#watched this last night and replayed the dancing quite a few times lmao

[copia]

endless ghifs 16/? ⛧ source — dance for Absolution

[ro-written]

Don't Wanna Fall In Love pt. 2 - C.Y

A/N: Listen..I know. It’s been a hot minute lmao. I gotta say, when I first wrote this part, I hated it and literally left it to sit for a while. I finally came back to it and now I don’t mind it! Go figure that lmaoooo, but anywhosies! I’m not gonna promise when the next part will be out, but thank yall for sticking with me thus far. 

Tags/Warnings: gn!reader (I used they/them pronouns at one point), Yeonjun Has Feelings (™), reader slips on wet bricks and busts their ass, nothing crazy happens honestly

Word Count: 3.2k

Playlist:

“Clouds” by BØRNS “Tek It” by Cafuné

Next Part (Coming Soon!)

Winter break gave you a month to forget about Choi Yeonjun.

Somewhat.

You attempted to stay busy by visiting some friends and some family. You picked up some extra hours at your job to make a little extra cash for Christmas gifts. You started a new book AND a new series on TV. 

Yet there were moments when your brain would flit back to his face when you closed the door on him. Like now, how you had scanned over this sentence in the book at least 7 times now and all you could think about were his eyes. How they watched you as you shut it. How his lips seemed to frown when you looked away from him, looking like he wanted to say something more. All you could think about was the small exchange between you two.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, Yeonjun…I’ll definitely see you around.”

You would smack your head lightly when you thought of that moment to try and refocus.

What bothered you the most was the fact that you couldn’t remember the night with him. All you could remember was that you invited him in. Nothing else. You wanted to ask him what he remembered, to see what exactly happened last night. But ultimately, you’d rather steer clear of him. The least amount of contact to keep from drawing any attention.

—

It annoyed him. All of it.

He couldn’t stop thinking of you. How you looked that night, the sound of your voice, how you smelled. He kept replaying all of it in his head.

Especially the moment you rushed him out of your apartment.

He remembered how panicked your face looked, and it bothered him. He tried looking for you around campus before he went home for the break, but any time he caught a glimpse of you, it seemed as if you were in a hurry to get somewhere else. 

He even found you on social media, something he really only used when he remembered it existed. When he found your account, he immediately followed you so he could message you. But you never followed back, and he didn’t want to seem weird reaching out to you. Bad enough he stalked your handle out without asking you for it.

He wasn’t winning himself any brownie points.

And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he was acting this way. Why he wanted so badly to talk to you about that night. He typically would immediately forget about his temporary companions within a few days. But he supposes you aren’t his typical companion.

Hell, you didn’t even sleep with him, to begin with.

He remembered quite a bit of the night. He walked you back home, you brought him inside to help sober up a bit, and you both sat on the couch talking about various things. Unlike what he was expecting, where most people immediately dragged him to the bedroom, you sat and talked. Both his and your words were messy and jumbled up, a bit slurred from the drinks you had, but you talked with him. 

You listened to him talk about his interest in music, his favorite artists, and his passion for dancing. He spoke about his interest in fashion, and how he loved expressing his identity and personality through his clothes. He talked about his love for his best friends, and how they were the brothers that he never had. You cared about what he had to say, even while tipsy.

Just thinking about it made his face burn a bit, the corners of his lips twitching a bit. He could remember how your tired eyes kept their attention on him, nodding along with what he said. Even as they drooped, you would respond to everything.

“Yeonjun,” Taehyun kicked his foot, bringing him out of his thoughts. Yeonjun’s face looked up from where he was staring at the floor, seeing all four of his best friends’ eyes looking at him. 

“You’ve been spaced out for the past ten minutes,” Hyuka filled in. 

Yeonjun nodded, giving them all an apologetic smile, and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry guys, just been out of it recently.”

“You’ve been out of it since after the end-of-semester party.” Soobin pointed out. Yeonjun raised an eyebrow, not realizing that his restlessness had been so noticeable all this time. “Something happen?” Soobin’s smirk suggested something else underlying his “innocent” question. Yeonjun just rolled his eyes and tried to refocus on the book he had been reading.

They went to Beomgyu’s uncle’s cabin for a few days before school started back up, wanting to get away from the ever-alive city. They had all agreed that they needed some bonding time together (even though they considered themselves brothers) and needed to be disconnected from the rest of the world before school pulled them back into the depths of studying. It was nice to just be near his friends and be himself, not having to be “The Fabulous Five” for a minute. Stupid name.

“Didn’t you leave out with someone?” Beomgyu piped up, tilting his head and causing the black hair he was growing out the fall in his face. “I thought I saw you head out, but I couldn’t see who you left with. Must have done a real number on you.” He snickered, turning to laugh with the others. 

Yeonjun clenched his jaw at his friends’ remarks. Typically he would laugh along with them, even if they were picking on him and his bedroom tendencies. But this time around, with him feeling so conflicted about his emotions towards you, it caused him to just grow agitated.

“I didn’t sleep with anyone that night,” he bluntly remarked back without looking up.

Actually, he hasn’t slept with anyone after that night either. But until they pieced that together, he was not freely offering that information up.

“But you left with someone, didn’t you?” Soobin’s voice piped back up, and Yeonjun rolled his eyes before finally looking at his friends spread around the room. He saw the looks they were all giving him. Ones that told him they were not planning on leaving him alone until he told them the details. He let out an exasperated sigh before setting his book down and marking the page he was on.

“Yes, I left out with someone that night. No, we did not have sex. We simply…talked. And we ended up falling asleep. I left out in the morning. That’s all there is to it.”

Except he knew that he was lying. There was undoubtedly more to it that he wasn’t letting on, given his recent habit of spacing out so much that his friends picked up on.

“Hyung,” Hyuka finally spoke up from his seated position on the floor across the coffee table. “You know you can tell us if something happened. It’s obviously bothering you.” He offered Jjun a sweet smile, one the older knew he would have trouble saying no to. He took yet another sigh, sitting up from his spread position on the couch.

“It’s just…” he slightly trailed off, not knowing what exactly he wanted to say. He hadn’t had feelings like these, whatever these were, in a few years.

“We just talked, you know? It was the first time someone outside of you all actually had an interest in what I had to say rather than just my body. Someone was interested in getting to know me beyond the surface level and…and then I was just pushed out in the morning. I was told it was all a ‘mistake.’ But what’s even worse is that I don’t even know how I feel about this person.”

Yeonjun stared down at where he was picking at his nails, slightly nervous at looking at his friends’ faces. He knows that they all remember the last relationship, and he doesn’t quite want to hear them remind him of it.

“That’s…” Taehyun reached out and put a hand on Yeonjun’s knee, offering some comfort. “It makes sense. Do you know why this other person rushed you out? Have you tried to reach out at all?”

“I have but it just seems like they don’t want anything to do with me. And, I don’t know, I just felt like we had kind of connected that night.” Taehyun looked at Soobin while Yeonjun’s head was still down, giving a look that was hard to decipher.

“If you’re really into them,” Beomgyu piped up. “I say it doesn’t hurt to maybe go to them in person when we get back to campus. See what their deal is. Maybe they don’t know how to approach you.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked at his friend with sympathetic eyes.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re the least approachable out of us,” Hyuka smirked and Beomgyu lightly shoved him, causing Yeonjun to smile, finally relaxing a bit.

Jjun nodded and looked around at his brothers. “I’m definitely going to try.”

—

First day of the Spring semester…and you completely embarrassed yourself in front of your classroom building. Of course, the rain was pouring heavily as you walked down the sidewalk, making you slide across the bricks. You didn’t have your rain boots anymore after someone (read: Jung Wooyoung) put them in the washer and dryer. So now you were stuck with your sneakers trying to watch where you trekked. It took carefully placed steps and really thinking about your walking for you to almost make it to your class without busting your ass. 

Almost.

Because, just as you were only a few steps from the door, you made the worst mistake of your life, and stepped on the wrong brick. Your foot slipped from under you, and your umbrella went up into the air as you put your hands down to catch yourself from completely bruising your behind. 

“Mother fucker,” you hissed out, placing a hand on your lower back as a shot of pain went through your body.

“Are you okay?” A voice asked from behind you called out over the heavy rain. Awesome.

A firm hand grabs at your bicep, gently helping you up as you slightly limped over to where your umbrella fell, pulling it over your head so you could keep yourself from getting any more drenched.

“Sorry, yeah I’m good, just didn’t–” You turned around to face the person who helped you up, only for the rest of your words to get caught in your throat.

Choi. Yeonjun. Of fucking course.

“Oh, hey.” It was all you could muster in your surprised state, and you were sure your voice gave away your shock. You hadn’t expected to run into him on your first day back, but here you were anyways. In fact, thinking over it, you were surprised to see him on this side of campus. He was a fashion and music double major…so what was he doing at the math building?

“How ha–”

“Sorry, I gotta…gotta get to class.” You interrupted him and gripping your umbrella tightly in your one hand, rushed to the front door to pull it open. You don’t typically consider yourself to be a rude person, not normally interrupting someone in the middle of their sentences and rushing off like that. But every time you had spotted Yeonjun since that night in your apartment, you would hurry off or hide. Simply put, you just didn’t want to deal with those feelings, nor draw any attention that came with interacting with him. And if dodging and ducking him was what you had to do for the rest of your time at the school, then so be it.

You hurriedly found your class, opening the door and finding a seat towards the farthest side of the room away from the door, somewhere in the middle. You took a deep breath, trying to slow your beating heart from everything that had happened in the past 10 minutes. You shifted a bit, thankful that these seats were cloth rather than the colder plastic the other buildings tended to have. It helped considering the backside of your jeans was still very wet and cold. 

Sitting for a second, you took a moment to recollect yourself. All you had to do was make it through this semester, and then it would be summertime. He would forget all about you over the summer with his summer flings, and the rest of your time here would be fine. No dodging or diving. Your only job now was to focus on classes and made sure you finished off the year strong. Not only did you have schoolwork, but you had your friends, family, and job to worry about. As well as the future, of course. That would take your mind off Yeonjun.

Pulling out your laptop and a notebook, you heard the door to the room open up, letting out a loud groan from its age. A small gasp came from behind you, and some murmurs filled the room. Quirking an eyebrow, you looked up from your laptop. 

Your eyes widened, meeting the last person you wanted to see.

Choi. Yeon. Jun.

—

Every class, you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, and it would cause you to lose focus. The first few times you tried to shrug it off. You figured that, eventually, he would have to give up. He would have to get tired of chasing you around. To your dismay, you’d come to find out that Choi Yeonjun was a very persistent man, and as the staring didn’t stop, you ultimately got irritated by it.

A few times you would turn your head around, attempting to not bring too much attention, and try to give him a glare, telling him to knock it off. However, this time, as soon as you turned your head around, he would be the one to look away, a small smirk playing on his lips. It would make you clench your jaw in frustration, but you would have to learn how to block it out.

Another routine that persisted in your shared class was that, after each session, he would quickly pack up and start making his way over to you. And you in turn, seeing him approach you out of the corner of your eye, would pack your things faster and borderline sprint to the door, knowing the last thing you needed now was him talking to you in front of the class.

He couldn’t understand it. He knew now that you were trying to avoid him, seeing you walk quicker every time you noticed him. But he didn’t understand why. You seemed so interested in him that night. You both talked about everything, talked about who you were as people. Who you both hoped to become in the future.

So why were you being so cold now?

—

“Why are you avoiding me?

“Huh?”

You had been leaving your last class to catch the bus to get to your apartment. However, when a hand grabbed at your arm and dragged you into an empty classroom, you couldn’t help but let out a small yelp of surprise, your other hand coming up ready to stat hitting at whoever it was.

Only, when you saw who it was, you lowered your arm, despite still having half a mind to hit him for scaring you. His question didn’t quite fully register in your brain due to the sizzy nature of everything happening so fast.

His eyes narrowed at you, jaw tensed. “You’re avoiding me. Why?”

You moved so his hand would let go of your bicep, shifting around your bag in order to keep your hands busy. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do, (Y/N). You know exactly what I’m talking about. You always run the opposite way when you see me, you respond to everything I say in less than three words, and you’re looking at me right now like I’ve grown two heads. So why are you avoiding me?”

Your eyes rolled and you planted your feet down, standing your ground as you looked him in the eye. “God, Yeonjun, I told you that night was a mis–” 

“I know. You said that, and I know that’s what you think.” His teeth gritted.

“Look all we did was sleep together and that’s it, I don’t understand why I am so different from all your other conquests.”

His brain felt like it just did tripped over itself, and it took him a second to thoroughly process the words you said to him.

“Wh–...So…Wait you’ve been avoiding me because you think we fucked?” His eyebrows shot up in shock and you slowly nodded your head, confused at what he was trying to say. He let out a scoff before a chuckle, turning his head to the door that he had pushed you through.

“God, if I had realized…” he trailed off, and your eyebrows pulled taut at where he was going. He finally leveled with your eyes and let out a deep sigh. “(Y/N), we didn’t have sex that night.”

He may as well have splashed ice-cold water on you with the way you froze. Your eyes went wide at his admission and you felt - and probably looked - like a deer in headlights. Your eyes went unfocused and fuzzy. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment at the fact that you had been dodging him the entire time for something that never actually happened.

“That night,” he continued, looking down at where his hands started to fidget. “We went back to your apartment, and you asked me to come inside so I could sober up. I did think at first that you were about to lead me into your bedroom. I mean, that’s what I’m used to. But you told me to sit on the couch and you went to get us both some water.”

A flash of a blurry memory played in your head, remembering how your head was slightly spinning filling the cups and walking back to the living room.

“And then we just started to talk. That was really all it was. Us talking about…well, everything. We talked about school and then that led to us talking about what we wanted to do in the future and our hobbies–”

“You really like J.Cole.” You interrupted him and watched as his eyes shot up to meet yours. “And…and you want to wear skirts more because you enjoy the feminine look it adds to your style.” 

A smile graced his face, his eyes lighting up at the small details you happened to remember. You wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it made your heart flutter in the tiniest bit. “Exactly.” 

His hand twitched, and he looked as if he was considering something, before he shook his head and continued to play with the skin around his nails.

“It’s just,” he continued as he stared at his hands once more. “I really enjoyed our talk. It felt as if…it felt like someone saw me. And…I don’t know, I was just wondering that, since you know all that now…” He clenched his fists, trying to find his words. Jesus christ, it shouldn’t be this hard. 

Finally, he sputtered out his question. “I was wondering if it would be okay if we hung out a little?”

Once again, your body froze up.

“No.”

And you left the classroom.

This was written by @/ro-written and is not to be plagiarized, translated, or distributed anywhere else. Copyright Ro-Written 2023.

All comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome!

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars LXX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m currently back in school and I’m not happy– Also, I’ve been re-reading the whole story bc I need to see if I’m not fucking up my plot and shiiit the first books just plain suck with all those typos lmao I’m suffering -Danny

Words: 2,983

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Five: Bulgaria vs Ireland.

Once the night sky was setting, they strolled around the field to look at the souvenirs several wizards were selling.

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action... slow everything down... and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain — ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

"No way you're buying me those," Mel frowned, pulling out her own money and buying her own pair, which technically left her without money to spare, but she wasn't going to admit it. "No, don't even try to insist. This year you won't outdo my Christmas present and that's final."

"Don't bother," Ron also tried to reject Harry's offer, but it was too late for him.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, giving Mel a pointed look. "For about ten years, mind. Hear that? If you had accepted my gift, Mellow, you would've had ten years to outdo me."

"Fair enough," said Ron, smiling down at the Omnioculars.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry! And I'll get us some programs, look —" Hermione walked over to the next stand.

"I know you're lying," Mel whispered once Ron and Hermione were far from earshot. "There's no way you'll stop giving them presents, you're too nice."

"And you're too stubborn," He replied with a smile. "But I'll find a way to outdo you, anyway."

When they went back to their tent, Mel threw two little green pins at Fred and George.

"I got you those, considering you wasted all your money on a stupid bet."

"It won't be so stupid once we win," George said, pinning the souvenir to his jersey. "Then you'll feel stupid."

"I'm looking forward to it," She grinned.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.

"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"

They walked for about five minutes (Mel convinced Charlie to give her a piggy back ride) and talked animatedly about the game and their expectations. In front of them, there was the biggest stadium Mel had ever seen.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again... bless them!"

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

So they climbed all the way up, Mel caught a glimpse of some annoucements that were magically appearing across the field.

'The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer . . . Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain! . . . Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade . . .'

"Look at that!" Mel said in amazement, taking a seat next to Harry.

But Harry was no longer looking at the field.

"Dobby?" Harry asked loudly.

Mel turned around, behind them there was a creature tha looked a lot like a mix between a very big doxie and a really ugly cat. It had huge brown eyes and a big round nose.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" The elf squeaked.

"Sorry," Harry replied, "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir! My name is Winky, sir — and you, sir —" Its eyes fixed on Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," Harry smiled awkwardly.

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!"

"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," said Winky. "Ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir. Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?"

"He is wanting paying for his work, sir." Winky replied in a very low, very frightful whisper.

"Paying? Well — why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter. House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter," She gulped. "But my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Harry frowned.

"Master — master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He's very busy," said Winky. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron examined Winky carefully. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry.

"They have their own charm," Mel said absentmindedly.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and played around with them for a bit.

"Wild!" He said, turning the replay knob. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again... and again... and again..."

"Oh, stop it," Mel pushed down his Omnioculars, though she was grinning.

" 'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,' " Hermione read aloud her program.

"Oh that's always worth watching– National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show." Mr. Weasley added happily.

After a while of waiting and watching the stands get a little bit more crowded, the Minister arrived to their booth, he introduced a few people to Harry, holding a fatherly attitude towards the boy.

"Harry Potter, you know," He was talking to the Bulgarian Minister. "Harry Potter... oh come on now, you know who he is... the boy who survived You-Know-Who... you do know who he is —"

The wizard saw Harry's scar and pointing at it excitedly.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat... Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places... ah, and here's Lucius!"

The whole Malfoy family arrived at that moment. All wearing the same sneer.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do? And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk — Obalonsk — Mr. — well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else — you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

"Good lord, Arthur," Mr. Malfoy said in what sounded like the most false kindness she'd ever heard. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

"Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest." The Minister said almost at the same time, not really listening to the man.

"How — how nice," said Mr. Weasley.

"Guilty, that's what he is," Mel leaned to whisper in Harry's ear. "That man thinks he can fix anything with money..."

Harry barely nodded, his eyes fixed on Mr. Malfoy.

After they moved along, it didn't take long for Ludo Bagman to appear, looking rather excited and jolly.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message

(Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans — A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

"Excuse me?" Mel leaned closer to the edge, alarmed. "Those aren't mascots– those are women!"

But after looking at them for about five extra seconds, Mel understood that those couldn't possibly be just women. They were too similar, same skin color and hair– they moved as if time went by slower around them. They were, in the most fascinating way, extremely ethereal, like the fairy godmothers of her fairytales.

The veela started to dance around the field; something warm spread over her chest. She felt at ease. She felt too at ease, actually. Something was wrong.

She remembered what Dumbledore had told her on one of their many lessons, 'Beauty in magic almost never equals good or safe.' Things that shone too brightly were often that way so it would blind you from its actual intentions.

She shook her head, blinking rapidly and noticing the movement on her left. When she turned she saw Harry, trying to climb the wall that protected them.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked harshly.

Mel reached for the back of his shirt and forced him to sit down. Beside him, Ron was sitting stifly on his place, and he was destroying his Ireland hat.

'Sirens' was the first thing she thought. Even though she now knew that mermaids didn't look at all like a veela, she was pretty sure the effects were meant to be similar. Luring humans to their deaths... and Harry had fallen right into their trap.

"Honestly!" Hermione rolled her eyes, sinking further on her seat.

"Really?" Mel frowned. "Is that all it takes for you to lose your mind?"

"What?" Harry looked at her in a daze.

"Nevermind," She groaned, directing her gaze towards the field again to watch the veela stand aside.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light re- united and merged; they had formed a great shimmering sham- rock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it —

"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr. Weasley.

"There you go," Ron shouted, giving Harry a handful of gold coins, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome — the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you — Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars.

"And now, please greet — the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting — Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand — Lynch!"

"They all have Firebolts," Mel gasped. "There's no way Bulgaria can beat that!"

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF! And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

Her heart was leaping every so often she could hardly remain still. They game was thrilling, she even thought that a person like Erick, who didn't like Quidditch that much, would enjoy a game like this one. One could tell it was professional players out there, they moved around the field which such simplycity that even caused her to long for flying.

She thought about it for a second. Maybe, just maybe, she could try to join their school Quidditch's team this year. Harry said she was good enough, perhaps he wasn't lying.

The veela had lost control after watching their team losing by a great amount and transformed into some type of harpies, Mel thought Dumbledore would've been proud of her deduction skills, having figured out the veela on her own.

Krum, Bulgaria's seeker, had been severly injured, but that wasn't the only thing happening.

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled abruptly. "He's seen the Snitch! He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Both seekers were now heading towards it at great speed.

"They're going to crash!"

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

Right at that moment Lynch fell flat on the grass, Krum had suddenly flown up into the air.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie yelled

"He's got it — Krum's got it — it's all over!" Harry yelled back.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had hap- pened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

Mel turned at the comment, locking eyes with George who sent a pleased grin her way. Those two, she couldn't believe they were so lucky.

"What did he catch the Snitch for? He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!" Ron said in disbelief.

"I thought he was a genius," Mel snorted.

"He knew they were never going to catch up! The Irish Chasers were too good... He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..." Harry explained.

"He was very brave, wasn't he? He looks a terrible mess..." Hermione said, peering to the field were the team was now standing.

"I love Quidditch!" Mel beamed. "Have you seen anything as impressive and breathtaking as that?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied, smiling.

He wasn't looking at the field, though.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," someone said behind them in a very thick accent.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, looking at the Bulgarian minister with wide eyes. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," said the minister.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman. "Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers — Bulgaria!"

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectac- ularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being sup- ported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a be- mused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn't have lasted longer. . . . Ah yes. . . . yes, I owe you . . . how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018 @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @omiwashere @thesuitelifeofafangirl @kylosleftbuttcheek @vernon-dursley @tomshollandz @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight

[sufferingsoup]

Listen I’ve been fucking ~obsessed~ with @thenerdyalchemist ‘s pirate AU (I’m sure nobody could tell bc I definitely don’t reblog eVrY dAmN pOsT of it nope not me never😂😂) and I just needed to write this scene. I’ve had it in my head since I read all the HCs for this AU and I needed to put it on paper lol. I’m not great at writing whatsoever, I’m v out of practice and def didn’t edit this, but I wrote it and it exists so I might as well post it right? Lmao. Anyway here it is hope u enjoy 😩 (Also sorry in advance abt the wack ass formatting lmao. I never make posts on tumblr and I highkey wrote this in a note on my phone and then pasted it in here lol)

Runaan grinned as he practically hung over the side of his ship, watching the familiar dock inch closer and closer. It felt like years since he had been back to this town, /his/ town. He was finally in the home stretch, and his crew couldn’t dock the ship fast enough for him. Before, he could stay out at sea forever. If it weren’t for the need to restock supplies every once in a while, he probably would. The open ocean was his home town, his crew was his family, his ship was his home, he didn’t need anything else before. But now? Now he had a reason to /want/ to go back to land.

/Him./

It had been an absolutely agonizing few months. When he had first set sail, he figured it would be like every other quest. Of course he would miss Ethari dearly, but they would both be busy with their respective work, and they could write to each other in the mean time. But this time was different. The moment he left his heart had sunk, leaving a gaping hole in his chest that widened further as he watched Ethari sit on the dock and wave until he could no longer see him. The first thing he did was write a letter to him. Even though he had only just left, he felt like a huge piece of him was missing without him there by his side. He found that he could not enjoy himself as much as he normally would.

The salty smell of the sea and the rhythmic pounding of the waves that used to calm him no matter how upset he was now served only to fill his thoughts with memories of midnight walks along the beach. The sand between his toes and rough, yet gentle fingers interlacing with his own, shoulders knocking against each other every so often. Looking into those bright amber eyes reflecting the moonlight back at him, putting all of his emotions clearly on display for Runaan to see.

The beating heat of the sun that would warm him through to his bones after a stormy night now reminded him of the forge, his mind replaying all the soft, intimate conversations they had while Ethari tinkered away on whatever his current project was. That thick accent of his, and his deep voice that could command the attention of an entire town if he wanted to, clashing oh-so-beautifully with his gentle laugh and sweet words.

The sea shanties the crew would sing in celebration of a successful mission, the dancing that accompanied them, the merriment he once found endearing and joyous and hilarious now dragged Ethari’s ethereal voice through his mind, reminding him of the many dances they shared during the festivals Ethari would drag him to when he visited. The brightest, purest of grins gracing that magnificent face as they held each other close, moving together to the beat and singing along with the familiar lyrics.

Everywhere he looked he only saw Ethari. All the sounds he heard, the scents he smelled, the touches he felt, the flavors he tasted, everything came back to him. /Oh, Ethari would love these jewels, he would make the prettiest necklace out of them!/ ... /The fire smells just like his workshop tonight, I wonder what he’s working on right now/ ... /Ethari so adores the sound of the seagulls calling out over the beach, I’ll have to tell him how many have followed us!/ All of his thoughts were consumed by /him/. It was driving him mad not being able to see him, hear him, touch him for himself.

But today was the day. /Finally/ he would be able to hold him again, and this time he would not let him go.

Ethari hummed softly as he carefully shined thin wires around the glittering stone. He wanted to make a unique little ring as a returning gift for Runaan. The shiny silver wires braided together and held a small, elegant opal in the center. Runaan’s last letter had informed him that he was almost back again, he was expecting him any day now. He had made sure to clear his schedule for a few days so he could welcome him back properly. He had so many things to tell him and show him, and Runaan always brought him lots of sparkly things when he returned from his quests.

He has been terribly lonely while Runaan was away. He was always a bit uneasy when he left, always worrying for his safety and missing his presence. Working on his projects was much more fun when his heart was safe and sound right next him to tell him stories and laugh at his awful jokes. But this time was much harder.

He was gone for a long time, and even though they wrote each other frequently, nothing could quite fill the hole in his heart. He decided he hated sleeping alone ever since Runaan had begun to stay with him when he would return. Every morning he would awaken to find himself disappointed at the empty silence that met him. Runaan would always be up bright and early, practicing his sword-fighting in the living room or getting chores done for him before the sun even had the chance to peak over the horizon. He would have tea and breakfast ready for him every morning, and Ethari was convinced that there was no better sight than a messy, early-morning Runaan bustling away in the kitchen with his hair down.

No, he didn’t like having breakfast without Runaan at all. Just like he hated walking the market without their arms linked together, Runaan haggling over everything Ethari tried to buy. Just like he hated wandering the beaches alone, without his hard-ass, pirate-king lover to playfully kick sand at and push into the water. Just like he hated coming across a new merchant with fun new foods and goods he had never seen before without Runaan to explain what they were and eagerly buy the lot for him. Life was utterly dull without Runaan by his side.

But soon he would be back. Soon he would be back in his arms.

Runaan pulled his hair out of its messy bun as they approached the dock, allowing it to flow in the breeze as freely and lightly as he felt. The moment the ship was close enough to the dock, he leaped over the side and climbed down.

“Make sure she’s tied down good, lads! I’ll be back in a bit to help with the unloading!” He called to his crew as he ran towards the street.

His heart fluttered as he felt the little ring hidden in his coin purse bounce against his leg. Today was the day. He sped through the market on the familiar route he had taken hundreds of times before. People jumped out of his way as they saw the tattoos on his face, gazing after him questioningly. It wasn’t very usual to see the dreaded pirate king running through town like a giddy schoolgirl. He didn’t care, though. He was on a mission of utmost importance. His body was leading him to his heart as fast as it could carry him. Before he knew it, he could see the familiar old door with the splintering old sign dangling above it, swaying in the light breeze. His grin widened as he picked up his pace for the final few strides. He skidded to a halt in front of the workshop door and kicked it in.

“Ethari!” He shouted, ready to combust from the pure excitement and the slight nerves zipping around throughout his body. The tinker gasped in surprise from his position at his worktable, whipping around to see the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on grinning in the wide-open doorway. He gasped again and slapped a hand over his mouth as hot tears began to sting at the corners of his eyes.

“Runaan!” He replied, getting up from his stool and running toward his lover, “I didn’t know you’d be back so-“

He stopped hard in his tracks a few paces away from him when Runaan suddenly dropped to one knee, staring up into his eyes with the softest look he had ever seen on his hard features. Ethari watched silently with wide eyes as Runaan dug in his coin purse and retrieved a shiny golden band adorned with tiny, glittering aventurine crystals around the middle, holding it up to him.

“Marry me, Ethari.” He breathed. The tears were flowing freely down Ethari’s cheeks now.

“Are you sure?” He asked, voice small and quivering. Runaan nodded hastily, grabbing Ethari’s hands tightly.

“I don’t want to be without you for another second, my darling heart. I want to travel the world with you by my side. I want to show you all the amazing things I get to see. I want you to sing to me while we lay together in our hammock and let the waves rock us to sleep. I want to make you tea every morning for the rest of my life, just so I can see that beautiful, sleepy, lopsided grin of yours first thing every day. You are all I need in this life. Please, my love, my /heart/, be my forever.”

Ethari fell to his knees in front of him, sobbing into his hands. Runaan pulled him into a tight embrace, tangling a hand into his messy hair as Ethari buried his face in the crook of his neck. They stayed that way for a moment, Ethari crying onto his shoulder as Runaan comforted him gently. When Ethari had calmed down enough to think, Runaan chuckled softly.

“Is that a yes?” He teased.

Ethari pulled back, cupping Runaan’s face in his hands and staring deeply into his eyes.

“What else could it possibly be, my shade?” He sniffed before crashing their lips together desperately.

After a moment of passionate kissing, Runaan pulled back and took Ethari’s hand gently in his own, sliding the sparkling ring onto his finger. Ethari lifted his hand to admire it. The gems were the color of Runaan’s eyes, and they sparkled beautifully no matter which way the light hit them. Suddenly, he remember the little ring he had dropped on his table when his door had been busted in. He gasped and ran over to grab it. Runaan followed him curiously, trying to peek over his shoulder before Ethari turned and held it up to him.

“It was just supposed to be a ‘welcome back’ gift, but it seems it might be a bit more than that now.” He giggled as Runaan stared at it in awe.

“It’s beautiful...” he said as Ethari took his hand and gently placed it on his finger. He turned his hand over and over again, taking in every bit of the artistry and craftsmanship that went into the tiny piece of jewelry before grinning up at his newly betrothed. He fell into Ethari’s strong arms and kissed him again - more gently this time - before resting their foreheads together.

“So,” Ethari started with a mischievous grin, “does this mean I finally get to watch you swab the poop-deck now? I was never on the ship long enough to see it.” He teased. Runaan groaned, but he couldn’t mask the laugh that bubbled up from his belly.

“No,” he sassed back, “it means /I/ get to watch /you/ do it. The /king/ never does hard manual labor.” He grinned, pinching Ethari’s sides. Ethari snorted and grabbed his hands, wrapping his arms around him again and pinning them behind his back firmly. He smirked at him and brushed his nose lightly against Runaan’s.

“We’ll see about that later tonight now won’t we, my /king/.”

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (11)

Chapter 11: Innocence, Lost and Found | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

A/N: The header was supposed to be a Spotify link but it looked so inconsistent with how I usually lay out my fics here that my OCD kicked in and jumped ship lmao anyway, the mood song I had in mind for this chapter was “I Won’t Say I’m in Love” from Hercules UwU Also, sorry that this chapter went a bit beyond my usual word count, I got carried away with the fluff ;;A;;

Also tagging: @berenilion @stellar-trinity @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms @peterwandaparker @cal-jestis @justtinfoley @fallenjedii @queen-destenie @calgasm @sweeetteaa​ @calsponchoemporium​ @superwarsofthrones​ @ayamenimthiriel​

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 | Previous: Part 10 | Next: Part 12 | Masterlist

11 of ?

Whether or not Jidné knew, Cal heard her squeals’ echoes in the distance as she sprinted away. He smiled to himself, even after her sound had died down. He could’ve sworn he felt his heart slow down and then make the biggest thump that he thought it’d burst right through his ribs. He clutched his chest where Jidné’s hand lay just mere minutes ago.

Cal let out a sigh and threw himself backwards to the soil, a bed of grass cushioned his fall and now he’s facing up at the first stars of the evening sky. He used his hands as a pillow for his head while BD-1 snuggles to his side.

“Beee, trill?”

“Yeah, BD-1… I feel great!” Cal laughed.

He stared up at the stars and counted them silently; however, the longer he stared, the more he remembered Jidné and everything the two of them did together. The faintness of her shy giggles lingered behind his ears, parts of his skin where Jidné had touched burned and tingled; he intentionally kept his eyes closed after blinking to reimagine those dark, soulful irises staring back at him accompanied by the coy smile that curled along her lips.

His free hand cupped his mouth as he remained lying on the grass, fantasizing of the kiss that almost was; more stars and fleeting comets riddled the deep blue sky, silver plumes of clouds loomed in front of the platinum moon. He exhaled nasally and closed his eyes again, his mind replayed the moments of their interactions these past few days. His mind repeated the last thing Jidné said before she said good night and left.

“You always seem to have a way of finding me,”

That sentence circled his mind the whole night and reminisced the moments where they found each other in the uncanny of timings—it all began when he followed the sound of her voice, ever since then, he always stumbles his way to her and he’ll be greeted with the same warmth from the same, kind smile. Over and over, his head replayed the image of her—in every angle, in every silhouette, and in every light; his fingers slowly curled inward upon the fantasy of feeling her tiny hands nestled between his roughened hands and the way she held his hand to use her Force Shroud on both of them when escaping the bounty hunters who chased him in Diitana.

Cal wondered if the Force had willed the two of them to meet. He wished that the Force would speak in words to tell him straight in the face—or at least send a sign, even if technically that’s not how the Force works.

His hand wandered to his chest again, feeling for his racing heartbeat and clutching the fabric of his jacket to calm down the swirling storm within his ribcage. He coaxed himself to stand up and return to the Mantis, when he did come back, he was greeted with teasing glares from the crew.

“Well, you seem to be in high spirits at such an untimely hour,”

“Is that bad?”

Cere shook her head while smiling, she mouthed “No.”

The redheaded Jedi slept through the night with butterflies in his stomach and a smile he couldn’t completely wipe off of his face even if he wanted to.

Jidné had returned to the confinement of the Scarab. ID-3 hopped out of her shoulder and hovered about, meanwhile she pressed her back against the cold metal door as she caught her breath—parched and wheezing from the panting and the in-between giggles to herself.

She patted the body of her jacket and remembered the shard she picked up back in the Mantis. She fished it out of her pocket and held the shard between her fingers.

“ID-3, can you analyze, please?”

The droid obliged, a small tray slid open from its body where Jidné gingerly dropped the shard in, ID-3 hovered to the computer along the walls of the lounge and plugged in his port connector. An image of the shard larger than its actual size appeared as a projection, inscriptions and panels of information flashed on the screen—attempting to decipher what this shard had when it was still whole was a bit of a stretch, but Jidné’s resourcefulness as a bounty hunter came into play.

“Beeep, chirp?”

“This shard could be only the shell part; but it’s sizable, it could be part of the core—then the contents would still be intact… some of them though,” Jidné thought out loud, nipping the tip of her thumb as she pondered. “But what if I could…?”

The words trailed off, but the idea remained. She debated against herself regarding the reality of her idea.

“Trill, beee?” ID-3 inquired, noticing the apparent silence from his owner.

“Would meditating even work…?”

Nonetheless, she gave it a try. ID-3 relinquished the shard out of his compartment and handed it over to Jidné. For the rest of the night, in the solace of her bedroom, she meditated deeply on that little emerald shard not bigger than Cal’s second kyber crystal. Behind her eyes, she could see a map of sorts, she recognizes the planets on them but got confused when she found two planets of two different systems near each other, tiny inscriptions grew in size until they were readable—the Aurebesh danced and flickered in her eyes until they stayed put to make the words.

The words turned into names of planets and of people, she caught a glimpse of a child using the Force—she could feel the child’s fascination with their newfound ability, despite not fully grasping their capability yet. Jidné questioned the Force in her mind why did it show her a child using the Force to play.

Her eyes shot up, unable to make of what she saw in her visions.

“What does it have to do with a kid? Unless…” Jidné pondered briefly, and then dismissed the thought. “That doesn’t help in clearing things up. I should go to bed.”

ID-3 trilled in agreement, sprinkling in some teases—pointing out how Jidné blushed fiercely when she was together with Cal.

“Can you not, you little saucer?!” Jidné screeched quite defensively.

The disc-shaped droid laughed—a robotic croaking of a single note, nonetheless a cheery one. Jidné snatched her droid into her arms and hugged him as their laughing mingled. She and ID retired to the captain’s quarters; Jidné shed off the cowl and jacket, leaving out the tank top that she wears underneath it, and pulled away the boots from her feet before bringing them up to the bed.

Jidné spaced out staring at the ceiling, absentmindedly she rubbed her hands together, feeling for Cal’s touch. She sighed and closed her eyes, remembering the sensation simply through touch.

“His hands… are so gentle,” she muttered, lightly clenching her fingers and rubbing the back of her hand until she drifted off to sleep.

Cal woke up hopeful the next morning. He was like a child again—incapable of hiding his excitement and eagerness while moving with such haste. When he joined everyone for breakfast, they watched how chipper the boy is as he scarfed down his breakfast in ten bites or less.

“Kid, kid, don’t you want a glass of water first after gobbling up your food all at once?” Greez beckoned, handing over Cal’s glass to him before the young redhead could get any farther from the table.

“Can’t have you choking on your words and breakfast at the same time when you face Jidné,” Merrin blurted, sipping on her cup of tea.

“No, I won’t choke!” Cal rebuked.

“Uh-huh,”

Regardless, Cal did take a gulp of water from the glass that Greez had offered him. He stood from his seat at the table and beckoned BD-1 to come along, the little droid hopped on over on his shoulder as he went down the stairs until he disappeared from the Mantis.

East of Diitana is a forest, a few miles away from where he and Jidné first met. He brushed his way through the shrubs. He used his climbing claws to scale the great trees to get a better view of the lay of the land, he pushed away curtains of vines that blocked his way to the next branch until he got the topmost of the tree he climbed up on.

The next thing he saw took his breath away—the expanse of Ombari from what ought to be the highest vantage point he’s ever been on. Green and orange clashed, evergreen treelines touched with the red mountain ridges of the badlands: a dramatic contrast of colors of terrain.

“Wow, would you look at that!” Cal gasped.

“Triiiiiiilll!!!”

He scanned the red plateaus, mountain ranges, and mesas that walled the continent from the next land mass beyond. On the other side continued the lushness of Ombari’s land—a meadow that stretched wide with rich green grass for the herbivores to graze on, a great lake and waterfall could be seen at the farthest end.

The wind blew in his freckled face, the cool breeze ruffled his soft locks and swayed them as if they danced along with the current. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up, savoring the fresh air while being on top of the world. His heart couldn’t take the excitement, it stormed within his chest as he panned his head from west to east of the entire planet.

“Come on, BD, let’s go around some more!”

“Beep!”

Climbing up the great tree was a challenge, but the hardest was finding his way back down. Perched upon on the thick, sturdy branches, Cal strategized how he’ll get back on the ground that’s about twenty feet below him. He spotted coiled vines dangling from the treetops.

“I sure hope this works,” Cal uttered to no one in particular.

The boy thought he could make the jump and grab a vine to slip his way down, he instantly regretted it the moment he was suspended in the air—he desperately clawed the air in the hopes of catching at least a single vine. It was too late for him to catch one using Force pull, in turn, it’s the vines and lianas that caught him! During his fall, some of the snapped from the impact, others wrapped around him in different portions of his body; they tangled and coiled around his legs as he fell.

While he was saved from an apparent fatal head and neck injury, poor Cal dangled with his head just three feet above the forest floor. The flap of his poncho flopped upside down, obscuring his entire upper body. He grumbled, flailing around helplessly as he tried to reach for the vines that snaked around his legs, unfortunately, his poncho didn’t budge.

“Well, this is just spectacular!” sighed the upside-down Jedi in great vexation.

On the other hand, BD-1 wasn’t the one who’s got their legs stuck around tree vines. He hopped down from Cal in the first few minutes he got himself suspended with his head pointed down.

“BD-1? BD, who’s coming? Who’s there?”

He craned his head and saw a pair of boots peeking under. Two hands hiked up the hem of Cal’s poncho to reveal his face.

“Hey,” Jidné greeted casually. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Hah! Ha…” Cal half-heartedly chuckled. He playfully crossed his arms. “Oh, you know, not falling far from the tree.”

They concluded the exchange of tree and hanging puns with laughs. It pained them that giggling it away felt like the best resolution for both of them.

“Alright, I’m gonna cut off the vines for you,”

Jidné lets go of the poncho while Cal repeatedly barked “No!” and “Wait!” in the same sentence. His hands blindly pawed the air in search of Jidné, but she had already stepped away to a safe distance. She lobbed her weapon at the vines, the blade fanned through the air until it severed the vines a few inches above Cal’s legs—the boy’s body anticipated a fall, instead he felt like he’s floating. He finally pushed away the poncho that obscured his face and found Jidné’s free hand directed at him, she’d caught him using the Force and gently laid him down while her sword hand caught the returning lightsaber after she threw it.

“Thanks,”

“No problem,” Jidné shrugged her shoulders and gave him her hand to bring him up to his feet.

Cal dusted off the leaves and specks of dirt that clumped on his clothes; he got flustered all of a sudden when he saw Jidné bringing her hand close to his face and was proved otherwise when she picked out a leaf that got caught in his hair.

“You okay?”

Cal nodded and then the bounty hunter tilted her head back, emphasizing on the height of the tree in which the Jedi fell from.

“What were you doing up there, anyway?”

“Oh you know, trying to get a better look of Ombari—in a certain point of view,”

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“Glad you asked!”

Instead of answering her directly, he takes her by the hand again and led her to where the meadow ought to be. Cal could feel Jidné’s grip tighten around his and even if she may not feel it—he squeezed it back; together, they followed an invisible path that perhaps only the two of them could see. Bushes and shrubs snapped and rustled when the Jedi and bounty hunter shouldered their way through, dried and withered leaves crunched and got whisked into the air by their heels, and the dewy mist cooled their pores as they dashed.

At the end of their run, their finish line was the seemingly endless vastness of the meadow. They scanned the sights as they caught their breaths. Long-stalked flowers, as well as the grass, danced pliantly in the direction of the wind. The faint crash of the waterfall in the lake echoed and mingled with the bellowing of the grazing herbivores.

“Oh my…” Jidné gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Over here, Jidné!”

Jidné was startled to find that Cal had run off a few meters away from her already, she raced and caught up to him. Both of them frolicked gaily, drawing attention from the grazing animals that they passed by, their droids hovered and fluttered about like mechanical butterflies while following their owners. BD-1 and ID-3 scanned the grazers for their databanks.

“What is it, BD?”

“Trill, bee!”

In translation, BD-1 told Cal about these grazing animals—the Q’aval, a docile animal that can easily be domesticated for labor such as pulling carts or serving as mounts, though in the wild, they can be quite a handful to tame and they pack a mean kick especially with their hind legs.

Cal decided it was a good idea to approach one of them amongst the herd. At first it whinnied and slightly reared when the animal saw the human boy approach it. He cooed “It’s okay” in soft whispers repeatedly while cautiously stepping towards the Q’aval, the gentle pat of Cal’s hand calmed down the majestic, hooved beast and nickered softly.

“There we go,”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jidné warned.

“It’ll be okay,” Cal reassured her while petting the Q’aval’s long, downward muzzle.

He noticed that Jidné stood there frigidly while examining the animal, he noticed the nervousness conflicting with the fascination in her face.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t bite,”

As much as Jidné wanted to pet the Q’aval too, her hands trembled profusely as she hoisted them to the level of the animal’s muzzle. Cal carefully took her hand and guided it towards the muzzle, his free hand then found the small of her back to comfort her. Her slender fingers came into contact with the curve of the animal’s jaw and by impulse, she petted it in a smooth pace.

The Q’aval quickly warmed up to Cal and Jidné, nudging its head closer to them to demand more pats and they gladly obliged. In the right timing, Cal quickly mounted the steed, it reared for a few moments as it was startled by the sudden weight that bore on its back; Jidné kept her distance from the Q’aval that bucked and kicked even though Cal was continuously petting its broad neck.

“Wanna hitch a ride?” Cal blurted.

Jidné scoffed a chuckle, resorting to petting the animal’s neck, “Is it safe?”

“Sure, do you trust me?”

The girl’s head jerked to Cal. There’s the child-like yet tender gaze looking back at her, the gleaming emerald eyes that always had a natural allure that she couldn’t take her own eyes off of them, and then the coy and inviting smile to top it all off.

“I do,”

She approached him, he extended his hand to which she gladly takes. With a sudden might, he hoisted her to the back of the Q’aval with him; out of instinct, she snaked her arms around his waist to keep herself balanced upon the mount. BD-1 gently perched upon the animal’s mane while ID-3 returned to Jidné’s shoulders. Cal licked his lips and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“Don’t ever let go,”

Jidné intertwined her fingers much tighter together and buckled closer to Cal.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

A gentle yet abrupt kick spurred the Q’aval to gallop across the meadow. The animal’s speed was breathtaking yet empowering; their hairs danced in the wind as they ran towards the never-ending horizon. Neither of the two Jedi have ever felt anything like this—it was simply astonishing!

The Q’aval made for the hills, as if in an attempt to show them the greater breadth of the planet. To their surprise, they’ve been revealed the coastline of Ombari’s main continent—black rocks framed the deep blue ocean with ivory seafoam that striped its waters, a shore of golden sand lined the beaches from one rock formation to the other. Cal felt Jidné rest her chin upon the edge of his shoulder.

“Oh wow…” she gasped, the sight of the coastline had stolen all of the air in her lungs in wonderment. She swooned. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

Cal could feel her smile at the same time their fingers intertwine.

They returned to the meadow and dismounted the Q’aval which they thanked with a lot of pats before it returned to its herd.

They refreshed their parched throats with the sweet, cool water from the lake and rested by its banks. They settled atop the peak of another small hill where they can see the whole view of the animals and the waterfall. Jidné stretched out her legs on the earth and propped herself leisurely on her elbows while Cal drew his knees close to his chest where he can rest his arms.

“I never saw myself being in a situation like this,” Jidné initiated.

“What do you mean?”

“Back then, I barely had the time to explore in the same way as this. I understood that Master Anesh just wanted to keep me within a safe distance, but I felt like I kinda missed out on how worlds really looked like.”

“Well, we managed to see how Ombari really looks like,” Cal chirped.

Jidné turned to Cal and shot him a smile, “You’re right about that.”

“Actually, it’s really nice to lay low for once,”

“Oh? You hiding from someone?”

“Well yes… but actually no,”

The uncertain n tone in Cal’s voice made him sound like he’s questioning even himself. Jidné tilted her head and shot him a look to go on and say what he meant.

“These past few days, Inquisitors and Imperials have been chasing us back and forth for a Holocron,”

“The Inquisitors, I’ve heard about them,” Jidné trailed. “What do they want with a Holocron?”

“Well, it contains the list of all the Force-sensitive children,” Cal looked at Jidné in the eye. “The next generation of Jedi.”

Jidné’s heart raced. She put two and two together. Everything that Cal just said gave light to what she discovered last night.

That explains the child I saw! In her mind, she exclaimed.

She figured the Holocron was the second thing Vader needed—she remembers their negotiation back in Modala, the calm yet demanding tone of the dark lord thundered in her mind and rumbled her heart. She zoned out, staring back at the flawless green plains, letting the two facts sink into her.

“Are you searching for the children now?” inquired a curious Jidné, there was an ulterior motive between her words that Cal may or may not have hinted.

“No,” the boy simply shook his head. “Even if we did find them, the Empire will come after them. The same way they’re after us, I think.”

Her heart sank further in, Cal’s last sentence hit her close to home. The same goes for them back when they were younger—when they were still Padawan learners—it’s unimaginable to think that these children, who have no idea what they’re capable of in the first place, be suddenly robbed of their homes and families simply because they were Force-sensitive, all for the sake of the Empire’s exploits.

“So, the only way the crew and I thought would keep them safe is…” Cal trailed off. The fact that he destroyed a Holocron felt like a sin for once, even though he seemed confident about it when he had done the deed. “Is destroying the Holocron.”

The cogs in the bounty hunter’s mind turned so relentlessly that sparks sputtered in the tiny gaps in between. She masked her surprise with a straight face and pensive eyes, on the inside, she’s already drafting her progress report should Darth Vader come in contact with her.

Cal took notice of her silence, he examined the girl’s stoic expression: eyes lost to the endless meadow, lips slightly parted with the words dripping at the edge, and the gentle rising and falling of her breast as she breathed.

“You did the right thing,”

“For a second there, you looked like you just heard me confess a crime,”

“Well, I was never told that there was a law that destroying Holocrons was a criminal offense!”

The two traded glances and ended up in giggles, returning their gazes at the meadow and counting the Q’avals that grazed the tall grass. The day was whiled away with their banters of their childhood. They may have been worlds apart, but the stories that were so alike with another had linked them.

“You know, it’s funny,” Cal began.

“What is?”

“We’ve probably never even met along the halls in the Jedi Temple, yet somehow I find it easy to talk to you about these sorts of things. It’s like I’ve known you all my life,”

Jidné reciprocated the sentiment. Her thoughtful eyes smiled back at him, she plopped her back flat against the soft earth to hide her cheeks in their blushing glory. Cal started plucking the tiny flowers that dotted the plains and surrounded them, he adorned her dark hair splayed on the grass with white and pink buds while his free hand dared to caress her cheek—the back of his fingers stroking and tracing the suppleness of her face down to her jaw.

His touch was received with the upward curl at the corner of her lip, in return, Jidné plucked out a blade of grass and drew invisible lines over his scars—tickling his neck, cheek, and the bridge of his nose, counting his freckles with the pointed end of the stalk, her thumb softly brushing against his lip to find the tiny nick on his lower lip. Her slender fingers combed away the stray locks that draped over his forehead, revealing another slit that cut through his eyebrow.

She could only imagine what kind of stories these marks have to tell her.

Evening fell upon the two youngsters, Cal promptly stood up.

“Let me take you to your ship. Is it still in the badlands?”

“Sharp memory,” she blurted.

Cal offered Jidné a ride on a Q’aval before it got any darker. By default, she wrapped her arms around him again and he welcomed her embrace, Cal spurred the animal and in obeisance to its rider, the Q’aval reared and galloped through the plains, they passed by Diitana and crossed its bridge until they’ve arrived in the badlands.

Jidné did some backseat driving, directing Cal where to go until they found the trenches and he caught a glimpse of the Scarab’s hull. Both of them dismounted the animal, Cal got a closer look of her freighter—he recalls scrapping a similar model back in Bracca.

“You could have stayed the night at the Mantis, you know,” the Jedi initiated.

Jidné pursed her lips, “It looks like a full house in there.”

“Nah, you fit right in,”

“It’s fine, Cal,” she insisted politely.

“Well, if it’s not too much to ask—let’s do this again some time?”

Even in the night, the girl could always spot the twinkle in Cal’s clear jade eyes; he didn’t need any more words, his fond puppy-eyed gaze was enough to get her heart going—though, she wondered if he was aware that he made her feel that way.

“Don’t look at me like that,”

“Why not?” he cooed back.

“Because I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to say no,”

Cal chuckled nasally. He took out a flower that he had tucked underneath the straps of his armor and wore it on Jidné’s hair, wearing it into the braid that crowned the side of her head.

“Then I can wait for that yes,”

He leaned in and planted his lips against her cheek. He found her standing there, apparently taken aback by the gesture, when he looked over his shoulder.

“Good night, Jidné.”

“Good night, Cal.”

The animal reared once more and Jidné watched the boy ride into the distance, leaving plumes of dust in his wake. Her heartbeat synchronized with the hooves of the Q’aval as he departed. Absentmindedly, her fingers fondled the petals of the flower pinned into her hair while looking into the now-empty desert.

An epiphany threw its way into her—it felt like something invisible had tackled her into submission and punched her in the gut so violently that she arched inward for a bit.

“Shit…”

“Cheep?”

“This never happened before… No… It can’t...” she turned to ID-3 for some sort of affirmation. “Can it?”

[ella-se-vuelve-loca]

Last One, I Swear! | Erick Brian Colón

Sooo I noticed I haven’t done any stories for Erick yet lol for now, the stories I write for him won’t have any of that dirty stuff y’all like lmaooo sorry x

Warnings: None lol just pure fluff

Masterlist

Wanna be tagged for future fics?

**

“Alright, one more!” Erick yelled as he lost another game of Mario Kart, again. “C’mon, I’ve - I’ve got it this time. I can feel it.” He went to start another match, but I stopped him. “Erick, let’s just turn off the game.” I said. “No, I refuse to accept defeat.” He got comfortable on the floor and had a frown sketched on his face. “Estas bien, mi amor?” I asked him. “No, it’s fine. It’s - it’s all good. Everything’s great.” Yeah, that wasn’t sarcastic at all. I looked at the time and realized how late it was. Yikes! The boys have to wake up early tomorrow for an interview. We were in his hotel room playing video games and ordered in some food to eat. We didn’t realize how late it was getting. “Erick, mira.” I showed him the time on my phone.

“I just.. oh.. ya son las 2:25 de la mañana?” He realized. I nodded and his head dropped. “We should head to sleep. I don’t want you to be grumpy when I come back to wake you up.” He sighed and slowly started to get up. “Yeah, I guess we do have to wake up early tomorrow..” I kept a smile on my face as I thought about how much Erick gets involved in this game and can never beat me. What can I say? I’m pretty damn good at it.

“Okay, fine let’s go to… porqué estas sonriendo asi?” I just shook my head and stood up. “Nothing, why?” I asked him and chuckled. I went to go and grab my hotel key card. “Crees que no puedo hacerlo, ¿verdad?” He accused and I just laughed, not being able to hold it in. “How dare you.” He had a small smile on his face. “It’s not my fault you keep losing. You’re just not that good as I am.” I flipped my hair and laughed. “Alright, grab your controller. We’re doing this right now.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at the time once again. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t wanna hear you complain that you didn’t win against me again.” I laughed. “No, don’t give me that. I’ll show you that I can win at least one race.” He looked determined. Then again, so did the other times.

“C’mon mi amor, just one more. I’ll prove myself! I know you’re tired y quiero ir a dormir, but this is it. I promise.” I looked at him and his eyes bore into my own. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t say no to him. I mean, have you seen his eyes? They’re way to pretty to say no to. “Okay, fine. Let’s do it.” I grabbed my controller and sat back down next to him. He went to look for a new map to start the race. “How about a little wager? To keep things interesting.” He suggested and raised his eyebrow. I sat up and smiled. “Oh, you like that sound of that, don’t you? Alright, loser has to.. eat a tablespoon of coffee.” I just scoffed. “Is that it?”

“What do you mean that’s it? It’s a pretty fair bet, if you ask me.” Erick defended himself. I just sat there next to him thinking about my options. I could just go to my room and sleep, like we’re supposed to be doing right at this moment. Or, I could just beat him and call it a night. Decisions, decisions. “Princesa, por favor. I just wanna play.” Erick whined. “Okay okay! I’ll play.” I said as he clicked on to start the race. I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “Good luck.” I smiled and looked at the screen, getting ready to start. “You’re smiling now, just wait until I win this game. Let’s do this.” The intro to the track started and we both got ready. 

“I’m ready. Are you ready to eat my dust? I’ll be so fast, Sonic can’t keep up with my speeds. I’ll be sorry to even - .. oh shit.” By the time Erick looked back at the screen, the race was literally 3 seconds away from starting. “You should’ve been paying attention.” I comment. “Yeah, whatever. Shut up.” And we were off. I noticed him behind already as the rest of the racers passed him up. “You know you need to - ”

“Yes, I know I need to accelerate at the start.“ He frowned. “I can see someone is not enjoying this round as much.” I laughed. 

“Well, you were distracting me!”

“No I was not!”

“You did too!” 

This is so childish. I love moments like this with him though. “Alright, focus. You’re trying to psych me out right now, aren’t you? Well, it’s not gonna - don’t laugh at me like that.” He laughed. I can’t hold it in! This is too funny! “I’m sorry, babe. I told you this would happen.” He leaned in closer to the tv as I continued to win this race. “Okay, you asked for it now.” 

A few seconds of silence filled the air between us, until I heard him mumble. “Where did everyone go?” I could see his body moving side to side as he made turns. “Are you in last place?” I asked him, smiling. “No! I’m just.. trailing behind, that’s all. It’s all part of the technique.” Okay… now I’m starting to feel bad. I mean, sure it’s fun to beat him and win, but he seriously hasn’t won a single game against me and it’s starting to become sad. Hmm… maybe just this once.

“Yes, when I.. oh! Oh yeah! I’m coming for you now, mi amor.” I quickly looked over to his side of the screen and noticed that he got a golden mushroom. “See, look at that. Look at that! I told you, all part of the - ”

“Oh please! That mushroom must have felt bad and gave pity on you.” I joked.

“No, it wasn’t a pity mushroom!” He chuckled. Alright, time to slow down my movements. I started going a little more slower, not that he would notice, so he could catch up to me. “You’re laughing now nena, pero no vengas a llorar cuando pierdas.” I glanced at the map to see where each player is and noticed him coming close. Now I just gotta not pass him up. “Yes! C’mon, Mario keep going!” Did I forget to mention that he picked baby Mario as his character?

“Finally! 1st place!” He quickly passed me and I stayed behind. “No!” I joked along. He deserves a win anyways. He looks so excited. “Ay Díos mio it’s right there! I believe in you - “ He gasped and moved his body to the right. Peach was trying to pass him up and he wasn’t having it. “No. no, don’t you dare! Go go go!” He continued to try and block her so she won’t pass him up. “How am I in 8th place?” I asked out loud, just now realizing that I haven’t really been paying attention to my side of the screen because I couldn’t stop staring at Erick’s reaction to finally being in first. 

I could easily pass him up with the 3 mushrooms I just got, but I can’t do that to him right now. He’s probably dreamed about this moment of beating me. I don’t wanna take that away from him right now.

“Aww 8th place, is that right? It is over! It is over (Y/N)! Forget it! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” He’s almost there! Just a few more seconds… oh my God.. he actually did it. Erick got first place!

“I finally did it! I finally beat you!” He cheered. I just chuckled and continued on racing. “Aww you’re still racing. Oh, it’s alright! You just go as fast as you can, okay?” He teased until I made it passed the finish line. “Hey, there you go! Look at you! You finished the race.” He smiled as he looked at the screen as his character received the trophy. “Oh, look at that. Baby Mario takes home the gold.” I raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Are you happy?” I asked him.

“Well, of course I’m happy now, are you kidding me?” He started gloating in my face and I couldn’t help but feel happy for him. “Are you done?” I laughed and he shook his head. “No, I’m not quite done yet. First I have to..” He stood up and starting dancing all over his room. “Do my victory dance!” He jumped up and down, waved his hands in the air and did any silly dance he could think of on the spot. 

“I believe that a certain someone has to eat a teaspoon of coffee because that was part of the deal.” He said as he went to sit back down next to me. I rolled my eyes and went to get up, but he grabbed my hand. I looked at him in confusion. “Wait wait wait… not yet. Real quick, let’s watch the playback.” Oh this little fucker. “Why?”

“Why? So I can rewatch my victory over and over again, of course!” He quickly pressed replay and the video started. “See? Technique. What did I tell.. oh yeah, beautiful. Did you see that comeback? I went from 12th to 3rd just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I have to admit, good job on your part princesa. Good job.” 

“Hey, this is only your first win. I’ve won so much more than you.” I chuckled. “Alright, let’s not forget who won here, okay? Let’s not lose sight of the big picture here.” He smiled and continued watching the playback. “Oh amor, that’s brutal. They just kept coming at you, huh?” Other characters keep hitting me with shells, so that’s how I ended up in 8th. “Yes! Look at that.” Baby Mario was about to pass my character up. “Admit it. There was no chance you could have.. ” He stopped, now realizing that I 3 mushrooms and I didn’t bother to use them. 

“Amor? Is that a.. wait a minute. You could’ve totally used it by..” Realization now dawning on his face as he looked at me. “Nena?” I didn’t meet his eyes and I started to back away from him. A laugh wanting to escape my mouth. “No no no, mirame. Look me in the eye and tell - don’t cover your mouth like that! No, ven aquí.” He held onto my shoulders and tried to hold me against him.

“Don’t back away from me like that, tell me the truth!” He turned my face so I could look at him. “Did you.. let me..” I cut him off with a quick kiss, catching him off guard and pulled myself away from him laughing. I ran to go grab my hotel key card and towards the door. 

“Hey, come back here! Oh, you’re gonna get it!” He laughed chasing after me.

**

Hey! It’s the end of the story! Lmao I hope y’all enjoyed! If you liked it, please make sure to send some love to my writing! Comment, reblog, and or like please! I love reading what you have to say!

[madamemalfoywrites]

Professor Carter is Up to No Good

Commission done for the lovely and amazing @mzuul ! Girl thank you so much for letting me write your fucking amazing OCs!! This has got to be my favorite AU of them ^^ Warning for DP and just overall nsfw-ness lol. Enjoy ;D Also its 12k so...this one kinda got away from me lmao. Enjoy!

~

Alan Wilson had made three mistakes that day.

The first being that he may or may not have left his textbook behind on purpose. Anything to have just a few minutes more with Professor Sullivan. It was silly, he knew, to have developed a crush on a teacher, and a man at that. But Alan couldn’t help himself. There was something about the potions master that was just so…rugged, so cunning, so manly. Perhaps that simply came by virtue of being a Slytherin.

Alan was a Hufflepuff himself. And rather garbage at potions, so it went without saying that he’d never catch the professor’s attention even though he really, truly wanted to. It didn’t help that Professor Sullivan was so young, nor that Alan was now in his 7th year. It opened his mind up to possibilities that shouldn’t exist.

He managed to shut himself down though, every time. Because with looks like that, and with such obvious charm (the female professors were always flocking him), there was no chance in hell that Professor Thomas Sullivan would ever be  gay.

Or at least, that was Alan’s full fledged belief, until he stepped into the classroom that day, Professor Sullivan’s back to him, legs spread over one of the tables, and though Alan had no experience with such things, he’d watched enough muggle porn to know that the professor was receiving a blowjob.

What lucky witch had been chosen to do that??

Alan swallowed, frozen, knowing he should run and yet entirely unable to look away, settling for crouching behind the back row of desks. Such had been his second mistake. He should have left when he still had the chance.

“Do you only ever shut up when there’s a dick in your mouth?” Professor Sullivan growled, in a tone that was not his own, hands gripping the girl’s hair with such rough control that it left Alan wondering if this was truly the same, gentle professor he’d always admired.

“I can be louder if you want,” came the reply, and Alan’s blood ran cold.

Because that was no girl.

Wasn’t even a student. In fact, if he’d heard correctly, then that voice belonged to—

“Shut it, Carter. Any more than this and we’ll—” his voice broke off in a groan.

“Isn’t that what makes it exciting?” Professor Carter returned with a moan, and Alan had to throw his hands over his own mouth. His body shouldn’t be reacting to this. Knew that this was wrong, and that he should leave, but those moans held him there, the lewd sounds of Professor Sullivan thrusting into Professor Carter’s mouth.

He’d never thought of Professor Carter in that context before. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was a bit of a bully, particularly so against the Hufflepuffs, and what with his sarcastic manner of speaking Alan hardly ever paid him much attention.

But now here he was, on his knees, sucking off the man who’d been the cause of Alan’s sexual awakening.

This far surpassed any type of awakening, though. He was drowning—could hardly breathe—his dick so hard against his pants he was worried the belt might just start to cut into his flesh.

He wanted to join.

It was so wrong but he wanted to join—he didn’t even care if Professor Carter stayed, just wanted some sort of relief to the ache between his legs, some attention to his parched lips and a voice in his ear that promised praise.

He whimpered at the thought, rubbing his thighs together.

That was his third mistake.

Because silence fell upon them, the eerie quiet of the room striking fear into Alan’s very core.

“Oh?” Professor Carter clicked his tongue, shuffling about as Alan assumed he stood up, “Have we a mouse in our midst?”

Professor Sullivan hissed, cursing under his breath and muttering something else that shook the desks, everything in the classroom parting to reveal a trembling Alan. Professor Sullivan was still not decent. And Alan couldn’t look away.

Professor Carter clicked his tongue, wagging his finger at him, though he was so far away, “My, my, what a naughty little Hufflepuff we have on our hands—”

“Leave it, Ven,” Professor Sullivan tucked himself back into his pants, the sound of the zipper causing a shiver to run down Alan’s spine. Then, Sullivan turned to Alan, those usually brown eyes looking black, and Alan had never been so thankful for his robes in his life, otherwise the two professors would have definitely seen his…reaction.

“What you just saw, Mr. Wilson, will remain between us. Is that understood?”

Alan’s voice failed him. He opened his mouth, and yet no sound came out. His head felt numb, muddled, and if he weren’t feeling so lost in his haze, with those sharp eyes that Professor Sullivan was looking at him with, Alan would have sworn the professor could read his mind.

“I—“

“Is that understood?!”

Alan had never heard Professor Sullivan speak so harshly. It was almost enough to make him cry. “Yes,” he bowed his head, “I’m so sorry—”

“You may leave,” Professor Sullivan continued, with a wave of his hand fixing the desks, and a gust of wind pushing Alan towards the door.

Feet finally finding their movement, Alan dashed for the door, and ran down the hall, not stopping even when he hit the stairs, not stopping even when he made it past his common room, not stopping until his face hit his pillow with full force.

He didn’t know what to do.

Back in the potions classroom, Ven stood beside Thomas, adjusting his robes, “You just let him go,” he said.

“I did,” Alan replied, curtly, with a hint of a growl.

Ven hummed, sliding his hand around Thomas’s waist, “That’s not very much like you. What’re you up to?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Eyes widening, Ven let go, “Oh my~ Don’t tell me you went into that poor Hufflepuff’s head?” Thomas looked at him, though he said nothing, which was enough of a confirmation for Ven. “You sly devil! Talent doesn’t give you the right to intrude upon our students~” Even as he said so, however, his voice held no inklings of condemnation. “So, what did you see?”  

The sing-song of Ven’s voice was perhaps what Thomas hated the absolute most.

“Once again, my answer is that it does not concern you.”

“Oh, but it does concern me, doesn’t it? That little mouse was looking deliciously flushed, don’t you think—?”

“He’s our student—”

“He’s of age,” Ven smirked, fingers dancing along Thomas’s collarbone, “but you already knew that, didn’t you? Professor Sull-i-van~”

…

Needless to say, Alan did not get a hair’s amount of sleep that night. After witnessing what he had, he’d spent most of the night wandering aimlessly around the hallways, blush burning holes into his cheeks at the memory that had been imprinted into his brain. When he finally made it to his bed, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the afternoon’s exchange over and over again.

He’d always had feelings for Professor Sullivan. He was a kind and gentle teacher who took the time to answer his students’ questions, and not once was he ever condescending or demeaning about it. It made Alan feel comfortable in his class, and best of all Professor Sullivan always gave credit where credit was due.

It felt good to be praised—to be recognized, every once in a while.

But now that image was wholly ruined. The teacher he’d so admired—for him to be cursing—to be engaging in such activities—in a classroom—with a fellow teacher, no less…

Had it truly ruined his image of the professor, or had it simply enhanced it?

Because as much as Alan tried, he couldn’t help but want to replace Professor Carter, to have Professor Sullivan grabbing at his hair instead, to have him cursing at him because it felt so good, to watch the professor’s head throw back in pleasure and for Alan to feel that hot heat in his own mouth, because how long had it been now, since Alan had begun craving that exact sort of thing?

He covered his face in his hands. Just what was he thinking? How was he supposed to face Professor Sullivan in class tomorrow—or rather, later today? He didn’t even want to look at the clock. The last he’d checked it was well past two in the morning.

But he couldn’t sleep. Because as if all that weren’t bad enough, he was now thinking of Professor Carter as well. Which was as surprising as it was disgusting.

Alan didn’t care much for Professor Carter. A rather rude man by nature, he was. But there had to be more to him—had to be more, if Professor Sullivan was choosing to engage with him in such a way. And Professor Sullivan seemed to be enjoying the pleasure Professor Carter was giving him quite a bit.

Was that what it was? Was Professor Carter skilled in that department? With such a sharp tongue and his loose manner of speaking, Alan had always assumed him to be more of a playboy, but…

Had Professor Carter seduced Professor Sullivan? Had he perhaps placed him under some sort of spell?

No, not likely. Professor Sullivan was a Potions Master. They were a rather cunning sort of lot, potions professors. But then that meant they were both doing this out of their own volition. That meant that whatever Professor Carter was doing—Professor Sullivan wanted it done to him.

Which sent Alan’s mind reeling. Just what, exactly, was Professor Carter doing that Professor Sullivan was so desperate for? To the point that they couldn’t even wait to get behind closed doors, choosing to risk it in the middle of the classroom instead?

Did Professor’s Carter mouth feel that good…?

Alan shivered, half wanting to know, half cursing himself for the fact. Professor Carter was tall—had rather long fingers, in fact. No doubt they felt good, if he were to caress someone. The men hadn’t been kissing from what Alan had seen, but he was sure they were quite skilled in that regard as well. To be kissed by both of them at once…

No no no, what was he thinking? That was disgusting! It was obnoxious! It was selfish! It was—it was cheating. His heart belonged to Professor Sullivan and Professor Sullivan only. To also be thinking of Professor Carter now in such a way, when he never had before—that was adultery. He should be looking to Professor Carter as a rival, not as a potential boyfriend.

Though, then again, if Professor Carter was his rival, then Alan didn’t stand a single chance. The two couldn’t be more different. Alan had neither the charm nor the wit that Professor Carter had. He was a Slytherin who was confident in every regard, who was playful and fun and sure of himself and—the complete opposite of Alan.

Alan was afternoons in the library and leaving quidditch games early because there were too many people in the crowd.  

Still, he couldn’t shake the sounds from his memory, of the images that he’d only half seen—that his mind had been only too eager to complete. How would it feel, exactly, to be in Professor Carter’s mouth?

No no no!! NO! What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he so depraved? Did he not jack off enough on his own? Was it just because of the exchange he’d seen that his mind was reeling like this? Of course it was different than just watching porn, but he hadn’t expected it to be so…raw—so real.

Everything that had happened in that room—it’d all been so real. Maybe that was why Alan couldn’t seem to comprehend, could seem to wrap his head around the fact that it had actually happened, that he’d actually witnessed it, that Professor Sullivan had let him leave with nothing more than a feeble warning.

Because it was a warning at best. There were no guarantees that Alan wouldn’t spread the rumor.

Maybe…maybe he could use this as leverage to get Professor Sullivan to go on a date with him…

No. No, Alan wasn’t capable of something so underhanded. His feelings for Professor Sullivan were real. And so he wanted Professor’s Sullivans feelings to be real, should he ever decide to reciprocate them. Because Alan…Alan had been feeling like this for quite some time.

Fourth year, was when Alan probably realized it. When he just happened to see Thomas Sullivan returning from quidditch practice, shirt all askew as he laughed with his friends, the lot of them only half dressed because the weather had been uncharacteristically boiling that day.

The seventh year’s laugh had been absolutely captivating to Alan. His confidence more so, and the gleaming stretch of toned skin even more than that.

But Thomas was so much older, and Head Boy at that, and Alan was nothing but a measly Hufflepuff, so the times they ever ended up passing one another, Alan could count on one hand.

He’d never expected the seeker to return to Hogwarts as a professor.

That was just like him, though. Thomas had been brilliant from the start. And regardless of whatever had happened that afternoon, even if his partner was a man, and a fellow professor, Thomas Sullivan deserved more peace of mind than Alan’s sputtered words.

Which was precisely why that next afternoon, Alan went into potions with the intention to apologize. Thoroughly. Only, he never got the chance, because Professor Sullivan began the lecture right away, and then they jumped straight into recreating a recipe, of which Alan always greatly struggled with, and so most of his focus became dedicated to that.

That is, until Professor Sullivan came right up behind him. Alan could tell from the scent of his cologne, and that intimidating heat that was smoldering against his back.

“Juniper leaves?”

Alan swallowed, “Yes, sir.”

The Professor hummed. Alan’s heart pounded. Had he gotten it wrong? The recipe was written partially in riddles. But he was almost certain the directions called for juniper.

This potion wasn’t about to blow up in his face, was it? He’d heard stories of students having their eyebrows burnt off. But then came the strong hand on his shoulder, the subtle squeeze from Professor Sullivan’s large hand, his hot breath on the shell of Alan’s ear, “Well done, Mr. Wilson.”

It wasn’t quite a shiver, that went down Alan’s spine. More like a chilled trickle, one that threatened to leave tremors in its wake, but was wholly outdone by the professor’s heat radiating against Alan’s back.

His ear burned.

“Th-Thank you, Professor.”  

“However, if you’d like to make your potion more effective…”

Professor Sullivan was talking. Was certainly talking but it was muddled in Alan’s ears. Despite that the tone of his voice was perfectly clear, dulcet as velvet, straightforward and assertive and yet still hopelessly caring, because Professor Sullivan genuinely wanted his students to succeed.

Professor Sullivan eventually left, without so much as a single word as to everything that’d happened yesterday evening.

Which should have been the end of it.

But Alan had Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch. And he had a feeling Professor Carter wouldn’t be nearly as docile as Professor Sullivan had been.

Alan spent the entirety of his lunch hour mulling over the fact. He didn’t know much about Professor Carter, but he was about as Slytherin as they came. How he and Professor Sullivan could belong to the same house was a tragedy at best. Professor Carter—Ven Carter, that was his name, even the sound of it was snake-like—was supposedly one of the most brilliant wizards of his time. One had to be, to teach something like Defense Against the Dark Arts, but you’d hardly know it, what with how carelessly he taught his classes.

No, well, perhaps carelessly wasn’t the right word. He allowed his students to make mistakes. Or rather—he pushed his students towards mistakes. Because in order to defend yourself from dark magic, “you must always stay on your toes.”

Alan didn’t quite agree. There was no use being on your toes if you didn’t know what to do in the first place. A vagrant few managed to pass his class with high marks, but the overwhelming majority got through scraping with the lowest possible scores.

Professor Carter’s class was, in all respects, a nightmare.

Which made it all the more terrifying, Alan thought, when Professor Carter did nothing to him. Said nothing to him, gave away nothing, said not a single sentence that might have held malicious meaning. Alan had remained as invisible as ever.

In many ways, Alan was relieved. In others…annoyed.

Exactly why he was annoyed he couldn’t particularly pinpoint. Had Professor Carter not cared enough to remember? Was Alan so forgettable and insignificant that he wasn’t even worth a brief moment of torment? It was one of Professor Carter’s favorite pastimes, after all. Making students noticeably uncomfortable in front of their peers. It was why no one dared act out in any of his classes. The man had an uncanny ability to read into his student’s weaknesses.

Was Alan so…bland?

No, well, he already knew the answer to that. Alan would hardly be worth anyone’s time.

Unless…Professor Carter actually felt threatened…?

No, no no, what was Alan thinking? A man like Ven Carter couldn’t possibly feel threatened by a student like Alan. There was nothing to be threatened by.

Although…

Alan was aware of the number of complaints the Headmaster received in regards to Professor Carter. About how his class was impossible to pass and how he would single students out. If the Headmaster were to receive news of inappropriate sexual conduct, then…

Wouldn’t that be the end of Professor Carter’s stay at Hogwarts?

And…following that logic…wouldn’t it be the end of Professor Carter’s relationship with Thomas…?

Alan could never threaten Professor Sullivan. He was simply too good of a person. But Professor Carter was an entirely different situation. If the blackmail only concerned Professor Carter, then the man was simply getting what he deserved.

It was gutsy, and risky, and horrifically uncharacteristic, but Alan stayed after class. He’d never had leverage over anyone before—let alone a professor, of all things—but if nothing else came of this then he could at least get some decent marks on his upcoming Dark Arts exams.

“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?” Professor Carter dropped a book right in front of Alan, the sound making the Hufflepuff jump, “Class is over.”

Chewing his bottom lip raw, Alan cleared his throat, “I-I wanted to talk to you—”

“If you’re going to stutter through it don’t bother. I’ve other things to do—”

“Like blow Professor Sullivan?”

He regretted it the moment it left his mouth. In all honesty, Alan didn’t know where the words had come from, or why they’d been so quick to jump out. But all he knew now was that he was most definitely going to die.

Professor Carter’s expression didn’t darken, however, the way Alan thought it might, like a villain on all of those muggle television shows. His lips did, however, curl into a smile that sent shivers down Alan’s spine. Objectively, Alan didn’t quite know which was worse.

“Precisely.”

That was terrifying. Professor Carter wasn’t even trying to deny it. Was acting like it was completely normal to be discussing such a thing with a student.

“Now if you don’t mind,” Professor Carter continued, “Thomas doesn’t like to be kept waiting—”

“No!” Alan shook, his fists trembling at his sides. He’d begun to sweat, but he was too far in now to simply walk away with his tail between his legs. “Wh-What you two are doing is indecent. It’s wrong—! If you—i-if you don’t want me to say anything to the headmaster, then—”

A chair clattered, making Alan jump. Professor stood up, outstretching his arms so that his robes looked like wings. The man towered over him. “Forgive me,” he continued to smile in that unnerving way, “my hand must have slipped.” He reached for the chair, putting it right-side-up again. “Do continue,” Professor Carter sat in it, crossing his right leg over his left. He motioned with his hand, “I believe you were just about to threaten me.”

Alan licked his lips, swallowing down again. He couldn’t stop shaking. Even if Professor Carter seemed perfectly calm, even he had to have some sense of fear regarding the headmaster, right?

“I want high marks on my next three exams!”

“Do well, and I’ll happily grade them as such—”

“I-I know you know what I mean! I-If you don’t—don’t pass me with high marks then—then I’ll—”

“Aw,” Professor Carter pouted, scooting on the chair so that it scraped against the floor, leaning over Alan with an absurdly dark aura, “or what? You’ll report me? And what will you say, Mr. Wilson? ‘I saw Professor Carter sucking Professor Sullivan off and I wish it would have been me instead’—”

“That’s not true—!”

“Isn’t it?”

Something happened. Alan wasn’t sure what, but it felt like a punch to the stomach, all air knocked straight and clean out of his lungs. His head was spinning—or maybe his body was—but he didn’t think Professor Carter would go so far as to hit him, especially when…

He could hear himself breathing. And when he finally took a moment to look around, he realized he was no longer in Professor Carter’s class. He was still in Hogwarts, certainly, but it felt blurry—as if his eyes weren’t fully focused—as if he’d been crying.

“Hey cheer up,” Professor Sullivan—no—Thomas was in front of him, giving his shoulder a quick pat, “maybe Hufflepuff will win the next game.” He laughed, that large hand ruffled his hair, Alan feeling that pleasant warmth in his cheeks again, “You first years get so emotional.”

Alan remembered that. That was from his first year at Hogwarts. It was the night of the final quidditch game, but that hadn’t meant anything to Alan. It just so happened to be the same night he’d lost his mother’s necklace. It was all he really had left of his parents. He was so relieved when he finally found it again that he’d begun to cry. Thomas had happened to run into him, then.

But that was Alan’s memory. Why did it feel like he was reliving the event?

“How quaint,” Professor Carter’s voice sounded in his head. “But let’s fast forward a bit, shall we?”

The scenes whirled as though Alan were truly traveling through his own memories. Was Professor Carter a Legilimens?

They made it to Alan’s fourth year, on that day with the sweltering summer heat, where Alan finally noticed the sweat dripping down the seventh year’s stomach, to that very same night when Alan…

Professor Carter saw everything. Saw Alan completely exposed, saw how the Hufflepuff had defiled himself over and over again, Thomas’s name on his lips, the endless days Alan spent in his fourth year trying to see as much as he could of the seeker, his failed attempt to join the quidditch team, the day where they happened to brush shoulders in the hallway, the one time Alan nearly fell in the middle of the Great Hall only to be held up by Thomas, the endless confession letters Alan wrote and then threw away, and the very last day of school, where he didn’t even get to see Thomas, and spent the entire day in his room being miserable about it.

And then came the first day of Alan’s own seventh year. Where he walked into potions, thinking he was in one of his own fantasies, thinking that it was fate and yet knowing it wasn’t, wanting to blurt out everything all over again and yet knowing he was too much of a coward to do anything of the sort.

And all of it—every single memory—was bitterly mocked by Professor Carter’s vile tongue.

When the Professor finally got out of his head, a huge burst of air rushed to fill Alan’s lungs, and he was back in the Professor’s classroom, bones feeling like mush and head positively spinning. He knew he was breathing—but it hardly felt like it.

After finally catching his breath, he still found himself leaning against the desk for support. “You can’t—“ he exhaled, “That’s illegal! What you’ve done is an entire rape of my consciousness! The Headmaster will have you sacked—!”

Professor Carter only laughed. But that was demented. Alan had the upper hand. He was sure of it.

“Oh? Is that what you’re going to do? Report me? I’m quivering.” He laughed again, kicking his feet up onto the desk.

Alan swallowed, “You’ll lose your credibility. Your profession, your rank, everything you’ve ever worked towards—”

Again, Professor Carter began to laugh. He was far too relaxed. The laugh far too carefree. Just what had he gotten himself into?

“If it will make you that happy, then go ahead and report me. I am a firm believer that people should always follow their base desires.”

“I will,” Alan retorted. “And this isn’t a base desire! It’s a matter of illegal magic use an-and inappropriate conduct—”

“I do wonder though,” the professor drawled, “what will Thomas think of you, when he realizes you’re the reason he’s been fired?”

Alan blinked. Became unsure of what to do. Because none of what the professor had just said made any sense at all. He tried to laugh, though it came out dry, “Are you daft…? The only one to be fired will be you—”

“If you report me,” Professor Carter interrupted, “I’ll have no choice but to save my own skin. As a Slytherin,” he grinned, tongue curling over his teeth, “it’s what we do best. Given that you’re threatening me with my own job, I’ve no choice but to threaten you with your beloved Thomas. Report me to the Headmaster, and I’ll accuse the two of you with a student-teacher relationship.”

“But that’s not true—!”

“You know the funny thing about the human mind,” Ven—because the man no longer looked like anything that even remotely resembled a professor—outstretched his legs, standing up and appearing much taller than Alan ever remembered, circling around Alan and giving him a quick  touch on the forehead, “is that it’s hopelessly unstable. Everything is fragmented and therefore terribly fragile. In fact, human beings are quite stupid. They can create memories that never existed in the first place.”

Alan wasn’t entirely sure where Ven was going with his speech, but he didn’t want to know. Even still, he could’t bring himself to move. The professor was still circling around him like a shark, and the steady movement of it, the silent threat of it, kept Alan in place.

Fear was a hopelessly immobilizing thing.

“It’s true, I went into your head. But how could I,” he put his palm flat on his chest, “a concerned teacher not do what I can to help one of my prized students? If you even think to breathe a word to the headmaster, I’ll explain that Professor Sullivan has had quite the inappropriate relationship with you, and I merely used my skills as a Legilimens to confirm my suspicions and gather evidence. To help my darling student, of course.”

“But you have no proof! There’s never been anything between Professor Sullivan and I—”

Clicking his tongue, and wagging his finger in Alan’s face, Ven hummed, “You never were good at properly paying attention, Mr. Wilson. Did you not hear me the first time? When it really wants to, the mind can create memories. And you,” he motioned to Alan, pulling out a grey, milky vial from his robes, “have such intricate fantasies that I hardly had to do any work at all.”

The smile that curled his lips was like a snake slithering through grass, Alan’s heart pounding in his chest as he tried to process the professor’s words.

“Do you understand now? The Headmaster will have no choice but to get rid of Thomas—”

“Th-That’s not—“ Alan shook his head, “That can’t be—!”

“You’re about ten years too early to try and threaten me,” Ven barked, for a moment Alan thinking he might strike him, but instead the professor put the vial back in his robes, tucking it away for safekeeping. “Now,” he patted his robes down, “here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go and confess to Thomas, the way you’ve always wanted to but were far too meek to do. You’re going to tell him all of those naughty fantasies that vile little head of yours has managed to come up with. And then, you’ll sit there and listen to him as he rejects you.”

That was just about the last thing Alan wanted. He’d come to terms with his feelings long ago—and he’d also decided long ago that he would never burden Thomas with the knowledge of it. Because Thomas didn’t deserve to have his time wasted by some no-name Hufflepuff.

He folded his hands in his lap, trying to steady his breathing which still hadn’t returned to normal since Professor Carter had first entered his head. “What do you get out of this?” he asked, refusing to look up.

“As I said,” Professor Carter lilted. “People should follow their desires. And right now, watching you squirm—that is my desire. Naughty brats should be punished. Especially a peeping one like you.”

“I wasn’t peeping! If you hadn’t forced Professor Sullivan to do something so unabashed in a classroom then I never would have seen—”

“Ah-ah-ah. Don’t begin to place blame when you’re wholly ignorant. Thomas asked me to do so. Now. You have twenty-four hours to confess to him. If you don’t, I’ll be sending this memory,” he patted at his robes, “to the headmaster. Do we have an agreement?”

Could that be true? Had Thomas truly asked for something like that? But Thomas had always been so composed, so upstanding, so proper…

Perhaps Alan didn’t know much about Thomas at all.

With a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach, Alan nodded his head, silently agreeing to Ven’s terms.

He may as well would have made a deal with the devil.

…

Mulling over what to do didn’t exactly amount to much. Either Alan agreed to throw up his insides and place them at Thomas’s feet, left to forever be scrutinized by the man, or, he refuses to do so, and in doing so, cost Thomas his career, left to be hated by him forever.

And the latter was certainly worse.

Alan rolled over in bed, hugging his pillow to his chest.

He’d never needed Thomas to like him. He was nearly six years his senior—Alan had never hoped for that. The only thing he wanted—he just needed—he didn’t want Thomas to hate him, no matter what. And he certainly didn’t want to be the reason Thomas would never again be able to teach potions. Because it was clear to any and everyone—potions were the man’s passion. He’d always been skilled in the subject. Alan remembered once, towards the end of Thomas’s seventh year, when he received an award for being one of the youngest wizards to compete in a national competition.

He was simply brilliant.

There had to be a way around this. Professor Carter was too horrid of a man. Regardless of Alan’s own feelings, Professor Sullivan deserved much better than him.

He sat up. Maybe that was precisely the solution. Misunderstandings and blackmail only continue to happen when things continue to be misunderstood. When information is continuously and purposely occulted. If Alan went to Professor Sullivan and confessed everything that’d just transpired, then maybe the two of them could figure out how to report Professor Carter to the headmaster and have him banished for good.

Yes—! That was it!

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he damn near stood up. But stopped. Gripped the edge of the mattress. Even if he explained everything to Professor Sullivan…to Thomas…then Alan would still have to admit his feelings. He wouldn’t be able to explain everything that was going on without that crucial detail.

He swallowed, knuckles ghosting from his grip on the bed. That was fine, he decided. This would be momentary embarrassment. Between his embarrassment, and Thomas’s passion, obviously Thomas was more important. Alan would be able to live with that. He’d been mortified plenty in his life. At the very least, this time he knew it would be serving a decent purpose.

With newfound resolve, he got out of bed and put on his shoes, making his way towards Professor Sullivan’s office.

Professor Carter may have been a cunning Slytherin, but Alan was a Hufflepuff; he wasn’t afraid to take the harder, more beaten-up path.

The staircases seemed all the more scrambled, today, as Alan tried to time himself, to keep his feet from slipping, to run through in his head what he planned to say to Thomas.

He didn’t have the slightest clue. He’d begin at the beginning, he supposed. And then work his way from there. Of course, there was no guarantee that Thomas would believe him. Perhaps he’d take Ven’s side. Because Thomas was virtuous like that—maybe he would side by his lover.

Alan hadn’t considered that. But despite it, even Thomas had to be aware of Ven’s nature. The accusation wasn’t so much of a stretch even if they were lovers. And more importantly, what Alan had to say was the truth. And Alan believed that the truth always had a way of shining through to people.

His heart sped up the closer and closer he got to Thomas’s office. For a moment, he thought to turn back. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to gather the courage to come all the way back here, so with a shaky breath, and an even shakier fist, Alan knocked politely on the door.

“Come in,” came the muffled voice from inside.

“Mr. Wilson,” Thomas acknowledged when Alan walked in, “to what do I owe this visit?”

There were papers scattered along the desk, and a few splotches of ink on what Alan could only assume to be drafts of new potions. A cat rested on the right side of the professor’s desk, its tail hanging over the edge, swinging lazily back and forth. It glared at Alan when he entered, but Alan had never quite been very good with animals to begin with.

Out of nervousness, he licked his lips before beginning to chew on the inside of his cheeks. He’d originally thought to stay standing, but his knees were buckling and threatening to give out. So he sat down on one of the chairs in front of Professor Sullivan’s desk instead.

“Um,” he swallowed, squeezing his hands in his lap, “well—y-you see…um…it’s about…um, Professor Carter—”

Professor Sullivan’s eyes narrowed, and Alan felt cold fear drip down his spine.

“I thought we agreed to keep this between ourselves, Mr. Wilson—”

“I-It’s not that—!” Alan was quick to say, practically lunging forward in his seat, “I just think—I don’t think you should see Professor Carter anymore! He’s not a very good boyfriend. I know this isn’t my place but he doesn’t even care if you lose your job. It’s my fault because I tried to threaten him but to get back at me he doesn’t even care if you’re the one who ends up suffering! If you love someone you shouldn’t do that! A-And if we don’t do something then Ven is going to report you to the Headmaster and you’ll be removed from Hogwarts and—!”

“Mr. Wilson,” Professor Sullivan held his hand up, giving a long, tired sigh. “From the beginning, please. Just how does Professor Carter intend to have me removed?”

Again, Alan swallowed. This was it. He’d no longer be able to hide it. “I…” he began, but then found himself unable to meet Thomas’s gaze, and so he lowered his head. “I’ve always had feelings for you, Professor. But please know I never intended to act on these feelings! I merely…” he closed his eyes, shaking his head to look at Thomas again. “I’m entirely at fault. Professor Carter is quite strict in his classes. I thought I could use what I saw the other day as leverage but it didn’t work. A-And Professor Carter is a Legilimens. Since I threatened him, he came into my mind and planted a fake memory and then somehow extracted it. The…” he paused, his face burning up with shame, “The memory he created…has to do with you and I. It’s…it’s inappropriate, and so Professor Carter said that if I didn’t…” he stopped, because the tears were prickling at his eyes. He never should have said anything from the start. Never should have approached Professor Carter, never should have gone back to Professor Sullivan’s room that day, never started liking Professor Sullivan in the first place.

“If you didn’t what, Mr. Wilson?” Professor Sullivan nudged gently.

Alan let the tears slip, “If I didn’t admit my feelings for you then he would reveal the memory to the Headmaster, and you’d be fired.” He gasped, choking on his silent sobs, “Please, Professor Sullivan, you have to know I never intended for any harm to come to you in any way! I only wanted,” he wiped his face, “I don’t even know what I wanted—I never should have tried in the first place—”

“Mr. Wilson,” Professor Sullivan folded his hands over his desk, a pillar of calm, “what I am about to say should quell your worries.”

Alan was quick to nod, sniffling and wiping at his eyes again. He knew Thomas would have a solution. That was just who he was. A brilliant, admirable wizard.

“Implanting fake memories is not possible. By that reasoning, extracting such a memory is all the more impossible.”

Alan’s eyes widened. Was that true? “But—”

The cat meowed, it’s open mouth stretching and stretching until the figure became human, Ven sitting with his long legs extended across the desk. “Boo, Thomas. You’re no fun at all.”

“Have you had quite enough tormenting our student—?”

“Not nearly enough,” Ven waved at him. “He couldn’t have cried for more than two minutes. I was quite enjoying his tear-stained face.”

“Ven,” Professor Sullivan chastised, but Ven didn’t stop.

Crossing his legs over the desk, Ven motioned at Alan, “I did you a favor. You know how he feels about you. Will you leave him without an answer to his pitiful confession?”

“I won’t lay my hands on a student,” Thomas barked at Ven. Then, turning to Alan, “I’m sure you understand—”

“No,” Alan shook his head, “I mean yes! Of course! I wouldn’t ever—that is, we wouldn’t—”

“Oh but you do,” Ven chirped, and for a moment, Alan thought the professor was talking to him, until he realized Ven was speaking directly to Thomas. “You’re as hot for student as he is hot for teacher.”

Alan stood up, “That’s not true! Don’t accuse Professor Sullivan of being as debauched as you!”

With that chilling grin, Ven hopped off the desk. “You know,” he trilled, “it’s quite the shame Thomas here is an Occlumens, or I’d show you myself. Your feeling are mutual.”

The sentence alone had a strange tightness bursting in Alan’s chest, Alan unable to sit still, “You—You just like playing with me…”

“You’re right about that,” Ven licked his lips, “but I like playing with Thomas more. Which is why, if you’ll excuse me,”

Alan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he certainly didn’t think Ven would lean in and kiss him—would remain kissing him, would draw his tongue out and—

A yelp parted Alan’s lips when he felt Ven’s tongue, or maybe it was the fact that Ven was ripped off by Professor Sullivan, the man’s expression curled in a snarl. Alan didn’t know what to do, save for try to slow down his racing heart, but he’d never seen Professor Sullivan look so angry before.

Anyone would be, Alan supposed, if you saw your lover kiss another person. The thought did nothing for his heart, however, only added a twisting feeling in his stomach, Alan licking his lips to try and apologize.

But before he could say anything, Professor Sullivan was hovering over him, that warm hand outstretching to cup Alan’s cheek. His thumb slid down, brushed over Alan’s bottom lip.

“He’s dirtied you.”

“I-I’m sorry—” Alan tried, thinking the Professor meant he to Ven, but was silenced with a softer, much more delicate kiss to his lips.

Ven sneered, “What happened to not laying your hands on your students?”

“That is as far as I’ll go,” Professor Sullivan affirmed, nodding at Alan, “I will show you out, Mr. Wilson.”

Alan’s head was reeling far too much to truly comprehend anything that anyone had said, but his body responded regardless, functioning on autopilot as Mr. Sullivan showed him out of the office.

He accompanied him all the way out into the hall, the Professor pulling the door behind him so that save for sliver of a crack, it was closed. “I meant what I said, Mr. Wilson. I will not lay my hands on a student.”

Alan nodded, hanging his head ever so slightly, “I understand, Mr. Sull—”

“However,” he interrupted, “I will look forward to the day of your graduation.”

Red blossomed over Alan’s cheeks, spread all the way up to claim his ears and most of his neck as well. “I-I’m—”

“Until then, Mr. Wilson.”

With that, Professor Sullivan slipped back into his office, leaving Alan in a heavenly daze. Was it possible that all of this, just now, had been a dream? That everything, from the very start, had been a dream? Because it hardly seemed real, the ghost of the touch left behind by Professor—by Thomas’s lips.

He was looking forward to graduation day…did that mean…?

No, it couldn’t, could it? But it had to. To what else could Thomas be referring? But then that meant that their feelings were mutual. And if that were true then come graduation day…

Wait.

What would happen to Professor Carter?

“Oy, Doll Face!”

Alan jolted, turning around. Professor Carter was strutting up to him, and Alan scowled, “I have a name. And my face doesn’t at all resemble a doll.”

“You say that like I’m aware of your name—”

“It’s Alan Wilson! I’ve been in your classes for two years now—!”

“Besides you’ve got a doll’s face. So pale. Is it the ‘face’ part that bothers you? Doll is shorter for me anyway—”

“It’s Alan. Or Mr. Wilson—”

“So Doll,” Ven continued, “I need to try something, if you don’t mind. Because this has been bothering me for a while.”

He said nothing more, took a bold step forward, and kissed him.

“P-Professor Carter—!” Alan brought a quick hand to his lips, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“What?” the man shrugged, “The one who said he’d wait until graduation was Thomas, not me.”

“But that’s not—it’s not decent—!”

He was pinned to the wall by that tall figure, Alan worried the professor might be able to hear his heart beating. “Have you not figured it out yet? I don’t care.” He made to kiss him, but Alan turned his head away. “T-The one I like is Professor Sullivan. This has nothing to do with you.”

Ven grabbed at Alan’s chin, turning it so that they were face to face. “I don’t care about that either.”

He managed to kiss him this time, keeping Alan in place with nothing but a simple touch of his fingers.

It wasn’t a very strong hold. Alan could have broken it, if he wanted.

If he wanted? Did that mean he didn’t want to push him off? Professor Carter’s lips were somewhat pleasant on his own, Alan would admit, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to kiss him. The only one he wanted to kiss was Professor Su—Thomas. And he’d stay true to that. Yes. He’d definitely push Professor Carter away and then tell him off.

He certainly would have, if Professor Carter hadn’t pulled away first.

“I don’t understand what Thomas sees in you. You’re rather…feeble. And naive.”

“At least I’m not vulgar or a cheater.”

“Oh?” Ven lilted, “Well I don’t spend my time spreading false accusations about others. Thomas and I are in an open relationship, you wannabe know-it-all. And the primary reason for that is you. But again, I don’t see the appeal, lanky thing like you.”

“I can’t help being la—“ Alan shook his head, “Did you say I-I’m the reason you’re—“ he motioned from Ven, to Professor Carter’s door, “But I’m…we’ve never even talked.”

Ven smirked, “And yet you fell for him anyway.”

How could he not, Alan thought. “But that’s different! Professor Sullivan is—”

Ven kissed him again, and Alan pushed him away, making a disgusted sound and wiping his mouth, “Would you stop that! I don’t know if this is all some large joke to you but I—if you think I won’t report you—!”

“Threats don’t suit you. And you’re not the kind to carry them out anyway. So stop getting your knickers in a twist. I’m just here trying to have some fun. As soon as I figure out what Thomas sees in you I’ll leave you alone.”

…

Ven did not, over the course of the remainder of the year, leave him alone. In fact, annoyed him all the more, what with his relentless teasing and side comments and calling him out in the middle of class and…the occasional….kiss every now and then.

Though it was perhaps much more often than just every now and then, because Alan had grown so terribly used to them. To the point where he no longer flinched, when Ven approached him. Rather, parted his lips slightly instead, so that it’d be easier for Ven, so that the professor could glide his tongue just over the top of Alan’s bottom lip.

It was embarrassing. And, though Alan could no longer say he disliked it, exactly, that didn’t stop him from feeling terrible about the whole thing. Because his feelings for Professor Sullivan were still very much there, and graduation was only just a few measly days away now, but not once had Professor Sullivan approached him in any sort of way.

So, Alan was under the impression that this was all still one large joke at his expense. Two Professors feeling bored and wanting to torment one of their students.

Graduation came and went, confirming Alan’s suspicions. That is, until the second evening after Alan had already returned home, when an owl flew in through the window to his messy room. The servants always offered to unpack his things for him, but Alan preferred doing it himself.

He thought nothing of the letter, thinking it one of his distant relatives, until he opened it up to see Professor Sullivan’s neat penmanship inside. Alan nearly screamed.

It was an invitation. An invitation to the Professor’s home—no—to Thomas’s home, to “properly congratulate you on your commencement.”

Alan’s heart pounded in his ears. What did that mean? Surely the joke had already ended, hadn’t it? Unless it’d never been a joke from the start. But then that would mean that Professor Sullivan—that Thomas—that he intended to—did he intend to…?

Frazzled, and rushing to the bathroom, Alan decided he should look his best, just in case. He left all of his clothes sprawled out across the room, wanting to focus on his hair, which was always bland and never quite curled in the way he wanted to. Even after a shower and styling it properly, it didn’t quite turn out how he’d been hoping.

But the clock was ticking, and Alan didn’t want to keep Thomas waiting. He briefly informed the servants that he was going out as he rushed down his staircase, reaching for the pot of floo by the fireplace. He spoke loudly; clearly, and with a toss of the floo, he was no longer staring into his own living room, but into Thomas’s instead.

And it all felt a bit like a dream.

Thomas was standing there, as if he’d been waiting for him, a glass of fire whiskey in his hand, not at all looking like a professor but rather more like a very adult man, and Alan began to feel his fingers start to itch.

“I’m glad you decided to come.”

Alan cleared his throat, realizing he was still in the fireplace, silently screaming at his feet to please move. “Yes. Um, thank you for inviting me.”

“We have a lot to discuss,” Thomas motioned towards the two chairs beside him. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you,” Alan nodded, feeling hopelessly meek. Thomas offered him some whiskey, but Alan declined.

“I suppose we should start with the obvious. Am I correct in assuming that you’re here because we both still have feelings for one another?”

Alan did all he could to not grind his teeth in an overtly obvious way. But he couldn’t well help it. It was either that or let Thomas see him dig his nails into the arm of this very expensive looking chair. “I-I…” he hesitated, looking at Thomas’s knees, rather than his face, “I’ve always liked you, but…I don’t know why you would—I mean I’m not really much of a catch, exactly…”

Thomas smiled, “You’ve always been so insecure. Even when your parents were still alive.”

At that, Alan’s head shot up, confusion blinking into his features, “My parents? Did you know them?”

The glass of fire whiskey clanked when Thomas set it down on the table, the professor bringing his hand up to his face to hide an embarrassed smile, “As I thought, you don’t remember.”

“Remember?” Alan leaned in, blood rushing in his ears, stopping entirely when Thomas took his hands into his own. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Alan Wilson. We used to play together while our parents discussed business affairs.”

Slow, rapid beats rose and then fell in Alan’s chest, like those unstable rides at town fairs. Was that true? From the look in Thomas’s eyes, Alan knew it had to be true, but that was part of what made it all so unbelievable to begin with. Alan did have vague memories of an older boy that would sometimes come to play, but it almost felt like the memory wasn’t quite there, like it turned into smoke the moment he reached out to grab it.

“I think I might, but…I’m sorry my memory has never been very good,” he lowered his head, heart racing when Thomas squeezed his hands.

“Whether you remember or not is fine. You don’t have to. What matters is what you think of this now. I’m a professor and yet I was unable to…are you not disgusted by it?”

“No, no of course not!” Alan squeezed Thomas back, “I’d never think ill of you! The fact that you even noticed someone like me is,” he laughed to himself, looking up to meet Thomas’s gaze. “Besides you’ve a lot more decency than Professor Carter.”

The grip on his hands became tighter, Thomas’s eyes darkened, “What did Carter do?”

“N-Nothing—!” Alan’s breath caught in his throat, “I think he was trying to make fun of me, mostly—”

“No,” Thomas growled. “That’s not likely.”

“What do you—”

“Listen to me, Alan. I need you to understand something. Ven and I have been in an open relationship since our 7th year at Hogwarts. If you wish it, I’m willing to become monogamous once again. With you.”

They’d been together since their 7th year? That was quite a long time, whether the relationship was open or not. And it meant that whatever Thomas and Ven had, it wasn’t something as flippant as Alan had originally thought. He licked his lips, biting the inside of his cheeks, “No, somehow…if the two of you split up because of me…that would feel wrong…”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed, and Alan thought he’d said the wrong thing, until he felt a chill go down his spine.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Didn’t I tell you to wait in the dining room?” Thomas barked, keeping a tight hold on Alan’s hands. Ven walked around them, finishing off Thomas’s fire whiskey, “I got bored. You two were taking too long in here.”

“Ven. The dining room.”

“What’s it matter? He’s already seen me! Besides, its obvious this not-so-innocent Hufflepuff wants us both.”

“Um,” Alan tried, “I—”

“What do you say, Thomas?” Ven’s hand snaked around Alan’s neck, his lips brushing against Alan’s cheek, “I don’t mind if this little thing comes between us~”

“Let him go,” Alan threatened.

“No.”

“Alan,” Thomas snapped, causing Alan’s spine to straighten, his pulse quickening under Ven’s palm. “What is it you want?”

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He wanted Thomas, of course. Had always wanted Thomas. But lately Ven was also capable of making his heart race, and with the three of them all together in one room, how in the world was he ever supposed to admit that what he really wanted was to—

Ven squeezed Alan’s cheeks together, popping his jaw open and making to kiss him, only to spill some sort of elixir into Alan’s mouth. Thomas yelled, but Alan didn’t quite catch it, his head starting to spin.

He felt strange.

“I want you both,” he blurted, nausea settling in his stomach. “I want Thomas to kiss me. Ven always kisses me but Thomas never does.”

Thomas’s eyes were so black that it sent shivers down Alan’s spine, and yet in that moment he wasn’t the least bit afraid.

“Very good, Doll,” Ven praised, giving his cheek a chaste kiss. “What else do you want Thomas to do?”

A rush of adrenaline raced through Alan’s veins, the hair on his arms raising in excitement. Ven hadn’t ever praised him before. Perhaps it was only the potion making him feel this way, but telling the truth felt…good.

“I want him to hold me!” Alan gasped almost desperately, nails curling into Thomas’s palms, “Ever since my fourth year I’ve always wanted him to hold me—!”

“Truth serum?” Thomas interrupted. “Do you always feel the need to stoop to such low measures—?”

“I find low measures speed things along,” Ven smirked, Alan not having to look at him to know that his cheshire smile was curling his lips upwards.

Alan’s head pounded. Everything sounded muddled and yet hopelessly clear at the same time. He hoped Ven wouldn’t ask him any more questions and yet he hoped he did, wanting to be praised again, to be kissed on the cheek again.

Thomas noticeably swallowed, bringing a hand to Alan’s cheek, “Forgive me, but I’ll ask again.”

Alan nodded, wanting to tell Thomas that he need not pay it any mind.

“What is it you want?”

“Anything you’re willing to give. Either one of you.”

“Then,” Thomas kissed him, tugging ever so slightly with his teeth, “you aren’t allowed to regret what comes next.”

Ven laughed, finally releasing Alan’s neck as Thomas took him, carrying Alan bridal-style.

“You’ve done it now, Doll. There’s no stopping him when he gets like this~”

They apparated into what Alan could only guess was Thomas’s bedroom, which only made his head spin all the more, Alan wondering why they couldn’t have just walked instead.

He was laid gently onto the bed, shifting only when Ven slid his thighs beneath Alan’s head, to create a sort of pillow. Heat rose to Alan’s cheeks. “What’s wrong, Doll?”

Alan made to say nothing, but his mouth opened on its own, “I’m embarrassed.”

Thomas had just made to get on the bed, leaning over Alan to give him a kiss on the lips.

“Why are you embarrassed?” Ven pressed, hand running through Alan’s hair.

“Because I’ve never done this before,” Alan whimpered, biting back the urge to say more.

Thomas smirked at that, lips dragging down Alan’s neck, “First time with two men?”

“First time ever,” Alan corrected, before Thomas had even finished his sentence. He wished he would have been able to stay quiet, to not give so much away, because Thomas stopped the moment the words left Alan’s mouth.

“I’m sorry I’m not experienced,” he blurted. “I’ll do my best—!”

“Oh, Thomas,” above him, Ven smirked, still stroking his hair, “doesn’t this make it all the more delicious?”

“No,” Thomas pulled away, and Alan’s heart sunk. “We should do things more slowly. Properly.”

Alan sat up, panic making his heart race, “Um! I-I know I’m not—but I really will try—!”

“Don’t worry about him,” Ven’s arm circled his waist, pulling Alan towards him. “If that’s what he wants then I’ll break you in. How does that sound?”

“Um—”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Thomas barked, reaching for Alan. “He’s never done this before—”

“Alan,” Ven’s teeth brushed over the shell of his ear, “tell Thomas what you want him to do.”

“I want him to kiss me like he was before. And to not stop. I want him to—”

“I understand,” Thomas huffed, running a hand through his hair, “but that doesn’t change the fact that—”

“Oh Thomas,” Ven sighed, gripping Alan’s chin and forcing him to face Thomas, “you’re gonna make the poor thing cry.”

Thomas kissed him. Took him from Ven and held him, warm tongue brushing over lips and curling into Alan’s mouth, Alan unable to help the moans that bled into Thomas’s mouth.

“You’re quite noisy,” Thomas stated, but it didn’t sound very much like a complaint, so Alan made no effort to keep quiet.

“Do keep that up,” Ven encouraged, starting for Alan’s pants, “he likes them loud.”

“I’ve no preference,” Thomas tried, but Ven refuted the fact. Not that Alan cared either way, at least, not when he was between the two men he’d been wanting most.

Even though he was kissing Thomas, it was difficult not to notice Ven, particularly so when the man’s hand slid down Alan’s pants, warm ripples flushing Alan’s skin at the of feel Ven’s hands on him, a full on gasp nearly making him choke when Ven finally grabbed his cock.

“Be gentle,” Thomas warmed through gritted teeth.

“I’m nothing but,” Ven countered, beginning to stroke Alan, peppering teeth-filled kisses onto the back of Alan’s neck.

Alan’s eyes were closed, but even if they were open he knew he’d be equally as dizzy. Naturally he’d taken care of himself before, but it felt so different having another person’s hands on him—so much better, and somehow he found himself wishing Thomas would touch him like that too.

He deepened their kiss, silently asking for the same from Thomas. The professor grinned into his lips, “What is it?”

“Touch me,” Alan blurted, the potion still very much in effect and entirely indifferent to Alan’s embarrassment.

Thomas looked from Alan to Ven, a single brow raised, before motioning at Ven to move. They swapped positions easily, Ven pulling Alan to his chest, so that he was in between Ven’s legs, back pressed against Ven’s chest, Alan able to feel how hard Ven already was against his lower back. In front of him, Thomas lowered himself, pulling at Alan’s pants, Alan shivering when his skin felt the sudden cold, heating up all over again when Thomas’s hands touched the skin of his legs.

The shivers weren’t from the cold, anymore. He could feel Ven biting along his neck some more, the demonic man nibbling at him every few moments, Alan knowing he would certainly bruise come tomorrow. But he hoped he would. He wanted those bruises. Wanted proof of any and everything Thomas and Ven were about to do to him.

At one point Ven had grabbed him by the chin—Thomas still massaging his legs with those large hands—so Alan didn’t see the way Thomas crept forward, until his mouth was already pressed against Alan’s boxers. He whined into Ven’s mouth.

“Oh,” Ven smirked. “Did you want to watch?”

Alan wasn’t given time to reply, Ven forcing his head down, so that he could watch Thomas start to peel his boxers away. Ven’s hands snaked across Alan’s chest, stopping only to tease his nipples, Alan’s dick twitching in reaction.

That felt good. But not nearly as good as watching Thomas open his mouth, seeing his tongue slide out and lick the tip of Alan’s already crying cock. He moaned, legs twitching, but Thomas didn’t allow it, held Alan’s thighs in place when he went in again, this time taking Alan into his mouth.

“He likes that, Thomas,” Ven chuckled, “his back arched right into you.”

Alan wasn’t sure if that was or wasn’t true, but one thing he knew for certain was that he was melting into Thomas’s mouth. Hot, and wet, and tight, Thomas took all of him, Alan gasping and bucking his hips though he didn’t quite mean to, feeling the edge of Thomas’s throat and wanting to feel it again. And when Thomas began to move, to bob his head up and down, to suck all around him, Alan couldn’t help but toss his head back, moaning into Ven’s shoulder.

“Oh my,” Ven purred, trailing Alan’s neck with a cold finger, “he really likes that.”

Thomas glared up at both of them, which only caused Alan to shiver, but Thomas didn’t stop, continued to work Alan’s length until his legs were trembling to the point of collapse, Ven keeping them spread so that he had no means of escape. “Th-Thomas,” he begged, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was begging for, his arms curled up into his chest, fists closed with white knuckles.

Ven was pinching his nipples again, though Alan still felt hands on his thighs, and somewhere in his muddled brain he realized they had to have been Thomas’s, but hardly anything registered aside from the fact that he was being touched in every which way, a very specific heat starting at the pit of his stomach and rising and rising, getting tighter and tighter and tighter until his thighs tensed up so much Alan could no longer stand it.

“Oh Thomas,” he whined, “Thomas I’m—”

It was Ven who grabbed Thomas by the hair, yanked him away and brought Alan’s spinning pleasure to a terrible screeching halt.

“No—” Alan scratched at Ven’s arm. “N-No, please—”

“Patience, Doll,” Ven kissed his cheek. “Good things to those who wait.”

“You could’ve let him have at least that,” Thomas smirked, wiping his mouth with his arm, Alan entirely entranced by the motion.

“Let’s get to the main attraction now, shall we?” Ven licked his ear, muttering an incantation that Alan didn’t quite catch. Without warning, he was facing the ceiling, back on the bed and Ven hovering over him. “This is my favorite spell,” he licked his lips, fingers sliding down between Alan’s thighs, and pressing a finger in.

Alan gasped, back arching up off the bed, hands shooting down to grab at Ven’s wrists. That was strange. Was it supposed to go in that easily?

“Thomas,” Ven called, “look at how wet he is.” He pulled his finger out, holding it just beneath Thomas’s lips. To Alan’s suprise—horror?—delight, Thomas licked Ven’s finger, Alan shivering upon watching. “That’s dirty…” he tried, but Thomas refuted the fact, bringing his hand over to brush Alan’s hair back. “Relax while Ven stretches you. Do you want to taste yourself?”

He nodded eagerly, because Ven had just put the finger back in, and although it wasn’t exactly painful, it was hopelessly embarrassing, and just ever so slightly uncomfortable.

Having Thomas kiss him made all of the embarrassment go away. Especially so when Thomas slipped his tongue in, and Alan was allowed to taste himself, the way Thomas had promised. Alan wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting it to taste like, but somehow it wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as he originally thought it might—

He squealed, Ven having curled his fingers inside him, Thomas grabbing his chin and forcing him in place, not letting him move though his legs kicked beneath him.

“Jittery little thing,” Ven breathed, holding Alan’s stomach down as he continued with his ministrations. “Don’t you think he’s just about ready?”  Thomas said, somehow managing to not pull his lips from Alan’s.

“I’d say so,” Ven smiled, unzipping his pants. The sound alone made Alan tense. Thomas grabbed for Alan, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Ven frowned, “I took the trouble of preparing him. I think I should be given the first taste.” He grabbed for Alan as he said so, but a blast came, knocking Ven to the opposite side of the room. Slowly, Alan turned to look at Thomas, horror and amazement making his jaw drop.

He’d never seen wandless magic in person before.

“I wish we could have done this more slowly,” Thomas apologized, “but that won’t hold him for long. And I’m afraid I’m already quite distracted.”

Before Alan could come up with any sort of sorry reply, Thomas was hovering over him, kissing him, their clothes vanishing instantly, Alan only briefly wondering where they might have disappeared to, not quite caring the moment he felt Thomas’s heat against his stomach.

“Th-Thomas—“

Hand on Alan’s cheek, Thomas kissed the top of his head, “Try to take a deep breath.”

Alan did as he was told, looking up at Thomas expectantly, “N-Now what?”

“Take another one.”

“And then?”

“One more.”

Alan nodded to show he understood, preparing for his second large breath. Only, when he did, Thomas pushed in, Alan’s breath catching in his throat, his arms shooting up to grab at any piece of Thomas that he could. “Thomas—!”

“Does it hurt?”

“N-No but—”

“Did you not hear me?” Thomas smirked, pressing their chests together and placing a chaste kiss on Alan’s cheek. “I said to take a deep breath.”

Alan didn’t know how deep breaths were supposed to be possible when Thomas was as big as he was. When Thomas was as thick as he was. When Thomas was as hot as he was. How was he supposed to ever breathe again, knowing that this was what it felt like to finally be connected with the man that he’d loved for so long—

His thoughts were cut, the moment Thomas began to move. Because Alan could feel everything—every ridge and bump of Thomas’s length, could feel the low groan rumbling slowly in Thomas’s chest, could feel the depravity of his own hips, wriggling ever so slightly to match Thomas’s movements.

“If we’re all quite done with this sap fest—”

The bed shifted beneath what Alan could only assume was Ven’s weight, Thomas growling at him to stay away but Ven not listening, from the way the weight shifted closer and closer towards Alan.

“You’re not the only one who wants to have some fun.”

“You’ll break him—” Thomas snapped, arms tensing above Alan’s head, still buried deep inside him.

“He won’t break—”

“What if he—”

“There’s a spell for that—”

“And if there isn’t?”

“You’re the Potion’s Master,” came Ven’s drawl of a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with something.”

Alan didn’t know what they were talking about. But he knew that he hated when those two left him out of their conversations. All it did was remind him of how much more history they had. How much more history they would always have.

“Whatever it is…” he spoke up, clearing his throat, “I’m fine with it��”

“See?” Ven inched closer, “He’s fine with it—”

“Alan, you don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Alan reached up, touching Thomas’s face. “I trust you. Both of you.”

Ven chuckled, with a wave of his hand causing both Alan and Thomas to levitate, while he settled himself on the bed, “I wouldn’t trust me if I were you~”

They settled back down, Alan’s back now against Ven’s chest instead of the bed, Thomas still on top of him, still inside of him, Alan entirely unsure of what it was he was supposed to do.

“Alan,” Thomas barked, Alan’s head snapping to attention.

“Yes?”

“This will hurt—”

“Only a little,” Ven licked the shell of Alan’s ear. “Honestly Thomas you’re so dramatic.”

“W-What are you gonna do—?”

“Trust me, Doll. It’ll be much better if I just show you instead,” as he said so, he rubbed against Alan’s ass, and Alan came into terrible realization.

“No that’s—! You won’t fit!”

Ven chuckled, “I’m humbled by the compliment—”

“No, Ven, really—Thomas barely—”

Ven didn’t listen, muttered something beneath his breath and then pushed on through, Alan feeling as though his stomach was in his throat.

He felt…full.

How would they ever be able to move like this?

They were, in fact, able to move, Thomas sliding out and then pushing back in, Ven sliding out as Thomas pushed, the two alternating their movements so that Alan was never at any point empty. And with every minor movement Alan thought his body might tear, thought it might sink into ultimate pleasure, thought he might break, thought he’d slip into unknowable bliss. Ven’s pants were in his ear, heavy and hot, sending trickles down his spine because it tickled more than anything else, and Thomas’s groans were up above him, arms strained from movement and hips jutting in beautiful rhythm.

The same heat that had started when Thomas was sucking him off swirled in him again, twisting and twirling and tightening in the pit of his stomach.

He wasn’t sure if it was Ven, or Thomas, or both, but every so often they would hit something that made Alan see stars, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Especially so when Ven snaked his hands down his torso, to grasp at Alan’s own heat and start jacking him off.

The heat in him was rising. With every push and pull of Thomas and Ven’s bodies, every breath they gave, Thomas’s groans and Ven’s pants, both of their hands on his body, their sweat all starting to mix together, to become one, the slippery wetness of it all, the scent of the room—

Alan couldn’t take it anymore.

He saw white. The pleasure was inundating, and the whine that broke his lips was deafening, Alan’s legs tightening and then trembling with the rush of his orgasm.

“Fuck Doll—”

“Don’t squeeze that much—”

They were requests Alan was deaf to, because he couldn’t stop shaking, could feel himself squeezing, didn’t want to stop, couldn’t, and when another burst of heat filled his stomach Alan had at least enough sense to realize that it hadn’t come from him alone.

Somehow or another, they all collapsed together. This time with Thomas hugging him from behind, Alan staring at Ven who was lying directly across from them.

Alan’s legs felt like lead.

“You know,” Ven sighed, resting his head against his arm. “I think I like your hair better that way.”

“Me or him?” Thomas was first to say.

Ven chuckled, “I wonder that myself.”

“Ven?” Alan tried, reaching out for him.

“What is it?”

“Will you kiss me?”

Ven raised a brow, “The truth serum should have cleared up by now.”

Alan swallowed, blushing all the way up to his ears, “Is that a no?”

Ven leaned in, but Thomas captured Alan’s cheek, bringing him in for a kiss before Ven could have a say.

“You’re disgustingly competitive.”

“Must be the Slytherin in me.”

“Could be,” Ven grinned. “But I believe Alan asked me. Therefore, that kiss belongs to me.”

Thomas grabbed for Ven, kissing him full on the lips, “Consider it yours, then.”

Ven shot Alan a wicked grin, giving him a quick peck, “Prepare yourself, Hufflepuff. You’re in for a long night.”