Harry shuffles some papers around the desk. He folds some parchment into neat squares. He lines his textbook up with the table edge. He checks the stash of ink bottles in his bag. He ruffles and then straightens the feather of his quill. He engraves circles into his textbook with his wand. He flicks his hair away from his eyes. He kicks the table leg. He pops his knuckles.
Ron finally raises his head, and a questioning eyebrow, annoyed, and fed up of his friend’s fussing. Harry just shakes his head. He can’t concentrate. He is sorry for being so twitchy. But he can’t help it. And it’s all Malfoy’s fault.
They must have gotten carried away last night. They met in the Astronomy Tower. Midnight, sharp. Just like they do most nights. They stayed there for some time. No insults were hurled, no wands were drawn, no skin was tarnished. Well…
Draco is sitting prettily at his desk, (he always looks pretty), in the middle of Transfigurations, with a rather large, rosy-red bruise on his neck. On the left, close to his ear. It’s right below that adorable mole.
Harry can’t stop himself from looking. He doesn’t want to stop himself from looking. But every time he glances in that direction he has to grind his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut tightly. He can hardly believe it. He doesn’t believe it. Malfoy always spells away his hickeys.
Harry loves giving hickeys. (Hickey - what a hideous word). Almost as much as he loves receiving them. But Malfoy spells them away, always. Harry likes to make sure Draco hides one, lower down, on Harry’s collarbone. Just so that he can walk about, knowing it is there, a constant reminder that Draco is his, that he is Draco’s. That this is real. Draco doesn’t leave any hickeys on his own skin, no matter how much Harry would like him to. Maybe it’s because Harry wants him to. But Harry couldn’t ask him to leave one, to stop spelling them away. He couldn’t explain to Draco why he likes it so much, why he likes hickeys so damn much, (or why he likes Draco so much!) He can’t even explain it to himself. Nobody likes hickeys. Harry accepts that, he knows that he’s the weird one, it’s not unusual. Malfoy always spells them away.
But today, today he has left it there, on show, for the entire school to see. For Harry to see.
Harry looks up again, he can’t stop it. His boyfriend, (not yet), is staring at their professor. He’s tilting his head to the side, as if he’s interested in what McGonagall is saying. Harry knows him better. He knows Draco couldn’t give two shits about Transfiguration. And he knows Draco is trying to drive him crazy. And he knows that Draco knows he is succeeding.
The sunlight makes Draco’s pale skin seem almost translucent, and the mark contrasts harshly against the creamy surface. It’s so fucking obvious. If anyone were to just look at him now, just glance at him, just for a second, they would see it. Notice it. There’s basically a sign above Draco’s head - ‘I’m snogging Potter! Harry licks his lips and imagines it’s the smooth skin of Draco’s throat that he’s tasting. Why does he have to be such a git?
Harry tries to catch Draco’s eye. Tries to glare into those misty pools of silver. Tries to communicate his discomfort, his concern. But the teasing Slytherin purposely avoids his gaze, pretending to be engrossed with Parkinson’s split ends. Harry huffs frustratedly, and he thinks he can see Draco’s mouth twitching. Draco’s mouth is moving. His lips are turning up at the corner. He’s smirking, the bastard.
But then Harry is distracted by Draco’s mouth. As if the movement was intended to distract him in that way. From over here, at his desk, at a distance, those thin lips don’t look like they’re good for much, except maybe sneering. Or maybe that stomach-melting smirk. But once you get close enough, so close that you can see the swirls of blue in Draco’s eyes. So close that you can see the tiny, nearly-transparent birthmark on Draco’s cheek, right below his left eye - that little smudge. When you’re that close, you quickly realise that they are actually perfectly good lips. Pouty, and soft, and addictive, and tasty. Delicious.
Draco ruffles his white hair with an equally fair, bony hand, acting as though it’s a casual gesture. But Draco never ruffles his hair. At least not in public. Actually, he always smooths it back, away from his forehead. He hasn’t done that today. Harry loves it when Draco’s hair is fluffy, fluttering over those high cheekbones of his. Draco knows that. Every move is calculated, measured.
Harry growls. Ron turns back to stare at him again, with wide eyes, he’s alarmed. Harry grits his teeth again and turns his attention back to McGonagall. His nails dig into his palm.
When the bell rings, Harry sweeps the entire contents of the desk into his bag, including Ron’s slimy chunk of wood. They were supposed to be turning a fish into a pencil. Harry’s fish was laying, sweating, on his tile. And his pencil is somewhere on the floor. He throws the grubby bag aggressively over his shoulder, then rushes away from the desk, shadowing Draco as he exits the room. He hastily shouts a last-minute “goodbye!” to Ron without turning back, and dashes out of the room, having to force himself not to run. A gang of Hufflepuffs have overtaken him.
Harry quickly spots Draco’s distinctive platinum hair amongst the crowd. He also notices the tapestry he knows leads to a secret, quiet, desolated corridor. Hurrying forward, he grabs Malfoy’s pointy elbow and drags him away from the crowd. Merlin, everything about that boy is pointy.
Ducking past the flimsy material, Harry dumps his bag and slams Draco against the wall. He swallows the Slytherin’s protests with a heated kiss, and Draco gasps in happy surprise. After a minute, Harry pulls back to nudge Draco’s chin upwards with his nose and stare at the bruise there, tarring that perfect skin. Marking him. Showing Harry that Draco is his. It’s bigger that he first thought, and positioned directly beside his vein, which is throbbing with Draco’s accelerated pulse. Harry smirks and allows his gaze to slide to a spot under Draco’s jaw, finding the other cute mole, biting his lip. Then he reaches down to bite another hickey in beside it, and another. And another.
“Merlin, if I knew hickeys made you act like- mm- this, I’d have stopped spelling them aw- uh- away ages ago!” Draco gasps out, pulling Harry up by his unruly hair.
“Fuck you,” Harry whispers before kissing him again.
A/N: My dear, lovely, awesome @cupcakequeen1999 sent me a particularly interesting scenario for me to write and I had a lot of fun writing it! Hope you guys enjoy it!
Hiya! Can you do one where T'Challa is dating the reader and when her ex shows up for dinner or something, T'Challa keeps sending him subtle “she’s mine” signals (kissing her, grabbing her butt, etc.)? I feel like he would be the guy to do that…
Pairing: T’Challa x F!Reader
Warnings: Groping, heavy making-out, awkward conversations, ex-boyfriends, jealous!T’Challa. (Remind me if I forgot anything)
#14- “How can I hate someone that I’m in love with?”
A defeated sigh escaped from his lips as the deadly
silent apartment welcomed inside, the usually cheerful and bright environment
having been replaced by a gloomy aura, no lights present to help him make his
way through the shadows in any way. Nico couldn’t recall when was the last time
the place looked so void of life, his mind couldn’t seem to come up with any
situation when that had been the case, even before the flat had become a
property of his the rooms always appeared to have life of his own. The brown
eyed wondered, as his melancholic glance analyzed his grim surroundings, what
exactly had been the cause of it suddenly being stripped of all the colorful
energy he had always linked to the area. In all honesty, he could make himself
It had been an accident, he hadn’t meant for it to
happen, it just… It just did, he was there for a moment and then, the following
second, just in the blink of an eye, his mouth decided to start spilling out
words out of control, not giving his brain enough time to actually think about
what he was saying and he cursed himself for that. You did it again, Nico thought for what possibly was the third time
in a row as he somewhat hesitantly moved his arm to turn a few of the lights of
the narrowed corridor on, a previously hidden path making its way towards him, you managed to blew something important once
He felt a sudden wave of anger rushing through his
veins, fueling the anger he could feel growing inside of him even more, making
it impossible for the owner of the dark chocolate irises to see a color other
than red, the exact same thick shade that he could imagine his fearsome blood
being: angry, unmerciful. If only he had controlled his emotions back on that
moment, if only he had kept them in line when every single one of his actions
mattered to the current scene being played out on reality. It was somewhat ironic
the more he thought about it: Nico was in hat exact position simply because he
couldn’t help but getting angry at the wrong person and there he was now,
getting angry over it. He assumed, however, that this time it was justified,
the wrong person wasn’t being given the blame; he had been the one at fault,
nothing could change that.
You and your padawan have as strange a dynamic between you as Anakin and Ahsoka do - and when you’re together, they call you ‘mom and dad’ because of the obvious tension. All joking aside, though, you consider Ahsoka your sister - and you’d gladly die to protect your family….
Notes: I changed it a little so Reader replaces Master Luminara and your padawan (oc) replaces Barriss, but also the other way around? You’re the one on the ship with Ahsoka.
Warnings: Parasitic brain-controlling worms (mind control/posession), torture, captivity. Seriously, it’s actually kinda scary, so be careful!
You’re not quite sure what to do.
The battle’s over; you’ve won. You stand perched on an outcrop of sandstone overlooking the ruins of the droid foundry. Anakin, Ree, and Ahsoka are safe, and the bug queen’s temple is destroyed. But you’re still on high alert, blood roaring through your veins so your hands don’t want to leave the hilts of your sabers. You close your eyes, turning your face to the Geonosian sun, and breathe. You are safe, you tell yourself. Nothing is wrong. We won. But still in your head, all you see is the unnatural movements and blind eyes of dead Geonosians, reanimated like puppets by that vile queen.
“Hey, Master!” Ree yells out as she approaches, her head-tails swinging behind her. You glare down at her, forcing your hands to relax. There are no more zombies. They’re buried.
“Don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Ree doesn’t look all that repentant, brown eyes sparkling in her rosy pink face. The twi’lek padawan tilts her head back, looking mischievous. “Dad sent me to find you.”
“Master Skywalker,” you correct. “And is he now?” You set your hands on your hips and hop down from the rock to land beside your padawan. “Where is he?”
I’m just reading the absolutely horrific, scary news about another terrorist attack here in the UK.
My thoughts go out to everyone affected by this. It’s absolutely hideous and evil beyond words. Those innocent people were just enjoying themselves, and then this happens… It’s not right. It’s really not right.
Please stay safe everyone, wherever you may be. And remember - it’s times like this that we all need to pull together. Reflect on the horror of what’s happened, of course, but don’t let this event drive us apart.
so like im a lil convinced these two are related
There was a blue eyed pikachu named Puka in the anime, capable of “sensing” big waves
And I’m hoping the alola raichu form is a callback to him because honestly that,, would be adorable