#and I spent a good portion of my day smiling like an idiot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hxseok-honee · 3 years ago

Text

sundress || part 7

written portion under the cut!

sundress [part 7] || she needs him.

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a/n : [tell me how good it feels to be needed] needy x ariana grande

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Friday, 17 September, 9:50pm

The moment Yoongi and Y/n are stepping into Gryffindor common room, having come down the stairs from her room hand in hand, Jungkook is on his feet. His eyes are trained solely on Yoongi, and there’s a kind of burning anger there that has the rest of their friends tensing, especially when the Gryffindor heads right for them. Yoongi wonders with brief amusement if Jungkook’s going to hit him.

And he does try -- rather, he tries to grab at Yoongi’s shirt. But Y/n’s stepping in the way just as Jungkook’s reaching out for the Slytherin, and he has to raise his arms and stop short, his sneakers slipping on the rug beneath his feet as he struggles to avoid making contact with her instead. He looks like an idiot, and he knows it, but the thought of almost having put his hands on Y/n sobers Jungkook quickly.

They stand there in silence for a moment, their friends watching with bated breath as Jungkook looks at Y/n with wide eyes, shocked that she’s looking at him so coldly. He barely notices that Yoongi’s looking at her, too, his gaze examining her fondly. Because somehow, even though he knows her better than she knows herself, she always manages to surprise him.

“I think… maybe we should all sit down and talk like real people.” Jin speaks from one of the loveseats, Jimin perched next to him. Y/n doesn’t move when Jungkook doesn’t, refusing to step out of the way until her ex is backing down. And he eventually does, lowering his eyes and moving to one of the armchairs. He’s acutely aware of Y/n pulling Yoongi to the other loveseat, directly across from Jungkook.

“Okay… not totally sure what we’re supposed to talk about, since it’s not like anything’s going to change…” Namjoon speaks from where he half-sits on the ledge of an open window, a joint in his hand. Tae’s standing behind him, leaning on the wall, Namjoon’s back pressed into his chest. The Gryffindor sighs lightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and Y/n feels distinctly bad for him -- he’s the one that has to live with Jungkook, and she knows all too well how annoying he can get.

“Look, let’s just start with the facts so that I don’t have to listen to Jungkook theorizing and scheming all night.” Tae’s roommate turns to him, clearly offended, but the bookworm puts a hand up, silencing him before he can even say anything. He looks at the pair on the couch. “How did this happen?” He gestures vaguely to Yoongi and Y/n when he says this, not wanting to outright call them a couple, considering the ticking time bomb sitting in the armchair.

Y/n looks to Yoongi in slight alarm, careful to mask her expression because she knows Jungkook’s watching closely. But they hadn’t had a chance to discuss a backstory, and she doesn’t want them to say any conflicting information. It seems Yoongi has it handled, though, his face perfectly composed as he makes something up.

“Over the summer -- just a drunk night. We decided to forget it happened because it was better for our friendship, but… I guess I just couldn’t.” He looks to her when he says it, almost smirking when he sees the surprise in her eyes -- surprise that he’d made it sound like he was the one who’d caught feelings. She makes a mental note to talk to him about it later, but Jungkook’s already talking, unable to resist taking a jab at the boy.

“That’s bullshit. Y/n wouldn’t just sleep with you and let it go. She’s not a whore like you.” Yoongi finds it funny, if he’s honest, but he knows by the way that Y/n tenses next to him that she very much does not. So he pulls his hand from hers and slides it over her leg, squeezing at her thigh and letting it rest there, his thumb tracing circles of comfort into her skin. Jungkook’s eyes flick down to watch it happen, and when he raises his gaze again, there’s renewed irritation there. Yoongi almost feels bad that he finds the Gryffindor’s anger amusing. Almost.

“Well, I don’t know, Jeon. Maybe if you hadn’t fucked up and dumped her, she wouldn’t have spent the summer with me. Then that drunk night wouldn’t have happened. So… should I say thank you?” Y/n purses her lips and hides her face in Yoongi’s shoulder, somehow both exasperated and deeply amused by his words. Jimin whistles from the couch, not even bothering to mask how entertained he is by what’s happening here. Y/n lifts her head, figuring she should try to ease the tension somehow.

“Look, Jungkook. There’s nothing you can do about this, okay? Yoongi and I are together now, so I would just… appreciate it if you’d let this go so we can rebuild our friendship.” The group nods, finding her words reasonable. It’s the truth -- what’s done is done, so they might as well all move on and find a way to return to normalcy.

“I don’t believe you.” Namjoon throws his head back and groans loudly when Jungkook refuses to cooperate, Jin dropping his head to his hands because they’re really never going to get anywhere like this. Jungkook doesn’t even notice. “You want me to let it go, huh? Almost like you’re just pretending to date so that I will.”

“I feel like that says more about the fact that you won’t leave her alone than anything it says about Yoongi and Y/n.” It comes from Tae, who is clearly getting very frustrated. He’s a man of knowledge, fact. He puts weight in words and sees the world for what it is. So he’s very annoyed at Jungkook’s delusions -- at the fact that he won’t just accept the situation. That, even in a world where he might be right, he’s not seeing that Yoongi and Y/n would only pretend because he’s being relentless and they’ve had to turn to a drastic last resort.

“Prove it. Prove you’re dating. You two hold hands and shit all the time, this doesn’t prove a thing.” Jungkook all but ignores Tae, hyper-focusing on Yoongi and Y/n across from him. Yoongi turns to Y/n with a knowing look, one that says ‘What’d I tell you? Cringey TV shit’. It makes her smile widely, even as she’s reaching to place her hand on the side of Yoongi’s neck, pulling him in. He slides his hand from her thigh to her waist when his lips fall to hers, the action already easier than it’d been less than hour ago.

They can hear the various noises of reaction from their friends -- Jin hums in contemplation as Jimin quite literally starts to laugh, and Namjoon is choking on the hit he’d just taken, Tae whispering ‘oh, okay then’ behind him.

Yoongi presses one last kiss to Y/n’s mouth before pulling away with an obnoxious smack of his lips, winking discreetly at her and smiling when she rolls her eyes. They turn to the group, Yoongi taking her hand in his and pulling it into his lap as he threads his fingers through hers. Their friends seem relatively unaffected, if only amused or intrigued by them, but Jungkook.

Jungkook’s looking at them with hardened rage, because there’s really no way he can explain that one without ending up at a romantic relationship between them. That fact clearly bothers him enough that he’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he looks at them, and Y/n can see the childish malice flashing in his eyes. And she knows he’s about to say something bad.

“Tell me, Yoongi -- are you enjoying my sloppy seconds?” The entire room is standing immediately -- Yoongi because he’s perfectly certain he’s about to put Jungkook in the Hospital Wing, and everyone else because they have to make sure Yoongi doesn’t do exactly that.

Y/n had seen it coming -- had seen the way Jungkook had shut down just before saying it, because she knows what that looks like -- so she’s able to react the fastest out of everyone. Latching onto the back of Yoongi’s shirt before he’s able to get too close to Jungkook, she yanks him back to her, slipping her arms around her waist and holding tight. Jin and Namjoon have moved to Jungkook’s side, hands on his chest to stop him from moving -- because at the end of the day, Jungkook’s the athlete here. He could easily knock someone back if he wants to, so they know they need more than one person to stop him from acting rash.

Y/n slides her hand over Yoongi’s mouth, knowing he completely lacks a filter and not wanting him to make things worse because he’s angry. She pulls him backwards toward the stairs to her room, turning when she gets there and urging him up the steps before waving at the rest of the room.

“Well, this has been great -- goodnight!” And then she’s taking the steps two at a time to catch up to Yoongi, who’s stomping angrily up to her door. He makes his way inside, pacing the room as Y/n shuts her door behind her, and then he’s turning to her, his eyes alight.

“After that, you still won’t let me kick his ass?!” She knows that, if all their friends are still downstairs, then they can definitely hear him yelling. The whole house can probably hear him yelling. She rushes forward, taking his face in her hands and shushing him, because she really needs him to calm down.

“Yoongi, it’s fine. I don’t care, it doesn’t bother me--”

“It should!” He’s ripping his face from her hold, going back to pacing as he pulls at his hair in frustration. She sighs, moving to him again and wrapping a hand around his wrist. He tries to pull that free, too, but she holds tight, so he turns to her with annoyance. “How can you just be okay with what he said?!”

“I’m not. I’m not okay with what he said.” He stops, breathing deeply to calm down when he sees how serious she is. Turning so he’s facing her properly, he waits for her to continue. “I’m not okay with it, Yoongi, but right now I’m more concerned about you.”

“Why? I’m not the one he was insulting--”

“It’s not about him, Yoongi. I will deal with what he said later. Let’s just… go to bed? Hm?” It hurts, what Jungkook had said to her. That he’d called her a cheater over text and then blatantly insulted her to her face. That he’d let his pride get so in the way of his head that he couldn’t see how terrible he was being.

But it’s Yoongi that worries her. Because he’s fiercely protective, whether he’s aware of it or not. Because she knows how quickly his mouth can get him in trouble when he’s seeing red. Because her problems with Jungkook are hers, and she doesn’t want Yoongi burning a bridge with Jungkook over this, no matter how hard her ex is trying to start the fire himself.

So she’s pulling him to her bed, shuffling toward him once they’re both under the comforter. Taking his face in her hands again -- and smiling when he doesn’t pull away this time -- she’s squishing his cheeks, glad to see the way he rolls his eyes. It means he’s calming down, however reluctantly.

“You okay?” He sighs when she asks, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. Her fingers move to his ears, where she plays with his piercings, an unconscious habit. Pushing his nose against hers, he doesn’t respond, only searching her eyes.

“Are you?” A small smile, a nod. But he doesn’t find the reassurance he’s looking for in her eyes, so he knows she’s lying. But he lets it go for now, scooting around until he can tuck her into his chest, his chin coming to rest on her head as they drift off to sleep, trying to put this day behind them.

Saturday, 18 September, 3:48am

It’s the shaking that wakes Yoongi up. Not the gasped sob that precedes it, muffled into a hand desperate to keep her quiet. Not the sniffling that follows, tearful and devastated. It’s the shaking — the pure force of the cry that tears its way through her body, jostling the mattress and pulling Yoongi out of his slumber.

Y/n keeps her curtains drawn at night, blocking any moonlight that would have filtered in through her window, so he can’t see her in the dark — not until he’s blinked enough times that silhouettes start to take shape around him. When he notices the shadow sitting at the edge of the bed, he’s sliding his hand across the sheet next to him, almost as if to check that she’s not there, sleeping peacefully beside him. She’s not.

Scooting his way along the mattress until he’s close enough to touch her, he’s sitting up, the comforter falling off of him as he goes.

“Hey…” Yoongi puts his hand on her back to draw her attention, his palm flat against the curve of her spine as he leans over to try to see her face. Y/n jumps, clearly not having noticed that he was awake.

“Shit�� did I wake you?” She gives one last sniffle, and he can see her wiping frantically at her face. He doesn’t respond, only moving closer until he can press his chest to her left shoulder, trying to make as much physical contact as possible so she knows she can lean on him.

“Talk to me… please?” He doesn’t need to see when she shakes her head. He can feel it, the way her whole body moves to say no — to shut him out. It leaves a dreadfully bad taste in his mouth, guilt crawling up the back of his neck.

“I’m just gonna... I need to shower.” Yoongi furrows a brow at her sudden remark, pressing his chest closer to her, his face coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Now? It’s the middle of the night…” Y/n moves to stand, Yoongi’s fingers clinging to the back of her shirt until she’s too far away for him to keep holding on. She heads to the bathroom, the sudden flick of the light blinding him for a few seconds. He blinks it away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and perching there, just as she had. He hears the shower turn on, and his heart aches at the thought that Y/n’s only doing this so she can cry beneath the sound of running water again. The guilt that had been dancing along the edges of his skin flows into his chest now, settling there like a ton of bricks.

He’s so busy staring down at the floor, trying to figure out how to make this better, that he doesn’t notice Y/n’s slowly making her way back to him until she’s standing over him.

“Yoongi?” The Slytherin blinks, lifting his head in surprise at the call of his name. Y/n stares down at him, taking in the way the pale yellow light from the bathroom washes over his features — it shows her the darkness in his eyes, the turmoil sitting there. She reaches out to him, wiggling her fingers slowly until he’s taking her hand in his, waiting for her to tell him what’s on her mind.

“Come with me?” Eyes widening, he stares up at her silently, unsure why she’s asking him this. But he finds himself nodding, knowing that, whatever it is, she needs him. She needs him there with her, so he’s rising from the bed and following her to the bathroom, because — right now, in this moment — he needs her to need him. He’s too scared to think of the alternative — that he’s caused this pain in her eyes, that it’s his fault.

Compared to the bedroom, it’s uncomfortably bright here in the bathroom, so much so that they just stand in the middle of the room for a few seconds, unsure how to proceed. Finally, as if coming to his senses, Yoongi’s looking toward the door, finding the light switch easily. With an apprehensive glance in Y/n’s direction, he moves toward it, setting his fingers on the switch and flicking it down.

They’re bathed in darkness immediately, but there’s a small window on the far wall, one that lets in just enough moonlight that they won’t hurt themselves trying to navigate the room.

Yoongi steps slowly back to where he’d been before, hovering in front of Y/n and waiting for her to tell him what to do. After a moment of nothing, she’s reaching out to him, taking his fingers in her own and guiding his hands to the hem of her t-shirt. She leaves them there, looking to him to continue.

With a nervous breath, Yoongi grasps at the material, lifting the shirt up and off her body as gingerly as he can, his eyes on the wall behind her head. He only glances at her once he can see her crossing her arms in front of her chest, covering herself.

He steps in just enough that he can set his hands on her hips and push at the waistband of her pajama pants, turning away and giving her privacy once she’s able to kick them the rest of the way off, working slowly at his own clothes while he waits.

When his shorts and shirt are pooled on the floor beneath his feet, he’s glancing over his shoulder at her. He can see out of the corner of his eye that there’s no break in the expanse of her skin where her panties should be — she’d removed them while his back was turned. For some reason — and although they’ve been in this situation before — the idea of that makes his face uncomfortably warm.

They make eye contact as he hooks his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers experimentally, but when he sees how her eyes widen just slightly in panic at the idea of him being fully naked — never mind the fact that she’s fully naked — Yoongi pulls his thumbs free, deciding it’s best that he leaves them on.

He waits until she’s stepped past the shower curtain to follow, giving her time to curl into herself again because this is objectively the weirdest thing they’ve ever done, and he’s not sure either of them is ready for him to pretend he’s completely comfortable seeing her naked. She pokes her head out after a moment, hair and face wet, and he knows he can join her.

He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to be doing here — if he should be standing on the far end of the shower like he had been the only other time they’d done this, or if he’s supposed to be showering, too. After all, it hadn’t been his idea this time.

He’s just about decided to keep his distance from her when he sees her silhouette moving toward him. It’s a lot darker behind the shower curtain, which he’s partially glad for because he really can’t see any part of Y/n that he’s not supposed to, but the other part of him is stressed because he isn’t really in the mood to slip and die tonight.

Y/n’s wet hands find his forearms, pulling him slowly toward her and into the stream of hot water. They’re close enough now that they can see each other’s faces, but she’s dropping her forehead to his shoulder soon enough, arms slipping around his waist loosely.

“Can you help me?” As if running on autopilot, Yoongi’s moving, hands fumbling for the bottle of shampoo on the shelf to their left. Squirting some on top of her head — admittedly difficult since she’s got her face buried in the crook of his neck — he scrubs gently at her hair. Knowing she likes having her head scratched when she’s having a bad day, he rubs the pads of his fingertips against her scalp, feeling both accomplished and like he’s just made a terrible mistake when she shivers and unintentionally pulls him closer, almost no space left between them.

Lowering an arm to the small of her back so she doesn’t fall, Yoongi walks her backwards until she’s fully under the water, where he rinses her hair for her. He’s about to reach for the conditioner when Y/n lifts her head, grabbing the shampoo herself. Pouring some into her palm and setting the bottle down, she meets his eyes before letting her eyes drift up to his hair, now wet from standing under the water with her.

Wordlessly, Yoongi lowers his face to her shoulder just as she had, giving her permission to wash his hair for him and sighing when she drags her nails through his hair. With his eyes shut and the soothing feeling of Y/n breathing against him, he’s left with his thoughts. It’s not long before the guilt is rearing its ugly head again.

“I’m sorry…” Things had been quiet between them, Y/n working at rinsing the soap from his roots, when he’d whispered it. She hears him perfectly, and, although he doesn’t lift his eyes to look at her, she knows he’s waiting to see if she’ll respond. When she doesn’t — only slowing her movements in his hair — he continues. “If I hadn’t started all of this — if I had just talked to you before telling him we were together — then he wouldn’t have…” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to.

Then he wouldn’t have said those things about you. Then you wouldn’t be hurting right now.

“If you’re mad at me—“

“I’m not mad at you, Yoongi.” Yoongi lifts his head now, searching her eyes for any sign of a lie. There isn’t one — he only finds hints of amusement, a smile dancing on the edges of her lips. “I’m not mad at you. I know why you did it — I get why you did it. I’m okay with it — with this.”

Yoongi’s not sure he’s ever felt as much relief as he does now, his body almost deflating from the pent up stress leaving him. Y/n grins when she sees how his entire being untenses, his shoulders dropping as he sighs. Reaching up, she pushes his hair out of his face, almost laughing when she sees how his eyes twinkle with renewed energy. She hums, pretending to think about what she’s going to say next, because there is one thing she’s decided in the last few minutes — in the span of time it’d taken her to see how the guilt of potentially being responsible for her pain had torn at Yoongi. At the only boy in the world who would do anything in his power to never hurt her.

“There is one person I’m mad at, though.” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, knowing what she’s going to say but still waiting for the name to leave her lips. “Jeon Jungkook.”

Yoongi feels himself swell with something akin to pride when he sees how the sadness that had been in her eyes turns to anger, almost mischievous in the glint of the moonlight. She continues, eyeing him with an evil grin.

“I think that, no matter how dumb and ill-prepared your plan had been… you really might have done something there, Yoongi.” The Slytherin beams, loving the way revenge looks on her as she stands there in his arms at damn near 4 o’clock in the morning.

“Yeah? You got something in mind?” Y/n hums conspiratorially, a bubble of laughter escaping her as she loops her arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, because they’re really standing in her shower scheming about how to get back at her horrible ex, like this is normal for them.

“I mean, I just think we could really make this work… We’d just have to work out the logistics of the ‘relationship’, but nothing between us will really change since we’re already so close.” She gestures vaguely down at their current state for emphasis, and Yoongi throws his head back to laugh at how incredibly strange this entire situation is. He nods when he’s done, running his hands up and down her back, hot water flowing over his arms as he wraps them tighter around her waist.

“Well, I know that being naked with someone might not be the most obvious act of affection to you, but to me, there’s nothing better.” Y/n rolls her eyes at his playful smirk when he says it, because at the end of the day, Min Yoongi’s still an idiot.

”So… since we’re clearly in quite the romantic situation here, I think this is the perfect place to ask.” Yoongi smiles when he says it, shockingly sweet given the teasing lilt of his voice. “Y/n, would you do me the honor of pretending to be my girlfriend so that we can tear your dumbass ex-boyfriend apart from the inside out with how perfect we are together?” Y/n snorts, nodding once.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” With a toothy smile, Yoongi lifts his right hand to her hair, playing with the ends of it as he hums contemplatively.

“Should we make it official?” Y/n eyes at him suspiciously.

“Listen buddy, I might be naked right now, but I’m not having sex with you.” With an annoyed huff and a mumbled 'you're an idiot', Yoongi rolls his eyes, grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging until it’s pulled taut, giving him full control of her head. Leaning in, he angles her so he can slot his lips against hers comfortably, almost smiling when she reciprocates right away.

Yeah. This is definitely getting easier.

Y/n’s arms tighten around Yoongi’s neck as her hand lifts to card her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. She barely notices that the arm he has around her waist is pulling her in, only registering it when she feels her chest press flush to his. She doesn’t even have time to feel embarrassed, though, because Yoongi’s tilting his head, the pressure of his lips on hers suddenly changing.

She isn’t ready for the wet swipe against the seam of her lips, and she hates that she gasps because she knows it’s given him a chance to push his tongue into her mouth -- he’s brushing against her tongue roughly, almost challenging her to fight back. Feeling him smirk against her lips at the victory when she doesn’t, she tries to resist him now, nipping sharply at his bottom lip and snickering into his mouth when he groans.

The laugh in her throat is drowned out by a whimper when Yoongi tightens his hold on her hair until it’s bordering on painful. She doesn’t mind the sting, and she’s wondering if he can tell. That thought goes quickly out the window, because he’s already testing it again, tugging harshly and taking note of the way her breath catches. It had been a game before, push and pull -- but now she just can't think straight.

The fog in her mind masking every form of smart decision-making that she knows, Y/n’s sliding her arms off of his shoulders. Scratching her nails lightly down the expanse of Yoongi’s chest and torso, she smirks when his muscles are jumping under her touch, his breath shaky as he rubs his tongue against hers. And then her two pointer fingers are hooking into the waistband of his wet boxers, and Yoongi’s whining low into her mouth.

He can feel her pulling the elastic away from his skin, and he’s shuffling toward her to close the distance, mostly because he’s afraid she’s going to purposely let go and snap the band painfully back to him -- but also because there’s only one thing Yoongi’s sure of right now, and it’s that his boxers have to stay on. But her fingers are still hooked into the band -- because apparently she’s decided that that’s a good place to rest her hands -- and she keeps accidentally tugging the material down, so if he doesn’t keep up with her, they’re both gonna be in trouble.

Dropping his hands to Y/n’s waist, Yoongi turns her slowly toward the shower wall, his thumbs rubbing heated circles into her skin as he nudges her backward. His brain feels like mush, especially when he accidentally pushes his hips against hers, because she’s sighing into his mouth, and he finds himself wanting to do it again -- so he does. The white noise in his head only gets louder, because she’s whimpering when he stumbles forward, pinning her roughly to the wall as his hips rock into hers. But then she’s gasping suddenly and his heart is dropping, because it doesn’t sound the same as the others.

Yoongi pulls back right away, searching her face in the dark to see if she’s hurt -- if he’s made her uncomfortable. But she only seems shocked, her eyes wide and confused.

Shocked is exactly what she is. Because when Yoongi had guided her backwards into the wall, the cold tile against her skin had made her jump. And just like that, the haze had cleared, the reality of what they were doing -- what they might have kept doing if not for the shock to her system -- setting in. She looks him over, taking in his confusion and only offering a single sentence.

“You’re Yoongi.” Eyebrows disappearing into his hair, the boy’s nodding slowly, like he’s worried about her current mental state. She offers one more line, and this one does the trick.

“I’m Y/n.” Almost like a switch had been turned off, wiping Yoongi’s brain free of his own fog, he’s grimacing immediately, a noise of discomfort leaving him. Because she hadn’t filled in the gaps, but he had.

He’s him, and she’s her. And they… they don’t do things like this. They don’t lose themselves in each other like this. Because there’s nothing there between them, so much so that even the thought of continuing what they’d been doing is bringing a frown to both of their faces. Yoongi swallows hard, smacking his lips in slight disgust.

“Way to kill a boner, loser.” He hisses when she lands a well-aimed smack to his bicep, fully aware that he deserved that. Planting her hand on his chest, Y/n’s pushing him away -- slowly, because the last thing they need is him slipping and trying to explain to Pomfrey how they’d gotten here when he ends up in the Hospital Wing. Once there’s distance between them, Y/n’s crossing her arms over her chest, like that really will do much considering the last five minutes of their lives. She does it anyway, grateful that he has the decency to look away instead of making a snide remark about the futility of hiding from him now. She clears her throat, drawing his attention from where he leans against the wall.

“So -- making out in the shower at 4am was a bad idea.” Yoongi laughs loudly, and the tension between them is immediately dissipating with his nod.

“100%. Cross it off the bucket list, but let’s never do that again.”

Saturday, 18 September, 10:05am

“…ke up… Y/n… come on, wake up… Y/n!” Jumping from the sudden yell of her name, Y/n’s eyes fly open, startled. She turns her head toward the voice that had called her, finding that Yoongi’s hovering right over her. He’s got his lips pressed to the shell of her ear, clearly having decided that yelling right into her eardrum would wake her, because of course it would.

“What?” He pulls away when she snaps at him, looking down at her with a sleepy grin. He’s got an arm around her waist, his body having been curled tightly around hers the whole night. After they’d finished their shower, she’d sat on her bed in her towel for a few minutes, too lazy to get dressed, and Yoongi had thrown one of his baggy t-shirts and a pair of her panties at her face in irritation because he’d really wanted to go to sleep. It’s all she’s wearing, something that had made cuddling much easier since she gets cold at night -- he’s not happy about having his body heat stolen, but it’s only a minor inconvenience if he’s honest.

He sets his chin on her shoulder now, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the smell of him, all over his t-shirt. He wonders briefly if she’s going to start smelling like this new hybrid scent from now on -- if she’d be wearing his clothes more often now. It doesn’t elicit any particular reaction out of him, only a curious hum leaving him. He makes eye contact with her again, seeing that she’s giving him an irritated look, probably because he’d woken her. With an innocent smile, he says--

“‘m hungry.” She shoots him a look, rolling back over onto her side and shutting him out.

“Then go eat.” He pulls at her shoulder right away, forcing her to lean against him again and give him her attention.

“Go with me -- I don’t wanna sit alone in the Great Hall, and we’re supposed to do shit together now! Couple-y shit!” Y/n groans angrily, because now all the sleepiness she’d felt is fading away, leaving her awake and annoyed.

“Dude, it’s a Saturday at 10am, and we just went to bed like 5 hours ago! Go without me!” She’s about to turn away again, but Yoongi’s scooting impossibly closer, pressing his face into her neck and whining loudly -- it’s really obnoxious, and he knows that. It works, though, because she’s sighing loudly, about to give in. But--

“Min Yoongi.” His whining stops, replaced by a confused hum because her voice has an edge to it that makes him feel like he’s in trouble.

“Get your fucking morning wood away from my ass. Before I push you out the window.” Yoongi stills, pursing his lips and shutting his eyes in embarrassment, because he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been pushing the front of his shorts against her backside while he was complaining. Hiding his face in her neck, he’s about to apologize and move away, maybe even resign himself to going to breakfast alone after all -- but then a snort of amusement is leaving him, and he’s staying right where he is.

“Maybe if you get out of bed, you won’t have to feel it anymore. Unless… you want to?” It’s definitely the wrong thing to say, and he knows it, already rolling away from Y/n in a panic because she’s turning to him, her hands curling into fists as she locates her target.

For no less than five minutes, Y/n chases Yoongi around her room, flinging clothes, shoes, heavy objects -- anything she can get her hands on. Finally, she latches onto the front of his shirt, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling angrily on his hair. He yelps, snaking one arm around her and using his other hand to break his fall against her bedroom door, because they’re both about to topple over.

His back slams heavily into the wood, and Y/n can’t tell if he’s crying or laughing, but either way, he’s yelling -- and it’s very unlikely that anyone in the vicinity of her room can’t hear him.

“I had you naked up against a wall last night, and you’re mad about my morning wood?!” Y/n pulls on his hair extra hard, enraged, and he yelps again, losing his footing -- they crash to the ground in a pile of limbs, both groaning loudly. It becomes laughter almost immediately, exhausted and full of disbelief that they’d just spent all that time trashing her room. After a moment of heavy breathing and pained complaints, Yoongi turns to her, an obnoxious grin on his face.

“‘m still hungry.”

“Oh my God, would you hurry up? If we miss last call for breakfast and have to eat in the kitchens, I’m gonna be so pissed--”

“I told you to go alone--”

“And I told you that I wanted you to go with me--”

“We coulda been there already if you hadn’t been all up on me and pissed me off--”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it, babe--”

“Min Yoongi--”

“Ow! Okay, I’m sorry!”

After cleaning up the mess in Y/n’s room, she and Yoongi had gotten ready together, because there would have been no way for her to go back to sleep after that. He had rummaged through the part of her wardrobe designated for his belongings -- it had become convenient for them to keep clothes in each others’ rooms after a couple years, clearly serving its purpose now that Yoongi’d needed a clean outfit.

Still, even with fresh clothes on, it’s obvious that Yoongi had stayed the night -- rather, it’s obvious to Taehyung and Namjoon, who are sitting in the Gryffindor common room doing work when Yoongi and Y/n stumble down the stairs, on the edge of laughter even though they’re bickering. And it’s especially obvious to Jungkook, who’s reaching the bottom of the stairs to the boys’ dorm at the same time -- because he’s stopped at a close enough distance to Yoongi that he can smell the scent of Y/n’s body wash all over him. A smell he’s very personally familiar with.

Y/n chokes on her spit, realizing with a reddening face not only that her friends had heard the conversation she and Yoongi had just been having, but that they had definitely also heard what had happened upstairs -- what Yoongi had said about having her naked up against a wall. Y/n wants to hide in a corner and never make eye contact with them ever again, but they don’t mention it, Taehyung only waving with an amused smile as Namjoon hides his laughter behind a hand. She points at the door to the common room awkwardly.

“We’re… going to breakfast… if anyone wants to come.” The pair of boyfriends shake their heads simultaneously, and Y/n turns her head to where she knows Jungkook is when she sees Namjoon glancing in slight concern over to the boys standing beside her. When she looks, she sees why he might be worried.

Yoongi and Jungkook have yet to say a word or even acknowledge that Y/n had spoken, too busy staring each other down. It’s obvious that Jungkook’s angry, but Yoongi would never back down from a challenge. Y/n reaches out, sliding her hand down Yoongi’s forearm and threading her fingers through his.

“Come on… we’re gonna miss last call…” Jungkook doesn’t tear his eyes away from Yoongi’s when she grabs the Slytherin’s hand, but he’s definitely seen it out of the corner of his eye, his gaze hardening. It brings a smirk to Yoongi’s lips, knowing Y/n’s affection had gotten under his skin. Looking Jungkook up and down with that infuriating curl of his lips, Yoongi only cocks an eyebrow at the Gryffindor before turning to Y/n, pulling her toward the door as he responds, his voice carrying through the silent common room with distinct clarity.

“I don’t mind if we eat in the kitchens, babygirl -- I like being alone with you.” Y/n rolls her eyes internally at how obnoxious Yoongi is, but she can hear Jungkook letting out a restrained sigh behind them, and she can’t help the smug satisfaction that fills her. And when Yoongi glances at her as they step out into the corridor, his eyes dancing with amusement, she knows he feels the same.

Well, this should be fun.

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #min yoongi #yoongi x reader

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years ago

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Prisoner's Game Pt. 1 (Rowaelin)

Synopsis: Aelin Galathynius never thought of herself as a vengeful woman. Until her boyfriend not only testifies, but leads a case against her that lands her in prison for the rest of her life. Post I-Love-You's. He didn't believe her, and she's about to show him that not only is she innocent, he made the worst mistake of his life betting against her. To a woman with nothing but time, life's just a game, after all.

The cinderblock wall dug into her back uncomfortably as she reclined against it, the air in the room was stale, and she hadn't showered in two days. By any measurement, Aelin Galathynius was far from her best.

And yet she somehow managed to look perfectly at ease--happy even--as she lounged in her cell, toying with the ends of her too-long hair.

It was a ruse, of course, just a little trick to piss off the man currently stomping into her space. By the flare of Rowan Whitehorn's eyes, it worked.

"Hello, Rowan," she greeted pleasantly, giving him a little smile and acting like it wasn't taking everything in her not to use the makeshift knife under her pillow to gut him like the spineless coward he was.

She could tell, even across her 8x12 cell, that he was gritting his teeth and fighting a similar action.

The heel of his expensive Italian loafers clicked as he walked across the space to the small table and took a seat at the steel chair in front of it. He tried to push it out further, but stopped when he realized it was bolted to the floor.

"Aelin," he said back, none of the so-obvious anger he was feeling present in his voice. "Been a long time."

Eight years, six months, three weeks, two days, and thirteen hours.

Not that she was counting or anything.

She nodded her agreement, reclining further on the bed and crossing her legs as if she was in the finest dress she owned, not a faded orange jumpsuit.

"What brings you to my side of town, Rowan? Here to finally switch sides and represent me?"

Dressed in a two-thousand dollar suit and tie, hair perfectly gelled back, he looked like he was successful a lawyer meeting with a wealthy client, but they both knew the last thing he'd ever do was work for her.

"You know why I'm here."

She did indeed, but she still said, "I must be exceptionally smart to know why you've come all the way here-"

"Cut the shit," he snapped, finally losing a bit of his cool. He regained it quickly, though, and continued, "I want to know how you did it."

She frowned at her split ends. "Did what?"

Rowan waited until she looked at him to respond. "You know what."

Sighing so deeply it should've rattled the walls, she said, "I can't believe I've spent the last eight years thinking you underestimated my intelligence. You clearly think I'm some sort of oracle genius."

Rowan mimicked her sigh, and she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

Probably trying to stall, he spent a moment looking at her cell, at the completely bare walls and lack of photographs. All she had was the tally marks drawn in pencil on one wall and a dusty chess set sitting on the table.

When he'd taken inventory of those two things, he sat and just looked at her.

It was clear she wouldn't admit to knowing exactly why he sat in front of her, and he was simply putting off being the one to fold.

Predictable, proud little man.

Eventually, he took his loss and said, "I want to know how you managed to rob me from inside the most secure prison in Rifthold."

She smiled, a full, undulated smile she hadn't used in a long time.

She'd been planning this moment since the day the bars had locked behind her, and it felt damn good to finally see it come to fruition.

According to what she'd heard, definitely not what she knew from personal experience, the private vault in Rowan's apartment had been broken into. Apparently, only one thing was missing: an antique dagger that had been handed down in the family and was now worth over a million bucks.

"Why do you think it was me?" she asked, still smiling.

He gritted his teeth some more, and she internally snickered at the idea he'd have permanent tooth damage because of her. Something else to remember her by.

Green eyes spitting flames at her, he growled, "You left a goddamn business card."

Aelin forced her eyes up to the empty bed above her head, trying her hardest not to laugh. "Maybe I'm being framed?"

"Your fingerprints were on it."

She did laugh then, then laughed some more when his eyes narrowed. He looked like he was about to strangle her. "Rowan, in case you haven't noticed, I'm incarcerated."

She gestured around them to her cell to prove her point.

The bastard just smiled.

Of course he knows that, she thought bitterly, forcing her hand back to her lap and away from where it'd started to creep toward the pillow.

"So how would I rob you?" she asked, getting her mind back on track.

"That's what you're going to tell me," he demanded angrily. "I want to know how you got out of here, got all the way across Rifthold, broke into my apartment, and stole from me without any surveillance camera picking it up."

Aelin ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it just right. When she caught sight of the impatience on his face, she fluffed it some more and readjusted the thin jacket on her shoulders.

It was always too damn cold in this place. She hadn't been warm in almost nine years.

Because of him.

Just for that, she fluffed her hair some more.

Then she said simply, "I didn't."

"Stop lying!" he shouted at her, eyes flashing.

She wasn't, but that was besides the point.

"Fine." She rolled her eyes like he'd won. "I got my cousin to-"

"Aedion spent the night in Wendlyn. His travel is verified, and there are at least a hundred eye witnesses that witnessed him singing karaoke all night. Stop. Fucking. Lying."

Once again, she wasn't lying.

Aedion sure as hell hadn't been in Wendlyn last night. She'd just wanted to make sure his alibi was air-tight as planned.

Sighing again, she asked, "Rowan, even if I did do it, why the hell would I tell you about it?"

His jaw worked for a moment, and she could tell whatever he was about to say was difficult for him. "I'll get time off your sentence if you tell me what you've done with it."

She tried not to laugh, but she couldn't help it.

It burst out of her, full and uncontrollable, and she flopped over on the dirty mattress and howled for a good few minutes.

He glared at her, looking for all the world like he was experiencing a portion of the rage she was made of, but regardless of the threat in his eyes, she took her time composing herself.

"I'm serving ten consecutive life sentences, you idiot."

One for each and every one of her "victims."

"I'll make it nine," he offered generously.

"Even if I was a cat, that'd still leave me dying in a prison cell. Offer me something else."

He just glared at her, unwilling to give her anything she could actually use or want. Just like she'd expected.

"That's what I thought. So no, Rowan Whitehorn, I'm not accepting your little deal. You can think I robbed you all you want; hell, you can even know, in your famous gut, that I did it." She tilted her head, a cruel smile filling her lips. "But it isn't about what you believe, it's about what you can prove. Isn't that right?"

His eyes shuttered at the words, and just like that, they were sucked into the memory of all those years ago.

~Eight years ago~

~Rowan~

Rowan rolled over, edging away from the woman next to him carefully as to not wake her.

Her hair was spread out on his chest, her soft hand was on his stomach, and her leg was draped over his. By all accounts, she was all over him.

And it felt so fucking good.

He'd never met anyone like Aelin before. Anyone so full of life, so hilariously open.

It was like she was constantly on fire, flitting from one place to the next with endless energy and jabs about him being too old and slow.

"What are you going?" she murmured, nails digging in slightly to keep him where he was.

"To get some water. Go back to sleep."

He leaned down and kissed her brow, and she sighed happily and rolled over. Like a total cliché, he watched her sleep for a moment, trying to get his feelings under control.

They'd been seeing each other for less than a year, but he couldn't imagine his life without her. He was in love with her, and if the way she acted and smiled around him was any indication, she loved him, too.

He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, smiling when she tilted her face into his touch.

He was whipped, and he didn't even care.

Rowan shook his head at himself, pulled on a pair of boxers, padded to the kitchen, and held a glass under the faucet.

Then frowned as it sputtered.

He figured he'd at least make himself useful, knowing damn well she would never agree to call the plumber when she could "figure out how to fix it herself on Youtube."

So he knelt down in her kitchen and opened the cabinet door, trying to see what the problem with the pipe was.

Except he never got that far.

His eyes got stuck on the piece of paper sticking out under a false piece of wood covering the back panel.

Knowing it was wrong to pry but somehow unable to stop himself, he tugged the paper loose.

Then fell backwards to his ass, heart hammering and brain spinning as he read it over and over again.

The list of names wasn't long, but all ten of the people on it were highly distinguished members of society.

And they were all dead.

He wouldn't know that, since the death of the last person on the list wasn't even public record yet, but he was the attorney working with the police to find the killer.

Why did she have this list?

And what did the numbers next to the names mean?

One way or another, he knew he had to find out. He also knew he couldn't ask her. He was in too deep, too unbiased to know whether or not she was lying.

He didn't trust himself with her, so he'd have to go the traditional route.

He took a picture of the paper quickly, tucking it back where he'd found it. He snuck back in the room to get dressed, leaving her a note he had to go to work.

He thought he was going to be sick as he left her apartment, a feeling suspiciously similar to dread coiling in his stomach.

There was only one way she could know that last name, only one explanation that made sense.

But he had to know for sure. Had to know if he'd been an idiot this past year; an idiot who'd spent almost every night sleeping next to the killer he'd been searching for.

So he started investigating his girlfriend.

Six days later, he found the security deposit boxes and the murder weapons inside, still covered in dried blood that would be matched to the victims. All with Aelin's prints on them.

Two days after that, the woman he'd thought was the love of his life was arrested on ten counts of murder.

Despite the tears she shed, despite the promises she made to him, despite the love she claimed to have for him, Rowan told the cops everything.

Even though he couldn't imagine her killing anyone.

"It doesn't matter what I believe, it matters what I can prove."

That was the last thing he'd said to her, right as she was being dragged out of the court room and yelling at him to believe her.

The truth of the matter was that when it came down to it, he didn't trust her enough. The facts were against her, everyone on the jury had been against her, and in the end, Rowan was too.

~Present~

~Aelin~

Rowan shook his head, almost like he needed to clear it from the memory they'd obviously both been immersed in, and she smiled.

She hoped what happened all those years ago still haunted him, hoped he went to sleep at night thinking about her and the betrayal he'd served to her on a silver platter.

The first year of her sentence, she was so lost in emotion--in the rage and confusion and deep, deep hurt--that she couldn't bring herself to do anything.

He hadn't even bothered to ask her first. That's what had hurt the worst.

He'd seen that stupid, stupid list and had jumped to the first conclusion possible.

She knew it had looked bad, had looked like she was guilty, but she'd thought that if the worst happened, he'd at least ask her to explain before slapping the cuffs on her.

But he hadn't. She'd gone to prison, and his career had exploded into stardom from the success of the case.

"See, Rowan, when you refused to accept any other explanation other than the easy one, you made a mistake. Because I didn't kill those people."

He rolled his eyes. "Aelin-"

"And I'm not only going to prove it," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "I'm going to ruin your precious little life while I do it. Just like you did mine."

She stood, put a hand on the steel table, and leaned over him.

"If you want it to stop, all you have to do is drop these bullshit murder charges and issue a public apology for locking me up in the first place."

He stood too, so close his loafers brushed the toe of her dusty, prison issued sneakers.

"That's never going to happen," he promised, voice uncompromising and angry.

Aelin smiled, having predicted his reaction down to the facial expression.

His pride, she'd decided, would be the first thing to go.

She reached around him to slide the pawn on the chess board forward, leaned in even further, and whispered, "Let the game begin, then."

~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan #rowan whitehorn #rowan x aelin #aelin galythinius #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction

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sourholland · 3 years ago

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umm okay could you write something about reader dragging peter into some crazy shit against tony’s rules and they get caught but he end up saying it was worth it bc they got to spend time together? i feel like that would be literally the cutest thing in the world 😭

blurb night!

a/n: this is peter parker x widow!reader :) so she was in the red room before she was recruited to the avengers

Tony was practically seething.

It was rare to see him truly, and seriously angry. It seemed it was yours and Peter’s lucky day, though. Since finally kindling a friendship, he had sort of become your lifeline in a way. Before you’d both started hanging out, you mostly kept to the rules and followed Tony’s guidance.

Well, Peter definitely had a few different plans.

Having lived on a whole different continent for most of your life, you moved into the Compound and the small portion you’d seen of Manhattan was all you really knew. Peter had just so happened to have a day off of school, busting you out to show you around where he lived in Queens.

From there, a friendship bloomed. Now, you were practically being dragged by the ear, Tony ready to blow a gasket at any minute. He’d specifically told you both not to go meddling in what could have possibly been a plan to attack New York. Peter told you about something he’d seen on patrol and spent a day and a half convincing you to check it out with him.

Well, in the end you both almost ended up dead and Tony was the person saving your asses. Again. At first he had very much approved of your friendship, he thought it was good for you to get along with Peter. You figured he had different thoughts now.

“Do I even have to say anything?” He snapped, basically shoving you both onto stools in the kitchen. “I deliberately told you—both of you! Not to mess around with this, not while we know nothing about the plans these guys have. And what? Neither of you seemed to pick up on that?”

“Mr. Stark—”

“No, kid! I talk, you listen,” he cut Peter off. “You just live to be a pain in my ass, huh?”

Tony was massaging the bridge of his nose. You didn’t really know what to say, face hot with embarrassment and worry. Peter looked just as still as you, hands flat on the counter.

“Look, kid—Y/N hasn’t been here long, but she’s sure as hell been here longer than you. I trust her—I trust you, Y/N. But S.H.I.E.L.D. still has her under watch as a liability,” he told you both.

“So this is about me being too dangerous?” You asked, a bit shocked that you were still having to prove that you weren’t under the control of the Red Room anymore. “Tony, I wouldn’t ever hurt anyone.”

“I know that, and I know everyone on the team knows that. It’s not under my control.”

He went on, lecturing and lecturing for at least another twenty minutes when Sam came in and told him to relax and pour himself a drink. You both sent him a silent ‘thank you’ as Tony finally left the room. Peter seemed less anxious than you’d imagined he’d be, only really surprising you when he burst out into a fit of laughter.

“Are you laughing?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be wallowing and reflecting.”

“What d’you mean wallowing? That was some of the most fun I’ve had in like forever,” he grinned. “Plus, you know—I’m glad we got to hangout out together, or y’know… work together? I mean, I just wanted to say that I like spending time with you.”

His cheeks quickly turned a pinkish tone, pinching his eyes shut as he stumbled over his words. You couldn’t help fighting back a smile, leaning over on the stool and getting so close you could’ve kissed him if you leaned in an inch further. His eyes went wide, then you lightly slapped the side of his face. It was more of a tap, but he was clearly flustered and smiling like an idiot.

“Don’t go soft on me, Parker,” you teased. “I had a good time—working with you as well.”

#peter parker x widow!reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker imagines #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter #tom holland x reader #elle’s blurbs

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the-atlas-sister · 3 years ago

Text

Rivals (Miya Chinen)

"I know I can beat you," you scoffed, glaring at the taller teenager before you. Miya Chinen. Your rival since childhood. "I've always been better than you."

"Sure, kitten," he chuckled, smirking confidently at you. "Cause I totally didn't kick your ass last time you challenged me."

"You did not!" you exclaimed, your face flushing.

"Mhm," Miya hummed, cocking an eyebrow.

"You know what!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists. "Let's go! Right now!"

"Fine," Miya shrugged. "But let's go by S rules. If I win you'll do whatever I want for the rest of the day."

You thought about it for a second. If he really did win, he could make you do some horrible stuff. Plus, he was a hormonal teenage boy who spent a good portion of his time with perverts like Joe. "Deal," you said finally. "But the bet goes both ways."

"Deal," Miya smiled, shaking your hand.

*after the race*

"Told you I'd win," Miya smirked as I rode up next to him.

"What do you want me to do? Massage your feet? Clean your room?" you questioned, kicking up your board with a pout.

Miya thought for a second before a blush appeared on his face. "Give me a kiss."

"What?" you exclaimed, your eyes going wide.

"You heard me," Miya shrugged, leaning on his board casually. "Kiss me."

You stomped up to the taller boy scowling at him. "If you think I'm kissing your ugly mug, then you really are an idiot."

Miya frowned slightly before covering it with a smirk. "We shook on it Kitten," he stated, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You can do as I say or you can be my lap dog."

You blushed at the thought of being some type of pet to your handsome rival. "Fine," you huffed before grabbing the collar of Miya's iconic green hoodie and pulling him towards you. His eyes widened as yours screwed shut and you slammed your lips against his aggressively. He was quick although to pull you closer by your hips, to which you responded by moving your hands to cup the side of his neck. You hummed in satisfaction as he squeezed your hips.

"Happy?" you asked, huffing a bit from the intensity of the kiss.

"Very," Miya stated, pressing his forehead against yours. "But we're not done Kitten."

***

"Are we done yet?" you groaned. It was mid-afternoon and you and Miya were at a more secluded part of the beach. Miya had told you to do a lot of things, mostly boosting his ego and embarrassing you, although he never demanded any more affection from you. Now, he told you to go with him to the beach. Why? You had honestly no idea. Probably so he could pull some stupid prank or make you do something embarrassing.

"Nope, I get two more hours," Miya smirked, pulling off his hoodie.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your eyes going wide as the boy began to strip.

"Taking off my clothes, like you should be doing," Miya stated simply, throwing his clothes in a pile on the ground.

"What the hell kind of person do you take me for!?" you exclaimed, hugging yourself tightly.

"I meant so we could swim! Calm down," Miya stated, shaking his head. "I'm not a douche."

"The first thing you demanded of me was a kiss," you deadpanned.

"I'd been curious about what it'd be like to kiss you for a while now," Miya shrugged, though his cheeks flushed at his own confession. "Now I know."

You stared at the boy in surprise. "R-really?" you asked.

"Yeah, your not a horrible kisser," Miya smirked, glancing back at you.

"Oh, thanks?" you said, questioning what all this meant.

"Now come on, strip," Miya stated, smirking at your embarrassed face.

"Don't phrase it like that, idiot!" you exclaimed but pulled off your shirt.

"Meet you in there!" he exclaimed before jumping into the water.

"Stupid Miya," you mumbled, pulling off your bottoms. "Being all stupid and cute and talented and sexy and- and- why can't I think of any bad adjectives!"

That's when you noticed that Miya had yet to resurface.

"Miya?" you called. "M-Miya?" Nothing. "Miya, this isn't funny!" You rushed into the water, spinning around in a panic. "Miya you better not be playing some stupid prank!" You yelped as you sank into the water. "Miya where are you!?"

"Right here," a voice whispered in your ear. You yelped and spun around to see Miya, laughing loudly.

"Miya, don't do that!" you yelped, smacking the boy's chest.

"Aw, did I scare you?" he cooed, stroking your face with a teasing smirk.

"Yeah! I thought I'd be charged with murder!" you exclaimed, pushing Miya's head under the water and laughing as his arms flailed.

"Rude!" he exclaimed as he resubmerged.

You just giggled before looking at him. Despite every annoying thing he did, he was still beautiful. Especially now, with his shiny hair plastered against his face and the water dripping against his soft skin.

"Your staring Kitten," Miya smirked, pulling you toward him by your waist.

"Was not," you scoffed.

"Was too," he stated, pulling you a little closer.

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was not!"

"It's okay, I like to stare too," Miya stated, hugging you and nuzzling his face into your neck. "At you, not myself."

You froze up, unsure of how to react.

"I like you a lot Y/n," he stated, though it was muffled by your neck. "I have since we were kids. I should have told you back then instead of making you my rival." You stayed silent. "Please say something Kitten." His grip on your waist tightened.

"Take me on a real date next time," you mumbled, hugging the cat-obsessed boy.

You felt him smile against your neck before kissing it gently. "As you wish Kitten."

#miya chinen #miya catboy #miya x reader #miya x y/n #miya x you #sk8 the infinity #reki supremacy #langa x reader #sk8 langa #sk8 joe #sk8 reki #sk8 miya #xreader #sk8 x reader #anime #teenage miya

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years ago

Text

Trick or Treat

The next A Very Bouncey Halloween installment and a belated birthday gift to my darling @veritasrose. Thank you so much for the last year of friendship, I look forward to celebrating with you again. <3 you are much loved.

tw: curses, Geralt is an idiot, competent Jaskier

---

Light flashes through the room and momentarily blinds Jaskier, who stumbles back against Geralt. He mumbles an apology to the ever-sturdy Witcher as he waits for his vision to return and when he blinks clearly for the first time after a few long moments, the bard feels utterly and totally confused by the scene unfolding before him.

The Duke’s grandest ballroom, which had been bustling with excitable party guests only moments ago, is now flooded with ghouls, ghosts, vampires, and monsters of all sorts. A woman with swan’s wings is huddled in one corner, squawking angrily at anyone who tries to draw near. A minotaur stumbles through the center of the dance floor, lowing in frustration as he tries to control his bulky limbs. Two werewolves wrestle for dominance atop the furthest banquet table to their left. As Jaskier takes it all in, he feels Geralt’s hands wrap suddenly around his bicep; the Witcher is clinging to Jaskier fiercely, leaning his not insignificant weight against the bard’s side as his eyes grow round and watery.

“What’s happening?” Geralt finally asks. His tone of voice seems breathy and high, filled with a terror - almost totally foreign to Jaskier’s ears. Geralt fears nothing and yet… “Let’s get away from this dreadful place, please!”

“Aren’t you going to try and solve this problem?” Jaskier asks, glancing at his companion. He gestures at the various monsters roaming freely past the buffet table. “You’re likely the nearest Witcher, after all.”

“I’m no Witcher,” Geralt declares. He splays a hand over the very center of his blue velvet doublet (a nearly perfect imitation of the way Jaskier reacts to a perceived offense). “I am a Count. Witchers are dirty things, not meant for such a public life as my own.”

“For fuck’s sake, Geralt, now is not the time for a prank of this nature,” Jaskier huffs. “Something is clearly going on here. We need to help these people!”

“I know something is wrong,” Geralt sniffles - fucking sniffles - and squeezes the bard’s upper arm even more tightly. The sound of Geralt crying shakes Jaskier into understanding, even as Geralt begs: “But I don’t know how to help! Please get me out of here, Milord, I’m scared.”

Milord? Jaskier mouths to himself, even as he wraps one comforting arm around Geralt’s waist and ushers him away from the growing chaos at the center of the ballroom. Jaskier hurries them down one suspiciously empty hallway after another until he reaches the small suite that he had accepted as payment for his performance at the party. Jaskier ushers Geralt inside and locks the heavy oak door behind them.

“My Lord Geralt,” he gets the not-quite-Witcher’s attention. “Do you mind taking a seat by the fire for now? I’ll be right with you as soon as the room is secure, and then we can figure out what’s going on and what to do from here.”

“Yes, Milord,” Geralt nods. He hurries to comply with Jaskier’s request, to the bard’s continuing shock and awe, and stays still and quiet as Jaskier removes his doublet and rolls up his sleeves. Using the strength he’s spent twelve years at Geralt’s side developing, Jaskier shoves a bookcase, a dresser, and an unfortunately designed roll-top desk in front of the locked doors for added protection.

Moving behind Geralt with practiced efficiency, Jaskier also closes, shutters, and locks every window in the room, pulling the curtains closed to keep any light from spilling out and alerting stray creatures of their presence.

When he’s finished locking down all of their room’s possible entrances and breathing hard from exertion, Jaskier tugs the Witcher’s xenovox from his bag and flips it open, waiting with bated breath until Yennefer’s irritated voice snaps: “What do you want, Geralt?”

“Who is that?!” Geralt cries from his place near the fire. He has a white-knuckle grip on the overstuffed armchair he’s perched in and his clothing is mussed; Jaskier motions for him to be quiet and Geralt bites his lip, worrying the soft pink skin between his unusually dull canines.

“Was that Geralt?” Yennefer asks. "Did Jaskier summon me?"

“Yes and yes,” Jaskier replies. “I think he’s been cursed or enchanted or something. I was hired to play at the Duke of Rinde’s All Hallow’s Eve celebration and Geralt accompanied me - even dressed up for the occasion - but something happened at the party and now he’s acting strangely. I don’t know what to do.”

"What's happening?" Yennefer prods.

"Geralt is acting rather out of sorts. He’s speaking strangely, he wanted to flee the party rather than investigate the source of the changes-”

“What changes?”

“Everyone sort of… Well, a good portion of the party guests suddenly transformed into their costumes,” Jaskier explains, his speech stunted by his disbelief. “I know it sounds incredible, and it was! One moment we were all enjoying the music and the next… there was a minotaur and a mermaid and a faun… Geralt went nearly mute and started clinging to my arm like some sort of aristocratic maiden!”

“Oh shit,” Yen groans.

“Who is that?” Geralt repeats. Jaskier continues to ignore his companion. He knows that the moment he turns his attention to caring for Geralt, he won’t be able to tear it away again, and he needs to finish this conversation with Yennefer first.

“Why are you swearing?” he asks the sorceress. “What is it?”

“Geralt asked me for advice about this stupid ball a few days ago, while you were busy making arrangements with the Duke. He wanted to impress you with his All Hallow’s Eve costume and prove that he could be just as fancy and well-mannered as all the other men of your status.”

“Why in the world would Geralt want to dress up and act like a nobleman? It makes no sense! He detests small talk, he hates vanity, and he finds most men of my station to be cowardly and overly delicate - myself included! I just- I don’t quite understand why he’d go through all of this just to impress me. Or why he thinks this kind of thing would be impressive in the first place.”

“Jaskier, please tell me that you aren’t as stupid as our mutually beloved Witcher…”

Jaskier considers for a moment, pondering the things that he does to impress Geralt: gathering wood, learning to cook with game meat, preparing the Witcher’s potion ingredients while he's out on hunts, organizing their packs when they're spiking camp, brushing Roach’s mane… Realization dawns suddenly and all at once. He has a moment of pure understanding, a moment much beloved by every poet, bard, and playwright across the Continent: “Oh.”

Yennefer gives a tired laugh. “Yeah.”

“So he’s stuck as… a noble?”

“I suppose,” she sighs. “I’ll portal you to my location and we can figure things out in peace. Get your things together, I’ll open it up in precisely five minutes.”

“What’s happening!?” Geralt demands. Jaskier pulls the Witcher/Count to his feet and bows shallowly.

“I am Jaskier Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I will be your protector and chaperone for the foreseeable future, Your Lordship,” Jaskier bows shallowly. “I’m going to gather our things together and then we are going to meet up with a very lovely sorceress, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

Jaskier barely manages to hide his surprise at Geralt’s utter lack of recognition. His memories of Yennefer have also been taken, then.

“She’s a mutual friend.”

“Are you my friend?”

“I would like to think so,” Jaskier smiles. Geralt remains oblivious to the bard’s heartache, even as he curls himself against Jaskier. He tucks his face against Jaskier’s shoulder and sobs quietly. The bard runs his hands comfortingly up and down Geralt’s spine for a long, soothing moment. The smooth, royal-blue velvet tickles his fingertips. “Shh, dear heart. I’ve got you. Everything will be alright, I swear.”

“I trust you,” Geralt whispers.

Just as Jaskier is about to reply, Yennefer’s portal snaps open in the center of the room. Jaskier hands Geralt a set of bags and hauls his own over his shoulder. “Time to go, Your Lordship. Just take one little step…”

---

“Do you know who I am?” Yennefer asks. Geralt shakes his head before burying his face in the back of Jaskier’s shoulder-blade.

“I’m so frightened, Milord.”

Frightened? Milord? Yennefer mouths. Jaskier shrugs nearly imperceptibly and makes a panicked gesture in the Witcher’s general direction.

“I don’t know what to do either!”

“Well, start from the beginning. Tell me what happened at the party before all of… this.”

Jaskier recounts every detail he can remember in the most straightforward way possible, momentarily renouncing his poetic skills in favor of efficiency - for Geralt’s sake, of course, not Yennefer’s. When he's finished he asks: “And you said he did all of this to impress me?”

“Yes.”

“But why?” Jaskier repeats his earlier question. Yennefer understands that his meaning is different; Jaskier understands that Geralt is interested in him romantically, but the bard can't seem to get it through his head that Geralt has deemed him worthy. Although, knowing the Witcher, he isn't even sure how to go about doing such a thing in the first place.

"I just... I don’t quite believe you," he adds.

“He loves you,” Yennefer reiterates. "And now he’s stuck like this until the effects of the spell wear off, so I suggest you take his precious Lordship to one of my spare rooms and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll see you both for breakfast, providing the magic is null and void by then.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“I hope you enjoy small talk, you bardic bastard.”

Yennefer smirks and disappears from the room in a whirl of black and white silk, the scents of lilac and gooseberry curling through the air in her wake.

Geralt clings to Jaskier’s bicep again as the exhausted bard stands, keeping his larger body pressed against the human’s side as if Jaskier is the one who wields the Witcher’s swords. “So I’m under a spell?”

“Yes, darling.”

“At least I have you here to protect me, Jaskier. You’re so brave and strong; my hero!”

“It’s usually the other way around, dear heart, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now, how about we find a comfortable place to bed down for the night, Milord?”

"Alright."

Jaskier moves Geralt's hand so that it's curled around the inside of his elbow, the proper etiquette for a platonic escort, and leads him quickly down the long hallways of Yennefer's sprawling manor house. He chooses the blue-themed bedroom at the back of the East Wing, far from the sorceress' own suite of rooms.

He has to help Geralt change out of his lordly costume, the Witcher-turned-Count fumbling uselessly at the laces and buttons as if he'd never seen a fastening before in his life. Geralt whispers shyly as Jaskier pulls a nightshirt over his head: "Thank you again, Milord Jaskier. I feel as if I can't help but continue indebting myself to you."

"Think nothing of it, dear heart," Jaskier smiles, ignoring the pang in his chest. "I am happy to help you."

Jaskier tucks Geralt into bed before changing into his own nightclothes, tossing his things back into their travel bags as he swaps outfits. He feels Geralt tense up when he sits on the edge of the bed and his eyebrows narrow in concern.

"Are you alright, Geralt?"

"Are you going to share a bed with me?"

"Would you rather I didn't?" Jaskier answers with a question of his own.

"I... I wouldn't mind it if we shared."

Jaskier wishes he had Witcher sight, so he could catch a glimpse of the blush no doubt attempting to stain the Witcher's face. Despite the mutagens, Geralt's face still went pale pink when he encountered a strong emotion. It was adorable. And incredibly rare.

As soon as he pulls the covers over his chest, Geralt glues himself to Jaskier's side, snuggling close. "Feels safer," he says in lieu of explanation.

"Goodnight, dear heart."

"Goodnight."

---

"Fuck," Geralt groans, sitting up in bed. Jaskier sits up beside him, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Good morning, Milord," he teases.

"Shut up," Geralt groans. Jaskier does get to see him blush this time, and the bard revels in it; he would trade all the gold in the world to see Geralt flush like this. "I can't believe I cried on you!"

"It was rather adorable, actually."

"Hmm."

"Still..." Jaskier reaches out, tentative, and cups Geralt's cheek with his palm. He turns the Witcher's face and locks their gazes together, blue meeting gold. "Still, I think I prefer you as you are. My big, strong Witcher who cares so much about defending the little guy. Willing to step in and help wherever and whenever he can."

Geralt's eyes get a little glassy and he leans forward, pausing and letting Jaskier make the final decision. The bard meets him halfway, pressing his lips against Geralt's without any sense of urgency at all. It's warm and sweet, time fading away as they let their feelings pour through this one simple gesture. When they pull apart again, Geralt gives a surprised, lopsided smile. "Oh."

#geraskier #geraskier fluff #a very bouncey halloween #geraskier first kiss #geraskier and buffy #btvs au #geraskier fluff and silliness #curses #cursed geralt #nobleman geralt #yennefer was there #bamf jaskier #competent jaskier

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sweeethinny · 3 years ago

Text

Emerald Eyes

Summary: After Lily Evans kisses him, James needs help to figure out what to do in that situation. And who better to help him and Sirius with relationship issues if not his dad?

Notes: I was reading @startanewdream's fanfic Exist Song (For Film) when she wrote about a song that spoke of emerald eyes.

I remembered the song Claudia by Finneas, and needed to write about Jily's first kiss, and somehow get Fleamont involved.

I don't think I've ever read a fanfic where he helps James and Sirius with relationship issues, so I wrote it! I know James only becomes prefect in seventh year, but I needed him to become sixth, to make sense of the story.

sue me

AO3

-------

James was fine about just being friends with Lily, really, he was up for it and he liked being friends with her. Of course, he still thought about kissing her and, dammit, sometimes dreamed of her with her clothes off and couldn't look her in the eye for the next three days. But overall, he was fine with his old crush.

Everything was fine, it was just a crush, he would get over it.

He liked other girls over the last few years, liked hanging out with them, kissing them, and there was one muggle girl that James really thought was going to be something more serious - he even lost his virginity to her. But things didn't go as it should and life went on. Sirius comforted him that his crush on Lily was probably because he idealized her in a way that it was now difficult for him to like other girls, but that James needed to let go of the 'what ifs' and move on.

James tried, he swears he did.

But when Lily Evans kissed him on the train back to King Cross, after a prefect meeting where James was trying not to sleep, things completely fell apart for him.

When he got back to his friends, James felt very lost, and Remus even asked if he was alright, but all James could do was nod and touch his lips in fear that the feeling of Evans' soft, sweet lips would go away and he realized it was a dream.

As much as he had dreamed very hot things about Lily, they never kissed, so James wasn't prepared for it at all, he was just imagining it was supposed to be good. But it wasn't just good, it was stupidly good.

So good that he spent all the traveling hours remembering. And when they arrived at the station, he could only think of meeting Lily to say that he thought he was in love. Was this possible?

"Mate?" Sirius asked, following him out of the wagon. '’Did something happen at the meeting?'’

"No, I-" James saw her, which automatically made him forget all the words his parents had taught him, suddenly his brain shutting down and only caring about one thing; Lily Evans.

James didn't know what to do, if he was going to talk to her or not, if he waved, if he called her, if he shouted for everyone to hear that she kissed him… James wanted there to be a manual on how to deal with this situation, because he felt so lost and it was stupid.

There was no time to do anything however, the students were hurrying to leave and pushed James who had been standing in the middle of the corridor, while Lily blushed and smiled awkwardly, giving the boys a wave and then getting off the train.

Should that mean something? Why didn't she talk to him?!

''Come on James, I want to go home.'' Peter complained, making him wake up from his reverie and follow them outside, knowing Sirius was watching him with the eyes of an eagle, and that probably Remus too, but very more discreet.

After they said their goodbyes and headed off to find his parents, Sirius whispered, never bending over or making it sound like he was whispering, "You kissed her, didn't you?"

"She did it." James swallowed, still completely shocked. "Best kiss of my life, I must say."

"Fuck, James." Sirius shook his head, walking faster and accepting Euphemia's hug as James greeted his dad with a longing hug.

"Are you two okay?" Monti asked, a hand in James' hair and an all-too-knowing look that made him think his dad had heard, by some miracle, what Sirius had said. Fleamont always seemed to know everything.

"Yes, perfect." Sirius smiled. ‘’Right, James?’’

‘’Yes, more perfect than this impossible.’’

[...]

That night, after Euphemia left for the annual florist dinner she always went to, Fleamont called James and Sirius down to the dungeons, where he had finished brewing another beer. James knew his dad wasn't an idiot and he knew the two of them had already been drinking in hiding there on several occasions, but he liked that they were now considered old enough to be able to go there without having to dodge.

"So, how were things at school this year?" his dad asked, pouring some beer into each of their glasses, sitting on the wooden bench he and Sirius had helped to assemble last summer. "Any news?" Fleamont lingered at James, but then smiled at Sirius and glared at him too.

"Yeah, I think I'm liking someone," Sirius said, and then looked at the glass of beer in front of him on the pine table.

''You think? How can this be? Either you are, or you aren't.” Fleamont didn't seem to judge him, that gentle smile that had James spilling so much of his secrets over the past few years to his dad for help.

"She's a little complicated," Sirius ran a hand through his hair, taking a sip of his beer. ‘’ She says she doesn't want anything, but then she gets mad when I talk to another girl? I don't know, I like her, I just don't know how… you know?’’

"No." James didn't know how Sirius still hadn't learned to never do that to his dad. Fleamont would never say what he thought you meant, even if he was sure what it was, he would always make you talk.

‘’How to tell her.’’ It was funny and almost frightening how Sirius looked like someone else when he arrived at his house. There he didn't have to pretend anything or be an asshole to draw attention, his parents were always willing to listen to him, just like they did with James and that's probably why he always seemed very comfortable telling things to Fleamont, like now.

"Well, I think you two are friends at least?" Sirius nodded. ‘’So, be honest with her. What do you have to lose?''

‘’Her friendship? Humiliate me? Do you hate me, Monti?’’

"Sirius, don't talk like that," Fleamont stood up, a little slower than he used to when James was younger, but still quick for a man of nearly sixty. "When I told Mia I liked her," He floated a pot of potato chips off the top of one of the cupboards, like he did after James had behaved himself and helped him clean the yard. ‘’I felt like I might pass out at any moment, I was in a cold sweat… We were in front of her house, at night, after I took her on a date,’’

''I hope you were respectful Monti, I don't want to be disappointed in you when I found out you took her to a dodgy bar.'' Sirius joked, making James laugh along with him, knowing he'd just done it to make himself feel less nervous.

Sirius did this whenever someone was paying attention to him and actually treating him as an equal, James had noticed this over the years.

"Of course not, we went to a fair near her house," Fleamont sat back down, putting a portion of the potatoes into a smaller pot. ''Anyway, at the end of the night, I knew I needed to tell her that I loved her, which today I think was a silly thing, because I didn't even know what love was yet,'' He shrugged, a smile on his face. "I was young and Mia was, and still is, the most beautiful woman I've ever met, I felt I couldn't let her go without knowing it."

"She said she liked you too?" James asked, and for the first time he was interested in that story. His dad looked at him with that look that said he knew exactly why James was paying attention, but he didn't say anything.

"No, and it made me very angry and humiliated." He glanced at Sirius, who raised his eyebrows as if proving a point. ''But I wasn't fair to her, Mia was just being truthful, but I was too young to understand that sometimes things just don't happen at the right time... A few weeks later, I met her at a family dinner and we talked, and she said she didn't love me, but she liked me.'' He shrugged. "I think she loves me these days, I mean we're married and we have a family." Sirius chuckled.

"How did you know she was the right one?" James asked, looking at his half-finished beer. "I mean, let's assume," Monti nodded, paying attention to what he said as if it were the most interesting thing. ‘’If you had dated other people and so did she, how would you know she was the right person?’’

“Hm… wouldn't know, son.” Fleamont shrugged, pouring himself more beer. ‘’And I didn't know then either. Just happened.''

"I asked Hestia out," Sirius admitted, and not even James knew it, so he turned his head to his friend with an almost incriminating look, but it was gone as soon as he saw the annoyed smile on his lips. ‘’But she didn't want to go, so… I guess she's ashamed of me? I don't know, she's really smart and a good girl, I don't think she wants to be seen with a guy like me.”

“A guy like you?” Fleamont grabbed some chips.

"Monti, no need to pretend you don't know," Sirius rolled his eyes. "I don't have a good family, and you've had to sign a lot of letters because of my detentions."

‘’Hm… yeah, you're right about the detentions, but the family? Sirius, you are not a reflection of your parents' mistakes. Maybe she doesn't want to go out with you right now, and maybe, most likely, you aren't even the problem at all. Who can guarantee us that she… Hestia, right? That Hestia isn't going through a difficult time where she doesn't really know how to deal with this sort of thing, and just needs some time? You're not always the villain in the story, son, actually you never were.'' Sirius looked like he wanted to deny it, James noticed how his brow furrowed, but it eased as Fleamont pushed the pot of chips towards him, a fatherly smile at the lips that seemed to make Sirius' beast fall back to the ground like a trained dog.

James thought of Lily, the things he'd witnessed over the past few months and how she seemed to be dealing with a lot more than that these past few days. He still remembered how sad she looked when she read a letter that had come to her from her mum. James didn't ask what was written, of course, but he tried to make her smile for the rest of the day and during their patrol, hating that her brow was so furrowed.

The war was getting worse, a lot of people were dying, and the mini death eaters were really putting into practice what they had been learning in the last few years. It was frustrating, to say the least, that Dumbledore did nothing to stop sixteen-year-olds from getting their arms marked by Voldemort.

He wished he could help her, not just because now that spark of feeling inside his chest had become a scorch of acres and would leave a huge footprint inside him, but because James really cared about her before anything else.

"Dad, um…" James began, not quite sure how to speak, or what. ‘’Can we install a muggle phone?’’

"Of course," Fleamont smiled, just as he had smiled at Sirius. ‘’And you son, how was school?’’

‘’Well, I… Nothing too important but… it was a good year. There haven't been a lot of detentions this year, so I think it's a win.” He joked, just because it was a little weird talking about it with his dad.

"But he wanted to be dating," Sirius nudged, pouring more beer into his glass.

“Oh, is that that muggle girl?” Fleamont at least looked away, spending more time than necessary picking out some chips to eat. James mentally thanked him.

"No, and Sirius doesn't know what he's talking about." James rolled his eyes, wanting to push him off the stool. ‘’I decided that this year I will dedicate myself to studies.’’

"Oh James, you don't have to lie to your old man so much like that, it's okay, your mum isn't here so come on, tell me, what can I help you with?"

"It's her again, Monti," Sirius reveals, as if he doesn't say much.

James wanted to kill him now.

‘’Evans? Oh, son, are we still in it? When will I meet her? I'm starting to imagine you guys invented her because it's been almost five years since I first heard her name and never saw her.” Sirius and his dad laugh together, watching James blush like a fool. ‘’What happened this time? I thought you had raised a white flag for her… Is it because of her that you want to install the phone?’’

‘’It's just… She has family issues, and I think she's going to be alone this vacation since Marlene has traveled and Hestia too, so… I just thought about trying to call her. She gave me her phone number before classes ended, and I think it might cheer her up, I don't know, we're friends and I don't want to-’’

‘’Mate, you kissed her today, what kind of friendship is this?’’

''I wasn't the one who kissed her, she was the one who came at me, and for Merlin's sake, can't you shut up?!'' Fleamont doesn't intervene in the boys' discussion, seeming to enjoy it, and James almost took back everything he said and ran to his room to hide under the covers, but his dad seemed to notice this and became serious again.

"James," he said, in a warning tone but still with the shadow of a smile on his face. "It's kind of you to worry about her like that, anyway, but I think Sirius is right, I don't believe there are friendships where people kiss."

‘'She didn't even talk to me about it later, she just… ran away, leaving me alone. I don't think she even wanted to do that or I’m a bad kisser.'’

‘’It is a possibility, for sure,’’

"Even more if we think you ate that plum candy before the meeting, which smells disgusting." Sirius grimaced.

"But, you even said, she's having problems at home, and like I told Sirius, it's not all about you. She probably doesn't know what to do or say either, and is afraid of ruining the friendship… The best thing to do is ask her what it means, but knowing that maybe the answer will hurt you. It's a risk you take.” James nodded, looking at the beer kegs near the wall, and then down to his own glass again. "We'll install the phone and you'll call her, maybe that doesn't encourage Sirius to be less fearful and send Hestia a letter." Fleamont smiled. "There's nothing to lose, for either of you, just tell them how you feel."

''Haha! He would die before he did that, you know what he did last month?’’ James grinned vengefully, dodging Sirius' hand that tried to cover his mouth as his dad laughed at them both.

[...]

''OK.''

"Potter, just do it."

"Padfoot, what if she curses me-"

''She is not going.''

‘’ But she can. ’’

‘’Call her for fucking sake!’’

"Quiet or my mum will listen, and she doesn't need to know we can swear." James took a deep breath, the crumpled paper in his hands trembling as he noted the number written there, then looked at the buttons on the phone.

The man who came to install it had explained to them how it worked, but James was so nervous he'd forgotten all about it.

"Just dial!" Sirius cried for the umpteenth time, sitting beside him in the armchair, a Muggle magazine in his hands.

"Mum will kill you if she sees this." James pointed at the five women in bikinis, in very indecent positions for a rock magazine.

''Shut up Potter, and call her or I'll do it.'’ James huffed, rolling his eyes and looking at the numbers again.

Okay, he could do that.

Yes, just do it, James.

"Hello?" Evans' sweet voice sounded from the other end, it didn't sound much like her, it was a little more harsh and hurt than James used to hear, but it was definitely her. He tried to picture her by the phone, probably wearing a T-shirt from some muggle band he didn't know but would try to learn about just to impress her.

"Hello… Lily?"

“James?” Her voice radiated happiness then, as if she were grinning from ear to ear. His stomach turned over. ''Is that you?''

"Yes, yes it's me." Sirius chuckled softly, patting him on the shoulder and walking out of the room, probably so James would feel more comfortable being a lovesick fool. ''How are you?''

‘’I'm fine, I… how did you call me? Did you buy a phone?

"It was something my dad had wanted for a long time, so it was pretty easy to convince him." James grinned. “I just called to…um…just to say I like you, Evans. I really like it, and maybe you don't feel that way, and I know things aren't easy, but I really care about you, and if you don't… like me, that's fine, I'll understand. But ever since you kissed me I… I keep thinking about you, and I keep thinking about kissing you again, so I called just to tell you that… I like you a lot, Lily.'' James took a deep breath, feeling as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

Lily took a while to speak, which made him a little, very, nervous, and James even considered hanging up the phone and never using it again, but he remembered what his dad had said about listening to what she had to say and not rush.

"I…I like you too, James." He could hear her smile, even though her voice was a little quieter now. "I can't stop thinking about you and our kiss, either." His cheeks would tear. ‘’And… would you like to go out with me? For a date?’’

"Evans, I think if you asked me to jump off a bridge right now, I would." She laughed, one of the most beautiful sounds James had ever heard in his life. ''Yes I do.''

‘’Great, I… I need to turn it off now because Petunia is taking a shower and if I take too long the water will be cold and she won't leave me alone anymore, but-’’

"I'll call you later," James said before she even asked. He didn't lie when he said he would do anything for her, and if that meant talking to her on the phone overnight, he would. It was so much better than a letter, it took less time, and there was also the fact that he could hear her voice. It couldn't be better. "See you later, Lily."

"See you, James."

#jily #my fic #james x lily #marauders era #james potter #lily evans

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wavyhairedbabyy · 3 years ago

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Idiots - Part 2

Karl Jacobs x gn!reader

tldr: They’ve both got a crush. Sucks, since they’re the only ones oblivious to it. (Slow Burn!)

CW: none, fluffy :))

a/n: Picnic portion was inspired by Sunflower by Rex Orange County :) Sorry it took so long! Major writers block on this but now I’m back :)))

edited yet?: yes - let me know if I missed anything!

Part 1 - Part 2

“So we agree, I’m Eve and you’re Wall-E?” y/n asked as the credits began to roll.

“I want to sit here and disagree with you just to spite you, but I can’t,” Karl responded, “I could 100% see you blasting someone for just walking funny on a bad day.”

“I’d blast you just for the hell of it,” Y/n jumped onto their feet raising their arms up in a big stretch after sitting for the movie.

“Bad choice,” Karl reached his arms to the side of their body, immediately tickling them. Y/n immediately screamed out his name, trying to move themselves out of his grasp. As soon as Karl noticed this, he grabbed their arm to pull them back on to the sofa.

“You’re... going... to... regret... this!” Y/n huffed out, thrashing against him. Karl’s giggles and their screams echoed around the house. It wasn’t until y/n mustered up all of their strength to push him of the couch for them to escape his clutches.

Y/n ran to the bathroom, quickly locking the door behind them. Karl quickly ran behind them only to have the door slammed in his face, “Aw, c’mon y/n, let me in.”

“After that stunt you pulled? In your dreams, Jacobs,” Y/n turned toward the sink, ignoring Karl’s attempts to unlock the door. The only thing on their mind was their night routine and then hitting the hay.

As y/n started the warm water, the door swung opened making them jump. At the door frame stood Karl with a quarter in his hand, “Next time you should check to see what kind of lock I have.”

“Whatever, smart ass,” y/n rolled their eyes playfully, reaching for their tooth brush. They brushed their teeth as Karl scrolled through his phone. After the flight, unpacking, and a night with Karl, y/n just wanted to head to bed. They couldn’t even imagine how Karl felt with all the Mr. Beast stuff. After rinsing their mouth they asked, “You goin’ to bed too?”

Karl shook his head, “Nah, I’m going to stream for an hour or two. Nick and Alex want to practice for this Minecraft Championship thing so I’m gonna root them all while also roasting the crap out of them.”

Y/n should’ve known, especially with the mountains of energy drinks in his fridge. The man probably never sleeps, “Well you enjoy that. I’m knocking out for the night.”

Karl nodded. “I figured. You and you grandma schedule,” he giggled, resulting in a pout from them.

“You say that as if dealing with sleep deprived me isn’t one of the worst things in the world.”

“I mean, you got me there,” he shrugged. He walked over to them, wrapping his arms around them tightly, “Goodnight. Knock on my door if you need anything at anytime, okay?”

Y/n nodded, hugging back just as tightly. They wished this could last together. His smell was comforting, reminding her of happiness and serenity. His hold made them feel safe, like nothing could hurt them as long as he was there. The feeling ended too quickly as he pulled away, giving them one last smile before heading off to his stream room.

Y/n looked at themselves in the mirror, huffing to themselves. Going from not seeing Karl for over a year to all Karl all the time felt like sensory overload. The butterflies, the emotions, their head racing with thoughts that they shouldn’t have for someone who is just their best friend - it was a lot.

This was going to be a long week.

***

Y/n woke up to the sun’s rays gleaming through the blinds. Looking at their phone, they saw that it was 9AM. Juggling between the staying in bed and getting up, y/n decided that getting up was the better option. The last thing they wanted to do was go back to bed and mess up their “grandma schedule,” as Karl would call it.

Moving out of the bed, they reached their limbs as far as they could stretch them. After picking their outfit, they journeyed to the bathroom to get their morning started. On the way over, they peeked into Karl’s room and saw him still asleep. They had no idea when he had gone to bed so they shut the door quietly, making their way to the bathroom once again.

As they were brushing their teeth, y/n realized it was the day they were going to the warehouse for a Mr. Beast video. They knew they weren’t going to be filmed, but the nerves were still there. They had met Chris, which was helpful, but not Jimmy yet. What if they messed up a shot? Or messed up any equipment? Not touching anything while they were there seemed like a fool proof idea.

Y/n finished up their morning routine as they kept thinking of ways to not fuck anything up. Making their way to the kitchen, they knew the one thing that could - somewhat - calm their nerves: coffee.

Y/n happily found a jar of instant coffee. Not the best, but it’ll do. Upon unscrewing the jar, they noticed it a plastic film seal up which confirmed that it was brand new. Did Karl get this just because he knew they were coming? They couldn’t recall him ever drinking caffeine that wasn’t from an energy drink. Y/n didn’t know, but the idea of it made their heart melt.

***

Once Karl woke up, he and y/n made a quick breakfast together made their way over to the warehouse.

“I don’t know why, but I’m really nervous. I don’t even know what I’m nervous about. I know it’s going to be fine, but.... I don’t know,” y/n expressed on the drive there. It was a brand new experience and they didn’t know what to expect. They’ve never been on a set of any kind let alone one for someone as well known as Mr. Beast.

“Hey, you’ll be okay. I know it can feel overwhelming, especially for your first time. I’ll be there if you need anything,” Karl comforted them through their nerves. He held their hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “If you ever need a minute, don’t wait to ask. Just take it.”

Y/n smiled at him. He was always great at making sure they were comfortable wherever they went. While the nerves were still there, they felt a lot better knowing Karl was available, even among the chaos that may ensue.

***

The day at the warehouse went really well. Y/n’s nerves went away about an hour in, but that didn’t stop Karl from checking every now and then. Y/n was grateful that they respected them not wanting to be filmed, especially when they started filming a Fear Factor like video with snakes, cockroaches, and tarantulas. With all the creatures around, it didn’t take long for them to grab one of the smaller boa constrictors and start chasing Karl around with it.

“Y/N! STOP! WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU?” Karl screeched, running away from them.

“REMEMBER THAT TICKLE ATTACK FROM LAST NIGHT? TOLD YOU YOU WOULD REGRET IT!” Y/n yelled back. They were laughing the entire time while Karl continued his screaming. Their fun chasing Karl was cut short when snake man had to start packing away his animals.

At some point during the day, y/n had taken a step outside for a social break. Chris took this time to continue the conversation he and Karl had in the car. Walking over to his friend, he asked, “So have you told them yet?”

Karl looked around to ensure you hadn’t come back or were around before responding, “No, I’m going to wait until right before they leave. I’m scared that I’ll tell them and it’ll ruin the week.”

Chris looked at Karl, absolutely dumbfounded, “Dude, I can’t believe the two of you. And you two acted the way you did today in college too?”

“I mean, yeah. We’re best friends. What’s wrong with how we’re acting?” Karl gave him a confused look.

“Nothing but it’s so painfully obvious y’all are into each other. I didn’t pick it up yesterday, but y/n is totally into you too, man,” Chris explained, “Even Chandler was able to pick it up. He thought I was kidding when I said you two weren’t a low-key thing. Please do both of yourselves a favor and just tell them.”

This conversation ran through Karl’s head the rest of the day. Did y/n really like him back? The thought of that made his stomach do flips. He became hyper aware of all y/n’s actions and they suddenly meant more to him. When they high-fived, he felt his hand on fire when they weaved their fingers with his. He was more aware of their body on his when they hugged, butterflies flying through his stomach when they gave him a squeeze.

The drive home was spent by y/n non-stop talking about how much of a great day they had right after a heated debate on where they would be picking up dinner. They were too tired to even thinking about cheffing up a meal. What y/n didn’t know was the nerves hidden underneath Karl’s semi-cool exterior on how he planned on confessing his feelings. Luckily, “semi-cool” was his middle name.

The two had stopped at the Asian fusion place they decided to pick up food from. As they got into the car, Karl’s eyes lit up as he came up with an idea for dinner and turned to y/n.

Y/n, noticing this, furrowed their brows and said, “You either have a really good idea or a really dumb idea, and I think you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”

“You are absolutely right!” Karl giggled, “Anyways, to keep it short and simple, picnic in the park? I have a blanket and we can pick up some ice cream or something.”

“That... actually is a great idea! I’m starting a playlist now and I’ll share it with you. How does ‘stupidly great vibes’ sound?”

“Sounds perfect.”

***

The two sat on a hill in a nearby park, digging into their dinner with the last minute playlist y/n had come up with playing in the background. The bottom of the sun was barely touching the horizon, getting ready to set and give the sky to the moon for the night.

The comfortable silence they had was one of their favorite things about their relationship. Neither of them ever felt pressure to fill the emptiness. Just being in each other’s company was entertaining and pleasing for both of them. They just watched their surroundings, while enjoying their food and each other’s presence.

After they clean up, the silence continued. They sat shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the moment they were in. They both would steal side glances at each other without the other noticing. Moving to lean their head on Karl’s shoulder, Y/n was looking at the sunset but their thoughts were swarmed with him and the last day and a half. They loved how he always made sure they were comfortable and welcomed in any setting. They loved they way his voices would crack during a fit of giggles. Just one day with him had their mind swirling in a pool of just him. His touch, his smell, his voice. They felt like they were in a trance with him.

Being with them, Karl realized how much happier he was with them there. He realized how much giddier he was waking up, how his mood had been uplifted with just their presence. He loved how headstrong they were, but never so much to the point that it hurt other people. He loved the way they could up his self esteem in the matter of a few minutes. The more and more he thought about it, the more he realized he loved them. He loved them more than just a best friend. He’s had for a handful of years. He wanted more than just the title “best friend.”

The two sat there, both individually coming to the realization that they have been falling in love with the other over the last few years. Neither caught onto each other’s hints while every outsider saw the love for one another other bloom.

Karl turned his head, spotting a small white daisy in the grass next to their blanket. He leaned over to grab it which forced y/n to lift their head from where it was, their eyes watching for what he was reach for. Plucking it from the grass, he leaned back and gave it to y/n.

“For you,” he practically whispered with the goofiest grin on his face. Y/n took the flower from his hand, returning his smile.

“Aw, thanks Karl.”

They locked eyes immediately after. Any plans Karl had in his mind on confessing to y/n immediately got thrown out the window, the hours of thinking gone to waste. In that moment, he blurted out the only words he could make sense of in that instant, “y/n... I think I’m in love with you.”

Y/n froze, trying to wrap the words he said around their head. They for sure thought they were awake but after his confession, they couldn’t be sure if they were in a dream or not. Their mind was reeling, making the task of forming a sentence that made sense a difficult one.

At the same time, Karl was giving himself a mental face palm. He wanted to confess his feelings, but not to that level. His nerves were on high alert, already assuming the worst was yet to come. He had to save the friendship at the very least.

“I-I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that,” he rambled, “But - uh- I’ve had a crush on you for a while now and I never wanted to ruin the friendship but if you’re uncomfortable with that, that totally makes sense-”

As he kept talking, y/n began to collect their thoughts. They thought he looked so cute when he nervously rambled but they had to cut him off eventually, knowing his anxiety levels were through the roof.

“Karl,” As soon as he heard their voice, his rambling stopped and kept all eyes on them. He looked at them waiting for a response but receiving none. Instead y/n wrapped their arms around him, enveloping him in a warm hug, “I think I’m in love with you too.”

Karl felt his heart explode. Chris was right. He hugged them back just as, if not more, tight. Any nerves he had running threw his body were replaced with pure happiness. He didn’t need to hold anything back from them anymore.

Y/n pulled away from the hug, leaning their foreheads together, “Can I kiss you?”

Karl smiled, “Honestly, it’s all I’ve want since I made that shot into your coffee.”

Y/n gave Karl a bewildered look, “What? That long?” They exclaimed

“Yeah, but we have the rest of the week to talk about it.” Karl leaned in, pressing his lips gently against theirs, wrapping his hands around them to bring them closer. The kiss was gentle and sweet, as if they would be woken up from a dream if they were anything but that.

They pulled away from kiss, but remained in each other’s arms. They stayed silent and enjoyed each other’s presence and touch, each meaning much more than they had just a few moments earlier. All that was left in the park was the semicircle of the sun on the horizon, a bag of food scraps, and two idiots, dumbfounded at the love they had for each other.

***

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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years ago

Note

What Ethan & Pooja AU is this? #OpenHeartAU

Selcouth (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Set in Book 2, Pooja gets the recognition she deserves for solving Naveen Banerji's case.

Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange and yet, marvelous🤎

A/N: Thank you so much @beastlyinstrument for the visual prompt❤ I had fun thinking up and writing this piece.

A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Word Count: around 3.2K (I am sorry!)

Rating: General

Category: A bit angst, A bit fluff

Warnings: 1 Curse Word (again 😆)

Prompts: Late Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge July challenge day 4: celebration

There was stark silence surrounding him as he scribbled out points from the morning meeting of the Diagnostics Team along with some of his own observations from the patient charts. The days have been nothing out of the blue since his return from the Cholera-ridden district of Amazons.

The steam from the warm coffee filled the entire office with its sweet aroma. With winters in their full force, there was a mystic chill all around the city and the warmth the coffee gave was extremely welcomed.

It took him 30 minutes to the tee to complete his morning paperwork. And as he arranged the white sheets in a clean stack, a slow groan escapes him. He had been so engrossed in work, that he had completely missed the fact that he had emptied his coffee cup.

Ethan looks up from his desk to the windows giving an enchanting view of the brumal grounds. Snowflakes, basking in the distant sun's glory, shining like iridescent jewels, fell slowly, silently to meet their origin.

It's too serene of a day to waste indoors.

The thought caught him somewhat by surprise, even if it was his encephalon producing it.

He had spent long years of his life away from focusing on diminutive happenings like the weather or the warmth of his favourite Vienna on a frosty day.

To appreciate the beauty of falling of the snowflakes today, was a slightly unusual change. He couldn't help but wonder as to what would have caused it.

He didn't need to wait long for an answer. Like a response to his unuttered query, the notification bell of his phone brought him out of his reverie and displayed her name with the joy of a student who had solved a difficult problem with ease on the first try. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just an email of her completed reports.

And yet, he was unable to control the breakout of butterflies in his stomach.

The feeling was orphic, and yet irenic.

As his heels tapped on the white floors, supposedly conducting an intriguing conversation with them, a faint intermix of voices reached him and stopped him in his tracks.

"You're wearing all black." It wasn't a question, but a fact that Alexandra's voice enunciated.

"Are you surprised?" A concordant voice questioned. Even if he didn't acknowledge it, it was one of his favourite euphonies.

"No. Impressed."

"I lost a bet to Bryce, and this is what I get in return." There is a pause. "It's a nice change though."

He can feel the smile that emerges out on her face at the end and feels his lips curl up, like a magnetic connection. He was caught off guard as he stood there thinking of the sweet nothings and sweet everythings of his reminiscences with her.

"Good Morning Dr Ramsey!"

It took him all his power to straighten himself, and to put on the stoic façade before responding,

"Good Morning Dr Walton."

Alexandra didn't initiate a conversation, just like he had expected. Bidding goodbye to her companion, she strode off her way.

Now, it was just him and her, standing in the middle of nowhere, eyes locked in intense focus, tied together with a string they find themselves unable to break.

She looked striking like she always did.

In every hue, every ensemble, at every hour, she knew how to induce that unnamed feeling in his heart.

All she had to do was to look at him the way she did, and his idiotic heart would skip a beat, and an ambrosial emotion would follow.

And what does one do when emotions go out of control?

Self Preservation.

Giving her a brisk nod, he dropped his gaze, hurrying away past her, not having the courage to look at the hurt caused.

Idiotic.

That's the only word he could use to describe his actions.

He could think of a trillion excuses, travel through a hundred bends on the roads of justification, but nothing would be enough to balance out the pain he was giving her. Not even his playlist of curses that he played in his mind every day to remind himself what he truly was.

An asshole.

As soon as his steps took him to the outdoors, the crisp cold winds blew through his hair, and he cherished the moment.

The apricity hugged him, and the scene that met his eyes, the world draped with a veil of phosphorescing snow, generated a euphoria he was unfamiliar with. As a minuscule flakelet fell on his outstretched hand, he realized that no one needs to spend a billion dollars to get happiness.

It is hidden amidst mundane things, and the only thing one has to do is to keep foraging for it.

Happiness can be made, it can be found. But can it be bought?

Never.

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

It was unusually calm at Derry's in the morning hours.

Not that he was complaining, of course.

In comfortable, long sips, he lets the caffeine overtake the tiredness and the heartache coursing through his body. The glare of the screen and ping of his cellular broke the aura of comfort that had spread out through the coffee shop. He wants to shut it off and throw it in a corner away from his sight, but decides against it.

It's a text from Naveen.

Skipping is not an option for today night!

A groan escapes him, the annoyance of another meet and greet taking away all the calm. He tried to convince him, but all efforts went futile. He plays the discussion all over again to find any loophole he can to escape the torture.

Flashback:

It's after hours and the wing of the hospital where Naveen's office was situated bore a silence. The amicable old man sat in his chair, leaning back as the younger one stood, with his back at him. It was obvious they had been arguing, but it seemed more like amusement for the old mentor and annoyance for the young protégé.

"There is no need-"

"Ethan, you have been repeating the same words for fifteen minutes now." Naveen chuckles.

"I very well know that there is no need for anything, dear friend. I just want a little bit of happiness and merriment in the hard times."

"I am not stopping you from doing that, Naveen, you know that. But what is the need of the celebration being about me?"

"Because you are a reason I am alive today." The man gives a melancholy smile, vision blurred as the near-death experience of the past year come sailing in front of him.

"This celebration is about you and Dr Sharma. Without the two of you, I would not have been here."

Ethan's features are clouded by the pain of losing his mentor, who has been like a father to him, and inspiration. His frown softens, annoyance long lost, as he comes as takes a seat and places his hand on his.

"Fine. I will do this. But only for you, okay?"

Naveen's lips curl up in a grateful, happy smile as if wordlessly conveying his thanks. As Ethan stands up and proceeds to leave, he cannot stop himself from laying out his observation,

"For her too."

And Ethan knew. He knew exactly whom this was about. And as much as he wanted to deny the assumption, he couldn't help but accept the truth in it. Of course, he was doing it for Naveen. But he was doing it for her too. She deserved it so much more than him. If she hadn't been there, the seat occupied by his mentor today would have been...

Flashback ends

As his eyes skim through the crisp pages of the medical journal absent-mindedly, he thinks of her again. The permanent occupant of his daydreams, who would still manage to come back, no matter how many resets he carried out.

He thinks of her attire from the hour before, hair in a neat long braid, dressed in a meticulously embroidered Indian attire. And then of the celebration at dusk, where she will finally receive the recognition she deserves.

All the doubts regarding her promotion to the Diagnostics Team would be washed away.

He remembers what she had told him a few days after he had heard those nasty rumours,

"I have proved myself and I know what's true. I don't need to show anyone else the testament of my abilities. As long as I am fair and just, their words can do no harm to me."

His admiration for her had increased phenomenally when she spoke those words to him.

His pride, his faith had not been misplaced when he picked her for the difficult voyage named Edenbrook.

He has never felt so proud of any other intern as much as he does of her.

His heart sings to him, his choice was correct. He doesn't let it elaborate itself, because one wrong move from his side would be more than enough to ruin this unpolished gem before she even gets a chance to shine.

Yes, he did tell her that some things are worth any risk, she is worth any risk, back in Miami. The reminiscences of the day still played on the screen of his mind in sepia, they lulled him to sleep.

But the risk to harm her fragile career before it even blossoms?

It wasn't just a risk, it was like a crime for him.

One which he refused to commit.

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

As dusk falls and winter blues colour the land of snow in multichromatic hues, hiding any bit of orange from the setting sun, Pooja Sharma hums along with her favourite songs as she dresses up for the special evening.

No matter how much she wants to curl up in the folds of the soft Cashmere, she has to be in attendance. It's a strict order from her grand mentor and impossible for her to go past.

It's all black day, she reminds herself when picking the outfit. And she doesn't forget to leave a thank you note for Lekh as she finds the perfect one.

And now, as she stands, trying to complete the arduous job of creating a perfect eyeliner wing, a certain someone's reminiscences trouble her pained heart.

No matter how much she scolds it for its stupidity, trying to explain the futility of the hope of getting together, it never heeds, just continues to trouble her with the baritone of his that enchants her mind, the cologne that overpowers all her senses.

As she looks at the reflection in the speculum, she cannot help but imagine his reaction.

Will she even get a reaction?

Maybe just a nod, or a look.

No words.

She has convinced herself with it. It took some time, some stops, some pulls of an invisible harness, but she has convinced herself.

She's stopped hoping, soothing herself with whatever they shared, memories that felt like they belong to a bygone era, and a promise of treasuring them, just in case he ever decided to come back.

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

In the vespertine hours, the diamond dust made the sun devoid city look like a fairytale. Any other time, he would have just worried about the sharp chill, probably cursing the snow.

Being so observant of the places he is a regular visitor at, it was a new experience for him.

Strange, even.

It's something that will take some time to get used to.

The interiors are warm. Minimally decorated, as he had requested. Not wanting to create a fuss, he bee-lines to the corner of the room, where the only occupant was emptiness. He decided to cherish the moments of solace before the bother of the vivacious crowd began, wanting to start a colloquy.

On instinct, he looks around, not being able to comprehend the reason why his heart leaps to his throat. And then a pang of disappointment overlaps that sudden nervousness.

The absence of one person, the feeling so profound.

It's magical.

Dangerous, but still, magical.

A mute scold follows. No matter how hard he tries, strives towards that unannounced aim of reset, his stupid heart and its childishness always ruin his plans.

The call of his name makes him turn around.

Naveen stands, jolly smile fixed in place, eyes sparkling with joy and...

Gratitude.

They chat, topics ranging from Diagnostic team cases to complaints of coffee. His orbs casually drift towards the entryway, in hope of seeing his dearest.

And as the astrologers say, the stars align, the universe comes into play, and the shimmer of black in the lambent atmosphere makes his heart skip a beat. He feels a smile emerging and hastily hides it with a scowl.

If he had to, he would have sworn that he looked like a clown.

Her ambers gaze around in a lucid, tender manner, in strike contrast to his a while ago.

There is a lack of haste, of worry, of unease.

Her very presence fills the air with tranquility and without his consent, his soul basks in it. After what felt like an eternity, their gazes meet.

Melt into each other like the wax of two candles.

Become inseparable.

She smiles, it's faint.

It seems more of a formality than a wish. The momentary cheer is replaced by a somber, melancholic expression. Her orbs drift away, gaze turns away as if to hide whatever was to come from him.

And he knows.

He's the reason.

Silence is suffocating, but right now, the chaos is even more constricting to him.

Everyone chatters, mingles, smiles.

Everyone except her.

She stands too still, flashing a half-hearted smile and half-hearted gaze here and there, as she is surrounded by the rest of her friends, preventing him from getting a better look.

As conflict rises in his interior, a to go or not to debate, the gulps of scotch become more frequent, the frown gets tighter and guilt gets heavier. Before he can drown down into the never-ending cascade of crippling self-hatred, there is a call of his name.

Naveen.

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

Claps and whoots surround her, along with a cheer. She becomes the recipient of numerous bear hugs, and compliments as Naveen elaborates on her contribution to his recovery. It feels like a reel of situations played from her sweven. It took a pinch for her to realize that it wasn't.

A mic tap follows, it's Ethan's turn to speak. She freezes upon hearing her name getting repeated again. There is an uncanny depth to it, she notices. An indication that it conceals so much more than is visible. Not just pride, not just intoxicating happiness.

Gratitude, raw and pure gratitude.

And something else (or maybe not?)

Her focus all over the place, she missed a lot of the address. What stayed carved in golden words was a single sentence, unremarkably remarkable.

"It's not me, it's her. I lost all hope, but she was the one who fought till the very end, never giving up, even if she had thousands of storms to navigate through."

"There can be only one recipient of the applause today, and it's Dr Sharma."

Two contrasting emotions put her in a dilemma. Whether to let the water drops she held strongly to herself or to let the heartfelt joy induce the grin that would shine brighter than the stars the twinkle along with the forlorn moon?

Unable to decide, she let the cracks in her stoic mask deepen, let the faint upturn of lips become visible to the world. Every applaud fell short, in a haze, as the mere words spoken mere moments before played in a loop like a soft harmony.

The 360-degree turn of the evening gave her the most unexpected and the most precious memories.

The change of the blithe chilly eve to heartwarming dusk.

Rare, mysterious and yet, magnificent.

Selcouth.

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

Ethan Ramsey, for the past decade of his extremely brilliant career, has never displayed even a minuscule amount of emotions. Never. The mask of stoicism fixed so perfectly, that no power could ever induce a crack in it.

No one could.

Until one day, an intern waltzed into his life like an unforeseen plot twist and induced changes no one ever could.

The mask has cracked, even if to a small degree, letting the minuscule details of a transformation out. Sometimes it could be as evident as a smile, or a genuine compliment to an intern. In other instances, it would be just the absence of the forehead frown (which had become a permanent resident at a point).

And now, the beloved plot twist of his novel stood before him, her eyes expertly decorated with kohl. She was quieter than usual, engaging in casual conversation, but prevented going into depths of it.

Their gazes never meet, only slide past each other.

He missed looking into the amber of hers, trying to figure out her thoughts like someone engaged with a very complex puzzle that ends up in a phenomenal picture.

He missed listening to her sweet whispers, mumbles which made him smile more than he had for the past decade.

He missed her.

The universe is always planning a conspiracy to make destiny true. And it's definitely an action of its, that his hand extends towards her, wordlessly.

She gazes at it, gazes at him, thinks for a while.

And finally, slips her hand, bejeweled with that bracelet she wore in Miami. He still remembers it placed on his heart, which beat at an erratic rhythm.

Which beats at an erratic rhythm now.

Looking at the Bostonian sky, only drapes of translucent mist could be seen all around. No twinkles, even the moonbeams were struggling to reach them. The silence is comfortable, only interrupted by the sips of steaming hot coffee.

Her eyes are fixed above, in a search for the hidden celestial elements. His focus stayed on the snowflakes resting on his jacket.

He leans back, places a hand down.

There is a lack of warmth.

Soon enough, another hand joins him.

The cold is gone.

And so is his search of moonbeams.

Her touch felt like light, his own moonbeam. So soft, so warm, so dear. Something he could keep etched on his skin forever.

She was his moon.

And for her, those summery blue orbs held depths of the ocean, the faint, soft wrinkles that languid years leave behind as a mark of their passing like map lines of some unknown lands.

He was her world.

In every universe, through trials and tribulations, through pain and smiles, they were destined to find their way to each other. No one powerful enough to keep them apart.

Not even they themselves.

It was a cosmic state of comfort they found themselves in. His hand in hers, their fingers interwoven, the reflex etched in his mind with an everlasting ink.

He has never believed in soulmates, but as he as leans back, eyes closed, hair fluttering along with the icy-cold breeze, having her by his side, he couldn't bring himself to believe this was anything less than destiny.

That even after so many trials of forgetting her, he would always come back to her, searching for the serenity he only finds in her presence.

The feeling is rare, confusing, maybe terrifying.

But right now, he basks in the warmth that it provides, all worries and all woes are hidden in a wooden box, discarded away from his sight. And unbeknownst to even him, he waits for the day he can kiss her the way he wants to, no ties, no binds holding them away.

Yes, he waits for the day.

PS: If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎

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violet-knox · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Could you write about Adult!Snape being jealous about Adult!Reader? Maybe it could include Lupin as well ?💓

Rags To Riches

Pairing: Snape x Potioneer!Reader

Summary: Severus makes his way to the annual award ceremony held by the Society of Portioneers and is once again disappointed with the speeches. Storming out of the venue, he makes his way to the bar where he’s approached by a familiar face.

Warnings: A bit of hate towards werewolves (from Severus)

Word Count: 9708

A/N: To be honest anon, I wasn’t entirely sure what you meant by “being jealous about”. I took it as Severus being jealous of reader, I hope that’s alright. If that wasn’t what you were asking for, I’m sorry, I hope you can enjoy it either way. This story started off with one idea which morphed into something completely different. I truly meant to include Lupin but instead of a feature, he gets more of a mention in this piece. I hope the general theme of the ask still stuck though. It was a lot of fun to write, I really enjoyed coming up with a different scenery outside Hogwarts. I actually enjoyed it so much that I may in the future do a part 2 but who knows. I have so much on my plate, if I do write a part 2, it probably won’t be anytime soon 😅

Clutching the invitation in his hand, he looked down at the address written in bright cursive gold then back up at the building before him. The outside of the building was built with pristine white bricks, the windows lined in the same shade of gold that lay on the invitation. He no doubt expected the inside to be just as pretentious, well suited for the event he was to attend tonight which was one of the many reasons why he never went. Taking a step closer, he slowly inched his way to the door where a doorman awaited, checking the invitations of every guest with a wave of his wand. He wasn’t as nearly accomplished as those who’d come to the Society of Potioneers’ Annual Award Ceremony, and even now, dressed in his best attire, he felt like a fraud, like the ugly duckling walking into the pond with his painted feathers looking to join his family.

Handing the man his invitation, he watched as he wove his wand over it, a puff of silver smoke steaming off the parchment, spelling out his name right before his eyes. It was always about the looks, the way the society was perceived to others that mattered. Even after all his hard work, everything he’d done to join and be accepted into the community, he kept hoping something good would come of it, that he’d one day be appreciated for all his potion alteration, perhaps even be granted the privilege of establishing a communal wide potion’s standards for all Wizarding schools. But those dreams of a hopeful boy had died long ago, and he’d naturally distanced himself from the society, watching from afar as those he’d established friendships with climbed above him with no interest in helping him push his career forward.

“Down the hall to your left, you’ll find the venue, to your right will be the bar and at the end there is the registry office if you shall need anything this evening. Enjoy the ceremony sir,” said the man as he handed Severus back his invitation, now turned into a ceremony program. Opening it, he saw the first few words bolding, almost screaming at him to make his way to the venue to find a seat and await the opening remarks. Fifteen minutes of opening remarks, then an hour and a half of speaking of the organization's foundation followed by forty-five minutes of introductions and then another three hours of torment and agony until the part of the event he’d shown up for.

There it was, the name of the potioneer he’d admired for a few years now: (Y/N) (Y/L/N). He’d read all your books, owned several copies, even taught from them and assigned them as extra reading material for those in his classes who had a knack for the art of potion making. Your ideology was quite phenomenal, your process much more advanced than those of the peers you sat alongside now. Of course, it wasn’t without its faults, after all, no one was perfect and if he’d ever gotten the chance, he would simply adore sitting with you to discuss improvements on some of the more extravagant potions you’d written about. But who was he to have such a privilege; a nobody Potion’s Master, forever doomed to teach the pinheads of Hogwarts.

Looking down at the pamphlet in his hand, he watched the timer in the corner slowly decrease, nine miserable minutes until the socializing was over, and until then, he’d do his best to avoid the few familiar faces he knew wouldn’t care to speak with him. He made his way to the end of the last row and took a seat, placing the program on his lap with his eyes on the timer, wondering if it was only counting down as slowly as it was because it could sense his pain and anticipation. It was this moment, the loneliness he felt as his eyes scanned the room that he began to regret showing up at all, knowing he wasn’t exactly a connection many wanted to make especially considering his status as an ex-Death Eater with rumours of the Dark Lord’s return swarming through the Wizarding World.

Five minutes remaining. He sighed the nail of his thumb scratched at the fabric of his cuff. Never did he ever imagine himself wearing this suit when Lucius had gifted it to him as a way to celebrate his position at Dumbledore’s side all those years ago. It was tighter than he’d remembered, thicker and heavier, but just as uncomfortable. It didn’t feel right the first time he’d put it on, and it didn’t feel any better now, even after the alterations he’d made to lessen the glamour smudged all over it. It was Lucius’ style, very much his style with bright lining along the robes, a silver touch on the suit itself, the ascot it came with just as dashing, but it wasn’t something Severus could ever wear. He’d spent so much of his life wearing nothing but second-hand clothing, worn out shirts, trousers he’d grown out of years ago, he wasn’t worthy to wear items so luxurious, even if the event called for it.

“Attention everyone, if you would all find your seats.” Severus straightened his back as he looked up to the stage to find his old Potion’s Professor addressing the room with that same cunning smile he’d always worn when he was a student. Others around him all shuffled around, Slughorn happily standing there waiting for the commotion to settle. The man had looked better, Severus never imagining him letting himself go as much as he did with how important appealing to others had been for him. He, of course, wasn’t surprised to find him hosting an event such as this, someone who’d made nothing of his own potion’s career, still striving to be recognized in the world would end up as the host of a prestigious event. He could only hope that wasn’t his future standing on stage as the man’s successor as Hogwarts Potions Master.

Slughorn began the event with his head held high, Severus pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes glued shut as the headache that always came with Slughorn’s lectures settled in. He wondered if half these people were past students of Slughorn’s as he was, if they’d even allow this man to talk as much as he was now. He’d never met a single person who’d enjoyed one of his classes, not even those who were a part of his idiotic club.

Time could not have passed any slower as one by one people he’d never met or heard of spoke on stage, clapping and laughter occasionally filling the room as he simply sat there with his thumb under his chin and two fingers pressed against his temple, looking like he had a wand to his head. His eyes focussed more on the program before him, waiting one by one as items disappeared until finally the time came for your presentation and award acceptance.

“Now, for the moment many of you have surely been waiting for; awarding Potioneer of the Year. Wizards and Witches, the publisher of the improved Wolfsbane’s potion, Professor (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” The room roared with applause, Severus clapping alongside them for the first time tonight as his eyes searched for you. Severus pushed himself forward, straightened as much as he could as he watched you walk on stage. You looked so strong, your attire casual yet stunning. He felt his heartbeat rage against his chest as his eyes widened. You were much more attractive in person, much more enticing than he’d ever imagined you’d be. He felt like an insect standing before a God, sitting so close to you he could read the expression on your face, yet he felt like you were from completely different worlds.

“Thank you, it’s an honour and a privilege to accept this award on behalf of those with whom I worked alongside these past few years.” You went on to thank your entire staff list one by one, many around him displaying their distaste for the long list, but he admired you for it all the more. “It’s troubling times like these that we must remember to make alliances of those around us, to help those who suffer from lycanthropy and do what we can to help them during the full moon. It is a great pleasure to see you all come here today to take part in the next steps of a brighter future. I hope with all the brilliant minds in this room that one day we may cure those who are being stripped of their rights as Wizards and Witches.”

Severus had to admit that he was never one to care for such topics, his own experience with werewolves rather scaring his ability to sympathize. Lupin was such a careless beast, putting his need of acceptance above the safety of those around him. He’d tried so hard to put the past behind him, to give Lupin the benefit of the doubt when he took the position Severus was rightfully owed. But once again, he’d proven himself unable to put others before himself even with his help. All those countless hours brewing that horrendous potion wasted only for him to end up exactly where he’d found himself all those years ago: at the mercy of the beast.

Your presentation however was rather enticing, the delicacy of detail you’d put in your research of some of the rarest ingredients he’d ever heard, the intricate way you’d calculated your measurements. But most of all, he was absolutely in love with your experimentation process and only wished he had the privilege to merely exist in the same space to watch you perform each trial, to hear you speak of your observations and conclusions, the way each failure helped you learn for the next until you finally found the correct footing. He was absolutely astounded by your work, unable to help himself from scribbling down as many notes as he could on the notebook he’d brought, completely ignoring the underappreciation in the room as the others simply waited for your presentation to end. Fools, all of them. They were absolute fools to take your genius mind for granted.

“That concludes my findings. Now, no doubt many of you have questions, but before we move onto the brief Q&A portion, I’d like to take this moment to thank someone very special, someone who’s own experiences inspired me to pursue the remaking of the wolfsbane potion: Remus Lupin.” Severus’ eyes shot up from his notebook, his quill leaving a rather visible line through his notes as his hand slipped from the name he heard spoken out of your mouth. He watched as you smiled and gestured to a man sitting in the front row beside the empty seat you’d risen from to give the presentation he’d just spent an hour hanging on every word for. Applause slowly turned to ringing as he was deafened by the thought of you working with Lupin.

He looked down at his notebook, his endless sea of questions as rage and hatred filled his mind. This weekend was supposed to be about him, about his interests, his hopes to rejoin civilization through the Society of Potioneers, to possibly, very possibly exchange two words with you and that mut had spent years speaking with you? Working alongside you? It was bad enough Dumbledore had hired the man after everything that had happened, after knowing the trauma he’d been through as a child, but this was an entirely different type of mockery. Merlin was testing him, pushing him to insanity, punishing him for his past choices, it was the only explanation.

Closing his notebook rather harshly, he swiftly jumped to his feet and made his way out of the room, suddenly aware of the lack of oxygen a packed room like this offered. He let the doors close silently behind him as he stopped to lean back on the wall, trying to take in a deep breath. He closed his eyes and let his hair fall over his face, the memories of the Whomping Willow flooding back to him all at once. He could feel his muscles tensing as he froze in a state of shock and panic, both times he’d felt helpless and both times he’d failed to defend against the beast.

“Sir, are you alright?” Slowly, he opened his eyes to see one of the staff members of the hotel staring at him with concern.

“I’m fine,” Severus said coldly as he pushed himself passed the man and walked straight to the other side where he’d been told the bar was located. Bursting through the doors, he stopped to find himself in the most luxurious bar he’d ever seen. The space was quite generous, twice as large as the venue hosting the Award Ceremony. Bottles upon bottles lay displayed behind the bar that seemed to stretch out forever, glasses all hanging above as crystal clear as the air itself. Walking up to the bar, he hesitated to take a seat, the chairs alone likely worth more than his annual salary. Placing his book on the counter, he sat on the edge of his chair and ordered a firewhiskey. Double.

“Two Galleons,” said the bartender as he slid the drink over to Severus with a coaster beneath it. Severus stared at the bartender like he’d just spoken a language he was unfamiliar with. It was no wonder Dumbledore said he’d only pay for his stay at the Leaky Cauldron, but at least the Headmaster had given him some spending money so it was his Sickle he was wasting and not his own. Handing over his coins, he picked up the drink and slowly began to swirl its contents around the thick glass. He took a small sip and winced at the strength of the liquid, the burning sensation it left in his mouth as it trailed down his throat and into his stomach. The aftertaste was quite strong, rather pleasant and he could see why it cost as much as it did.

Placing the glass back on the coaster, he stared at the menacing notebook before him. He’d nearly filled up half of it with notes on your books, each word written with the hopes that you’d one day read them, each sentence written with the image of you in his mind. His fingertips grazed the cover of the notebook, almost afraid to touch it after the discovery he’d made this evening. But slowly, ever so slowly, the notebook was brought closer and closer to him, dragged along the marble countertop until it stood there before him, taunting him with thoughts of potential and revelation. He dreadfully opened up the notebook and slowly began to flip through its pages, finding it rather comforting to read through the notes he made when reading your books, until he finally found himself turning to the fresh notes he’d taken not moments ago.

His admiration slowly turned toxic as a familiar emotion took root in his core. He hated that you were better than him, more successful than him. He absolutely resented the fact you’d lifted up someone who didn’t deserve it. He would have made a much better coworker, he would have offered insight Lupin could never dream of having, the beast who’d taken so much from him already had to come after the one thing Severus had always excelled at, just like those who’d used him during his days as a student.

“My my, and here I was worried you’d left because you found my presentation boring.” Severus’ head spun around to the side to find you standing before him, smiling down at his notebook. With a hasty hand, he slammed the book shut for the second time that day, staring back at you with wide eyes.

“May I?” You’d gestured at the seat next to him, but he couldn’t find his voice to speak or even nod his head. He was utterly stunned, much like during his interaction with the beast, your friend, your coworker, the parasite in your life. He was angry at you, a complete stranger, his rage misguided, yet he couldn’t help but feel some sort of animosity towards you. He deserved better than the life he’d gotten, better than the forgotten Potion’s Master who was of no use to anyone but the school’s matron and the few students who possessed enough talent to pursue the career he should have had, the career you now possessed. His malice towards you grew as he thought of the respect you had, the respect he’d chased for so long, exchanged his soul for and all you’d done to earn it was write a few books and work with a monster.

“Dragon Barrel Brandy please. And a refill for this gentleman,” you said to the bartender, gesturing to the nearly empty glass sitting beside the notebook you’d give anything to take another peek inside.

You’d never felt so stunned before, so taken back by the sudden exit of one of your audience members during your Q&A. The man had walked so graciously out those doors, like he was part of the shadows that engulfed him as his hair swished behind him, his robes flowing, extenuating his slim yet luscious figure. You’d been so distracted, you had to ask the woman to repeat her question, you yourself barely able to give a feasible answer as your mind swarmed with questions about the man who’d just walked out of those doors. Had you done something wrong? Said something to offend him? Was he called away or did he simply find your presentation uninspired? Whatever the reason, you found yourself unable to sit in that room any longer, needing to excuse yourself and hope the man was still around and willing to chat. Well, at least he was indeed still around, and you were sure with a bit of light conversation and a few more drinks, he’d be willing to chat considering the extensive and thought out notes he’d taken.

“May I ask your name?” you inquired as you sat back in your chair, head tilted as you examined his posture. He wasn’t anything like the people you’d met at these sorts of events, in fact, you were sure you’d never seen him before. You would have easily remembered such a mysterious man, dressed in a rather interesting attire. The robes he wore looked vintage, something one of those snobby rich young graduates looking for easy connections to make would wear, but he looked nothing of the sort. He sat here alone, he sat in the venue in the back corner alone. He had yet to speak to you, his eyes focussed on the notebook in front of him, dismissing the rest of the world. He was a complete mystery, one you very much wanted to solve.

Severus could feel your eyes on him, your eyes, staring at him, waiting for him to introduce himself. His mind had gone completely blank, overwhelmed with annoyance and admiration, jealousy and wonder. Clearing his throat, he mumbled his name through gritted teeth, his voice a tone deeper than usual. “Severus Snape.”

“Really?” Your shock escaped you before you could formulate a single thought. It was rather odd you’d found the Severus Snape at an event like this, let alone taking notes on your presentation, talking to you now.

“You’ve heard of me?” he asked, rather taken back himself, his head spinning to look at you, his eyes wide with amazement. No one had ever recognized his name outside the walls of the school, not even the Dark Lord’s followers who heard whispers of the Death Eater who’d come to their master with the forsaken prophecy. He wasn’t sure how to react to your recognition of him beyond pure curiosity and could only imagine what dark rumours had passed within the pretentious group of potioneers.

“Hogwarts youngest Potion’s Master, how could I have not. In fact, I’ve even worked with some of your past students. You must be remarkably talented to be hired so young, to have left such an impressive mark on your students,” you said with what he assumed was excitement in your voice. Or perhaps he’d mistaken it for sarcasm, something he found rather common amongst those you hung around with. But your emotions were true, your eyes filled with the same wonder he’d held for you all those years. “Remus tells me he worked at Hogwarts for a short while before someone let slip his condition.”

And back you went to mentioning the name of the beast, the very thing that had driven him away from you. He whipped his gaze back to the bar, to the book in front of him as he reached to take a sip of his drink, cringing at your words. He could hardly believe his luck, his foolishness for believing there was a chance he’d have a peaceful, well deserved weekend off, away from his past, his future, the dreadful truth of his present.

“He let it slip himself when he neglected to fulfill the simple task of drinking the potion I spent hours brewing,” he mumbled under his breath, the little respect he still had for you keeping him from losing it completely.

“And that warrants him to lose his job?” You tried to hold yourself back as his insinuations boiled your blood. It was assumption like that, negative attitudes like his that you’d dedicated your career to fighting against. You were saddened to hear the resentful tone he took when speaking of Remus, rather hoping this conversation could turn into an opportunity to work with him.

“If it endangers the students, yes,” he said bluntly, looking back at you with cold eyes before he took another sip of his drink. Your expression hardened, a frown appearing on your lips as you thought of all the hardships Remus had gone through, how he spoke so highly of Hogwarts Headmaster, someone you thought picked his staff well, though clearly his judgment fell short on some people.

“We’ve all made mistakes. One incident shouldn’t define a person like that,” you tried to argue, doing your best to make your opinion clear in the hopes he’d indulge you in a civil discussion on the topic. Many thought potions was your weapon of choice when it came to the rights of those cursed with lycanthropy, but you found words were much more effective. Words and discussion had created enough allies for you to come as far as you did in just a few short years and you hoped they wouldn’t fail you now, craving to work with Severus.

“It wasn’t just one incident. Remus has a rather nasty habit of turning the other way on his responsibilities. He never should have been hired in the first place.” Severus mumbled the last sentence, looking away as he took another sip of his drink, finding comfort in the harsh taste that trickled down his throat against the bitter words he spoke to the one person these past few years he’d looked up to, found comfort in. Never meet your heroes; a saying he’d never known to be more true than this moment.

“That’s a rather harsh judgment to make for the short period of time you worked with him.” You did your best to keep your tone neutral, to encourage him to speak his mind and converse with you. The worst type of people you’d ever spoke to were those whose heads were so thick, your words bounced right off of them. It seemed, however, that despite your attempt to keep things civil, you’d struck a nerve with the comment you made, the nasty look he gave you now indicating perhaps you were wrong to make the assumption he’d met Remus during his time as a professor. You watched him chug the remainder of his drink and worried that he’d do something regretful tonight realizing you had no idea how much he’d had to drink before you showed up.

“You wouldn’t understand. No one ever does,” he mumbled, setting down his glass on the coaster and pushing it away slowly. Two drinks was quite enough, especially if he wanted to remain sober enough to apparate back to the Leaky Cauldron tonight.

“Try me,” you said softly, catching his eye once more as you saw his harsh exterior begin to melt away. Severus looked at you in shock, rather surprised you hadn’t already thrown your barely touched drink in his face and stormed off from what he’d already said, let alone encouraging him to keep going. He squinted as he looked into your eyes, trying to figure you out, find any sense of logic in the sea of mixed emotions he felt towards you. You seemed rather genuine, and that was a trait he’d admired in your writing, but oh how blind you were, how you seemed to negate any possibility that he was right.

“Remus and I went to school together as students,” Severus began, deciding to take a leap of faith, indulging you in your interest to converse with him. “He was a prefect who neglected his duties at the amusement of his friends. Friends who thought luring a student to meet his... other half was worth a laugh.”

Severus had never spoken about the day he found out about Lupin’s secret before, Dumbledore’s word always haunting him, telling him to keep it to himself. But he had to admit, it felt good to let out his vexation, even if he wasn’t being completely honest. He wondered however, what you would think of Lupin had you been enrolled in Hogwarts with him, had you been in his place that night, near the brink of death, all for a joke. Would you despise Lupin as he did? Or would you continue to defend him?

In truth, he didn’t blame Lupin for that night. No, the blame fell upon those he called ‘friends’, those he’d trusted with his secret only to turn around and use his affliction to their advantage. Lupin’s fault was his own unwillingness to punish them for their actions, to let them parlance around the school like they owned it. It was his fault it had gone as far as it did, his fault for continuing to defend them afterwards without consideration for what may have happened that night.

Looking at you now, the blank expression you wore, he wasn’t sure how you’d react. It wasn’t often people could elude their emotions from him, but you were different, he could tell you were conflicted in thought. You’d fallen completely silent, something that had never happened before as you got the hint he was that student in his story, which would have meant Severus likely almost lost his life at Remus’ hand twice in his life. It was hard for you not to be biased. You’d known Lupin for years now and could hardly imagine him turning a blind eye to something like that, but you also had to admit, it wasn’t fair to Severus to be put in such a situation either.

“Listen, Severus, I understand how traumatizing an experience like that could be, but that’s all the more reason we must find a way to help the Wizards and Witches who’ve been cursed with such a horrible infliction,” you said sympathetically, your defensiveness melted away, replaced with a soft understanding tone. You respected his experience, his trauma, even if no one else understood, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recover from that time, that Remus had to remain the villain in his eyes.

“Come with me, and perhaps we can clear this up with Remus,” you said, gesturing back to the venue, offering to moderate their reunion and help him confront his past. You wanted to help him heal, to help him see the other side of Remus, but it was clear he wasn’t ready to take such a step, rejecting your offer almost as quickly as you’d given it.

“No!” His words nearly jumping down your throat as he spoke, his eyes widened with a sudden burst of fear. He looked at you in a panic and saw the surprise you wore on your face, feeling guilty for rejecting so hastily. “I do not wish to speak with him.”

Your mouth gaped open, words lost on you as you saw the sadness in his eyes, the resentment and hatred he held. He’d been holding back all this time, trying to hide his pain, something you could tell he was rather used to. Your eyes scanned him as he hung his head low, analysing him, the sadness he carried over his shoulders. The evening hadn’t gone as he’d hoped, he was disappointed in the Award Ceremony and you’d misjudged the reason for his previous display of rebellion. “Is he the reason why you ran out on my presentation?”

Severus said nothing, staring at his empty glass as he brought his notebook closer to the edge of the counter, shielded by his arms placed on either side. He wanted so badly to go back to that moment where he was unaware of Lupin’s presence, his tainted hand in your research and simply enjoy your presentation. He hadn’t felt that sense of peace listening to you speak in such a long while, every horrendous thing in his life forgotten. He was a fourteen-year-old boy again, avidly taking notes in class on a subject he loved, a subject he excelled at. It was a feeling he missed, a feeling he was sure he’d never get the privilege of experiencing again.

“Your presentation was not what I walked away from,” he stated plainly, ending the conversation with his stiff, conclusive tone. You looked away out of respect for his choice. You hadn’t come here to defend the actions of a teenager, you’d accepted that award tonight in exchange for the opportunity to present your ideas and findings to a group of experts in your field in the hopes you’d inspire at least one of them to join your mission and you weren’t about to give up on that. Severus was a rather enticing person, carrying a fresh perspective that you could use. It also helped that you felt quite intrigued by him, wanting to know him better.

“I see. Well, perhaps we could discuss your thoughts on my presentation instead then,” you said, a smile pulling on your lips as you gestured towards the notebook he so carefully protected. You’d give anything to read it, get inside the mind of Severus Snape. “Over dinner? If you’d like.”

Severus froze, wondering if he’d heard you right. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to look back at you, tilting his head in wonder of the inviting look you gave him, the soft smile that hoped for a ‘yes’, the eyes that wanted to continue your conversation. He’d never seen anyone look at him with such interest before, let alone someone he himself admired. “You’d like to have dinner? With me?”

“If you’ll allow it,” you mused, your thoughts lost in your inability to accept anything but a yes to your invitation.

“What about them,” Severus gestured to the venue, rather confused as to your intentions. He wasn’t as well connected as everyone else in that room, he didn’t have the resources or money to offer you aid in your research. You had nothing to gain from dinner with him, an evening with him alone certainly not worth his scribbles. “What about Lupin?”

“I think you and I could have much more interesting conversations.” You could almost laugh at the insinuating that you were attached to the hip with Remus. He was your friend, a coworker and nothing more, surely Severus could see that. No, with him, it was much more than about making a friend or conversing about progressing your research. You felt drawn to Severus, your own presence clearly affecting him just the same, else he likely would have shunned you as he did the rest of Lupin’s friends, as he intended to do when he walked out on your presentation.

Severus narrowed his eyes at you, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Was he meant to enjoy the privilege of your company after all? Had there been a reason for him feeling drawn to you, to your books all those years ago beyond curiosity? He couldn’t tell whether your invitation was strictly professional or if you’d hoped to gain a personal favour as well. But he had to admit, he was rather intrigued. No longer did he feel irritated with your social connections, nor did he praise you for your accomplishment. He saw something else, something new behind those eyes of yours; a spark of lust, a flame of passion, an interest he’d never seen anyone take with him before.

“What do you say?” you asked softly as you stood from your seat and took a step towards him. You smiled and offered him your hand, feeling rather confident he’d take it. You barely knew the man, but from what you’ve seen, what you’ve heard about him, he wasn’t one to hesitate, especially with those he loathed. In fact, you could tell from the moment you sat next to him he was just as intrigued as you were, that he held something more than admiration for you otherwise he would have made a scene and left when you brought up Remus.

He looked down at your hand and straightened his back, his grip on his notebook tightening as he hesitantly stood from his own seat and reached out to meet his coarse palm with yours. Your smile grew as you clasped your hand shut, leading him out the door without a moment to waste. You sped up your pace as you passed the venue, chatter to be heard on the other side of the door and took a sharp turn down the corridor towards the registry office of the building. The last thing you needed was for one of those vultures to find you and snatch you away from a peaceful dinner.

“Where are we going?” Severus’ commanded your attention as you continued walking down the hall, holding him tightly as he walked beside you, feeling rather awkward at the situation he’d found himself agreeing to. He could feel his heart beating faster, his hand ever so slightly trying to release itself from your grip, yet a small part of him hoped Lupin would walk out those doors behind him and see you with him.

“My room,” you said casually. Severus’ eyes widened, his confusion amplified as you stopped and took out your wand, waving it before a blank wall. An elevator appeared before you, its doors opening before you dragged him inside.

“What? But I thought-”

“Relax,” you cut him off, rather amused at how suggestive your comment had come out, how he shivered at the thought this was more than a dinner between two strangers, though you hoped after tonight, that title would be swapped out for something much warmer. “It’s not like that. You’ll see when we get there.”

Severus stayed quite as you let go of his hand, your warmth already seeping away as the cold returned to his palm. He looked down at his hand, pressing his thumb to his palm as he held it like he’d just been released of the most agonising shackles. It felt oddly empty, like they were forever meant to stay locked with yours, only to wither in pain when they weren’t. Looking down at your hand, he saw you ever so slightly rubbing your own fingers against your palm as you held a loose fist, your eyes fixed on the passing increasing number above the elevator until finally movement ceased and the doors swung open.

You nearly leapt out of the elevator, leaving Severus behind as excitement took you over. You couldn’t remember the last time you sat down with someone to have a simple chat, to socialise and enjoy life. These past few months had especially been quite the burden as the Society’s pressure in your presentation and award acceptance weighed you down. You had to submit in the end of course, only agreeing to attend their pompous event for the opportunity to pick the brains of those who would attend, but when you were up there, you could tell none of them truly cared for your research. None of them had any interest in the progression of Potions, the amount of potential it carried. They were simply there as investors, which of course came in handy, especially when you wished to hire as much talent as you could, but that wasn’t what you needed now, not after all those long hours working day after day, month after month. You needed a breath of fresh air, and for you, that was Severus.

Finally, you reached your destination, and with a wave of your wand, the door clicked open, Severus watching you step inside before following. He was astounded by what he saw as you closed the door behind him, like a two-story suite had been crammed into your hotel room. The windows stood tall, like the ones at Hogwarts, sunshine flooding in to illuminate everything in sight. A reasonably sized round glass table stood on the other side of the room beside the staircase, two doors standing behind it. Before him sat a large sectional couch, facing the fireplace and a rectangular shaped coffee table.

You walked around Severus as he admired the luxury you were lucky enough to bargain for when agreeing to attend the event tonight. You had no issue taking advantage of the privileges you’d been granted, knowing how much your attendance meant to them and their social standing to the rest of the Wizarding Community. You sighed in glee as you finally felt like you could relax, removing your outer robes and any unnecessary trinkets you’d put on for the sake of appearance.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you said as you removed your watch, placing it on the coffee table and grabbing the menu. Severus watched you as you walked over to the dining table, looking back to see him slowly removing his own outer robes, revealing the black vest and white button up he wore beneath it. “I’m more of a casual wearer myself.”

Severus nodded at your remark, feeling rather relieved he could finally let go of the pompous attire he wore, removing the cufflinks that had been bothering him all day. He rolled up his sleeves as he took a seat across from you, placing the cufflinks on the glass table.

“Order anything you like and make it for two,” you told him as you handed him the menu, eyeing the cufflinks he’d placed in front of him. He arched a brow at you as he stared at the prices on the menu, wondering if you were insinuating you’d pay for him as if he couldn’t afford it himself.

“The Society is paying for it,” you explained, leaning forward. Severus nodded in understanding, unsure of what to say. He could hardly believe he was sitting here in front of you, about to have dinner in the complete privacy of such a luxurious suite. He felt butterflies in his stomach as your words of being a casual wearer rung in his ears. Was this meant to be taken as a casual dinner then?

“How do I order?” he asked, never having the opportunity to stay at a hotel like this.

“Ah, just tap the tip of your wand over the name of the dish you’d like,” you explained, pressing your lips together in wonder. As he ordered, you picked up one of the cufflinks before him, the metal scratching against the glass of the tabletop. You were itching to figure out why a man who so obviously did not live in a life of luxury wore such glamorous clothing, attended an event where he didn’t fit in.

“You don’t strike me as a man who’d wear bold emerald cufflinks,” you said as you examined the cufflink, Severus placing the menu down as he watched you. Your eyes met and you immediately paused, his threatening glare rather terrifying. Placing the cufflink back, you retreated your hands to your side of the table and sat back in your chair. “Sorry. I was just wondering why you’ve come to an event you’re not comfortable with.”

“I didn’t know Lupin would be here,” he said as if it wasn’t obvious enough already.

“That’s not what I meant.” You shifted in your seat, not wanting to ruin the evening with a topic you knew he likely wouldn’t want to discuss. Your curiosity however overtook your better judgment, treading carefully in search of an opportunity to get to know him. “It’s just- you and I, we’re not like them, and you, your scene clearly doesn’t include high class hotels and 500 Galleon suits.”

Severus narrowed his eyes at you, placing his elbows on the armrest of the chair as he folded his hands in front of his lips. He leaned back in his chair, studying you like he did back at the bar, wondering what you were thinking. There was no denying the fact he wanted to make a good impression on you. For so long he’d yearned to be where you were, to be recognized as you had been and gaining your respect would mean everything to him.

“And why not?” he asked plainly, looking to find even a sliver of your perspective of him, to know what it was you were seeking from him and what you considered acceptable.

“You paid attention during my presentation, you weren’t just there to see me accept an award. More than that, you took notes, you have a clear interest in the subject of Potions rather than the status a Potioneer might have. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” you said with absolute sincerity, smiling softly as you encouraged him to open up if only enough to show you who he truly was. You were so tired of the fakery, the networking efforts made by those who showed up today, so imagine your surprise to find someone as pure as him, someone you could have a real conversation with.

“I simply appreciate true talent and the pristine amount of detail put into researching the progression of Potions,” he stated without so much as wavering in his tone. You were inclined to believe him of course, but you still couldn’t help but ponder over the possibility there was more to him than admiration for your work. At least you’d managed to get some form of truth out of him as he seemed to relax a bit.

“You flatter me.” Your smile grew mischievously, like you’d just captured a secret message hidden beneath his words only meant for you to keep as your own. “Can I assume you attended tonight for my lecture?”

Severus’ eyes widened the slightest bit before he looked away, adjusting his position in his chair as he cleared his throat. A giggle slipped from your throat as you watched him sit in the awkwardness of your question when your food suddenly appeared before you. Severus sighed in relief as he reached for the napkin, placing it over his lap before picking up his cutlery to dive right in. He could still feel the heat in his face from your insinuation and though your assumption had been correct, he would lay before the Bellatrix’s blade before admitting it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you said as you motioned to begin your meal as well. You kept your eyes on him as you placed your napkin over your lap, watching his lips twitch into a subtle smile for the first time that evening. You felt butterflies flourish in your stomach as you gazed on his expression, emotions you were sure he’d been used to suppressing emerging for your eyes and your eyes alone. He looked rather handsome when he smiled, his lips softening up the sharpness of his features.

Looking down at the dish waiting to be consumed, you couldn’t help but notice his choice was rather reserved, tasteful as all things on the menu were, but casual like he was playing it safe, needing to feel connected to what he knew rather than risk ordering something he’d never heard of before. But lucky for him, you weren’t too picky in your food choices, enjoying your meal as you continued to make small talk with Severus, the atmosphere lightening as the sun slowly set on your evening together. Time passed around you as you both captured this moment for yourselves, stopping the clocks in the bubble of your hotel room and lengthening your dinner as much as possible. But slowly your dishes were cleared and as you set down your cutlery after taking your last bite, you watched your dishes vanish. Time was up, yet you didn’t want to let go.

“Thank you for this,” Severus said as he wiped his mouth clean, vanishing his napkin when he was done with it. “I have to admit, this was not how I imagined the evening.”

His eyes were soft, his expression much happier than the one he wore when you first approached him. You gawked at him, unaware of the dreamy look you were giving him now. You had no idea why he’d come tonight, though you had your suspicions, but you were glad he did. He was a delight to talk to once he’d gotten comfortable around you, his lightened attitude amplifying the subtle beauty he held.

“And what were you expecting?” you asked curiously, hoping to get the confession you wanted out of him, to confirm your suspicions and perhaps open a door to a potential future with him.

“I suppose I’d only hoped to enjoy your presentation.” He spoke slowly, like he’d carefully picked out every word before speaking them. He felt his heart raging in discomfort, concerned for the thin ice he was walking across, trying to reach the happiness he saw on the other side.

“Nothing more?” You encouraged him, your voice echoing from beyond the ice, your smile inviting like you knew exactly what he had to say to safely cross over to you. He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment as he felt the heat rise to his face, his cheeks blushing a light shade of pink as he licked his lips, swallowing hard at the thought lingering in the forefront of his mind.

“I-I suppose I never thought myself lucky enough to engage in a conversation with you,” he pushed himself to say. His eyes slowly looked up from the table, meeting your gaze in an endlessly nervous state of desire. He carefully watched you, your smile growing as your eyes sparkled, clearly not appalled by his insinuation. He thought back to the speeches, conversations he’d play out in his mind whenever he read one of your books, always one sided, always filled with a need they’d one day come to life and it never seemed more possible that he’d get his wish than now.

“Then would you perhaps indulge me in your thoughts on my presentation?” you inquired, hoping this time, he’d show you what was in his notebook rather than shield them from you. Severus stared at you a moment, like he was very intently considering your request and whether or not he could trust you before nodding. He pushed back his chair and you jumped out of yours in excitement, already making your way over to the couch before he even got a chance to stand. You took a seat and waited for him to retrieve his notebook, feeling like you were about to take a peek into pandora’s box after the way he’d protected it earlier.

Severus cautiously took a seat beside you, notebook in hand. You were far enough away from him that you couldn’t read the writing on the pages as he flipped through it, but close enough that you could smell the lavender in his hair, the smell of fresh ink and parchment on his clothing and a faint smell of varying potion ingredients only a practicing potioneer could have. After carefully flattening the notebook, he handed it to you as if giving you the most delicate of flowers to hold.

Your eyes were wide as you placed it on your lap, your heart thumping in excitement as you scanned over the page filled with cramped notes so neatly written, filling up both pages laid before you. Your eyes travelled to the top of the first page, smiling as you saw today’s date written in the corner with the words ‘Society of Potioneers Award Ceremony. Presentation on Wolfsbane potion by (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’ written beneath. Your fingers hovered over the miniscule writing as you read along the page, flipping to the next, each word enticing you more and more. You had so much to say, so many ideas blooming as you continued through, remembering your own presentation and the correlation between his notes and your words.

“Severus, this is-” you whispered in such a stale tone. He’d been looking at you so intently, watching the expression on your face, checking you’d only flip forward in the notebook and not backwards, he’d completely been taken back by your sudden words. The silence had settled, thickened with such anticipation that even your small whisper had his heart skipping a beat. “You’re brilliant.”

Your words hung in the air, pinned in his mind as he pondered over their meaning, over how genuine they were. He wanted so badly to take your compliment and cherish it forever, but that wall he’d kept up since his teen years rejected it, pushed it away in fear of it causing harm in the future. He’d longed to discuss your research with you and now that he was being given that chance, he felt like he was spoiling it by remaining so silent.

“They’re just thoughts,” he mumbled as he looked down at his notebook.

“But they could be just what we need to propel our research forward,” you told him with excitement, continuing to read until you reached the final page, your fingers trailing along the sudden tough mark trailing to the end of the page, remembering the image of him walking out of the venue. You handed him back his notebook, respecting his privacy and the anxiety you could feel seeping off of him while you were reading his notes, you inched closer to him and faced him. “What would you say to a job opportunity with my research team?”

“I already have a job,” Severus said, almost regretting his own words. He couldn’t believe you’d just offered him a job opportunity, that you wanted to work with him after seeing the chicken scratch he’d scribbled during your presentation.

“Whatever your salary is, I’ll double it,” you insisted firmly. You straightened your back and held yourself up in determination. You’d decided. You had to work with him no matter the cost, he was more than just a talented potioneer as you’d first assumed, his talents wasting away at that school. If he’d only joined the research field years prior, perhaps you would have met sooner, perhaps you would have found a cure to lycanthrope rather than simply search for a temporary treatment.

“That’s generous but I have a commitment to Hogwarts, to the Headmaster.” Severus wanted so badly to say yes, to stay here with you and send Dumbledore his resignation letter without even heading back to Hogwarts tomorrow. He wanted more time with you, to know you more, to talk about your books, to work with you. But alas, the deal he made all those years ago wasn’t one he could afford to break, even if the old Wizard hadn’t kept his end of the bargain.

“Alright, what about the summer. You won’t be working once the school term has ended correct? Consider joining me this summer and if you enjoy it, perhaps I can discuss an arrangement with the Headmaster,” you tried to negotiate with him, making him an offer you were sure he couldn’t make an excuse for. You stared at him, waiting for an answer, but all you saw was an expression full of doubt, need and regret. You were sure he would want to jump at the opportunity as much as you, that he’d enjoyed your dinner enough to want to see more of each other, to work together after you saw the passion in his notes. But still he hesitated. Still he held back.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he said softly, like he was worried if he spoke any louder, he’d be torn away from this moment. Never had he seen anyone fight for him as much as you did now. Never had he felt his presence actually wanted even when you knew he didn’t have the best history with Lupin, you still pushed to have him work with you. He was so incredibly flustered by the thought, thrown back and as much as he wanted to accept, to throw away his life and start a new one with you, he couldn’t abandon the Potter boy, especially after he’d proven himself in need of a silent shadow guarding these past few years. If he left, he was sure the boy would die within a year, the school falling apart, the war breaking out sooner than expected. His place was at Hogwarts, beside Dumbledore, fate had declared it so.

“Say you’ll at the very least consider it,” you pleaded with him, instinctively taking his hand in yours as you moved closer to him. “And perhaps we can discuss it further next time we have dinner together.”

You offered up your second plan, needing very much to see him again, even if it was for a few casual hours over a meal again. A date perhaps, a proper one where you didn’t have to sneak away from people like children. And as Severus squeezed your hand in return, you thought perhaps there was hope for you after all, that you hadn’t imagined the sudden spark that had ignited over dinner. Looking up, your eyes met his and you saw the softest smile, a twinkle of desire hidden deep within those dark orbs that carried the weight of the world.

“You’re welcome at Hogwarts at any time,” he offered in a whisper. He couldn’t find it in him to reject you completely, how could he after the rejection he’d known all his life. He wanted to keep the door open for you, to possibly pursue something with you if not a romantic or work relationship, then a friendship instead. You’d turned out to be such a breath of fresh air, something he hadn’t realized he needed, but he didn’t want to give it up all for the chance at redemption for his past mistakes. “If you’d just send me an owl in advance, I can make arrangement for you,”

“I’d like that,” you eagerly accepted his promise, making note to begin writing to him the moment you got back home.

“It’s getting rather late. I should make my way before it gets too dark.” Severus broke the moment with such reluctance, he almost wanted to take it back the second the words slipped his tongue. But he didn’t want to be rude and stay longer than he was welcomed, nor could he afford to stay a night in a place like this. He knew it was best to leave now before he got too attached to you that he’d find himself happily running away to the edge of the world if you’d ask it of him.

Your smile faded, your gaze dropping in disappointment and it almost broke his heart. You understood of course, but you didn’t want him to go. You would have gladly let him stay all night long if he wished it, but you knew how odd of an offer that would be, especially after his reluctance to accept your first two. Your hand slipped from his as you both stood, Severus gathering his belongings before making his way to the door. He opened it and took a step outside, turning around to face you.

“Until next time Severus Snape,” you said with one last smile, happy to receive one back. You closed the door before you did something you’d regret and drag him back inside, kidnapping the man for your own benefit and leaned on the door, throwing your head back as you closed your eyes and replayed the night in your mind.

Severus found himself unable to move the second the door closed and it wasn’t until he heard footsteps coming his way that his thoughts finally returned to him. He looked over to the side and saw a very stuned Remus Lupin frozen in his place as he stared at Severus. A smirk made its way to his lips as he finally found the strength to begin making his way out. Passing by Lupin, he held himself up high, sure to keep eye contact as his cloak left a billowing trail behind him. Tonight had truly gone much better than he’d expected, his own jealousy of you and Lupin conquered, a potential relationship brewing and he’d gotten the privilege all those pompous fouls downstairs would give an arm and leg for.

He’d left an impression on you, one he was sure you would not forget and with the cufflinks he’d left waiting for you to find in the middle of the glass table, he was positive he’d hear from you again. Nothing could ruin his current mood, not even the thought of returning to a school with a walking, living curse destined to bring about the end of him because he’d found the one thing he’d spent all these years searching for; a reason to keep going, a purpose beyond redemption, a chance at a normal life.

A/N: Ok I have no idea how this story ended up so long ,but then things happened and stuff... and here we are. I didn’t know how it would end, but I also didn’t want to rush the ending and just force them to end up together so hopefully I did it justice. This probably needs a part two lets be honest 😅

#Severus Snape #Severus x reader #Severus Snape x reader #one shot #Snape x reader #my fanfic #my writing #pro snape #snapedom

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