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lewsnumerounofan · 2 years ago

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party foul (jeremiah fisher x reader)

summary: so what if you're in love with your best friend, jeremiah fisher? one drunk kiss won't change anything. right?

notes: not biblically accurate conrad, teen drinking, kissing, 3k words, reader previously dated co**ad, angst/miscomm., not proof read at all

+ part 2

+ i never keep the same tense i'm so sooryim gooo fuckjuhnbsorry oh my god and dw abt the header image!!!!!! it's okay!!!!!

kissing jere was easy.

it was the first thing you noticed. how easy it was to let his lips slant over yours, to tilt your head back at the greedy request of his hands, to forget about the party and conrad and the house.

it was just him and the feel of his mouth on yours.

you hadn't expected this, to say the least. in fact, you'd been bracing for an awkward and mostly miserable night. ever since conrad and you had split back in june, things had been awful. the breakup had been bad itself--getting ditched at prom without explanation was one thing--but watching conrad get back with nicole a week later was even worse.

so you were pleasantly surprised with yourself when you decided to go to the fisher's goodbye party, despite whatever tension there might be between you and conrad.

if you were being honest with yourself though, you mostly had jeremiah to thank. you two had been best friends since childhood, but ever since his brother had broken your heart, jere had been there for you. all the time, really. he'd drive down on weekends to check up on you. and when susannah had gotten worse, you'd driven up to make sure he was eating and sleeping too.

so of course he'd been able to convince you to come stay, waving off your concerns about conrad. i want you there, he'd said. i really want you there. and so you'd come. you arrived late, tired from the hours of highway driving. already the house was packed with hap hazardously parked cars and drunk teenagers. the music was loud even on the warm streets outside, and you couldn't help but feel excited as you pulled your bag out of your car and started towards the party.

taylor was the one who opened the door for you. she launched herself into a hug, giggling and shrieking as you two swung around.

"oh my god. you have no idea how happy i am to see you," she yelled, dragging you into the crowded house.

together you fumbled upstairs, eventually breaking into one of the larger rooms. various assortments of air mattresses and water beds covered the floor. jere had called you as soon as they'd gotten back from the boardwalk about julia's suprise moving. it wasn't often you heard him so... defeated.

"you can drop your stuff wherever," said taylor, "but the one in the corner is jeremy's."

she didn't even bother to hide her grin as you slapped her arm. nothing, not even your best kept secret, made it past taylor.

"shut up. you can't say anything to him or i swear i'll kill you," you promised, only half joking.

"oh please. he hasn't stopped talking about you the whole trip. it's disgusting."

you tried not to smile at that--jere talked about you? i mean, he'd called you just about every day for the last few months. more, on days when things were hard. but still, you felt almost nervous at the thought of seeing him now. of what it might be like between you.

your thoughts were cut off by a shout of your name. running into the room was belly. well, not running--rolling.

"oh my god bell what are you wearing?" you asked. it was too late though, because she was wrapping you up in a wobbly, crushing hug.

"roller skates? duh? they're an old pair of susannah's," she said.

you'd missed belly. she looked fucking adorable in her little vintage number, and you hugged her again just because. over her shoulder you could see steven grinning, and conrad too. you waved to the later while steven strode over, ruffling your hair before taking your bag from you.

"long time no see, city-girl," he said.

"yeah yeah yeah. just be nice to my bag, okay? it's got some very delicate presents," you said. steven raised his eyebrows but did as you said, placing your bag onto the bed taylor had indicated earlier. jere's bed. taylor and steven met eyes and winked--uh oh. the last thing you needed was them trying to set you up with your best friend. your best friend who you're in love with, something inside you said. you tried your best to strangle it.

"hey."

this time it was conrad, who was sporting a pair of atrocious sunflower sunglasses on the top of his head.

"hey. i like the glasses," you said, doing your best to smile. it was weird to talk like this to him. you were so angry and embarrassed and sad because of him for so long, and now there was just... nothing. and it felt okay.

"uh, yeah. nicole--nicole got them for me."

he looked sheepish, blushing in a way that used to have you fawning. now you just did your best to nod, saying, "well, she's certainly got a good eye for fashion."

you were saved from the conversation by steven's cough. he stood by the doorway, impatiently waving you towards the party.

"cmon guys, can we hurry this up?"

"yeah, gimmie one sec," you promised. returning to your bag you pulled out the liquor you'd secured on your way there, the bottles heavy in your hands.

"see," you said, turning back to your friends, "presents."

downstairs was even louder than you thought it would be. belly had gone all out for the party--strobe lights blared in every room, a kegger was set up outside, and a dj (was that cam cameron??) was spinning in the living room. you had to admit it: you were having a good time. a really good time. except for, that is, one thing. or person, really. jere was nowhere to be found. he'd even missed out on the group shots you, steven, taylor, belly and conrad had downed first beside the pool and then by the kitchen. jeremiah never missed group shots.

a little more than drunk now, you pushed off from your spot on the counter to find your bestfriend.

"city-girl, where you going?" asked steven.

"i'm gonna go find jere. i haven't seen him since i got in."

"i'll come with you," a voice spoke up.

it was conrad, who looked between you and the floor nervously. you didn't miss the questioning looks that pass between taylor and belly. you shrug at them--a little nervous, but not enough to turn him down in front of all your friends.

"uh, yeah sure."

so you and conrad made your way back through the party, scanning couches and corners for jeremiah. by the time you hit the stairs you were both sweaty and annoyed. you had come all this way to see him, and all of a sudden he'd disappeared.

"he's not picking up any of my calls," said conrad, pulling his phone away from his ear.

"me neither," you admitted, letting yourself swing around the banister to sit at the bottom of the staircase. cautiously, conrad gestured to empty landing beside you.

"mind if i join?"

you nod, scooching over to make room. conrad looked bigger than last time you'd seen him. he looked stronger too. for a while after susannah died he'd looked like a corpse--pale and skinny and only half there. even you could admit you were glad to see him doing so much better.

"hey, look i didn't really tag along to search for jere," conrad said, glancing back at you. shocker.

"i uh," he cleared his throat, "i mostly just wanted to apologize. for how things ended. i know i messed up really bad and i wanted to say i'm sorry."

in the hazy blue and purple's of the dance floor below, conrad's steel-blue eyes were genuine. for the first time that night they held yours steadily.

"i was hurting, and let myself fall on you for comfort even when i knew you weren't who i wanted. who i needed. and it wasn't fair to you. i know that now, and i'm sorry it took me so long. i'm really, really sorry."

huh. you hadn't really expected that one either. but it was nice to hear him say those words. you liked conrad. he was a good guy who'd had a rough hand delt to him. and yeah, he hadn't done right by you. but like susannah had always repeated:

"no harm no foul," you said, and let yourself smile at him. he looked relieved as he smiled back, no doubt recognizing the reference to his mother.

"you're happy now, i take it? with nicole?" you ask.

"yeah. more than happy, actually. don't know what i did to deserve her."

you're happy for him, in that moment. really happy.

"what about you? you finally stopped messing around and admitted your feelings to jere?" he asked.

"huh?" you drop, mouth open. there's no way.

"what," he chuckled, grinning harder at your shocked expression, "like it's not obvious you two are crazy for each other."

you can feel the blush spreading across your cheeks now, stomach skipping at his words. so they all knew, you realized. does jere?

"he doesn't--you didn't tell him, right?" you said, panic rising.

conrad shakes his head, still looking amused.

"no, but he'd be a fool not to see it. you guys are perfect for each other. really."

"thanks, conrad."

and you mean it--it's been months of awkwardness between you. and now you just feel... good. you feel like you've got your friend back. so you lean over and hug him, letting yourself remember that before your fling you were friends, and returning back to it feels comforting and warm.

"thank you, for hearing me out. i'm glad we can be back to normal now," he said into your shoulder.

"friends again?" you ask.

"definit--"

"what the fuck?"

it's jeremiah. he stands at the top of the stairs, eyes wide. he's wearing the ariana grande merch you'd gotten him. he looks the same and yet--

and yet something in your chest fizzes and your stomach starts running circles as you look at him. you missed him. and not because he was your best friend.

"jere--it's not what it looks like," said conrad.

and then you realized he did look different. the jeremiah you knew was always grinning about some secret joke, or making fun of belly or steven. he never looked... betrayed like this. and he certainly never looked at you with disgust. with anger.

"what the fuck are you guys doing?" he asked again, but this time he didn't even look at you.

"nothing, jere. we were just talking," said conrad.

you cringed at his words. they might be true, but they sure didn't sound good.

"yeah, sure," laughed jere. you'd never heard him laugh like that. it made your skin prickle.

"c'mon, you know i'd never do that-" conrad started.

jeremiah was faster though. he was up in conrad's face in a second, pushing him into the wall. you'd never seen him like this. he wasn't an aggressive guy; even when the brothers fought it was never violent.

"don't fucking lie, con. you were just waiting to take her back weren't you? waiting until you knew it'd hurt me the most, huh?"

you felt his words viscerally, like they were being penned onto your skin. hurt him the most? it was the closest to a confession you'd gotten, but it all felt wrong.

by now, partygoers on the main floor had started to notice the commotion. people were pointing, some even starting to pull out their phones. great.

"jere," you called. he paused, bright blue eyes on you. even now, fighting with his brother, jeremiah looked beautiful. maybe you had had a bit too much to drink.

"jere, please let it go. conrad isn't a part of this," you murmured. though you didn't break eye contact, you could see his hands loosen around his brother's shirt in your peripheral. jaw clenched, he heeded your wishes, giving a final shove to conrad before breaking away. he walked quickly down the stairs and into the throngs of people below.

"jere, wait up!" you call, desperately trying to follow the broad shape of his back through the crowd. jeremiah didn't bother trying to accommodate your smaller strides, and you almost lost him a few times in the packed house.

"would you please slow down? jere," you said again. by now you were out of the house, dodging pool floaties and scattered drinks. the blonde made no indication of hearing you as he kept striding towards the beach.

"jeremiah!"

finally he whipped around. he still looked mad--the set of his jaw, the notching of his eyebrows--but under all of it, he just looked sad. you hated seeing him upset, and you hated knowing you might've been the cause of it.

"jere, please. what's going on?" you asked, this time softly. he was close to you now. you could see his heavy breathing, could smell the perfume he always wore.

"how would i know. you're the one who's looking all close with your ex--my brother--conrad," he spits. he swallows hard, like he's checking himself.

"it was always you and conrad. even when we were kids it was that way. i was stupid to think it could've been any different."

he turned away from you, gaze hard. oh, jere. you have no idea, you thought. it was him--how could he not see that? how could he really think it was conrad you cared about?

you couldn't deny it any longer: you loved jere. and you definitely weren't about to let him walk away thinking otherwise.

quickly, without letting yourself dwell on it, you grabbed jeremiah's hand. he turned back, eyes wide. and you kissed him.

kissing jere was easy.

it was the first thing you noticed. how easy it was to let his lips slant over yours, to tilt your head back at the greedy request of his hands, to forget about the party and conrad and the house.

it was just him and the feel of his mouth on yours.

and then everything was static. everywhere he touched you--the long, lean press of his body to your front, the sharp slide of his jawline under your palm, the firm press of his hands at your waist. every sense was filled with him and his warmth and the way he smelled.

you were gasping into the kiss, hyperaware of the small noises he made when you pulled on his curls. of just how tall he was, how much he had to lean down to hold you like this.

you barely broke away enough to say, "jere, nothing happened with conrad. we were talking about you-"

"don't care," he said, voice rough. because he was too busy lifting you onto one of the wooden boardwalk rails, muscled arms flexing in the distant party lights.

you barely had time to settle before he was kissing you again, sloppy this time, like he owned your mouth and wanted you to know it. you felt hot everywhere, as his hands pulled apart your thighs and he crowded his broad body into you.

you'd kissed once before for a game of truth or dare. it had been sweet and short, and you both had been teased about it for years afterwards. this was different.

wholly different, you realized, as jeremiah's lips sought out the hot skin of your neck. there was no place except where he touched you; the noise of the party, the lull of the waves on the beach, the quiet way he murmured against your skin.

"jere," you said, because there was no room in your mind for anything or anyone else. he hummed as his canines bit lightly at your ear. jere.

greedy for more, you took one of the tan, strong hands holding your face and brought it lower, lower until it rested over your frantically beating heart. jere had pulled away to watch your ministrations, cursing softly as his hand fell over your chest.

"you sure?" he asked, and his voice sounded hoarse.

"yeah, course jere. it's you."

something behind his eyes sparked at the trust you promised. it's always been you. kissing you once more, gentler this time, jere let his hand run up and under the vintage bathing suit top you'd stolen from your mom for the party.

skin on skin, jeremiah was soft and warm. he was breathing heavy as you as he felt you up. forehead to yours, gaze keen as he watched you pant and squirm.

"this okay?"

you could only nod, eyes drawn tight at the sensation. he kissed you again, his touch more confident as you clung to his shoulders.

you'd messed around with conrad a few times. it had felt good. fun, even. but he'd never had you reeling like this, never made you feel like everywhere he touched was fire. that feeling was reserved for jere.

and as his thumb circled your nipple and his teeth pulled at your lip, you realized you were burning and there wasn't anything you could do to stop it. best friend or not, jere was the only one who could make you feel like this. ever.

you pulled away from his mouth. he looked concerned, and you could feel him move his hands away from you.

"sorry if i..." he started, blue eyes near scared as he watched you.

"no, jere it's not that. it's, it's just that i-"

"hey, there's my man! where the fuck were you dude?"

it was steven. fucking steven. on his arm was taylor, who grinned manically when she saw your mussed hair and blushing expression. please not now, taylor. please don't mess this up any more.

but drunk as they were, the pair didn't notice your nervous expression. instead, steven laughed and said, "so did you finally tell her you're in love with her or what?"

jere's face dropped. whatever softness you'd shared moments earlier was gone. his mouth set flat, hands that had been mapping out your body now closed into fists.

"fuck you, steven."

taylor's eyes were on you now, finally recognizing the tears you tried to blink away. with a hand on his chest she held steven back, some wordless communication passing between them. if you hadn't been feeling your own heart break you would've been trying to tease them about it.

instead, you chased after jeremiah's retreating figure.

"jere, will you please listen!" you called. but he was stubborn--you knew this better than anyone. one more time you tried, shouting his name over the stupidly loud party.

he whipped back around, blue eyes sharp.

"just stay away from me, okay? why don't you go find conrad to wipe your tears," he snapped. for a moment, jere looked shocked at his own words too. but then he was shaking his head, tearing his gaze away from yours as he continued through the crowds towards the house. away from you.

and this time, as people collapsed into the space all around you, their yelling and singing drowning out even your thoughts, you knew there was no use calling for him.

#jeremiah fisher #team jeremiah #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah fisher smut #jeremiah smut #jeremiah fic #jeremiah x you #tsitp #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah tsitp imagine #party foul #bigkeepup

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snek-panini · 4 months ago

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I actually didn't mean to let nearly two weeks go by since my last bookbinding post, but somehow time has just slipped away from me till now. For today we have a pretty simple one, though:

This is Postcards from Paris, by ghostrat, a story that I asked to bind way back at the beginning of May. It's a Good Omens human au, involving letters received by an unintended recipient and a long sequence of getting to know one another via writing. I love epistolary stories and wish they were more common both in and out of fandom, and this one's really soft. Like the whole last chapter makes me feel all rosy and warm. Go read it if you haven't, it's wonderful.

More photos and such under the cut!

The cover up there is chocolate lineco book cloth with blue metallic htv. Like with many of my small-sized binds, I tried to not buy anything specific to this one and instead make something coherent from what's already on hand, and that philosophy lent itself well here. The story's about getting to know someone with only the verbal impression of them, not even their voice but just the words they choose and their handwriting, and has a lovely feeling of being overwhelmed by their physicality when you finally meet in person, and I think the stripped-down feeling of the bind fits that theme. It's deceptively simple, and you won't realize how deeply you're in love with the story until after you've read it.

Top view, with blue ribbon bookmark, and slate-blue plain cardstock endpapers. I'm pleasantly surprised by how well all the blues match, considering the htv was bought for another project, the endpapers were bought in a multi-pack for another different project, and the ribbon probably was cut from the shoulder of a fancy shirt. I really would have liked to do custom blue-and-brown end bands, but at barely 80 pages the book's too short for that so it's got premade ones in black and white. The front hinge wouldn't behave when I cased it, so it's got that weird wiggly part and I don't know why. I've used this cardstock for endpapers before and never had that issue, so it's a bit of a mystery.

Interior photos. The stripped-down, simple philosophy persists. About the only theming I did was to choose a handwriting font for the larger text, which seemed appropriate for a story told in postcards.

Random interior of typeset. This thing has so many scene breaks, my god. I sincerely thought about picking two handwriting fonts and putting all the postcards in those. They would have been opposing ones so you could tell who was writing without the scene break lines, but it was too difficult to read at this font size and looked kind of messy, so I didn't. I always size down the font a little for quartos, because the full-size one I use for folios looks weird on a half-size page, but this is the only time I've found that decision working against me.

And that's that! As always, I hope I did the story justice with this bind. The designs feel right when I make them, and I hope others agree. I've still got two more books to post from this late spring batch, so those'll be up over the next week or two.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #snek makes books #good omens #fic rec #i love this size it's so cute #and an excellent fic

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tetsunabouquet · 1 year ago

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Hey! How are you? :) I have a very specific scenario lmao bear with me. I work as a Disney princess (Aurora, sleeping beauty) in my local themepark, I spend time with children, answer any questions if they have any, read them book, sing my songs. If there is a birthday party in correlation with Disney I get invited and stuff. I was wondering if you could write how gom's would react to an s/o with a job like this, their reaction with the s/o spending too much time with the assigned prince actors and stuff. This is so horribly cringe omg but I love your writing and wanna see how you demonstrate this! Thanks for reading :)

A/N: Again, than you so much for this request, I cannot express how much I loved writing this.

Akashi

-Considering he has two personalities, it obviously depends on the personality how he reacts to it. -Original Akashi actually is pleasantly surprised and quite interested. I think he really digs a s/o that is wonderful with children. -He is amazed at the way you can remain calm and cheerful even when the kids are acting like complete brats. -Honestly just seeing you on the job is enough to convince Akashi you are marriage material. Your ability to play a role, your warmth that never seems to waver despite how bad some of the kids can be sometimes, it convinces him you are the perfect wife for the Akashi household and as warm as a mother as his own was. -Which is why he actually likes watching you on the job. -He isn't envious of the actors who come and play your prince in a possessive kind of manner, but he always wonders what it would be like to play the part of Prince himself. He often likes to imagine himself playing the part, and sweeping you off your feet in front of the kids. -As for Akashi's emperor persona on the other hand, things are naturally different. -For one, this one can be quite clingy and possessive and he has threatened the life of the prince actors at least once per person. -He's not afraid to make a brat cry so honestly one should tell him to stay away. -But no one ever does, because they know Akashi won't listen. -However, this version of Akashi is the likeliest out of everyone to force your boss to pay you well, and your boss honestly worships you afterwards as your boss feels like the only reason their family is still alive is your grace.

Kise

-At first, he doesn't knows wether he should be happy you are the center of attention for once, or wether he should feel envious he's not everyone's sun at the moment. -Kise actually is wonderful with the kids and gets along great with them. You muse it must be his childish side and his ability to be friendly and charming. -Kise, as a model, does have a little understanding of what it is to be in the entertainment industry and the two of you often talk about your jobs and vision for the future together. -As a model, he isn't jealous of the prince actors either. He also has to do a shoot with female models sometimes, so he understands that its business. -Eventually, he actually gets curious and wants to try out as a prince actor himself, because he's good with kids and he honestly wants to see what its like sometimes. -He didn't last long though. His fangirls quickly got wind of it and booked him so many times for parties, that he had to quit.

Muraskibara

-Nobody was surprised about your job, after all, Murasakibara can be like a toddler himself so the fact you are trained to handle them honestly made his teammates think something along the lines of, 'So that's why she's so great with him'. -He honestly shouldn't be taken to visit you at your job because Murasakibara isn't afraid to go after the kids who steal his candy. His murderous look is enough to have any parent present fear for their kids. -Murasakibara doesn't really cares for the prince actors, but he's annoyed with how much time they and your job requires. He genuinely wants you to be around him 24/7. -However Murasakibara always tries to comfort you in his own ways when he notices you have had a rough day on the job. He can be a surprisingly good listener. -He has his own sweet but weird idea of being romantic. For one, whenever it is December he will buy Disney princess themed chocolate calendars because Aurora was on it.

Aomine

-Honestly his first reaction is some kind of flirtatious comment that should be categorized in the 'horrible pick-up line' section of flirting. You end up laughing at it and thinking he looks so cute when he gets redfaced. -Will not hold back his tongue when a brat is acting up, but if the kid bursts out in tears he gets so apologetic that you think he's only ever looked that sincere whenever he hurts you or Momoi. -He can actually be act like a friendly older brother to the good behaved kids, and you secretly think its the cutest thing ever. -Aomine gets quite jealous in regards to the prince actors. He will try to act nice enough when there are kids around, but if its just you hanging out with your co-workers, then he honestly wants to be there so he can keep an eye on the young men around you. -He's not afraid to throw punches at them if they ever dare to make a move on you. -But leave it to Momoi to have a plan to convince you Aomine is your one and only prince. You honestly could not believe him when he showed up on your doorstep in perfect cosplay, but you were enarmored with the gesture for sure.

Midorima

-Is totally flabbergasted when he learns about our job. Honestly, his reaction is the most comical. -Though he actually does expresses interest and always asks you how your day at work was. -Whilst Takao and Midorima occasionally visit you on the job, Midorima is too busy just appreciating how pretty you look to pay the prince actors some attention. As long as they are nice too you, Midorima is cool with it. -Midorima does worry they are underpaying you sometimes. -Because you have to be good with kids on the job, he actually dares to open up with you about his little sister and any fight or worries he has regarding her (he's too prideful to ask Takao for advice). -His sister adores your job more then he does, which is why he booked you and the other princesses at the park for her birthday. She was so happy seeing 'Nee-Chan' and everyone else dressed up like real princesses for her party and actually dressed up as a tiny Aurora herself to match you. Midorima honestly was melting at how cute the two of you were from a distance, where he took many and many photos.

#knb #kuroko's basketball #akashi #akashi seijuro #knb x reader #midorima #midorima shintarou #kise #kise ryouta #murasakibara #murasakibara atsushi #aomine #aomine daiki #disney princess

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rosykims · 1 year ago

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my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.

Impatient as he is, he greets his uncle first. He’s the king, after all, and his advisors deserve at least the pretense of an attentive ruler.

Pleasantries are exchanged between them while his squire helps him out of his gaudy golden excuse for armor. Not unexpectedly, the elephant in the room goes undiscussed, as do the half dozen marriage proposals he's certain have piled up during his absence. After six years, Eamon knows better than to press him on that issue. Likely he'll try his luck in the morning, but tonight the wells of Alistair’s patience have been run thoroughly dry. It must read plainly on his face, given how bad he is at cards.

As the arl's debrief draws to a close, Alistair's eyes, for the tenth time in half as many minutes, dart towards the exit. Eamon sighs.

“Well, Your Grace,” he says, tactfully clearing his throat. “The hour is late indeed. I imagine you're weary from your travels?”

Alistair nods. “Oh, very weary. The weariest.”

It's not entirely a lie, but his uncle frowns nonetheless. “Then I won't keep you. Good night, Alistair.”

“You as well, Uncle.”

“I will see you in the morning for your small council meeting. Do try not to be . . . waylaid.”

Well. Hint received. Awkward. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he finally presses the door closed behind him.

Next up: a bath. It's sorely needed, after five weeks back and forth across the Waking Sea. His arrivals home are typically received without much ceremony, per his request, and so the palace is pleasantly quiet. A few saluting guards here, a scurrying servant or two there. It's for their benefit that he keeps his footfalls slow and measured, instead of breaking into the wild sprint down the hallway that he's aching for.

One of those servants must have drawn his bath for him already, he guesses, stepping into his chambers to find it warm and awaiting. He wonders if Teagan roused them from their beds for this, or if they've simply clued into his routine after so many years of it.

He forces himself to bathe slowly. For his own sake, but mostly for hers. The heat soaks into his bones, the grime and dust from the road melting off of him as if little more than a bad memory. He tries to enjoy it, despite his restlessness. And the excitement, Maker, like he's still twenty years old and the anticipation alone might just undo him. Or do him in.

He only hurries as he dries off, reaching for the fresh (and mercifully plain) clothes laid diligently aside for him. A part of him considers forgoing clothes entirely – palace denizens be damned. He wills himself to dress anyway, reluctantly. Quickly. It hasn't been that long since he last saw her, anyway, and they've gone far longer stretches before than this. Nonetheless, between Kirkwall's tyrannical templars and the lingering Qunari threat, he feels as if he hasn't held her in an age.

Clean and fully dressed, he frowns at his reflection. Older, harder, more weary. But happy, still, despite it all. Because of her. Her, waiting for him, just a few rooms away.

Naked, ideally.

He does away with all pretense and hightails down the hall, paying no mind to his kingsguard and their poorly suppressed grins. Smile away, Alistair thinks. I'll be smiling too, in a minute.

Her door is up ahead. And then before him. The handle is inches away from his outstretched hand. He hesitates.

How’s his breath? His hair? He should have shaved, should have put in a little more effort. Can she hear his creepy breathing behind the door? He fixes his clothes. Squares his shoulders. Knocks.

“Elles?”

A pause. Then, “Alistair?”

His heart tightens painfully in his chest. How he's missed that voice. If Ferelden could speak, it would do so through Elspeth Cousland. The strength of the Frostbacks in that voice of hers. The grim beauty of the Kocari Wilds. Rough like the Highever seas.

He can tell she’s been brooding before he’s so much as closed the door behind him. Not that he’s surprised — Maker, does the woman know how to brood. She shoots up quickly to her feet, straight and rigid like a soldier standing at attention. Not, mind you, like a Warden-Commander; at this moment Elspeth more closely resembles a clammy-handed recruit, next in line for her Joining. She’s nervous, that much is obvious, with her hands white knuckled and clasped together with uncertainty. From past experience, he’d wager anything she’s spent the last several days convincing herself he’s somehow fallen out of love with her in the time they’ve been apart.

And they say he’s the idiot.

Life’s too short to waste on “hello”’s, or “I’ve missed you”’s, or "I brought you a souvenir, but silly me, I accidentally dropped it overboard on the voyage back”. They’ve got less time together than most, after all. Crossing the distance between them is a blur; one moment he's at the door, the next he's hoisting her legs up around his waist, arms enveloping every part of her he can get his hands on, lips working relentlessly against her opened mouth. Whatever insecurities she'd tried to voice in the time it took him to wrap her up in his arms, he doesn't care to hear. He'd much rather focus on ridding her of those doubts entirely.

She gets the message — they've always been in sync like that. Her lips catch up with his, matching the hunger and resolve of his kiss. Her hands, calloused and smelling perpetually of iron, snake around his shoulders. The rest of her smells like roses; she must have come just recently from the garden he’d had built for her, the one place he specifically forbid her from moping in. He takes a moment to refamiliarize himself with her scent, lost in the feeling of her fingers tangled up in his hair, pulling him closer, ever closer, close enough to lose track of whose body belongs to who. And still it's not enough.

He needs her. Badly. She can probably feel as much, too. He carries her to the bed, laying her down amidst the pillows and furs. He finds within himself just enough self restraint to stand back for a long, brazen ogle. Maker, everything about her turns him on. Her freckles, her fingers, her breasts. Her long ashen hair in that ever-familiar braid. Storm gray eyes, pale pink lips. Her nose, one of his many favorite parts of her, set crooked after one too many fists to the face.

That perfect, powerful body of hers, hidden away under just a few thin, tearable layers of clothing . . .

She's way ahead of him, of course, because at this point they've got reunion sex down to an art. She casts off her Warden-blue tunic with only a button or two lost in the process, then grabs him by the front of his own shirt (red, naturally, with a tiny embroidered ‘I love you’ she'd stitched so sneakily behind the hem of his collar) and pulls him down on top of her once it's properly discarded. Their pants and various stubborn affects follow suit, until they’re both left blissfully bare and pawing feverishly at one another, limbs tangled and lips locked.

His fingers venture down the valley of her breasts, past her stomach to settle in between her legs. He smiles at what he finds, reassured by the proof that he’s not the only one so blatantly aroused. Her thighs part wider for him, hips lifting from the sheets to sooner meet his digits. She moans, perhaps less so from pleasure than the sheer relief of being touched — loved — for the first time in over a month. And he's right there with her. He sighs (or whines, if he's being honest) into the crook of her neck when her own hands find what they've been looking for, working him all too quickly into a frenzy.

She stops just as suddenly as she'd started, pushing at his chest until he relents and rolls over. She straddles his lap, grinding once, hard and agonizingly slow, for good measure. He moves to drape an arm over his face in some futile attempt to cool his burning cheeks, but she cruelly intercedes, pinning his wrists by either side of his head. He struggles playfully for a bit, laughing breathlessly. His hips buck autonomously at the sight of those strong, muscular arms holding him firmly in place.

They used to spar together, innocently, when they first met. How time flies.

He needs so, so desperately to fuck her. He has all night — all week, all year, all of the rest of their lives— to savor her body the way it's meant to be savored. To make sweet, tender, Chantry sanctioned love to her. But what he needs right now — what they both need, he recognises — is something desperate and ragged and mindless to the point of being no better than animals. The type of fucking that comes from a shared loneliness he's not certain anybody else has ever experienced before.

He's glad she doesn't give him too much time to dwell on that. Her hips rise just enough for the right angle, before guiding him slowly inside. They both sigh. Elspeth frees his trapped hands to splay her own out against his chest, steadying herself. Her nails dig into his skin as she sinks down onto him, inch by inch, although she's bitten them too short to do any real damage. Alistair fights to keep himself still inside her, waiting for her body to adjust, to give him the go ahead. An uphill battle, really. When he's fully sheathed inside of her she settles, save for the frantic contraction of her muscles around him, driving him to the brink of insanity.

“I dreamt about this every night I was gone,” he manages. “Maker, I love you, Elles. I love you so much.”

Her eyes go glassy and her bottom lip quivers. It's that old, familiar grief, the one he's never been able to fully free her from after those long, bleak months in the Deep Roads. But as he moves his hips carefully against hers and feels Elspeth moving back, he's confident he can coax it down again, at least for as little as tonight.

“I love you,” she eventually whispers back, and then begins to ride him in earnest.

Ten minutes blurs into one long wave of curling, cresting euphoria. Alistair groans brokenly. He feels absolutely deranged, delirious, gazing up at her while she takes him so completely. Sweat beads at her forehead, and a deep flush creeps from her chest up to her cheeks. His own face must be beet-red, too.

He's not going to last long, not with the angle she’s hitting and sounds coming out of her mouth. Though, taking those sounds into consideration, he suspects that she won't last much longer, either. They're both too keyed up to pace themselves and too jittery to try, so better to play it out in a wild crescendo. He grabs at her hips, lifting her up and back down onto him, coaxing out one hoarse plea after another. One hand releases its grip to run unfettered across her breasts, and she groans again, falling forwards onto his chest and wrapping herself around him as if she might never get a chance to again.

Once, a hundred lifetimes ago, his friend Zevran gave him some unsolicited advice about arching. He really hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but he does now, right in this moment, with the friction of this exact position to aid him in such an endeavor. She’s done in half a minute if he can keep her held firmly above him. He’s done, too. He doubles his efforts, recapturing her swollen lips and soon reaching with his tongue to greet the muffled cry when her pleasure finally peaks. Normally he would let her ride it out, but he’s rapidly approaching his own climax and his brain can focus on nothing but her gray, glazed over eyes, her hair in the candlelight, the frantic rise and fall of her chest as she writhes and bucks and bounces against him. Her muscles pulse and he feels himself twitching inside of her in response.

He’s so close, at the precipice, suspended in mid air, floating . . . And then she tightens around him once more and he finishes inside of her with one long, obscene moan that vibrates through the room and every part of his utterly spent body.

They’re going to get so many looks from the guards come morning.

His every muscle sings with bliss. Their bodies grow slack and boneless together and their movements slow to lazy, drawn out rolls of the hips. He holds her, one hand rubbing her naked back and the other cradling her head as they find their breaths again, together, in the most comfortable of silences. He counts her exhales, and in the afterglow of their efforts he finds himself blinking back tears. Returning to Ferelden, to Denerim, to the palace itself . . . none of it had felt like coming home until this very moment, enveloped in one another, reacquainted at last with the sound of each other’s breathlessness.

He hates it when she rolls up and off of him, but he’s a grown up, apparently, so instead of whining about it he begrudgingly rises from the bed long enough to grab the nearest clean cloth. Then he’s right back in bed with her, his hand returning between her legs to wipe her down, followed by a cursory clean up of himself. She lets out her now thoroughly dishevelled braid while she watches him, not smiling as he’d hoped, but warm and tender nonetheless. Her fingers trace slow and deliberately along the curve of his bicep, frowning at the jagged scar she knows still gives him trouble in the colder months. He makes a mental note to get at least a half dozen laughs out of her before the night is through, just to keep that damned frown of hers at bay.

He offers her a worldless arm when he’s done tidying them both up, and he’s rewarded with a smile, sweet and sheepish, as she moves to snuggle into it. He pulls her close to pepper the top of her head with kisses, humming contentedly in the quiet.

“Marry me,” he says eventually.

Elspeth tenses, and then sighs. “You’re never going to give this up, are you?”

“Ha! Of course I will. The second you say ‘Yes! Yes! Oh, Alistair! One thousand times yes!’”

“I don’t sound like that. Also, do I have to say it a thousand times, or just the once?”

“Well . . . a couple times couldn’t hurt, right?”

And there it is: her first, exasperated chuckle of the night. Winning that laughter means more to him than every battle he’s ever come out of victorious.

“You know I can’t, Ali.” Her laughter fades back into her usual grimness as she runs her palm across his chest, charting routes in the space between his freckles. She places a kiss above his heart, likely in the hopes of avoiding his eye. “We’ve broken too many rules as it is, and I won’t be the cause for yet more unrest in Thedas. I bear responsibility for enough of that already. Besides, I can’t just abandon my men. The Wardens need me.”

“I need you.” He scoffs as an afterthought. “And the Gray Wardens have Nathaniel, as much as it just kills me to credit that man with anything. But hey! Who said anything about giving them up? A king can be a general. I’m living proof he can be a court jester, too. Why can’t a queen be Warden-Commander?”

She ignores his quip, despite it being a really good one. “Because I don’t know how to be a queen.” She shakes her head hopelessly. “I barely know how to be a person most days. Maybe . . . maybe I could have done it, once, but now, after everything —”

Better to stop this now before it turns into another one of her signature doom spirals. “Every Arl and Bann in the Coastlands calls you queen already, did you know that?” He grins, having anticipated the eyeroll. Of course she knows that, given how much her fellow Gray Wardens love to gossip. And tease. “The nobles have long been made aware that I won't accept anybody else by my side. And, Maker, it’s not like they would accept anybody else! ‘None but the Cousland Queen’ — that’s what they say about you. I know that because half of the bannorn have told me. To my face.”

Some small, dignified part of her — the part that still relishes being a highborn noble — stirs. Her eyes glint with cautious intrigue. “Bann Ceorlic?” she asks.

Alistair clears his throat. “Well, not him.”

“Hmph.”

“Marry me,” he says again. “Don’t you want to?”

“You know I want to,” she says, “but —”

“— Any excuse you give me will just go in one ear and out the other. Isn’t that just so classically me? Hey, here’s a crazy idea. Let’s get maaaa-rried!”

“You’re just getting funnier and funnier in your old age, aren’t you?”

“And you’re getting grumpier.”

He takes her face in both hands before she can deny it, kissing her slow and soft and with all of the comfort he knows she secretly needs right now, and likely always will. Now that he’s home - truly home - he can give her as much of that as she can stand, and then some. Tomorrow’s small council meeting be damned. “Marry me, Elles.”

She blinks up at him, searching his eyes for any sign he might one day get tired of waiting. She can find a lot in his eyes (he is really, really terrible at cards) but she’ll never find that.

“Can I at least ask you how your trip went, first?” she asks finally, softened by the crack of a tiny, rueful smile.

“Ugh.” How could he forget? “Right. That little thing. It -”

Alistair blinks, Kirkwall forgotten again just as soon as he’d remembered it. “That’s . . . not a ‘no’, by the way,” he says, dumbfounded.

Elspeth settles in closer against him, her leg wrapped around his, her ear pressed in snug at his shoulder. He knows she’s listening for his heartbeat, the thump-thump-thump she’d do anything - everything - for. He knows she put him on the throne to keep that heartbeat going for a few years more, and he knows that’s why it’s so hard for her to give up the endless fight for it now.

He knows. It doesn’t mean he thinks she’s right.

She looks up at him only after she’s satisfied that his heart isn’t about to cease functioning in his chest. Her hand reaches out to smooth down the errant hairs around his ears, and she opens her mouth several times to reply before pursuing them together in frustration. Then - finally, bashfully - she nods.

“No,” she admits softly. “I mean, it’s not. It’s . . . it’s not a no.”

‘It’s not a no’. Well, he’s certainly done more with less.

#dragon age origins #dao #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #oc: elspeth #mine: writing #we are so fucking back babey #considering i havent posted my writing in like. over an entire year at best. i did somewhat pop off with this one <3 #elle is so miserable all the time except when alistair pranks her into experiencing joy and i hope that shines through if nothing else <3 #ALSO TY MAIA FOR THE PEP TALK BEFORE POSTING THIS I LOVE U .

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keyh0use · 10 months ago

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hc that Barry runs hot and needs to sleep with the windows open + fan on no matter the season, but then there's Rafe, who has to be whole-bodied pressed up against him at all times, effectively making his efforts to stay cool fruitless. (but he won't ever make the mistake of asking for a little space because Rafe's dramatic ass rolled right out of bed and left the room last time, refusing to return to bed. So Barry has learned to just deal with the mild discomfort.) Then one night it's unbearably warm—sweltering, even. There's sweat pouring down Barry's temples, dampening the pillowcase beneath him and he has no choice but to reach down, paw at Rafe's muscular thigh, trying to push the limb off him as gently as he can. But to his astonishment, Rafe turns over without waking! Barry takes the opportunity to scoot over on the bed, throwing the thin top sheet off in relief as the fan blows cold air over his tacky skin.

Barry closes his eyes at 1:15 AM as his hair dries. He opens them again at 1:35, overheated body now pleasantly cooled down. Beside him, Rafe sleeps peacefully and unaware, still facing the opposite direction. Barry should feel elated he gets to lay near his boy while not being tangled up his long, gangly arms and legs, free to sleep uncovered. It's just after 2, he watches grey clouds float across the moonlit sky. He rolls left, then right. Flips his pillow to the chilled side and turns onto his stomach, before settling back in his previous position. ABCs backwards, counting sheep, imagining where he and Rafe will be in ten years...none of it works. It's 2:55, now. When Barry snuggles up against Rafe's back, the kook is like a fucking furnace, burning up against his broad chest. But it doesn't matter anymore, not when he closes his eyes and they stay closed until morning.

#this doesn't just happen in bed either #Barry is Rafe's chair #Rafe is obsessed with touching #Barry pretends not to love it as much as he does #rafebarry #rafe x barry #Rafe

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meneatyoghurt · 1 year ago

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Paris, 10am

I couldn't resist a little fic inspired by that blooper.

Read on AO3

The room is different in the morning sun. Where it was bathed in a warm glow as they fell into bed last night, it's now bright with natural light, the freshness of spring. Henry watches as Alex shrugs on his jacket, the last thing he needs. He's still lazing around in one of the hotel's soft dressing gowns, leaning back into a Louis XV chair with his ankles crossed on a footstool. If Alex has to leave, Henry is going to use every second before he goes to drink his fill.

"You're really just going to lounge there looking like…" Alex gestures towards Henry's general presence, searching for the right words with his hand and grasping nothing but air, "that—"

"Eloquent," Henry deadpans.

"—looking all coquettish—"

At that, Henry's nose wrinkles, "I preferred the first attempt, uninspired as it was."

"—wearing nothing but a robe, when you know I have to be on a plane in an hour." Alex ends his fit of pique with a throw of his hands, always so expressive in the way he moves his body. Not like Henry, who has been taught to hold himself up and in since he was in short trousers.

"Something to think about while you're on said plane. Remember me fondly, darling, for who knows when we shall see each other next." He takes a pointed sip of his tea, a flourish to his verbose affectation, too posh even for his own usual speech patterns.

"You are insufferable," Alex says, but he's coming closer anyway, leaning in to kiss the faux innocence from Henry's face.

He slides a deft hand inside Henry's robe, palming the warm flesh underneath. "You're sure you're not too sore?"

"Mm, only pleasantly so. I might have a soak in the bath after you've left."

"Now that's something to think about on the plane." Alex's gaze drifts upwards a little, a smile sweeping his face, as if he's already thinking about it. Or looking at where the plane will be.

"If you're lucky, maybe you won't have to imagine it."

"Naughty photos? Hell yes. Count me in."

Henry holds his hand out to Alex, a silent 'help me up', even though he in no way needs it. It's just an excuse to have once last physical connection, to feel the softness and hardness of Alex's palm in his, the firm grip and the silken skin. When he's on his feet, he palms Alex's cheek and jaw with one hand, then leans in to embrace him.

What's meant to be a hug goodbye doesn't remain one for long. Alex flutters a butterfly kiss to his cheek, his brow, his jaw, before taking his earlobe between his teeth and gently nipping. He moves down to Henry's neck, alternating kisses light and heavy, his tongue peaking out to taste the skin, still salty from the night before.

He lets Alex manoeuvre them and lower him to the bed, and lets himself enjoy the moment. Alex buried in the juncture between his jaw and shoulder, secreting kisses into that most intimate and sensitive of places, and Henry resolves to hold them there as he closes his eyes.

Until the soft kisses turn into trumpeting vibrations, loud, rude and wet. He instinctively starts hitting out at Alex, a childish response to a childish act.

"Ugh, go back to America!" is what comes out of him as he pushes Alex off him and the bed. "You absolute tosser. See if I ever let you near me again."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I had to!" Alex manages to get out as he laughs with his whole body.

"I really don't think you did," Henry says primly, trying to purse his lips but fighting a losing battle against the smile tugging at him.

"You said it yourself, who knows when I'll get another opportunity." He straightens his jacket and gives the room, and Henry, one last look. "And now I really have to go." He grabs a croissant and takes a monstrous bite from it, declaring "One for the road," as he chews. Leaning in to kiss Henry again, chasing when he tries to dodge, he presses flaky pastry into his lips. "And one of those too."

"Get out of here. I'll see you…when I see you," Henry concludes, thinking that they haven't yet made any solid plans on when they'll next meet. Something is sure to come up.

"Oh, one more thing," Alex stops himself abruptly just before he leaves, suitcase in hand.

"Yes, Columbo?"

He leans in close, lips and breath tickling the shell of Henry's ear, as he whispers in his very best French accent, "Croissant."

Henry can't help the decidedly unregal snort that comes out of him. "Mm, not bad. Keep practising and you'll soon sound like a real Parisian."

"Hope not, those guys are rude as fuck. See ya later, Henry George Edward James Hanover-Stuart Fox." With one more kiss to Henry's cheek he's out the door. Henry can just hear Amy's exasperated "Finally," drift through before it closes behind him.

Ten minutes later, just as he's slipping into the bathtub, he receives a text from Alex. I don't believe you've ever seen Columbo. It's swiftly followed by a GIF of a Bake Off contestant butchering the pronunciation of 'guacamole'.

He sends back You're rapidly talking yourself out of those photos before he melts into the water, a giddy, blissful laugh bubbling out of him.

#rwrb #rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #me: louis xvi chair...wait no xiv...xv?#literally no one cares

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nightghoul381 · 1 year ago

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Ikepri Gift Exchange

Prove It To Me ~Jin Grandet x Reader

Heheheheheh I got to get you back Mo!! >:3 @xxsycamore I do so very much hope you enjoy your FWB Jin times although I won't lie, I have never written friends with benefits or really any smut with no underlying romantic feelings, so this was a fun challenge for me! Thank you @ikemenlibrary and @sunnyikemen for hosting!

Jin Grandet x Reader (FWB) Genre: Smut | Explicit Content | NSFW | MDNI WC: 2.1k CW: Dry humping, nipple play, fingering, PIV, hand job, oral (male receiving)

“Jin, look,” you whisper, tapping your friend’s broad chest and nodding toward a couple seated at a table against the far wall of the tavern. They had their chairs pulled close together, nearly tucked in a corner with how close their bodies were. You could see their lips working desperately against each other.

“That guy has no idea what his doing,” Jin chuckled, taking a long gulp of his drink. Going to this tavern and watching people had become something of a tradition that you and Jin shared. You would get your drinks and sit back and make comments about what you thought people were thinking or pointing out amusing situations.

The couple, clearly drunk, were clumsily making out with each other, not so subtle gasps and wet smacking sounds leaving nothing to the imagination.

“What makes you say that?” you giggle, throwing Jin a questioning stare.

“Look at his hands and the way his face is all scrunched up in concentration. He clearly doesn’t feel confident, so he isn’t relaxed and it’s making the whole thing awkward.”

Jin’s explanation is followed by him finishing off the last of his drink, turning to you and letting out an amused chuckle, “I could teach that kid a thing or two about how to kiss a woman.”

“Oh, really? Well then, Mr. Expert kisser, why don’t you prove that you’re not all talk,” you taunt, jutting your chin up toward him challengingly. Jin rolls his eyes and the next thing you know you feel his fingers curl around your chin and his mouth is on yours.

Shock at the sudden kiss is soon melted away with how slow and sensually his lips move against yours, the taste of his ale mingling with the deep, rich taste of his tongue as it prods at the entrance of your mouth.

You let out an unintentional sigh as his other hand moves to cup your face and deepen the kiss, Jin taking full advantage of the moment to let his tongue delve further. His taste is intoxicating, and you find yourself clinging to his arms.

Just as quickly as he had started, it seems, Jin pulls away, flashing you a cocky smirk.

“Alright, dear judge, how’d I do? Can I keep my title of Mr. Expert kisser?” He breathes, his warm breath hitting your lips and stirring something in the pit of your stomach.

“Hmm, I don’t know… might need a bit more to be sure,” you murmur, letting your base instincts take over. The liquor you’d been drinking had started to go to your head and you felt pleasantly warm and relaxed.

Ordinarily you’d never think of taunting Jin like this. You knew your dear friend better than almost anyone else and knew he had a hard time keeping his libido in check at times. But for some reason today you’re feeling daring. You’re tempted to see just how far you can push him since neither of you feels any sense of romantic attraction to the other. Will his rational side kick in and put a stop to this or would he take advantage of the potential for some late-night fun?

“Well, the setting is just as important to good kissing as the lips doing the kissing. Having some privacy helps make it feel even better, hands can caress and grope without hesitation. Any good kiss involves so much more than just lips against lips, after all,” Jin shrugged. “If you’re still not sure if I have sufficiently earned my title, I’m happy to show you more. I’ve got a room at the inn down the road for the night… we can always let you test me there.”

His laughter is contagious but it does nothing to quell the growing heat rising through your body and you shift your chair back and get to your feet.

“Yeah, why not. I gotta make sure you’re not giving yourself titles you don’t deserve,” you sigh, as though you hadn’t already concluded that he was, in fact, an expert kisser.

It seems to happen in an instant, one moment you’re at the tavern and the next you’re here, straddling Jin’s lap as you twine your tongue with his. The drinks you shared at the tavern have definitely given you the added boost to push through the awkwardness of kissing your best friend. But as his hands caress your back, one slipping under your ass and squeezing while the other holds your head steady, you find yourself craving more. You scoot yourself forward slightly, allowing your crotch to press against his and you feel a tantalizingly stiff resistance.

You let a soft moan rise from your throat, pressing down against his erection and rolling your hips ever so slightly, the friction providing an almost dizzying pleasure.

“Ah, shit… you gotta stop, I’ve had a lot to drink tonight. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back if you keep going. This was supposed to be a demonstration of my kissing skills, y’know,” Jin groans, pulling his face back from yours and slipping your body back down his legs enough to separate the intimate contact.

“Well, I say you’ve earned the title, and now I wanna test your other skills,” you whisper, slipping a hand down and sliding it up his leg, watching with glee as his deep maroon eyes widen and his nostrils flare.

Jin runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh.

“You sure you wanna do this? You do know I don’t really feel that way about you, right? This would just be for some fun. I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Jin, come on. You know me well enough by now to know that this is just some fun between friends. Why can’t friends help each other feel good every once in a while?” You breathe, rubbing your hand over the bulge in his trousers.

“Shit, I’m sold.”

Jin’s growl is the last thing you hear before your world spins and he tosses you down on the bed, his large body covering yours as he begins to press kisses to your jaw and throat. The heat of his breath on your skin sends a delicious tingle through your body and you feel Jin’s body settle into the valley between your legs. His hips begin moving, both of you still fully clothed, but the friction is exactly what both of you need right now.

His movements become rougher and more aggressive as you slip your fingers into his hair and tug. You hardly register when your blouse falls from your shoulders, exposing your breasts before the ravenous man. He wastes absolutely no time grabbing one in hand and sucking deeply on the other.

“Y-you’ve done this a lot… haven’t you… shit,” you pant, trying to keep your head from surrendering to the pleasure. You’re not even sure how he’s able to push your body so close to the edge with the way his mouth and tongue work against your breasts but you end up pushing his head back, gasping.

“Fuck, Jin. Keep that up and I won’t last much longer!” Your voice is heady with lust and you take some time to slow your breathing before continuing, “Come on let’s just fuck already. I wanna see how good you are, since you brag so much about it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. My cock is aching to bury itself in a nice, warm pussy right now,” Jin grunts, rolling off to the side and stripping off all of his clothes while you shimmy out of the remainder of yours.

You can’t hold back a sharp gasp as he roughly slips two fingers into you, stroking your walls in just the right way to get you writhing, a wicked smile spread across his face.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna wait anymore. You good with a little bit of a stretch?” Jin hisses as one of your hands grips his arm in a tight hold.

“You’d better not be hyping up your—Fuck!” you groan. Jin hadn’t bothered to give you time to adjust, more intent on proving his point that he was going to be stretching you than easing it into you.

“Aah, yeah,” Jin grunts.

His hips begin to move, the sensation of his cock dragging against your wall sending sparks of electricity through your body. Damn he is good. You think to yourself, finally letting your mind sink into the pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut as Jin’s mouth and one hand once again find your breasts.

“Fuck, that feels really good,” you whimper, feeling your climax building more and more rapidly.

All you get in response is an animalistic grunt as Jin continues to suck at one of your nipples. You slip your fingers into his hair again pulling hard against it to bring his mouth up to yours once more.

With Jin thrusting into your pussy and your mouth simultaneously you feel reality slip from under you and your eyes roll back, fingers gripping relentlessly and your legs trembling as he fucks you through the orgasm.

Jin manages to turn his head and lets out a heavy breath.

“Shit I’m fucking close… I gotta stop.” He hisses, stilling himself and pulling out. You let out a small whine at the sudden emptiness but flicking your eyes open you see Jin’s hand wrapped around his cock, vigorously pumping up and down.

An idea for payback comes to mind. if he was going to slam into you with no prep, you had to get your revenge somehow.

You hop off of the mattress and slide between his legs. You push him backward and he lays back on his elbows, confusion very clearly written on his face.

You take his cock in your own, much smaller hand, and wrap your lips around him.

“Oh, fuck… I take it my title comes with…ngh… some perks?” He groans, eyes fixated on the way your head bobs up and down, your hand squeezing at his shaft and providing added pressure.

You bring your other hand up his thigh and begin toying gently with his balls, enjoying the satisfying strangled moan that he lets out.

“I’m gonna fuckin cum… If you don’t… haah… want it in your throat… let go now…” He rasps, clearly using all of his remaining restraint to hold himself back.

You let his cock out of your mouth with a soft pop, but continue to stroke him as you feel his balls tighten in your hand. Seconds later, hot white ropes of cum are shooting out over his chest and abs, leaving quite the mess and you find yourself smirking.

While he’s still recovering from his release, you get up, wiping off your mouth and lazily putting your clothes back on.

As you look into the mirror and begin fixing your hair you notice that Jin still hasn’t moved. You roll your eyes and scoop up his clothes, throwing them at him and he sits up with a start.

“C’mon get dressed. I’m hungry so we’re going to that restaurant with the really good steak.” You declare.

“Jeez, you’re impatient. Thought maybe gettin’ off might have helped but no, of course not.”

Jin’s hushed complaint doesn’t escape your ears and you shake your head.

“If you don’t hurry up, I’ll go myself and you can go find your own food,” you warn, leaning back against the wall by the door.

“Calm down, I’m almost done. Remind me to make sure you eat before you decide to ‘test my skills’,” Jin huffs, pulling his shirt over his broad shoulders.

“Oh, did you want me to test them again?” You laugh.

“I mean, it was pretty fun. I wouldn’t mind being tested again some time.”

“What happened to never fucking the same woman twice?”

“Eh, you’re not my type. If my skills hadn’t been called into question, I would have never had to prove myself like that. So, if I ever feel my abilities as a sexual partner are being doubted, I’ll have to fix it, won’t I?”

Staring each other in the eye for a few seconds, you both burst into laughter, making your way out of the inn.

“Alright Mr. Magic Dick, you seem so sure I’ll need to remind myself just how good you are in bed, but what happens if you’re the one who calls my skills out?”

“I will go a week without looking at any woman’s breasts,” Jin scoffs opening the door to the restaurant.

“Jin… I hate to tell you this… I think you would literally self-destruct if you didn’t look at tits for an entire week.”

“Then I guess I’ll need to make sure you don’t think I’m questioning your abilities then, won’t I?”

The remainder of the night is filled with the same familiar laughter and teasing as always, not to mention, some very delicious steak.

#ikepri #ikemen prince #jin grandet #ikepri jin #ikemen prince jin #jin grandet smut #smut #nsft

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drarry-is-totally-cannon · 6 months ago

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Drarry & The Goblet of Fire: 4th Year Rewrite

Chapter 7 ~ Something Exciting/Wicked This Way Comes

(A/N: Don't panic. YOU HAVE NOT MISSED THE PREVIOUS 6 CHAPTERS!!! I just started it at 7 because this is where my story diverges from JKR's original Plot. Also, I'm new to writing in 3rd person so we'll see. I'll try my best to imitate the original HP style but it might be a bit off. Ahhh! This took me way too long. I feel like it isn't perfect, so I may edit it later, but at least it's done. My very first Drarry fic!!!)

The Weaslys and their youngest son, Ron's best friends, Hermione Granger, and the famous Harry Potter have been up since before even the sun had made its first appearance in the sky and Harry feels as if he's been hit by Jelly-Legs Jinx. But now, arriving at the destination, the campgrounds for the finale of the Quidditch World Cup, his energy is completely restored. In fact, there's been a sort of buzzing in him since the group met up with Mr. Digory and his son, Cedric.

The moment is still fresh in Harry's mind, despite the slight disorientation from the Port-key.

The older boy had been perched in a tree when they reached the top of the hill. Harry hadn't noticed him at first, still too busy laughing at Ron's groaning complaints about the long walk. But when Cedric greeted everyone Harry's eyes went immediately to him.

His red hair caught the light like the suncatcher in Mrs. Weasly's kitchen making it almost appear to sparkle and the sun gave his skin the same glow. Harry thought he must be part faerie or nymph or something because no boy should be this attractive.

Cedric jumped down from the branch in one fluid movement and strode over to shake everyone's hand. Harry swore he smiled a bit brighter when he got to him, but maybe that was just his imagination. He recalls how Cedric's hands were warm and his grip was pleasantly strong, fitting of his build.

Harry blinks away the memory to look at the Hufflepuff seeker again. Somehow the boy, three years Harry's senior, is even more handsome in real life.

'I've never been jealous of a bloke like this before. And I've always thought I looked alright, but this is weird . . .'

"See you 'round Arthur. Ced and I have got to be off now. Got to meet the Missus before she gets all in a twist. And goodbye Harry. May the best team win."

Cedric looks away, clearing his throat lightly, embarrassed at his father yet again referencing Harry's terrible fall last year. "Well, it's been truly great meeting all of you. I guess we've got to go. Hopefully, we'll see you around. If we don't see each other before September, know that I'm looking forward to that re-match. I would like to beat you on fair terms." He winks at Harry, his competitive spirit clear in his eyes. Whatever skill he may or may not lack, his spirit certainly makes up for it.

Something about the gesture makes Harry feel warm, a slightly different feeling than the blissful buzz of Quidditch camaraderie. He looks down, then slowly back up to Cedric, not quite meeting the boy's eyes. "Y-yeah. Me too. It'll be . . . fair."

Harry has never been a master of words but even he thinks that was awkward. But he can say no more because with that the Diggorys are off. Thankfully for Harry, most everyone is too preoccupied with the majesty of the grounds to pay much attention to his fumbling. After all, they are something of a sight to behold. Tents in every shape and size imaginable stretch on as far as Harry can see (and probably farther accounting for his notoriously unreliable vision).

"Is this okay?" He asks, his breath taken away at the sheer expanse. He's never seen so many wizards in one place. People from all countries, children younger than Ginny, and adults with silver hair.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Mr. Weasly asks.

"What about the muggles, won't they get suspicious?"

"Nope, there are hundreds of charms around the campground. If any muggle comes within a mile they suddenly remember something urgent they have to do at home. It's quite the sight actually, the poor people, running off like that. And, of course, each family puts charms on their own tents. We wizards rarely get together like this so when we do, we can't resist showing off a bit." The man giggles with joy, sounding more like a Hogwarts student himself than a ministry employee of many years.

—

Harry's amazement only grows as they walk down the rows upon rows of enchanted temporary homes. Most tents look fairly ordinary, their owners making a somewhat decent effort to blend in, but they're still spectacular by their sheer number. Not to mention the few obviously magical tents that look more like small houses. He's not the only one impressed. Hermione gasps.

'These must all involve such advanced, precise charm work. Extension charms, cloaking charms . . . if only I could make something like this, even something small like a bag.'

Even Ron, despite his magical upbringing, has never seen this many international wizards before and gapes at the sheer decadence of some of the tents. He is not so silent about his thoughts, muttering "Must be the pureblood families, right rich snobs the lot of them."

Hermione is too lost in thought to hear and Harry ignores his best mate's grumbling in favour of scanning the crowd for a particular tent. He's not quite sure what he's looking for but is sure he'll know it when he sees it. He frowns when he fails to spot it and follows the Weasleys dejectedly.

After labouring for an hour and a half to set up the tent, everyone heads inside. The cloth enclosure, which from the outside looks hardly big enough for two people, much less 10, has a small loft with a window, invisible from the outside. It's through this window that Harry spots the largest tent he's seen so far. A black mass with turrets, balconies, and several peacocks tethered to the outside.

'That has to be it!'

Harry's suspicions are only confirmed when he sees a familiar head of white-blond hair parting the crowd to enter. At the sight, he jumps down from the loft, scaring an unsuspecting Ginny into dropping her copy of Witch Weekly: 100 Most Influential Women in Quidditch Edition.

She blushes at his sudden appearance in front of her, but he hardly notices. "Ah, Harry. What on earth?"

"Sorry, I've got to, er, get some water?"

"Water?"

"Yeah . . . I'm really thirsty, from the walk, you know."

"Okay. Well, the pump's a bit of a way away, would you like me to go with you, I can help. I'll tell Dad."

Harry sighs, wishing she'd let him go, but that's seemed impossible since he rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets in her first year. As much as Harry denies it, he's easy to read and Ginny is hardly stupid. He should've known she wouldn't accept his lie so easily.

"Ah, well I kind of wanted to explore on my own, meet up with some of the boys from my year, and do, you know, idiotic boy stuff." He lies easier than he thought he would, quoting Hermione.

Harry feels guilty when Ginny deflates, shoulder sagging with obvious disappointment, "Well, Dad won't want you just going off, this is a big place."

"I know. But I saw Dean and Seamus just outside. I won't be going far. And I'll do everyone the favour of bringing water back."

'Agh, drat! Well, hard to be subtle when you're Harry bloody potter I guess. Probably best though, Ginny's right. I still get lost around the castle sometimes and I've been there loads. And Mr. Weasley isn't the nosy type., I'm sure it'll be fine.'

The thought of being sent out to trek across the grounds for water in the summer heat makes the idea more infinitely palatable and reluctantly, she nods. "Alright, I'll tell Dad so he won't worry."

"Thank you, Ginny. You really are the best."

She lights up at that, and Harry wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, but not for long because his thoughts turn to another as soon as he's out of the tent flap.

Surprisingly, for all their talk, the Malfoy family tent isn't a far walk from the Weasley tent.

'Everyone must be inside. I'd bet Pansy and Blaise are there, probably Theo too. We didn't plan to meet, I wonder if he'll even want to see me.'

Taking a breath, Harry points his wand at the tent, sending a shower of harmless silver and green sparks, the colours of Slytherin house, inside. It's a spell he learnt from one of the tent's occupants. He snickers when he hears a girl scream.

'Sorry, Pansy.'

"Ah, what in Merlin was that?" he hears Blaise mutter.

"I told you the Irish are crazy, I don't even know why you're cheering for them, Draco. The Bulgarians have Viktor Krum, who's only the most famous seeker in all of history." Pansy scoffs dismissively.

"Famous, but not best. And we're cheering for the Irish because Malfoys always cheer for the winning team."

'You knotheads, those weren't Ireland's colours, they were ours.' Draco keeps the comment to himself, not feeling like risking Pansy's wrath just now.

"Famous but not best, eh? Like Potter."

Harry, who'd know the sound anywhere, notes the absence of Draco's laugh in the chorus of snickers.

There's a pause and all sound from the tent stops. "Ugh, bloody Potter. It's always something with him, isn't it? Stupid perfect Potter no one ever shuts about him. I swear if I hear another word about the Golden Boy, I'll puke."

'But you're the one who never shuts up about him, Draco.' Pansy keeps these thoughts to herself, giggling as she looks around at her friends, all thinking a similar version of the statement.

'He's such a good liar, if I didn't know I'd think he really meant that.' Harry shoves the insecurity down. His friendship with Draco has always been a rocky road, fragile due to the circumstances around them. For one thing the natural distrust between the two and then the animosity between the adults in their lives. What started as politeness neither is sure has blossomed yet into kindness. It's quite difficult to know where you stand with someone when you can't even talk in public.

Harry may not be the most observant but he now knows Draco well enough to see that ever since they met it's seemed as if some invisible barrier prevents Draco from getting close to Harry. Though Harry isn't sure if it's a natural defence mechanism or something more. He can't imagine what it could be since after the Third Year he's assured Draco that everything he does in public is for show. The teasing is all a part of the fun. He's not sure if he can say the same for Draco because sometimes his words feel so real. But what could possibly be the reason for that?

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come back quick though, I want to paint your nails in Bulgaria red."

"How about you don't, and I go find the imbecile who nearly set our tent on fire. Probably some poor drunk Irishman."

Harry can hear his friend's voice getting closer and steps out of his hiding place. The blond's grey eyes widen when he sees Harry, then narrow again, face falling into an easy smirk on his face.

'He's harmless like this.' Harry thinks, 'Still a snake, but not a venomous one.'

"My, my, so that was you, Potter. You've improved greatly over the summer. I didn't know you knew any spells besides Expleiarmus."

Harry punches his arm lightly "Git!"

The smirk shifts into something more genuine. "Hah. Sorry, I love my friends but I know they can be intense sometimes. But seriously, what are you doing here, Harry?"

"Oh, nothing much. I was just out for an afternoon stroll, that's a thing muggles do, you wouldn't know, and before I knew it, I was here. It's not far from Surrey really, only a couple hundred kilometres." Harry answers casually.

"Be serious, Harry." But Draco's own seriousness is lost behind the smile that he's trying to hide.

"I'm watching the finale of the Quidditch World Cup, don't be dense." Harry laughs

Draco nods, mostly to himself. "Oh, the Weaslys took you along with them, then."

"You knew the Weasleys were coming?"

Draco rolls his eyes, "Yes, of course I did. I heard my father mention that Mr. Weasly sold his house to get tickets so I assumed he used connections at the Ministry." Both boys wince. "Anyhow, that's very kind of them. I'm glad they did. I think you might love Quidich even more than Weasley."

Harry laughs, "Maybe, but his room is basically a Chudley Cannons shrine."

Draco frowns in mock disgust, "The Cannons? I've always been more of a Magpie fan myself."

"Magpie? Like those Australian birds that attack shiny things? I learnt about them in primary school a bit."

"Oh, right. Gosh, Potter, You got to tell Weasley to drag you to more Quidditch games. The Montrose Magpies. They're one of the best teams in the British-Irish league."

"Cool. Your friends are here?"

"Yeah, Pansy, Blaise and Theo. Crabbe and Goyle are probably off somewhere buying out the concessions. But, I'm sure they'll manage without me for a bit."

"Yeah." Harry agrees. There's something Harry finds satisfying about Draco ditching his friends for him. Like he's bringing him to the Gryffindor side, Harry guesses. But both boys know that Draco could never be a Gryffindor. Perhaps that's even why he and Harry are such good friends. After all, how could he not befriend the boy who risked his father's wrath to secretly help him learn about the history of Slytherin and Parselmouths and then gave them the clue that helped them solve the mystery of the chamber and made Harry realise he was not, in fact, going insane.

"We should probably go, you know, so they don't see us."

Draco doesn't respond for a second, staring off into space and right at Harry. Harry's found that Draco is almost always staring at him. At first, it was a bit uncomfortable, his gaze heavier than anyone else Harry has ever met, grey eyes looking down at him with the intensity of the sun when Dudley uses his big magnifying glass to fry ants. But now Harry is just used to it, used to those grey eyes boring into him. Sometimes he'd swear it's grown almost pleasant now. He never bothers to guess what Draco might be thinking about because he knows he couldn't anyway.

Despite his hefty stare, Draco's tone is light when he speaks. "Right, I know a place."

He looks around as if searching for something, then he points his wand and despite him saying nothing at all, a comically large green top hat with an even larger green shamrock and green jacket also adorned with shamrocks come whizzing into his hands. Harry stares at his use of non-verbal magic. Draco takes no notice of Harry's amazement, throwing the garments at Harry who lets them fall.

"What are you waiting for, get those on." Draco's face falls into comic offence, "Oh . . . oh, don't tell me you're cheering for Bulgaria?"

"I don't know who to cheer for, it's not like I get to follow Quidich much when I'm at home. Why?" Harry asks stupidly, then answers his own question. " . . . Right, yeah. Duh."

"Merlin, you forget you're famous, don't you." Draco sighs, ignoring the mention of Harry's unfortunate home life for the both of them.

Sheepishly, Harry picks up the garments, shrugging on the too-small-looking jacket which somehow (probably by magic) fits him perfectly, and the large hat which casts rough shadow over his face to cover his scar and the white section of his hair above it.

"Come on!" And then Draco is grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

They end up at the edge of the campground, just in the woods exactly where Mr. Weasley told Harry not to go. The forest looks thicker than it should and green light filters through the trees casting a greenish glow over them. It makes Draco's hair look mint green instead of blond. They both laugh, a little out of breath from the sudden run across the huge campground and relieved to be away from the eyes of their respective groups.

After he gathers himself Harry notices for the first time Draco's clothes. For Harry, being raised by the Durselys, dressing like a muggle was his first nature, robes feeling awkward and out of place, but, of course, this wouldn't be the case for someone like Draco Malfoy, a member of one of Great Britain's wealthier pure-blood families.

And yet . . . Harry finds that Draco wears muggle clothes well, even better than he does. This isn't the first time he's seen him without robes, but outside of school, it feels somehow different. He's dressed in all black, an all-black suit with a black shirt. It makes his hair almost seem to glow.

'I guess I can see why all the Slytherin girls fawn over him.' Harry thinks. It's an odd thought, but not objectively untrue. He ignores it when another question enters his head.

"Aren't you hot?"

"I'm a Malfoy, I am always hot, Potter."

Harry cocks his head, ignoring the twinge of annoyance that Draco still uses his surname sometimes, "What? That doesn't even . . . oh. Hey! That's not what I meant!"

Draco laughs. Harry ignores his embarrassment being mocked because it's a real laugh. Rare even when he's alone with Harry. "I know that. Mother put a cooling charm on all our clothes."

"That's nice."

Draco looks down, "Sorry."

"About what?" Then Harry gets it. He hadn't been thinking about his long-dead mother before, but Draco probably felt bad for bringing up his own, very alive, mother. "It's really fine. You don't have to walk on eggshells, I hate it when people do that. You never have before, so don't start now. Let's just talk. Okay? About anything else, something funny."

"Alright, well father," Draco says the word with heavy exasperation, "keeps hinting about a mysterious event taking place at school this year but refuses to give any details. And I know mother knows as well but she won't budge either. Cruel, the both of them, keeping me in suspense like this."

"Event? Well, I only hope it's not an exam."

"Scared, Potter." The quip is stupid, stupid, and familiar.

Harry gulps dramatically, "A bit yeah. If it is an exam, the homework is going to be enough to fill the entire lake."

"Merlin, yeah. Binns and McGonagall are the worst, sorry, I know you like her, but five essays in two months, really? The professors are aware we have other classes, right? I'm going to get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, a muggle affliction of all things." He moans, throwing his head back in a typical display of theatrics, his blond hair ruffling with the sudden movement. When he recovers himself his hair falls perfectly back into place.

'It's quite nice, his hair', Harry notes. If only his own hair could look as nice instead of sticking up like he's taken a shock. 'Is it a spell?' he wonders.

Harry can't help but laugh. He's heard of the ailment from Aunt Petunia's awful friends when she used to host Thursday afternoon book clubs in the Dursley's parlour.

Harry groans, "I bet it's an exam, that'd be just my luck. If Voldemort can't get me, sleep-deprivation will."

Draco winces at the name, looking suddenly serious. Privately, he worries that the upcoming event may have something to do with the mysterious people that his father started inviting last year. Now he doesn't even invite them, they just show up, anytime, all the time. He's caught whispered words through walls, snippets of conversations not meant for him.

Voldemort.

Death Eater.

Is his father involved in that? Surely not? Narcissa Malfoy never talks to her son about the war, but that must be because she lost someone, collateral damage, or even had a cousin or something who was a traitor, right?

But before Harry can ask, he's smiling that Slytherin Prince smile of his again. "If you're really worried about it, I'd be happy to help you study . . ." The sentence trickles off, the sound dying on the breeze. Draco looks around, eyes landing on everything but Harry, seemingly surprised at his words.

'Shite! Why . . . why did I say something like that? Merlin, Draco, get yourself together. If you keep acting like this . . . I have to fix this, let him know I didn't mean . . .'

"If you'd like, or not, of course. You don't have to." Then he recovers himself, laughing (but in Harry's opinion it seems half-hearted) "But, Potter, I'm sure someone like you could use all the help you can get. I am second in the class after all. Second only to your bushy-haired menace of a friend. It's like she can make the days longer just to study. I bet if she ever found a way that's exactly what she'd do."

Draco laughs bitterly.

'What's he rambling about? Does he really resent Hermione's grades that much? Is he jealous? Of what though? He's got the brains to beat her. I bet if she didn't have the time-turner, he would. Is this about our friendship? Surely he knows I'd be happy to study with him. I know he's emotional, but this seems a bit much, even for him. Is something wrong?'

Taking a breath, Harry tries to clear his mind. He's not used to thinking so deeply about something like this. It's kind of tiring.

"I'd rather study with you, actually. You're about as bossy as Hermione, but at least you don't expect me to know everything, acting like it's all obvious." The words come out before he's entirely thought them through, but they're not untrue.

Draco thanks Merlin that the darkness of the thicket hides the pinkness of his cheeks.

"It is obvious, and I would expect you to know everything, if you paid attention in class, that is. But I know you don't, so I'm patient. It's as simple as that. Though it's nice to know I'm better than her at something." The words come out slightly sharper than he means for them too, like a snake coiling up, using insults to mask embarrassment.

"Hey! I do, I just daydream sometimes. And you're better than her at a lot of things."

"Oh?" Malfoy arches an elegant blond brown.

'It's like he was made for smirking and sarcasm, isn't it?'

"Well, flying for one. You're a brilliant flyer." Harry knows that Draco knows exactly how smart he is and that he shouldn't be fueling his ego but he can't help it.

'Maybe compliments are what it takes to get his walls down. Ah, I know better than that, he's not that shallow. But I've still got to try.'

Draco moves farther into the shade. 'Look at me floundering over some nice words just because they came from Potter. Pathetic.'

"Well, thank you, Potter. You're not so terrible yourself."

"Oh my god! Wow! That's like the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me!"

Both boys nearly fall over with laughter at Harry's impression of a high-voiced American schoolgirl.

"Your American accent is shite. You sound just like Sally."

"Who?"

"A Hufflepuff from Astronomy club last year, and I'm so sorry, I'm sure she and her family are very . . . nice people, but she's got a voice like she's inhaled helium."

"Oof. Speaking of Hufflepuff, I met Cedric Diggory and made such a fool of myself"

"What? Why? You're not still embarrassed about the broom thing are you, everyone knows that wasn't your fault, don't they?"

"Yeah, but I think I must've sounded like a right idiot."

Draco tilts his head, resembling a confused cat. "Well that's to be expected, but why in particular? I mean, it must have been severe if you picked up on it."

"Oh shut up! I- I just . . . I don't know but I was so embarrassed I couldn't speak. Not even about the fall, just like, I don't know . . . stuff."

"Stuff." Draco questions, trying not to get ahead of himself. 'It's fine. It's probably nothing, don't worry. Just totally straight Quidditch bruv stuff.'

"Oh well, he just good-looking, I guess, and-"

'WHAT?!'

"Oh, are you gay now as well, Potter? Welcome to the club. Would you like a pin" It comes out bitter, and hurtful because Draco is bitter and hurt.

'Does . . . does he like guys now too? If he likes guys why can't he . . . what's bloody Diggory got that I haven't?'

"Huh? What?" Harry blushes the colour of his quidditch robes, "N-No, it's not like that. I actually like . . . erm . . ." he says the first girl's name that pops into his head, "Cho Chang!"

"Cho Chang?" Draco raises an eyebrow, relieved, hiding embarrassment again, but not fully convinced.

". . . Yeah? What's wrong with Cho?"

"Oh, nothing." Draco's tone is sing-song, relaxed, his face calm as always. But Harry sees the glint of mischief in his eyes, the one that's usually there even as others accuse him of scowling.

The look on Harry's face is one of confusion, embarrassment, and terror all in one.

"I just think you're lying." Draco's expression turns sincere, "I mean, it's okay, mate. You know me of all people won't mind. You know you can talk to me . . . anytime, yeah." But by the end of the sentence, Darco's smiling, a laugh colouring the words.

Once again the two fill the silence with shared laughter.

'His laugh's not half bad, I wish he'd laugh this much in school.'

"Yeah, I don't think I will." Awkward silence. "Not that it's bad to be gay, obviously, love who you love, that's fine, it's just that . . . well, you know . . . I'm not."

"Potter, you dunce, it's fine. I was only joking."

'Because that's all this will ever be.' Draco hides the disappointment behind a practised smile.

"Yeah, right, of course." Harry is too relieved at not offending his friend to see through it.

"Enough of this." Draco waves a dismissive hand, "You know I love good gossip, Potter. Tell me exactly what happened with Diggory."

"You'd better not tell anyone!" Harry swats at him, but Darco shares his seeker reflexes and doges easily.

"I won't. Malfoy's honour." Draco places a hand over his heart and bows like a prince from times past.

'Not that that means much anymore . . .'

"Okay, fine, gosh!"

"'Gosh'?" Draco questions teasingly, "Just say Merlin for Merlin's sake!"

"Malfoy." Harry warns, teasing as well, "Do you want to know or not?"

(A/N: Harry will swear as a form of rebellion and because he learnt it from Dudley doing it behind Petunia's back, but the Durselys never took the lord's name in vain so it's not a habit he picked up.)

Draco puts his arms up in surrender.

'Being with him like this, alone together, talking, laughing . . . I wish we could do this all the time. At school, away from everyone maybe we could- Merlin, I'm turning into some dewy-eyed schoolgirl! But I'd skip around like an idiot if it was with Potter, I know I would. Merlin, am I really such a simp? Is this what he's done to me? Stupid knight!'

"Okay. So I have no idea why but I was just really jealous all of the sudden, well, not jealous exactly, but, I don't know, I just felt so . . . insecure." Harry still isn't quite sure that that's the correct word for the strange tingling feeling he experienced but nevertheless, he wants to hide as he says it.

Draco's brows furrow, considering this, readying advice.

'His advice is usually good. . . . Maybe not this time though. It isn't like the Slytherin prince has got much to be insecure about, then again, he did seem weird about being behind Hermione in year rank . . . I don't know. It's been two years and I still barely know him. Ugh.'

'Potter, insecure? What a bloody joke. Gyffindor's knight? Perfect, popular, seeker, saviour of the entire wizarding world Potter? Ah, well, we all have our down moments. I- . . . Pansy's the prettiest girl I know but sometimes I catch her staring in the mirror with that look in her eye . . . If a friend is all Potter and I will ever be then I should at least be a good one and help.'

"Well, don't be. You're a bloody brilliant flyer, and you've got a talent for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Diggory can turn watches to whistles? So what does Diggory know about a few charms? I could do that in my sleep, without a wand. What's that going to do if You-Know-Who comes knocking at his door?"

It was a joke, but neither of them laughed.

Anyone observing both boys would notice how they paled at the words.

Frames from Harry's dream flash behind his eyelids, the greenlight blinding him for a second. He would swear that he can hear the thump as the gardener's body hit the old wooden floor.

'No, no, I'm here. Here in the Quidditch World Cup. . . with Malfoy.' Harry reminds himself.

It was a joke. A poorly timed one, one echoing the words of the little voice in the back of Draco's head.

Draco opens his mouth but closes it without saying anything. Harry can tell he wants too, that the words are on the edge of his tongue, dying to spill out, but as always, held back by some invisible barrier.

'I know I've hardly earned the right to his thoughts, but I'd like to know all the same. I felt like I understood him better when we were enemies, but now I know that there's so much more I don't know. That seems like a running theme in my life. Heh. Maybe Professor Binns should just let me write my essay on that. How there always seems to be something that someone isn't telling me, a memoir by myself, Harry James Potter. I've never wanted to know so much about magic before, about the families who carry it, that's Hermione thing. Will Malfoy ever tell me what he really thinks? Not just the brutal honesty about trivial things, but, like . . . real stuff? Hermione says bottling things up isn't healthy.'

"Yeah."

"What?" Draco almost forgot his original comment amongst his worries.

"Yeah, charms won't be much help. They weren't for my parents."

Draco nods, looking a step behind for once. "Right."

Neither boy knows how to broach the subject of what's going on in their heads. But they both know they don't want to leave the presence of the one person who seems to understand.

"Let's meet up later." Harry blurts out, "as friends, of course." he adds using the old gay joke to cover the awkwardness, it sort of works.

"Of course, I could never date an idiot of your magnitude, Potter."

"Right, right, how am I going to"

"I'll find you," Draco assures.

The words reassure Harry more than is really necessary. The warmth of having a good friend, of course. It is reassuring to have a confidant . . . maybe. If Harry didn't know better, he'd say there was something else in the blond boy's tone, but Harry has never been good at reading people so he must be wrong.

'What? What, why did I- Merlin that was like something out of a cheesy film! I need to stop this. Potter is only so daft. He'll realise eventually. . . . Or maybe he won't. And that might just hurt more. I'm a Malfoy, we're not supposed to be so invisible.'

Suddenly: footsteps!

"Quick, Potter!" Draco whispers, the words a near-silent shout.

"What!"

"Hide."

But there's nowhere to hide, the trees aren't thick enough.

"What's going-"

"My father." The two-word explanation is enough to send shivers down Harry's spine.

"Shite! I can't-"

Then Harry is shoved violently up against a tree trunk, by Draco of all people.

Draco slaps him. "You call yourself a wizard, Potter? Pathetic. I can't believe a wizard as 'great' as you would go wasting your time with low class refuse like the Weasleys, with . . ." Draco pauses for half a second, guilt clear in his eyes, he can't bring himself to say the word, not again. For better or worse he doesn't have to.

"Draco? Is this where you scurried off to? Off fighting with fists like some lowly muggle?" Lucius Malfoy says the word with unmasked disgust. "Did your mother and I simply waste the money we spent on dulling lessons for you?" His look of disapproval is penetrating, the kind of look that freezes one's self-esteem and then shatters it all in the same instant.

Harry would say it reminds him of his wretched Aunt, but Petunia Dursely could only dream of looking so cruel. 'Aunt Petunia wishes she could look at me like that.'

Draco doesn't want to look at him.

'Don't be a coward, Draco. Not in front of Potter.' He tells himself.

Draco turns to face his father, a calm, unbothered look in his eyes, not like a boy desperate for approval but scared of what it means.

"Well, you see father, I simply couldn't duel him."

Lucius quirks a blond eyebrow, hair barely darker than his son's. "And whyever not?"

"Because it would be too cruel. You see, Potter, here, can't duel. He was raised by muggles." Draco makes an aghast face, but it's theatrical. "He only knows how to use his fists. Isn't that ridiculous, Father? Can you believe such an imbecile is 'The Chosen One'? He's like a troll-"

"Draco, quiet! I hear of nothing but bloody Potter all summer. Now let him go before you dirty yourself. After all, he consorts with mudbloods."

"Of course, father. I shan't touch him any more than necessary." Draco shoves Harry back, slamming him into the tree just hard enough, yanking his hands away like Harry is a hot cauldron, throwing one last artificially nasty glare then turns to follow his father back to his tent.

"Idiot boy." Harry can hear Lucius Malfoy whisper cruelly as he exits the forest with his son. "Did I not tell you to make friends with 'The Chosen One'? If only you'd gotten on his good side then perhaps you could've been useful. Hmmph, surely he will find something an ingrate like you can do."

Harry would like to say the words shock him, after all, Lucius has done nothing but gloat of his son's perfection whenever he's encountered Harry, especially when he's with the Weasleys, but Harry has seen the cruel glint in his eyes. It was inevitable he'd turn that gaze to his son if he hasn't been from the beginning.

'Is this why he never tells me anything? . . . Is he . . . afraid? No, Malfoy isn't afraid of anything.' But Harry knows that isn't true. He remembers that time in the woods in first year, even before the boys encountered Voldemort, Malfoy had been shaking. And when Lupin had mentioned the Boggart. No, not Malfoy, Malfoy isn't afraid of anything, he couldn't care less, but Draco is. Draco is the young boy who cares all too much.

'What would have come out of there?'Harry wonders distantly.

But behind his hard exterior, it can be hard for anyone to see that, even the boy he'd now call his closest friend. Harry ignores the gruesome memory, blinking away the visions of split unicorn blood turning the ground under his feet silver, telling himself not to feel guilty.

It takes Harry a moment to catch his breath, he doesn't know why. He's definitely the fitter of the two boys, with all his running away from near-death experiences. But Draco is stronger than he looks, and at the moment, with all that fear and adrenaline, the pressure building, mounting to an explosion under his father's watch, he pushed Harry a bit harder than he meant to. Harry doesn't mind. He's used to being shoved. He's had much worse. He understands. It feels almost nice to be shoved for a reason other than someone's enjoyment of seeing him in pain.

With one last glance in the direction the Malfoys left, he leaves the forest, heading back to the Weasly tent.

'Wait . . . the water! Fuck. Right.' Sighing Harry ducks to avoid an explosion of bright green sparklers and heads to the pump.

As he walks a feeling of embarrassment washes over him for the second time that day. He hadn't noticed in the moment, but Draco had been so close, his silver eyes looking so guilty, guilty, and something else. Harry thinks it was far more guilt than was necessary. It's not like he's had a choice. How else would he have explained their being alone in the forest together? It's just the way that things have to be. Harry's learnt to be fine with that.

'Or should I feel guilty as well, for nearly making him say . . . that word again. How didn't I realise before? Of course, Mr Malfoy reserves his highest standards of all for his family. Maybe having no parents at all is better than that. I know I'd rather have been put in a group home with Nuns than with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, then at least the beatings wouldn't have been personal.'

Harry looks down just in time to see his pail overflowing. It seems heavier than it should as he carries it back.

'Relax, Harry. Not everything is about you. Here no one cares, they're all just here for Quidich. The dream can't have meant anything, nothing bad is going to happen. Don't go being all paranoid. Voldemort is gone. I can't let him have any more power over me. Ron would tell me to enjoy myself, so that's what I'll do.'

Harry nods, waving at Dean and Seamus as he passes them, they nod back, then go straight back to setting sparklers. Harry was going to have fun at a non-school sporting event for the first time in his life, yes he was, and absolutely nothing was going to stop him.

(A/N: OMG! The first chapter. I really hope it's alright, characterisation can be hard for me sometimes. I hope I kept Harry's sass in enough.)

(A/N: Use of underage magic can be explained by this reddit post: [Harry Potter theory] The underaged magic law was created in a subtle effort to remove non-pure-blood wizards from wizard society. : r/FanTheories and these Quora posts: If underage wizards and witches can't perform magic outside of school, how can Harry use Lumos at 4 Privet Drive? - Quora)

#drarry fic #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #drarry #draco x harry #harry x draco #hpdm #dmhp #harco #gof #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter rewrite #hpdm fanfic

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