, seriously," he replied, "We went on a date on Friday and he rented out this old theatre to watch some black and white movie just the two of us and it was… so good. It was wonderful…" Lucas trailed off, remembering how Eliott had looked in the faint glow of the screen, heart aching with the ghost of a memory.

"But he was acting sort of weird and jittery and going on about this crazy story about popcorn. Then he wanted to go for a walk even though the film wasn't over yet," he continued, heart picking up pace with a distant, constant worry. "He had a joint which we smoked as well while we walked, but then I sat down for a minute and I was distracted and he just...disappeared. I had no idea where he went and I had to call Leo." Lucas broke off, breathing heavily before he could finish. "Eliott had tried to jump off a bridge."

Arthur's eyes widened, eyebrows raising almost to his hair line. "Seriously?"

Lucas nodded again. "Leo came to the bridge and he yelled at me before he got a call that Eliott had been found," Lucas continued, voice hoarse and wobbly, "He told me Eliott's bipolar." Lucas finished his explanation with tears pricking his eyes, bitterness settling in his stomach along with butterflies flapping mercilessly in his gut.

"Fuck, Lucas," Arthur said, shaking his head in disbelief, "That must have been terrifying."

"It was. I had no idea where he went and he was talking about how we should die that night because we had peaked or something." Lucas lifted his bandaged hand weakly, looking at the raw skin of his fingers, which weren't covered by the bandage. "After Leo left, I punched a wall."

Arthur winced, screwing his eyes shut. "Do you… know if he's okay now? You said they found him, but if all that happened, I wouldn't be surprised if he was still feeling like shit," Arthur asked hesitantly.

Lucas scoffed. "Leo wouldn't even let me go with him to see him, so I don't fucking know," he remarked, a sour taste in his mouth, "All I know is that he's crazy."

"You know, I'm not an expert, but I'm guessing when Leo yelled at you, he was just scared for Eliott. If he's got an actual disorder, this sort of thing could have happened before, so he was probably just worried about that," Arthur pointed out, "I know for a fact that you sometimes snap at people when you're stressed or worried."

Lucas laughed bitterly. "Am I that awful of a friend?"

Arthur shook his head intently, slinging and arm around Lucas' shoulders and pulling him closer. "I'd say you're a pretty good friend even when you're a stressed out ball of anger," he replied with a light chuckle, "But really. Just give them both time."

"But Arthur, do I need to have two crazy people in my life? I don't know if I can handle that."

Arthur squeezed his shoulders, pulling away just slightly to look him in the eyes. "You like Eliott a lot, right?" he asked.

Lucas nodded. "More than I've ever liked anyone else. He was… he was special…"

"Then isn't he worth it?" he asked, pulling away to clamber off of the desk. "If you really like him more than anyone else, if he's really that special, I think it's worth it. He's definitely worth at least trying, I think." Arthur held onto Lucas' shoulders, holding onto his gaze. "Eliott's a good guy, Lucas. It's obvious he makes you happy, so I wouldn't let him go so easily just because it's hard." Lucas sniffled and only then did he notice his cheeks were wet.

"Do you really think I'm capable of that?" he asked faintly, cheeks flushed and damp. He glanced up at Arthur, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth.

"If you can tolerate Bas, I'm certain you can handle anything," Arthur joked, lightly pushing his shoulder. He frowned again. "But really, Lucas. You've got a whole lot of love to give and I think Eliott deserves to get some of that."

Lucas huffed a laughed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and blushing once again. "Thanks, Arthur," he muttered sincerely, shooting Arthur a small yet grateful smile.

"Anytime," Arthur replied, pulling Lucas to a standing position to give him a proper bear hug, squeezing him tightly. "Now we should probably go back to class before they realise we definitely aren't in the nurse's office." Arthur pulled away from the hug and together they walked back into the corridors and made their way back to class.

Lucas felt just a little bit lighter after that.

AN Sorry for the radio silence on this fic, I started taking another class and I have virtually no free time anymore. 

[demytasse]

[Shinzaya] Hold Me Tight (Or Don’t) — Ch 3

Previous Chapters: Chapter 2 | All Chapters

—

   Morning rituals were only good for their reliability—not their interest. They might conform with the trends of time; transform into something novel with new means to set the mould, but they always wound up a formulaic bore and predictable as the people who accessorised the unremarkable event. They were a mere bringer of happenstance.

Which Izaya's present gift from his trusty schedule came in the form of his nag of a friend who melded with the shadow on his left and sought to initiate any kind of annoyance. At the moment it was Shinra's hope to converse with an added twine of their dominant fingers as they walked the halls. The contact wasn’t needed, the touch wouldn’t be sincere, and their frozen palms needn't chill the both of them.

His attempts didn’t work, though he did try—and kept on—despite how Izaya shooed them away.

Izaya knew the conversation Shinra insisted would be a nuisance by default, but a day later in retrospect he’d claim that he prophesied exactly how chaotic their morning would turn, and precisely knew that detrimental intel would be gained as a result.

And if he told a soul, he’d explain how the giveaway was the digging grip around his bicep that demanded Shinra be paid attention—a tad different than the normal ritual.

    “Come on, Izaya, listen! I have a brilliant scenario for club today!"     “Can I stop you there?”     “Just hear me out.” Izaya side-eyed his friend.     “It actually involves studying, you know.”     “That doesn’t instil me with confidence.”

    “If you let me talk you’ll see that it’ll accomplish the opposite.”

    “Ah, even more so I’m skeptical.”

Shinra huffed. It was fake.

Though Izaya could tell how patient Shinra tried to be as to not ruin what he’d undoubtedly planned in depth. Which meant he wouldn’t let up no matter how long the reveal was delayed or sidetracked—ignored with little success.

    “Do I have the floor now?”

Izaya sighed, rubbed at tired eyes; revolved his other hand to indicate that Shinra should just get on with it.

    “Splendid!” 

    He cleared his throat enthusiastically. “So like I’ve mentioned in the past, I’m aware of your proclivity to lust over my form while we change in the locker room.”     “Shinra, you’ve never mentioned that,” he rolled his eyes upon instinct.

    “I’ve never explained how obvious your voyeuristic tendencies are?”

    “Perhaps you’re confusing me for you since it seems you’re the one paying explicit attention.”

    “Well it doesn’t matter, you won’t have to rely on those stray glances and pitiably gazes after today.”

    “Enlighten me, vice club president, what’s this supposed bullet on our agenda?”

Unconsciously they’d trekked an optimal route that avoided extra eyes and additional foot traffic. Still, Izaya looked about to make sure no one followed close enough to make a rumour of whatever nonsense Shina was about to explain.

    “Well since you’re finally amenable I’ll cut to the chase. I've come up with a sort of team bonding exercise, a warm-up if you will, to ease ourselves into the ceremonious sex life we’ve yet to start. Thus, I propose that we entertain our teenage libidos with a rousing yet sensual strip teas—”

His perverse fantasy was cut with a solid body-check.

    "Shinra, for the love of whatever god... I want none of what I so kindly prevented you from further revealing."

    "You mean our bodies or the truth?"

    Izaya asked deadpan, "wait...the truth?"

    "Yes! Revealing the truth.”

    "Which is…?"

    "That you want me!"

    "Rather blunt, even for you."

    Shinra shrugged, "as if you don't know my spiel."

    "Ah, so I do. In that case, I'll skip my own to save me the trouble."

Startled—Izaya’s hand was taken into Shinra’s grasp who sparkled in spirit.

    "I was right then." 

    "Not even in the slightest!" He yanked his hand back, scowled while he rubbed the audacity off his skin, “don’t colour my response with your confirmation bias.”

    "You're so cruel, Izaya!" Each word was whined in woe. 

Stray students that Izaya feared would show up covered their ears while they searched for whom to grumble at, but only found a chilling threat. The few of them dispersed and abandoned the duo.

    "Indeed, I am."

    "At this rate, I'll grow old and undesirable before anything can happen."

    "That's not my problem."

    "Well I insist that you make it your problem! That way I can fix it just like I tend to your ailments and injuries. I won't be made a defeatist just because you adamantly deny the fact that you want me to touch you up—in more than one way." 

A chuckle hung up Izaya.

    "And what a touchy subject that you fail to drop. You know that I can turn you into the officials for your sexual advances and disrespect of my wishes at any time. Wouldn’t that solve my problems just as well?”

Izaya cocked his smirk and crossed his arms; expectant of Shinra’s surrender going without a hitch. In lieu of that, another form of hitch formed in Shinra’s breath as he remembered the time when Shizuo was turned-in for a dumb reason.

Still, his rebuttal was found after a shiver, hitched a ride from the relief, and realigned their pace.

    "Come on now, Izaya, you know we both ignore morality; at the very least I do and admit it. So rest assured, I'll hit you up again with the idea later on."

    "Oh, I hardly doubt that you will, my dear friend."

Shinra hummed—pat Izaya on the shoulder with a self-confident smile.

    "Okay!"

His peculiar response ended their conversation on an awkward note, it really didn't go along with what Izaya said prior and if that weren't normal he would have taken offence that he wasn’t listened to.

Thus it was thrown aside in favour of continuing their circuit of identical corners and walkways; intentionally without a care of how close it was until homeroom.

Though the energy from before died down quickly before they started down a new avenue of discussion.

    “But to be honest, I've thought about us more."

Curious of what necessitated a 'but' precursor and a drop in his tone—a mention of ‘us’—Izaya flipped attention towards his pensive friend. Whom was overly so and a little too unsure of himself.

    "We're friends...right?”

Izaya tripped over his footing as well his thoughts.

    “Dubiously so, but here we are." 

He swatted his...dubious friend as if the tease would kill the heavy air; out of habit Shinra didn’t flinch nor release the somber tilt from his lip.

    "Yeah...so,” he hesitated, “doesn't that mean you won't connect unnecessary feelings to us having sex?"

The mood dissolved into sickness as Izaya listened to the full reel.

    “That's a boon, right?”

    “A boon, hmm?'

    "Right. I mean, it should be…" he trailed off.

    "I suppose to you that’s all I am—” Izaya frowned, “rather, that’s what I am to you; a tool for your selfish whims."

Shinra readjusted the strap on his bag, further fidgeted to correct an uncomfortable hang that persisted its agitation.

    “Mmm, seems you remember what this whole plan is for: to prevent me from shamefully disappointing Celty, correct?"

    Is he questioning me with what he’s spouted to me?

    "Tch, how could I forget the disgusting mental image of you two going at it when you keep reminding me of it?"

It was strained, but Shinra managed to slip into the reminiscent smile he wore whenever his love interest was brought up.

    "How could you suggest that? Anything that involves Celty is purely beautiful. Which in respect of my angel I want to remain pure for her, despite my obviously tainted thoughts."

Once again he held some restraint and it seemed unbeknownst to the teen himself like he half-mindedly kept to an abused script rather than ad-libbing. Which Izaya decided to lean into the sudden turn as punishment or to defend his own feelings—both really.

    "You do realise your logic makes no sense? Having sex strips you of your virginity."

    "Naturally. Which is the exact reason that I’m purely opting for male relations, it's not quite the same as making love with a woman, but similar enough setups and motions. Therefore it keeps me a virgin in the important way.

    "Although, if I’m going after an older woman, that is quite the perversion. Un-pure, in fact. Oh. Oh no… Will that tamper with Celty's purity if she goes after me: a man centuries younger than herself…?”

His prior confliction seemed forgotten for a moment as he fell into his practised character.     “Get to your point, pervert.”

    "Err, right… perhaps you know this, but it's said that only fools will rush haphazardly into things without regard. Which, one and the same, I’m that fool whom the wise men speak of; hopelessly in love and blinded by it. Where do you think that puts me, Izaya? I’m at the precipice of doing whatever it takes to fulfil my goal.”

To this he performed a hard pause and stared beyond Izaya’s sight into his mind, both conscious and unconscious; it unnerved him, made him sweat.

    “I’m not the only one you could use. There are heartless bastards who are just as absent of a mind. Easier to puppeteer.”

    “I don’t particularly have a deathwish, I’d rather mess around with you than wrestle with a dimwit beast like Shizuo.”

Shinra flinched in preparation of being mauled by violent repercussion as if said beast was actually present. If it was a joke to lighten both their moods it went ignored.

While his friend comedically struggled with traumatic memories, Izaya explicitly worried about himself. How the previous implication deemed their friendly get-togethers more as a requirement of acquaintances to fulfil a specific purpose.

Izaya watched Shinra emote through a summoned monologue while stuck on mute. His mouth flapped silently, looked playful a few separate times while he nudged Izaya with a wry wink. His bright smile would immediately fall whenever he didn’t get a response before he'd continue—defeated. 

Whatever he rambled was in vain.

Though the absent audio made Izaya's internal voice scream.

Somewhere within him nagged a question of if he’d actually made up his mind—if he really wanted none of the sexual intimacy that Shinra kept offering, with or without either of them smitten. He didn’t and he wasn’t, he really wanted none of that baggage. 

Yet there was tension, and it’d been eating away at his brain; the swirls of muscle that had become a victim of jealousy, a parasite that started to take over his rationale, motor skills, and more.

    "...plus he's not as much my type aesthetically unlike y—"

Shinra turned mute for real as he went stiff —was killed on the spot, stood a corpse in rigour mortis.

At the changed demeanour Izaya scrunched his features to a focal point, that is until he looked down the hall. It appeared that the devil was summoned by his repeated mention—Shizuo, the dolt who'd surely wreck both of their mornings.

    Moderately, Shinra began to shake. "Oh god, he heard me."

Given the grim aura that surrounded Shizuo, Izaya gathered that he was one agitation away from ornery, which bode terribly.

    Izaya masked his nerves with a sigh, "Shinra that's improbable. Maybe not impossible, considering his inhuman hearing, but—"

    "The hell did you manipulative bastards do?!" 

As if to prove the hypothesis, Shizuo locked sight on them, his ornery scowl confirmed; with a chip on his shoulder, a prominent rip on his jacket’s shoulder.

Decidedly he must have read their racked nerves as damnation of some ploy that hadn’t been actioned, or maybe it had, Izaya wasn’t sure if Shinra had set up something fishy.

    "Surprising as it is for your amateur reasoning, Detective Gumshoe, we did nothing."

Shizuo looked between Izaya and Shinra in doubt and looped through his scrutiny again. Oddly enough he settled shifty eyes on the other teen though targeted both of them—just to be unfair.

    "Eep!!" Shinra weaved a hyperbolic squeal into his legitimate reason to falter.

Though there wasn’t an excuse for his dart around Izaya to create a safe base out of him, both slim and inefficient. Especially there wasn’t a good reason for Shinra to grasp onto his cover, nor was there to hold his waist fake means to stabilise himself before he wrapped them around front. It was too intimate a hold for the hostile setting, but the teen kept to his whim.

    Ah...perhaps this was planned...

Shinra perched his chin on Izaya's shoulder to keep watch of their enemy.

    "Prove I'm innocent, Izaya!"

    "Like hell he's innocent!" Shizuo yelled.

In one sense Shinra couldn’t be proven guilty, but he wasn’t innocent. He took advantage of Izaya’s skyrocketed endorphins as Shizuo trudged closer—he pilfered them, used them. Subtly nuzzled a spot behind his ear; continued his act, but seemed flustered as his breath was shallow from underlined fear, yet focused.

It was that manipulative sway Izaya swore he liked, but now he felt betrayed by his propensity to love anything off-kilter.

Anger ran up his spine and ended in a shudder around the spot Shinra laid his head. His pulse raced furthermore as a palm rolled discreetly under his jacket and flattened upon his heart to monitor its speed.

Shinra spoke. It was loud enough to combat the hallway chatter—clearly the beast as well—but went unheard by anyone other than his victim.

    “Interesting, fear really does bring you excitement. I should’ve known...” 

Shinra hummed uncharacteristically pleased for scientific discovery. That or Izaya's preference had grown askew over time and made a calculated tone of a scientist attractive, repulsive given the circumstances. Though that preference could possibly be tied to his personal inspector who tested his fortitude against prior jealousy.

For a second he swore he felt their pulse sync up with the heartbeat against his back. Enough to count for evidence that maybe… Shinra toyed with both their feelings.

Regardless of what he had done to invoke Shizuo's wrath as a trap, Izaya felt he was made a lab rat, a joke.

As Shizuo swiftly decreased the space between them, he turned against his friend.

    Two can play this game, asshole.

Within the last moment, Izaya overlapped their hands in tender opposition of the aggressive atmosphere, which shocked Shinra. Izaya used the opportunity to pry the leech from his back and shoved him into the battlefield.

    "W-woah!"

Shinra spun and tripped, and by the look of it, his fear shot up to one-hundred percent genuine.

    "Shizu-chan," Izaya smirked, "have at him."

    "Seriously?!" Shinra staggered off to evade—sounded a hair amused, but looked terrified as Shizuo picked up speed.

    "Don't start acting like that damn bastard, Shiiinrrraaa!"

In the distance, they were now a pair of ants.

Left on the sidelines, Izaya mused.

    "You know…”

His hands formed a frame out in front of him with an eye closed for better focus. 

    “I don't see how anyone could get tired of this show like they do with Shizu-chan and me.”

    He clicked a fake shutter, “they must have no appreciation for good humour." Izaya wished he had an actual camera to photograph his revenge—for precious school memories soon to end, not to mention good blackmail. In spite of that, he hoped Shinra would forget the discovery he made in the heat of the moment. Anything more discovered of him in that fashion would be worse than a public downfall, it would be a private tragedy. And really, it wasn’t just that he may get a bit…excited in dangerous situations; honestly, that should’ve been obvious and he knew Shinra knew that. It was probably an excuse for his shitty friend to associate sexual excitement with himself. It was a flimsy experiment with failed results, but only because Izaya already got that sort of reaction when it involved Shinra.

As his hands slid from the air into his pockets he willed his rampant pulse to normalise—much to his dismay, it didn't budge.

    “My, what a pickle he’s stuck me in.”

His mood soured just like vinegar and salt, with the purpose of the sexual endeavour fresh on his mind. What his fool reminded him of—rather not his, but it was easier to say and pleasant ring. 

Shinra played with his sweet spots and weaknesses; he did it too well like he paid unnecessary attention to someone who was just a target for his ploy. That in and of itself was trouble.

    Izaya skipped class and club alike—he lacked the energy to struggle through their time together alone. That and he couldn't stop focussing on the undeterminable expression Shinra wore while they exchanged souls…

    “...I’m at the precipice of doing whatever it takes to fulfil my goal…”

Correct him if that didn’t feel like a hint for him to pick up.

—

AN: What a slog writing this has been, ahaha...

[wondr18360]

Hints at who the traitor was in Persona 5

To be honest, I always had a gut feeling that this person would be the traitor partly because I had seen the teaser images for PQ2 with them included as part of the Phantom Thieves and given their background before they “joined” the group, they certainly seemed suspicious, but still that’s not really proof that this person was the traitor, so here’s a list of things that really helped prove that they were the culprit behind the mental shutdowns and the one who sold out the Phantom Thieves!

(I haven’t revealed their name or gender yet cuz I don’t wanna spoil anyone by accident, so select ‘keep reading’ at your own risk!)

1. Lurking at Okumura Foods

The first time the Phantom Thieves enter Okumura’s palace, Akechi is spotted nearby, and we can see him actually notice the Thieves gathered in front of the company building before the scene cuts to the Metaverse. At this point in the game it could be just a way to make us nervous since it’s already been established that he’s suspicious of the Shujin kids + Yusuke and Futaba, and him seeing them go into the Metaverse in front of a potential target’s property could make him even more suspicious and maybe even give him solid proof that they are the Phantom Thieves, but really, why is Akechi by the Okumura company building in the first place? Maybe it’s a coincidence, or maybe he’s just doing his job investigating Okumura as a suspect? In any case, it is quite convenient, especially that he happens to be there at the same time that the Thieves are, and more importantly, that this just happens to be the one palace that they infiltrate whose owner dies of a mental shutdown because the true culprit appears after the boss battle and kills his shadow. I’m probably grasping at straws, but in hindsight this does seem a bit fishy...

2. Interest in the Shujin Kids + Yusuke & Futaba (and Haru)

During the Shujin Academy panel, when Akechi reveals that he knows their identity as the Phantom Thieves, he tells the group that he was curious about them ever since the Madarame case. This could have been because Yusuke started hanging out with Ryuji, Ann, and Akira (and Morgana) around the time of the Madarame case, and not only would that have been odd because he didn’t go to the same school as them, but after a bit of digging it would have been known that a former pupil/victim of Madarame was hanging out with three Shujin students who had been victims of Kamoshida, who was the first target of the Phantom Thieves; logically that would have made for a pretty interesting group and it would have been a strange coincidence that Yusuke just happens to join those three when his tormentor gets a change of heart. But remember, Madarame’s shadow was the first one to mention the true culprit behind the shutdowns, and talked about a Persona-user with a black mask. Kaneshiro, the next criminal to get a change of heart, also mentioned the culprit. It’s a bit odd that the time around which Akechi grew interested in the group coincides with the time that we first heard about the true culprit, who most likely could have even been in the palaces at the same time as the Thieves and maybe even saw them as they were exploring, particularly since in the Okumura palace, the culprit kills Shadow Okumura right after the Thieves defeat him and leave him behind, indicating that whoever they were, they must have been waiting inside the palace itself for the Thieves to weaken him and then leave so that they could finish the job. Again, probably grasping at straws, but it’s kinda suspicious.

3. Sudden Thieves fan??

Okay he doesn’t really become a fan of the Phantom Thieves, but Akechi’s stance towards them does soften somewhat after Okumura’s death when he adamantly says that they aren’t responsible for the incident or for any of the other mental shutdowns. This is a bit suspicious since before he seemed very convinced that the Phantom Thieves were connected to the mental shutdowns, and when his stance suddenly changes to the opposite, even Sae Nijima calls him out on it and points out the same thing. Not only that, but on his television appearance, he even comments that there may be more going on than originally thought, which is similarly suspicious and even indicates that he may actually know more than he’s letting on. In addition, when he later runs into Akira at Leblanc again, he says something about how is goals are probably not so different from theirs, which a) hints at a possible collaboration between him and the Thieves, and b) indicates that he may also have his own agenda to get rid of scummy adults. The latter is actually confirmed later when he’s talking with the Thieves in Leblanc, when he mentions wanting revenge against sickening human beings and having a grudge against someone, which puts more emphasis on the fact that there is some darker force behind Akechi’s actions and motivation. 

4. Genius, or experienced?

During the Shujin Academy panel when Akechi confronts the Thieves and reveals how he found out their true identities, he says that he has the same power as them and that he gained that power around the time of the Okumura case, about a month before the panel. However, when he’s talking to the Thieves, he seems to know quite a bit about the Metaverse, even mentioning it by name, which is odd because even members like Makoto and Futaba, who either pick up knowledge quite quickly or may have already had some knowledge of the cognitive world, needed time and guidance from Morgana and the veteran members of the Thieves in order to figure things out. And yet here’s Akechi, who was on his own the whole time, talking as though he’s already an expert on the Metaverse- and how exactly did he know that that’s what the other world was called? It’s a bit strange, and even when he’s exploring Sae’s palace with the Thieves, he seems to know quite a lot already, or picks up on things abnormally quickly for someone who’s supposed to be an “amateur” as Morgana would say. Speaking of Sae’s palace, it’s also a bit fishy how he was able to find out so quickly how to use the Meta-nav to find it, since he is the one who reveals to the group that she has a palace, and evidently already has a plan to change her heart. Basically, his intelligence aside, the only other viable reason I can think of for Akechi’s extensive knowledge of the Metaverse is that he has more experience with it than he made it seem to the Phantom Thieves. 

5. Bad storyteller

I don’t know about you guys, but when Akechi was telling the Thieves about how he saw the real culprit behind the shutdowns and somehow survived their encounter by awakening his Persona, I wasn’t buying it. First, there's no proof that what he’s saying is actually true, and also, if he's really going to be a bona fide monafide member of the Phantom Thieves, wouldn’t we actually get to witness his awakening the way we did with all the other members? Even Haru, who was in her Persona clothes already when we first saw her, got a real awakening scene for us to see, but there’s none of that for Akechi. That’s not all though- it’s already established that the true culprit is quite strong, in fact, back when Shadow Kaneshiro mentioned the culprit, he said that the Thieves would be no match for them in terms of strength. If that’s the case, how would Akechi have survived? Maybe the trauma of a life-or-death situation triggered his awakening and his Persona momentarily saved his life, but still the culprit could have taken another shot or two and killed him because he’s still supposed to be relatively unfamiliar with his powers, and logically it would also be in the culprit’s best interests to make sure to get rid of Akechi because he actually saw them and this could come back to bite them later. In any case, Akechi’s story is only slightly believable at best in my opinion, and for me at least it definitely was a big hint.

6. Sae’s calling card

Am I the only one who thought it was kind of weird that Akechi was so specific about the date that they should send out the calling card for Sae? I mean, yeah he gave that whole analysis of her character and why based on that it would be good to send the calling card closer to the deadline, but still, why did it have to be on the 18th? Why not the 17th or the 19th? After all, those dates are pretty close to the deadline as well. This just makes it more likely that Akechi’s monologue about Sae is a clever ruse to hide the fact that he is planning his own “mission” to mobilize the police to capture the Phantom Thieves in her palace on that date. 

7. The deal

One of the biggest indicators (in my opinion) that Akechi wouldn’t be a true member of the Phantom Thieves was his condition for cooperating with them: they disband after dealing with Sae’s palace. If he genuinely was interested in joining them or working together towards justice, he wouldn’t be giving them such an ultimatum. He does say that he wants to work with them because the mission would not be able to succeed without their cooperation, but even that comment is a bit sketchy because his referring to a “mission” could even mean that he has an ulterior motive, some other “mission” that he’s trying to carry out besides taking away Sae’s distorted desires. Anyway, because he generally did not approve of the Thieves and his motivation for working with them was questionable at best, it makes sense that he would have been the one to betray them.

8. Delicious Pancakes:

Finally, the most meme-ish canon hint that Goro Akechi is the traitor! This is basically the incident that tips off Akira and the Phantom Thieves that they should be suspicious of Akechi when he wants to make a deal and work with them later in the game. It’s one of those hints that you can catch when it happens (which is far earlier than the deal and whole traitor business), but it’s subtle enough that you do need to be paying some attention to what’s going on at the time, especially since it’s covered up well by Ryuji’s convincing response to Akechi that nope, no one was talking about pancakes, and the fact that no one actually addresses it afterwards until months later when the story is close to its climax. But even if you did forget that Morgana was the only one talking about pancakes and how delicious they were, you would have to wonder why Akechi was so specific about having heard someone say “delicious pancakes” when it sounds nothing like what Ryuji and Ann were talking about before he arrived on the scene. From the early-game standpoint, it’s an indicator that given the fact that he heard Morgana, Akechi probably isn’t the normal high-school detective that he appears to be, but after progressing to the later part of the game, it’s proof that Akechi could hear and understand Morgana from the very beginning, and therefore was another Metaverse user; he was the true culprit behind the mental shutdowns. 

Welp, that was long, but if you got this far, thanks so much and I hope you enjoyed reading! :D

Bonus hint: Akechi literally is a long-haired alternate dimension version of Light Yagami, I mean of COURSE he’s the crazy criminal masquerading as a detective/ordinary student! XD 

(Also no one asked but Futaba sits a lot like L so it really is like Light vs. L again except this time L WINS!!)

[nyangibun]

Do you think Sansa & Jon are going to have any more scenes, even if just like 5sec in the last episode? According to the spoilers (!! warning here) Jon has to find a wight as proof for Dany that the WW exist, so he'd have to go North again. &maybe make a pit stop in Winterfell? (spoilers end) In any case, what scenes would you like for them to have, especially indirect scenes (like, other characters mentioning Sansa & Jon having ~reactions~ & vice versa)?

I honestly don’t know. If the spoilers are true then Jon stopping off at Winterfell does seem like a reasonable speculation since it’s a hell of a long ride from Dragonstone all the way past the Wall, and there’s a likely chance Jon would have heard of Arya or Bran (or both) returning home as well. 

I do hope they have more scenes together this season, but I keep thinking they won’t until the very end and at that point Jon wouldn’t be coming home to a happy reunion. I feel if the leaks are true, he is bending over backwards for Dany, which won’t be received well by the Northern lords and ladies. They already disagree with his decision to ride south. I don’t think the reveal of R+L=J will happen this season publicly, only for the Starks, but I do think a Northern revolt will happen if Jon bends the knee and has some kind of tryst with Dany. 

These are foreboding words:

“A Targaryen cannot be trusted.”

“We called your brother king.And then he rode south and lost his kingdom.Winter is here, Your Grace.We need the King in the North in the North.”

And don’t forget this from Lord Glover:

“Taking up with a foreign whore, getting himself, and those who followed him, killed.”

In fact, Robb and Talisa’s whole relationship was a huge omen for what not to do as King of the North and could be seen as foreshadowing Jon and Dany and the negative impact it’ll have on Jon’s rule in the North.

So if there is a Jon and Sansa reunion, I feel it won’t happen till the end (if at all) and by that point the North would have rejected Jon as their king. 

With that said, however, I believe Sansa will be his biggest defender and supporter through it all. 

Jon entrusting Sansa with Winterfell held so much symbolic importance for her. It was the first time anyone’s ever shown her such unwavering faith and trust in her opinions. In that moment, Jon won her lifelong loyalty and unconditional love. The fierceness with which she wants to care for Jon and help him we also already saw in 7x01, but this moment strengthened it. 

Everything that has happened in Season 6 up until the last episode has been to demonstrate just how much Jon’s presence in her life has saved her. He not only helped her reclaim her home (Winterfell), but he’s also helped her regain her confidence. His trust and faith allowed her to believe in herself again, even in spite of how he acted in 7x01. 

Season 6 and part of Season 7 has been about that relationship, so now I feel like the end of Season 7 and Season 8 will be about Sansa saving Jon – helping him regain his home (ie. the trust of the North) and himself (as he would no doubt be questioning his worth, identity and place in this world). 

I know this is a very long-winded and roundabout way of answering your second question, but if this is what happens, this is how I’d want Jon and Sansa scenes to go in Season 7: 

The Northern lords and ladies arguing over Jon and questioning his loyalty to the North, bad-mouthing him, and Sansa fiercely defending him. However, while in private, perhaps with Arya and Bran, she admits to feeling conflicted and confused. She does not doubt Jon, but she does question his choices and wonder what exactly he’s planning and being frustrated that he’s making such dumb decisions. I want anguish and angst. 

I want Tyrion and Jon discussing Sansa. Perhaps she made a decision that saved the lives of their people or something amazing, and the two men are discussing how far she’s grown and how impressive she is as a woman. Then you get a shot of Tyrion looking at Jon, clarity shining in his eyes, and he asks Jon a question, poignant and direct about his feelings for Sansa. And Jon adamantly refuses, but Tyrion laughs and tells him something like, “you forget, Jon snow, I once lived under the same roof as Jaime and Cersei.” Cue Jon’s shame, regret and angst. 

I want Bran revealing R+L=J to Sansa and the subsequent turmoil that brings her because suddenly she realises how much danger Jon is truly in if anyone were to find out. The North would truly reject him now and the Dragon Queen would not tolerate another Targaryen with claim to the Iron Throne. She feels heartbreak that this man is not a Stark but a Targaryen, but also this kernel of hope and the surprise that comes with it because she doesn’t quite get it yet why that would make her hopeful. She doesn’t quite understand why knowing he is only her cousin makes her heart swell and yearn for something she barricaded herself from for years. And I want Bran to see this on her face and just know as well. 

I want Littlefinger baiting Sansa with Jon’s feelings. Never saying it explicitly but suggesting it and dangling it in front of her face. I want Sansa to get visibly angry, but also confused over what he’s insinuating.

I want Jon and Theon to reunite. I want him to forgive Theon and vow to protect him for bringing Sansa back to him. I want Theon to ask of Sansa and Jon to tell him with pride and love that she is fine and safe. 

When he’s beyond the Wall, I want a quiet moment before the big battle with the White Walkers and the Night King where Davos and Jon are discussing life after the war if they were to survive. I want Jon to talk about wanting a family and he’s describing his children and they have red hair. Perhaps Tormund is there and he mentions Ygritte, and Jon looks up, surprised, because no, he wasn’t thinking about Ygritte. And then that’s when he can’t hide it anymore that he is irrevocably in love with Sansa. 

Then if there is a reunion at the end of this, I want Jon to return to Winterfell worried and terrified of how he’d be received. I want everyone to be watching him with either anger or wariness in their eyes and then suddenly through the crowd, it’s Sansa running towards him and then she’s in his arms, and it’s a complete mirror of how they held each other at Castle Black. And I want her to whisper in his ear, “I always knew you’d come back home,” then the season to end. 

Basically, I want a lot of things, Anonny XD

[dracomysunshinechild]

It has officially been one month since Dralentine’s day! I am super, super excited to reveal to @pottergerms who their secret Dralentine was!! I am so, so, so happy to see that you enjoyed it!! Thank you for all of your kind words and for sharing my work with your lovely followers. Dralentine’s Day was so much fun and I am already looking forward to next year!

 Thank you to @dralentines-day for being such a champ! @ourloveislegendrarry @julietsemophase ;)

Summary:

 Harry’s friends are desperate to help find him a date for Valentine’s Day. Considering his growing list of one-night stands, Harry finds himself desperate enough to give almost anyone a shot. When a potential date goes awry, there is only one snake sneaky enough to wrap himself around a love-lost Boy-Who-Lived.

The music was loud.

“Alright there, mate?!”

Sweat dripped down slick skin.

“Do you want another drink?”

There were so many thrumming bodies surging around them it was hard to see where one male ended and another began.

“I said do you want another drink!”

And, much to Harry Potter’s displeasure, his friends had dragged him out with one specific goal in mind.

“What about that guy, Harry?”

To find him a date for Valentine’s Day.

Harry swung his gaze in the direction that Hermione was pointing and felt his mouth twist into a grimace. He shook his head rather adamantly at her, only slightly put-out when she pouted.

“Come on, Harry, you’re not even trying!” Ron said accusingly. “Don’t make me have Charlie drag you over to some random guy—you know I will!”

He groaned. Charlie had acquired a personal interest in making sure Harry was… well looked after… come Valentine’s Day. The bloody tenacious red-head was so damned determined to hook Harry up that he’d willingly left his dragons for an entire week in order to be the ultimate wing-man.

“It’s what you do for an adopted brother,” Charlie had said with a smirk. “You’re the only one left without a partner.”

“You’re still single too, you know.”

“Yeah but I’m not looking.” Charlie’s smirk had grown wider. “Perks of being ace, my friend. Besides, you’re getting on in years, you know?”

“I’m only twenty-five!”

And now they were here, two days before the fourteenth of February, in a popular wizarding gay club and rifling through every single male who just happened to be present.

“Is there anyone here that is catching your eye?” Hermione asked, swirling her drink absentmindedly.

“Not really,” Harry replied honestly.

“Well… why don’t you join Charlie on the dance floor?”

Harry gave her a bland look. “Mione, you know I don’t dance.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Two words, Hermione, Yule Ball,” Ron remarked with a cheeky grin. “Harry has no coordination whatsoever—aside from quidditch that is.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed, nodding. “With little-to-no coordination I’m obviously terrible at sex; it’s probably the reason I keep having so many flings.”

“Probably just a flail of limbs.”

“No rhythm to speak of.”

“Sloppy kisser too, no doubt.”

“Not to mention my atrocious memory when it comes to remembering names.”

“Maybe you should start making them wear nametags?”

“Why not number them while I’m at it.”

Harry and Ron guffawed with laughter much to Hermione’s displeasure.

“Honestly, Harry, it’s no wonder you can’t find a date if you’re not even going to be serious about this!”

Smiling patiently, Harry downed a mouthful of his obscenely fruity cocktail Charlie had insisted on getting him. “Mione, we’re in the one place where finding a ‘Mr Right’ is far and few between. Guys come here for anonymous sex and one-night stands. I should know, I’m practically a veteran.”

“You won’t know until you try,” the female replied persistently. “Ooh, looks like Charlie may have found someone.”

Harry swung his head around. Truth enough Charlie Weasley, with his arm slung comfortably around the shoulders of a young male with chestnut coloured hair, was crossing the dance floor towards them and gesturing madly at their table. The brunet couldn’t help but brace himself warily.

“Harry,” Charlie beamed, “meet Eli.”

“Wow,” Eli breathed, eyes wide as they flicked up to his forehead. “Harry Potter!”

Harry groaned inwardly. Another starry-eyed fan…

Charlie seemed to miss the unimpressed look on Harry’s face because he was quick to push the young man he’d brought over closer to him, smiling charmingly. To Harry’s utter horror, Eli sidled nice and close to his side, staring up at him with astonished blue eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you, Harry,” Eli said earnestly.

A smug smile had appeared on Charlie’s face. “You know…” he began innocently enough, “it’s a tad loud in here, hardly the place to really get to know one another…”

Eli immediately brightened.

“Why don’t the two of you head off somewhere quieter? Like the Black Stump? You like that place don’t you, Harry?”

The Black Stump was one of Harry’s favourite wizarding bars. It wasn’t like the club—not at all. It was small, intimate, and best of all, quiet. He frequented it at least once a week, enjoying a drink or two with a friend to help him wind down from the stresses of work and his, typically, inconsistently erratic love life.

“Oh, can we, Harry?” Eli begged, biting his lip endearingly. “I’d love to get to know you.”

Hermione and Ron were both nodding vigorously behind Eli’s back, staring at Harry with identical threatening expressions. Harry suppressed a sigh. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a go…

“Yeah, alright,” he said finally, offering a small smile. He felt a little better about the situation with the prospect of going to the Black Stump, it didn’t seem as daunting if they went to place he was happy and familiar with.

“I’ll go grab my cloak!” Eli said excitedly. “I’ll meet you at the entrance?”

“Sure.”

The young man bounded away from a grin, leaving Harry to three impudent smirks.

“Don’t even,” he interjected quickly, pointing at each of them in turn. “This means nothing. I promised you I’d give it a go and I am.”

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione replied, her smirk morphing into a gentle smile. “I hope, for your sake, that everything works out.”

Charlie winked at him. “And if it doesn’t, no harm done. We’ll simply… have to try again.”

Harry snorted. “You’re never allowed to set me up with someone ever again.”

The red-head chuckled, eyeing him with deviously. “We’ll see.”

  A quick side-along apparition later found Harry and Eli in the shadows of an alleyway a few doors down from the bar. Despite the unknown aspects surrounding his newfound date, Harry was glad to be out of the club. As much fun as it had been back in the day when he hadn’t cared much, he couldn’t help but feel detached from the thrumming atmosphere he had, once upon a time, thrust himself into.

Everything the club represented was so artificial; so impersonal. A constant flow of anonymous sex.

And Harry was so tired.

He was tired of the flings, of the one-night stands that did nothing but further his desire for something more. He wanted to wake up to the same face every morning, share a sleepy kiss, make a ridiculous mess in the kitchen as they attempted pancakes. Hell, Harry would even settle for a cheesy date full of beach walks and photo-booth pictures if it meant that the guy he was with didn’t become just another face in the crowd.

Maybe Eli could be that guy.

The young man was currently vibrating with excitement as they stepped down the snow-covered pavement. His blue eyes were often on Harry’s face, staring at him in wonder as if he really couldn’t believe Harry-Fucking-Potter was taking him on an impromptu date.

I’m sure he’ll calm down once we get talking… Harry thought, trying desperately to make light of the situation. He reached out for the door and pushed it open, a wondrous warmth greeting them as they stepped inside the Black Stump. Almost instantly, Harry could feel the tension draining out of his muscles; the familiar scent of fine spirits and cedar wood drew him in with a welcoming embrace. The two of them removed their cloaks and Harry did his customary sweep of the patrons inside.

And did a double-take. Despite the shadows that cloaked the room in a welcoming allure of mystery, it certainly did not hide the unique shine of platinum hair that instantly captured Harry’s attention.

Draco Malfoy.

The male was reclining elegantly in one of the booths, long legs crossed at the knee, with a pleasant smile directed to the female sitting opposite him. Pansy Parkinson.

Harry found himself staring—he couldn’t help it. Malfoy looked ridiculously alluring, dressed as he was in black pressed pants, navy button up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbow, and a black waist coat with a dark-grey tie.

Fucking hell…

It wasn’t uncommon for he and Malfoy to bump into one another during day-to-day life. After Harry had spoken on Malfoy and his mother’s behalf during the trials after the war, the two of them had decided on a tentative truce and parted ways. Ever since, whenever they were within social distance, pleasantries were exchanged and simple, meticulous conversations were sometimes had. Nothing more had happened between them, despite how much Harry secretly wished it would.

The bastard was gorgeous after all.

Swallowing a sigh, Harry forced his gaze away from the delectable blond and gestured for Eli to follow him. He did not lead Eli to his usual spot but instead acquired two stools near the bar, thinking that perhaps if the night was a bust, he could get stinking drunk instead. As they draped their cloaks over the back of their stools, he signalled the bartender who practically sped to take his order and Harry turned to his… date.

God, even in his mind the word sounded cumbersome.

“What would you like to drink, Eli?”

“Whatever you’re drinking, Harry,” he replied immediately.

A faint frown appeared on Harry’s brow. “Firewhiskey?”

Eli drew his bottom lip into his mouth but nodded anyway, eager to please.

“Er—alright then.” Harry turned back to the bartender with whom he shared a similar look and lifted two fingers.

“Two firewhiskeys it is then,” the dark man replied, flicking his wrist elegantly. Two tumblers landed on the wooden benchtop and skidded to a halt before them. A healthy amount of firewhiskey was poured into each.

“Thank you, Khari.” Harry placed an abundance of coins into the bartender’s hand and took their drinks, passing one to Eli.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr Potter,” Khari said with a gentle smile.

Eli gaped.

“I bet you get recognised everywhere,” he exclaimed in an almost-whisper.

Harry uttered a noncommittal noise. “I suppose.”

“I want you to tell me everything about you, Harry, about everything that happened,” Eli begged earnestly. “I’ve read it all, of course, but I want to hear you say it.”

Harry stifled a groan and downed a mouthful of his firewhiskey. “I’d rather not,” he replied, keeping his tone as light as he could make it. “Why don’t you tell me about you?”

“Oh, my life is boring,” Eli remarked. He had yet to even look down at his drink let alone take a sip. He insisted on holding it tightly within his palms. “Not like yours I bet.”

“My life isn’t as glamorous as the Daily Prophet makes it out to be, you know.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

I bet you do… Harry thought tiredly. They’d only been here for ten minutes and Eli was already doing his head in with the hero worship. I’m beginning to feel that this was a mistake…

Perhaps, if he indulged Eli a little, it would make him more comfortable to speak with Harry on a more personal level? It was either that or call an end to their date which, as much as Harry was keen on that idea, having Malfoy witness the entire ordeal made it less appealing. He risked a quick glance in the blond’s direction as Eli stared in disdain at his drink, stiffing at the contents tentatively. Malfoy was alone for time being, taking a sip from a clear goblet that looked to hold red wine. Harry wondered where Parkinson had gone—probably the bathroom or something.

What I wouldn’t give to walk over there right now and ravish Malfoy to a point that he forgets his own name…

“What was You-Know-Who like?”

Harry’s head snapped around, green eyes filled with surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You-Know-Who, Harry,” Eli pressed. “What was he like? Fearsome of course, but to have such power—”

“Voldemort was a ruthless, murdering tyrant,” Harry grunted sharply, ignoring Eli’s wince. “I’d rather not spend our time talking about him.”

“Alright, sorry, yeah that was a bit dense of me,” the young man said quickly. “Can I ask you about other stuff?”

“Depends on the stuff.”

Harry was happy to answer the less intrusive questions Eli flung his way as it kept the young man amused and the situation less awkward. Time was ticking by slowly, but at least it was ticking by. Harry had ordered and downed two more firewhiskeys in the time Eli slowly sipped his to completion, declining another when Harry offered.

“No, no, it’s alright,” Eli said. “I actually have something… else in mind.”

“Oh?” Harry hummed, turning his head to catch Khari’s eye, “what were you after?” He froze when he felt a heated palm press firmly on his jean-clad thigh and he turned his head back, not enjoying the fervent look Eli was now giving him.

“You.”

For an easy fuck, there was no one better. Harry knew this. And it was painfully obvious that Eli did too. But that was not what this evening was supposed to be about. Harry didn’t want another fling—especially with someone as hero-obsessed as his date was turning out to be.

“No, Eli,” Harry murmured. “Unfortunately, I don’t find myself much in the mood.”

A playful leer appeared on the young man’s face. His hand began to move unabashedly up his thigh. Harry’s fingers were instantly around his wrist, tight and restrictive.

“I said no.”

Eli man pouted. “I just want to make you feel good, Harry,” he purred. “You deserve it, you know… after everything you did for us…”

Harry was beginning to feel sick. “That’s not what I want, Eli,” he bit out. “And if this is all that this is, then I want you to leave.”

“All of what?” Eli asked innocently, tilting his head to the side in, what he probably thought, was an attractive manner. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good, Harry?”

He still hadn’t removed his hand from Harry’s thigh.

“No, I don’t think I do, actually,” the brunet replied. He pushed away at the wrist he was holding and Eli finally took the hint, withdrawing his hand.

But the young man was not to be deterred as it turned out.

“Go on, Harry,” he urged, inching bit by bit off his stool. His knees brushed against Harry’s. “What does it matter? I can be another notch in your belt and you’d know I’d make it good. I’ve seen you taking other guys home and you have no idea how much I wanted to be them, how much I’d love to be beneath you, the Great Harry Potter—”

“That’s enough,” Harry snapped, his control finally shattering. “I tried to be nice, Eli, but you’ve pushed me too far. We’re done with this, alright? Now just go.”

Eli blinked. “But—”

“I do believe he told you to run along, darling,” a smooth voice interrupted, “and I recommend that you do so… while you still retain whatever dignity you have left.”

Eli was turning a petulant frown towards whoever it was that had spoken, when his face dramatically paled. He slipped off the stool immediately.

“There’s a good boy,” the voice crooned.

Harry could practically hear the derisive sneer that he knew was currently on Malfoy’s face. He watched, relieved, as Eli conceded surrender and snatched his cloak from the back of the chair. With a final sulky glare, Eli turned away and left the bar.

“I don’t even want to know the look you were giving him to almost make the poor boy wet his pants, Malfoy.”

The blond male chuckled indulgently as he slid himself gracefully into the recently vacated stool, offering a Harry a mischievous smirk.

“What, no thank you? No grovelling at my well-polished shoes? I’m wounded, Potter.”

“Well, after that remark, certainly not.”

“You ungrateful sod.”

“Arrogant ass.”

“You could, at the very least, offer to buy me a drink, Potter.”

Harry, actually more than happy to do so, suddenly found himself frowning as his head quirked to look to the side. “Aren’t you here with Parkinson?” he asked.

“Pansy left an hour ago,” Malfoy said, silver eyes glinting impishly. “I’ve been enjoying the show ever since.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised,” he replied, signalling Khari. “What are you drinking?”

“Anything you’re not.”

Harry was slightly amazed by the relieved smile he felt quirking his lips. “Noticed that, did you?”

“Potter, the entire bar noticed.”

“Don’t know what he was expecting to happen by pretending to enjoy the same drink I do.”

“Manipulation tactic, Potter. A poor one but a tactic nonetheless. I’ll have my usual, Khari.”

“Same for me, thank you, Khari.”

While their drinks were prepared, Malfoy slid back off the stool, staring at Harry expectantly.

“Come join me in the booth, Potter, I’m afraid my arse cannot take such hard wood. Well, at least not in this form.”

Harry almost choked, staring up at the ex-Slytherin in open astonishment who simply smirked and turned, returning to the booth and allowing Harry ample time to ogle his backside.

“There we are, Mr Potter.”

Harry swung back around, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you, Khari,” he said, paying the man.

“It is my pleasure, Mr Potter,” Khari responded. “And if it is not to bold of me, I daresay your new date is much more… appropriate.”

“Oh, he’s not—that is—we went to school together is all,” Harry babbled. His cheeks started to warm and Khari smile indulgently.

“Of course, Mr Potter.”

Flinging his cloak over his arm, Harry grabbed his glass and Malfoy’s goblet and turned away from the bar, his eyes quickly landing on blond hair; a beacon in the shadows. He handed over the wine and dropped his cloak into the spare chair opposite the booth before joining Malfoy on the soft, red velvet cushion with a grateful sigh. Definitely better than those hardwood stools.

“So a tactic, hmm?” Harry inquired, eyeing the blond over the rim of his whiskey tumbler.

“A weak one habitually utilised by desperate fools,” Malfoy replied, smiling blandly. “Used to establish a connection and to lower your guard. I’m surprised it didn’t work…”

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Harry replied good-naturedly. “Although, I would be rather remiss to not question your own experiences seeing as you know that tactic so well.”

Malfoy tossed his head back and laughed. Harry stared at the graceful curve of his neck, suddenly ravenous to be able to taste the soft, pale skin.

“I had almost forgotten how fun you can be, Potter,” Malfoy commented, eyes shining with mirth. “You must be so pleased to have bumped into me this evening.” He sipped at his wine, his face the most relaxed Harry had ever seen it. “Tell me, Potter, why on earth were you out tonight with that imbecile in the first place?”

Harry groaned into his firewhiskey. “Forced to.”

“Forced to?”

“Friends wanted to find me someone for Valentine’s Day. They picked him.”

Malfoy snorted. “I think you need to procure new friends.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

The chemistry between them was oh so different from the chemistry he had experienced with Eli. Although, if Harry was honest with himself, there had never actually been chemistry with Eli in the first place. But this. Fuck, whatever this was, Harry absolutely thrived on it. It was familiar, antagonising, challenging, enjoyable, frustrating—

And perfect.

There was no way Harry was leaving tonight without at least seeing if this could go somewhere.

  When Harry next checked his watch he was shocked to see it was already past midnight. He and Malfoy had been talking for four hours. Sitting across from him, Malfoy was arching his back off the back of the booth, stretching as he released a disgustingly attractive sigh.

Harry’s cock twitched.

“I suppose we best call it a night then, Potter,” Malfoy announced. “I am rather impressed we survived an evening without killing one another. We should do this again.”

Just ask him you idiot. Do it! Stop being such a coward—

Taking the chance, Harry blurted out his question.

“Do you have plans for Monday night?”

Malfoy quirked his blond head to the side slightly in thought. Then he smiled.

“Why, Potter, asking me out for Valentine’s Day?”

“Obviously, otherwise I would not have said Monday.”

“You do realise how ghastly going to a restaurant will be that evening, don’t you?”

“Well, I was thinking that maybe you’d like to come to my place and I’ll cook us something.”

Malfoy’s sleek eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “You cook?���

“Erm—yes?” Harry replied. “Why, you don’t?”

“Not usually, no,” Malfoy admitted easily. “House elves, Potter.”

“Oh.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at the blond. “So… would you like to?”

“I suppose I may be swayed to join you for dinner, Potter, seeing as you asked so nicely.” Malfoy’s tone was teasing, a refreshing change to the usual controlled civil tone he was used to hearing during their brief conversations. “Is there anything you would like for me to bring?”

“Uh, hmm, well I’m pretty useless when it comes to choosing wine,” Harry said, gesturing to Malfoy’s empty goblet. “Unless you’re happy with beer?”

Malfoy’s nose crinkled. “Beer does not suit my palate,” the ex-Slytherin said haughtily. “If you message me detailing what you intend to cook I shall provide a suitable wine.”

“Deal,” Harry grinned, his heart thumping happily.

 Something straight forward and simple was what Harry had decided on for dinner. As promised, he’d sent Malfoy an owl that very morning, depicting the three-course meal Harry was planning: caprese salad as an entrée, beef tortellini with Harry’s personalised Napoli sauce for the main, and of course, treacle tart for dessert.

Harry had spent most of the day in a jubilant haze as he prepared the food and cleaned the apartment. It wasn’t until he was stepping out of the shower and considering what to wear did he begin to feel the first flutter of nerves.

Malfoy was coming over for dinner. Malfoy was coming over for dinner. On Valentine’s Day. For a date.

He smiled giddily at his slightly blurry reflection. Hell, even if nothing actually happened tonight at least Harry could be sure to plant the seed of interest. Malfoy may not even think of him in that way. Yet. Hopefully. Ugh!

Get it together you idiot…

Harry popped in his contact lenses, ruffled his hair to help it dry faster, and stepped into his bedroom where, thankfully, he had already lain out his clothing for the evening on the bed. Black button up, blue jeans, and black shoes. Simple but effective.

He neatened his facial hair, somewhat tamed his wildly curling mop, and slapped on some cologne. Checking his watch, his heart thumped as he realised that Malfoy would be arriving in twenty minutes. He left the bedroom, ducked into the kitchen to make sure the table was set properly and the food was ready, and then quickly did a final sweep of the lounge room.

With three minutes to spare, Harry looked around with a faint smile.

Then his fireplace roared and the smile fell, his lips pressed together nervously, watching as Malfoy’s tall, graceful frame exited the hearth in a flash of green flames.

“Right on time,” Harry said, forcing a welcoming smile on his face.

“Yes, well, I prefer to not keep people waiting,” Malfoy replied, gazing around the lounge room in speculation. His silver eyes snapped back to Harry’s face, a single eyebrow raised. “No rose bouquet, Potter? I’m heartbroken.”

A cheeky smirk tugged at Harry’s lips. “Hmm, I would have taken you to be more of an oriental lily kind of man.”

Draco blinked. “…that is rather astute of you, Potter.”

Harry gaped. “No way.”

“Tell anyone and you’re a dead man,” Malfoy sneered, thrusting the two bottles of wine he held into Harry’s arms and moving past him.

Harry grinned. He allowed Malfoy to his own devices as he dropped the bottles off onto the dinner table, stopping briefly for one last check on the food. When he returned to the lounge room, his eyes landed on Malfoy’s blond head, which was bent at an odd angle. In fact, his entire figure was bent over, and it took Harry a moment to realise what Malfoy was looking at.

“I see you’ve met my albino Burmese python.”

A soft sigh fell from the blond’s lips. “And who is this gorgeous creature?” Malfoy murmured, gazing longingly in the large terrarium Harry had set up along the wall.

“Peaches.”

Malfoy turned to stare at him scrutinisingly. Harry winced.

“Teddy named him.”

“Oh.”

“He refused to answer to anything else,” Harry continued, joining Malfoy beside the tank. “Isn’t that right, Peaches? You were quite pleased when Teddy named you.”

“It was an admirable name from Master’s little ward,” Peaches hissed back, tongue flickering. “Who is your shiny friend, Master?”

“Draco Malfoy, an old friend from school. He has come to join me for dinner.”

Peaches turned his handsome head in Malfoy’s direction. Draco practically crooned.

“And here I thought the whole Slytherin thing was a gambit,” Harry sniggered.

“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy replied, “and allow me to appreciate such a glorious specimen.”

“I promise you can hold him after dinner if you’re a good boy.”

The blond, still enraptured by the serpent, simply hummed in agreement. Harry laughed softly and tugged gently on Malfoy’s arm.

“Come on, you ponce, there will be plenty of time to look at snakes later.”

“Oh, indeed?” The smirk was back in Malfoy’s voice as he followed Harry into the kitchen. “What sort of snakes were you thinking of, Potter?”

  Dinner was, surprisingly, a really nice affair. Malfoy even complimented Harry on his culinary skills. They had kept the conversation relatively tame, sticking to topics they both shared a mutual interest in, with the occasional jest or jab at the others expense. Just for old times.

By the time they had settled on the couch in Harry’s living room with the second bottle of wine, Harry was sure he was head over heels for the damn, utterly beautiful but horribly irritating, man.

“Indulge me, Potter,” Malfoy queried, “why were your friends so desperate to hook you up for Valentine’s?”

Harry exhaled. “Because I asked them to,” he admitted. The wine had loosened his tongue enough that he did not feel embarrassed about confessing. “I was getting sick and tired of the constant stream of bedwarmers. Anonymous sex is all well and good but it’s not something I wish to continue.”

“Muggle or wizard?”

“Most of the time they’re muggle,” Harry replied. “They don’t know who I am—it’s just easier. I’ve had a few flings with some wizards and while it’s nice to not have to hide my magic, it’s really fucking sad when you can tell they’re getting off purely because they’re buggering the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Malfoy snorted, a delightful smirk curling at his lips. “Haven’t considered using a glamour then, Potter?”

Harry looked at the blond with a frown. “What would be the point? I’m not in this for a fling, Malfoy. Using a glamour to hide who I am kind of defeats the point, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t want to have to use a glamour for the rest of my life.”

“Alright, alright, fair point,” Malfoy replied playfully. He raised his wine goblet and took a delicate sip, his silver eyes never once straying for Harry’s face. “And you were going to use tonight…”

“…to hopefully find someone a little more long term,” Harry confirmed with a nod.

“Hmm. What a shame you ended up with me.”

Harry felt his cheeks begin to colour. “You’re not so bad, Malfoy.”

“Not so bad?” There was a chink as the blond placed his glass on the coffee table beside Harry’s. “Thank you for the shining endorsement, you utter twat.”

A smile broke across the brunet’s face. Lifting his head, Harry felt his heart leap to his throat. Malfoy’s gaze was so very heated as he moved towards him on the couch.

“Erm—Malfoy?” He didn’t mean for the question to come out so timidly, but as the ex-Slytherin’s face drew exceptionally close to his, there was nothing but nervous butterflies left tingling in his stomach. Malfoy’s body was sliding elegantly between Harry’s thighs, his pale hands pushing on Harry’s shoulders until his torso hit the cushioned arm. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as he stared up into molten silver. A tantalising smile was curling Malfoy’s lips.

“Was this not where you wanted the evening to head, Potter?”

Malfoy’s voice was low, husky, and definitely filled with promise. Harry shivered.

“I—well, yes?”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” Harry murmured, feeling suddenly breathless. “But, I didn’t—”

“Mmm?” Malfoy’s eyes were now focused on his lips.

“I didn’t realise that you wanted this too.”

“Then allow me to inform you otherwise.”

Harry was sure he made a noise, partway between a sigh and a strangled moan, and then he was lost, falling into the searing heat of Draco’s mouth. It was hard, brutal, and hot as fuck; Draco’s mouth seemed to completely dominate his and Harry was quite content to let him. His hands came to rest instinctively on Malfoy’s shifting back muscles, fingers digging in sync each time the blond sucked on his tongue.

Bliss.

The kiss began to calm, becoming almost tender, a twisting dance of tongues and soft gasps. Harry’s hand caressed the back of Draco’s neck, fingertips brushing the delicate blond strands as he cradled the male’s head—god, he never wanted to leave Draco’s mouth.

With a final lingering press of lips to his, Malfoy drew back slowly, allowing only a few inches between them.

“How’s that for not so bad?” he asked huskily.

The post make-out miasma was blathering praise. Harry willed his mouth to move. “Superb, exceptional, outstanding—nothing bad—only good.”

Draco chuckled as he kissed a reward on Harry’s lips. “Mmm, I really should thank Weasley then for arranging our date.”

Harry was practically purring in agreement when he suddenly jolted. “I—wait, what? Date? Weasley?”

Draco’s eyes glinted audaciously. “Charlie to be precise.”

Harry stared up at him in utter confusion. “But he—what was all that shit with Eli then?”

A wicked smile appeared on Malfoy’s face. “Part of the plan, Potter. Weasley was to find the most unsuitable male he could and convince you to go to the Black Stump where I, wonderful, considerate, evening-saving Draco Malfoy, would just happen to be.”

Harry’s mouth worked open and closed wordlessly as Malfoy’s words sunk in. “That git!”

“Yes,” the blond purred, leaning down to trail his tongue along one of Harry’s neck tendons, “an atrocious git.”

“Both of you are a pair of fucking—oh f-fuck, do that again.”

Malfoy complied, and Harry felt himself arching up off the couch at the sensation of teeth scraping his skin roughly, a delicious moan falling from his lips.

“You’re both arseholes,” Harry panted.

Malfoy made an amused sound. “Good thing you like arseholes.” He bit into Harry’s neck. The brunet’s breath hitched.

“W-Wait—how do you even know Charlie?”

“Dragons,” Draco replied simply. “I adore the creatures and Charlie is the most talented dragon handler I know.”

“Oh.”

“Now shut up, Potter, I wish to have my wicked way with you.”

Time seemed to shift then. It began in a rush of blurred shapes, sounds, and smells; Draco’s moans and whimpers were like music to his ears. Clothes were discarded, articles of fabric thrown across the room. He barely remembered flipping them, Draco’s heated figure undulating beneath him, long fingers knotting in his dark hair as Harry’s lips marked the glorious pale skin of Malfoy’s chest. The fingers clenched tighter and tighter the further down Harry travelled with his mouth, tongue teasing, teeth nipping, and Draco moaning.

“H-Harry—!”

And then he was swallowing, his throat convulsing delectably around the thick cock, until his nose was nestled in blond curls. Malfoy was gasping, stammered pleas passing his trembling lips. Through the haze, Harry managed to gather enough coherency to cast a wandless, non-verbal lubrication spell, his right hand becoming exceptionally slick and soon, a slippery finger was sheathing itself inside Draco’s warmth.

“Oh, f-fuck! Harry—Harry, please—” Draco’s back arched almost painfully, legs falling further apart. “H-Harry, I can’t—oh, gods, I’m going to come if you k-keep doing—” Another sharp intake of breath. “P-please, not yet… not yet… with you, Harry—I want to c-come with you inside me—”

Draco’s eyes were pools of pure arousal, dark and glazed, as Harry looked up the length of his body, allowing the cock to slip from between his lips. The blond whimpered. He watched, transfixed, as Harry kept a sturdy pace with his finger while he moved back up towards him. Draco’s eyes fell to reddened and swollen lips.

Capturing Malfoy’s mouth with his, Harry pushed a second finger inside, swallowing Draco’s moan as he began to scissor the digits.

Time was speeding up again.

Fingers were moving, stretching, penetrating. And Draco was moaning, sobbing, begging for Harry to fuck him already.

Three fingers.

Four fingers.

And with one final whispered plea into Harry’s mouth, he complied, coating his impatiently aching cock with the remainder of the lubricant on his hand. Then he was moving, kissing Draco sweetly, pushing himself against Draco’s entrance.

And slid inside with one gentle, smooth stroke.

Time slowed. Stopped.

Harry could feel himself trembling, holding himself back so Draco could adjust, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

So good, so good, he feels so good… Draco…

A gentle hand was pressing on his neck, pulling him down. He opened his eyes.

“Move,” Draco breathed, kissing him roughly.

Harry did.

His hips flexed, his thrusts working a rhythm that drew beautiful gasps from Draco’s throat. He quickened his pace every time his lover urged him, angling himself until he hit that spot just right.

With a furious cry, Draco came. His seed splashed against his pale chest in a series of glorious spurts, his body stretching in a display of pure ecstasy. And Harry, his cock now massaged by the convulsing muscles in Malfoy’s perfect arse, felt his orgasm rip through him, flooding the tight channel with come.

It wasn’t until his head was resting on his lover’s shoulder, a soothing finger tracing his lips, that Harry realised he had been moaning Draco’s name. He sucked gentle, open-mouth kisses on the damp skin of Draco’s neck, enjoying the feel of arms wrapping around him securely.

Harry felt his eyes close, content in Draco’s embrace as they both drifted in post orgasmic bliss.

 One year later.

 Something soft brushed against Harry’s mouth. For a moment, his sleep-addled brain was unable to recognise what it was exactly, until he felt it again, pressing more firmly. His lips curled into a smile as they parted, accepting the gently probing tongue with an exuberant, drowsy sigh.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

“Mmm, Happy Valentine’s,” Harry replied sleepily, reaching out to pull the warm body lying beside him closer. A head came to rest on his chest and one of Harry’s hand immediately delved into the delicate strands as he angled his head to press a kiss to blond hair.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of pancake duty by acting all sweet, love.”

Another smile quirked at his lips, his body positively humming with delight.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Draco.”