four word prompts

Four Word Story Prompt

The premise is simple, friends. Using only four words, write the happiest story you can think of. It can be IC or OOC. Past, present, future. The world is your oyster, on this.

Here’s mine:

“Then They Grew Trees.”

tagged by @renwyck . Let’s see what I can do!

Snow Evenlight : She found her destiny.

Eisuna : Even broken wings mend.

Kistra : She dreamt no more.

Pinxie the Fearless: Brave all along.

Faerran:  I’ve found my light.

tagging people who find this interesting. 

anonymous asked:

"So it was you"

Harry woke up suddenly, sitting up straight in his bed. His heart pounded, still reacting to his nightmare. He looked around and tried to make sense of his surroundings. The darkness stretched across the room, but he could make out figures, breathing slowly as they slept. Harry sighed with relief.

He was in his dorm room, in the eighth year tower. Not many students wanted to continue their studies after the war, so the school just made one large space for those who decided to come back. Harry was one of them. Hermione and Ron came back, too. All of the Gryffindors. Most of the Hufflepuff’s and Ravenclaws. Even a good amount of Slytherins. The most surprising of them being Draco. A lot of people thought he would be sent to Azkaban, but after the trails, he was charged not guilty and permitted back to Hogwarts. Many people wondered how he was let go so easily, but only a few knew why.

Harry had been there, vouching for Draco, telling them that he was forced into the situation. What he said to Dumbledore. Everything… All but one. No one knew about it, not even Ron or Hermione. They didn’t understand that Draco really did recognize Harry at the Manor that night. But Harry knew. He could see it in his eyes.

Harry sighed, quietly getting up so as not to wake any of his roommates. He looked at his invisibility cloak, shaking his head and slipping out the door without it. He had a habit of waking up from nightmares, but it was especially frequent after the war. On nights like these he found his way up to the astronomy tower and stared at the sky, often waiting until he could see shades of pink break past the dark horizon. He was never interrupted there. He could think in peace.

He didn’t bother putting on shoes. He liked the way the cold felt against his feet. It grounded him.

He turned a corner, finding himself at the foot of the towers stairs, when he froze. A dark figure glided towards him, walking into the light of a torch.

“Malfoy.” Harry breathed. “… You startled me.”

“So even the chosen one gets scared?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but there was no venom to his voice. In fact, he sounded tired.

“Guess so…” Harry didn’t bother fighting back. He was still distracted by Draco’s presence. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you-” Malfoy stopped his usual retort. He narrowed his eyes at Harry, as if contemplating something. Then he let out an exasperated breath. “I’m going to the Astronomy tower.”

Harry blinked. “Oh…” His heart fell, his night plans going sour. He turned away from the stairs, “Have fun then.”

“What are you doing here?” Malfoy said quickly.

“Er…” Harry nodded towards the stairs awkwardly.

Draco stared at him for a moment before putting his nose in the air, “Well, no ones stopping you,” and glided up the steps. Harry glanced around, wondering what his next move should be, before his legs automatically brought him in stride with Malfoy.

They found their way to the top, settling down on a bench. Harry didn’t bother questioning why they sat at the same one. The company was oddly… refreshing.

They sighed in unison, staring out to the horizon. The night was bright with an almost full moon. Stars flitted in and out of sight, twinkling among a few clouds barely visible against the dark sky.

It seemed long, but Harry knew it could have only been several minutes. He was itching with a question, one he’d been holding to himself, never dreaming he’d be able to ask. After a few excruciating moments, Harry broke.

“Why did you let me go that day?” He blurted out.

Draco barely flinched. “What do you mean?”

“At the manor.”

Draco glanced at him boredly. “I used to live there, Potter. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” A flare of frustration shot through his chest. “When they captured me. Greyback. You told them you didn’t know whether it was me or not.”

Harry paused. Waiting for an answer.

Draco looked straight ahead of him, expressionless. “So it was you.”

“But you knew that already.” Harry said angrily. He wasn’t making any sense.

“Potter, I don’t understand why we’re talking about this. The war is over.” He rubbed his eyes and Harry almost felt bad.

“Not for me.” He pushed.

“Well, it is for me.”

“Then why can’t you sleep?”


“I like the stars.”

Harry huffed, leaning back against the bench. He ran a hand through his hair. He knew, of course, that Draco wouldn’t talk to him. But he had to try. He looked back up to the horizon. It looked different now. His irritation changing the serenity of the scene. He turned again towards Malfoy, just enough to look at him without seeming obvious. The moon made his platinum hair glow and his grey eyes shine. If it wasn’t for his somber expression, he would have looked untouchable. Almost ethereal.

“Why didn’t you tell them…” Harry jumped at Draco’s sudden words. “At the trails. That I hadn’t given you away.”

“I thought you didn’t know it was me.”

“Potter.” Draco pleaded. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow in a pained expression.

“… I guess, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t my imagination. That you really had protected me.”

“You seemed pretty sure it wasn’t your imagination a moment ago.” Malfoy turned to lock eyes with Harry. They were dark and intense, challenging him to be as honest as he wanted Draco to be.

“I guess…” Harry took a deep breath, looking away from him. “I guess I didn’t want to share that moment. With anyone.”

Draco said nothing, so Harry continued. “It was the moment I realized you were never the enemy. The moment I realized none of this was your fault. That it was mine.”

There was more silence before, “You complete prat, Harry Potter.”

Harry snapped his head back to Malfoy, startled by the use of his full name, then startled again to see grey, watery eyes.


“Your fault? How?”


“I was the one who brought in Fenrir to the school, I was the one who fixed that bloody cabinet, I was the one who got Dumbledore killed! I helped the Dark Lord, I even got this damned mark to prove it!” Draco was on his feet now, face red with anger, as he wrenched his pajama sleeve up to reveal his dark mark. He laughed maniacally, as if the world had finally broken in half on top of him. “I even gloated! As if I was the most important shit in this place. And you, you get me out of Azkaban, after saving the entire fucking wizarding world, and you have the gall to tell me it’s all your fault? You don’t know shit about fault, Potter. Don’t you dare try to take that achievement from me, too.”

Harry’s eyes were wide with astonishment. Draco breathed heavily, face splotchy and pink. He seemed embarrassed, but held his gaze nonetheless.

They stared at each other, unsure of what to do next, when suddenly Harry snorted.

Then Malfoy laughed. It was short, just coming up from the back of his throat.

Then they were both laughing. Quietly at first, before building up to loud, obnoxious guffaws. Draco slipped back in his seat, holding onto the bench to keep himself steady. Harry was doubled over, taking large breathes in between it all.

“Wh-Why are you -ha!- laughing?” Draco managed.

“I-I don’t -pfft- know! Why a-are you?”

Draco shrugged, although it looked odd with his shoulders already shaking, “I’m an utter lunatic?”

That only made them laugh more, eventually gripping onto each other with the intensity of it all. It died down eventually. They took in shallow breaths, trying to keep themselves from smiling. Small chuckles escaped once or twice.

Harry looked up once he was calm enough, finding one hand placed on Draco’s thigh and the other underneath his fingers, their hands resting at the top of the benches back. Their bodies faced each other, calves folded beneath them.

Draco looked up as well, a small smile still on his lips. Harry glanced to them, watching his mouth curve back down to a slight frown.

“Draco.” Harry glanced back to his eyes. He looked surprised as the use of his first name. “Tell me… Please.”

A flash of fear went across his face, making him look away. He settled for looking at their intertwined fingers.

“Why is it so important to you?” He whispered.

Harry thought for a moment, a slow blush creeping up his own neck as he realized the real reason he wanted to know.

“Because I’m hoping it meant what I want it to mean.” He said before he could stop himself.

Draco froze, keeping his eyes glued to their hands. “… What did you want it to mean?”

“You tell me,” Harry breathed, inching his face closer to Draco’s. Enough so that if he were to turn, just a bit…

Draco remained still.

“Why didn’t you tell them it was me, Draco.” Harry could see him shiver at his own name.

“Because… Because I-” But he never finished, instead turning and catching Harry’s lips into his own. Harry reacted late, Draco already shifting so that he could tilt his head back, forcing Harry’s mouth open. Harry suddenly moved, letting go of his hand in order to wrap his arms around Draco’s torso. He moaned. Or did Draco moan? It wasn’t clear, all they could do was try to be as close to each other as possible.

Harry moved his mouth with Draco’s, his tongue sliding along the others. He felt along the hem of his pajamas, slipping his fingers against Draco’s cool skin.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, Harry was being pushed back. He caught himself before he could fully fall off his seat, blinking rapidly towards Malfoy-who was currently wide eyed and flushed. His lips were already swollen and slick with saliva. He quickly wiped his mouth, shaking while he did so.

“Draco-?” Harry started, but Malfoy abruptly stood up.

“It’s Malfoy to you, Potter.” He snapped, trying to straighten his shirt.


“D-don’t you dare try that again. I-I’ll-” He couldn’t finish, somehow getting redder and redder by the minute.

“You’re the one who-!”

“Well, you obviously seduced me! Sure you’re not a Slytherin? Because that was some sly manipulation if I’ve ever seen any.” Draco huffed, crossing his arms.

Harry could only laugh, but that made Draco turn on his heel and storm out.

“Wait!” Harry called to him. He merely stopped, turning his head ever so slightly. “Same time tomorrow night?”

There was a pause and a twitch on the corner of his mouth, looking suspiciously like a smile, before Draco continued down the stairs.

Harry let a long breath out. He couldn’t help but grin, before a thought dawned on him.

He never did get his answer.

anonymous asked:

"You love me, right?" maybe where Harry is asking the question after a fight or something...

This isn’t the best I have to admit, but I wanted to try and write some thing and kind of help get my mind of my pain from the surgery for a bit. Sorry for taking ages and Thank you for leaving a suggestion! Also wittle vulnerable harry melts my heart. Under the cut cause it went on for ages for which i apologise profusely.

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karolina-nico  asked:

Hey Sarah how are you? :) can I request a drabble/fic with “Alright, I love you”? If you want to do it of course!

Hey Giulia! 💕 Thanks for the prompt my dear (and I’m sorry that it took about six years for me to write it), I desperately hope you enjoy this!

A/N: Along with Deathly Hallows missing moments, this is an R/Hr trope that I will probably never get tired of. I like what I like, guys.


Alright, I Love You

Hermione must have packed and unpacked a thousand times in the week since the battle - a week that had felt like a year - but then again, she really didn’t know what she was packing for. The beaded bag had been upended all over Ginny’s bedroom floor for the purpose of sorting through the various articles of clothing and bits of detritus that had gathered over ten months on the run, but it all remained strewn over every available surface as Hermione remained inert, frozen with indecision.

From her vantage point near Ginny’s window, she could see Ron and Harry out in the garden, each taking it in turns to fling a garden gnome over the hedges. They didn’t seem to be talking much, just working in a sort of quiet peace, and Hermione found herself almost irrationally jealous. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed since she had been alone with Ron, able to simply exist with him. Not since Shell Cottage, really, when she thought they’d been right on the verge of something, and then she’d kissed him, and sure, it was frenzied and frantic and Harry had yelled at them, but the way he had kissed her back, popped her up off her feet - well. She supposed she had expected more from the past several days, even if that made her feel wildly selfish. He’d just lost his brother, after all, and he hadn’t seen most of his family in months. There was quite a bit to be dealing with, but she still had never envisioned going to Australia alone

Outside, Ginny had entered the garden with a broomstick propped on her shoulder, and within seconds she was leading Harry away by the hand toward the orchard. Well, they certainly hadn’t wasted any time since the war had ended, and Hermione felt another hot wave of envy. Somehow things had just fallen into place for them, and yet she and Ron, once again, were caught in limbo. Down in the garden, Ron got to his feet and raked his fingers through his sweaty hair, sending it into disarray. Even from Ginny’s bedroom, Hermione could see a sort of stressed, anxious look on his face, and part of her wanted to Apparate directly to him, to alleviate it somehow… but lately, he had seemed to keep his distance, so she thought she had better let him have it.

With a sigh, she returned to her sorting. Harry’s things had been easy enough to divide up - she simply plopped a stack of denims and zip-tops onto Ginny’s bed - but separating out Ron’s things presented a bit more of a challenge. It felt odd, counterintuitive, to isolate his jumpers from hers, to stop herself claiming a worn-out t-shirt of his as her own; she’d rather merge their things, keep their lives intertwined-

“Er - hey,” came a hesitant voice from the doorway. Ron had poked his head in, his face flushed from the midday sun, sweat shining on his forehead. “What’ve you been doing?”

“Oh.” Hermione looked up from from her seat near the window, now acutely aware that she was holding Ron’s old Keeper gloves (which last July had earned a place in the beaded bag out of sheer sentimentality) on her lap. “Just, erm, going through all our things. I’ll have to start packing soon.”

Ron quirked an eyebrow and stepped further into the room. “Packing?”

“To go to Australia.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” he asked, alarmed.

Slowly, she nodded. “I’ll have to eventually, I need to fetch my parents-“

“By yourself?”

Hermione tossed the Keeper gloves onto a pile of Ron’s dirty socks and stood. “I don’t know,” she said, brushing her palms off on her denims, “but I’m beginning to think I need to get going on it.”

“You really shouldn’t go on your own-“

“I’m perfectly capable-“

“I know that,” he replied, and instead of the frustration she expected to lace his voice, there was only warmth, only fondness. “I know you can do it alone, but you shouldn’t have to.”

Then come with me. The words were right on the tip of her tongue, but somehow she couldn’t put her voice behind them. It wasn’t as if his feelings for her were some great mystery - she’d heard him screaming her name at Malfoy Manor, and he hadn’t exactly been subtle at Shell Cottage - so she wasn’t quite sure why she had gone selectively mute.

“What are you saying?” was what actually came out of her mouth, much to her own chagrin.

“Just that-“ Ron paused and used the sleeve of his t-shirt to wipe a few lingering drops of sweat from his brow. “Well - no pressure or anything, obviously, erm, but if you’d like some company, y’know, I’d-“ He paused again and shook his head as though chastising himself, then drew a breath. “Alright, I love you, that’s what I’m saying, and I know it’s a bit mad to be saying that to you right now, but it’s true, and I promised myself I’d always be there for you, and that includes this. So.”

Hermione could do no more than blink at him, stunned into silence by his admission, but it didn’t much matter: he stepped toward her, so close that their fingertips brushed.

“So if you’ll have me,” he continued as his hands wrapped around hers, “I’ll be there.”

Of course he loved her. Rather than a revelation, his words were a reaffirmation. It was as if she’d always known it, and the past week of distance and silence seemed to make sense now, as if they’d needed time for everything to settle until they were ready for this one final nudge in the right direction.

And all it took, Hermione found, was the lightest squeeze around Ron’s fingers to make him lean in and kiss her, softly at first, then a bit more deeply.

“Well?” Hermione asked as they broke apart, unable to suppress the smile stretching across her face. “Aren’t you going to help me pack?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, releasing her hands to rub his own up her forearms. “Yes, of course.”

They settled happily onto the floor, and Hermione had just shoved a stack of his woolen jumpers into the beaded bag (it was autumn in Australia, after all) when she suddenly realized what she was forgetting.

“Ron?” Her stomach fluttered as he turned to look at her, his blue eyes shining and warm. “I love you too.”


you can find more four word prompts here!

atesan  asked:

“You’re a terrible cook.” + victuuri lmao

four word prompts

Yuuri knows they probably took Hasetsu for granted a bit, what with the whole arrangement where his mother provided their meals for them all the time. Now that they’ve moved to St. Petersburg, Yuuri does recognize this. He remembers his college days, the scribbled out budget sheets and strict meal plans and swapped texts between him and Phichit that read, 

huffpo says eating banana and pretending it’s ice cream totally works, due to, like, power of belief 

…nope. never mind. i’m just sad now. sad and hungry

down with huffpo :( 


St. Petersburg’s not like Detroit, though, because Yuuri (1) is no longer broke, (2) is no longer roommates with someone who’s broke, (3) actually owns a kitchen now. Not that said kitchen is actually put to use very often. Or ever. 

“Takeout again?” Yuuri asks when he enters the living room. Victor looks up from where he’s scanning through a menu in his hand, phone already propped up in his hand. 

“Fancy an açai bowl? I’ll let you add dark chocolate shavings.” He waggles his eyebrows. 

Yuuri snorts and reaches over to take the menu, leaves a kiss on Victor’s forehead along the way. “How about we cook something?” 

Victor grins at him and pulls out another menu from the stack of mail under the coffee table. “Well, we don’t have to have açai. How about uh…” He squints. “Falafel?” When Yuuri raises an eyebrow at him, he produces another. “Chinese?” Another. “Katsudon? Kidding,” he says quickly. “No good katsudon here.” 

Yuuri smiles sweetly at him and plucks the menus out of his hands. “We could cook katsudon,” he suggests. 

Victor shakes his head. “You haven’t won a competition yet.” 

“Something else then.” Yuuri waves a hand, but Victor’s already shaking his head again. Yuuri sighs, a bit exasperated. “Victor. Why don’t you…” A memory resurfaces in his mind, and understanding dawns on him. “Oh. Oh.”

“What?” Victor shifts in his seat as Makkachin jumps on the couch. 

“You’re a terrible cook,” Yuuri exclaims, snapping his fingers. 

Victor stiffens. “I wouldn’t say I’m terrible.” 

“You are! You tried to make me borscht that one time after the Cup of China, and it was horrible!” Yuuri says. He claps his hands on his cheeks. “Oh my god, and I told you it was bad, didn’t I?” 

Victor exhales loudly and collapses against the couch cushions, throwing an arm over his face. “And your sister tried some and said I’d never get married,” he says, voice muffled against his sleeve. 

Yuuri can’t help the giggle that bursts from his mouth. He gently removes Victor’s arm and smiles down at him. “How about we leave the cooking to me, then, yeah? No more takeout.” 

“Can I… help with the grocery shopping?” Victor asks, staring up at him with round, hopeful eyes. He perks up a bit. “Grocery date?” 

“It’s a date,” Yuuri repeats, bringing his hand up to his mouth and kissing the inside of his wrist. 

anonymous asked:

(hey sweetums!!) could i get a "please talk to me?" with jeonghan for your anti-writer's block exercise?

pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader
genre & theme: romance, drama, biker gang!jeonghan, dystopia
words: 1,412
warnings: violence


The days bleed into each other. There are no windows in your cell, or in the hallways, or in the interrogation room. When at last you’ve realized that the holding area is beneath ground, you’ve waited too long, lost concept of time. Have you been sitting in the corner of your small, grey room for ten minutes, or ten hours? When did a guard last come with food? When did you last shower?

The heavy metal door slides open, so quietly and carefully that you might have missed it had you not already been staring in that direction. For a moment you wonder if you’ve simply gone deaf, if the prolonged exposure to nothingness has made you lose your mind.

As such, it’s almost a relief when the armed, masked man steps in; boots heavy and grimy against the neat tiles of the floor, speaks in low, muffled tones from beneath his mask. “It’s time.”

You stare at him. Here, he expects you to get up. To push yourself to your bare feet and demurely follow him out of the cell. The cold metal of your handcuffs bites at your wrists, the fabric of your dull, grey garment itches at your skin. You do not move. If they think you’ll walk gladly, easily to your doom, they are sorely mistaken.

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anonymous asked:

"Don't be an ass."

Full disclosure, I was tipsy when I wrote this.

“I can take you here.” The cashier said as he walked over to the register closest to Draco.

Draco, who had been blatantly staring, stood there for a moment. His eyes roamed the dark haired man, slightly irked that the counter cut off his view to the lower half of him. The cashier waved a bit, raising a brow half in confusion and half in amusement.

“I said, ‘I can take you here,’” he repeated as Blaise nudged Draco forward.

“Oh, uh-” Draco stammered, stepping up to the counter.

Blaise smirked, “I bet he could.”

Draco sent a glare his way before setting his items on the counter, hoping to the heavens that tall, dark and handsome didn’t connect the comment with his slightly innuendos offer to help them. He looked up and swore inwardly as the cashier blushed slightly and started to scan the price tags. Damnit, Blaise.

“So, what’s your name, handsome?” Blaise said from behind Draco.

“Er, Harry.”

“Cute name. Bet it would sound cuter if this piece said it.” He nodded at Draco, his smirk spreading into a grin.

“Shut it, Zabini. Leave him alone.” Draco said hurriedly, watching in horror as Harry’s face flushed even redder.

“My bad, my bad.” Blaise put up his hands in feigned surrender. “I just thought, with the way you were looking at him, I could set something up. But you’re obviously not interested. Me, on the other hand…” He leaned onto the counter, flashing the now very flustered man a sultry smile.

“Okay, enough. Out. I’ll meet you outside the store.” Draco said through gritted teeth, pushing Blaise as far towards the exit he could without leaving the line. Blaise merely laughed and sent Harry a departing wink before walking out of the building.

Draco turned back around, fuming. “Sorry about him. He just started following me. Don’t know him.”

Harry, to Draco’s surprise, chuckled, his red cheeks still apparent under his bronze skin. He finished ringing Draco up and handed him his shopping bag. Before Draco could turn to leave and punch Blaise square in the stomach, Harry called out to him.

“Wait, don’t forget your receipt.” He slid the thin paper towards him, the backside face up with a phone number scribbled onto it. Draco blinked before looking up at him, slack jawed.

“In case he bothers you again,” Harry grinned, then winked.

Draco nodded slowly, grabbing the receipt and fast walking to the exit, his face heating up to extreme temperatures.

“So?” Blaise looked at Draco expectantly once he was out the door.

Draco sniffed haughtily, stuffing the phone number into his back pocket, “None of your business, Blaise. I’m not speaking to you.”

“He gave you his digits, didn’t he?” He paused, a dangerous expression forming on his face. “I mean, his phone number. The other would be far too inappropriate for this type of establishment-”

“Oh, piss off, Zabini!” Draco glared, the corners of his lips turning up to betray him.

Blaise grinned, “You’re welcome.”

“Whatever,” Draco huffed, walking past him and holding back his smile. He glanced over to the shop window and caught Harry staring at him through the glass. They held each other’s eyes for a moment before looking away, new blushes creeping up their necks. Draco quickly grabbed his phone and the phone number.

This better not be a fake number.

He looked up to see Harry glance at his phone and grin. Draco’s phone buzzed.

What are you doing tonight?

Draco bit his lip to keep Blaise from seeing his smile, but before he could respond Blaise was behind him and whispering, “Say, ‘you, hopefully.’” He swatted at him then glanced back to Harry, who was suddenly being scolded by his apparent boss.

“Whoops. Someone got distracted.” Blaise chuckled.

Draco watched them through the window until Harry was left with a guilty expression and a handful of products to organize back into the store. He turned and smiled once he saw Draco was still there. He waved his phone quickly and pressed it against his lips in a shushing gesture before walking away from the window.

“Boy, he sure wants to talk to you.”

“Don’t be an ass, Zabini,” Draco said, his tone far from chastising. A warmth spread through his body as he felt his phone buzz in his palm.

Four Word Prompts

legend-waitforit-harry  asked:

"Wanna go out sometime?"

I just finished writing this and I have to admit that if this happened to me I would faint on the spot. I kinda proud. Under the cut cause it turned out longer than i intended. 

Prepare for a great friend Amber, a shy y/n and a very confident, and coffee lover Harry.

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dreamworrks  asked:

if you haven't done it: "I can’t trust you" + romione. I'm really curious to see what you do with it :)

Thank you for this prompt! I seem to have forgotten what “drabble” means lately because this is 1200+ words but in any case, I hope you like it! 💕


Shell Cottage was beautiful, and tranquil, and best of all, safe - as safe as a house could be these days - but it could barely contain all of its houseguests. Hermione would never be able to adequately express her gratitude to Bill and Fleur for their hospitality, as she was dreading the return to life in a tent, but that didn’t change the fact that Luna talked in her sleep, mostly in languages Hermione didn’t understand (though once she was positive it was Mermish), and sharing a room with her meant that Hermione lately was not predisposed to much actual sleep. Most nights, it was just as well. Closing her eyes meant she felt a knife against her neck, a curse ripping through her bones, Ron screaming from below, so close and yet dreadfully far.

It was just past one in the morning when Hermione determined that she’d had rather enough of tossing and turning in bed, and tiptoed down to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of ice water would be all she needed to ease the whirring in her brain, the constant rumination over the floor plan of Gringotts, the logistics of impersonating Death Eaters, the sheer absurdity of trying to rob a bank - or maybe not, but a change of scenery couldn’t hurt.

When she crept down the stairs, though, there was a light flickering in the doorway. She stepped inside to see Ron at the wooden table with an enormous carton of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans in front of him and a lantern lit in the corner.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted her, a soft smile on his face. “Did you want a midnight snack too?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep.” She crossed the room to fetch a glass from the cupboard, using her wand to fill it up. “And it’s well past midnight, you know.”

“Yeah, well, it was midnight when I came in here,” he replied, gesturing for her to join him at the table.

“You’ve been sitting here for a whole hour?” asked Hermione as she seated herself across from him.

“I reckoned I could lie in the sitting room and stress out, or come in here and stress out, and at least here there’s food, look what I found,” he said with a little laugh, gesturing to the candy in front of him. “You want some?”

“No,” Hermione answered with amusement, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you eat those not knowing if you’ll get one that’s good or repulsive or-”

“I’m an expert now, though,” Ron explained with a mirthful note in his voice. “I can tell what’s what now, I’m highly skilled in candy identification.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah, here, I’ll prove it.” He tipped over the carton so that beans poured out over the surface of the table and studied them. “Try this one,” he said, using his pointer finger to slide a bright green one over to her. “It’s lime.”

Briefly, Hermione thought of what her parents would think of eating candy in the middle of the night, but then shoved that notion out of her mind. They were Monica and Wendell now, and they were in Australia, and she was here with Ron to try to accomplish this task that seemed more insurmountable by the day. And if it helped, even a little, to play along with him, she would.

Tentatively she popped the candy into her mouth, instantly grimacing as she bit down.

“That tastes like grass,” she sputtered, choking it down and trying to pick the sticky remnants out of her teeth.

Ron merely quirked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked freshly cut grass.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped: he had remembered. They’d been studying for their Potions final late last year, during those lazy afternoon hours when Harry had been otherwise occupied with Ginny, when Ron had asked Hermione what Amortentia had smelled like to her. “New parchment, freshly cut grass, and - and spearmint toothpaste,” she had lied, because there was no way she could tell him that she’d smelled him in the potion. And when she’d turned the question back his way, he had just laughed, said “mostly chocolate”, and turned their book to the page on Felix Felicis. But more and more lately - and especially since Malfoy Manor - she suspected that he too had not been entirely truthful.

“To smell, not to eat,” Hermione retorted, recovering quickly. “That was disgusting.”

“Okay, try this one, this one’s coffee,” Ron said as he dropped a brown one into her palm.

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm hmm,” Ron nodded, the corner of his mouth crooking upward.

Eyeing him warily, Hermione took a small nibble off the end and almost gagged. “I think it’s meant to be beef.”

“Oh, sorry,” he grinned, plainly not apologetic at all, as Hermione’s jaw dropped in indignation and she leaned across the table to smack him on the arm.

“You’re such a prat,” she reprimanded playfully. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Course not.” Scanning the mess of candy on the table, he selected a bright red jelly bean and presented it to her on his outstretched palm as though it were on a silver platter. “This one’s strawberry. I promise.”

“No, no, I’m not eating that,” said Hermione, “it’s probably something like blood or chili pepper or something, I can’t trust you!”

The kitchen fell silent, her haphazard declaration ringing in the air. Ron froze, his mouth half open, and then withdrew his hand.

“Right,” he mumbled, averting his eyes to the brightly decorated carton on the table. “Right.”

“No, Ron - I didn’t mean - I was only joking,” she rushed to explain, “because you’ve given me such bad flavors so far-”

“You can, though,” he said quietly in the general direction of his hands. “You know. Trust me. I mean, I understand why you don’t, and I wouldn’t either, and I don’t expect anything to be how it was, but…” Moonlight slanting across his features, Ron fixed his gaze on Hermione. “I am never going to hurt you again.”

She reached out one small hand and placed it over his, squeezing lightly. At her touch, his expression softened, some of the tension seeping out of him.

“I know that,” she whispered, her heart rate accelerating as he turned over his hand and let their fingers lace together.

“And I’ll promise you something else, too,” Ron added seriously.

“What’s that?”

With his free hand, he pointed to the abandoned red jelly bean. “That will not taste like chili peppers.”

“Let’s give it a try, then,” Hermione said, silently grateful that he’d broken the tension. Still clinging to his hand, she picked up the candy and popped it into her mouth.

“What is it?” asked Ron warily. “Tomatoes? Cinnamon? Blood?”

“No.” Despite it all, Hermione smiled at him, her first genuine one in what felt like months. “Strawberry.”

Ron laughed. “I made you a promise, I kept it.”


you can find more four word prompts here!

swiftgirl01  asked:

Will you marry me Victuuri 😉 kings in couture for the four word prompt.

four word prompts

Victor sticks his head out of his private office. “Yuuri, could you grab me the—” 

“Mockup for the cover? I uploaded a digital copy onto your cloud already,” Yuuri tells him. 

“Oh.” Victor blinks at him. “Did you also attach—”

“Mario’s notes? Yeah, that’s there, too,” Yuuri says. He looks a bit sheepish. “I hope it’s not confusing to read. I went ahead and cross-referenced them with the questions you had sent him about the coloring, but I can re-format it, if you’d like.” 

“Wow,” Victor breathes. “Will you marry me?” 

Yuuri gives a small laugh, red quickly coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears. This is the part where Victor flashes him a wink and leaves him to collapse into his chest. 

“You’re a godsend.” Victor winks and ducks back into his office. 


Mila tsks quietly from where she’s working across the room. “It’s like he doesn’t even notice I make his coffee perfectly every single time.” She points a finger at Yuuri. “Don’t let him fool you with that Costa Rican bean crap. Remember, it’s a dark Pike Place roast with…” 

“Two sugars and a splash of milk,” Yuuri finishes with a tired smile. He glances through the glass wall where Victor’s clicking away on his computer with immense concentration, one brow furrowed and a finger to his lips. “Yeah. I remember.” 


one shots:

stories with multiple parts:

four word prompts:

drabble challenge

pls let me know if any of the links are broken!

anonymous asked:

You always this quiet? + soonyoung bby <3

pairing: kwon soonyung x reader
genre & theme: romance, dystopian-ish, soulmate au kinda?
words: 500
warnings: none


The boy diverts his eyes, fingers bent and clutching at his own hands. Calling him a boy might be a disservice, really; his shoulders are broad and his jawline is sharp. He is a grown man, no doubt about it, but the way he refuses to look at you, his body hunched and his body language tense, makes him seem more like a child.

Kwon Soonyoung, he’s called. This man who has been nothing but words on paper and childhood photographs for the past six months is called Soonyoung and he smells vaguely of lavender.

100%, they’d said. A perfect match. Your soulmate.

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chasingchaos12  asked:

"Honestly, just stop it."

I have a stock pile of these prompts in my asks that I use to fight my writers block. This is the latest one. Feel free to send me any  Four Word Prompts should you see one that intrigues you.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not-”

“You are. Honestly, just stop it.”

“Stop what? I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re keeping things from me again. Look at me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Harry looked up at Draco, his jaw set in that stubborn way it did. Draco only ever hated it when they were being serious. This was one of those serious times.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” He repeated when Harry looked away again.

“… You won’t like it.” Harry mumbled, his jaw clenching and unclenching. It made Draco want to nip at his chin to keep it still.

“I don’t like half the things you tell me.” Draco challenged. He tightened his grip around the other’s waist, leaning back against the cold dungeon wall. They were nestled in a dark corner just a few turns from Draco’s common room. No one usually came around and it was too dark for anyone to recognize them anyways.

“This one you’ll hate.” Harry sighed, resting his head in Draco’s chest.

Draco rolled his eyes. He hated being in this role. The Composed One. That was Harry’s job, taking care of him when Draco was being a bit too over emotional. Shushing him with reassurances and soft chuckles.

“Try me,” Draco drawled.

Harry groaned, rubbing his head into Draco’s shirt and messing his hair up even more (if that was possible).

“Okay… I want to stop hiding this.” Harry looked up, his eyes bold and earnest. “Us. I want to be able to talk about you to my friends. I want to be able to point across the room and say, ‘Well, my boyfriend thinks otherwise’. I want to be able to tell people you’ll kick their arse if they keep coming on to me. I want to be able to kiss you in fucking well lit areas.”

Draco blinked, blushing slightly at his candor. Really, he should be used to it by now. He sighed, “Harry, you think I don’t want that, too? I just don’t think it would be wise, considering.”

“Is it the gay thing?” Harry asked accusatorily.

A sharp, loud “ha!” escaped him. He shook his head, “Potter, if it was the ‘gay thing’ I wouldn’t have fooled around with Marcus Flint in an empty classroom right next to Professor Binn’s History of-” He stopped short when he noticed Harry’s dark expression and cleared his throat, “Anyways, I’m more worried about the whole used-to-be-mortal-enemies type issue; what with you being The Boy Who Lived and I being the oh so evil Slytherin.”

Harry smirked, “Well, we could change your title to The Boy Who Snogs The Boy Who Lived.”

“Hm, tempting,” Draco snorted, leaning forward to brush his lips against the others. Harry pulled back before he could give him a proper kiss.

“So?” Harry had hope in his eyes. Damn hero prat.

Draco wrinkled his nose, “I feel like it’s a bad idea… Well, more like dangerous.”

Harry shrugged. “I feel like that’s kinda my thing. Besides, we can start of small. Tell our friends and go from there.”

Draco imagined Pansy’s shocked face and Blaise’s quiet, disappointed glare. He shuddered.

“Okay, maybe just my friends.” Harry conceded. “But I promise we’ll be careful about it. And I swear, I won’t just barrel into the whole thing.”

He gave a breathy laugh, hanging his head, “Look, if I say yes, can we get back to the task at hand?”

Harry grinned and wrapped his arms around the other’s neck, nudging his nose against Draco’s cheek. Their lips came together, open and warm. They pulled at each other gently. The give and take of their tongues was painfully soft. Always on the brink of something rougher, harder. Harry sighed in his mouth, making a shiver go up Draco’s spine.

“Imagine doing this in the Great Hall,” Harry chuckled softly against his lips. “All the people we’d piss off.”

The corners of Draco’s lips turned up. “Focus, Potter.”

Harry grinned again, moving his mouth to Draco’s jaw line. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

anonymous asked:

"you look really tired" for victuuri? maybe fluffy? but I won't tell you what to do if you have a different vision haha

this is going to be in the verse of the royalty au :) 

four word prompts

“Ready?” Yuuri asks. His horse, Katashi, whinnies beneath him, and he reaches forward to soothingly stroke a gloved hand through his mane. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Victor says indignantly. “‘Course I do.” His own horse, Maxima, trots back and forth, hooves digging into the dirt while she readies for the signal. It’s loud behind them, probably, where the people are watching in the stands. It seems like half the kingdom’s gone out to see them, which is probably true—the other half are at home waiting with their betting stubs. Blue for Yuuri, red for Victor. There are a lot of flags, courtesy of the Nishigori triplets, but from this distance the colors blur together. All Victor can see is purple.

“You look really tired,” Yuuri sing-songs. “You know, this all could end if you would just…”

Victor grits his teeth and tightens his grip on the reins. “No. I’m going to win.”

Yuuri laughs in response, big and bright. Not mocking; it’s fond. As is the look he’s giving Victor now as he smiles, relaxed and easy. It hits Victor now as he stares back at him, the exhaustion. Victor knows Yuuri was just teasing, but he does feel tired. One month of planning and preparing for a race so that you can win the love of your life’s hand in marriage does that to you.

The stress from watching the love of your life prepare for the same race with the intent of beating you does that to you, too, though.

The stakes are high. Winner gets to do the proposal, after all. Yuuri’s stint with the Makkachin-shaped fireworks doesn’t count. It doesn’t get to count.

If you’d just accept my proposal, Yuuri was going to say earlier. Yeah, right. Victor didn’t spend eighteen months ticking off box after box to be proposed to.

In the distance, the marksman aims the pistol towards the sun.

“Break a leg.”

“I love you.”

“Win for me.”

“I’m winning for me, so I can win you.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “You’re a big baby.”


anonymous asked:

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” | vernon

pairing: chwe hansol vernon x reader
genre & theme: romance, friends with benefits
words: 547
warnings: none


Hansol wakes up. 

He opens his eyes, squint into the darkness until his sight adjusts. In his right ear, he can hear breathing; soft and quiet and soothing. The sound sends tingles along his spine, makes the edges of his mouth tug into a smile. He shifts on the bed, twists around, tries to make as little sound as possible.

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sebastianevans  asked:

"Don't be fucking rude."

Stiles was fuming. He was the ‘hold me back’, seeing red, might Hulk out, kind of angry. “Who the fuck keyed my Jeep?”

The parking lot outside of Beacon Hills High School was frighteningly quiet, he could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he looked at the key marks. Whoever had done it had cut through the paint and into the metal, it wouldn’t be a cheap fix and it looked like it had taken some real strength.

“I hate to tell you this,” Scott whispered, “But they slashed your back tires too.”

“What the FUCK,” Stiles all but screamed. He had been having such a great day too. Well he had been having a great week actually, someone would fucking key his car and slash his tires on a Friday after one of his best weeks ever.

He was about to grab his baseball bat out of the back of the Jeep and start smashing something when a warm hand squeezed the back of his neck. He turned to see Derek standing next to him, his shoulder almost touching Stiles’.

“There are cameras by the front of the school, they’ll find whoever did it,” Derek told him. The mere presence of Derek helped Stiles calm down a little, “Just take a breath, I think Lydia already called the police.”

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tendersquishyjaime  asked:

"Is that my shirt?"- character of your choice

If it had been for Thorin, he would not have stayed in Rivendale at all. In fact he would not even have gone there in the first place.
But now they were here and even though he silently still wondered how much of Gandalf’s active doing had them stranding in this place, Thorin Oakenshield prouded himself to be a dwarf of enough reason to know a necessity when he faced one – and act accordingly.

And if being somewhat civil with Elrond and the other elves was what was necessary to gather further information, he certainly could do that with stoic calm and majestic confidence.

But Thorin had to admit, the stay at Rivendale, voluntarily or not, seemed to have some good effects on the company’s morale. They all had a chance to see healers, get treatment, rest, a bath or two, good food - well that one had been debatable until Fili and Kili joined one of the elven patrols to bring real food. Rabbits and deer and even a boar once from the woods for them all to feast on.

And another thing made Thorin’s mind more at ease these days even though he would not have admitted it under torture and pain.

Waking up next to her.
For once not having to keep some distance for modesty while traveling and everyone settling around the same camp fire at night. They had been given rooms opposite to each other and none of the others had their chambers anywhere close. Sneaking into each other’s room had been inevitable and for once he felt young and almost blithe, not being burdened so much. They had their quarrels, still. So many of them. But they never fell asleep without having settled an argument and a last kiss.

Usually they tried to be the first ones to wake up so they could part their secret nightly companionship without haste. Today they had overslept and when they opened their eyes, still closely entangled into each other as they had fallen asleep, the sun was already up and the calm cheerful sounds of a usual morning in an elven realm hosting a company of more than a dozen dwarves was what greeted them.

They cursed in one voice, looked at each other and fell back into the pillows chuckling together, ending up in another passionate kiss.

“Now let’s get up, they might be already busy with breakfast and there will be meetings I’ll have to attend anytime soon.” Thorin shoved her out of bed and followed her on foot. Their clothes were spread wildly all over the place and they both were collecting their stuff to get dressed as fast as possible. She was already done dressing while he still was pulling one leg out of his breeches so he could actually slip into it.

“See you in a bit, love. And I can’t wait for the night coming.” She murmured into a last soft kiss before she was off. As swiftly as always. Barely footsteps, no noises of a opening or closing door, she really could sneak like a ghost. And getting dressed faster than light Thorin mused and grinned as he still looked onto the now closed door through which she had disappeared a moment ago.

Finally having found his way back into his pants, he briefly looked around but was so impatient to search further and probably had to crawl under the bed to find his missing piece of clothing, He would take care later but for now he pulled his spare shirt from his bundle and put it on.

It appeared to him, when he finally attended the breakfast table where the others were almost done eating, that he would probably not have to crawl under his bed later to find missing garments.

“Is that my shirt?” He whispered with an amused grin and he loved the flustered look on her face when she gazed down on herself and actually blushed.


potterposts001  asked:

Can you shut up?

So, real talk… I totally thought this was a random mean message when I first saw it, but this quote is on the four word prompts list, and thought I’d respond with fic regardless… so I hope you enjoy it!

Warning: Shell Cottage. And I’m not even sorry.


Can You Shut Up?

Every muscle in Hermione’s body ached, still, and though Fleur had said it could take weeks for her to fully recover, it was still frustrating. She was exhausted, constantly, and yet every time she laid down to rest, she was assaulted with memories of a cold marble floor, a knife slicing her skin, Ron screaming her name… and sleep just wouldn’t come. Even on the nights when Ron dozed in a small wooden chair at her bedside, his long limbs crammed into the rickety furniture - his own way of showing her that he was never leaving her again - she still couldn’t manage more than an hour or two each night.

“There’s got to be a way, right, that we can still use the sword?” Harry was saying during another one of their clandestine meetings. On the floor sat a crudely-drawn map of Gringotts between the three of them, the occasional note scribbled on the parchment. “What if we just destroy the Horcrux on the spot, the second we find it?”

Hermione leaned back against the wall next to Ron and then, on second thought, tilted toward him so that their shoulders touched. He looked down at her, his eyes asking a silent question, and Hermione nodded just slightly. He always wanted to make sure she was okay, that she wasn’t in pain, but he already worried about her so much already. She didn’t want to let on that her eyelids felt like there were little weights on the ends of them, dragging them down.

And yet something, maybe the warmth in his gaze, maybe the fact that Harry was distracted by poring over their map, compelled her to rest her head on his shoulder. Lately - and maybe she was just exhausted from being inside her own head all the time - it had become more and more difficult to hold herself back from him. As their plan to retrieve whichever Horcrux resided in the Lestrange vault developed, and as such revealed itself to essentially be a suicide mission, it just seemed silly not to give in to these moments between them.

And anyway, Harry likely wouldn’t have noticed if they’d begun openly snogging right in front of him, so there was really no harm in innocently cozying up next to Ron…

So as Harry prattled on about logistics, and what the Horcrux may or may not do when they attempt to destroy it (“the ring was cursed, we can’t forget about things like that”), she gave in to her leaden eyelids. Ron’s hand briefly patted hers and gave it a soft squeeze before releasing it, and Hermione felt herself relax. Ron was here. She could sense his body heat, smell his hair, feel the vibration of his voice as he spoke to Harry, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Since Christmas, he had proven that a thousand times over.

“I suppose we probably can’t destroy the Horcrux while we’re still in the vault,” Harry mused, seemingly to himself, “not if we’re trying to get in and out unnoticed - though if we don’t give it a chance to fight back-“

“Harry,” Ron hissed suddenly, “can you shut up?”


Hermione felt Ron’s body tense up, but she kept her eyes closed, her breathing steady.

“I’m sorry,” Ron continued, his voice low. “I know this is important, and I want this to work as much as you do - but it’s just…” His chest rose and fell as he let out a sigh. “Hermione doesn’t sleep. I know because - because I don’t really either, I just pretend while she tosses and turns or has nightmares and - and there’s not a lot I can do, okay, so if she’s sleeping now… just let her, please.”

There was silence, and Hermione allowed herself a split-second to open her eyes, during which time she saw the expression on Harry’s face soften.

“You both should sleep,” said Harry finally. “I need the pair of you to be okay.”

“Don’t fancy impersonating a Death Eater?”

A pause, and then Harry’s voice. “You know that’s not how I meant it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” said Harry, “and we can talk about all of this tomorrow.”

The soft click of the doorknob told Hermione that they were alone, and she picked up her head.

“Did he wake you up?” Ron asked immediately, annoyance in his tone. “I tried to tell him-“

“I wasn’t sleeping,” said Hermione quietly.

“Oh.” Ron’s ears turned pink. “Well - did you want to try to sleep? Because I can go.”

“I do,” she nodded. “But you can stay.” They must have had matching blushes on their faces, Hermione thought as she spoke her next words. “I want you to stay.”

As she clambered onto the bed, Ron situated himself in his usual chair, shifting around in a poorly-disguised attempt to make himself comfortable.

“Ron,” said Hermione, sitting up against the headboard and patting the narrow stretch of duvet next to her thighs. “You can sleep here if you want.”

“Er - really?”

Hermione calmly met his gaze, trying to act like sleeping beside each other for the first time was of no significance, but this was far more than an accidental nap on the Gryffindor common room sofa. This was the two of them purposefully choosing to share a bed, and a rather small one at that… but she knew what she wanted.

“Yes,” she said. “I expect I’ll sleep better with you next to me. Really next to me.“

“Say no more,” replied Ron, vacating his chair and joining her on the mattress.

Hermione shifted around until her head rested on the pillow, turning onto her left side so that her back was aimed at Ron. He followed suit, his hand trembling as he moved to drape an arm loosely around her waist. Despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins at the contact, Hermione also felt a sense of deep calm come over her, as though somewhere, deep in her core, she knew this was exactly where she needed to be.

“Well,” Ron said, sounding breathless, “I’m really glad I told Harry off now.”

“So am I,” Hermione responded, letting her eyes fall shut again.


you can find more four word prompts here!

anonymous asked:

"Don't be fucking rude!" please? xx

enemies to lovers is my ultimate kink goodbye

There were no words to describe just how much I hated Harry Styles. The way he dressed like an off duty model, the way he never cut his goddamn hair, the way he always got what he wanted. I had begged our director not to cast him in the role opposite me.

“I’ll do anything, please, give another guy a chance.”

She raised her eyebrows at me, “I’ll give another guy a chance when they get as good as Harry.” I sighed and closed my eyes as she continued. “We don’t give handouts in the theater and we certainly don’t let our disdain for other actors get in the way of our art. So be professional, I expect more from you than this petty nonsense.”

“Yes ma'am.” I murmured as I looked over her shoulder at Harry who was talking to some of his friends, laughing about something he had said that I’m sure wasn’t funny as he picked his satchel up off the ground and threw it over his shoulder.

Harry knew I hated him. It wasn’t a secret. He also knew he would get this role and we would have to play lovers. He knew I would rather die than play someone who was supposed to be in love with him. And he auditioned for the role anyway, winking right at me when he announced which role he wanted. Fucking wanker.


We did our first scene together the next day, scripts in hand as we proclaimed our love for each other. In my head I was thinking of absolutely anything else, like what I was going to eat for dinner tonight.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Our director yelled as Harry leaned in to kiss me. I tried not to slump in relief. “I feel nothing.” She threw her hands up in the air, “I picked the two of you because you’re the best I have and I thought you could overcome your differences–”

Harry and I immediately started babbling, trying to defend ourselves, talking over one another.

“Enough!” She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “The two of you are going to do an exercise together to work on your intimacy.”

“Fantastic.” Harry muttered sarcastically. “I don’t need to do this exercise,” He said louder, “She’s the one who clearly zones out when doing scenes with me it’s like she’s not even there.”

I started to defend myself but she said, “Then maybe you should try to be more captivating, Harry, honestly I almost fell asleep myself listening to you.” I snickered and Harry glared at me, “You’ll both do the exercise or I recast the both of you.” We started to protest but she held up a hand, “If one of you can’t do it you both lose your parts. Work together.”

I was furious. I couldn’t believe this idiot was going to make me lose my role.

“Now, the exercise.” She clapped her hands together, “Props! Get me some blankets and pillows!”

I already did not like where this was going and I could see the look of horror mirrored on Harry’s face as we watched the props team set up a makeshift bed in the middle of the stage.

“I want the two of you to lay down under those blankets like you’re husband and wife and I want you to talk to each other. I don’t have to hear it, no one in this room has to hear it, but I want you to talk. I’ll know if you didn’t do it right so don’t even try to fake it.”

I looked around the room at the rest of the cast and crew, “…With everyone watching?”

She rolled her eyes, “Everyone take a twenty minute break!” She announced and everyone dispersed, leaving us alone on the stage. She soundlessly pointed to the blankets and pillows and turned away from us.

Harry and I glared at each other for a few moments, “Are you going to do this or are you going to continue acting like a child who throws a tantrum when she doesn’t get her way?”

I rolled my eyes and walked towards the blankets, “Don’t be fucking rude.”

“Maybe if you were nice to me I wouldn’t be,” Harry said sitting down next me, “You know, most people like me, I’m still not sure why you don’t.”

“It must really kill your ego that I don’t like you, huh?” I settled onto the pillow, Harry following after me, facing each other on the ground. “The one girl in the whole world who won’t get on her knees for you.”

“Not close enough!” Our director yelled from the audience.

I sighed and scooted closer to Harry.

“Put your arm around her! Jesus, you’re in love for Christ’s sake.”

Harry sighed and put his arm around me, pulling me close enough so I could feel his breath on my face. “Only girl who won’t get on her knees for me, but didn’t take much to get you into bed.” Despite myself, I laughed and our foreheads touched. “Ah, she has a sense of humor after all.”

I stopped laughing, “I’ve always had a sense of humor, you’re just not funny.”

“Why aren’t you touching him, Y/N?” I sighed at the sound of her voice before resting a hand on his cheek, lightly scratching against the stubble on his jaw.

He smirked at me, the smug asshole. “That feels nice.”

I resisted the urge to slap him and instead took a deep breath. “Come on, it’s not that bad pretending to be in love with me.” He squeezed my waist. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent lover.” He whispered in my ear, sending chills down my spine. “Let yourself fall in love with me for a minute.” He said and his voice was so soothing I closed my eyes. “I could fall in love with you. I’ve thought about it sometimes, when I watch you onstage. You’re so incredibly talented, you’ve brought me to tears more than once. I’ve always wanted to act opposite you even though you hated me.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, I was so still, I wasn’t entirely sure I was breathing. “And those lips…” He pulled back from my ear until his forehead touched mine, “I’ve thought about kissing them more times than I care to admit.”

I stared at him, suddenly conscious of every place his skin touched mine. “This is all part of the exercise, right?” I whispered.

He blinked. Instead of answering his finger reached up to graze my cheek and then cupped behind my neck before pulling me to him, our lips colliding gently at first as they explored unfamiliar territory. He was a nice kisser. He had soft lips and knew when to speed up movements, when to pull me closer, when to nibble on my lip and I was breathless when he finally pulled away. His eyes were wild as he looked at me, thumb still idly stroking my cheek.

“Of course.” He breathed. “Just for the exercise.” But he made no move to pull away from me and instead rubbed his thumb over my lower lip.

yuurisoutofyourleague  asked:

You wanted rare pairs okay uhm Seungchuchu and "You always this quiet "

this is inspired by love language :) (four word prompts)

The boy who takes a seat next to him at the bus stop is loud. At least, he looks loud. His hands are expressive, moving in round gestures and waving this way and that as he chatters away into his cellphone. His eyes crinkle in amusement at some point, in response to whatever funny thing the person at the other end has told him, and Seunggil realizes he’s probably staring. Actually he’s definitely staring, if the sideways glance the boy shoots him is any indication.

Staring is rude, he’s learned.

His eyes tear away and try to re-focus on the book in his hands. He’s halfway down the page when he realizes he’s not actually read anything. He grumbles, but before he can restart, there’s a finger tapping his shoulder.

He startles and catches the tail-end of a sentence the boy is saying. “Uh, sorry?” Seunggil asks. He tries to ignore the irrational guilt and embarrassment that shoots through him every time he has to ask someone to repeat themselves. 

Fortunately, the boy takes it all in stride. “You always this quiet?” his lips seem to read. He’s so expressive, eyebrows jumping on his forehead and his upper body pressing weight on his right arm as he leans toward Seunggil. “I see ya here a lot.”

It takes Seunggil a beat to form a response. “You do?”

“Malcolm Gladwell boy who takes the five-thirty downtown,” the boy says, gesturing at The Tipping Point in Seunggil’s hands. He brightens and reaches into the pocket of his basketball shorts. “But I’m glad I caught you now. You dropped this last week. I tried calling to you but you were boarding the bus and then the doors closed.”

He drops the earphones into Seunggil’s lap when he takes too long just looking at him. “Um. Thank you,” Seunggil mumbles.

“You’re welcome,” the boy says. He winks. “Bet you missed it, huh? You were always listening away…” He grins. “What’s your favorite song?”

Seunggil has to look away. “It’s nothing special…” When he summons the courage to look back up, he struggles to catch the words in time again. “Sorry?”

“I wanna hear,” the boy repeats, bright smile not breaking once.

Seunggil stares at him again. Wordlessly, he plugs the earphones into the jack on his phone and offers him one earbud. His mouth quirks up like he’s squealing, and he scootches closer, presses himself against Seunggil’s side as he sticks the earbud in one ear.

Everything about him is so loud, and Seunggil wonders if the traffic around them weren’t so bad if maybe he’d actually catch the sound of this guy’s voice. Seunggil understands a bit better now, the concept of loudness, after it became lost to him so long ago that he forgets when it was exactly that he stopped being able to hear.

(October 27th. The ringing started. November 13th. Diagnosis complete.)

(But that’s neither here nor there.)

Seunggil is a bit of a masochist, maybe, and he watches with morbid fascination as the boy’s smile fades from his face as he realizes nothing’s playing through the earphones.

“It’s nothing special,” Seunggil tells him again. He moves to take back the earbud but a hand stops him, trails down his arm to lace their fingers together and squeeze.

“I wanna hear,” the boy repeats also, and his smile is back, his smile is the same if not brighter, and this time Seunggil doesn’t bother watching his lips as the boy starts talking about something else. Seunggil’s hand is still in his, and he catches words like “hamster” “viral” and a word that he doesn’t recognize, something that shapes itself like the word “worry.” He’s a bit too busy processing everything else, though; the laugh dimples in the boy’s cheek, the way he pushes his fringe to the side every few minutes just for it to sweep back into his eyes again. 

This is how the boy speaks and gradually, Seunggil relaxes against the boy’s side, and listens.