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starryevermore · 1 year ago

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the house of snow (2) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board | ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: though you want nothing less than to marry coriolanus snow, he seems intent on finding you a reason to comply.

word count: 2,621

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: no use of y/n, manipulative!coryo, not proofread

Coriolanus Snow’s courtship with you was the talk of the ton. After he was seen promenading with you, it seemed like all anyone could talk about was your impending nuptials. It infuriated you to no end. He hadn’t even proposed and people were already treating you like you were his property! What would people do if you actually married him? When you married him. It was an inevitability at this point. He had been at your family home every day for the past week. No other man dared to speak to you, save for Sejanus. They all knew better than to attempt to take you from Snow.

Your only solace was when you would go to the modiste with your mother. She was often distracted by the fabrics on display, trying to figure out what you might look best in. It gave you the time to talk to Tigris, albeit in hushed whispers. When Snow had been crowned king, you learned that Tigris had grown estranged from her cousin. She never said much about it publicly, but at least she would listen to you vent about the man ever since he decided he was going to torment you with marriage.

“I do not understand why he’s doing this,” you said to Tigris as she helping you into a grown. “He has always despised me, I’m sure of it. I do not care what Lord Plinth says. We would be miserable together.”

Tigris hummed. “It would not serve you well to try to understand Coriolanus’s mind. Even when you think you understand him, he will have another motive entirely unknown to you.”

You chewed on your lip. You were grateful your mother was too distracted to notice. She always hated that habit of yours. That is not very ladylike! she would hiss and grab you by the arm, dragging you away from whatever social engagement you were participating in. Nor is acting like a crazed banshee, you would think. Heaven forbid you show any signs of nervousness.

It did ease your nerves ever so slightly, though, to learn that Tigris was as confounded by Snow’s behavior as you were. While it would have been easier to believe Sejanus, to think that Snow secretly held a flame for you all these years, you had enough personal experience with the man to know that, that was the furthest from the truth. Hell, even Snow’s own words—that he wanted a wife that he could keep in line—did not feel entirely honest. He was up to something. You just weren’t sure what.

“Will you be joining us for dinner at the palace on Friday?” you asked, trying to pull yourself from the spiral before you could fall too deep into it.

Tigris looked up, her brows furrowed together. “Coriolanus has not told me about the dinner.”

Your shoulders fell. Oh, you had been hoping she would be there. It would have certainly been a solace for you, to have at least one person in the room who you could talk to and not want to scream. Though, you supposed Snow had done that on purpose. If he was intent on torturing you, this would certainly be the way to go.

“What a shame.”

“What’s a shame?” your mother asked, her attention finally torn away from the fabrics.

Tigris answered for you. “We were talking about the dinner with Coriolanus. I was saying that I would not be able to come.”

“Ah. Well, that is a shame. But not to worry, there will be plenty of time to talk once they are married.”

Tigris offered a tight-lipped smile. She spared a glance at you, as if to gauge your reaction to the mention of your impending nuptials. “Of course. I look forward to someone as kind as your daughter being part of the family.”

A satisfied smile curled across your mother’s face. She stood a little taller, shoulders held back, at the idea that one of Snow’s family members also approved the marriage. In her mind, it probably meant that the marriage was sure to happen. Little did she know that Tigris and Snow’s relationship had become strained over the years. If anything, Tigris’s approval might have meant that Snow would suddenly become uninterested in you.

At least, you would hope that. At this point, however, Snow had decided that you were to be bride. There would be little that could stand in his way. A scandal, perhaps, because he cared so much for his personal image. But a scandal could ruin you, and that would leave you right where you started—without a single chance for happiness.

“Then I hope you would not mind making her wedding gown?” your mother asked.

“I have already begun working on designs.”

Oh, you hated how your fate was already sealed.

“The palace is quite beautiful, is it not?” your mother remarked as the butler led you and your parents to the dining room.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, though you could not stop yourself from saying, “You act as if you have never been here before.”

If you were at your own home, your mother might have snapped at you for your remark. But here, in the palace, the home of the King, where he could be lurking behind any corner, she held her tongue. “Yes, well, one sees the palace in a new light when learning that it could be their daughter’s future home.”

Your gaze swept over the palace. In truth, the building was exquisite. A testament to how talented the people of Panem are to create a place that housed only the best of the best. Well-crafted furniture, stunning paintings, marble statutes that almost looked like a person had been encased in the rock. But it was the home of Snow, and you hated anything to do with him.

“The decorations are rather tasteless.”

This time, your mother could not hold her tongue. She stopped in her tracks, snatching you by the arm. For a moment, you wondered if you had gone too far. If you had crossed a line. “You will lose the attitude at once—”

“I have to admit, I do agree with her.”

Does Snow have trap doors all throughout Panem so that he can appear anywhere at a moment’s notice?

Your mother dropped your arm. She cleared her throat, as if that might dispel the rage hanging in her voice. “Your Majesty—”

“I have not yet had time to update the decor to my tastes. Ruling a country, it turns out, takes up quite a bit of one’s time. Though, I hope that your daughter shall soon help me with making this palace more of a home.” He took a step close to your mother. His pale blue eyes were uncharacteristically dark. His voice dropped low as he continued, “But do not be mistaken. I will not stand for anyone speaking to her like that, even her own mother. Do you understand?”

Your mother could only bare to nod.

Snow’s gaze slid over to you. His eyes softened. You never seen him look like that before. For a moment, you wondered if Sejanus was right about Snow harboring feelings for you. But then you remember how cold he just was to your mother. Even if she deserved it, a chill ran down your spine as you wondered how cruel he would be towards you. He held out his arm towards you. “Dinner will not be ready for a while. In the mean time, I could show you the library? I remember how you always had your nose in a book at the Academy.”

Between dealing with your mother’s embarrassment and rage or dealing with whatever torment Snow had in store for you, you would rather be with Snow. If only because you weren’t sure what your mother might do when the King’s eyes were not on her. She needed a moment to calm, and perhaps playing nice with Snow might aid in that. You slipped your hand around his bicep. “That would be lovely.”

Snow smiled—a rarity that was becoming more frequent. If he was playing the part of an interested man just so he could spend the rest of your life torturing you, he almost had you fooled. “Wonderful. The library is just down the hall here.”

He began to lead you down the hall, but he did not get far when he stopped. You were forced to stop as well, confused by his actions. What was he doing? Then he turned, his cold eyes focused on your mother. She stood just a few feet behind you and Snow. She cowered under Snow’s gaze.

“Is everything alright, Your Majesty?” she asked.

“I do not recall inviting you to the library.”

You looked between your mother and Snow. A battle of prides, it seemed. No sane Mama would allow her eligible daughter to be alone with a man. It would be a scandal if word ever got out. Of course, this was the palace and this was King. Nothing ever left the palace walls that Snow did not want out into the kingdom. Even if this was something that would ruin your reputation otherwise, Snow might not let that happen. Unless, of course, that was his plan all along. To ruin you for anyone else.

“That is hardly appropriate!” your mother protested.

Snow took a breath. He looked down at you, then back to your mother. “Allow me to make myself clear. While we have not yet gone through all the formalities of a proposal, I fully intend to make your daughter my bride. I have only publicly moved at the pace I have so that no one would think ill of her, and in turn, me. Now, there is no one here that could harm her reputation. So, if I would like to go to the library alone with my future bride, I do not see how the mere wife of a Lord could stop me.”

Your mother looked to you, as if daring you to follow him. To do so would be an insult to her. But to deny Snow might be your demise. Granted, you did not know if he was capable of such things. But a man with this amount of power was capable of anything. When you looked to Snow, he was already looking down at you, as if trying to gauge whether you would start a fight or comply. You looked back to your mother. “It will only be a moment, Mama. Nothing untoward will happen.”

She sucked in a breath, seemingly ready to protest. Yet, when Snow turned his glare back to her, she fell silent. A nod was her only signal that she would not fight him further on the matter.

With that, Snow began to lead you to the library; this time, alone. You expected the walk to be silent, though that might have only been because you had nothing to say to Snow. However, when you were out of your mother’s earshot, Snow said, “See? Isn’t this much easier when you don’t fight me?”

It would have been smarter for you to hold your tongue. But you were not the sort of woman Snow wanted you to be. “When confronted with two evils, it is easier to choose the lesser.”

Snow raised a brow. “You think I am lesser?”

You looked over your shoulder to your mother. Though she was far away, you could still see the way rage overtook her and felt pity for the butler who was attempting to placate her with a tray of tea and cakes. “I do not know what to expect of you,” you admitted.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nor do I know what to expect of you.”

Turning your gaze back to him, you said, “You should expect one thing of me, Your Majesty. I will not be the meek bride you want me to be. I will never fall in line for the sake of falling in line. I do not wish to marry you. I only will because you have removed every other choice I have.”

Snow stopped in front of a large pair of oak doors. He stared at them for a while, perhaps considering whether he should distract you with the arrival at the library or respond to what you have said. Finally, he asked, “Is it true you wished to marry Sejanus?”

How could he have known that, you wondered. The only people you had ever voiced that to were your parents, and only in an attempt to persuade them to let you consider anyone but Snow as a potential match. The question itched at you, and so you had to ask.

“It does not matter where I heard it from. What matters is your answer.”

You frowned, trying to sort through your options. You weren’t sure how much Snow was a jealous man or vengeful one. You would hate to see Sejanus harmed because you had said the wrong thing. You took a breath. “I always wanted to marry for love, but my parents made clear that that was not an option. It is no secret that I do not wish to marry you despite my parents urging. I had once expressed that, if they wanted to marry me off to a man of higher social standing, that I would comply with a match with Lord Plinth. I did not, and I do not, love him. But he is an easy man to love. If I was forced to marry anyone, I would protest the least with him.”

“He cannot give you what I can.”

“Perhaps. But I value my happiness over all else. How could I ever be happy with a man that so openly stated he only wanted a wife that would provide him a child and be otherwise complacent? We are too different. We always have been.”

Instead of acknowledging you said anything, Snow reached out with his free hand and opened the door to the library. He pushed it open, leading you into the expansive room. Though you wanted him to respond to you, you found yourself dropping your hand from his arm, turning slowly to take in the rows and rows and rows of shelves. The entire room took over two floors, books as far as the eye could see. You could spend every day there and still not have read any books.

You stepped toward one of the shelves, pulling a book at random, thumbing through it. “I have never seen this many books before. Mama always hated that I was well-read,” you confessed. You weren’t sure why you were saying it. Something about Snow just made you want to confess things today, it seemed. “She would have preferred it if I filled my time with hobbies that would have made me more desirable to my future husband. Needlework, piano…She always said that men do not want women who have ideas. I always told her that that was a relic of the past, that the times have changed. She would say that all men are the same, even if they pretend otherwise.”

A hand reached out, pushing the book down. You looked up at Snow. He looked…odd. You couldn’t begin to describe how he looked. Something caught between pained and…admiration? No, that couldn’t be. Snow cared for you as little as you cared for him. He was only doing this for his public image. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, when he said, “The library is all yours if you will be a good wife for me,” for a moment, you considered agreeing.

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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baileypie-writes · 1 year ago

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Hello! My name is Korey! I've recently been seeing your blog pop up whenever I search for veneer stuff and when I tell you I am STARVED for content- (I understand that there might be more content out there but I haven't been able to find any ;-;) I personally love your headcanons and the way you write everything and I was really hoping if you could do a Veneer x Male reader? And don't worry!! I read your rules so I have a basic idea for the story!!! You can do headcanons or a one-shot, either one works!!!

So; Masc!Reader is like a tall intimidating guy that dresses rather formally, often in reds whites and blacks. HOWEVER! They are SUCH a softy. Like, they have the voice that could scare anyone but they love stuffed animals and like dressing up in cute animal onesies!!!

When Veneer first met this gentleman, Reader would often keep to himself at first because he didn't want to accidentally scare him, but Veneer is immediately head over heels just because he sounds and looks cool. But as soon as the Reader says that they love bunnies and start opening up more he is just SWOONING-

And when Veneer starts ranting about how he thinks Reader is cool to Velvet, she is just; "That guy?? He's terrifying-"

I'm so sorry if I made the request too long, please let me know if you need more info or if you can't do this request! I will definitely understand!!!!

A/N ~ Aww this idea is so cute! Love all the details you added! I decided to do headcanons, cause it’s better for me to get all my thoughts down. Hope you enjoy!

~Veneer with an Intimidating, but Soft Boyfriend~

Fandom: Trolls 3: Band Together

Reader: Male

Relationship: Romantic

Genre: Pure fluff

Warnings: None!

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~ I feel like Veneer is naturally drawn to tough looking guys. So obviously, he likes you the moment you meet. He thought that you were just too cool! He wasn’t scared like most people are, he just wanted to get to know you!

~ When he finds out that you’re actually just a big softy, he falls for you ten times harder. Like, you’re just so cute to him.

~ He’s in love with your voice! He barely texts you, because he prefers calling. He just wants to hear you!

~ You love plushies? Well guess what, you’re now getting a new one every week. Veneer is big on spoiling you, so be prepared to not have any room left on your bed. Plushies everywhere!

~ Veneer buys you guys matching animal onesies. Multiple sets, in fact. Each with a different color and animal theme. His personal favorites are the rainbow unicorn ones.

~ Sometimes he forgets that most people perceive you as scary. He’ll get confused when people are nervous around you, until he remembers how intimidating you look to them. So he tries his best to make people see you as you truly are: kind and caring!

~ He personally loves how you dress formally. He thinks it makes you look so handsome(not that you’re not already). Sometimes he wears the same style so you two match.

~ Veneer sees you as his Prince Charming. His night in shining armor. His soulmate. And he calls you all of these things as nicknames. His sister hates it, thinking it’s super cheesy. But he couldn’t care less.

~ Secretly want you to carry him around bridal style. It adds to the whole Prince Charming thing. If you actually do it, he’ll literally swoon.

~ Veneer loves how much taller you are than him. He loves when you lean down to kiss him, or when he has to stand on his tip-toes to reach your lips.

~ Before she met you, Velvet created an image of you in her head based on what Veneer says about you. Let’s just say that she was surprised when she did meet you. You were definitely not what she was expecting. You? Sweet and soft? How?

~ Velvet is honestly confused on how Veneer isn’t scared of you. She finds you terrifying. She physically jumps when you just ask her a simple question because your voice sounds so scary. Veneer doesn’t get it at all.

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~~baileypie-writes

#trolls 3 band together #trolls 3 #trolls 3 x reader #trolls 3 veneer #trolls veneer #veneer x reader #veneer x reader fluff #veneer x male reader #veneer #baileypie-writes

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bionicle-baby · 6 days ago

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Why I love Bionicle so much, and my history with the theme in general…

When I first found out about bionicle it made me feel happy, I was depressed and I had no fandom, but then I found out about this strange Lego theme from decades ago about a group of 6 Heros that lived on an island. I loved it so much that I made it my whole personality and even renamed my blog after it once I got access to my account back.

There was one problem… I found out that there were apparently some parts of the series that were problematic (mainly the use of Māori in the series). I didn’t like this and I became extremely defensive over it. I had just came out of several toxic fandoms with monstrous creators and I was so in denial of these aspects of Bionicle that I made a bunch of posts trying to debunk them, all because I just wanted to have a perfect fandom with a perfect source material with no flaws for once.

I even made statements that bionicle wouldn’t have sold without the cultural aspects, I retract that statement entirely 😭! Also, I took some jabs at later-Bionicle, but I have grown to like it a bit. Mutran and Chirox gotta’ be my OTP!

I made posts in this vein even after I returned to tumblr a few weeks ago. I now know that a perfect fandom with perfect source material doesn’t exist and never will, but I feel like the damage has already been done to my reputation. Demitsorou, outofgloom(UPDATE: outofgloom unblocked me), crystaltoa, and most recently, toaofconfusion blocked me. Toaofconfusion used to be a friend of mine, he used to repost my art, but do to one of those posts’ he’s (or she or they, idk their pronouns) blocked me.

It saddens me that I have been blocked by several prominent members of the Bionicle community here on tumblr. I wish I could apologize directly to them, but they will never see this post, since I’m blocked by them. I have made several apologies in the past that I have deleted due to them being poorly written. @herora-nuva still follows me, and he hasn’t blocked me, but I don’t know if he’ll block me after I post this. Please dont.

This post, as of Tuesday January 28th of 2025, will be pinned, so anyone who clicks on my blog will see it. I want to be positive on here, I genuinely want to, but I just feel like I’m secretly hated by this community because of the bad posts I made! They have mostly been deleted (some of them, I can’t even find.) This will be my final apology. As I said, it will be pinned on my blog so more people can see it.

I hope you have it in your hearts to forgive me and we can make Bionicle the best fandom it can possibly be. Maybe one day, the people who blocked me will unblock me and see that I have changed, but only time will tell.

And that concludes my apology to the fandom… of the BIONICLE! (Vakama reference)

Be prepared for big things ahead… big projects… and more lighthearted posts from now on! ☺️ May we shine bright like Takanuva, and rise up like the great spirit himself! Go, Bionicle!

(Also, the reason why I like early bionicle is because it doesn’t seem as familiar to me as later bionicle. That was because of the aforementioned cultural influence. I find early bionicle to be more different from average sci-fi, and I’ll always be a little upset that the lawsuit threat, is that bionicle became more typical of your average sci-fi story. I like sci-fi like transformers and War of the Worlds, but it kinda’ feels like a bit of a bummer that bionicle started out so unique, but ended up becoming more typical of the genre in the end. It’s like when a character is autistic coded in the first seasons of a show, but becomes less-so as the seasons continue. You still love the character, you just wish they wrote them more consistently. I think that what bionicle did to get a lawsuit threat was nothing more than a bunch of sad accidents that the team could have ever foreseen and it’s not comparable to people… idk… getting fake moko or something. If Lego hadn’t made, I’m afraid they would have closed down. The Mata walked so the metru could run. That doesn’t mean they are objectively better, it just means without 1, the other would never have been. The Māori walked so bionicle could run. Even after the lawyers told Lego to stop, they kept on hopping towards the finish line (2010) on 1 leg, and they made it! If Moana came out I. 2001, it would be a loooooot different. The reason why Moana was never sued, was because it had the people it was inspired working on it. By 2016, everyone knew that that was what you were supposed to do when making a story like that; but in 2001, they didn’t, that wasn’t Lego’s fault, it was society’s.)

#bionicle #lego bionicle #lego #bonkle #bonkles #bionicles #legos #bionicle art #Bionicle fanart #fanart #art #my art #pinned post

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theonlyonesora · 26 days ago

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Chapter 7: A Glimmer of Hope

The week that followed felt like stepping into uncharted territory. There was a new rhythm between Yuna and Gojo, an unspoken connection that neither of them acknowledged aloud but both felt deeply. It wasn’t something as overt as a declaration or a grand gesture, but rather the subtle shifts in their dynamic.

Lingering glances that lasted a heartbeat longer than necessary. The accidental brush of fingertips that neither recoiled from. The quiet comfort of knowing that someone else understood the depth of the void Geto had left behind. It wasn’t a cure for the ache, but it was a balm—a quiet reassurance that they didn’t have to navigate this grief alone.

Yuna noticed the change in how the others looked at them, the sharpness of their gazes, the whispered speculations that filled the spaces she left behind. It was inevitable, she supposed. They assumed the worst, jumping to conclusions about what might have changed between her and Gojo. And while she hated the tension it created, she found herself strangely unconcerned about their opinions. What mattered was the solace she found in his presence.

The cool night air wrapped around them as they walked through the quiet streets, the mission ahead of them simple enough to feel almost mundane. The sky above was a blanket of stars, the moon casting a silvery glow on the world below.

Gojo walked a step ahead of her, his usual swagger subdued, replaced by a calm determination. His white hair caught the moonlight, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. For once, his arrogance seemed to have melted away, leaving behind a version of him that felt more real, more grounded.

The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it was comfortable, a quiet understanding that didn’t need to be filled with words.

“Have you heard the rumors about us?” Yuna finally asked, her voice breaking the stillness.

Gojo glanced at her briefly, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “Yes, I have.”

His tone was casual, but she caught the faintest flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

“It’s not a big deal,” he added, his gaze fixed ahead. “Rumors are just that—rumors. They’ve always followed us. You know that. We just ignore them, like we always have.”

She nodded, but something in his words felt hollow, like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. Still, she let it slide.

“Let’s focus on kicking some bastards’ asses,” he said, his grin returning, his voice filled with a teasing bravado that felt like home.

“Yeah, let’s get this done,” she replied, her own tone lighter now. “I want to go shopping tomorrow.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of amusement and mock horror. “Shopping? What could you possibly want to buy?”

“I don’t know. Clothes, maybe. Shoes, definitely.”

He groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t tell me you need more shoes. You already have enough to stock a small village’s shoe store.”

She smirked. “It’s not my fault if spending money makes me less sad.”

Her words were meant to be playful, but there was a kernel of truth in them. Retail therapy might not be a solution, but it was a distraction, and distractions were something she desperately needed these days.

Gojo laughed, the sound bright and infectious. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her in a loose hug, pulling her closer.

“Then spend it, Princess,” he said, his voice teasing but warm. “I’ll be your wallet for the day.”

Yuna could picture it clearly: the two of them wandering through the city, her arms laden with shopping bags, Gojo pretending to complain about how expensive everything was while secretly enjoying every second of it.

“You’d better mean that,” she teased back. “Because I’ve got my eye on some very expensive shoes.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, his grin wide and genuine.

The rest of the mission passed without incident, the low-level curses they encountered barely worth their time. It was almost laughable how easy it had been, but Yuna found herself grateful for the simplicity.

As they made their way back to the dorms, the city beginning to stir with the first signs of dawn, Yuna felt something she hadn’t felt in weeks—hope. It wasn’t the kind of overwhelming, all-encompassing hope that erased the pain or promised a perfect future. It was quieter than that, more like a single beam of light breaking through the clouds.

The grief of losing Geto hadn’t disappeared, and she knew it never truly would. But for the first time, she felt like it was possible to carry that grief without being consumed by it.

She glanced at Gojo, his figure illuminated by the soft glow of the rising sun. He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow, his expression questioning but amused.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.

For now, that was enough.

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justlightlysedated · 4 months ago

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It's been over a month since my last update on the secretly married malex fic i've been writing! so, out of the ten new scenes i added, i've only fully written two lol, so eight more to go! The goal is to be done before the new year, so wish me luck!

But here y'all go, a deleted scene:

Alex shouldn't be doing this. He has a flight in less than ten hours, and it's going to take at least three of those for him to make it to his flight on time, but he doesn't really care.

There is something he has to do right now, before he can't do anything about it.

He'd spent the last week since he left Roswell thinking about this, and he'd gone online last night and set an appointment just to see when the soonest available one would be, just to convince himself that it was a bad idea to do this. Only for the closest available appointment to be the next day, in the morning.

Alex automatically calculated the amount of time it would take for him to pack his things, drive to Roswell, make this appointment and then get back to base to make his flight. He would have at least an hour of time to celebrate afterwards.

The only thing he's unsure of in all of this is what Michael would do.

Alex isn't dumb enough to think that it doesn't hurt to be the one left behind. It hurts him and he's the one doing the leaving. But he's hopeful enough that Michael wouldn't say no. He looks at the time and sees that it's a little after three in the morning.

He messages Michael on AIM an innocuous, i miss you.

Michael's phone barely gets any service in the junkyard and is a hassle to text with, so Michael probably won't ans-

The computer dings before Alex can finish the thought.

Miss you more

Alex packs his bags and is out on the road before the hour is up.

He drives and makes it to Sanders Lot before the sun has even risen, just before seven in the morning. The appointment is in two hours. Alex thinks he made excellent time.

Michael's truck is parked next to the airstream, so Alex knows he's there. Or at least he should be. Alex hopes that he's there.

Still he hesitates for a bit too long, fifteen minutes to be exact, before he can convince himself to get out of the car.

It's just Michael. Even if he does say no to this, it's not like it'll stop him from being the most important person in Alex's life.

Alex stares at the airstream for a second longer, before the lights flicker on, announcing that the occupant was awake.

Alex gets out of the car then, and he barely makes it halfway to the door, before its opening, and Michael is standing at the entrance.

Alex stops in his tracks, feeling his heart leap up into his throat.

Michael looks visibly startled to see him.

Alex gives him a second, eyes darting all over him, drinking him in like he hasn't seen him in months and not just a week.

He's standing there shirtless, jeans hanging open, hair a frizzy mess, eyes too bright, unshaven with blood staining the corner of his mouth and smeared across his split knuckles.

It's an image that makes his heart ache. And he hates, hates, hates that he's the one responsible for this.

Alex is boarding a plane in a couple of hours, and he really has no idea if he'll ever come back home.

It's that thought more than anything that propels him forward.

Michael drops down from the entrance, taking a couple of steps forward.

"What are you doing here, Alex?" He asks, voice hoarse. "Don't you have a flight in a couple of hours?"

Alex opens his mouth to answer the question.

"Marry me," falls out of his mouth instead.

Michael gapes at him momentarily, while Alex feels his face flush a little with embarrassment. He'd meant to ease into the subject, not blurt it out first thing.

"Unless I'm mistaken," Michael says slowly, eyes darting all over Alex's face. "We're already married."

"That's a domestic partnership," Alex says, a little impatiently, and pushes forward despite the hurt look Michael throws at him.

"Which becomes void in the event of my death," Alex continues. Michael makes a sound, taking a step forward, hand lifting slightly only to drop again.

Alex keeps speaking, "And if anything happens, the last person I want making decisions for me is my father."

Michael stares at him for a long moment. The silence between them feels heavy with tension.

Alex clears his throat and waves a hand around in the air, "And we can get married now."

Michael continues to look at him without speaking.

"So, what do you say?" Alex says, a little desperately taking a step closer to Michael.

Michael takes a startled step back before he turns around and heads back inside the airstream.

For about five seconds Alex feels the absolute heartbreak, before Michael stumbles back out of the airstream, holding his shirt in one hand.

He holds out a clenched fist towards Alex, giving him an encouraging smile.

Alex starts to feel the embers of hope flickering in his chest.

He opens his hand, holding it towards Michael.

Michael drops two rings into Alex's palm, and he feels as though the entire world stops for a crystal clear second.

Michael pulls his shirt over his head while Alex tries to process what's happening.

Michael clears his throat, and Alex's gaze snaps back to him, as he stuffs his hand in his pocket, putting the rings safely away.

"I got them right after I heard that they passed-mmhp."

Alex stumbles forward and kisses Michael, one hand to the side of his head, fingers curled around his ears as he pulls him in, falling into the kiss at the same time, trusting that Michael would keep them on their feet.

Michael just barely manages that, wrapping his arms around Alex's waist as he stumbles to catch his balance. Alex's skin feels like it's buzzing as his entire focus narrows to Michael's mouth. He doesn't care if they end up falling to the ground.

He barely notices that they're moving until he's being tumbled back onto the still warm hood of his car. Alex protests digging his fingers into the back of Michael's neck to pull him in. Michael laughs a little, almost deliriously, wrapping his hands around the backs of Alex's knees and pulling him closer.

Alex lets Michael tug him wherever he wants him, hooking his knees around Michael's hips.

Michael presses his hands to Alex's face, fingers around his jaw, tilting his face up as Michael leans down, stopping close enough to rub their noses together.

"Marry me?" he breathes into the space between their mouths.

Alex hums low in his throat as he wraps his arms around Michael's waist, "I asked you fir-"

The rest of the words are caught by Michael's lips as he kisses Alex again, pressing their mouths together softly once, before tilting his head to change the angle, and kissing him again.

Alex tightens his hold on Michael, pulling him in even closer, and they lose several more minutes just kissing languidly, pressed close together.

Michael parts their mouths with a gasp, pressing his forehead to Alex's.

"Yes," Michael breathes.

"Yeah?" Alex questions, not thinking about anything but kissing Michael again.

Michael laughs a little, "Yes, I'll marry you."

Alex smiles, feeling so happy and light, "Yeah?"

"Yes," Michael repeats, kissing Alex once quickly. "You?"

"Of course, I will," Alex says, bumping their noses together. "I'll marry you as many times as you want me to."

Michael kisses him again, hard and biting. Alex holds him close for a long moment, before he pushes him back, parting their mouths with a slick sound.

"Let's go get married," Alex says, grinning stupidly.

Michael smiles back at him, and just tugs him in for another kiss. Alex kisses him back, they still have time before their appointment.

#malex fic #this is a deleted scene #which is the longest bit of the fic i've deleted so far #see you whenever i remember to give an update #🥰🥰🥰

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receivedhope · 28 days ago

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I’d love to hear some of your thoughts on Kurt, seasons 2 onwards.

Aw lmao, thank you for asking! Well... how long do you have lol.

Hm, trying to think about aspects of Kurt that are more present S2+ is a bit tricky because he is such a consistent character and is like the only person who is not constantly yanked around by the whims of whichever current episode writer to do whatever the plot demands. So I might take this opportunity to make a case for his more unpopular actions that are deemed ooc?

I think the biggest one of S3 is OMW - I've read multiple times that him seeking out the God Squad was kinda weird since he is atheistic, but I don't agree. It's kind of emotionally intense news to receive, that the homophobic bully who kissed you against your will last year and confessed to you on Vday just a few weeks ago is in the hospital for an attempted suicide - after deliberately ignoring his texts! So I think we could cut him some slack in any case.

I don't really agree with the assesment that he should've reached out to Blaine or Burt either, because Blaine would without question take Kurt's side (plus I'm actually not sure if Kurt ever told him about Karofsky's confession? Maybe I am just severely blanking and I'm only about to start rewatching S3, so. Feel free to correct me!) and I don't think Kurt wants to hear that right now. Kurt has a pretty active guilt conscience and internalizes all of his feelings before deciding to act on them. And Burt would take Kurt's side even more fiercely, plus I think he knows even less than Blaine - that is, Kurt never outed Dave to him so he does not know about the locker room kiss to begin with. Plus Burt already does not like Dave on top of that!

I'm not saying that Kurt wants to hear it's his fault, but he does blame himself, likely because he also struggled with passive suicidal thoughts (2009) and fully understands how alienating and downright dangerous it is to be known as the gay kid in Lima. So I think him reaching out to the God Squad (maybe even subconsciously to Mercedes, in a round about way) is very reasonable!

Oh S4 Hummelberry... I personally don't hate their friendship (or at least, don't like or hate it more than the average Kurt relationship) but I do wish Kurt didn't have to wear a muffler around her. I think that's also why Klaine is perceived so dysfunctional, because the story demands that Hummelberry don't go back into frenemies territory, so Blaine is like the only person Kurt is allowed to be messy with. But I also don't think it came out of left field, either?

I think Hummelberry was strongly hinted as early as Hairography. I think they are so similar in a lot of crucial ways that Kurt, who is insanely reserved and private, can open up to Rachel easily - he can externalize his feelings through her, bypassing this need to keep his heart strongly guarded with "I'm just giving advice to Rachel".

I do buy that they are so bipolar about each other too, flip-flopping between calling each other soulmates in the deleted yearbook scene and Rachel calling Kurt a "traitor who always secretly prayed for her downfall" in Trio. I actually wish we could've gotten more of this!

What I always found to be its saving grace is that I like this aspect of Kurt, that he is so sentimental for (and trauma bonded with) Rachel that it has the capacity to render him spineless? I find it really cute lol.

I also think Kurt is very susceptible to emotional manipulation - if you hit him with a sob enough story, he will 100% forgive you for whatever. And Rachel is so open about her misery it makes Kurt cave.

(Plus I think Rachel fits so neatly in Kurt's stan list so I buy that for that reason too.)

It just makes Kurt that much more sympathetic to me so I don't hate it as much, though I do wish that keeping him close to Rachel was not such a strong bottom line and could have been played around with more. I do prefer them as the frenemies they were in S1-2 and in the odd instances like Rachel running for senior class president as well and Diva.

As for S6, I don't hate that he is back at McKinley. The entirety of the season is themed around regression, so it makes sense that he runs back to the familiar misery of high school, in a way. What I find less talked about (perhaps due to S6 just not being a popular season) yet interesting enough to note here, is that I always thoight his inital plan for the work study year was so lazy to begin with (I say this with love because I think his laziness is also cute) since the retirement home did not have any high stakes to have to put on a great show and I feel most of the residents would go along with whatever Kurt wanted, so basically any complications or hardships you may face from a directing job are pretty much absent here LMAO. And then instead goes to coach a random ass glee club in the middle of nowhere like I KNOWWW his professors were like "Okay what the fuck is Kurt doing" between each other.

BUT! He is still stricken with grief plus went through another traumatic break up with Blaine. So, again, I'm willing to cut him slack.

I just think he is a pretty well rounded and well written character! And I get that I am lenient, maybe even blinded by favoritism masquerading as empathy, but I don't think his less rational choices are necessarily ooc.

Though I apologize if this response was not at all the one you were expecting LMAO...

#ask #and tysm for asking i LOVE sharing my kurt brainworms

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 2 years ago

Text

Susan Kay's 'Phantom' Read: Part VI (Erik-Christine Counterpoint)

Dear God.

I can now unequivocally say I hate this book. Some of you may have caught my vent post from earlier which I wrote in one of the many moments I had to put the book down and walk away for the good of my own health and sanity.

The badness of this book has now ceased to be amusing and is now just... bad. So bad in fact that I think it triggered my bronchial asthma and I had to get out of the bathtub and find my inhaler before I could finish this portion.

To sum up it really seems like Kay lost any and all interest in exploring Leroux's characters once she finished Erik’s back-story. Yes there were differences from Canon even there, but the story was still following Leroux's timeline and was by-and-large canon compliant.

This section, barring a few superficially similar details is virtually unrecognizable from the source material.

Yes Erik begins to teach Christine under the guise of the Angel of Music, and yes he takes her down under the Opera house for two weeks. And yes they go up for the masquerade and yes Christine and Raoul plan to run away on the rooftop, leading to Erik planning to blow up the Opera house out of desperation.

Carlotta croaks like a toad and the chandelier does indeed crash.

Yet all of these details seem like perfunctory afterthoughts. The intervening material is so wholly divorced from Leroux's story that when events from the canon are included, it felt almost jarring to me.

I hate the way Kay characterizes Christine, and Erik is just as bad if not worse.

Christine’s descent into the lair is clearly modeled off of the Musical/1925 movie, with Erik drawing her down into the tunnels in a trance. And Christine asks for the Angel to take her away! How convenient for Erik!

I would have been far more interested in seeing the abduction from the book as told from Erik's perspective.

This launches a self-indulgent two weeks of Christine essentially worshipping at Erik's feet, which is shattered only by a frankly ineffective unmasking scene (again based on the musical/1925 movie and less affecting than either).

This is no torrid, passionate, innately horrifying yet also emotionally heart-wrenching unmasking of Leroux. Christine simply snatches the mask and Erik has a heart attack(?) before he can fully choke her out.

Christine’s shock at discovering that her Angel is actually a man, and then her horror of his face is lacklustre, and completely insufficient to convince me that this is really a big enough stumbling block to prevent her from marrying him. She puts him on such a high pedestal and Erik does absolutely nothing to contradict her. He says he worships her, but in action, she is always deferential to him. He never prostrates himself before her, never treats her like a queen, like a goddess. He never follows her around like a faithful dog, as he does in Leroux. On the contrary, she follows him.

She's so obviously in love with Erik that her claims of confusion regarding her feelings for him come off as flaccid and disingenuous, and her obvious preference for Erik and her complacency with her situation sap any tension from the love story.

Don't misunderstand me, I like when a Christine has a preference for Erik. My problem is that Kay has completely lain all her cards on the table. Christine speaks freely and almost easily of Erik to Raoul who is basically a cardboard cut out. Kay's attempt at "exploring" whether Raoul's doubts in Christine's love for him are really founded in Christine secretly holding a candle for Erik is ultimately pointless because the READER already knows that she finds Raoul's love a pale comparison to what she feels with Erik! There's no mystery here!

(Its unfortunate that Kay wrote this before having access to Lowell Bair's translation, which provided us for the first time with Leroux's own answer to that Question: Why tempt fate, Raoul! Why ask me about things which I keep hidden in the back of my heart like a sin?"

It makes it feel even more incomprehensibly perfunctory when Christine decides to run away with Raoul when she knows that she could simply marry Erik for however long he has left (he's apparently not long for this world anyway) and then go on with her life. Gah!!

And then there's how Kay infantilizes Christine. While Leroux's Christine is eccentric and dreamy and credulous, she is not ignorant or "unstable". She's aware of the ways of the world

You would say that to me, Raoul? You, an old playfellow of my own! A friend of my father! You have changed since those days, Raoul. What can you be thinking of? I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny, and I don't lock myself in my dressing room with mens voices!"

Christine very clearly understands the implications here, and she's outraged and offended that Raoul would even imply that she would conduct herself with impropriety.

And it's not only Kay who infantilizes Christine, but Erik as well:

I'm beginning to realize just how much of a child she really is, how terrifyingly immature and vulnerable--even unstable. There's a fatal flaw running through her, like a hairline crack in a Ming dynasty vase, but that imperfection makes me love her with even greater tenderness. I don't suppose for one moment that that boy is aware of the never-ending care she'll need. Whoever marries Christine is going to have to play the father as well as the lover; if she lives to be eighty she may never be more than a child at heart, a lost and frightened little girl, bewildered by the demands of reality.

This is infuriating to me, because, as M. Grant Kellermeyer so astutely points out in his footnotes of the 2018 Old Style Tales Edition of the book:

"He confesses his cheat. He loves me! He lays an immense and tragic love at my feet... he has carried me off for love! He has imprisoned me with him underground, for love! But he respects me!*"

* - This, indeed, seems to be a unique experience in Christine's life: she is surrounded by people who despise her (Carlotta), dismiss her (the managers), idolize her (Raoul), infantilize her (Mama Valerius), and pity her (the opera workers)--Erik alone respects her. Erik alone sees in her the power and artistry that becomes increasingly obvious as her character grows in confidence and assertiveness. Erik fears her to an extent, and [...] it is likely that Christine is simply touched by Erik's belief in her, his confidence in her, and his devotion to her success.

And Kellermeyer's point about Christine growing in assertiveness is very very important. She wields power over both Erik and Raoul.

But Kay's Christine doesn't. Erik's treatment of her, both his actual treatment and his internal monologue is absolutely horrible, so again NOT AT ALL how Leroux's Erik treats her.

Let's start with the stretch where he's playing the Angel (Alexa play album "Playing the Angel" by Depeche Mode)

Christine says:

He's so stern and exacting in his demand for perfection; he never praises me, even when I know I have done well. He remains aloof and cold in his timeless imperishable wisdom, and I know that the worship of a mortal heart can mean nothing to him.

Kayrik said he wanted to be her angel who would make her feel confidence in herself at last, and yet none of his behaviour exhibits any desire to do that. I hate interpretations of Erik that take "stern" to mean cold or outright verbally abusive. That is terrible teaching method and never produces good results. Furthermore, in Leroux, Christine never mentions the Angel withholding praise, and when he is aloof following Raoul's reappearance in Christine's life, it even seems as though this is a departure from the norm.

Arguably one of the most iconic moments of the original novel is the scene where Christine is left alone in her dressing room after recovering from a fainting spell that saw her carried off the stage immediately after her triumph. Raoul, outside her room, hears Christine and Man's voice conversing and we are given some of the most iconic lines in the novel:

He had heard a man's voice in the dressing room, saying, in a curiously masterful tone:

"Christine, you must love me!"

And Christine's voice, infinitely sad and trembling as though accompanied by tears, replied:

"How can you say that to me? To me, when I sing only for you!"

[...]

The man's voice spoke again: "Are you very tired?"

"Oh, tonight I gave you my soul, and I am dead!"

"Your soul is a very beautiful thing, child," replied the grave man's voice, "and I thank you. No emperor ever recieved so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight."

Raoul heard nothing after that.

This important scene, deeply layered with romantic and sexual subtext, is completely absent from Phantom. Not only that Kay explicitly says that when Christine returned to her dressing room after her triumph, the voice wasn't there at all. He never congratulates her, never praises her. He's simply. Not. There. For her.

It's not just this that I hate though.

It's the number of times Erik calls her a "stupid child".

Funnily enough, Erik treats Christine with the exact same supercilious condescension that makes me hate Raoul in the musical.

Both Kayrik and Musical Raoul look at Christine and regard her as potentially mentally unstable, unable to trust her own senses or handle reality. To both of them she is a "scared little girl" and will never be anything more. Both of them look at that and say "No matter, let me wife that."

Interesting thing: Leroux Erik only calls Christine "Child" when he is in his guise as the Angel. Never does Erik, as Erik, refer to her that way.

Now I'll pause to say, there is one part of this episode I enjoyed and that is when Christine masturbates to Don Juan Triumphant.

And yet even this I have a problem with.

I've already covered the fact that though Leroux's Christine is innocent, she is not ignorant. She is very aware of the potential sexual danger Erik poses to her when he abducts her (though this, again was not a portion of the book available in English when Kay was writing). Nevertheless I still find it hateful and irritating that Kay's Christine is so ignorant that when Erik's music arouses her, she says she touched herself in a place "I had never known existed."

And the fact that Christine has remained insensible to her sexuality this far into her relationship with Erik is another thing that chaps my hide.

Both Leroux's Christine and Andrew Lloyd Webber's admit to fearing the effect that the Angel of Music and his tutelage have had on her. Leroux's Christine says "I hardly knew myself when I sang. I was even frightened." And Andrew Lloyd Webbers also says "He's with me even now, all around me--it frightens me" and in a short-lived alternative lyric used on the West End "I'm changing, Meg!"

And indeed, Erik's tutelage has changed Christine. Her singing under Erik's influence is not simply that of innocent euphoria. It referred to in deliberately orgasmic terms such as "Ecstasy" and "Rapture". And this so frightens her, because she is aware of what exactly these ecstasies are awakening in her. But Kay's Christine doesn't seem to be undergoing the same change. Instead of Erik's voice awakening her, Kay rather describes him as shrouding her in the fantastic, even shielding her from the very awareness and maturity that Leroux's Erik seems to be drawing out in her. Her final step into adult awareness is Erik revealing himself to her as a man, which seems to be something of a non-event here, not even of importance independent of the Unmasking. To Kay's Christine it simply is, while that simple fact is reacted to by ALW's Christine with undisguised attraction and by Leroux's with indignation.

Further sullying what is otherwise a very engaging (if somewhat short) scene of... self... discovery(?) Is Erik's perspective on the proceedings, an excerpt which prejudiced me against this book long before I undertook to read it:

I dared not think how near I had been to losing control, how terrifyingly easy it would have been in that moment to rape her. I'd raped her with music instead, and perhaps that crime was almost as bad as the one it had so narrowly prevented. Either way I'd violated her trust and destroyed a rare and precious innocence--soiled the delicate ambience that had lain between us all these weeks.

When I first ran afoul of this quote I had still been under the impression that this section of the book would be following Leroux's story and took this to be Kay's interpretation of the moment after the Unmasking when Erik, having lashed out in horrific fashion at Christine for exposing him, retreats to his room to express his anguish through music, and that music actually prevents Christine from taking her own life. In another travesty of censorship, though, the salient details of this moment (Christine's description of Erik's music) is yet another portion of the book Kay would have had no knowledge of or access to, yet is one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful pieces of prose ever put to print:

Troubled at the idea of the fate now awaiting me, and terrified of seeing the monster's uncovered face peering from the doorway to the room with the coffin, I had run to my own room and snatched up the scissors that could bring me freedom from this loathsome fate when I heard the sound of the organ.

At that instant I began to comprehend to Erik's strange rejection of what he termed "opera music". What I was now hearing was completely different from the music that had thrilled me up to that point. His "Don Juan Triumphant" (for I had no doubt that he was now losing himself in his Masterpiece to forget the horror of the moment) at first struck me as one long, dreadful, glorious lament into which he was pouring all of his bitter misery.

I visualized the manuscript with the blood red notes and easily imagined that they had been written in blood. His music carried me on a gut-wrenching journey through martyrdom and into the most hidden recesses of the pit which this hideous monster called home; it showed me Erik banging his poor, ugly head against the dreary walls of the hell where he took refuge from those whom he would otherwise frighten. I, listening, gulping for breath, besieged and pathetically broken by the Titanic cords which turned suffering divine: rising from the pit they suddenly rallied into a remarkable, menacing swarms, soaring up to heaven circling ever higher Like an Eagle toward the Sun. Listening to that Triumphant Symphony as it as it set the world of fire, I now understood that the work had achieved its apotheosis, and that the Beast soaring on the wings of love had dared to countenance Beauty.

Yet another iconic moment which Kay saw fit to axe from her work is Christine's visit to her father's grave at Perro-Guirec, where Erik plays for Christine unseen in the snowy graveyard at midnight, and after which Raoul comes face to face with Erik for the first time.

Kay weaves a frankly incoherent and disjointed tale that confounds in the original scenes and rushes through the ones that touch on canon.

But by far the most unforgivable omission

She cut out César, the White Horse from The Profeta.

See I was all set, back in part III to praise Kay's foreshadowing, because CLEARLY she put so much focus on Erik's affinity with his horses, having him tell Giovanni that he has no need to train them--they follow him because they want to, etc CLEARLY that was set-up for him carrying César off to transport Christine. RIGHT?

RIGHT?

Wrong.

As lovely as Erik's description of Christine's kiss is, by this point its so overshadowed by a cloud of shit, I couldn't really enjoy it.

Nearly finished now. I can't wait for this to be over...

Masterpost

#phantom of the opera #poto #commentary on 'phantom'#susan kay phantom #phantom susan kay

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weepylucifer · 1 year ago

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for the drabble ask meme: 22 or 37 with Steban and Ulixes? :3

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

It is a night like any other - if anything, this night is more mellow than their usual meetings. Finals week has just come and gone and left the both of them too drained for heated debate or fervent analysis. They'd talked about this week's reading a little, messed around with the matchboxes in a way that was more playful than anything, and quickly abandoned the endeavor in favor of more or less... just hanging out. And Ulixes likes talking theory with Steban, and he knows it's important, but he also finds himself wishing they'd... just hang out more often. It's simple, it's nice. It's good to remember sometimes that they're not just comrades but also friends.

Steban is smoking a cigarette and telling a meandering anecdote about a class that Uli is not in, and Uli is absorbing maybe every other sentence of it, nodding and humming in the appropriate places. He cannot help this. Steban enraptures him endlessly, not his words this time, but the shape of him, his profile softened by the warm, low light of the reading lamp. The way smoke spills past his slightly parted lips, the flash of teeth that occasionally glints in the light as he speaks. His skin looks warm, his throat inviting where the collar of his shirt falls open, poised for ready, starving teeth to sink into. Surely Steban means nothing by it when he leaves the first few buttons of his shirt open like that, surely he's not trying to be alluring, to presume he is would be reading too much into it. Surely he's just too lost in thought or too sleepy in the mornings to do those buttons up correctly.

Great, now he's thinking about Steban in the mornings, hazy and soft with sleep, coming awake gradually and indolently, yawning, stretching. Maybe he sleeps in the nude. Maybe sometimes he wakes up aroused and takes himself in hand, when he's got the time. Maybe he does it in the shower...

Ulixes can't pretend these thoughts are new, or that thinking them even shocks him anymore. Those grooves in his mind are well-worn, paths smooth from frequent treading. It's already a habit to let himself get lost like this in ruminance upon his comrade's body, to perhaps even dream up scenarios in which he reaches out a daring hand and touches--

"Uli, are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Ulixes jolts out of his reverie. Apparently Steban has finished speaking and is now looking straight at him.

"You're kind of... staring at me," Steban says. "Is something wrong?"

Uh-oh. Oh no. Ulixes has been told his stare can be... disconcerting, with his glasses. The last thing he wants is to weird Steban out. "No," he says, hoping to salvage the situation, "Just... thinking."

"Ah," Steban says and nods and looks away, and for a moment it seems like he'll leave it at that, but then he continues, "No, actually, I think it's time we talked about this."

"What?"

"It's only, I've observed this before, and something is up, isn't it? I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice... it's been a frequent occurrence, lately, and, there's really only one conclusion to be drawn from it..."

Oh, god, here it comes. He has been found out. Ulixes feels his insides quake with fright, but he can't deny that some part of him is absurdly excited. Had wanted this to happen, even. Now the dice have fallen, his secret is uncovered, his love and devotion laid bare to the world, and now Steban will pass judgement, deem him worthy of his attentions or cast him away. Either way: after this, there will be no more guessing and fretting. Ulixes will know where he stands.

"...You secretly hate me, right?" Steban says.

What.

"What," Ulixes repeats.

Steban wrings his hands. He looks extremely concerned. "I mean... you look at me like that because I've done something wrong, don't you? Do you find me lacking, in terms of ideology? Have I done something to offend you? Is my theory unsound? Whatever it is, be honest with me about it, and I'll correct the behavior." He's almost crying now, Ulixes observes with a terrible start. "I know I'm difficult, but..."

Uli has to interrupt now. "You, difficult?"

"I know I'm not easy to get along with..."

"You are the easiest person in the world to get along with," Ulixes says, because that is his truth.

"I know I'm petty. I drive people away. Maurice... Felix and Zuzanna..."

"They just weren't the right fit for this group, that's not your fault..."

"But I don't want to... I can't drive you away like that," Steban continues. "For you, I'll critique and work on myself. You're my only... my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

His appeal concluded, Steban looks down and fidgets forlornly with the stub of his cigarette. This is a disaster, Ulixes thinks. He expected that Steban would figure him out sooner or later and that all he had to do was wait. He never fathomed that Steban would get it this wrong.

(But, having made a study of Steban's personality, perhaps he should have taken the possibility into account. He knows how Steban can get sometimes, when his gloomier moods do his thinking for him. Ulixes mentally slaps himself for not being more aware. If he doesn't take care of his comrade's emotional needs, then what's he even doing??)

The issue is so grave and demands so loudly to be corrected that suddenly, putting a hand on Steban's and saying "Actually, I've been secretly in love with you" is easy.

#answer'd #i had to introduce a little silly twist; i couldn't just have steban say ''i've seen you making simp eyes at me 😏''#he would not be that smooth #did i just deliberately reference ''you are my only friend i am undone without you''? oh yeah bet #hey HEY just got home from date night so finally time for the first drabble!!#writings by me

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my-castles-crumbling · 9 months ago

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hey! I've been having some worries about my (platonic) relationship recently and I'd love advice that isn't from my best friend (because of course he'd never tell me if anything was up). Also, I may have sent in this ask before, but my adhd brain can't remember

So, I've been with him for a year now, we dated for a couple months at the start and now we're friends, we're both different levels and flavors of aroace, and he's my soulmate and literally everything to me. I'm beyond in love with him. He says that he feels the same about me, but I'm just not sure. It feels like he's avoiding me and falling out of love with me, and he hasn't been really talking to me much for weeks. He says that he's busy, but he just doesn't seem to care as much and I don't know how to let go of him. I keep trying to get him to tell me that he wants to end what we have, but he just won't, even though he's pretty clearly uninterested in talking to me. Lately, the only way we communicate has been hour-long calls at night. I'm worried that I'm putting too much on him with dealing with my insecurities (I'll tell him that it's okay if he hates me and I understand why he doesn't want to be friends anymore and then he'll get a little upset and say that he does and I dont need to worry about that stuff), he was there for me while I was dealing with severe depression and everything that it brought and I'm just scared that it's been too much for him and he's tired of me constantly complaining, or I'm pushing him too much and he won't tell me (we're still figuring out what our relationship is, it's not romantic but it's so much more than just being friends (to me at least) and he just seems less in love with me than I am with him). I can't get him to admit any of it and I can't bring myself to just block him and let him go (we go to different schools and live pretty far from each other so he wouldn't be able to contact me any other ways given that I can ignore emails much better than texts).I know it would be what's best for him and it's was he really wants, but I just don't know how to do it and let go of him. He's the love of my life and I know I'm being too selfish but it's just so painful to think about letting him go, even when we already only talk once or twice a day. I don't know what to do

Hi hon!

I'm a bit confused, here. You keep saying you know he doesn't want to be with you, you know you're bugging him, you know he's better off, you know, you know, you know- but then you say he says everything is fine?

Has he done anything to make you think this?

Trust me, I have been in this spot so many times, where I feel like I am too much, where I feel like someone secretly doesn't want me, where I feel like I should just run. But if this person is saying or doing nothing to actually confirm this, then there are two possibilities:

Either you are feeling anxious about something that actually isn't true (valid. Like I said, I've been there) In this case, then...yay! It's not true!

OR he is feeling this way, but he isn't telling you about it. In this case, then...it's HIS job to tell you how he's feeling. You shouldn't have to pry that from him.

Either way, you don't have to do anything! It sounds horrible and terrifying, but try to take his reassurance at face value for a bit. See how things go. Try not to just leave. I don't think that'll work well.

Please write/vent to me anytime <3

I'm naming you good anon, for when you write back!

#ask #asks #ask cas #good anon

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lovecolibri · 2 years ago

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SaL anon here my friend after a very, very long week. This is actually my 3rd attempt at sending you an ask. First, I finally had time and was excited to type up something for the latest episode and then the Buck LI stuff came out and the mood for that was killed. Next I had mostly typed up my salty thoughts only to have my internet go down (yes, I whined at home "what i was going to read??!!" and pointedly ignored my very much filled bookcase because my ships aren't in them). So here let's see if this one works out.

So how is it KR and the promo dept always manage to kill any joy we have when we get fed any kind of Buddie content (the follow-up to the Eddie getting shot, and the 5b and premier come to mind here)?? Seriously Buck and Eddie more or less went on a date and had family night together and almost immediately they came back with "look Buck and Eddie are going to go on dates!!". Its exhausting cause it seems like any time they put out a story that might even be slightly suggestive of them being more than platonic bros they insist on following it up with stories to "prove" they are, no matter how recycled those plots are.

And okay let's take a second here to ask WTF is KR doing with these characters? In 6b alone we've had Buck dying, a coma dream, PTSD, super powers, and now he's getting a crush, and we STILL haven't finished the accursed sperm donor storyline??!! Bobby and Athena investigated had the death of a beloved friend 🙄 plot, HenRen had the nonsensical Denny secretly seeing his Dad which was never an issue before plot, and Madney and Eddie are just kinda there?? The other characters have had at best one storyline where the audience has to either invent or rewrite the backstory for. But for Buck he's had like 50 plotlines, none of which have really gone anywhere? I love Buck but I'd rather have him have 1 good arc and resolution than whatever this bullshit is. I'd easily take that screentime and give it to any of the other characters if it meant we got 1 well thought out and executed storyline. Instead we're just recycling and redressing old plots for everyone else while KR uses a magnetic poetry set to plan what Buck's doing from episode to episode. We have 5 episodes left in the season, 4-5 guest characters that are going to be incorporated (including 2 much beloathed ones 🙄🙄🙄), and nothing really setup for our mains to do (even Eddie dating isn't setup, it literally hasn't come up after Ana and you'd think they could have in 6a while he was watching his son mature).

Anyway, I'll stop the rant here though there's definitely more I could say. I'll close off saying I hope you're feeling better today since this week looks like its been rough on you. Sending you virtual tea, soup, and hugs!!

Long week is RIGHT my friend! I'm so sorry you were foiled in your previous attempts! I am right there with you on the Buck LI stuff just...sucking a lot of the joy out of things for me. Because of course we're doing this again 🙄🙄🙄 I was even writing up notes on a possible fic and you KNOW I haven't written anything since Malex and even that was before s4 started. But alas. That sucks about the power going out! I hate when that happens especially if I was in the middle of something! (Also I am SO with you. I keep buying books and then just...not reading them because my brain says "it's not our blorbos so no.)

I am just...so tired at this point. Like yes these people *may* not stick around, but even so, I don't want to loose out on Buddie scenes and Buckley-Diaz family scenes! I don't want Buck to have 90% of his time and discussions with some new character I do not know or care about instead of Eddie and the firefam! They already tried to do that with BT and it was the woooooorst! I want Eddie to have screentime and arcs but again, I don't want the little time we DO get to be wasted on some random side character! And lets be honest, there is no person they can introduce at this point that can compare with the relationship Buck and Eddie have already built and the ways in which they are the perfect partners for what each other needs. So the options are to a) cut down on seeing that relationship so their new het ones don't look so shitty and lame in comparison, b) have these women be mostly just Blurry Girlfriends in the background with no personality or depth just to have the boys paired off so they don't have to do Buddie while still centering their relationship so people can't call them out for not committing to Buddie because their "friendship" looks basically the same, or c) give them LIs that are basically the other's personalities transplanted into a female body in order to have the relationship be anything close to what Buck and Eddie need in a life partner. These are all terrible options, and I hate them, more than I hate the idea of them ending up single even though it undercuts their own narrative set up for the characters but that's a cop-out too.

ANYWAY

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 to everything about Buck's 700 shitty arcs this season while everyone else is mostly twiddling their thumbs. KR is literally the worst at pacing and planning, and constructing a season with any kind of flow. On the bright side, Ravi is coming back and Chim is going to get to do something! I'm so excited! I was really hoping for more of him and Bobby teaming up last week because the little crumbs we got were GOLD.

I did have a very emotionally rollercoaster-y week and the show being Like This absolutely Did Not Help, but I am making it work. Mostly with loooots of fic. Cheers friend, lets see if we can make it through the finale intact, if Buddie dreams can make it through the finale intact, and if the SHOW can make it through the finale intact with how these renewal negotiations are going.

#my sweet nonnie friends #sleeping at last anon #911 #911 spoilers #IDC how it turns out 5 episodes from now or next season this is literally a repeat of s2 AND s4 #with eddie getting with someone and buck going back to trying to date right after #i am TIRED #i am OVER them running things in circles and going nowhere #and i am sick of kr ruining everything about the show with her incompetence and her obsession with cheap drama #GOD and the sperm donor thing is STILL fucking going!#didn't she say how “fun” it could be to see buck trying to date in the middle of all that?!#GOD if i think too hard about that storyline or the next few episodes i just get filled with rage #so i'm gonna go read some fic and calm down #but it is past time for her to go for REAL #get that woman AWAY from buck and his arcs and the whole damn show actually #brb gotta go scream into the woods for an hour

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cosmiclove-heavenstruck · 3 years ago

Text

Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

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

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

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

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

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

You were the opposite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Right. Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Really?” He asked.

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

“Yes, really,” You replied, grinning.

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

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

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

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

You sat the needle back on the record.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I mean, she’s –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” You nodded.

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

–

“It’s not that easy, alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merlin, do you ever listen to me?”

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

“Morning boys,” She greeted them enthusiastically.

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

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

“Mhm?” You looked up from your toast.

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

“Oh.” You shrugged. “Normal.”

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

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

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

Lavender beside you snickered and Parvati snorted into her coffee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He did not – not what you said.”

“He did! The list doesn’t lie.”

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

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

You didn’t want to be jealous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

“Hey. You’re early.”

“Could say the same about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what the cool kids dance to.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of payment?”

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

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

“What?” You asked, turning around.

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

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

“Argh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enough times to know what to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” You mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry shrugged and ruffled through his messy hair.

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

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

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

“You okay?” He asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Chinese Fireball.”

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

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

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

Harry ignored the Fat Lady.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Sorry, Professor, I was just –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, bye.”

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

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

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

“Hi,” He said as he had reached you.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry, is that you?”

He almost fell from his broom.

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

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

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

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

“You lied to a professor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry looked up at the blonde girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

“What eyeshadow should I use?”

“The darker one.”

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

Parvati turned back to face the mirror.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And have some fun,” Lavender added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He – well – he…”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, flashback.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I’m genuinely asking –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled, not moving your knee away from his.

“Yeah…but I don’t mind, really.”

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

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

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

“What things?” He asked quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had you ever told him how beautiful he was?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Harry Potter #Harry James Potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #fluff #oneshot #my writing #angst #slow burn

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oh-holy-slut · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodlust

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, blood sharing, mentions of death, oral sex

Word Count: 2,6k

Summary: Stefan forced Damon to try his animal diet. Damon hated it, but didn't had a choice... until Reader makes a suggestion. Suddenly things get steamy.

Being with Damon was complicated. Him and Y/N have seen each other a lot in the past weeks. The two of them had a lot of fun; saw a lot of movies. Actually, Y/N was sure Damon secretly hated many of those. However, anytime Y/N suggested another dramatic, romantic cliché movie like "Last Song" - the vampire groaned, put his arm around her shoulder, let her head rest on his chest and endured every single second of the movie of her choice.

Damon even flirted and teased Y/N here and there, but didn't lead to anything more intimate so far.

Today was another of those days. Y/N stuck around at the Salvatore boarding house, brought a few of Damon's favorite groceries and a bunch of movies, of which she thought that they will suit his taste. Even if they were a little to bloody and brutal in her opinion.

"Pick one!", she demanded, holding all three Blu-ray sleeves in front of him. Damon just shrugged, not bothering to even look.

"Don't be a killjoy, Damon Salvatore!" Y/N sighed.

"Tell me what's wrong or pick a movie. You've got no choice. And besides that... Which number of drink is this?" Y/N frowned, pointing at the liquor in her friends hand. Damon usually consumed his beloved bourbon with pleasure.

But the man on the couch didn't seem pleasured at all. His facial features totally hardened and a look in his eyes like he was ready to rip someone's heart out.

You put the disc's back in your handbag, closing the zipper and put the bag on the floor.

"Fine. No movie night today. Who are we going to kill?"

A small smirk appeared on Damon's lips, finally looking towards Y/N.

"Stefan and his hero hair. He made me go vegetarian... well, for a vampire... and I can't get myself to eat one of those chipmunks, bunnies or bambis." He shook himself with disgust.

"And why did he count you in? You clearly aren't excited about the changing... So, why did you agree?"

"He said, he would kill me, which is kinda funny. But-" Damon made a wide gesture "he stole my daylight ring. And he wouldn't give it back until I stop feeding on innocent people - and kill them."

"So, you truly let your younger brother blackmail you like that?! Wow... I don't know how to feel about your dieting or your new path. Or whatever this is supposed to be."

"You don't like me killing people either", Damon maintained, while taking another sip of bourbon.

"Well, I don't", Y/N agreed, took a step forward, stole the glass from the vampires hand and put it on a small table nearby. "But I don't believe in forcing as a method to get people to change their minds. I believe that change for the better must be an intrinsic motivation," she added quickly, giving the vampire an innocent smile.

Damon's lineaments suddenly turned from annoyed to curious. "Any suggestions, little one?" The vampire raised an eyebrow and a little smirk showed up on his lips. On the one hand, Y/N blushed over the nickname, Damon called her. On the other hand she felt skittish looking forward to making a deal with him. Not only a deal. It's far more than a simple agreement.

It's Y/N, actually giving Damon a part of her. The red elixir of life. She was about to give him total control of her body and she not even for a heartbeat doubt that Damon will use it against her.

"Actually... Yeah. There's something on my mind." Y/N said chewing on your lip. "I could open up a vein for you. I mean, you could feed on me. And since you have my permission, there's nothing for anybody to have objection about."

Damon frowned and gave her an incredulous look. "You would do that for me?" The vampire couldn't believe, he understood correctly. Why would Y/N want to get involved with him feeding on her? What's in it for her? Damon tried hard to connect the dots, but he wasn't able to. It all seemed to make no sense. Y/N wouldn't have an advantage of that. The vampire hesitated, pinning his dangerously blue eyes on the girl in front of him.

"Is it so suspicious of me, that I'm trying to help my closest friend?" It pierced Y/N's heart, realizing, Damon's trust in her was rather fragile. "Never mind", she waved the pain away and forced herself to keep her composure. "I only had a hasty idea; you really don't need to fee-"

Suddenly Damon appeared behind Y/N, using his vampirism. "Shhhh", he whispered softly. "I never said, that I don't want your blood. I'm thinking about if we are going to cross a line? Blood sharing can be very personal..."

"It can be? It is personal already. Believe it or not - I'm not gonna offer my veins to all the vampires of Mystic Falls." Y/N rolled her eyes, her arms folded on her chest to point out the indignation she felt right now.

"Kinda sensitive today, huh?" Damon gently stroke a strand of hair behind her ear, Y/N could hear this smug smirk through his words. It was a true 'Damon thing' to do. "I didn't mean it like that, princess." He sighed; unsure if he should agree or not. Damon didn't want to act selfish towards Y/N. He compelled a lot of girls for the purpose of drinking blood in the past. He literally used them as long as they weren't too annoying - and then he acted like they have never met. Damon Salvatore couldn't imagine this scenario with Y/N. They've been so close, the vampire couldn't stand loosing her. The offer was risky, but it also could bring each other even closer.

Damon tried hard to avoid any serious attraction between Y/N and him, afraid of messing up. Indeed, he found himself thinking, and even dreaming, about Y/N more than he wanted to admit. She was smart and had this special sense of humor, the vampire adored so much. She was the only one, who could make him feel good no matter what. Needless to say she had that glimmer in her eyes, when she did something she truly loved. In these moments she was even more pretty. Y/N was hard to resist.

And maybe now he could have her like nobody else. At least the vampire gave in. He wanted her blood. He wanted her.

Y/N flinched by the feeling of Damon brushing her neck with his lips. "Oh, Damon", she gasped. "Bite me." Y/N almost begged for the vampire's teeth breaking through her skin. Damon loved the sound of her husky voice. In less than a heartbeat he turned into his vampire shape. "If you insist", he grinned devilishly, ready to place his teeth on to her skin.

Suddenly Y/N made a slight move forward with the intention to interrupt her friend. "Did you change your mind?" Damon was close to switching back to human, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions. Mostly a lack of understanding, but also a little of disappointment and even anger. Was Y/N playing games on him? While Damon Salvatore was sorting feelings, Y/N turned around, standing now in front of him.

She was so close, not even a piece of paper would fit between them.

Y/N slightly exhaled breath, her eyes darting between the vampires eyes and lips. It was the first time Y/N saw him like this. The icy blue of his eyes, she loved so much, has turned darker. Purple veins appeared under his eyes; Y/N couldn't help herself. Damon's appearance fully intoxicated every fibre of her being. Her fingertips found their way gently brushing over his dark purple veins. She felt heat and softness, while tracing one of them. It took her a few seconds to get out of trance, realizing what she had done. "Sorry", she murmured with a voice barely audible. "Don't apologize, little one." Damon tilted his head, his lips curled up in a self-assured grin, exposing a perfectly white vampire fang. "I never saw you like this before, you loo-"

"... look like a monster?"

Y/N shook her head. It was nothing like that. Yes, he did look unfamiliar. And she should be scared under normal conditions. Instead, his look hit her in an unexpected way. He looked hotter as a vampire, if it was even possible.

Y/N cleared her throat, looking up at Damon. "I feel... attracted to you."

"So nothing's changed", Damon teased, raising his eyebrows. The girl in front of him softly slapped him on his shoulder; which was only possible because the vampire permitted. "You are always so full of yourself." She smirked, feeling more confident being to something, they have had been so many times before. Granted, he was terrifying accurate, but she wouldn't serve her feelings on a silver platter.

"I'm still into it. You can bite me; feed on me. I only needed to see you before..."

A shockwave of electricity flowed through her body the second Damon took her hand and pulled her close.

"I'll be careful", he promised, nuzzling his head into the nap of her neck. Damon once again placed his lips on her soft skin.

Suddenly a harsh pain made Y/N feel like in a kind of haze. She flinched and let out a groan at the same time, unintentionally biting her lower lip.

During Damon embedded his fang deeper and deeper, she started feeling dizzy. Her hands searched for the vampires upper body, finally wrapped around his neck. She needed him to lean on. A narrow trickle of blood flowed down her neck. Let Damon feed on her felt like flames licking up every fiber of her body.

With every passing second Y/N could feel her control slip away. Her body was now firmly pressed against Damon's, like she would want to merge them into one.

Damon noticed her staggering, wrapped his arms around her waist, supporting her.

Bloodlust already messed up the vampires mind, so he continued feeding on Y/N.

A tempting moan escaped her lips, but she didn't care to cover up. Y/N's heart was racing, her eyes flattering. It was almost as if he was about to push her over the edge, but in a different way. "Mmm, this...this… feels soo weird... and so good...", she whispered under a shallow breath.

As soon as Damon heard her fading voice, he abruptly

quitted drinking from her.

"Fuck!" He rapidly laid her on his lap and checked Y/N's vital signs, to make sure she was okay. Instinctively he bit his wrist, pressed it against Y/N's mouth. He knew his blood would heal her, but it wasn't going fast enough. A few seconds passed through, to him they felt like centuries. Y/N finally blinked and Damon was relieved. He cupped her cheeks, his gaze never leaving hers. "I thought, I'd gone-" Damon cleaned his throat. "I'm so glad, you are doing well", he whispered, while trailing her lips with his fingertips. "So, fuckin' glad..." The vampire exhaled a deep breath.

"It... You made me feel good. Strange, but good", Y/N appeased and flushed over the memory. "Maybe you got a little carried away, but I don't mind. I wouldn't trade the feeling for anything."

Y/N quickly interrupted herself, before she could reveal too much.

However, Damon used his vampire skills, noticing that Y/N was hiding something from him. "Isn't there anything else you want me to know?", Damon asked without taking his eyes off her. Y/N shifted and flushed even more. "It's unfair. You use your vampirism to get everything out of me."

"Well, if that were the case, I could easily compel you." Damon shrugged and found back to his smugly self. "Tell me, what you are hiding". He said in a seductive voice.

"I wanted to get lost in you."

Her confession sent shivers all over the vampires body. At first he could not decide, how to handle this. "Are you sure that's what you want? I could really hurt you..." Y/N hummed.

In the next split second, Damon pinned Y/N against a wall, smashing his lips on hers, kissing her with all the passion he had to give. The vampire devoured Y/N with a new kind of hunger. He didn't know he could crave someone so much.

"Fuck me, Damon..."

The vampire felt him getting hard, only by hearing those little three words out of her mouth.

"Say it louder. Tell me, what you want me to do."

Y/N pulled him closer, gently biting his earlobe.

"Fuck... me, Damon." It took her a second to focus and forming the words again. After she was near to climax earlier, it wasn't a long way getting to the edge once more. "Make me cum... You almost had me there..."

A deep moan got over the vampires lips, once he understood, what Y/N was trying to tell him.

With the next blink Y/N found herself in Damon's bedroom, lying on his bed.

From now on there weren't many words needed. Damon's hand's found their way under her shirt, cupping her breasts and make her moan over and over again.

He closely listened to the rhythm of her heart, making sure he would be able to delay her climax to the point he needed her to.

"Don't cum yet... I want to taste your little pussy first."

Y/N grabbed the vampires head, running her fingers through his dark hair - pushing him down, since she was unable to form a single word.

As Damon got down, he didn't take his eyes off Y/N.

He used a hand pushing up her skirt and lightly stroking over her panties with his fingertips.

"My girl is so wet", he praised in a low husky voice."-and I barely touched you."

His dirty words in combination with his touch lead to another moan, almost turned into a scream.

Damon pushed the fabric aside, leaving sloppy kisses on the inside of her thighs.

Y/N's eyes fluttered, when his soft lips reached her middle.

Damon's tongue licking around her entrance was driving her nuts.

"...so delicious..." were the only words she was able to catch up. Damon knew, he couldn't thrill her forever, so he got back to her. He spit on his palms, stroking his hand over his crotch. In under a second Y/N finally felt this releasing pressure of his cock. It was like a switch went off in her brain and she braced herself for the hard thrusts that would follow.

Damon dimmed the whining noises Y/N made with a passionate, hungry kiss.

He cheated with his vampirism to give it to her deeper and faster, knocking out all the air of her lungs while Y/N screamed out Damon's name. Her walls clenched around him and made him twitch. It was like her pussy massaged his dick the best way possible.

Every time he hit her harder and rougher he was making sure he hit her spot with every thrust.

Damon gathered speed one last time and pushed her over the edge until she was a moaning whimpering mess.

With her last contraction around his shaft, Damon was cumming inside her.

"You are so tight, little one", he whispered under his breath. "We should make arrangements more often."

Please like or/and reblog if you enjoyed reading or/and want me to write more stories about Damon.

Thanks guys ❤️

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