#(hands are a pain and i wish they were easier to draw but hey at least i attempted them this time!!)

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

[airawisteria]

Layla (blonde girl) is crushing on a girl in her class

[ch0k3herwithaseaview]

hi guys, it’s been a minute since i’ve written anything, but here we go! i hope y’all like it :3

purring in your lap, ‘cuse I love you

Regulus has always been perceived as a cold and collected man, completely opposite to his loud and obnoxious brother. People always thought the only thing they had in common was their looks and last name. 

The truth was different, though—they were both scared little kids trying to survive in the world that they weren’t sure accepted them; they just had different coping mechanisms. While Regulus tried to hide his pain behind a mask of ignorance and reservation, Sirius pretended to be the happiest, coolest person alive, so no one could notice his scars. 

They handled everything this way: their classes, friendships, and love lives. And because the older brother decided to make himself appear as the star he was named after—always the brightest in the room—he had it easier to become friends with someone or ask someone else on a date. 

So, while Sirius kept walking around Hogwarts with Lupin’s arm thrown around his shoulders, or Lupin’s hand in his hair, or sat on Lupin’s lap, Regulus was trying his hardest to make his crush at least look at him. 

He started off with things that were supposed to be simple and effective, like staring at the boy longingly (‘Reg, why are you trying to burn a hole in Potter's forehead?’), interacting with him in the school’s corridors (‘Watch how you walk, Potter!’), and even trying to leave little gifts for him in Quidditch locker rooms (‘WHO THE FUCK PUT VENUS FLYTRAP IN MY COAT?!’). For some reason, neither one of them worked, so he decided to go a step further. 

The whole process started in October and was finished halfway through November. It was honestly perfect timing, he thought. 

When Regulus told about it to his friends, they presented a whole spectrum of different reactions. 

“You’re fucking mad,” Barty laughed in his face. 

“Couldn’t you just come up to him and ask him out like a regular human being?” Asked Evan, shaking his head. 

“He’s not a regular human being,” Dorcas added. “He’s a Black; there is nothing regular about him.”

“Hey!”

“I think it’s sweet; you will impress him. I’m sure about that,” Pandora said in her dreamy voice, smiling delicately at Regulus. And that was all he needed—though he loved all of his friends the same, Pandora’s validation was the most important to him. 

***

At the beginning of December, Regulus started going out every evening to wander around the castle, hoping he'd meet James somewhere, anywhere. After a week or so of his little escapades, he finally found who he was looking for. 

James must’ve been going back to his dormitory after some detention, judging by his muggle clothes, tired expression, and the late hour. He didn’t look like his usual, happy, and shiny self—more like he was on the verge of tears. Seeing the boy like that made Regulus’ guts twist with pity, because why would James look like that?

In that moment the younger boy decided to draw the other’s attention. He made just one little sound, and the Gryffindor looked in his direction immediately. His eyes shone with delight as he spotted Regulus, crouching beside him in an instant. 

“Hey, little buddy,” James said gently, offering his hand for the kitten to smell. Regulus started rubbing against it straight away, purring happily at the constant. The older boy just giggled at his actions. 

“What are you doing here alone at night? Did you run from your owner?” In response, Reg meowed like he was trying to disagree. Another giggle escaped James’ mouth. “I wish I could stay with you, but I’m afraid if Minnie spots me, I might get in trouble.” This time, the sound Regulus made was sad. James just smiled at him apologetically and stood up, waving goodbye. 

Oh no, Regulus thought. I’m not giving up that easily. 

He started meowing loudly, almost hysterically, and ran after the Gryffindor. When he got to him, Regulus started manoeuvring between James’ legs. 

The older boy chuckled, crouching again. “Oh, come on,” he whispered. “I really have to go, mate.” That didn’t stop Reg from acting dramatically, though. He kept on crying, hoping James would understand that he wants to be taken with him. And, to his utter surprise, James actually lifted him up and cradled him to his chest. “You’re a stubborn little guy, aren’t you?” he cooed while stroking Regulus’ back. He only purred quietly, satisfied with his achievement. 

*** 

The next morning Regulus woke up in a place he didn’t recognise. Everything was in different shades of red—the curtains on the bed he lay on, the quilt he was partially covered with, the walls, even the shoes beneath him were red. 

Oh fuck, he thought as realisation hit him—he was in James’ dormitory. 

After taking a quick look around and checking if he was still in his animagus form, Regulus jumped off the bed and walked to the door. Unfortunately, they were closed. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. 

There were just two ways out, he decided: somehow opening the door by himself or waking up one of the boys in the room. 

Regulus started with trying to do it by himself, putting his little paws in the small space between the doorframe and the door itself—it didn’t work. 

His second attempt included casting a nonverbal Alohomora, which, unfortunately, also didn’t work. 

Third, and last, try was risky, very risky. Regulus took another look around to make sure none of the boys woke up in the last few minutes and very quietly transformed back to his human form. As soon as he was himself again, he snuck out, trying to shut the door without making any sounds. Somehow, this time it worked out for him. 

Releasing a deep breath, Regulus turned back into the little kitten and made his way out of Gryffindor’s common room. 

***

He kept this going for the rest of December, until it was time to return home for Christmas. Regulus was hoping for a miracle; he wished something would happen to save him from going back to Walburga and Orion. 

He couldn’t stay at Evan and Pandora’s house—his aunt would take him home in an instant. I could go to Andy, he thought, but quickly decided it wasn’t the best idea—the two of them were never close, and probably neither one would feel comfortable. 

There was one more option, though. 

Three days before the break, Regulus walked up to his brother. Sirius was surrounded by his stupid friends, which wasn’t ideal, but he decided it was now or never. 

Bracing himself, Regulus walked up to the group of Gryffindors, and after taking a deep breath in, he cleared his throat. 

The first to turn at the sound was no other than James fucking Potter. When their eyes met, the older boy gave Regulus the brightest, most earnest smile he’s ever seen. Merlin, he’s beautiful, he thought to himself. 

“Hi, Regulus,” James said cheerfully, making others turn their heads in his direction. 

Putting on his stone-cold mask, Regulus nodded, muttering a quiet ‘Potter’ in response, and turned to his brother. “Can we talk?” he asked Sirius without any preamble. 

The older Black looked at him with a confused expression but nodded anyway. They left the group, walking into the first opened classroom they found. 

“What is it?” Sirius asked urgently, as if Regulus walking up to him meant the end of the world. 

The Slytherin looked down at his fingernails, swallowed loudly, and only then looked back up at his brother. “I need help,” he started, trying to appear as cool and collected. Unfortunately, the tremble in his voice gave away the nervousness he felt. 

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I need help; I don’t want to go back to Maman and Papa.” The last words were barely above a whisper. 

Sirius looked at him, pain and pride mixing on his face. “Wait here,” he said gently, instantly leaving the room, but as quickly as he disappeared, his older brother was back. He wasn’t alone, though. 

“Why is Potter here?” Regulus asked, trying to cover his surprise with an offended tone. He knew James and his brother were close, but why would Sirius bring the other guy into a situation like this one?

The black-haired Gryffindor cleared his throat. “You know how I always say I’ll escape from them one day, right?” Regulus nodded in answer. “So, for the last couple of months, I’ve been sending my things, like records and shit, to James’ parents so I could… so I could move in with them.” Sirius looked in his brother’s eyes—they were getting wet and red. “And I was thinking that maybe, if you wanted to, you could come with me?” With his final word, a single tear rolled down his face. 

Regulus stared at him with wide eyes. Yes, he was aware of Sirius’ plan of running away, but he never expected to be a part of that plan. Why would he? Since he started at Hogwarts, Regulus felt like his brother hated him more and more with each day. He was convinced that when Sirius finally leaves the prison that was their family house, he would be left alone there to rot in loneliness. Hearing that his brother wanted him to run with him, to have Regulus still by his side, made his heart ache with love and happiness. He could feel warm tears falling from his eyes, could feel his lips turn into a wobbly smile. 

Nodding, Regulus whispered, “J'aimerais m'enfuir avec toi, Siri.”

Now full-on sobbing, Sirius ran up to him, embracing him in a tight hug, quietly repeating over and over, “Thank you, thank you so much.”

After some time in the empty room, a third cry could be heard. Both brothers turned in the direction of the sound, noticing James subtly shedding tears, although his looked more like happy ones. Regulus couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. 

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 8 🦌

"Fawn's Punishment"

Content: Restraints, belts, intended non-sexual spanking, defiant whumpee, unearthed childhood trauma, slight nsfw warning (or full nsfw warning idk where y'all would draw that line. Basically whumpee accidentally finds out they have a kink. This is the only time the series will get nsfw.)

1,600 words

Hey, part 8! Who's ready for our little Fawn to finally get put in their place? I know I am! :)

Sorry for my absence recently. A few weeks ago my brother and his friend dragged me out to chaperone a concert 2 hours away when I was starting to feel sick, and I'm disabled and couldn't sit the entire time unless it was on the floor, then I got the full on FLU, then while sick I started my period, and I haven't been able to do anything for over a week. I couldn't focus and was angry and depressed about it and how sick I felt but whatever. In all honesty it was awful. And then my pet turtle died and my brother got into a car accident (he's fine).

It's been stressful, though now I'm finally ready to get back in the swing of things. I'm not too happy with this part but I blame the aforementioned reasons for it. It feels choppy and weird but whatever. I'm just gonna hit post and get it done with.

Anyways, yeah, hope you like it!! 💕

       Fawn was once again tied to the bed upstairs. Though rather than being able to lay on it, their hands were bound behind their back, tied to the bedpost as they sat on their knees. They’d spent hours trying to desperately break free, though it was all for naught. All that they were left with were sore, bruised wrists, embedded with rope marks. Not to mention how bad their knees hurt, unable to switch positions.

       They were so sick and tired of everything. Of being angry, scared, fatigued, and hurt. Constantly fighting between their beating, anxiety-ridden heart and their uncaring anger. They were more mad at Hunter than anything, but their stupid disorder fought against them. It made them afraid. Afraid when they didn't want to be. If they didn't have anxiety, life would be so much easier.

       No being fearful of anything unnecessary. No feeling like you're running a marathon while sitting at home in bed. No nausea or sensation of vomiting. No aches and pains and panic attacks. No fear.

       Yet here they were, feeling like they were about to have a heart attack, hands shaking, almost a sensation like they were being set on fire. Like they could feel the blood surging down their arms to their hands. Fear and anger were their least favorite emotions, yet they were the only ones they could feel. They weren't normally so feisty and vulgar. Though despite how much of it they threw at Hunter, they saw right through them.

       They saw how soft they really were. How small, fragile, and pathetic. They hated all of it. Being perceived as both mean and feeble. Their fighting was their coping mechanism, the swears, the kicks, the biting back. They hated being perceived as weak.

       Soft, yes. But that doesn't mean weak.

       Most people don't get that.

      Though now, they were tired of being strong. In this moment, they were weak. They loathed it. They wanted to fight back, and cry, but nothing ever changes when they do because to Hunter it means nothing. Now here they were, on their knees in a dark cold room waiting for Hunter to do God knows what to them.

       Fawn was a lot like Hunter in the sense that they just wanted to be left alone. Fawn wanted to go back to their new old home, back to the animal shelter, back to working a simple daylight job at the gas station. Keeping to themself, nature, and animals. Not being perceived at all.

       Unfortunately, that was merely just a wish. The door to a room creaked open, light entering from the hall as Hunter stood in the doorway. Fawn refused to look at them. A tense moment was held in the air as neither made a sound, Hunter just standing there while Fawn kept their head down. After a while, Hunter stepped into the room.

       “So,” they said, “you think you can rummage through my things and destroy them? Tear them to shreds?”

       “They weren’t your things. They were missing posters.” Fawn grumbled in discontent, still keeping their head down. Hunter grabbed their hair and forced them to look up, smacking them harshly across the face with their other hand.

       “You are in no place to be talking black to me, especially not right now! You wanna destroy my fucking things? Then I’ll destroy you right back.” They said, a growl to their tone. They untied the rope from the bed post and yanked them to their feet, grabbing onto their arms.

       "Grrr, let go of me!" Fawn yelled and kicked as Hunter tightened the grip on their fragile arms, pushing them out of the room as they hopelessly fought.

       “No, you need to be taught a lesson.”

       "No! No I don't! Fuck you!"

       “Yeah, yeah. Keep yelling. That’ll help.”

       Hunter dragged them to a chair, roughly throwing them down on it, almost knocking it backwards from the force.

       "Every other time I've hurt you, it's because I've needed to help you out of something you caused. You stepped into my trap, so I took you into my home and fixed your leg. You break my window, so I pick out the pisces and give you stitches. You get sick because you’re a weak little baby, so I take care of you out of the kindness of my heart.” They said semi-sarcastically, “But now I'm afraid it's time for you to face some true consequences."

       “Oh yeah, like fucking what?” Fawn growled, “Do your fucking worst, I don’t care. Fucking shoot me. Kill me like hunters are supposed to do with their prey. Fucking end me, you coward.”

       “Oh, darling little fawn, we’re in far too deep for me to do that now. No, I’ve grown to quite like you. It gets lonely all the way out here, and I find you to be entertaining. You aren't going anywhere, I’m afraid. But you are going to listen to me. My cabin, my rules.”

       Hunter took off their belt, folding it, the leather wearing and peeling off of it. Fawn glared at them, their eyes slowly widening.

       "Hm, what's going through that pretty little head of yours? Relax, if I wanted to do that to you, I would've done it already." Hunter said, approaching them, proceeding to slap them across the face with it. "Besides, I wouldn't want to fuck something that acts like a bratty child."

       "If being a bratty child is the only thing keeping your creepy hands off me, I'll gladly keep it up." Fawn said, not even reacting to the slap.

       “Keep my hands off you, yes. But not my belt.” They hit them again.

       “You know what I meant.” Fawn grumbled, then kicked them in the legs. “Get away from me.”

       “You’re in no position to be making demands at me.”

       “Or fucking what? You’ll smack me with the belt again? Yeah, yeah. Been there, done that a thousand times. You’re supposed to be some serial killer, aren’t you? You're really fucking shitty at it.”

      Hunter pulled their hair, "You wanna act like a brat? Then you can get punished like a brat. Is that the game you want to play? You wanna play that game? Because I can.”

       “Oh, yeah, sure, spank me like a child, why don’t you. That’ll teach me a lesson.”

       “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

       “Yeah well I don’t appreciate being tied up and held hostage by some strange feral person in the middle of the woods, so I guess we’re even.”

       Hunter yanked them up on their feet and threw them over the table so fast and unexpectedly that Fawn yelped. Just as quickly as that happened, they felt their pants get yanked down, and a belt roughly lashed against their bare skin.

        "Ah! What— what are you doing?"

        "What do you think I'm doing? Act like a child and I'll spank you like one." They brought the belt down again.

       Fawn's face blushed red in embarrassment. This was humiliating. It wasn't a sexual spanking, rather they were being spanked like they were a misbehaving kid. It felt like their childhood all over again. Being hit and spanked by their parents for the most trivial of things.

       They'd just finally gotten away from it.

       Now they were right back where they ran away from.

       “What’s the matter? I thought you said this would be like nothing, didn’t you?” Hunter taunted.

       “Y-you— you can’t just spank another adult and have it not be weird!”

       “Hey, you’re the only one making it weird. Why? Do you like being spanked?” Hunter teased, and brought the belt down harder. Fawn jerked and let out a surprised squeal. Hunter chuckled darkly. "I think you do."

"Shut the hell up." Fawn nearly cried. The tone was cracked and scared, not angry. "Stop it. Stop it! I'm not a child, stop it, I'm not— you shouldn't— you can't punish me!"

"Then stop acting like one. That's the point. Because you're a child. It's not my fault you're a freak who likes being hit."

"I do not like it!"

"Yeah, sure. Maybe not by me, but you do. You're clearly humiliated though, which was the goal. So it works."

       Fawn shut their mouth and stayed quiet as Hunter talked and hit them. As if they couldn't make their embarrassment any worse, their brain, throat, and tongue plotted against them, as they involuntarily pleaded, "Mom, stop."

       "Aww, am I reminding you of mommy? Were you spanked as a kid? How sad." They condescended, hitting them harder. “Childhood traumas that turn into adulthood kinks, how unfortunate for you.”

       “No… you... you don’t remind me of my mother.” Fawn said sadly, “You’re far too nice for that.”

       Hunter was about to bring the belt down again, but the statement surprised them, causing them to hesitate, bringing it down in a light tap, rather than a spank.

       Hunter grumbled to themself under their breath, then said, "Fine. You're done. For now." They untied their hands and threw them onto the floor, "Now pull up your pants and get out of my sight. I think you should spend some time alone, be sure to think of me in the process, though."

"Fuck you. Pervert." Fawn spat, and Hunter left.

       They were so mad at themself. How that turned them on. They knew it wasn't their fault, it was just a bodily reaction, but still. They were being spanked by their captor, just like their mother used to do. That shouldn't turn them on!

       They were frustrated in more ways than one, and wanted to rip their hair out. It wasn't supposed to be sexual. Yet here they were, feeling assaulted and ashamed.

       This was not their fucking fault. This was not the consequences of their actions. They wouldn't let Hunter manipulate them with their bullshit. Won’t let them groom them into thinking they’re some kind of authority figure.

       They’d sooner wish for the apocalypse then to be subservient to them.

You're all gonna see a turning point for Hunter the next few chapters, so I hope you're ready for some focus on them. Also this part wasn't originally supposed to get a bit sexual, but that's just where it ended up when I wrote it. Hope it's okay, it's my first time ever putting out anything nsfw so I'm a little bit nervous 😅

Taglist: @parasitebunny @whumpy-wyrms

Lmk in the comments if you want added or removed !

Thank you for reading ! 💕🦌

[laneynoir]

Hey I forgot to post this yesterday oops.

Bagginshield, very short <3

They won, but had they really? He doesn't know, he may never. The pain is intense, probably the worst he's ever had to experiance, and yet that seems dulled, numb, despite the lack of anesthetics.

He's partially aware of the elf standing over him, hair in all directions and blood smeared across their face, long elegant movements, tinged with desperation, as they poke and prod at the various punctures and slashes that cover his body. Once, he thinks, this would have discomforted him to no end, anger would have bubbled from his heart at the thought of some presumptuous, slender, tree loving creature. Now it seems that every fibre of his being is focused entirely on what he did. Every thought zeros in on what he's done, the crime against not only the law of his people and himself, but his creator as well.

How could he have? Every other thought during the sickness could be logically understood, for that is of course what illness of the mind is, starting out as small things, a selfish thought here, growing into an intense greed, driving the person into a space where everything seems to make such sense, and only an outside source can tell.

But when the soft body had been pressed against stone, and the throat of his one under him hand... He could not forgive himself. Ever.

He floats in and out, mostly out, of consciousness over the next week, he knows that he's being watched, wasting the time of healers who should be attending to better dwarrow, or even men. In his moments of lucidity he faces the constant torment of a pain that no medications will numb, and wishes that he had been done with on the ice, when he begged for the hobbit's forgiveness- a fine thing for a dieing man to ask, if a mite manipulative. It's easier to forgive a dead man than to live with him.

As if the Burglar would ever even draw near him now.

~

He doesn't care about you. Everyone saw that well enough when he tried to kill you, and for what? Shining rock? No. No love that is true would bend under something to trivial as sickness. You broke his trust and lost him compleatly.

He shakes his head, desperate to clear away the hissing voice that has become so common in his mind. The dwarf may not love him any more, if he ever had, but he had asked to part in friendship.

Ah yes. Friendships. And yet, he did say part didn't he. And asked you to return to your home, with its soft comforts... And yet here you stay, lingering around when you are of no use, what are you waiting for?

What is he waiting for? He's hardly been any help in the restoration attempts that are being made, and he hasn't been able to help much at all with the rations, (he's still living off of less than half of what a hoobit needs, stomach complaining and dizziness just refuse to stop.) And really there's not much he can do.

So what is he waiting for? Why can't he tear himself away, run home and leave those with competence to do what needs to be done? His role is over.

Over and done, run home little halfling.

Halfling? Yes. No. Perhaps? He's not enough really, so maybe he is half. And yet... His eyes dart to the cot where the crownless king lays as if dead. There was a time when he felt enough, his manners perfect and his ability to whip up a parties worth of food bested most hobbits in the Shire. But was he complete even then? No, not really.

You were happy in your Shire.

No he wasn't. Not since his mother died.

You would be happier there thank here.

Would he?

Yessss

But, his friends wouldn't be there, he would be alone again.

Oh, but you're already alone.

N-no.

Alone.  All alone. All al

He rips the ring from his finger, but he can't seem to throw it aside as he wishes. Hardly noticing, he tucks it into his pocket, tryibg to calm his breathing. He staggers over to the cot and slumps to his knees, gripping the cloth in a tight fist. He doesn't notice when tears begin to drip from his eyes.

~

He won't come back.

The thought stabs him over and overb never seeming to cease, always taunting. He had ome love and many chances to prive himself, yet he failed. More than failed. He wishes he had simply failed.

Now though, there was no conceivable way that his burglar would return, and draw near to his side, speaking in his odd accent of homes reclaimed. He doesn't even know if the Hobbit still live-

He shoots into an upright position, eyesight dazed and breath comeing in gasps. Had he survived? There was no way that the small creature had run off to try and help in the waining battle.

Oh, but that is just the sort of noble foolishness his hobbit would partake in. And his sister sons gone. How had he failed so miserably, to let those he loved most dearly die, the sobs come in choked silence, filling the air.

He doesn't feel the grip on his hand, but somewhere he hears an echoing voice, wild glazed eyes flit around the area (where is he?) Darkned tan hide makes up the walls, but the the voice is to close. At his side then, at last his blurry vision lands on a face he thought long gone.

"Bilbo?"

"I'm here, Thorin"

[polyphonical]

Bridal - Chapter 2

[ View on site for better experience♪ ]

Location: Studio

Kaoru: Excuse me…?

Oh, it looks like the “helper” isn’t here yet. Yay, Anzu-chan and I can be alone~☆

Hey hey, let’s not waste any time and get started. When this is all over, we can go downtown to the shopping center.

A date… We could talk about the photoshoot as well, so it's fine right?

Izumi: Hey, you’re in the way~. Could you not stand in the middle of the doorway like that and just go in already?

Kaoru: Woah, you scared me!? What is Sena-kun doing here?

Ah, there’s no way Sena-kun is the “helper” you mentioned, is there!?

But wait, even Anzu-chan is saying “that’s not true” so… Ehh? Really, why are you here?

Izumi: Ughh really, this is such a pain~ Why do I have to explain every little thing?

Kaoru: No no, you can’t just say “this is such a pain~” explain properly?! Even Anzu-chan is surprised... What are you doing here Sena-kun?

Izumi: Jeez. Really, why do I have to explain everything… That damn Naru-kun…

Anzu. You originally asked Naru-kun to help out with this gravure photoshoot right?

Well, Naru-kun couldn’t make it since she got called in suddenly for a job. I got asked to fill in for her instead.

Kaoru: Ohh. It’s true that it’s a gravure photoshoot, so having a model help out would be really helpful.

But Anzu-chan, aren’t you scared of Sena-kun?

Izumi: Hah? Then why is Anzu behind my back right now? If she was so scared of me, she wouldn’t even want to be near me.

Kaoru: Huh? When did that happen!?

Why, Anzu-chan? You’re much safer with me then with Sena-kun y’know?

Izumi: I don’t really care either way. Since we cleared everything up, can we just get started now?

I want to get this over with already so I can go home. Ugh, why do I have to do this even though I’m taking a break from modeling?

What, Anzu? Why are you smiling like that?

…Hah? Because I still came?

I already told you. Naru-kun asked me to do it. Even if I said no, she would just keep pestering me until I agreed anyways.

Hakaze, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right. If you treat this like some average photoshoot, we won’t get anywhere.

Kaoru: Ooh, you’re so enthusiastic, Sena-kun~

You said you were taking a break from modeling, didn’t you? Will you be fine? If you’re drawing up blanks, how can you teach me properly?

Izumi: Don’t treat me like I’m one of those average models. I’m not on hiatus because I’m in a slump. If I wanted, I could go back to modeling right now.

Kaoru: Really? If that’s the case, why are you on a break?

…Ah, is it because you’re focusing on being an idol right now?

Izumi: That’s partially it. …Wait, this isn’t about me. We’re focused on your ability to model right? 

First, let’s do a practice run to get a feel for where you are right now. We can work on it from there.

Kaoru: Right right, as you wish~

Anzu-chan, watch me okay?

…Ahaha, don’t worry, okay? I’ll just do things how I usually do, so I’m sure I’ll be fine. I might even get an OK on my first try?

Hmm~ Anzu-chan. If I get an OK on my first try, could we go on a date?

See, if we hurry up and finish the job, we’d be able to go downtown like I was saying earlier. We got a bit distracted when Sena-kun came~

I wanted to ask you properly ♪

Eh, we can? Ya~y! You never know unless you shoot your shot huh ♪

I’m all fired up now~ Since I’m in top shape, I doubt that Sena-kun has anything he’d need to teach me. Super sorry if that happens~

Izumi: Yeah yeah, whatever. Can we start now?

I’ll take the picture, so just get in your pose.

I’m telling you right now, I’m strict.

Kaoru: I got it~

『Give me your hand, princess. I’ll make you the happiest bride in the world~♪』

(Fufun, that felt good! Sena-kun won’t have anything to say if I keep it up.)

(I was a bit worried since it was a bridal shoot, but it seems like it’ll be okay if I just do things like a normally do)

(Huh, this might go easier than I expected?)

────────────────· · · · · ·♡· · · · · · ────────────────

Previous ♡ Directory ♡ Next

[indelibleevidence]

Broken Wings, chapter 3 (NSFW)

Author's Note: Also on FFN and AO3. If you're still here, thank you for being here! Honestly, it's still blowing my mind that there are people other than me who care about this AU. I really appreciate it. Since this fic is entirely self-indulgent, this chapter is inappropriately-timed, emotionally all-over-the-place smut. :D

*

“Kurt…”

Remi traced her fingers over his cheekbone, down to his jaw, searching his face intently, looking for any telltale traces of deception or hidden contempt. Any sign that she was wrong, that she was deluding herself again, that she was allowing herself to believe a pretty, romantic lie.

Unlike the night when Jane Doe had first met him, Remi recognised him—could read him like a book, even. He wasn’t trying to shut her out, even though she’d hurt him again by rejecting his words of love.

He loves Jane.

Remi ignored the traitorous thought, knowing it would return later, but discarding it anyway. She’d only make things worse if she voiced the fear to Kurt again, and more than anything, she wanted to repair some of the damage she’d done.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she confessed, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve. “Not without keeping a distance.”

Some of his pain receded, replaced by a warm affection that seemed to reach all the remotest, most frozen pieces of her soul. “I know. But that’s okay.”

She withdrew her hand, fighting the urge to withdraw emotionally, as well. Anger was an easy mask, and she couldn’t completely contain it. “Is it? It doesn’t feel okay, Kurt. Why do you keep letting me do this to you?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but her words just kept tumbling out, leaving him with no room to speak.

“I’m not getting any easier to be around. I’m too broken. At least Jane, she didn’t know the first thirty years of her life. I’m not saying things were easy for her—I know they weren’t, now—but she didn’t have my memories. She could be better. She could let the past go.”

“You are better. And you are easier to be around.” He smiled a little, no derision in his eyes. “You think you would have told me any of this, back in Venice?”

Disoriented by the shock that he was right, she fought to regain her emotional footing. “I just… I’m not…”

��You are. And you can try to push me away all you want. I’m still gonna love you, Remi.”

The certainty in his voice, in his gaze… The ember of hope caged in her chest glowed, throwing out sparks that could find fuel, if she’d only provide it.

“I…”

She couldn’t find the words. All she knew was that this conversation needed to stop, before she jumped into a future that wasn’t hers. The future Jane would have had, if not for the ZIP.

This doesn’t belong to you. You can’t have it.

It would be like getting into bed with muddy boots on. She’d spread filthy smears over what should have been perfect, and her stubborn, romantic fool of a husband would be left to deal with the mess, after she’d ruined it all and run away again.

Another thick, choking wave of self-hatred flowed up her throat, oily and toxic. She swallowed hard, weathering it with clenched fists and gritted teeth.

“Hey.”

She made herself open her eyes, and wished she hadn’t, because he saw too much, knew too much, and this was all too much—

And then he kissed her, hard but brief, drawing back before she even had time to process his lips against hers. It was an offer of distraction, of a time-out from the discussion, like a life preserver thrown into the stormy, churning depths of her mind.

Hold on to me.

Remi hated that she needed this refuge from such an important conversation—but she did need it, the familiar physicality, and an outlet for her pent-up tension. Here, she knew what was expected of her. Here, she could be in control.

With a growl of frustrated anguish, she kissed him, pouring all of her caged emotions into it, heated and furious and desperate. It only took a split second for her urgency to ignite his, and he took a step back, pulling her in the direction of the bedroom without breaking the kiss.

She followed him as if magnetised, shoving him back against the wall as his grip on her loosened. His breath jolted out of him and into their kiss, but she couldn’t bring herself to soften her approach, still too conflicted and defensive to let down her guard.

Kurt grabbed her ass and pulled her more firmly against him, letting the wall support them as he let her feel how much he wanted her. She ground against his cock, then unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, took his hot, hard length in her hand.

“Remi…” He swallowed hard as she stroked him, slow but firm, controlling him with so little effort.

You could have had everything you wanted, and you poured it all down the drain to stick with this hot mess of a relationship. You screwed everything up. Damn you and your fucking declarations of love.

Something in her facial expression must have antagonised him, because he breathlessly shoved her against the opposite wall of the hallway, pinning her in place. She had just long enough to register the frustration and pain in his expression, before his lips were on hers. Every kiss was a fuck you, received and returned with mounting vehemence as he shoved her jeans and underwear down her thighs.

Fuck you for scaring me like that.

Fuck you for bringing your stupid heart into this.

Fuck you for trying to run away.

Fuck you for not letting me.

Fuck you, fuck you, you, you, oh, you—

And then he tore away from the kiss, leaving her gasping as he knelt and pressed his lips to her clit.

“Fuck!”

She had nowhere to hide from his gaze as he pleasured her, so she closed her eyes and tried to disappear into desire. To leave the self-disgust and fragile hopes behind. To love nobody and nothing but the sensations leading up to orgasm.

He curved his fingers just right, and her knees almost buckled. “Ah—there!”

With her eyes closed, struggling to remain upright in the wake of her climax, she couldn’t see his usual warm satisfaction that he’d managed to please her—but neither could she see anything else that might remind her of their current predicament. She kept her eyes closed as he got to his feet, and floated on the afterglow while he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom.

His hard-on pressed against her as she slid down his body and back onto her feet, and despite her recent climax, her need flared again. Opening her eyes only to get a sense of what piece of clothing would be easiest to remove first, she avoided looking into his face.

As soon as their attire was no longer a barrier, he followed her down onto the bed. She took hold of his rock-hard shaft and resumed the stoking she’d begun before he’d gone down on her, her pulse skipping at his soft grunt of appreciation.

“God, Remi, I want you.” He pulled her on top of him, his hard-on pressing against her clit as he drew her down into a surprisingly soft kiss.

You have me.

Where was their borderline hostility from before? It was safer than this tenderness, but she wanted this now, as though he’d sucked all the anger from her, leaving her defenceless.

She sat up to search for that same anger within him, but saw only concern, desire…and the love she’d never imagined he’d feel for her.

And somehow, he knows I love him too. I don’t deserve him, but now that I have him… Fuck.

She couldn’t tell him she loved him, even though she’d said it hundreds of times before, in those months before he’d realised she wasn’t Jane anymore. It hadn’t been true, back then. Just meaningless words, all part of the con.

Now he knew who she really was, and that changed everything. It was completely illogical, but she just couldn’t make herself say the words. Her mental state was already too fragile for her to make herself more vulnerable, even though he already knew the truth.

But maybe she could show him how she felt, without saying anything.

Before that thought could fully take root in her mind, Kurt nudged her hips up, positioning his cock at the perfect angle for her to take him deep into her.

Remi craved it with everything in her, but she held her position, gazing down into his face.

“Say it again,” she ordered, her voice hesitant, betraying the emotional battle within her.

Kurt sat up, his face close to hers as she knelt over his hard-on, refusing to let him inside for now. He cupped her face in his hand, seeking her reluctant gaze. “I love you, Remi Briggs.”

She trembled a little, closing her eyes against the intensity of his expression. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, letting him inside her, physically and emotionally. He gave a soft rumble of pleasure and brushed his lips over her jaw, seeking a kiss she was almost afraid to give him.

When he was as far inside her as he was able to get, she took a deep, shaky breath, trying to convince herself Kurt didn’t know what was happening. He wrapped both arms around her and nuzzled her neck, leaving a trail of softly provocative kisses over the tattooed skin, but not assuming command of the moment.

Summoning her courage, she leaned back just enough to kiss him, ignoring the anxiety that whispered for her to just leave him here, to run, to armour herself against his feelings for her, and against hers for him. She kept it slow, gentle, edging into teasing as his tongue sought hers.

He’d kissed her like this before, and she’d allowed it, but never initiated anything like it in return—until now. The significance wouldn’t be lost on him, and that fact both elated and terrified her.

Enough, already. Just push him down and ride him until he forgets all about this.

Remi ignored the fearful urge, allowing a little more urgency into the kiss now, while keeping it much less demanding than her usual kisses. Pouring all the love she felt into it, she stroked his face, cupped the side of his neck, ran her fingers down over his chest. Found the scar she’d left over his heart—a barely noticeable, blade-thin sliver of skin, where hair would never again grow.

Because of me.

Kurt pressed her hand down more firmly, letting her feel his strong, rapid heartbeat. Though their mouths were busy, she could divine his sentiment as clearly as if he’d spoken it. My heart is yours.

All she had to do was transfer their hands to her own chest, let him feel the way her heart pounded for him, symbolically tell him how she felt without using words. But she couldn’t make herself do it. It would have been too clear a declaration, out of the realm of plausible deniability. She wasn’t ready for that.

Carefully, she pulled back from the kiss, resting her forehead against his, but not daring to open her eyes. Usually he’d have said or done something to help move things along, but right now he was silent and still, leaving the next step completely up to her, though his breath trembled a little.

Damn him…

“Kurt,” she murmured, needing him, loving him, yet terrified to show it.

“Do you believe me? When I say I love all of you?” he asked softly.

Remi opened her eyes, to find him watching her with an expression so complicated, she couldn’t even begin to unravel what he was thinking.

If I can’t admit that I love him, I can at least be honest here.

“I want to,” she confessed, ignoring how exposed the admission made her feel. Trusting that he wouldn’t see the newly revealed weakness and use it against her. At least that, she could believe.

“That’s a start,” he said, relaxing just a little.

Retreating from the moment, Remi began to ride him slowly, savouring every inch of him as she moved. She’d never let herself do this with Kurt before, no matter how much she’d wanted to at times—to just enjoy the closeness and pleasure without turning it into a battle of wills.

He seemed mesmerised by her movements, gently skimming his hands over her skin without influencing her rhythm or distracting her. When his gaze caught hers, the depth of the love in them made her catch her breath, and she leaned down to kiss him again, needing a respite from her own confused, longing, complicated thoughts.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips, as he reached down between them to her clit. His touch was so gentle, as loving as everything else about this moment. “Yes, Kurt.”

Yes, I love you. Keep kissing me like you love me too.

He rolled them over, bracing himself over her as he broke the kiss. “You once asked me to fuck you like I hated you,” he reminded her, nuzzling her neck. “But I couldn’t. I didn’t love you yet, not back then. But I still couldn’t even pretend that I hated you.”

Remi bit her lip, knowing exactly where he was going with this. Wishing like hell that she could say the words before he did. Fuck me like you love me, Kurt.

“I remember,” she said instead, trailing her fingertips down his spine.

“Good.”

He began to take her, fluid, steady, but as gently as she’d been riding him, leaving light, breathless kisses over her neck. She gave a soft, appreciative moan and writhed against him, falling into his rhythm. Everywhere their skin brushed made her tingle.

“Fuck,” she whispered, his cock hitting the perfect spot within her with each deliberate thrust. On any other day, she’d be irritated that he was drawing things out, but right now, she just wanted to feel him move against her. To be with him, because he was in love with her.

She was turning into a melting, romance-novel cliché, and later she’d be ashamed of her sappiness. But right now, she needed this. It was something she remembered Jane having, but she’d never thought she’d experience it as herself.

“I love you,” he murmured again, his breath hot against her ear.

“You shouldn’t.” Remi drew him in with both hands on his ass, spreading her legs wider and tilting up to take him as deep as possible. She held him there, unwilling to let him get even a fraction of an inch further away, contradicting her words with her actions.

“Remi…” His body was taut with the need to move, to take pleasure and to give it, but he remained still because she wanted it. She savoured his restraint, the weight of his body over hers, his unsteady breaths.

She controlled everything about this moment, and his frustration was palpable, but he waited, willing to give her all the time she needed.

Something told her he always would, no matter how far she ran from the truth.

I love you, Kurt.

Again, the words stuck in her throat, and she released her grip on his ass, swallowing hard.

He didn’t move, though she was no longer holding him in place. “What do you need?”

“Make me say it.” She didn’t realise what she’d said until after the words had left her lips, and now it was too late. Mortified, she tried to think of a way back out of her request, but found none.

He lifted his head, and she kissed him before he could try to get a read on her mood. He went along with the distraction—though she was pretty sure he wasn’t fooled—and flipped them over again, as though offering her even more control over him.

Control she no longer wanted. She needed to be under duress, wanted him to tease and torment her until she’d say anything, if he’d just get her off. That way, she could claim it wasn’t real, that she’d just told him what he wanted to hear.

You’re a coward, Briggs.

She ripped herself away from his kiss, leaving them both gasping, disoriented, and began to ride him again, steadily enough that her heart pounded with the anticipation of another orgasm.

“I’ll wait,” he told her, his voice rough with need. “Until you trust me enough to say it.”

She stared at him, her body moving of its own accord as her mind scrambled to fit the pieces together.

“You still think I don’t trust you?”

“Isn’t that what this is about?” He slowed her, taking hold of her hips and pressing her as far onto his cock as she could get. “Why you can’t say it back?”

The slight glimmer of hurt in his expression made her heart ache, and the admission began to spill from her before she could stop it. “It’s not you I don’t—”

What are you doing? He can’t know how weak you are. No one can know.

Some lessons were just too deeply ingrained for her to block out, and this was one of them. Some secrets had to be kept. Self-doubt was too easy to exploit. Even though he never would—but did she really know that, or did she just hope?

Oh, god, he’s staring at me like he—no, too much—I have to go.

“Forget it,” she muttered, trying to get up, despite the sweet ache of unfulfilled desire still eating her up inside.

He held onto her for long enough to speak her name, frustration and love in the word, but then released her hips, as though sensing she’d fight him to get away if she could. Only that allowed her to remain, with his cock still barely inside her, shuddering with need and vulnerability alike. No one had ever seen this deep into her soul.

She never would have let them.

She should never have let things get this far—

“Just breathe,” Kurt murmured, and she recalled how he’d calmed her when she’d first remembered the orphanage, back when she’d been Jane.

She wasn’t panicking, not the way she had been that day, but she followed his instruction anyway, hoping her anxiety would fade. Hesitantly, she lowered herself back down to sit on his thighs, resting her palm over his pounding heart.

“Need to stop?”

A few moments ago, that had been all she’d wanted. But as he gazed into her face, all concern but no pity, she knew her fears and doubts were unfounded. He didn’t see her as weak, or as less than Jane. She remembered her past now, and he’d looked at Jane just like this.

But he knew she wasn’t Jane. He knew what she needed, knew where her comfort zones ended, and he was being so careful. It was more than she deserved.

“No.” All she had to do was take the leap, to tell him how fiercely she loved him. But even now, something held her back, and all of a sudden, she was fighting another surge of angry self-recrimination that came out of nowhere.

But if her life had taught her anything, it was how to use what she had to work with, and so she took a breath and chose a different kind of honesty.

“I’ll get there,” she vowed, unsure whether she was making the promise to him, or herself. Hoping he didn’t think the tinge of anger in her voice was aimed at him.

He smiled, the warmth of his affection giving her stupid, girly butterflies. “Not going anywhere.”

“Good. Because we’re not done.”

Kurt sat up to kiss her, his lips firmly distracting her away from any lingering urge to flee. Remi shivered as he cupped her ass in his hands, sliding her up his cock. She took the hint, beginning to take him again, and he trailed his lips down the side of her neck, gathering her closer.

Arching her back to rub her nipples against his chest, she sought pleasure with a single-mindedness that made everything else fall away. Hopes, fears, doubts…none of it mattered right now. The painful past and uncertain future no longer existed—just two people, loving and needing each other intensely, even if one of them was unable to say the words.

She came with a cry like broken glass, and then she was tumbling backwards, disoriented by pleasure and gravity alike, her back hitting the mattress as his cock sank deeper. Kurt pinned her down for a delicious instant before he was in motion again. He took her with powerful thrusts, her name on his lips and his palm over her clit.

This time, she gasped a curse, digging her nails into his ass, pleading without words for him to move faster, harder. The pleasure of her release had barely faded before she was coming again, every fibre of her being resonating with the deep satisfaction of knowing Kurt was close to finding his own relief.

He growled against her neck as he came, the tension between them fading to sated relaxation. Kurt lifted his head and gave Remi a tender kiss, then rolled over, gathering her close. She listened to his heartbeat, still rapid, but gradually calming, while he swept his thumb in lazy arcs over the scarred tattoo of his name on her back.

“Love you, Remi,” he murmured, and she sensed no expectation from him of a response.

Maybe she was inviting disaster into their calm contentment, but she couldn’t stay silent.

“You really want to do this?” she asked, without lifting her head from his chest.

“I think we’re already doing it.” There was a smile in his voice—subtle, but definite.

Remi rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. And you know what I mean.” He kissed the top of her head. “We feel what we feel. And we already decided back in Venice that we don’t want to be without each other.”

He was twisting it a little, but she had to admit, it still fit—even if it hadn’t been that kind of ‘don’t want to be without each other’ at the time.

“I don’t think we should have this conversation naked,” she told him.

“Why not? We already tried it clothed. At least this way, if we need to take another…break, we don’t have to rip each other’s clothes off.”

Remi snorted, amused despite herself. “Got it all worked out, huh?”

“Not everything. But we can work on the rest.”

[cosmiclove-heavenstruck]

Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

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

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

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

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

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

You were the opposite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, everything.             

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Right. Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Really?” He asked.

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

“Yes, really,” You replied, grinning.

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

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

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

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

You sat the needle back on the record.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I mean, she’s –” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” You nodded.

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

–

“It’s not that easy, alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merlin, do you ever listen to me?”

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

“Morning boys,” She greeted them enthusiastically.

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

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

“Mhm?” You looked up from your toast.

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

“Oh.” You shrugged. “Normal.”

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

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

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

Lavender beside you snickered and Parvati snorted into her coffee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He did not – not what you said.”

“He did! The list doesn’t lie.”

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

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

You didn’t want to be jealous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

“Hey. You’re early.”

“Could say the same about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what the cool kids dance to.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of payment?”

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

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

“What?” You asked, turning around.

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

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

“Argh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enough times to know what to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” You mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry shrugged and ruffled through his messy hair.

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

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

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

“You okay?” He asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Chinese Fireball.”

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

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

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

Harry ignored the Fat Lady.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Sorry, Professor, I was just –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, bye.”

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

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

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

“Hi,” He said as he had reached you.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry, is that you?”

He almost fell from his broom.

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

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

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

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

“You lied to a professor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry looked up at the blonde girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

“What eyeshadow should I use?”

“The darker one.”

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

Parvati turned back to face the mirror.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And have some fun,” Lavender added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He – well – he…”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, flashback.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I’m genuinely asking –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled, not moving your knee away from his.

“Yeah…but I don’t mind, really.”

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

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

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

“What things?” He asked quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had you ever told him how beautiful he was?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[whumpwillow]

comfort prompt: caretaker kisses whumpee’s scars all over their body

warnings: self-esteem issues, scars, fear of abandonment

—

“I just—I just wish I weren’t so…marked.”

Whumpee drew away from Caretaker, turning their head to the side in shame. They wrapped their arms around themselves, as if that would cover up the scars. Whumpee had no problem being shirtless in front of Caretaker; they’d done it dozens of times while healing, when Caretaker cleaned and dressed their wounds. But it never got any easier to bear.

They didn’t want Caretaker seeing them like this—so, so damaged. Proof of what had happened to them written all over their body, a litany of devious work committed by evil hands. It made them feel dirty.

Defiled.

They weren’t worthy of Caretaker’s attention. Caretaker was light itself—pure and shining. A beacon of hope and all that was good in this world. They’d proven that when they stood by Whumpee after everything that had happened, everything that had been done to them, and didn’t leave even when Whumpee cried themselves to sleep or woke up from a nightmare in a cold sweat. Caretaker stayed by their side even through the residual pain and fear they felt from the experience. They stayed even knowing what Whumpee now looked like.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Caretaker said, drawing closer. Slow, one step at a time. “You don’t have to feel ashamed.”

Whumpee hiccupped. How did Caretaker know how they were feeling even without being told?

“It’s just—I’m sorry,” Whumpee replied.

Caretaker shook their head. “Don’t be.”

Whumpee looked up, meeting their eyes. No judgment or malice held in those sea-glass blues, so much more than they deserved.

“Can I touch you?” Caretaker asked, and Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker brushed the tips of their fingers over Whumpee’s bangs, getting them out of the way of their eyes. Whumpee raised their hands to put the hair back in place as they usually kept it there to hide the scar over their eye. No, they couldn’t. Caretaker had moved their hair, so Whumpee didn’t want to undo their work. Caretaker merely smiled, a little sad tilt of their lips.

They settled their hand on Whumpee’s cheek, rubbing their thumb back and forth over their skin in slow, soothing motions.

“You don’t have to worry, Whumpee,” they said. “I’m not going to leave you.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened in surprise. They hadn’t told Caretaker they had these kinds of thoughts—though they guessed it wasn’t a big surprise that Caretaker could read it on their face.

“But I—I—the scars—”

“—are beautiful,” Caretaker finished for them.

Whumpee gasped, a shallow sound. Caretaker leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss over the scar crossing over their eye, then drew back and kissed their cheek. Whumpee’s heart thundered in their chest.

“See. I can prove it to you,” Caretaker said.

They took Whumpee’s hand in their own, twining the fingers with theirs, and brought their palm to their lips. Caretaker met Whumpee’s eyes, a little mischievous glint in them. They pressed a kiss to the center of Whumpee’s palm, where a small round scar lay in the center. They moved to their wrist, leaving a trail of kisses over a thick band that encircled their arm—a remnant of Whumpee’s time spent in chains.

Caretaker’s lips were soft and feather-light, a feeling like the flap of a butterfly’s wings. Whumpee drew in a small breath each time Caretaker kissed their skin, a tingling sensation spreading through their body.

Caretaker moved their hands up Whumpee’s arm, ghosting their fingers over their skin. They pressed a kiss to each and every scar—the small ones on their upper arm to the larger ones striped across their shoulder. They then moved onto Whumpee’s back, the area where they had the most scars. Lines streaked down their skin, crossing over each other and intersecting at odd angles, creating an array of distorted flesh. This was what Whumpee was most ashamed of—how hideous they now were. How much the Whumper had left of their influence.

“Caretaker—” Whumpee said, a breathless sigh.

Caretaker looked up, drawing away. “Do you want me to stop?”

No. Please—

Whumpee wanted more than anything for them to keep going. This felt so good, so warm and soft and everything they needed—but oh so vulnerable. Whumpee shook their head.

“I—no. It feels good.” They raked a hand through their hair. “But…aren’t you disgusted?”

Caretaker looked at them, heartbroken. “Of course not! How could you ever say such a thing?”

“I just—” Whumpee turned their face away. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I would never,” Caretaker said without hesitation. “I love you, scars and all.”

—

[harfanfare]

How to win a heart of Floyd Leech?

a/n: Someone requested this; ask got deleted by accident! Hope you will like it, Anon!

Warning!

Once you start walking through the specific points of the guide, your life will be exposed to the presence of Floyd Leech. Interrupting the action at one of the stages may cause many problems; F. Leech categorizes stopping as "boring", which puts the user of this guide in great danger.

The only way out is to get to the very end. Or not to start at all.

You act at your own risk.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏‏‎ 

1.   Be an easy new target.

To one’s surprise, it is much harder not to catch his attention.

You can easily become another entertaining target of Floyd, mostly by doing silly things or him just considering them as ones.

And to automatically get labelled as “silly”, you just need to fall into one of his traps—he prepares them for someone else, maybe for goldfish, maybe for another person given a sea-inspired nickname, expecting to enjoy watching how familiar face twitches with terror as he jumps into the scene and tightly embraces passing student.

But no. You were the one who showed up in the wrong place and time as Floyd jumped out from his hideout, scaring you half to death. With a strangled yelp, you sharply backed away. After gaining a slight flush on your cheeks, you recognised who you just bumped into and quietly gasped.

However, he was much more bewildered than you were.

He had never encountered somebody who wouldn’t just freeze under his touch. Jumping away, gasping, muttering half-hearted apologies and flushing? That’s new.

That’s also entertaining.

Even after your quickly disappearance from the scene, his gaze somehow inexplicably started returning to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2.   Visit Mostro Lounge often.

“We’re looking for someone who would like to work part-time for Azul~” Floyd said, sliding poster across the table. He popped up in front of you unannounced, having your thoughts return to dark reality.

“Oh,” you replied quietly, packing your things faster. “Good luck with it.”

You got up from your seat, but the thought of letting you go just like that didn’t even cross Floyd’s mind.

“Ehh? Shrimpy, aren’t you going to try?” he asked, frowning. You winced a little at the nickname he called you, not sure how to feel about it. “You know, you won’t work there for free.”

Azul will grant your wish.

You fidgeted a little, questioning your response. You heard—who didn’t?—rumours that Octavinelle leader could fulfil any request for a certain price. Ones were working for it, others were paying, and lasts were trading their request with Azul’s one.

The thought of having anything just by working in some café made you consider the offer again—this time quickier.

“I will go,” you decided.

“Hooray!” Floyd smiled cheerfully, just as if he won some grand prize in the lottery. “But what could Shrimpy possibly wish for, to change your response so drastically~?” he wondered but didn’t get any answer in return.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3.   Be honest.

“Shrimpy...”

You passed Floyd, without sparing him a look. Anyone who has known you for a while would notice that your movements were a bit stiff and creaky.

Once you heard Floyd’s voice, a wave of tiredness struck you as if you didn’t get any sleep last night after working your shift in Mostro Lounge.

There were so many people to serve, so many things to do... and yet, you couldn’t help with anything, still not knowing how everything works, messing up with orders and breaking some plates in process.

Floyd buzzing around you, asking you some random questions (“Shrimpy, have you done it before?”). You answered them quickly, but each of them bumped you out of rhythm, making you forget what you were doing. It also didn’t help that Floyd certainly liked you being disoriented, replying with a shrug and grin on his face at your thundering glances.

So now, after gaining a little trauma from working in Octavinelle’s café, all you could do is ignore Floyd’s presence, silently accusing him of your infamous fiasco.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” he called you again, catching you up. “Are you mad?”

“I am not mad,” you snapped and took an unstable breath. “Look, I just started working, and on my first day I made already so many mistakes—”

“Yeah,” he replied indifferently. “And what with that?”

“...I couldn’t even correctly serve drinks—”

“Oh, stop!” Floyd muffled your mouth with his hand, an annoying look on his face. “I know where it is going. And no, you can’t quit a job, after all my efforts to get you there. It will get boring again!”

“But—”

“Stop, stop, stop,” he corrected his hand on your mouth, now not letting even a sound get through his fingers. “Azul knows that you tried your best. And for these plates you broke, he already added them to your paycheck. You need to practice! Not to give up, Shrimpy!”

You looked up at him, quite stunned by these words. Perhaps he quoted someone from the book or heard someone talking like that...

But it was encouraging. In some way, considering that you couldn’t protest, having your mouth covered. But still, it was encouraging.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4.   Take classes together.

You can have the power of controlling Floyd’s behaviour, making other students’ life easier. Or you two can be a walking disaster.

Turning alchemy lesson into putting random ingredients into a boiler and praying that the mysterious mixture won’t explode.

History classes started being a regular pinching ritual to keep yourself from falling asleep (you are being pinched more, even when you don’t feel sleepy).

In contrast, flying lessons are peaceful. Nor Jade, nor Floyd, nor Azul are fond of these classes. Floyd is much eager to stand both feet on the ground, watching you practice or having you sulking next to him about heights.

However, if you are a calm, shy, or tranquil person, exchanging little notes or drawings will be a little habit of yours. Handing them discreetly under the eye of sir Crewel is quite a challenge, but it also gives satisfaction once the note was given.

Floyd throws away most of your paper conversations, but the ones he really likes, he cherishes them by keeping them with him, stuffed in his pockets. He will be irritated if anyone would like to see what you two were writing about, even if the talk was about new strawberries delivery for the new recipe.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.   Being ticklish or not.

There are two possible scenarios, whether his new, lovely target is ticklish or not.

If is: prepare for being touched a lot. Observing how you quiver with surprise, when he lightly—he especially makes his touch less fierce, knowing very well that tickling isn’t violent—wraps his hands around your waist, making you hold your breath.

He would tickle you a lot, very often making you cry out of laugh and pain that follows sharp writhing and fidgeting, but never that much, to seriously upset you. That’s some luck in such unlucky situation.

If not: he will try to find other weak point. Or will try to make you ticklish—his hands are particularly cold and pressing them to your warm skin, might make you give him a reaction he would enjoy.

Albeit, if you also won’t return any expression even then, he will seriously search for some other weakness. Slightly biting an ear lobe, whispering next to your ear or anything that could make his smile appear, once he made you put him somewhere between “I despise you with each and every cell” and abstract mumbling with the heat on your checks.

Oh, he loves your reactions so much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6.   Learn all nicknames he gave other people (you will unlock an option to slightly dish other people).

“Oh Lord...” you muttered to yourself, as your gaze followed scribbled list of names that Jade just passed to you. He willingly connected all student’s names with pseudonyms Floyd gave other people and handed the roaster over to you once you helped him with some kitchen cleaning.

“There are so many, right?” Jade replied with a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you already memorised some of them, being around Floyd that much.”

You nodded mindlessly as you tried to get names into your head. You mouthed them soundlessly one by one, motivated to learn them by the end of the week.

The chuckle that escaped Jade’s lips startled you, and you realised that he still was in the room. Or that you didn’t leave the Lounge even after your shift has already ended.

“My brother surely didn’t exaggerate anything about you,” he said, his tone a bit more buoyant than ever, although you couldn’t be sure as the thick air of mystery still echoed in his voice. “I wonder how it will finally end?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7.   Always share your takoyaki with him.

“What are you hiding, Shrimpy?”

You shuddered at a voice that you did not want to hear at this moment, not for all the world. Unless that the world included a chest filled with takoyaki, which you could give to certain somebody.

You felt that instead of a shashlik of tasty balls, you were holding a knife in your hands, a veritable proof of a crime you had committed. It weighed heavily in your grip, and Floyd's approaching footsteps did not make your situation any better.

It was a time to hide the evidence.

You pushed as much as you could into your mouth and swallowed a few balls without even gnawing them much. You almost choked on them.

“Me? I?” you asked innocently. You sincerely hoped that no sauce or a stray piece of cake was left on your face. “What could I possibly hide?”

"Hmm, hmm~," he drew closer, and you needed all your will gathered, to make yourself stay where you were. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew you were all pale on the face. “With my little eye, I spy something...”

His gaze went down, just to your hands, which you tried to hide behind your back.

Not giving him a clear look at your palms or wooden stick, you turned around on the heel and run with all your might. Your muscles felt somehow stiff as if they also didn’t see a chance to win this race.

Now Floyd was sure you are hiding something, and there is no chance he’ll let it go.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8.   Watch him at his basketball practice.

81:30 for the blue team!

“Floyd once again started playing wild,” Ace breathed with clear regret in his voice. He glanced your way, frowning at you. “It’s your fault. Please come at practices when Floyd is in my team, not otherwise.”

You laughed awkwardly as he walked away.

A moment later, Floyd reached for a bottle with water and a towel you bravely guarded through the whole practice. He smiled wholeheartedly, happy with the win, water, and your presence.

“How did you like the game?” he asked once he changed from PE clothes and you two started heading towards Octavinelle.

“It was really fun!” you admitted, a speck of amusement appeared in Floyd’s eyes. “The red team didn’t have much time to capture a ball before you got hold of it again.”

“Hehe~ I’m glad you liked it,” he said. “I really like to play basketball, even more than ever, when I know that you are watching! That’s why,” he added, sincerity well-heard in his voice, “you need to come even more often!”

You nodded happily.

You just couldn’t mind it, all that accompanying him.

It was... fun.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9.   Dance, dance, dance!

Heels tapped on the floor and the sound of these steps would probably have spread through the room, if not for the jazz music pounding through Mostro Lounge’s speakers.

Floyd pulled you closer, letting a playful smile on his lips stretch even more. You couldn’t help but smile back, before gasping as he spun you around your axis. You lost balance and would fall if not steady grip around your waist, as Floyd leaned on closer to you, making you bend on one leg more and entirely rely on his touch.

Last notes of melody faded, and you still were in that pose, facing each other. With each second, Floyd’s face was changing from some form of amazement to amusement, finally letting you properly stand.

“Ha... When did you learn to dance so smoothly?” you asked smiling in wonder.

“Hehe~ With legs you can dance a lot more than in the sea,” he answered. “On land, it’s super fun~”

You nodded at his words.

Floyd was a wonderful dancer.

But you can’t be sure if being a good dancing partner is the only thing that made you feel all warm and fuzzy because butterflies still didn’t leave your stomach.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10.            “Let’s do something fun!”

“Here is your paycheck,” Azul handed you a white envelope, sealed with a stamp with the Octavinelle logo. “And you, [Name], was also working for some request, right?”

You nodded as you stared at the envelope.

Somehow, knowing how stupid the lingering thought in your mind was, you couldn’t bear to look up. If you would, your gaze would probably ignore all the elegant furniture of the room, even the owner of the room, Azul, just to settle on Floyd.

If you saw anything more than his shoes, that stupid thought would make their way outside, turning plans into action.

And Floyd unknowingly did everything to make them come true.

“Shrimpy,” he cupped your face with his hands, judging by his voice he seemed quite... worried? When he made you look in his olive and gold eyes, you started holding your breath. “Are you okay?”

With that question, your strong will to wish for something expensive or practical was broken.

You started fidgeting more, not knowing how to express your thoughts in words. “I think I have a request... a question for Floyd, rather than for you, Azul...”

Azul nodded at first uncertain and the room has fallen into silence once again until you spoke.

“Well, Floyd,” you turned to him, trying your best not to wander your gaze away from him, “Please, take your time with answering, but I want your response to be, uh, honest.”

You were tripping onto your own words, embarrassment soaring in your body as you started to think that you should’ve kept quiet. But Floyd was patient with your answer, as well as Jade and Azul who observed the situation as if they predicted it before.

“I mean- Okay, just answer the question.” You took an erratic breath. “Would you like to—”

“Sure!” Floyd interrupted you before even hearing the whole question. “I would like to do everything with you.”

You stood there, all confused. But, by Floyd’s expression you knew that he guessed what you wanted to say. Face heating up, you forgot about Azul and Jade, who hid a chuckle by turning his head to the side.

“How fun,” he said as Floyd wrapped his arms around you, as if shielding you from other people in the room.

“I won’t share Shrimpy with you, Jade. Not a chance.”

[extasiswings]

15 + buddie

15. "Shouldn't you be with her?" On ao3 here.

When Eddie is eleven, his class gets a new student. Her name is Maria Esparza and her family is from Arizona. She has dark curls that look like they would be soft to touch and a smattering of freckles across her nose and she’s so smart—always reading and forever raising her hand in class, always with the right answers—but she never acts stuck up about it.

He thinks she’s beautiful and when he gets home from the first day of school he promptly announces that he’s in love. He doesn’t understand why his mother laughs or why Sophia rolls her eyes and calls him an idiot when he’s perfectly serious.

He’s in love, he insists, and goes on believing it for three whole weeks until he gets up the courage to give Maria a flower at recess and she looks at him like he has two heads. The rejection smarts for a couple of days, but then he’s fine. So, he figures...maybe it wasn’t love after all.

Eddie is fifteen when he finds his eyes slipping too frequently to Diego Reed in autoshop, lingering on the other boy’s long, dexterous fingers, his forearms, the sharp edge of his jaw. Eddie can’t explain it, he just knows those stolen glances make him squirm, make him flush, make him feel too warm and like his very skin is too tight.

Diego steals Eddie’s first kiss two weeks before winter break, pushes him up against the back wall of the shop where they’re hidden by a truck and licks into his mouth with a confidence that Eddie can’t imagine ever having when he himself can’t even figure out what to do with his hands. But it makes his knees weak and leaves him breathless and panting when Diego pulls away with a smirk and tells him not to say anything.

It’s not love—for one thing, Eddie knows he’s not supposed to love boys, and for another, the only time he suggests it might be anything at all, Diego gives him the same look Maria had once upon a time and walks away—but it’s nothing he’s ever felt before. The next year, Angelica Phelan asks him to go to the winter formal and he gets to second base in the science lab when they slip away from the chaperones. It’s different from kissing Diego. But it’s just as good, he enjoys it just as much, and part of him is…relieved.

He doesn’t think about that too much.

Eddie is eighteen when he’s not watching where he’s going and runs directly into his future on the sidewalk. Thankfully, the only casualty is Shannon’s coffee, and after she snaps at him for not paying attention and he offers to replace her drink—well. They close down the coffee shop, emerging, startled, from conversation only when interrupted by a mildly disgruntled employee trying to lock up. Eddie walks home in a daze, Shannon’s phone number burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s simultaneously elated and terrified because it’s never been so easy being with someone, he’s never felt so seen so quickly. He’s old enough to realize that love at first sight is bullshit, but he thinks he could fall very fast.

He’s right.

They take things slow because Eddie wants to do things right, doesn’t want to risk confusing love with the heady cocktail of teenage hormones and sex. So he knows by the time he does fall into bed with her, eight months in, that he’s in love. Really in love, thinking about the future in love, factoring her into the mix when he thinks about what the hell he’s going to do with his life in love.

And then Shannon gets pregnant. And it’s too soon, he loves her but it’s too soon, and he’s terrified all over again—

He loves her though. He loves her. And she’s pregnant so—they get married. He wants to do the right thing.

At their wedding the readings are selections from Song of Songs and Corinthians.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud....Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things...

With all due respect to St. Paul, Eddie doesn’t think he knew what the hell he was talking about. Or at least, maybe he did, but he was being pretty damn aspirational and left out a few things.

Because after the wedding…after the wedding, Eddie learns a lot more about love.

Love is beautiful, yes. But love is also…trying to do the right thing and fucking up. Love is fighting and knowing exactly what to say to cut the deepest and not always holding back. Love is forgiving, but after a point finding it difficult to forget.

Or maybe that’s not love, maybe that’s just marriage. Maybe it’s a little of both. Because love endures—sure. Love endured with Shannon even when trust was nonexistent, when their marriage was fractured, shattered pieces strewn across the floor ready to draw blood if either of them tried to pick them up.

Love isn’t enough. That’s what Eddie knows. Or maybe it is, maybe love would have been enough to fix what was broken if it hadn’t been his. Shannon’s gone, so they’ll never be able to have that conversation. He’ll never know the answer.

Love endures. Eddie kind of wishes it didn’t. It would make a lot of things a lot easier.

But…it’s fine. He’s fine. Shannon dies and he locks that piece of himself away and has no plans to ever fall in love again.

Then again, God has a funny sense of humor and never seems to resist an opportunity to be an asshole, so of course��he does. Slowly. Quietly. The threads slipping through the cracks in his walls so carefully that he doesn’t even notice until they’re twined around his heart, unspooling through his blood, through his veins with every pulse. Eddie doesn’t notice.

And then he gets shot and it’s like being hit by lightning, an electric shock of clarity down his spine, rooting him in place as he meets Buck’s eyes.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

***

Eddie despises recovery.

He’s never been good at being still, at being useless, at being left alone with nothing but his own head. And maybe he’s not entirely alone—he has Christopher, after all, and Christopher is understandably a little clingy now that he’s home from the hospital—but Christopher sleeps and has play dates and spends time in his room and just in general isn’t in Eddie’s space every second of every day.

And then there’s Buck. Buck who offered to keep staying on the couch to take care of everything they needed when Eddie came home from the hospital. Buck who Eddie sent home to his own bed with promises to call if he needed help because having Buck so close after Eddie’s little realization was stirring him up, making everything a million times more difficult in his head. Buck’s still over frequently, but it’s less dangerous if he’s not staying overnight, if Eddie can’t wake up and be tempted to walk out to the living room and pull Buck into his bed. Not for anything sexual—he’s on too many medications and too immobilized for that even if it was remotely a good idea—but to be held. To feel wanted. To feel safe.

He knows Buck probably wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t think anything of it except that maybe he’s a little raw and fragile, which he is. Which is exactly why he can’t ask. So. Removing the temptation it is.

But. Being left alone with his own head is a terrible idea. He’s in pain because he lowered the doses of his pain meds so he would stop worrying about developing any dependency. He can’t sleep without waking up with screams trapped behind his teeth and the smell of blood and gunpowder in his nose. And he can’t stop thinking about Buck. About being in love with Buck. About wanting Buck. About whether he could ever have him or whether he’ll ever be okay enough to be in a relationship. About whether Buck could ever want him back or if he’ll ever feel safe enough to risk their friendship by even asking.

He broke up with Ana the second he was able to figure out how to do it without feeling like a complete dick. But he hasn’t told Buck that. He doesn’t know why.

And then there’s—

The key turns in the lock and Eddie starts, looking up from his place on the couch. Christopher is with his abuela for the night, and he didn’t expect—

“Hey,” Buck calls, stepping through the door. “I brought dinner.”

Eddie stares.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, before he can stop himself. “Shouldn’t you be with Taylor?”

—Taylor. Buck and Taylor. Which, Buck waited weeks to tell him about, hedging about why he wanted to know if it was okay to invite her to Eddie’s welcome home party. Which, Buck only did admit to when Eddie called one night at 2AM and Taylor answered Buck’s phone.

Eddie clears his throat, the question sounding a little too sharp and accusatory to his ears.

“I just meant,” he adds, softening, “I thought you said you had a date tonight.”

An odd look passes over Buck’s face.

“Isabel called me,” he replies. “She said you were by yourself, asked if I would check on you. We rescheduled, it’s fine.”

Eddie nods once and pulls the couch throw tighter around his shoulders with his good arm. A petty, possessive piece of him is pleased. That Buck’s there. That Buck would drop everything for him.

He’s always been wary of Taylor. Even way back when they first met and she was prowling around the station filming everyone and flirting with Buck. But now? Now he’s jealous, his stomach twisting at the very reminder that she has Buck the way Eddie wants him.

But at the same time…he hates that. Hates the jealousy, hates feeling possessive. Because what claim does he have over Buck’s affections? None. Especially not when he can’t even admit to loving him outside his head.

He hates it because he knows that more than anything, Buck deserves to be happy. And maybe Eddie could make him happy, but—

Even if Buck felt the same—and Eddie isn’t convinced of that, doesn’t have the arrogance to assume—what right does he have to say please, to say wait, to ask Buck to put his life on hold indefinitely while Eddie sorts through the tangled mess in his head in the hope that one day he’ll finally be ready? He can’t be that selfish. Especially not with Buck.

Buck deserves to be happy. Even if that’s with Taylor Kelly. Even if it means Eddie loses him.

He doesn’t get to be jealous.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

Buck sets the bag in his arms down on the coffee table.

“You don’t look fine,” he points out. “Actually, you look like shit. Isabel was right to call me.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie repeats. His heart pangs at the concern in Buck’s eyes. “Really, it’s okay—you should—you should—”

Go. Call Taylor back. Enjoy your date.

He wants to do the right thing. He really does. But the rest of the words refuse to leave his throat.

Buck shakes his head anyway. “I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “So tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”

Eddie bites his lip. Drags his hand over his jaw before making a face. The messy, overgrown scruff is itchy and difficult to manage on his own, and the foreignness of it doesn’t help him feel grounded in his own body when he wakes up gasping in the middle of the night.

“It’s stupid,” he says.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Buck replies. “And I’m here, so you might as well just talk.”

I’m in love with you, Eddie thinks. And I can’t sleep. And I can’t shave. And everything hurts. And I just want to stop being afraid—

He swallows. He can’t say all of that. He can’t blow everything up that way.

So, he picks the easiest one.

“I can’t shave with my left hand and it’s driving me insane.”

Buck blinks. Then he laughs as the worry in his brow smooths out.

“That’s it?” He asks. “Well, that’s easy. I can do that. Come on.”

And that’s how Eddie winds up sitting on the bathroom counter with shaving cream all over his face while Buck wets a razor and steps between his legs.

His breath catches.

“You good?” Buck asks, his voice low. His eyes are soft and focused, and Eddie almost regrets everything because the proximity—god, the proximity. He’s been so cold since the shooting and Buck is so warm, heat spreading through Eddie’s body from every discrete point of contact. Buck tips his chin back and Eddie lets his eyes slip closed.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m good.”

The razor drags along his skin. Neither of them say a word, the main sound in the room the drip of the faucet when Buck rinses the razor between passes. They’ve always been physical with each other, but this sort of thing is new. Intimate.

Eddie aches.

His eyes open a crack to watch. Buck’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, and having every ounce of that focus on him is…intoxicating.

I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Buck steps in closer, Eddie’s legs spread ever so slightly wider. A spark of heat flashes through him and he inhales sharply—Buck’s startled enough that his hand slips and the razor nicks Eddie’s jaw.

“Shit,” Buck swears. The razor clatters into the sink. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Eddie opens his eyes the rest of the way. “It’s fine,” he assures. “What, you think I’ve never cut myself shaving before? It’s still better than I would have managed myself.”

“I’m—” Buck looks stricken, his fingers reaching out to gently cradle Eddie’s jaw only for him to snatch them back almost instantly, the tip of one faintly smeared with blood. His hand trembles.

“Buck,” Eddie says quietly. Buck’s eyes are fixed on the red smear and Eddie is sent back—

Watching his blood splash across Buck’s face and not realizing at first that it was his. Being half-delirious on the way to the hospital worrying that Buck had been hurt—

All this time, Buck’s been moving forward, pushing ahead, for Christopher, for him, for everyone, and Eddie knew he wasn’t entirely okay, knew he was fucked up from the moment in the hospital when he said I think it would have been better if I was the one who got shot, but since Eddie’s been home, Buck has seemed…better.

Maybe not. Maybe he’s been struggling to pretend as much as Eddie has.

Eddie twists around to grab the towel draped over the faucet and wets it enough to wash the rest of the shaving cream off his face, feels the sting of soap and water in the cut. And then he reaches out to grab Buck’s hand, wiping the blood off of his finger.

There’s something profane about blood staining skin. And something sacred in the act of washing it clean.

Eddie wonders if anyone helped Buck wash his blood off when he was in surgery. Taylor, maybe.

But no, that doesn’t feel right.

Buck probably did it himself. Alone.

“Hey.” Eddie squeezes Buck’s fingers. When Buck doesn’t look at him, he reaches out and curls his hand around the side of Buck’s neck, tips Buck’s chin up with his thumb to force him to meet his eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. No harm done.”

Buck breathes out shakily. His throat works, his face passes through a million stages—finally, his hands fall to the counter on either side of Eddie’s hips and his forehead drops to Eddie’s good shoulder. Eddie lets his hand slip around to the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers combing up through the short hairs there. He turns his head and he’s close enough to kiss the side of Buck’s, but he holds off. It feels like it would be too much. Too much when Buck doesn’t know how he really feels, what he really wants. But even just this—the closeness, the touch—is good. Needed. A balm to the itch under his skin.

When Buck turns his face into Eddie’s neck and inhales, Eddie thinks maybe Buck might need this just as badly.

“I’m okay,” he repeats, closing his eyes again as his fingers comb through Buck’s hair. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

They stay like that for a long time. Buck’s phone rings out once, but neither of them moves to answer it. Eventually, Buck lifts his head and clears his throat roughly as he steps back.

Eddie’s hand falls away from Buck’s neck. He feels the absence keenly.

“You good?” He asks. Buck nods. His eyes are red.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. He pauses. Shakes his head. “No. But—can we just—can I just finish this for now? I want to finish this.”

Eddie watches him for a moment. Wets his lips. Then finally nods and passes over the shaving cream again.

“Sure,” he says. “I trust you.”

I love you.

Maybe…maybe eventually he’ll be braver. Maybe eventually, both of them will be free at the same time and he’ll be whole and healed, or at least something closer to it than he is now. Maybe eventually…love will be enough. Maybe.

For now, he has this.

[secretwhumplair]

The gardens, p.1

1,238 words | Royal arms (sequel to The gardens, p.0)

Content | Dehumanization, conditioning, panic attack, fear, guilt, fainting

Notes | Wherein Idalis breaks his weapon :( I’m so happy with this you guys. Poor Ainsel has to deal with a lot of confusing things today.

Taglist | @whumpy-writings @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone​ @newbornwhumperfly @whump-cravings @whumpityy @nicolepascaline  @thegreatwhodini @shameless-whumper @neverthelass @wolfeyedwitch @onlybadendings @melancholy-in-the-morning @quietshae  @whots-a-tag-precious

The weapon’s throat constricted.

It was the first time in - well, the immeasurable span since the last time it was breathing fresh air, and the scent of grass and clouds brought back, with force, the memory of screaming.

Desperate, tortured, deathly screaming, paired with the smell of burning flesh and homes.

The weapon wrapped its arms over its ears, although it knew it couldn’t escape what it had done, and without thought, whimpered, »Please no, please, not again…«

»Ainsel.« Something touched its wrist.

What was it doing? What did it think it was doing? It didn’t get to say no, that had been made clear a long time ago. If its king wanted to use it for the purpose it was made for, that was his right, and it had no choice any more than his sword. It wanted to apologize, but it couldn’t even draw a breath to do so. It fell on its knees, its chest constricting painfully.

»Ainsel.«

It wrapped its hands into its belly, curled up to press its head against the ground in a desperate plea for mercy. The gravel dug into its forehead, but it deserved that, deserved so much worse than that, for its disobedience.

Or for the things it had done, and would do again, on its king’s command.

It shouldn’t think this way - it shouldn’t think. It didn’t matter. It was only a dumb weapon, and it had been taken out to do as weapons did.

»Ainsel. Hey.« And then, after a moment, »Pay attention to me.«

What breath it had regained, hitched. »Yes sir,« it squeezed past its knotted airways, barely a whisper - of course, of course it had to pay attention, how could it let itself go like that?

»Give them a moment,« another voice said.

»They need something,« its king countered. That was who was speaking. It it hadn’t just been ignoring somebody, it had been ignoring its king. »Ainsel. Hey. Breathe with me.«

The weapon did as it was told - it was much too late for that, and it would pay, it knew it would pay, but it matched its king’s calm breaths as best as it could, even as it felt like suffocation, it wasn’t getting enough air at this rate, but the king had ordered, and eventually, its breaths became easier.

Stupid weapon. This was why it shouldn’t think, or feel, or wish. Of course its king would know better what was good for it, or at least right for it.

»Come on. Sit up. You’re doing good.«

It sat up. It tensed itself to keep from flinching when the king reached out and brushed off a small piece of gravel that had gotten stuck to its forehead. His touch was ever so soft, and something deep inside the weapon cried for more, but it shouldn’t wish. It knew it shouldn’t wish.

The king was crouched in front of it, again in that unnatural position - on the ground, with the weapon. »There you go. No one’s going to hurt you.«

The weapon swallowed. There were those nonsensical words again. »I’m sorry, sir,« it choked out, unsure what to do, unsure of anything. The gravel dug into its knees, and the pain was almost comforting. »I will do as you wish, sir.« Of course it would. What had come over it? It didn’t have a choice.

Its obedience would lead to death and destruction, but it didn’t have a choice.

It couldn’t take any more.

»It’s alright,« the king said softly, getting to his feet. The weapon flinched, its body expecting a kick, but nothing came. ��Can you get up?«

The weapon clambered to its feet, keeping its eyes firmly on the ground. It wasn’t its business to look, and truly, it didn’t want to see where it was going, what it would destroy.

It just stayed on the king’s heels as he led the way. It heard-felt Cassio walking behind it, making sure it didn’t step out of line.

They hadn’t walked far when they stepped onto grass. Somewhere nearby, birds were chirping, and the hum of insects filled the air.

The weapon tried not to think. It wasn’t its place to think, or feel, or wish. But it did feel something inside of it crack, and tears were rolling down its face before it knew what was happening. Looking out at the world from the windows of the room it had been placed in had felt like an immeasurable mercy. And now, it was here, outside.

It knew only too well what being outside meant. Soon, the king would point it at whatever - whoever - it was he wanted destroyed. Then, its task completed, it would be put back into storage.

It was only a weapon, and it shouldn’t wish for this to last.

»Look up, Ainsel,« the king said, in this strangely soft voice he always used when talking to it. »You’re missing all the flowers.«

Obediently, it raised its head, trembling head to toe from more emotions than it knew what to do with. A weapon shouldn’t feel, anyway.

Trees gently whispered in the breeze, half-hidden birds hopping from twig to twig. Bushes bloomed in white and soft pink and purple. Flowerbeds swirled across the ground in bright reds and yellows. Streams ran quietly in carefully carved channels, the bright sunlight sparkling on their surface.

The weapon blinked tears away, but fresh ones welled up instantly. It had been ordered to look, and it couldn’t, although it wanted - it shouldn’t want, but it wanted, it had been so long-

»It’s been a while since you’ve been out of there, huh?« the king said, slowing as they wandered through the too-beautiful garden.

»Yes sir.« It was almost a sob. It had to answer clearly, but it was so hard.

»Do you like it?«

The weapon choked. »N-no sir,« it replied hastily. It had made more than enough mistakes for a day; it could only hope the king would be merciful. »I’m only a weapon.«

The king stopped, and its breath hitched again. That had been right, hadn’t it? But it was impossible to tell - so far, it hadn’t figured out a single thing about how this new king wanted it to behave.

It could only hope he would be merciful.

»No, Ainsel. You’re not.« He said it with the same softness, as if he wasn’t, again, pulling the floor out from under the weapon - what else would it be to him, then? It wished he would tell it what he wanted, but a weapon shouldn’t wish, but the king had said it wasn’t a weapon-

»You’re confusing them,« Cassio said quietly.

»They have to learn this sooner or later. Look at me, Ainsel.«

It looked at him, because it had to, no matter how wrong it felt.

»You’re a person.«

It couldn’t contradict its king. But it knew this must be wrong. It may have believed that, a long time ago, but it had been wrong.

It could only stand there and look at its king, like it had been ordered, and wish to look away wish to be told what was going to happen to it wish for a gentle touch feel terrified feel blessed by the fresh air feel dread at the prospect of what it might have been taken out for-

Think of how its king was wrong.

How dared it?

»Hey-« it heard before it fell into darkness.

[certifiedskywalker]

Neurogenesis - Charles Xavier

It was never meant to happen. He thought it was impossible and you were both far too busy leading overly complicated lives. Where was the time?! Between the school and saving the world, where did a little family fit in? Your little family.

WARNINGS: mild cursing, scientific/clinical language, and pregnancy

Something was changed in you. Though, arguably, it would be easier to determine what remained the same after the beach in Cuba. What once were steadfast facets of Charles’ life were twisted beyond recognition like a piece of metal warped by Erik’s hand or the sudden divergence of a bullet’s path. At the thought, Charles felt his back ache. The pain pulled his attention from your figure and towards his still legs.

“And it’s finished!”

Hank, a blur of blue fur, rose up from behind one of the lab tables. Charles raised a brow at the scientist before he flicked his gaze over to you. You eyed whatever Hank had been working on while hidden behind the table before you met Charles’ gaze. His own mouth quirked upwards instinctually as you looked at him. Charles could never not smile when you looked at him like that: eyes full of love and the softest hints of a grin on your lips.

“Here you are,” Hank said as he rolled a shining, new wheelchair out from behind the table. “I should have thought about a joystick control before. Just been a bit...out of it.”

“It’s alright,” Charles replied, waving Hank’s worry away with a hand. “We’ve all been adjusting to this new normal.”

Nothing feels normal anymore. Your voice rang through Charles’ head like a sweet song despite the bitter truth of your words. 

He tilted his head towards you and met your eyes with a knowing look. It will soon, darling, I promise.

Always the optimist, you telepathically replied before you returned to the files spread out on the table before you. Charles watched you carefully, still trying to pinpoint what exactly was different. Your thoughts and voice were clear but something was...newer. Sharper.

Hank sighed, pulling Charles’ attention back to him. His thick, blue arms were held out towards him, waiting to move Charles from chair to chair. “Are you ready?”

Charles swallowed hard but nodded up at his beastial friend. “I don’t think I’ll quite ever get used to being carried around.”

“Just need to adjust to the new normal, Professor,” Hank echoed with a wry, lopsided smile. Against his newly blue skin, his teeth, especially the longer canines, looked more yellowed. But the awkward joy that Hank exuded with his signature half-smile remained a constant despite his altered appearance. 

“Yes,” Charles agreed as Hank scooped him up from his old wheelchair. 

As he was lifted, Charles caught your eyes again. You held the same love in your eyes he saw moments before but something danced along the edges. It wasn’t pity at the sight of him or his more-less limp body in Hank’s arms. No, Charles had told you in hospital that he did not want you to weep for the loss of his legs. The strain his new condition added to your relationship would be enough to bear. 

Was it worry perhaps? With your ability to block him from reading your mind, you always left him with so many questions. He joked about how, while you could speak to each other telepathically, communicating each other’s thoughts remained just as difficult as it was for average couples. Couples without powerful mutations, that was.

That did not stop Charles from trying to read you though. In fact, he enjoyed the mystery. Even as Hank placed him in his new chair and you watched with that strange, mixed expression, Charles felt a twinge of wonder. He could study you, love you, forever if the world allowed him to. He so wish that it would.

“How does it feel?” Hank asked once he stepped back to admire his work. Charles looked from you to Hank to the new chair’s joystick. Tentatively, he wrapped his fingers around the knob and pushed it forward. With a small heave, the chair moved in the direction Charles pointed it in: right towards where you stood.

You laughed as Charles rode quickly over to you. He stopped immediately in front of you and looked up with an expectant glint in his blue eyes. Your smile widened at the sight and you reached a hand to his face. When your palm pressed against his cheek, Charles turned his head to lean into your touch. His eyes closed to savor the feeling of your skin on his.

“Looks like it works great, Hank,” you mused before leaning closer to Charles. “And you look very handsome, dapper even.”

“Dapper? I was expecting a very different descriptor,” Charles jested as he opened his eyes. He grinned when he saw your eyes widen slightly and your hand moved to trail through his hair. For a moment, Charles was so immersed in you that he did not feel the mystifying newness that seemed to glow about you.

It was only you, and then, as Charles drank in your form, it suddenly wasn’t.

“You can’t say that in your heads?”

“Where’s the fun in that, Hank? We don’t get to see your face of disgust,” you teased, looking up at the scientist. 

Charles would have gladly joined in but he could not ignore the small, bright sparks that stemmed from new neurons. Each one burned in his brain but not with thoughts he could read. There were only hints of tactile feelings and very base sounds that seemed to echo in some pitch black void. Despite the darkness, Charles was not afraid. It was not a fearful dark, but warm, almost comforting in some strange way.

“Funny. Well, I have to run this upstairs to Alex,” Hank sighed, holding up a energy blast channeling disc. “Don’t break anything in my lab.”

“It’s the school’s lab,” you countered. 

“Y/N.” Charles reached his hands up to your hips, trying to grab your attention.

“It’s basically Charles’ lab,” you continued as Hank walked away. 

Charles shook his head and rested his hands on your sides. Beneath his fingers and your clothes, he could feel the warmth of your flesh that mirrored the sparks of newness he felt in his mind. Before you turned your head to look at him, your hands moved to rest on top of Charles’. When you finally focused on him, Charles felt his stomach lurch.

“Y/N…”

“What is it?”

Then Charles saw it in your furrowed brows, feeble frown, and, mostly, in your eyes: nothing. There was no recognition or masked emotion. After a few seconds of silence, your expression grew grim, more worried. Your hands held his tighter and squeezed.

“Charles?”

“You don’t know,” Charles breathed. His eyes fell from yours to your joined hands, your sides, then to your abdomen. In his mind, little flickers of light like firecrackers sparkled in the warm void that surrounded him. “I can’t believe this.”

“Charles,” you whined, “you’re scaring me. What is it? Are you alright?”

“Am I...I’m fine, Y/N, are you,” he met your gaze, “you’re pregnant.”

Your worry melted away as a laughed rumbled up from your stomach and out of your mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I can see inside the embryo’s forming neurons. I can feel the neurogenesis occurring in utero, the very forming of the brain.”

“Wh...it wasn’t, it isn’t possible. Our mutations, they aren’t compatible,” you stepped back and dropped Charles’ hands. “This is impossible, right?”

You met Charles’ eyes and, at his silence, all he could see now was the panic. He did not need to read your mind to know how fast your overwhelming thoughts were racing through your head. Carefully, he reached out to again, desperate to calm you. You did not move to meet him in the middle. Instead, you braced yourself against the lab table behind you.

“Hey, hey, breathe, darling,” he cooed. “It will be alright.”

“Alright?! Charles, you can’t be serious! We can adjust to a new normal, to a life without Raven and Erik and your legs, but a baby?!” You lifted your hands to hold your face and, for the first time in his life, Charles felt utterly powerless. 

His lips fell into a frown and stinging tears began to gather behind his eyes as he took in the sight of you. Gently, he pressed the joystick of his chair forward to get closer to you. When he was close enough, Charles reached a hand up and wrapped his fingers around your forearm. With all the tenderness he had, he pulled your arm away which peeled your hand from your face. Tears rolled down your cheeks and Charles wanted nothing more to reach inside your mind to steal them away; or fully share in them. 

He wasn’t sure which would help more. All he wanted to do was help, but he did not know what to do or what to say. So, he did the first thing he thought of and pulled you towards him. Wordlessly, Charles guided you into his lap so you could sit and so he could hold you.

You melted into him so naturally. Your head fell to his shoulder and his arms wrapped around your waist instinctively. Charles pressed his face into the crown of your head, savored the feeling of your hair tickling the skin of his face. It was a comforting contrast to the wetness of your tears that soaked through his shirt to the skin of his chest. He closed his eyes and just held you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

You lifted your head from Charles’ shoulder and let your red-rimmed eyes meet his gaze. I love you too, I love you. I’m just-

“You don’t have to explain,” Charles interjected aloud, “and I’ll support whatever you decide to do. I’ll be here for you, always. Alright?”

His hand lifted to your face and brushed against the peak of your cheek before his fingertips traced down to your neck. You nodded quietly and Charles leaned in, grazing your lips with his. After a moment’s hesitation, you reciprocated, your arms linking behind his neck to draw him in further. It was a long kiss of comfort that tasted of sweet love and salted tears.

When you parted, Charles pressed his forehead to yours and let your noses knock gently together. He did not want to pull away so completely, he did not want to leave any unnecessary distance between you. So much had changed and left your lives so quickly that Charles could not bear the thought of separating from you. Not now, not even a little bit.

So, you both sat in silence and pressed as close as possible to each other. Eventually, your breathing evened out and Charles was able to check in on the new neurons that sparkled with growth. There was no denying it was there. A small piece of you and Charles made physical. It felt surreal, beyond even his total comprehension. 

“Does that mean, in Cuba,” you began, pulling your face from Charles’. You did not have to continue for Charles to understand.

“Yes, most likely,” he replied, “but it seems fine. Healthy, alive.”

“I don’t know how to feel about that, about this.” Charles nodded and tilted his head up to press a kiss to your forehead. “First it’s the school, the X-Men, the world, and now...this.”

Against his will, Charles smiled against your forehead before he moved away to look into your eyes. “And now this.”

You gave Charles a small, hopeful smile. It was enough to make his heart swell and his chest ache with pure adoration. He leaned forward again, pressed another kiss to your lips and lingered. The soft scent of your soap and the warmth of your body against his overwhelmed his senses. Through it all, he could still sense the flickering shocks of budding cells.

He entertained the thought of normalcy, of raising a child with you. Charles would be lying if he did not admit he wanted it, wanted it as badly as he wanted to prepare the school. But he wanted you more. Forever if the world would let him. 

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

Spinner x reader smut

Virgin Spinner x virgin female reader

Word count: 1, 181

Warnings: 18+, PWP, fingering, oral (receiving), loss of virginity

Notes: this was a part of a longer fic that most people probably won't read. But I realized that the smut part of it was fairly good and realized some people would like to read this smut but without the rest of that fic, so here is this pwp.

~~~

"Are you sure you're ready? I don't want you to do this if it's going to make you feel worse later."

You nod. "I'm sure. I finally feel ready. I already took some birth control pills. Though I don't know if you have any condoms. Or… if you even need them since I took the pills. I would have tried to get the condoms for you myself, but it's embarrassing and I don't know if there's a specific size I need to know."

He let out a small laugh. "I have some. And I think I should have it on just to be safe. Especially since you just starting taking it." He walked up to you. Staring into your eyes before kissing your forehead. "I'm honestly nervous."

"Me too. But you don't have to if you don't feel ready."

"No. I'm ready."

You searched his eyes, there wasn't a single once of doubt in them. Only love. You could see your own reflection in them too. You were strong, nervous, but completely grown and moved on from insecurities of the past.

You gently placed your hand on his cheek and rubbed the scales. They were smooth and cool, a perfect contrast to your warm skin. You captured his lips in a kiss. One he immediately melted into.

Your tongue slipped into his mouth. He seemed surprised, but happy that you were taking the initiative like this. Your tongues massaged each other, slow and lovingly. Hands found their way to your back and rubbed there. You hands had wrapped around his neck to pull him closer.

Within minutes, the kiss had become sloppy and heated. You were drinking in the sensation as your body temperature rose. Hands were wandering everywhere. You felt a tug at your shirt and you enthusiastically nodded.

He clumsily pulled it up and over your head. Your mouths parting for a moment before you dove back in, more desperate than before from just a split second of separation. You could feel him smiling against you.

As much as you wanted to get in the bed, you knew it would be easier to get undressed standing. You both quickly removed your clothes. Dropping them onto the floor and falling into bed.

He sat up while you laid on your back. Staring intently at him in anticipation of that he'd do next.

"I'll try to go slow. Just tell me if it's too much."

You nodded.

With a deep breath, he slowing pushed one of his fingers into your sex. His scales felt strange and somewhat rough against your walls. You bit your lip to ignore the slight pain.

"Sorry," he began, "I know that--"

"It's fine. Keep going."

He still seemed doubtful, but smiled and continued. You reached to his hand on your side and rubbed it reassuringly. Your walls started to slacken as they became used it.

"I think you can add another one now," you said.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. He pushed another one into you.

You hiss at the stretch. Noticing this, he paused. You nodded when you felt okay again and he started moving them. He began to scissor them, trying to properly prepare you. One of his fingers grazed against a spot that made you whimper.

"Right there."

Upon taking in this information, he curled his fingers to hit the spot again. His actions switched between curling and scissoring. The pressure quickly built up, your moans became louder and you squirmed, until you felt something break and liquid gush out of you.

"You look so pretty." He kissed you.

He shifted in the bed until his breath was on your wet folds. Shivers trembled through your body. He removed his fingers to give him better access.

Taking advantage of the shape of his mouth and dove in, slurping up your essence. Your hands found their way into his hair and gently pulled on the strands. The feeling made blood rush to his lengths, making them even harder. When he felt you were clean enough, he put the fingers back in and licked and sucked at your needy clit.

You writhed at the sensation. Loving it even more and more by the second. Why did you wait so long to do this?

He stopped, drawing a whine out of you.

"Did you like that?"

"Yes," you said with the whine still in your voice.

"Good." He smiled. "Are you ready?"

You nodded so hard the bed bounced. With the confirmation, ripped a condom out of the packaging and started to line up one of his cock with your hole. Running up and down to collect the slick that had built up again. He pushed against you and inside. You threw your legs over his shoulders to prevent them from getting in the way.

The sound that left you was a strange combination of a gasp and whimper. He made sure to go slow. You gripped at the sheets. You were both gasping by the time he was fully sheathed into you.

There was a strange feeling of pleasure and fading pain at being so full. Once the pain was barely even a tingle, you nodded to him. The thrusts were small and soft at first, but slowly grew like waves during a storm. You pushed your hips back to meet his.

The movements were fluid and hot. The way his cock stretched you out and dragged against the sensitive bits. He put one of his fingers against your clit and applied much needed pressure.You felt as though every pore was burning.

The mattress bounced from your movements. Wet slaps and sinful moans filled the room. Your mind was going blank. All you could think about were the sounds, the feeling of him sliding inside of you, how you felt your end steadily approaching. The anticipation growing as you felt your end coming closer but had no idea when.

You could tell he was too. His thrusts becoming more sporadic and savage. A little rough that sent pain and even more pleasure, making your brain short circuit.

Then it finally happened. You were sent over the edge. Waves of pleasure flooded through you. Your walls fluttered against his cock, bringing him to his end too. He grunted and nearly fell on top of you. His cock twitching inside of you as he emptied his load. You almost wished he didn't have the condom so you could feel it, but that was

"Sorry I couldn't last longer." He apologized as he stroked your hair.

"Don't apologize. You did great and you felt amazing."

"Thank you." You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was grinning ear to ear.

"Maybe next time you could use both," you teased.

"Hey, I don't think I can do that yet. I didn’t know your mind was that dirty," he gave you a playful nudge.

You both fell into a fit of laughter before settling down again.

"I'm glad we got to do this," he said.

"Me too," you snuggled into him.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

[agent-cupcake]

IDK why but yandere prompt 10 screams sylvain to me! it's okay if you dont wanna do this one, though. thank you for opening requests! ive really enjoyed all your writings

10. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t have you.”

Sylvain didn’t greet you when you took a seat beside him, ready for the meeting to be called. Agriculture wasn’t a particular interest of yours, but it was a part of your duty as the wife of an important, land-owning lord to be invested in the affairs of Gautier territory. For his part, your husband didn’t seem terribly enthused. Just as you were about to ask if he was okay, he spoke.

“Who was he?” Sylvain asked in a would-be casual voice, low enough to be lost in the mindless chatter of the slowly filling council room.

The question usually went something like that, innocuous but pointed enough for you to know where it was headed. And you knew who and what he was referring to, knew it so intently that you felt a completely unreasonable stab of guilt because you knew how Sylvain was, how he might have interpreted your interaction with one of the male mages working on the current project. As familiar as the question was, you couldn’t immediately guess the tone. Sylvain was tricky, always masking his intentions behind playful masks and a glip front.  

“Who?” you asked, playing dumb. That sometimes worked. If it seemed like you were innocent, he might drop it and move on. It would be incriminating if you admitted that you knew what he meant right away. And if he was just teasing, playing around to fill the part of the protective husband, you didn’t mind the role of the oblivious wife. Really, you wished you were that type of woman. Blind to the world, and especially the men, around you. Everything would be so much easier.

"That guy you were talking to,” Sylvain explained, dangerously nonchalant. “The two of you seemed pretty close.”

“Really? We only met… Mmm, last week?” you replied, refusing to meet his eye or become flustered. That would just make you seem guilty. Which you weren’t. “He’s from Fhirdiad, one of the mages who are working on solutions to fertilizing the soil in the fields near the Fraldarius border.” You hesitated, searching for something to add, something to change the subject and ease the tension. “Um, the tests so far have been really encouraging. They’re thinking that next spring they can have at least half of that land ready for production.”

"Yeah, I heard about that,” Sylvain said, nodding off your attempt to distract him. “I was just asking ‘cause you were laughing pretty hard.”

There it was. Sylvain’s tone, as you had come to know quite intimately, was cool, a little stiffer than his usual way of speaking. Lacking inflection. It was always like that with him. He never told you outright when he thought or felt or explained his stark shift in demeanor, always skirting around the subject with those needling little questions, maintaining his façade of indifference even as a storm brewed behind his dark eyes. Once, what felt like a lifetime ago, he told you that he’d never experienced jealousy before you. He told you that it hurt. Was this pain? Was that what made everything so uneasy and uncomfortable, leaving you scrambling to find the words to ease his mind?

You forced a faint smile, clinging to your innocence. “Was I?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain said, clearly not buying it. If anything, his eyes just narrowed. “You were.”

“We were just discussing his work. If I was laughing, I don’t…” You shook your head, forcing a shrug. “Please don’t get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?” he asked. “I was just wondering who he is.”

“For no reason,” you said, some of your frustration leaking through.

“Yeah, sure, for no reason,” Sylvain agreed in an amicably flat tone. “Although now I’m curious about why you’re so defensive.” He paused, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I guess he was kinda handsome. Are you worried I’m jealous?”

“That’s not-”

“‘Cause I’m not…” he insisted. “Unless there’s a reason I should be.”

There wasn’t. There never was. You never thought like that. But he did. Sylvain always did, those too keen eyes of his following you around, waiting for you to slip up in some way, to do something for him to misinterpret in the most uncharitable ways he could. Even if it was ignored, unspoken, willed out of existence through the sheer force of his adoration, yours was not a relationship born out of the stuff of romantic novels or even the clumsy affections of young lovers. For as obsessively insistent he once was in proving your own feelings to you, sometimes it was like Sylvain didn’t believe it when you told him you loved him and only him. Because there was a time―such a long time ago, hardly worth remembering―when you didn’t mean it. Even though you did now, that memory was his constant anxiety, an endless tension lingering right below the surface.

“I don’t want to fight,” you finally said, spreading your hands out in an attempt to de-escalate the situation, to convince him of your innocence. “I swear that it meant nothing. But… but if it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t talk to him again. I really, honestly don’t care.”

“Sheesh, you make me sound like I’m some sort of control freak,” Sylvain said with an air of coolly playful offense, leaning back in his chair. “Why would you even assume I’m trying to fight?”

“I don’t-”

“I’m not,” he said before you could really respond. Not loudly, never loud enough to draw any unnecessary attention to the two of you. Sylvain always knew exactly how to skirt the line of propriety in public. “It’s not like it’s even my business who you talk to. I’m only your husband. No big deal, really.”

“It is!” you insisted, heat burning at the back of your eyes. Realizing you’d spoken a bit too loud, you softened your voice, glancing around the room to ensure nobody heard the slip-up. “You are. Of c-course you are.” Maybe it was the trembling of your bottom lip as you stared hard at the table to fight off the tears burning your eyes that made regret flash over Sylvain’s face. Sometimes, when he was in a very particular type of mood, your crying only spurred him on, but not now.

“H-hey,” Sylvain told you, leaning close and draping his arm across your shoulders. “Don’t cry. I was just playing around. Guess I let it go too far.” Now he seemed apologetic, looking at you with a sheepish smile.

You met his eyes, confusion and distress giving away to understanding. Of course Sylvain had only been pretending. And you had been overreacting, always too sensitive to this kind of thing. Embarrassment followed the momentary emotional lapse, frustration that you wouldn’t just go along with his antics and had to go and make it all weird. Relief, too. It was just pretend, after all. He wasn’t upset with you.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Sylvain asked sweetly, pulling you towards him with the arm around your shoulders, his soft voice tickling your ear.

“You’re too mean,” you told him. But the words weren’t serious. They made him smile fondly, such a dramatic shift from the Sylvain of only minutes before.

“I’ve gotta keep you on your toes,” he said. “You never know what’s going on in the heads of pretty girls like you. I mean, imagine if I lost you to a guy who studies dirt. I’d never live it down.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you told him, leaning into the half embrace.

“Isn’t it? But, you know, I can’t help it.” Sylvain leaned in even closer, speaking in such a low, intimate way that it definitely pushed the lines of propriety, even for him. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t have you.”      

[honestlywtfisgoingon]

A Match Set

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in New York, you and Benny Watts are drawn to each other. As you go through different experiences with one another, you grow closer until it finally gets to be too much for Benny.

Word Count: 2685 Damn

Warnings: Alcohol and also a little sad?

Notes: hehe the plot continues... also please give feedback I’m still new to writing and can use the help 🥺

Your first date with Benny was like all your experiences with Benny. It started out ordinary, and ended up somewhere completely different.

He took you to a small cafe, one of those hidden spots known only to New York natives.

You and Benny sat down in a little corner of your own, and you felt an imbalance when he didn’t look nervous at all. After you ordered you relaxed a bit, finding out that he was just as anxious as you were. Sure, Benny had an incredible poker face, but the way he kept tapping his cheek while he leaned his chin on his hand had been the tell.

On the outside it looked as though the two of you were on a regular date, exchanging all the usual smiles and small flirtations, but that’s where it got a little more interesting.

Benny wasn’t conventional and didn’t care to be, and you were always trying to get past the surface of things. Neither of you cared for menial small talk, and instead went straight into a passionate exchange of thoughts and views. You ended up talking like you had known each other for years. There was a connection there, an obvious chemistry that you hadn’t found before.

There was a second date after that, and it was even better than the last. He had taken you to dinner that time, and once again you found yourselves falling back into discussion about various thoughts and ideas, nothing boring or ordinary.

As you cracked jokes back and forth and learned more about each other, you had a warm feeling. You recognized that for all these last few months, being with Benny was the first time you really felt at home in New York.

That was before, but this is now. Now is when a part of you shattered. Now is just after you got a devastating call that your father was sick.

“Thank you,” you said before hearing the click of placing the phone back on the receiver.

Thank you for what? You were just told your father was dying and you were supposed to say thank you? You had finally gotten the chance to go beyond your small town, thinking everything at home was safe, that it was taken care of. It was your father that convinced you of that.

Living where you did had it’s limits, and there wasn’t much for you there. He pushed you to get out and explore, telling you that you didn’t need to worry about him.

You were taken from your thoughts when you looked at the time, realizing Benny would be picking you up soon. You could’ve canceled, considering the recent circumstances, but you were grasping for normalcy at the moment, trying to shove away the awful reality you were just hit with. You told yourself it wasn’t because you were running away, you were just being considerate of benny. Yes, you were just being considerate. That meant you could push off thinking about all this until you got home.

This time, you and Benny were walking together in Central Park, and you were trying to pay attention to what he was saying as best you could.

“Hey, y/n?” You heard benny’s voice break through the numbness.

“Sorry, what?” You were embarrassed that he caught you blatantly ignoring what he was saying.

“I was asking if you were able to come to to the championship, but I think you’ve got other things on your mind.” He didn’t seem offended, more concerned.

“I’d love to, I know how important chess is for you, and I haven’t gotten the chance to see you get really competitive.” He would’ve been happier to hear your answer had he not seen straight though you.

“Right now, you’re what’s really important to me. Just tell me what’s really going on.” His admittance for caring about you would’ve made filled your heart yesterday, but today it made you want to run away.

“Nothing is going on.”

“You’ve been off the whole day, I just want to know why.”

“Nothing is going on. Why are you so convinced that there is?” Your tone became slightly more aggressive.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me right-“

“Just leave it Benny!” You snapped, letting go of his hand and and walking away from him. You didn’t know why you took off from someone you liked so much, but you didn’t really know why anything was happening at all.

You were stopped as Benny ran after you and grabbed you hand firmly. You tried to pull away, but he was stronger than you. He spun you around to face him. You became acutely aware of the tears that had started to fall from your eyes. Looking up into his eyes was your breaking point.

You let out a sob before caving into him. You felt his arms wrap around you before letting him usher you to a bench. He held you for what seemed like forever, until you were too tired to cry anymore. He was rubbing you back and gave you a little smile when you faced him. You apologized and hastily wiped away your tears, but he insisted that it was ridiculous of you to be sorry. You still felt guilty after your breakdown, so you explained what was going on to make it up to Benny. You couldn’t exactly run away anymore, physically or emotionally.

“It’s my dad. I got a call this morning. He’s sick, but he wants me to stay here. How am I supposed to stay here, dealing with a new job, a new life really, while my dad’s back home dying?” You let Benny see all the stress you were under, ready for him to leave now that he’s seen you as a mess.

“All those things, you have to take one at a time. If your dad’s what’s important right now, just focus on that.” It was easier said than done, but Benny wasn’t the emotional type and he didn’t know exactly what to say, but he cared, that much was clear. You just nodded, trying to pull yourself back together. “Are you going to listen to him? Are you going to stay here?” You could tell that behind his question, he was scared that you would say no.

“I- I don’t know yet.”

“Whatever you need, I’m here.” He said as he gently placed a hand on your cheek. It was smooth and warm and you wanted to lean into it, but you snapped out of it.

“Maybe what we both need is for you not to here.” You didn’t want to hurt him, but your walls had rushed back up. You had so many things going on, and the last thing you needed was a boyfriend. It pained you to say it, but you wanted to be honest.

“I don’t have to be here as... whatever we have going on now... but I can be here as a friend.” As of today, romance was off the table for you, but a friend was different, and Benny wasn’t the type to let go of you so easily, even if a friendship was all he could get.

You just nodded and looked down into your lap, not knowing what to do now. Benny knew it was time for silence, so he held your face in his hands so you looked up at him. He didn’t say anything as he used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tears sitting on your cheeks. It wasn’t a romantic act, it was more endearing, a quiet action as if to say that he was willing to catch you if you fell.

You let out a small laugh at his little gesture. His eyes radiated a sort of comfort now that you he was edging into a part of your life that even you avoided.

With the intention of continuing your date that wasn’t really a date anymore, he grabbed your hand to pull you up from the bench. When he tried to let go, you didn’t let him. He looked at you curiously but he didn’t question it. You didn’t even know why you did it, still mentally screaming to push him away. You both just ended up going along with it, holding hands for the rest of the day until he walked you back home.

Nearly 3 weeks had passed since then and you hadn’t gone out or had contact with anyone. Despite your moment with Benny, you had still distanced yourself from him. Holed up in your apartment, existing off of gin, cigarettes, and frozen foods; ignoring calls, presumably from your friends.

You sat in the middle of the living room floor, forcing yourself to sketch. It had been therapeutic for you before, but now you found yourself more agitated as your drawings felt forced.

“Argh!” You yelled out into the room as you threw the papers across the floor. The one thing that you could always turn to was your ability to do art, and now you felt a block.

After taking a swig of gin, you laid back on the floor. You had turned to alcohol after another call with your father. He demanded that you stay in New York and that you go on with your life. Instead you felt like you were at a standstill, unable to keep going knowing that the one person left in your life wouldn’t make it another couple of months, and yet you were unable to see him. It made you hurt and angry that he didn’t want you home, but you wouldn’t go against his dying wishes.

You groaned when you heard the sound of the phone. You dragged your hands across your face when it wouldn’t stop ringing, forcing yourself up to confront whoever was pestering you.

“What the fuck!”

“Glad to know you’re alive.” Bennys voice greeted you.

“Can’t you tell when someone wants to be alone?” You missed Benny, but you were slightly drunk and your defenses were up.

“What someone wants and what someone needs are two very different things.”

“Well then tell me what I need.” You said sarcastically.

“You should come out with us. We’ve been calling, Cleo and Annette and the rest of us. We haven’t heard from you.”

“Well the reason you haven’t heard from me is because I haven’t been answering.”

“Funny,” he said humorlessly, “we all miss you.” He paused, “I miss you. And I said I’d always be here so I have to make good on my promise.”

You paused. You had to admit, you missed them and Benny too, but everything just seemed so scary right now. For all your philosophies and ideas, you were hiding from your own thoughts. Going out with people would only expose them.

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have to have a night out, but have coffee with me at least.”

“Benny I-“

“Great. I’ll be there in five.”

“What? Benny no-“ He hung up. The bastard hung up on you. His audacity was what actually made you laugh for the first time in days. After a minute of laying on the floor, you gathered energy to trudge over to the bathroom and make an attempt to clean yourself up. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you made a grimace at your reflection. You brushed your hair and washed your face, brushing your teeth twice to get rid of the alcohol on your breath. You swiped some face makeup to conceal your dark circles and changed out of the pajamas you had been living in.

You buzzed Benny in, expecting him to wait downstairs in the lobby like usual. Instead you heard a knock at the door in the middle of clearing things up. You got flustered as you rushed around to pick up glasses, pillows and other articles littering the floor.

“I thought we were going for coffee,”You said as you opened the door, panting slightly.

“I thought I would make things easy, come to you.” He said as he made his way in, slinging his arm around your shoulder, “plus ive never been in here.” He took a look around, making no comments about the state of your apartment. He made himself comfortable, going through your kitchen, presumably looking for coffee or something to eat. “Do you want anything? More gin maybe?” He said as he picked up an empty bottle sitting on the counter.

“Benny-“ you warned, silencing him. He joined you on the couch with some chips he found in the cabinets and a can of coke.

“We don’t have to talk about anything serious, I just don’t want you to be alone. For my own sake really.” He turned his head away from you while saying the last part.

“You know I should be a dick more often, I’m making you all soft.” You nudged him in the shoulder as a small smile crept up on his lips, lightening the mood. Something about him being there made you unconsciously drop your facade. You had to admit it was nice to relax for a moment.

“Hey don’t go telling everyone.”

You didn’t talk about anything serious like Benny said you wouldn’t. After a while you eased into laughing and chatting casually. Eventually the conversation reached a comfortable lull.

“I missed you too you know. I didn’t say it over the phone.” You told him. Having him here with you made you feel bad for your outburst. You admired his patience for you.

“I knew.” He shrugged as he gave you a sideways little smirk.

“cocky bastard.” You said jokingly.

“Your favorite cocky bastard” he tilted his head towards you as he lifted his brow, smiling.

“Top 3 maybe.” You leaned back like you were pretending to think about it.

Suddenly you remembered what you talked about before the little breakdown you had on your walk.

“The championship! Do you still want me to go?” You sat up with your sudden remembrance.

“Course I do. I didn’t know you would still be up for it.” Benny looked happy, but you could tell he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“I didn’t think I was, but I didn’t want to miss you winning.” You ruffled his fluffy blonde hair. He gave you that cocky smirk again. You really won points by stroking bennys ego.

“Well we can drive together then. It’s next week.” He said it nonchalantly, but he smiled as he took a sip of his drink.

You paused, not realizing the championship was so soon. You thought you had at least a month. You didn’t feel as though you were ready to enter back into the world yet. Just Benny was alright but having to hold your own with all those people while Benny played scared you. Benny caught your hesitation and went to hold your hand. They were chess players hands, soft with long fingers that intertwined with yours. They were cold and his rings were a bit uncomfortable, but your breath still hitched a bit.

No. You said you wouldn’t get involved with him. Still, you kept your hand in his. It was probably the one mildly romantic thing either of you could get without risking the friendship falling apart at this time.

“How exciting,” you finally continued. You lifted your coke and you and Benny cheers-ed together. Once again that warm feeling of home crept in, that feeling you got when being with Benny. No matter how many walls you built up, Benny, someone you hadn’t even known for more than a couple months, had an amazing way of bursting through.

Just this morning you were firmly committed to becoming a hermit, and now you were planning a road trip. You chalked it up to Benny being special to you. No, you pushed that thought away again. Special in a friend way. That’s what you needed, and that’s what he was willing to be. You were in a state of conflict around him, shoving him away and holding his hand to pull him close. You shook off your thoughts and looked at Benny, and there was a moment where his eyes shone with admiration, and then it was gone as he turned his head away and continued to talk about one of his chess feats while you listened attentively, just happy to be around him again, even if it was unwillingly at first.