#i love drawing the devil's little nails/claws for some reason

[peanutable]

Devildice fluffy art ❤

[lazywonderlvnd]

*hesitantly steps in the box* Umm.. soo.. I was listening to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift again and that song (is awesome btw if you haven't listened to it already) just gives me such MAJOR drarry vibes .. like -

" And I screamed, 'for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?' He looks up grinning like a devil. "

Like if that's not drarry I'd chomp my pillows. So .. *twiddling thumbs* could you pls write something with that line as a prompt?? Pretty please 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️ maybe use the song as inspiration.. idk? Whatever you like. ALSO, don't forget I STILL LOVE YOU that ain't changing yet and you haven't seen the last of me! Imma tail after you for eternity and you better take that as the threat it is! *throws love at you* BYE!! ❤️❤️ *vaults outside the box*

my sweetest most loved angel!! thank u so much for this prompt based on a BOP i was obsessed w when the album first came out. it got sm longer than it was meant to be, so it can be found on ao3 as well!! i hope u like it ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️

warnings for minor drug use (weed) and implied suicide of a minor character (lucius, extremely vague reference but pls be aware!)

rating: e word count: ~5k

When Pansy asked him how it started, Draco discovered that he didn’t know what to tell her.

Technically, though, it had started at Ernie Macmillan’s party in the beginning of summer, with the cloying scent of Freesias and Freedom Roses (“Imported from the States,” Ernie told Draco pompously, when he asked) and all those string-lights dangling from the cedar pergola, perennial balls of fire inside their clear bubbles like tiny trapped suns. Cheap beer in plastic cups, Marlboro cigarettes, and some stupid Muggle game ... darts.

Technically.  

* * * 

“Get off me, Potter,” Draco says in a failed whisper. He’s laughing and drunk and fuzzy warm under a sprawling summer’s night sky that looks like black paint. Potter tastes like Guinness every time he kisses him, and his hands are surprisingly soft. In direct opposition to his own command he pulls Potter in by the face and glues their mouths back together ravenously. The alcohol makes him sloppy (he likes it, though — the sloppiness of it) and Potter’s skin is warm where Draco slides his hand under an ugly Muggle band T-shirt to touch. 

Around the corner, he can hear music coming from the patio where nearly every single one of their former classmates are gathered, drinking and laughing and getting along famously with a much-needed buffer of five years between them and their Hogwarts days.

Much-needed for himself and Potter as well. Apparently.

He sees him sometimes, at get-togethers like this or around the Ministry, once or twice at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend. They’re always cordial. He hasn’t insulted Potter to his face in five years.

Except for tonight, when he couldn’t help himself loudly drawing attention to the similarities between Potter’s hair and one of the shrubs in the garden. But they’re kissing now round the side of the house and because of that he’s quite glad for his slip. And it’s their five-year reunion, so. What would it be without some bickering between the two of them?

Potter presses him into the bricks and snogs him breathless, only he keeps grinning and laughing and ruining everything just when Draco starts losing himself in it.

“Quit laughing,” he scolds him. “You’re the worst, Potter. No etiquette at all.”

“That’s rude,” Potter says. His breath wafts across Draco’s mouth. His eyes are excessively green behind their round frames, which have not changed since their school days. The scar is mostly hidden beneath his wild fringe, save for the very bottom where it slashes neatly through a dark eyebrow and touches his eyelid. “I can’t help it, I’m pissed good and proper.”

His hand moves to Draco’s hip and even through the thickness of the alcohol coating his brain like a muffler he feels that touch clear and ripe as daybreak.

“So  that’s  why you’ve decided to snog me rather than …” He waves a hand vaguely, in lieu of the proper witticism with which he might normally have trounced Potter. “You know. Beat me to a pulp.”

“I only did that one time,” Potter says, grinning. Grinning and moving his thumb in circles on Draco’s hip. “And it was because you were being a twat. And I didn’t beat you to a pulp. You’re so dramatic.”

“Semantics,” Draco says. “I had a bloody nose.”

“And you deserved it.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

Potter kisses him again.

Guinness and Freesias.

* * * 

“Macmillan’s party,” he told Pansy. “He kissed me.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to.” She looked smug. Her inch-long nails were sharpened to a point and painted a glossy black, and she drummed them against her cheek, the way a cat flicks its tail. “I’m surprised you kept it from me this whole time.”

“Well,” said Draco, lowering his gaze to his glass of wine and watching it flirt dangerously with the lip as he swirled it. His cheeks felt warm, but he wasn’t embarrassed. “We snuck around.”

Right, maybe a little embarrassed. Mostly conflicted.

“Oh?” For a single syllable the laughter underneath was remarkably transparent.

He looked up, eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said a little defensively. “For obvious reasons. At first it was just sex. A lot of it, so he usually came here. Apparently Granger and the Weasel are notorious for popping round his place unexpectedly.”

* * *

He feels opened up all over again every time Potter fucks into him, unhurried and so careful. His hand is hot on Draco’s thigh, both of them sticky with sweat and come. This has to be their third round at least, and Draco’s sluggish brain insists it might actually be four.

An open window lets in the late afternoon air, humid and drowsy and perfumed heavily with flowers (a la Macmillan, Draco planted Freesias and Freedom Roses outside his bedroom window and helped them along to full bloom with some careful magic). Potter’s hair is damp with sweat — from exertion and the relentless heat of July — and Draco slides his fingers into it, tangles them and pulls the way he’s learned Potter likes. If he’s honest, he’s harboured a very secret and  very  desperate yearning to touch Potter’s hair since he was quite young. He doesn’t know why.

Well, maybe he knows why.

Potter makes a quiet, whimpered noise that curls Draco’s toes. He speeds up his hips, closing in on his orgasm and putting his face in Draco’s neck even though it’s too fucking hot for it.

“Fuck,” Draco whines. He tries to lift his leg higher, wrap it around Potter’s waist to get that perfect angle, but they’re too slick with sweat and he lets out a frustrated noise when it falls back to the bed. “Potter,” he says helplessly, arching into each thrust and shaking with the effort. This third (fourth?) orgasm is building too slowly, sitting there hard and stubborn and heavy in his gut and refusing to be coaxed to completion. He’s dripping with the effort, muscles quivering. “Please — I need —”

But he seems to have figured it out for himself. He scoots forward, lifting Draco’s arse higher off the bed and bending him nearly in half. The angle helps him go deeper and he’s suddenly nudging Draco’s oversensitive prostate every time he fucks back in.

“Right there,” Draco gasps, tensing as this new angle lights a fire under his elusive orgasm. His cock is leaking but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get a hand around it. Potter’s grunting with the effort of fucking him, sweat dripping down his temples and making his neck and torso gleam. “Right there, god, right there, please, I’m so close —”

Potter braces himself and redoubles his efforts, and it’s like he’s reached inside Draco and sunk his claws into that building storm in his belly because suddenly it’s ripped right out of him in a colossal wave of euphoria that approaches too much, cock spurting untouched between them  .  Potter keeps moving inside him while he rides it out, and at some point he feels the warm, wet explosion of Potter emptying in him, mumbling incoherent things that include Draco’s name.

They come down together too. Draco is clutching Potter’s arms and trying to catch his breath and Potter is trembling and clutching him back like an anchor in a veritable ocean of sensation. 

It’s like this every time. 

When Potter drops down onto the bed beside him Draco rolls over and kisses him, long and deep and satisfying, and Potter reciprocates with the kind of intensity that is completely unique to him as a person.

“That one was particularly good,” says Potter, and Draco laughs.

When he feels like moving, he knows that Potter will get up and go to Draco’s kitchen and make tea for both of them, and he won’t need to ask what Draco likes, because he remembered after the first time. They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.

And they won’t talk about it.

* * *

“And?” Pansy said.

“And what?”

“You said ‘at first,’” she pointed out, and arched a groomed eyebrow. “When did it turn into more than just sex?”

Draco tamped down on a smile, because that would have been more emotion than he cared to show at the moment. To Pansy or to himself.

He swirled his wine again and took a long sip, stalling. He wanted — needed, really — to talk this out with her, but he was becoming aware of an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest which was suggesting to him that he didn’t want to share everything. Not because he was embarrassed, but, well … it was private. It was between him and Harry.

“There was this one night he came over later than he was supposed to because of work,” Draco said. The memory stirred some emotion. He hadn’t thought of it in a while. “He had this bloody huge takeout bag of Thai food.”

 * * *

He sets it down on Draco’s desk, takes out a container, and after toeing off his shoes drops sideways onto Draco’s bed with it and uses chopsticks to shovel in a mouthful of noodles. Draco watches this in awe.

“Want some?” Harry asks once he’s swallowed (small blessings). There’s grease around his mouth. “There’s a million other things in the bag but you have to get it yourself. I’m dead tired.”

Draco thinks of asking what the hell is going on, because they’re supposed to be fucking by now, but something stops him. Harry really does look exhausted but quite content eating his Thai food on Draco’s bed, and he doesn’t have the heart to berate him for it or remind him that they’re fuck buddies, not friends, and that if he’d wanted to eat and lounge about perhaps he should’ve stayed at home.

And the food really does smell good.

He gets up and fishes another container out of the bag that turns out to be some sort of heavenly-smelling marinated beef, which he brings back to the bed. Harry’s rolled onto his back and has the container of noodles balanced on his stomach.

“They thought they found a Horcrux on a raid,” he says. His voice is perfectly casual, but Draco thinks he can see something troubled in his eyes. He has one foot crossed over the other and  it’s bouncing anxiously; he doesn’t think Harry’s aware of doing it. “Wasn’t. Obviously.” 

“But they needed your expert advice to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him, then his food. “Is that the beef?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

He opens the container and chooses a piece, but instead of lifting it to his mouth he follows some crazy impulse and hovers it over Harry’s instead.

“Open, Scarhead,” he says. Harry blinks but does it, and Draco drops it in. He smiles, then chews.

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“We ate it instead of fucking. It was the first time I realised something had shifted.”

“And you let it shift?”

The question gave him pause. He didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. It made it sound as if he’d had a choice, and that wasn’t quite right.

“It already had,” he said finally. “It wasn’t a matter of letting it; by the time I noticed, it had already happened. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come over with the food.”

“But you did let it continue,” said Pansy. She wasn’t antagonising him, nor accusing him of anything. She looked amused, but not in a way that was at his expense. Pansy was both a twat and a fiercely good friend, the combination of which meant she would do nothing more or less than hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, gruesome as the experience inevitably wound up being. “Even after you realised he had feelings for you.”

Draco swallowed. He’d not heard it said aloud before now.

“Yes,” he said. “It felt good. Knowing he fancied me.”

* * *

Harry’s shameless in his staring.

He stands in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom and watches Draco like he’s been invited to do so. Draco pretends not to notice, stretched out in a tub full of bubbles facing the opposite way. There’s incense burning, and candles. Harry is completely silent, but Draco could feel those eyes on him from across a crowded hall.

They fucked a few hours ago and fell asleep afterwards. Draco pretended not to think about it, but had actually made the conscious decision to let Harry continue sleeping when he woke up and decided he wanted a bath.

When he can’t take it anymore he opens his eyes and tilts his head back and a little to the side, just enough that he gets Potter in his peripherals.

“Well?” he says. 

“Well what?”

“Join me, won’t you?”

Harry snorts. Then there’s a quiver of magic in the air, and a small, utilitarian chair appears out of thin air beside the tub. Harry sits down in it. He’s holding the joint they’d only gotten halfway through earlier. 

He’s in his jeans and nothing else, all limbs and sparse chest hair, and when he crosses a leg over the other one, elbow resting on his knee as he hits the joint, Draco feels a bone-deep attraction to him that’s beyond physical.

“May I?” Draco asks. Harry hands it over and Draco inhales deeply before returning it. The humidity of the room mixes with the smoke and the smell of marijuana, pungent and cloying like the flowers. 

After a length of silence, Draco says, “Will you read me something?”

“Will I what?”

He takes his wand from the floor and Summons a book from the shelf in his room — one of his poetry collections comes sweeping in through the cracked door and into Harry’s lap. Harry sticks the joint between his lips and starts rifling through it with his glasses all fogged up. 

When he starts reading Byron (“I had a dream, which was not all a dream”) Draco smiles and sinks deeper into the hot water and bubbles, letting Harry’s voice lull him into a pleasant stupor. 

 * * *

“So you led him on,” said Pansy. “Because you liked his attention.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze drop to his wine again. Had he?

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Well,” she said, smiling wryly, “I’m only saying it as you’ve told it to me. Maybe if it sounds bad, it is bad. Some things are that simple, darling. Unless there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” he said, not looking at her. There was a touch of pouty defiance in his voice he knew Pansy would detect instantly. He heard her sigh.

“What exactly happened yesterday, Draco? You didn’t give me any context.”

“What context do you need?” he muttered. “He told me he loved me.”

* * *

They’ve finished an entire bottle of wine between them. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed. Harry’s sprawled on his back, T-shirt rucked up just below his navel so Draco can see the dark trail of hair leading below his jeans. There’s something implicitly erotic about the movement of his chest when he breathes, his hands folded behind his head, one leg stretched the length of the bed and the other bent at the knee.

He opens his eyes suddenly and grins when he sees Draco looking at him. 

“That wine just made me tired,” he says.

“So go to sleep,” says Draco. He takes a last swig, emptying it, and sets the bottle aside on his night table. He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, yawning widely, thinking perhaps he’ll give into the tempting allure of sleep as well when Harry says, “I told Hermione about us.”

So he’s not sleeping, then. His stomach clenches hard and a completely irrational sense of panic rises in his throat.

“Us?” he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “What ‘us’?”

Harry looks at him upside-down, then rolls over and rises to his knees. He stares at Draco blankly.

“‘What us?’” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Draco. “What ‘us’?”

“Us,” Harry says. His voice is lower than usual. The word is starting to sound weird and lose meaning. “You and me, Draco.”

“‘You and me?’ Harry, there’s no you and me. We’re just fucking. What do you … what do you mean, you told Granger? Told her what?”

Harry looks … well, he looks fucking crushed. And angry. Draco forces himself not to look away.

“I told her I’d been seeing you,” he says quietly. There’s something … not threatening, but close to it, in his voice.

“Sure,” says Draco. “I see you three times a week, sometimes four. I s’pose if you feel the need to fill Granger in on everything you do with every second of your day —”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry says. “You know what I meant.”

Draco glares at him. He gets off the bed, slightly lightheaded from the wine, horrified by the emotions welling up inside him right behind the panic, and he points at his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he says. 

“Are you serious?”

“Go!” he says loudly, voice rising. “If you’re gonna start turning this into something it definitely is not then get out of my flat, Potter.” As usual the window is open, but it’s the third of September and getting chilly finally and Draco’s Freesias and Freedom Roses started wilting last week. There’s a chilly breeze coming into that room that is utterly barren of the sweet smells of summer he associates with Harry these days. “It’s time we ended this anyway,” he says. “Summer’s over.”

“So?” From his position kneeling on Draco’s bed Harry shouldn’t feel imposing at all, but he does. There’s no sparkle of humour in his eyes, none of the softness Draco’s gotten used to seeing there. He looks like someone who’s realised they’ve been betrayed.

Worse than that. Someone who’s been betrayed and realises they should have seen it coming.

“What the fuck does summer have to do with anything?”

“Ever heard of a summer fling, Potter? We’re not ‘seeing each other’.”

Harry finally gets off the bed. Draco’s stomach clenches again, more painfully this time. He doesn’t feel bad, he tells himself — this is Harry’s fault. His fault for making a big deal out of something easy and fun and, most of all, temporary. For ruining this with feelings. 

 “That’s not what this was,” Harry says. It’s not an argumentative tone; rather, he sounds disappointed. Devastated, and disappointed. And that look of betrayal, like he’s surprised but not …  that  surprised.

That hurts. 

“This was as real as it gets, Draco,” he says matter-of-factly. “You and I don’t have the capability of doing anything as shallow as a fling.”

“Well, Potter,” says Draco, straining to maintain his level voice, “congratulations, because that is the most disgusting, romanticised, Gryffindorian piece of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” He grabs up his wand from the bedside table and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. “Well here’s another: I love you. You complete fucking prick.”

Draco stares after him as he leaves the room, cowed for the moment. He hears Harry take the Floo powder off his mantle, hears the fire start, and then the sound of Potter disappearing. 

And he feels hollow suddenly.

* * *

“And he said it completely out of the blue?” 

Draco set his wine aside. He was suddenly feeling too sick to put anything else in his body.

“Sort of,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “He was trying to make something out of nothing. He was just making a point, trying to guilt me, I don’t even think he meant it.”

Pansy said nothing for so long that Draco finally looked up. She had an eyebrow raised.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and thought about the way it always tasted a little sweeter on Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. But it doesn’t change anything. It was a summer thing, not a … a relationship, for crying out loud. Like I’d date Potter.”

“Why not?”

Draco scoffed. “Why not? Pansy, please. He’s a …”

“A …?”

“He’s an idiot! He’s Potter!  He’s …” He couldn’t think of the right word, something bad enough to express the audacity, the gall , for Potter to think even for a second  that they could …

“Draco Malfoy,” said Pansy. She was smirking. “You love him too.”

Had he felt sick before?  Now he was going to be sick.

“I never would’ve imagined it,” she went on, seeming to take pleasure from his outrage and humiliation. The bint. “Look at you, you’re blushing! Oh my god,” she laughed. And then she stopped laughing, and instead the weight of her own words appeared to descend on her. “Oh my god. You do, don’t you? You are arse over tits for Harry Potter —”

He was up and out of his chair before she’d finished the last word, absurdly,  embarrassingly on the verge of tears all of a sudden. 

“Draco —”

“I’m glad this can serve as your entertainment for the week, Pansy,” he said. A tear rolled down his cheek — could he be any more histrionic? — and he brushed it away furiously. 

“Draco, no —”

“Call Blaise, tell him!” he shouted. “You two can have a good laugh over it —”

“Draco  —”

“Poor Draco’s  fucked himself over again, what a stupid wanker!” 

Pansy got up. He slapped her hand away when she reached for him, but she only came at him again and grabbed it this time when he swatted at her, enfolding it in both of hers. He closed his eyes and hiccoughed and two more tears came.

“Darling, will you please listen to me?” she said softly. It sounded eerily like his mother, which only made him feel young and childish. He tugged his arm away and she let him go, but he didn’t move any farther away. “I am  not  laughing at you,” she told him. “Blaise might, but that’s because Blaise has a black hole for a heart, Draco, the only emotion he’s ever felt is disdain.” Against his will, Draco chuckled wetly. Pansy smiled and took his hand again, tentatively. He allowed it. “ I think it’s lovely that you have feelings for him. I don’t understand what’s got you so upset, I mean … I know it’s Potter, but we’re not teenagers anymore, right? Who cares?”

Draco exhaled a long sigh.

“He let my father go to Azkaban,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. He saw comprehension dawning. “How can I be with someone who could’ve saved my father’s life and chose not to, Pansy?”

“No one could have saved your father, Draco,” said Pansy gravely. His throat was tight, swollen. He hated that he was hanging on her words, looking for truth in them,  wanting to hear something that would make this okay. “He would have done the same thing if they’d let him go back to the manor. It’s not your fault or your mum’s or Potter’s.”

“But —”

“But what?” she cut him off sharply. “Draco, please don’t let your father keep controlling your life from the grave! My god, you deserve happiness, don’t you see that? Even if it’s Potter! In fact, I … I think that could be really good.”

“What, being with Potter?”

“Yes, being with Potter,” she said. “Darling, I say this because I love you: you need to grow a pair of bollocks and start taking control of your own life. I’m not finished!” she added when he opened his mouth to retort. “I understand that it feels like a betrayal of your father, I do, and I’m not saying you can’t have your cherished memories of him, but Draco … you cannot live your life in his shadow, doing things because it’s what he’d want or wouldn’t want. I think that choosing to explore these feelings you have for Potter is the bravest and healthiest thing you could possibly do for yourself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wet though the tears had stopped falling. 

“What if it doesn’t last?” he said finally. “What if next week he realises it was a huge mistake?”

“First of all, I doubt that,” said Pansy with a roll of her eyes that was clearly meant to be teasing. “You said you’ve been seeing him all summer, that’s plenty of time to have gotten sick of you. And, even if that did happen, I still think it would be entirely worth that week of being disgustingly in love.”

“Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes! I do!” She picked up his discarded wine glass from before and held it up. “Does the effect of alcohol last forever?”

“No …”

“Of course not! And we don’t expect it to. We expect to have fun while we’re drunk and it’ll last as long as it lasts.”

“Dating someone isn’t like being drunk, Pansy,” Draco said sourly.

“Oh, that’s not the point ,” she huffed. “We don’t do things because we know they’ll last forever, we do them because we want to. In the moment.”

“Sounds irresponsible.”

“Well, of course it is,” she scoffed. “Love is completely irresponsible, that’s the fun of it, Draco. Now take this,” she shoved the glass of wine into his hand, almost spilling it. “Drink up, and then get your arse over to his flat and fix this.”

* * *

Granger opened the door. Draco sighed.

“Hello, Granger,” he said lamely. Her raised eyebrows said she was surprised and thoroughly unimpressed by his appearance.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Is Potter in?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

She looked at him, dark brown eyes impenetrable. Then she closed the front door behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to him,” he said tightly. As if this whole thing wasn’t bad enough, now he had to pass a test to get past Granger the bridge troll. “I thought he told you —”

“He did,” she said flatly. “And about yesterday.”

“Well I’m here to apologise,” said Draco. Granger’s eyebrows lifted again. Still unimpressed. “And to tell him …” He sighed again and broke eye contact, willing himself not to give up, not to take this as a sign he should just go home and ream into Pansy for giving him such bad advice.

“Malfoy.” He looked up. Her voice was softer now, and her eyes seemed a little less hard. “What are you doing? You really hurt him, you know.”

“I know,” he said stiffly. “I said I’m here to apologise.”

“Well he doesn’t need an apology,” she said. “If you’re only going to let him down again —”

“I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at her again, exasperated, defeated. “I’ve … had some sense talked into me.”

She looked like it was the last thing she’d been expecting. 

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “So would you please get him for me before I lose my nerve?”

It was the right thing to say. Her expression melted into something much softer and he fancied he even saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I ask who affected this change of heart?”

“Pansy,” he said. And, when Granger seemed taken aback, “She’s very wise when she feels like it.”

“I see. Well …” She still looked a bit conflicted, eyeing him and then putting her hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway, but he was really hurt, Malfoy. I don’t know if he’ll want to hear it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Granger eyed him another moment and then went back inside, shutting the door behind her. Draco only had to wait a minute before it was opening again, and this time Harry came out. The sight of him made Draco’s heart feel tender and sore.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Potter.”

He waited to see if Harry would say anything else but he didn’t. He only stared at Draco expectantly, arms folded, in all ways closed off.

“I came to apologise,” said Draco.

“Well you can keep it,” said Harry. “I don’t need an apology because you told me the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “Opposite, really.”

Harry was silent. Then, “You made me feel like shit, Draco.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You freaked me out, springing it on me like that.”

A beat, then two, and then suddenly Harry was dropping his arms and sighing and he looked at Draco with so much vulnerability he nearly had to turn away from it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you …” He licked his lips, scratched his arm. It reminded Draco that beneath everything, Harry was still the same awkward dorky leader-of-the-losers he’d always been, just with a bit more confidence now and the title of Official Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I wouldn’t have said that if … I was just angry.”

He didn’t need to ask what Harry was referring to.

“I know.”

“Not that I didn’t … I mean, I … I do —”

“Please don’t say it again,” Draco said. Harry laughed.

“Right. I just meant … I really do have feelings for you, Draco. Like … mad, crazy feelings, y’know? I don’t want it to be a fling.”

“It wasn’t a fling,” he said. He moved a little closer and Harry watched him carefully, eyes flickering once down to Draco’s mouth. “I didn’t even sleep with anyone else the whole time.”

“Well that’s good to know,” said Harry sardonically. But he was smiling, so Draco found himself smiling tentatively as well.

“I wanna be with you, Potter. Properly. I thought …” But he shakes his head, deciding that now isn’t the time to explain about his father. “I thought it was a stupid idea. Now I realise that it probably is, but that I don’t really care much. I’ve decided to ignore my better judgment this one time.”

“That’s quite Gryffindor of you,” Harry commented drily.

“Yes, well.”

“So I go against your better judgment, then?”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. “Please, I don’t mean it like —”

“I’m taking the piss, Draco,” Harry cut him off. He reached for Draco’s waist and pulled him close, and before Draco could get his breath back from a short, surprised intake of breath Harry’s mouth was on his, warm and familiar and soothing. He brought his hands to Harry’s face and kissed back without bothering to hide his overwhelming relief.

Harry chased his mouth when he pulled away and Draco breathed out a laugh, holding him at bay with a hand on his chest. 

“We have plenty of time,” he said. “D’you wanna come over later tonight, after your friends leave?”

“What? No, come in.” He took Draco’s hand and gestured with his head towards the door. “Please. It’s just Ron and Hermione. They know everything.”

“Really?” Draco drawled. “And you think Weasley won’t try to kill me?”

“I promise not to let him,” Harry grinned. “Please, Draco. You said you wanted to do this properly, right?”

He thought of what Pansy said about being irresponsible, and decided it was worth a try at least.

“Okay,” he said. Harry beamed and tugged him inside.

Towards his ultimate downfall or towards the beginning of the rest of his life, he didn’t know. That, as Pansy would have said, was the fun of it.

[kim-monsterlings]

Hi, I really like your writing and I would love to request a monster match!

About me: I’m a girl who is pretty friendly and am known to be “overly nice” but have a sarcastic funny side. I’m more of an ambivert and have a bit of a dark side that pokes out every now and then especially in my art. I do a lot of reading and artwork I have a gender preference for males.

About them:

I like someone who is a bit cold to outsiders but treats me sweetly, someone who has a bit of a dominant side, and someone who has a sense of humor. Physically I like someone tall and thin (but in a muscular kinda way) with dark hair and light eyes. My love language is physical touch and words of affirmation.

Preferences : nothing really to avoid ! Monster preferences I think demons are really cool but if you are in the mood to write something specific you can do that too! I like the hate to love tropes , especially when it involves one person hating the person pining for them. NSFW would be preferred ! Thank you I hope this is ok!

Deon - M Tiefling x F Human (Reader) // NSFW Monster Match

Anon monster match <3 I hope you love him!

Matches under the read more!

Content: NSFW/Lemon; enemies to lovers/hate to lovers trope, mutual pining, passing insults, light flirting, minor angst, intimacy (throat kisses), D/S (dominant monster), fluff, allusions to bondage and further BDSM, blowjob (no release), alluding to more

Masterlist // Monster Match Info + Masterlist // My Ko-Fi

Headcanon

Had there been any other option so close to home, the faint warmth of the old antique's store wouldn't welcome you so often. Though nowhere else had such range - such depth to the college, one passed through the owner's family through generations, and the reason you returned when nothing else preoccupied you.

Some little part of you enjoyed the spike of discomfort on entering; from facing the faded artworks and the piercing glare by the harshened scowl of a tiefling, an expression he fell into by practiced ease.

With so little way of causing such offence, you hadn't realised your first passing welcome of "good morning," would incite loathing, until the dusk-skinned tiefling scoffed.

Not a step from the entryway, you had bristled - both by the unnecessary response, and the depth of his voice, sounding almost like a growl.

"You're not going to say it back?"

Ebony strands curled around three horns - two at his temples, long like the devil's, and a third protruding from the centre of his forehead - so unlike the golden tint to his narrowing eyes. Deon, his badge said, pinned to his shirt accentuating his muscular frame.

From behind his hidden legs - cloven, you'd seen once, much like a satyr's, his thin tail whipped. "Not to you."

Your heart sought what it so obviously couldn't have. Each stinging roll of his eyes lured you back once more in search of an inspiring antique, something to become your week's motivation for a blank canvas.

Most often, the grunts came in mild insults; "I thought I'd finally rid myself of you," or, "what have I ever done to deserve such torture?"

Sharp stares followed your every move on your visits, only deterred when you smiled bright - not at all insincere. "Oh, Deon. Did you miss me?"

"Missed your purse."

"Charming."

In spite only, he winked, a fluttering of long eyelashes, and you ducked to hide your breathlessness. No further retorts came at the quiet chimes of another customer entering, though the tiefling's stare never wavered from you until they had paid and left again.

He paid no mind to such manners as you took their place; perks of inheriting the shop, you suppose.

With your change pooling in your palm, so gently the touch of slender fingers stroking your knuckles came, that you nearly dropped the money.

"Now, run on home," he murmured, head tilting. "And allow me a week of peace before showing your face again."

Your trembling was unmistakable and his smirk rose cruelly when you whispered, "you'd miss me too much."

Without a denial, you left.

He had his week's reprieve from you, and longer.

Your commission fell through midway. After days of preparation - of enduring Deon's taunts as you meandered the old shop, they compensated your part of the cost for your troubles, though no longer wished to have it completed.

You'd little need for returning with no reason to seek inspiration. In such a state, too, when you wanted nothing more than to see the tiefling responsible for your sour mood, one wrong quip would crush you.

Only with a month gone absent - compared to your usual frequenting three times a week, if not more, did you draw a deep breath at the entrance.

"You're back."

Clawed nails rapped on the counter, sharp cheekbones rested on his palm. Deon's lips pursed and the weight of his stare fell from your bitten lip to your shaking hands.

"Haven't seen you in a while."

"Deon-"

"I missed you, is all."

His thumb dipped between his lips in your silence, as if inviting you to take the bait, but you couldn't. Another week passed before you brushed beneath the dangling chimes and into the first aisle, breath shallow and waiting.

Even his whisper had you aching.

"About what I said before..."

"You missed my purse, I know."

"No."

So sharp, you turned like he'd snatched you himself. Deon held your eyes steady, only the curling of his tail betraying his discomfort.

"I missed you. Where have you been?"

"One month was long enough for you to learn some manners, then." His smile was slight, and your knees felt weak. Deon had never smiled at you without a veil of displeasure. "Long enough for you to cease hating me, too?"

Maybe it was the softening of your voice, but Deon eased, too. "Who said I don't still?"

"I can go."

"Stay. Stay," he murmured, and the counter lifted for him to step through.

He walked you through every aisle with a hand just brushing yours, never looking from your growing smile. It didn't take a week for you to return, and this time, his first words were:

"Good morning."

Drabble

"Enough of that now, love." 

"It's nearly finished." 

"As it was nearly finished when I left some hours ago," your tiefling murmured, lips to your temple. "It will be almost done tomorrow, too. There's time left for it. Now is for me."

Warm, strong arms guided yours away from the detailed canvas. It wasn't nearly completed - nor would it be tomorrow afternoon, though you had plenty of time before needing it done. After being so far apart all day, his persistent, open-mouthed kisses fluttering down your throat begged for you to turn away. 

The piece's inspiration stemmed from an old purchase from him, before Deon had finally come to his senses - as he liked to tease, and decided to take you out somewhere nice to make amends for his lack of manners. 

Even if he couldn't understand the deeper meanings to every curving line and deeper shading, he would praise you all the same with whispers of your talent and how proud he was.  

Something so simple always shattered your focus. 

Gone several minutes without him leaning to greet you with a proper kiss, you forced away your frown and said, "I'll be done soon." 

Without needing to turn, you could imagine the clenching of his sharp jaw. A day passing uncomfortably around customers had him wound tight and contemplating what to do with you, how to lure you away from your work, before delicate hands curled to your shoulders with a firm squeeze. 

"Not another word, unless I've asked you a question. Understand?" 

Just like that, with little more than a whisper sentence, an instruction, your heart leapt. Your day hadn't been so discomforting that the steady pressing of his chest to your back never came to mind until he squeezed your arms again in warning. 

"I understand." 

Teeth caught the shell of your ear. "Remind me of your safe word." 

"Antique." 

He hummed and removed himself from you. "Clothes off. Kneel before the bed." 

Not wanting to waste another precious second, you flew. Times like these, with his quiet laugh warming the space you vacated, your body already thrummed with the promise of his whisper declarations soon to leave imprints from your breasts to your trembling thighs. 

From his scowling to his kisses, it felt like whiplash. Clinging to his initial loathing before surrendering to your bright smiles and genuine small talk changed in that month apart, though he utilised the distance he'd once fostered to hold himself back from your warming body, aching and bare in wait. 

The brief touch of his leather belt tapped your cheek. Not for now, you could almost hear him say as it fell around your shoulders. 

"Before I take you on your back beneath me," he said, trousers now nudged low to bare his slightly furred legs. "You're going to earn it." 

You were leaning to brush your tongue against his dark and swollen cock before Deon had even told you to. Flushed and slick so soon, dragging against your lips, he reached to cradle your crown and coax you closer. 

Neither of you fixated on how he broke when you curled your tongue's tip to the throbbing underside of his length, groaning enough he twitched. 

"Save your strength," he breathed. "I've got plans for you."

[ffangirlingsince2001]

Ripped Apart

Kinktober: Day 3, Hatefuck

Loki x Reader

He doesn’t have a reason to hate, in fact everyone loves you, but what happens when that hate is confronted.

Warnings: language, angst, smut,  

Part 2 Part 3

He had despised her for as long as he could remember. From the moment she had stepped into the compound, Tony leading the way, he hadn’t trusted a single thing she had said. She had eyes more devious than the devil and a smirk to match. She had shaken his hand with the confidence of a goddess and sent him a wink to rival a courtesan. His muscles angrily shifted against his bones as he fought his instinct to get away from her.

The worst part of it all was that everyone seemed to like her. Everyone had gravitated to her in an instant. Even Bucky, who didn’t seem to like anyone, could be found at her side. He did his best not to grimace when she sat beside him or rant about her when everyone else was drunk out of their minds, he tried to not even mention it in the reports he sent in monthly. The one time he had Fury had brought him and questioned him about the feeling, hitting every feeling that churned in his stomach with facts to dissuade him. He had kept his mouth shut since then, seething in silence. The only person he dared to share his feelings with was Thor, who at least seemed slightly concerned.

It didn’t matter if she was doing everything perfectly or royally fucking everything up, he hated her. His dreams were filled with the idea of choking her until she turned blue, making her bleed until her skin lost color, making her scream until her lungs couldn’t take it any longer. Of course, he didn’t act on anything of the sort. If he even attempted his ass would be back in prison faster than she could raise an arm to defend herself. The closet he got was training. At first, he had avoided it all together, not daring to even look at her lest he be tempted to rip her apart; but now, he embraced it. Any chance he had he was on the mat, throwing her against the padded ground with as much force as he dared. She fought against him tooth and nail, grinning all the while. He tried to break bones, bruise her past recognition but she always seemed to slip away with a twinkle in her eye.

And then, as if to mock him, she would compliment him on his fight before disappearing with a group of interns who congratulated her for keeping up with a god. Normally, he would destroy something after that, adrenaline shooting through his nerves until his knuckles were busted and bloody and at least one wall is covered in dents that he wouldn’t bother explain.

And now they were partners, through and through. He had begged and pleaded, threatening Stark with everything he had, but there was nothing he could say that would change the man's mind.  He had threatening to burn down Stark towers, but Tony was having none of it. Now, as they sat atop a building in Southern Germany he wanted nothing more than to push her off. Her hair was brushing against his face as she stared through the scope.  She didn't even notice.

"Tie your hair up," he snapped, and she glanced over her shoulder, grinning at him.

"Sorry," she replied, brushing the hair behind her ear but with a smile like that he didn't believe a word she said. He continued to glare at her, even as she returned to the scope, and then when she pulled away, brow scrunched in annoyance. "Do you have a problem with me?" she snapped, and he almost wanted to laugh at the audacity. He didn't bother answering such a question, if she was really that stupid, he had more than one reason to despise her. “Hey, I asked you a question, just because you’re some god doesn’t mean you get to just ignore me,” she snapped, grabbing his arm with questionable confidence. He returned the gesture and slammed her against the electrical box beside them. She squirmed against his arm, but he didn’t let up.

“Fucking drop it.”

“Fuck you, Loki. I haven’t done anything.”

“I said, fucking drop it.” There was a beat of silence before someone spoke through their cons, asking if the pair were okay. She shoved him away and returned to her sniper.

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting on the hellicarrier, glaring at one another from across the deck. She had shot the target and now they were free to go home, and as far from one another as they possibly could. He couldn’t believe she didn’t know what his problem was, but the longer he sat there he wasn’t exactly sure if he knew what the problem was either. He was in Stark tower as fast as his legs would take him, ignoring Stark’s request for a report, and darting towards his room.

Meanwhile, Y/N was following him at breakneck speed, even daring to shove an unsuspecting intern out of her way. When she reached his door she slammed her fist against it, rehearsing the string of curses she was going lay out for him the moment he opened the door.

When he didn’t answer she resorted to slamming her foot against it, denting the door with each well-placed kick.

Inside, Loki was grinding his teeth with each attack on the last layer that was protecting her from her demise. She was screaming at him now, drawing attention to herself, as if this whole ordeal wasn’t bad enough. Finally, with great irritation he allowed her. She stumbled forward and quickly took a fighting stance he was used to seeing.

“You’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on right now, or I swear I’m going to make you forget you’re a god.” He took a long step forward, eyes narrowing with each second that passed through the tension.

“Make me forget I’m a god?” he asked with a chuckle and she aimed a kick at his jaw. It should have shattered the bone, it should have done enough to send his mind spiraling, but with a swift hand he caught her ankle and twisted. She fell to the ground with a cry. “Make me forget I’m a god?” he repeated stepping towards her as she scrambled away. “I think you forget who you’re playing with little girl.” She pulled herself up by his bedframe and leaned on the ankle that had suffered his attack.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve done everything,” he snarled grabbing her arm and tossing her against the wall. The paintings Thor had hung for him shook at the force and she cried out in pain.

“Tell me, tell me what I’ve done.” He grabbed her chin to answer but words failed him. She had done nothing, merely coexisted with him and yet he felt nothing but hatred.

Maybe that’s why he kissed her.

She squirmed away from him, hands pushing against his chest. He grabbed her hair, pushing her closer until he found it hard to breathe. Gasping for air, he pulled away, hands still pressing against. She glared at him and aimed a punch that he caught.

“I’m going to show you exactly why I’m a god,” he snarled placing himself between her legs. She swallowed and he grinned.

Everything that happened after that was nothing but hatred.

When he slammed her body against the drywall, he forced every ounce of anger he had been forced to hide into the move. She cried out but respond with a similar force, grabbing his arms and bruising his back against the dresser. His backbone cried out in protest and he flipped her onto the bed, climbing over top of her. He took her wrists and held them above her head, fingers tightening until the fingers curled from the blood loss. Her knee found his chest and he stumbled back.

“What the fuck?” she yelled standing up from the bed with as much dignity as she could manage with her shirt half torn off. “First you hate me and now you’re all over me.”

“Last time I check, you kissed back,” he taunted, enjoying the scandalized look on her face. A beat of silence passed as she tried to come to terms with the situation. He smirked when she moved forward, hiding the disappointment that she was leaving, until she grabbed his collar and kissed him.

He could feel her anger too. She wanted to be accepted by everyone, especially him, and by the way she was kissing him, she thought this would do the trick.

“I fucking hate you,” she muttered against his lips, nails digging into his skin until thin rivers of blood ran down his shoulders. He shoved her away and ran a hand over the wound. The red collected in the lines of his hands, pooling in the center of his palm. She watched him like a cornered wolf, leaping away when he attacked, dragging her towards the sheets. She fought against the contact, hands grabbing hold of flesh, not to push it away but to pull it closer against her better judgement.

Her shirt went first, or what was left of it. She was all tan skin, taught muscle and heavy breathing. His blood caked the fingernails that were clutching his shirt, doing their best to remove the clothing. He picked her up and pushed her against the wall once more, yanking her pants to the floor before wrapping her legs around his waist. The drywall dented when he slammed into her, residue drifting into their hair until it was a blizzard to match the frigid words that passed between their lips.

He wanted to rip her apart as she gasped around him, fingers clawing at her skin. She returned the favor, drawing intricate designs into the skin that hadn’t been damaged by a thousand more worthy opponents. It was a conflicting symphony of noises, the agony of pleasure ringing out over the proclamations of ongoing hatred.

To admit enjoyment was to lose and so all moans become a declaration of agony. Gasps drifted into screams and smiles became winces. Caresses were replaced by claws and when the climax came and went it was filled with anger, wishing more than anything to deny that it had ever occurred.

He dropped her to the ground, not bothering to watch as she pulled on her pants, panting against the feeling of emptiness. He was colder than before, not even her hot breath against his back could warm him.

“Get out,” he mumbled.

“I would like nothing more,” she snapped, marching out of the room without picking up her shirt. The door slammed behind her, sliding into place awkwardly because of the dents that had began their encounter.

He was glad she was gone, ecstatic in fact, and yet he wanted nothing more than to bring her back and rip her apart again.

[katharaya]

PROMPT: "[Asra's] greatest fear [is] to wonder if that means he’s bound to lose her again" + rei accepting the devil's bargain in the most recent update

well then. one helping of angst and misery coming up

—

“Yes,” she says, with only the barest hint of hesitation. Her eyes are locked on Faust, curled in on herself in the Devil’s claws.

Oh, Rei, he thinks, of all the proposals you could have said yes to, why this one?

“Reasonable and efficient,” the Devil says, almost crooning. It grates on Asra’s nerves. “I like you, Rei. So refreshing after the last mortal who dealt with me.”

That almost makes Asra laugh. Of course. Of course even the very Devil himself wants to wash his hands of Lucio.

But—

“No,” Asra says, which only makes the Devil smile. He tries to tug Rei back behind him. He wants her nowhere near that smirk. “Rei, you don’t know what the Devil has planned!”

“True enough,” the Devil acquiesces amicably, before his grin turns knife-sharp, twisting something in Asra’s gut. “But it wasn’t your decision to make, Asra.”

Rei looks at him askance, like she’s gauging something, before she turns to the Devil and says, too sweetly, “Will you give us a moment first, please, Mister Devil, sir?” as if she’s merely talking to a customer back at the shop.

The Devil howls in laughter, and for a moment Asra is afraid he’ll squeeze Faust without meaning to. But he just looks back at Rei with an amused baring of his too-sharp teeth.

“Such politeness!” he cackles. “You could stand to learn a thing or two from her, Asra. Very well, Miss Rei—” He glances at Asra as he says this, and Asra bristles. “—you may have your moment, but do not tarry long. We’re on a strict schedule.”

And then Rei curtsies, of all things, which makes the Devil laugh again, and he eases his grip on Faust to a more comfortable but still restricting cradle.

Rei pulls Asra just to the entrance of the clearing, and he rounds on her before she can get out a word.

“Rei, you can’t!” he hisses under his breath. He’s pretty sure the Devil can hear them anyway. “This is—it’s a trap, Rei, I can’t let you do this!”

“He has Faust!” she whispers back. “And I can’t go back on my word now!”

“There has to be some other way!”

“I’ve already decided, Asra,” she says quietly, with the same finality as a lover leaving, as a door slamming shut.

(This is not the first time she’s told him this.)

“No!” He surges forward, cupping her face between his hands. He’s so, so close to crying. “I won’t let you throw your life away again!”

Doesn’t she understand?

He’s shaking now, breathing hard as he rests his forehead against hers. He’s only half here; the other half is back at the shop, three years past, where See if I care! lingers like poison in the air, strangling the I love you he wishes he’d said instead. “I won’t, I won’t,” he whimpers. “Not this time. Not again.”

What cruel circles their lives turn in. He wonders if it was a fluke, that they ever managed to be happy at all.

She eases his hands away, and it feels too much like goodbye that he chokes on a sob, an apology three years too late sticking in his throat. She offers a comforting smile, and he doesn’t want it; he wants her to stay. Doesn’t she understand?

“I will be careful, Asra. And I’ll be back soon.” She kisses him, barely—just a quick touch of lips on lips, light like the brush of a butterfly’s wing. “I won’t be parted from you so easily,” she says, stroking a thumb along his jaw. The joking quirk of her mouth doesn’t feel funny now, not at all. “We’ve not nearly made up enough for lost time.”

“Are we done, then?” the Devil calls, his tone a perfect mimicry of boredom. “Very well, here is your dear Faust.”

She slithers across the grass and into his hands, a trembling shudder running through her as she makes contact with his warmth.

Came to help …

It is a relief beyond words when he feels the magical tether that binds them together snap back into place. “Of course,” he tells her, bumping noses in an old accustomed greeting. She nuzzles at the corner of his eye, and a single teardrop comes away to rest atop her head. “I could never abandon you.”

Rei looks relieved too when he turns to her, wearing a gentle, satisfied smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Nor you, Rei,” he promises.

(He’s made that mistake once, and it is one time too many.)

“Most heartwarming,” the Devil says, in tones that indicate his heart is still something of a tundra. “However, Rei and I need to settle the other half of our bargain.” And then he grins a grin that could only belong to the devil, offering his arm to her in a mocking caricature of gallantry. “Now then, Rei. Your time and company, if you please.”

Trepidation shows on her features for the first time. When the Devil reaches for her, Asra wonders if he could get away with slapping that hand away.

Don’t touch her! he thinks furiously, but before his mouth can form the words, the Devil pulls Rei toward him and they disappear in a plume of gritty, gray smoke, and Asra almost doubles over sick.

He did it on purpose, Asra reasons with himself, but it doesn’t stop the images of belching furnaces from worming into his mind anyway. He takes the few faltering steps to where her mask had fallen as she vanished, dirt marring the delicate deep blue of the painted kingfisher feathers.

There had been fear in her eyes as she was whisked away. He wonders if she was afraid then, too, when he had left her to her fate.

(Not again, not again, not again—)

When his fingertips brush the wood of the mask, he thinks he hears her calling his name.

“Rei!” he shouts, but he doesn’t even know which direction they’ve gone. “Rei, we’ll find you! I promise!”

Silence. Only the stars are around to hear. If they’re saying anything, he doesn’t know; she never taught him how to listen.

—

He bursts through the greenery of the maze, tumbling into Muriel and Inanna as they round the corner.

“Asra!” Muriel sighs with obvious relief. “You found Faust.” And then he takes in Asra’s disheveled appearance, the wiped-away tear tracks on his cheeks, the kingfisher mask in his hand without a face to wear it. Tightness settles at the corners of his eyes. “Where is she?”

“I—” She’s gone, she’s gone, and I don’t know how to follow— “I don’t know.”

For the second time in his life, Asra looks at his hands, bereft of her touch, and thinks, despairing, we should have run when we had the chance.

He should have learned by now, shouldn’t he? Look at him now, paying for the same fatal mistake, with only a mask without its owner and half a heart left to show for it.

A column of smoke, thick and cloying like a funeral pyre, rises from the center of the garden, before moving unnaturally fast toward the ballroom doors.

“This is bad,” Muriel grumbles, already on Asra’s heels as he sprints back to the Palace, his heart drumming an unsettled staccato beat and his mouth tasting too much like ash.

—

“Faust!” he scolds her, voice cracking high in his panic. “Please don’t run off!”

He reaches her and picks her up, thankfully before she gets stepped on, but she’s crawling agitatedly over his hands, saying Friend! Friend! over and over, something mournful in the voice that echoes in his mind.

I know she’s gone, he thinks frustratedly back at her. That’s why we—

He freezes, feeling the air in front of him shift. Only faintly, like a sigh as someone passes him by, but there’s something lonely about it all the same.

“Rei?” he whispers, afraid to even breathe wrong lest the feeling disappear entirely. The loneliness shivers, urgency drawing an exclamation point desperate for his attention. “No … I can sense you, but—”

Dread draws icy fingers down his spine. You’re somewhere I can’t follow, again.

He focuses his magic, pulling her from the ether like he’d pulled her from the earth, fragment by nail-breaking fragment—a hazy sketch of blue fabric; a daydream of dark hair; a distant memory of brown eyes the color of comfort, of home.

She’s there. He knows she is. He can feel her, like a tiny flicker of sound echoing his own trembling existence. But she’s little more than an outline, a shadow in the water, a monochrome reflection in a glass window on a rainy day. She’s the barest suggestion of a presence drawn in shifting shades of gray, like someone had started painting with the leftover cinder in a cold furnace pit and left their work unfinished. And when he reaches out to touch her—

—she’s smoke and mist, no better than the ghost that had haunted him all those forsaken months when the freezing rain made his very bones shiver. He looks at his hand where it should feel the warmth of her chest, but it’s just—there, hovering uncertain when it meets no resistance, clenched into a fist where her half of his heart should beat.

He knows he can’t afford to panic, kneeling here in the middle of the ballroom floor, but his breathing goes ragged all the same.

I’ve lost you, I’ve lost you is an insidious taunt in his mind. How many times does he have to lose her before the world is satisfied? A hundred? A thousand? Once was already too much. Please, he thinks, not again not again notagainnotagain—

A booming voice rends the air, and Asra comes to the sinking realization that she hasn’t been lost to him so much as stolen—

—just as he comes down the stairs, grinning like an unrepentant thief.

“Dear Vesuvia!” Lucio shouts. His plagued eyes are locked on Asra, like he knows exactly what he did. “Did you think I had left you for good?”

Asra’s world turns plague-violent red, and it’s only the soundless movement of her not-there mouth that stays the spark of fire already building in his hand.

[cosmosogler]

hi guys. today cleo woke me up before 5 am. 

i had fallen asleep sometime after 1 so i was Not Happy. mom asked me what i  was doing up and i don’t remember if i actually responded or not. i let the dogs outside. wiley was a hassle to get back inside because it was kind of nice out. then as soon as i closed the door behind me and turned around diogi wanted to go outside, because she hadn’t wanted to go outside ten minutes previously. by the time i herded her over to the grass and blocked her off from wandering around the pool the sun was up. 

i went back to sleep even though my body was awake. i think i had craig dreams but they only made me mildly angry. i was mostly frustrated with the people around him. which has been happening in those dreams the last few times i’ve had them over the last, like, year and a half. 

then cleo woke me up by shrieking at 8, and also my alarm went off for some ungodly reason. i booted everyone else out of my bed and out of my room and closed the door. then cleo spent the next literal hour rattling my door and howling. i didn’t want to hurt her or anything, but i did want to cry. by the time she went downstairs to wake someone else up my alarm went off again. i slept in an extra 45 minutes despite the rattling starting up again sometime in the last 15 minutes of my “nap.” 

i was really too tired to do much today. i caught up on some comics, i watched a lot of not-video-game youtube videos, and i started looking up some resources for group-based activities around town. there was something that looked really cool that meets next tuesday... i think it’s all day, or in the evening, so it won’t conflict with therapy.

i had more pesto leftovers with mom. this time i let her start eating way before me so by the time i sat down her concert of disgusting vomit-inducing mouth noises was almost finished. in hell everyone communicates by chewing with their mouths open. the lip-smacking asmr videos make me want to scream and throw my computer.

i don’t actually, like, go and listen to them or anything. but it’s come up before.

sleep deprivation for this many nights in a row (5 i think? 6?) has reduced my patience level to approximately absolute zero. i was having trouble sleeping all year but the last week has been... something special.

i washed my siblings’ bed sheets today instead of dusting. mom wants me to wash all of the sheets every week. i don’t know if that’s really the most efficient use of our water, considering every advice site i’ve looked at has said something along the lines of “washing your sheets every two weeks is great, but once a month or so is also good.” 

maybe there’s no drawbacks to washing your sheets that often. i just don’t know how fast they wear out.

this is bad, but despite telling oz i was too tired to watch a movie, i sat and watched a really long critique of the bbc sherlock show in the late afternoon. i guess part of it was watching something that long by myself i didn’t have to also talk to anyone... 

about halfway through i paused to greet my brother and father as they had returned from their mud run, feed the dogs, and get some thai food with mom. i think i hurt myself trying to eat food that was too spicy... i felt really sick afterward and my stomach is still kind of grouchy with me. even though i am also hungry again because i wasn’t actually full when i stopped eating, i just couldn’t deal with my nerves disintegrating any more.

i keep getting spicy food hoping i’ll develop a better tolerance. i’ve got enough of one to tell different kinds of spices apart and appreciate different “flavors” of “OH GOD WHY IT’S SO HOT IT HURTS” and not get that sick. but the legendary Thai Hot seems to be forever out of my range. Double Thai Hot exists only in rumors. i saw jay get Double Thai Hot once. he caught on fire. and also cried.

i really love the soups that this place makes, but mom doesn’t like the very unique flavors so we didn’t get any. i wouldn’t have ordered the most spice that the cook is willing to give white people if we had gotten soup haha...

ehh, i boxed the leftovers for later. it’s not as good reheated, but i have a strong need for pahd thai and one sitting isn’t going to satisfy me.

oh yeah! around lunchtime i went out and blasted the dogs with the hose. i didn’t brush them afterward because there are five dogs and i didn’t want anyone to get sat on trying to get my brush’s attention. i didn’t take anyone to the mail box today though because it was over 100 even after the sun went down. even i didn’t want to walk the 2 minutes over to the mailbox.

and i maybe figured out what i’m gonna do with that gold bottle cap. i’m gonna slap it on a shiny magikarp and ship him off on the wonder trade. since it has a... less helpful nature (but not as bad as the other two) and no good ivs it will benefit the most from a gold bottle cap, which boosts all your stats to the maximum. all of the pokemon i am hyper training only need half their stats boosted. it’s not too hard to get 3 regular bottle caps, it just takes a while, especially if i am not using the fishing hole because i can’t be bothered to split my attention between film theory and watching my 3ds screen for a 1-second alert that i have to react to.

tomorrow... i gotta email my apartment complex or see if i can find the bed size myself so we can do the new sheets and stuff. and i gotta contact my relatives about my graduation party near the end of july. i think it’s the 23rd. and maybe i will check out one of the social activities available this side of town if i can find one that meets on sundays and is also interesting and/or small enough that it won’t be overwhelming. i would also like to maybe finish the owl picture since i have not worked on that in basically a whole week. and i gotta get this grody nail polish off my fingernails. it can stay on my toenails though because it still looks nice and is also maybe hiding a crack from when i accidentally stomped on my own toes while walking wiley.

it’s kind of weird but i make a very specific series of noises when i am hurt. i think being angry and then disappointed helps me get over the fact that it hurts a little more quickly. like when eve or diogi step on me with their claws, or when i bang my shin against a corner, or when i step on my toes and crack the nail. or burn my hands because the sink water is extremely hot for some reason.

i think... maybe tomorrow i will also try to do one thing from my to-do jar for the first time in over a week. i’ve done most of the major dusting so i will probably only need to devote about 5 minutes to that tomorrow. or maybe i could wipe down the window shades since the duster doesn’t do anything but kick up the dirt.

oh, also marisol is getting back in tomorrow evening so i can finally return her angle and hre devil. whiskey is a good boy. he likes to be picked up and cuddled with, and he is also the size of a small floppy pillow. and also he doesn’t SCREAM AT 4:30 IN THE MORNING WHICH IS A GREAT PERK!!!

it’s about 10 minutes early, but i think i am going to stop soon and get ready for bed. maybe i should take the dogs outside so cleo will wake me up at 6 instead of before 5.

one thing that just occurred to me is that i didn’t feel as depressed today. i mean yeah i felt extremely lethargic and nauseous and i had a headache for literally the whole day no matter how much water i drank. but i also just didn’t put much time into thinking about how bad i feel. i think that is about as good as it gets for me. i don’t know if that’s healthy or not though. since it might just be holding them in instead of dealing with them? i can’t tell if i am avoiding my bad feelings or successfully coping with them. tomorrow i might make some oatmeal cookies... our mixes and doughs are starting to creep up to their expiration dates. asher is getting back in about a week, so i will bake the snickerdoodles around that time. i will have to check for nuts in the mix though. like “this product was made in a facility that also processes nuts” or whatever.

i think maybe trying to jump back on the “doing things” wagon will help me go forward again. and maybe find a goal, since my first one of “learn better cognitive skills to deal with incoming anxiety” got smashed with the whole “you’re not working hard to get better” thing. i guess doing things isn’t working hard. but it keeps me in a better mood than not doing things.

i have ranked my goals in order from “short-term” to “realistically attainable at some point in the future when broken into smaller steps” to “life goals” to “optional bonus round.” well, i don’t really have a lot of goals to put into any of those categories, but i feel that it will be a useful ladder to use if i do find some goals to have. maybe that will help me draw a picture of “who i want to be” which will give me some kind of vague idea of what i should look like in the future? what philosophies are important to me? how do i want to treat other people? what do i think about these and these issues and what am i going to do about them? 

i will try not to overwhelm myself right away and just kind of pick things up as i walk by them for now. and i will keep doing a few stretches during the day. 

maybe, starting on monday or tuesday, i will put some time into trying to feel invested in my writing again. i still remember where a lot of “following that train of thought” needs to happen. after i get everything down for real this time i can start cutting unnecessary things out and making an actual next draft. that’s always the REALLY hard part for me. 

i think i could do that on tuesday. ask for some input from my therapist in specifically feeling more interested in things i create.

ok, now it is just after 12:25. i have now made full use of my allotted journal time and i feel like i maybe got somewhere with it which is nice. now i just gotta pick up all these beans and play the lottery.

[the-cat-and-her-spider]

Glitter In The Air 5/30/18

     “Have You Ever Fed A Lover With Just Your Hands. Close Your Eyes And Trusted, Just Trusted. Have You Ever Thrown A Fist Full Of Glitter In The Air.”      Soft voices echo through the dark chamber she calls her bedroom. Her TV being the only source of light as the early hours of the morning passed by. She pushes her newly crimson colored hair behind her ear and sighs as her mind races.  Each thought just a reflection of her inner fears. A voice that she’s tried to quiet all her life that just seems to be getting louder day by day. She tries to be strong for others. Tries not to show the everyday wear and tear of fighting these inner battles. But she can feel that her days are numbered. That eventually, this same voice will grow so loud that she can’t hear the others.  She shakes her head and numbly steps out of her bed, turning just slightly. So she can face the mirror on her wall. A simple piece, but that’s how she was, simple. The cool reflective surface was surrounded by dark onyx colored vines.  She smirks as she stares into it.  “Mirror Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all.” She whispered softly, her hand reaching up to touch her reflection.  As soon as her fingertips make contact with the cold glass however, the image starts to ripple. Almost as if she had touched one of Alice’s looking glasses instead. Her once, normal, reflection is now a darker, more sinister looking version of herself. Inside the looking glass, her hair is now a more vibrant shade of red. While her skin lost all of its liveliness and was replaced with a pale grey color. It was her eyes that frightened her the most though. The eyes which most, including herself, considered to be the windows to ones very soul. This creature had eyes a twisted looking lime green color. Almost as if she had the gods paint her eyes using the flames from Loki himself. It was a color she had grown up associating evil, mischief, and mayhem with, the smirk on her reflection’s face just continued to put her on edge. For a brief moment, she considered she was dreaming. But when she closed her eyes and reopened them, the devil woman was still there. Still smirking at her from behind the looking glass.  “You asked the mirror to tell you who the fairest was, and I’m telling you right now…it isn’t you. You’re nothing but a weak and pathetic little human being. Who whines when they don’t get enough attention. Who cries at every little thing. Who puts everyone else’s happiness before your own. You give everyone else power over you, including me. And yet you have the nerve to stand here and ask who the fairest of them all is. You make me sick.” The creature smiles as two lengthy and curved horns appear out of the top of her head. While navy blue flames encased her dark form. Her mechanical laughter fills the room as she sits back down onto her bed, with sobs threatening to break through the surface.

     Have You Ever Hated Yourself For Staring At The Phone, Your Whole Life Waiting On The Ring To Prove You’re Not Alone.    

She grabs fists full of her hair, shaking it violently as she tries to block out the voice. Meanwhile her looking glass counterpart laughs on. The mirror itself seamlessly stretches to the floor, allowing the creature to step forward.  Navy blue flames go from encasing her, to dancing around her horns. Illuminating her in a soft blue glow. With a snap of the creature’s fingers, the dark vines surround her. Elegantly draping around the more intimate parts of the creatures body. She shakes her head as the demon’s hand reaches out and grabs her chin. Forcing her to look back into the terrible green chasms she had for eyes.  The creature smiles at her again. Her pearly white fangs sending shivers down her spine.

“See, I show you the truth. And instead of accepting it and moving on, you’re sitting here crying. This is exactly what I said. When are you going to grow a back bone. You’re so nice all the time, don’t you think it would be better if you let me out to play. Wouldn’t it be more fun to be wicked for just a day.”  

The creature’s claws were starting to pinch under her chin. Drawing a drop of blood, coloring the rest of her nails. She shakes her head free for a moment and pushes her back towards the wall. A small spark being lit inside her.

 “No! That’s where you are wrong. That’s the path that leads to being you and I don’t want to be you. Yes, I’m too nice sometimes. Yes, I see the good in everyone, including the people that hurt me. Yes, I’ll give someone chance after chance after chance. But I also love with all of my being. I will be the best you ever had. If I’m with you, then I’m one hundred percent with you. I don’t see anyone else. I only have eyes for you. I don’t ask for much. I really don’t. This ‘attention’ you say I crave is just the normal amount that you give anyone. Ten seconds, that’s all it takes to let someone know you’re thinking of them. And that’s all I ask. You, you’re just every fear I’ve ever had speaking out. Every person that’s told me they’d stay and haven’t. Every late night just lying in the dark wondering when it all was going to end. You are the one who is nothing. Whose existence doesn’t matter, not me. I’m better than that. I know what I bring to the table. You’re the reason I doubt it somedays. You’re the reason I question things. Your annoying voice just squeaking in my ear all the time. You aren’t going to be able to do that anymore. I’m done with you. I’m done giving you power over me.”

She says as she shoves the creature back into the hellhole looking glass from once it came. Her fist coming with contact with the mirror as she shoved her. Shattering it into a million pieces. And as she shakes her hand free of some glass, she breathes a sigh of relief. As if a small weigh has been lifted off of her shoulders. She reaches over to the table and grabs her phone. A number she knows by heart leaving her fingers as she taps on the screen.

 “Babe, it’s me. I just wanted to call and say I’m sorry. I’m sorry my anxiety is so bad sometimes. That I get into my own head and make things worse. I’m trying to fix it, some days are just harder than most. Especially when it seems like you’ll talk to others before me. And by that I don’t mean you need to talk to me all the time. But when I call, I wish you’d pick up the phone. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. How much that helps sometimes. I also wanted to thank you. Thank you for being so understanding. Thank you for being there for me through all of this. I know it’s difficult. I know that I can be difficult. But I love you so much for standing by me. I love you, so much. Being with you is like a breath of fresh air. I’ve found my missing puzzle piece. And I hope you feel the same way too. Again, I love you with my entire heart babe, good night.”  

With that she presses the phone against her chest. Her heart still hammering in her chest. But with a smile on her face. She felt so much better after facing her demons. After pouring her heart out. Her one hope now was that she wouldn’t get burned. That this time she gave her heart to the right person.

     There You Are, Sitting In The Garden, Clutching My Coffee Calling Me Sugar. You Called Me Sugar. Have You Ever Wished For An Endless Night. Lasso’s The Moon And Stars And Pulled That Rope Tight. Have You Ever Held Your Breath And Asked Yourself Will It Ever Get Better Than Tonight.

[nickihstn-blog-blog]

Glitter In The Air 05/30/18

Glitter In The Air: Third Person POV       “Have You Ever Fed A Lover With Just Your Hands. Close Your Eyes And Trusted, Just Trusted. Have You Ever Thrown A Fist Full Of Glitter In The Air.”       Soft voices echo through the dark chamber she calls her bedroom. Her TV being the only source of light as the early hours of the morning passed by. She pushes her newly crimson colored hair behind her ear and sighs as her mind races.  Each thought just a reflection of her inner fears. A voice that she’s tried to quiet all her life that just seems to be getting louder day by day. She tries to be strong for others. Tries not to show the everyday wear and tear of fighting these inner battles. But she can feel that her days are numbered. That eventually, this same voice will grow so loud that she can’t hear the others.  She shakes her head and numbly steps out of her bed, turning just slightly. So she can face the mirror on her wall. A simple piece, but that’s how she was, simple. The cool reflective surface was surrounded by dark onyx colored vines.  She smirks as she stares into it.   “Mirror Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all.” She whispered softly, her hand reaching up to touch her reflection.  As soon as her fingertips make contact with the cold glass however, the image starts to ripple. Almost as if she had touched one of Alice’s looking glasses instead. Her once, normal, reflection is now a darker, more sinister looking version of herself. Inside the looking glass, her hair is now a more vibrant shade of red. While her skin lost all of its liveliness and was replaced with a pale grey color. It was her eyes that frightened her the most though. The eyes which most, including herself, considered to be the windows to ones very soul. This creature had eyes a twisted looking lime green color. Almost as if she had the gods paint her eyes using the flames from Loki himself. It was a color she had grown up associating evil, mischief, and mayhem with, the smirk on her reflection’s face just continued to put her on edge. For a brief moment, she considered she was dreaming. But when she closed her eyes and reopened them, the devil woman was still there. Still smirking at her from behind the looking glass.   “You asked the mirror to tell you who the fairest was, and I’m telling you right now…it isn’t you. You’re nothing but a weak and pathetic little human being. Who whines when they don’t get enough attention. Who cries at every little thing. Who puts everyone else’s happiness before your own. You give everyone else power over you, including me. And yet you have the nerve to stand here and ask who the fairest of them all is. You make me sick.” The creature smiles as two lengthy and curved horns appear out of the top of her head. While navy blue flames encased her dark form. Her mechanical laughter fills the room as she sits back down onto her bed, with sobs threatening to break through the surface.

        Have You Ever Hated Yourself For Staring At The Phone, Your Whole Life Waiting On The Ring To Prove You’re Not Alone.      

She grabs fists full of her hair, shaking it violently as she tries to block out the voice. Meanwhile her looking glass counterpart laughs on. The mirror itself seamlessly stretches to the floor, allowing the creature to step forward.  Navy blue flames go from encasing her, to dancing around her horns. Illuminating her in a soft blue glow. With a snap of the creature’s fingers, the dark vines surround her. Elegantly draping around the more intimate parts of the creatures body. She shakes her head as the demon’s hand reaches out and grabs her chin. Forcing her to look back into the terrible green chasms she had for eyes.  The creature smiles at her again. Her pearly white fangs sending shivers down her spine.

“See, I show you the truth. And instead of accepting it and moving on, you’re sitting here crying. This is exactly what I said. When are you going to grow a back bone. You’re so nice all the time, don’t you think it would be better if you let me out to play. Wouldn’t it be more fun to be wicked for just a day.”  

The creature’s claws were starting to pinch under her chin. Drawing a drop of blood, coloring the rest of her nails. She shakes her head free for a moment and pushes her back towards the wall. A small spark being lit inside her.

  “No! That’s where you are wrong. That’s the path that leads to being you and I don’t want to be you. Yes, I’m too nice sometimes. Yes, I see the good in everyone, including the people that hurt me. Yes, I’ll give someone chance after chance after chance. But I also love with all of my being. I will be the best you ever had. If I’m with you, then I’m one hundred percent with you. I don’t see anyone else. I only have eyes for you. I don’t ask for much. I really don’t. This ‘attention’ you say I crave is just the normal amount that you give anyone. Ten seconds, that’s all it takes to let someone know you’re thinking of them. And that’s all I ask. You, you’re just every fear I’ve ever had speaking out. Every person that’s told me they’d stay and haven’t. Every late night just lying in the dark wondering when it all was going to end. You are the one who is nothing. Whose existence doesn’t matter, not me. I’m better than that. I know what I bring to the table. You’re the reason I doubt it somedays. You’re the reason I question things. Your annoying voice just squeaking in my ear all the time. You aren’t going to be able to do that anymore. I’m done with you. I’m done giving you power over me.”

She says as she shoves the creature back into the hellhole looking glass from once it came. Her fist coming with contact with the mirror as she shoved her. Shattering it into a million pieces. And as she shakes her hand free of some glass, she breathes a sigh of relief. As if a small weigh has been lifted off of her shoulders. She reaches over to the table and grabs her phone. A number she knows by heart leaving her fingers as she taps on the screen.

  “Babe, it’s me. I just wanted to call and say I’m sorry. I’m sorry my anxiety is so bad sometimes. That I get into my own head and make things worse. I’m trying to fix it, some days are just harder than most. Especially when it seems like you’ll talk to others before me. And by that I don’t mean you need to talk to me all the time. But when I call, I wish you’d pick up the phone. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. How much that helps sometimes. I also wanted to thank you. Thank you for being so understanding. Thank you for being there for me through all of this. I know it’s difficult. I know that I can be difficult. But I love you so much for standing by me. I love you, so much. Being with you is like a breath of fresh air. I’ve found my missing puzzle piece. And I hope you feel the same way too. Again, I love you with my entire heart babe, good night.”  

With that she presses the phone against her chest. Her heart still hammering in her chest. But with a smile on her face. She felt so much better after facing her demons. After pouring her heart out. Her one hope now was that she wouldn’t get burned. That this time she gave her heart to the right person.

      There You Are, Sitting In The Garden, Clutching My Coffee Calling Me Sugar. You Called Me Sugar. Have You Ever Wished For An Endless Night. Lasso’s The Moon And Stars And Pulled That Rope Tight. Have You Ever Held Your Breath And Asked Yourself Will It Ever Get Better Than Tonight.