Honestly, any time I see anyone flagging (haircuts, pins, patches, dyed hair, boots, anything) I always compliment it cause I’m really visibly gay so it’s generally understood to mean “hey, solidarity, keep on keepin on”
A/N: this is something I had written on my previous blog, please do tell me if any of you guys have more headcanons in mind, I’ll see if I can write them!
Warnings: NSFW-ish (+18)
(ps this gif has melted my insides)
So, as a pin-up girl, imagine yourself something like this, but along with the long black stockings, held up by garter belts.
You’d be dressed to the nines, cherry-red lips and neatly quaffed hair, pinned down to a side, hair in perfect ringlets, bouncing down on your shoulders. The blouse tied down, just enough to accentuate your best assets and that mini shirt would leave very little to his imagination.
Your look would what be describe as the one the brings your man down to his knees.
You’d give yourself a final look, making sure everything is just as described by your boyfriend, only then you’d be satisfied with your job. Bucky had once disclosed to you about one of his fantasies, that being seeing you in a pin-up dress.
And just the thought of him seeing you like this would make you jittery.
You’d be sitting by the dresser, fluffing up your curls when he’d walk in. Your eyes would meet looking at each other through the mirror watching him give you a double check with his blue eyes wide and astound. He’d be surprised for sure. Then slowly, a smirk would pull at his lips, as he’d take his steps forward, practically doing that murder strut.
“I see someone’s been busy,” he’d mummer as you stand up to face him. He’d lick his lips hungrily, already wanting to touch you and feel the silky material of the cloths and your skin together. He’d probably want to compose himself, as his voice would drop down a new octaves, “God, who told you it’d be fine to do something like this without giving me a fair warning, sweetheart?”
You’d slowly tilt a side of your mouth up, eyes feigning innocence as you look up at him through your thick lashes and casually slide your arms around his shoulders locking wrists behind his neck.
“Oh, no. You don’t get to act all innocent, doll. Not after wearing this,” he’d chuckle lowly, picking at the knot of your blouse; the blue in his eyes almost disappearing as they’d land on your half exposed breasts, his hands would travel down to sneak under your skirt, grabbing a fistful of your plump flesh in his hands. You’d squirm and squeal, the scarlet color of your lips matching with your cheeks, in part embarrassment when Bucky would give one of your ass-cheek a sharp spank.
“Now, I’ll tell you what. We know this little number won’t last longer than one night,” he’d start to back up and leave you standing right in the middle of the room. “So we’ll take a picture or two, with you posing for each of them as I desire. Okay, sweetness?”
“Okay, Sarge.” You’d smirk, watching his eyes turn darker at using his rank.
“Before I rip it to shreds,” and let’s say, the rest of the evening would be very eventful.
Make me beg for mercy Sir it’s what I want, it’s what I need. Don’t you want to make me whimper and moan? Grab me by my hair and pin me down on the nearest flat surface and tease me until I beg you to fuck me. You like it when I squirm don’t you? You like it when you make me moan without even touching me don’t you? Tell me I’ve been a bad girl and this is my punishment. Throat fuck me until I cry, until I gasp for air. Gag me and make me take every inch of you. Make me tell you how much I need you inside of me and then don’t do anything about it. Grab me by my throat then Fuck me from behind. Tell me I’m too little to have control and I wouldn’t know what to do with it. Blindfold me, tie me up, and touch me with things make me guess what they are. Gag me and tell me that I have to use my words or else I can’t have your cock inside of me. Make me count to 50 while teasing me if I mess up we restart with more teasing. Make me wear vibrating panties out to dinner with my family, in the store. Tell me I’m not allowed to cum. Make me wear short skirts and no panties then bend over in front of you. Tell me you fucking own me every inch of my body is yours and only yours.
she is a small infant, staring up into her parents faces, blurry and soft around the edges, giggling and grasping her parents fingers, unaware of any problems in the world.
she is a child, staring at her mother’s beautiful dresses, running her fingers along the silk and the satin, wondering why she can’t wear them. she is watching her mother pin her hair up, the dark thick locks, and feeling her own short-cut hair, and wondering why she can’t have her hair long.
she is a barely a teenager, looking wistfully at her sister, who is smacking her lips as she places lipstick upon herself. she is looking at the boys in the centre of town, feeling heat rise to her cheeks as she stares at the graceful curve of their throats, the angles of their noses and the shape of their legs.
she is wondering why she can’t be a she.
she is a teenager now, and she has told her parents how she feels. they look at her, and she can feel the weight of their gazes. although they say everything is alright, she can hear their whispers late at night, curled up in bed, and wonders if there is something wrong with her.
she is with her sister, and she is laughing and she is wearing a dress, and she is herself and she feels wonderful. her joy quietens when she has to take the dress off in order to leave her house.
she curls into a ball, sobbing, once she realises that she can never be herself outside of her home.
she is with her sister, and she is in a place full of bright colours and foreign accents. she is with her sister, and she is wearing makeup, and she is wearing a dress, and she is on top of the world, because she is out in the open, and she is who she really is, and she is diana.
she is whirling her blade around in a fight, slicing and stabbing demons all around her. she whispers her sister’s name as the darkness closes in around her.
she has jolted awake, and there is a blue woman there, a warlock—her name is catarina—and she softly tells her that her sister has died, and diana screams, and she has never felt this pain before, and it feels like her heart has ripped open, and she can’t breathe, and she can taste the salt dripping down her face in tears.
she is in catarina’s home, and she has told her how she feels, how she is a she, but doesn’t look it to others. catarina tells her that is called being transgender—and she is sobbing again, because she has been deprived of a word to describe herself for so long.
she is in the hospital, still in the foreign place, and catarina is helping her, and she is hiding her blood results from the other doctors, and she doesn’t know how to thank catarina, and she looks into the mirror and bursts into tears again.
she is in the foreign place, and she is telling her parents with a lump in her throats that she cannot come back home. she is in tears again, because she has found out her parents are dead. she does not believe her heart can break any more.
she is travelling back to the place of her youth, the place where she had to conceal herself for so long, and she is free. she is open, she is diana.
she is giving a sword to a girl with hair like fire, and a boy with actual fire running through his veins. she is vouching for the family that have lost so much, she is fighting for that family. she has survived the war.
she is taking the place of the blackthorns tutor, and she loves all of them. she sees the bags under julian’s eyes, and sees the way he interacts with arthur, and realised she needs to do something.
she is opening the book of questions, the questions they ask you with a sword that pulls the truth out of you, and scanning them, seeing if she can become the head of the institute. her gaze drops to the question, the dreaded question, and she throws the book at the wall, yelling in frustration.
she has watched the family grow up, seen their hopes and dreams, their nightmares and grief. she has taught them everything they need to know. she is a part of their mix-matched family.
she is investigating the person they call a friend, and her heart cracks even more when she finds him to be a traitor. she wants to take the blame off the blackthorns, she doesn’t even care, but the boy with the truth and the lies balanced in his palms manages to pull it off. she worries for him.
she is holding a golden acorn, trying not to think of the beautiful man with the soft heart behind his intimidating mannor. she is calling catarina for another favour, she is in london. she accepts the offer of the beautiful faerie.
she is in alicante, and her red silk garments make her feel elegant and sophisticated. she is with the beautiful man, flying over the city of glass. she is eating and laughing and drinking, and she feels like gwyn can see right through her.
somehow, she doesn’t mind. she wants him to know.
se is talking, talking, talking with the consul and the inquisitor, and she negotiating, and it frustrates her, how much she needs to conceal in order to get the result needed.
she is exhausted, helping the blackthorns, helping the faerie with the odd blue hair, helping emma, who’s hair curls around her face like gold ribbon, helping the boy who is a herondale but is not sure if he wants to be one, helping the girl with the dark hair and the darker eyes, with the kind soul, who seems to have become a family member, helping the shadowhunter and the warlock that bring hope to the world, helping their children.
she is bandaging the beautiful faerie’s arm, feeling the soft skin under the hard armour, and he is looking up at her, asking the questions she usually dreads.
she doesn’t, this time.
she is pouring her heart out to the faerie, she is offering her life, her story, her every emotion, her truth, and wondering if he will turn away.
he kneels before her, he calls her the bravest woman he has ever met, and she is curling into him, she is shaking with emotions all mixed together. she feels a flicker of hope in her chest.
she is herself.
she is diana.
little word vomit fic for diana day because this lovely lady deserves everything in the world.
The boat rocked on the waves, the soft ebb and flow washing against the exterior. It was choppier than normal and she knew that some of the crew members would be up on the top deck being sick over the side of the boat, but Dany never was. She was just at home on the water as she was on land. She liked to think it was because something in her remembered her flight to Dragonstone when she was nothing more than a spark of possibility; remembered her family being torn apart.
It reminded her of all the time she spent on ships as a child, fleeing from one place to another but never settling down long enough anywhere to truly call it her home. It reminded her of nights when she’d played quietly in the corner with her dolls, or read by candlelight, or sat and stared out at the waves praying that Viserys wouldn’t look at her in that way he so often had.
But she’d never expected this. Not even in her wildest daydreams, the ones she’d laughingly confessed to Missandei during her nightly baths.
Their lovemaking had lost its feverished pace a long time ago; now the sex was soft and exploratory, the passion quiet and restrained as the events of the day caught up with them and they lost the initial frenzied desire to make each other theirs.
He had a beautiful body. She didn’t know why she’d never noticed it before; she’d noticed, certainly, how the hard lines of his muscles stood out on his chest and how soft and silky his hair was-but now that she could see it in its entirety, the hard lines and smooth planes, the scars on his chest that did nothing to mar his beauty but added to his intrigue…all she could do was kiss him again and again, feeling her mouth meld into his…
She let out a little moan in the back of her throat and Jon’s lips traced along her collarbone. She couldn’t remember ever being loved like this, ever even imagining a love like this was even possible…
Just then the door opened. “Your grace, I was hoping that we could discuss-”
They quickly disentangled themselves. Dany looked around somewhat desperately, casting about for her clothes-which had somehow ended up on the other side of the room. Jon looked just as abashed, and eventually she compromised by pulling the blanket over both of them. “Yes Lord Tyrion?”
Tyrion didn’t look fazed-or at least, if he was surprised to see them both naked in her chambers he didn’t say anything about it. “I can see the two of you are busy. I’ll come back in the morning.” He turned and left abruptly, making sure he closed the door behind him on his way out.
There was a long silence between them. It was one thing to make love when you were sure you weren’t being watched and no one knew, where you could forget about it in the morning if something went wrong. It was quite another to know that you’d been discovered and found out. It added another level of realism to the entire encounter, like a dream they could wake up from.
And she didn’t want Jon to leave. Not now. Not like this.
He laughed softly and she couldn’t help laughing either-though her heart beat nervously, wondering if this was the moment when they would both come to their senses and realize that they shouldn’t be doing this. “I suppose we could have been quieter…”
“I don’t want to be quiet,” she replied. “He should have knocked.”
He lay on his back and for a moment they were silent, listening to the water lap against the boat’s hull. She was tempted to say something, to break the silence that had somehow sprung up between them…but she stayed quiet, sensing Jon was just gathering his thoughts as he so often did. He was never one to speak his mind, without thinking it through first.
Finally he sat up abruptly, the sheet falling down and making the candlelight dance across his chest. “If I was too forward-”
She had to kiss him to keep him quiet, to convey all of her love for him and all of the happiness he gave her, simply be being who he was. “You were wonderful.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this…”
“I know.” But neither of them made any move to get out of bed; it might have been the wrong time, the wrong place, but there was something that pulled them together-some kind of thread that kept them from straying too far from each other. “Do you always wear your hair that way?”
He touched the top of his bun, looking hurt (Tyrion sometimes said that his hair was almost as pretty as hers). “What’s wrong with it?”
“It just doesn’t seem comfortable to sleep in.” She raised a hand to touch it and he didn’t tell her to stop, even as she took out a handful of pins. His hair cascaded down around his shoulders, smooth and silky, and it fell through her fingers like water when she touched it. It nearly made her wet again. “You should wear your hair down more often, Lord Snow.”
His smile was abashed but his touch was firm as he touched her own hair, the intricate braids that criscrossed the back of her head. “And how long does it take you to do your hair in the mornings?”
Without taking her eyes off of him (she loved his eyes; she could get lost in his eyes) she started to undo the braids that Missandei had done up so carefully that morning. She felt strangely exposed when she let her hair down, feeling its weight touch the back of her neck. It felt as if she was showing him part of herself, something that she hadn’t shown anyone in a very long time-especially not a man.
Braids were strong and powerful; another part of a mask she almost never dropped.
She turned on her side to face him; he ran a hand down her shoulder and along her arm, eventually taking her hand. They were so close; she could have reached out and touched the scar over his heart, the scar she had kissed earlier in the night. When she spoke again her voice was low; there was something about the moment that felt sacred and she didn’t want to disturb it.
“What do we tell him?”
“What can we tell him? It’s a bit hard to explain away…all of this.” Or mistake it for anything other than what it was.
“He’s too smart,” she replied. “Whatever we say he’d see through.”
“Is he going to lecture us?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he can tell us that we don’t already know.” She knew this wasn’t a good idea-they both did. In another lifetime, maybe-maybe the King in the North and the Queen in the South could have married for political strength and personal happiness. But they were fighting wars on multiple fronts and it seemed wrong, sacrilege almost, to think about love in a time like this.
And now that she’d met Jon, she didn’t want to think about her life when they inevitably parted.
He sighed, moving a bit closer as if he wanted to embrace her again. “It’s always been dangerous before. We know that.”
“And this can’t change our goals. It doesn’t change who we fight for.”
“We’re fighting for the same thing. We’re fighting to survive. Anything besides that…it’s a distraction. We can’t afford distractions right now. When the war’s over we’ll figure out the rest of it.” Gods, he looked like an angel-and he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
She didn’t know that anyone had looked at her like that before. “We might not survive the wars to come.”
“I know. But we’ll fight, to the very last.”
“We can’t afford to be divided, not now. We’re stronger together.” She fingered the scar on his chest, feeling his heart beating underneath it. His pulse was a bit erratic, probably from their lovemaking, but still strong and steady. Alive.
Unlike Viserion’s heart, that would never beat again. We’ll fight and survive. We have to. Otherwise he died for nothing. “ I said we would destroy the Night King and his army together, and we will. We have to make something good come out of all of this suffering.”
Their feet touched beneath the sheets. She wondered if this had always been meant to happen, the two of them on this boat, from the moment they’d first met. Had there been some inevitability to it? Had she known, the first time she’d seen him walk into her throne room, that there was something about him that was different from any man she’d ever met?
He didn’t look phased. He didn’t even look surprised. “I’m afraid too. I would be surprised if you weren’t.”
The dragons flew over the boat; their roars shook it to its foundation. Only two…Viserion’s was strangely absent. She hadn’t realized that she could pick them apart individually, until his was gone. For the first time she felt unsteady, unsure. Maybe even afraid.
It felt like they stood on the edge of a precipice; if they stepped too far in any one direction, they would fall.
But then again, perhaps they’d made that decision as soon as her bedroom door had closed behind them.
“Will you stay here? I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
“Neither do I.”
They shared a few last kisses, slow and deep and probing, as if trying to make up for the fact that they didn’t have all the time in the world left to them. Jon dropped off first; she could hear his breath even out, see his eyelids slip closed and stay that way.
She fell asleep a bit later, twining her hand in his.
This is going to be a two-shot of sorts because I’ll be writing the morning after oneshot tomorrow.
So I saw @toziertrashmouth talking about the concept of dancer!eddie and as a dancer myself, I would like to share some things about this
— so first of all I need to share some much needed information
— male dancers and female dancers are BUILT DIFFERENTLY
— girls are built to create long lines with their graceful bodies that extend to the moon, guys are built to leap over the moon
— so with all of that jumping, Eddie’s legs would be so muscular trust me on this
— imagine Eddie, this small firecracker, leaping across the stage like gravity doesn’t exist
— also I don’t think his turnout would be that great (some people’s hips just aren’t designed that way) so he works EXTRA hard to always be turned out and he makes it look effortless
— but it’s alright because his back and legs are really flexible which Richie appreciates
— and his ankles are so perfect so he can get really deep pliés and when he points his toes it looks inhumanly flawless
— since his ankles are so great he definitely does pointe (if you don’t know what pointe dancing is, just look up a picture and know that you’re literally dancing on the end of your toes NOT the balls of your feet)
— he can effortlessly do twenty turns on pointe in a row into a huge leap without even stumbling
— when he goes all the way up on pointe he’s eye level with Richie which makes Richie all flustered because he’s used to being the tall one
— he has to bobby pin some of his hair back so it won’t fly in his face (Richie helps him slick it back for performances)
— whenever Eddie needs a new pair of pointe shoes (some professionals need a new pair every two-three weeks) Richie drives with him to the store to keep him company
— Richie reminding Eddie to cut his toe nails so they don’t get too long and break off
— Richie wearing obnoxiously bright shirts for Eddie to focus on when he’s trying to practice spotting during a long turn sequence
— Richie rubbing Eddie’s feet and giving him massages when he’s sore
— just Richie being super supportive
— he thinks Eddie looks adorable in his decorative leotards
— he keeps all of Eddie’s dead pointe shoes and paints them with bright colors and writes song lyrics on them that remind him of Eddie
— he wraps them all in a box and gives them to Eddie on the opening night of his first professional ballet as a present to show how far he’s come
— Eddie starts crying because it’s thoughtful but then Richie tries to stop him so he won’t ruin his makeup before the show
This is got a lot longer than I thought it would be……sorry
She stood at the dresser, heels kicked off to the side and her dress half way unzipped. She was finishing taking her hair down, pin by pin. She noticed Harry standing in the door way. His bow tie untied, hanging from his collar, his shirt almost all the way unbutton but still tucked into his trousers and bare foot. He watched her closely. She’d gotten him all kinds of worked up through the night. Not that she meant to. She rarely meant to but he just loved the way she looked in her dress. Looking so prim and proper beside him.
His tongue darted from his mouth for just a moment, wetting his lips before he spoke. She glanced over at him and felt her skin heating from his gaze. She knew what was about to happen but he loved her surprised looks when he threw her to the bed or kissed her hard. She went back to her own image, trying to ready herself for bed. Harry came up behind her, kissing down her neck lightly. She tried to contain a sigh as his hands slithered over her hips to her abs. His fingers dug into her satin covered flesh for just a moment. Harry’s strong hand slid down her thigh, making his intentions clear.
“They have no idea.” Harry whispered in her ear. She lifted her eyebrow as she watched him entwine her in his embrace. His lips skimmed up her soft neck, “They have no idea what you do to me.” He clarified. “They way you stare out over the auditorium with that little red painted pout. Asking me to kiss you, to devour your lips with mine.” He murmured against her ear as he swiped his thumb over her bottom lip. “The way you cross your legs like your hiding a little secret.” He smirked gliding his hand up her dress between her thighs. “They think that you’re so polite and adorable. They all thought that you were the good girl the way you hung off my arm. With the way that you stood there taunting me with your hips and those legs. They thought you were the perfect woman.” She chewed on her lip as he spoke to her. He was creating a fire within her. He knew it with the way he smirked and said, “But there is one thing that they don’t know. That they’ll never know.” She looked into his piercing green eyes through the glass. “They’ll never know what I do to you when the doors are closed. They’ll never know how you scream and the dirty things you say when I’m inside you, making you regret looking so proper and perfect.” Harry smirked even more feeling her melting against him. “They never would’ve guessed what I am about to do you to.” Harry whispered, making sure his lips brushed her ear and his breath rolled over her skin.
Harry grabbed her by her waist and tossed her onto the bed. She laid on her back, staring up at him, eager for him to make another move. She loved these moods of his. She loved the way he was demanding and ferocious. She loved the way he asserted himself and made her turn into a burning mass of desire. Harry knocked his knuckles against her thigh, signaling for her to spread her legs. When she did so without hesitation, he smiled.
“My baby knows what she needs now.” Harry snickered, kneeling between her legs. He grabbed the straps of her dress and pulled it off her with no resistance. He tossed the pricey garment to the floor like it was a rag. Harry bit his bottom lip to see she had on no bra and no panties. “Bad girl.” He chuckled leaning over to place a chaste kiss on her. She bit her own lips and reached for his shirt. She pulled his shirt from his trousers and finished unbuttoning it. Harry threw that to the ground as well. She sat up and grabbed the button of his trousers. Harry happily let her unbutton and unzip the pants then drag them down to the center of his thighs. Without a moment’s noticed she had her lips wrapped around his cock, sucking and licking. Harry groaned and buried his hands into her perfectly curled hair. “God they have no fucking idea what you do to me.” He hissed, feeling his now engorged cock hitting the back of her throat.
After another moment, Harry pulled himself from her mouth. He pushed her down onto the bed roughly, but not to hurt her. He removed his trousers quickly, not wanting to waste anymore time. When Harry crawled back onto the bed, between her legs, she smiled up at him, ready for whatever he was about to do to her.
“Do you want me, baby?” Harry asked her teasingly, lining his cock to her soaked cunt. She nodded slowly, he bottom lip between her teeth once again. She whimpered when he pushed just the tip inside. “Tell me.” He smirked when she whined as he pulled out. She stared at him with wide eyes. This game was new. He stuck just the tip in again, a whimper falling from her red painted lips. He pulled out, “Tell me you want me the way I’ve wanted you all night.” She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t get the words out. She was to preoccupied with him teasing her with the tip of his huge dick. “Baby.” He teased again, it evident in his tone as well. Finally, she got fed up with his games. She sat up then pushed him to the side, making him land on the bed, on his back. She swung her leg over his hip in the most seductive way he’d ever seen. She sunk down on his cock with a heavy sigh.
“I want you.” She moaned as she began to rock her hips slowly. Harry struggled to breathe for just a moment because of the speed of events. “I want you.” She panted again. Harry brought her torso down to meet his. He meshed his lips to hers passionately. It was an interesting turn of events but he loved it. He gripped her hips tightly, to keep her where she was. He began to thrust upward quickly and with force. She cried out loudly into his neck and twisted the sheets beside his head. She tried to lift her hips to ease some of the pressure but Harry just held her where she was. Harry grunted lowly and in rhythm with his thrusts. He was giving it his all. She was going to be screaming his name. No one knew that his perfect princess of a wife could turn into a temptress with a salacious mouth. He wanted that side of her to come out. He loved it. He thrusted harder when she made that delightfully familiar squealing sound. She was about to come. Harry slammed her mouth onto his as he released one of her hips to caress her clit. She broken the kiss with a string of screamed profanities. Harry smirked and flipped them so she was pinned underneath his body.
“Are you ever going to act like that again at an award show?” He asked her with a deep and dominating tone.
“Every fucking time.” She replied with a smirk of her own. Harry slammed his still rock hard dick into her again, eliciting an earth-shattering moan from her lips. He felt his insides waver at the sound. Harry took her wrists in his hands and pinned them to the bed above her head. He pounded into her with force and speed again. Her moans and panting breaths were driving him closer to his own release but he loved playing with her like this. Harry was a bit shocked when she was able to free one of her wrists from his grip. She let her fingers dance down Harry’s side lightly, creating a trail of sensitive skin behind. He smiled gently at her when she gripped his rear. She smirked up at him before giving him a firm swat right on his ass cheek. Harry meshed his mouth to hers fiercely, biting her bottom lip to show his dominance. She screamed out another list of profanities as her insides clenched around his cock. Harry biting her lip had driven her over the edge. She laid shaking underneath him as he still drilled her with everything he had. Another orgasm coursed through her soon after, her body not being able to handle his strong thrusts and intense speed any longer.
Harry’s body grew weak and he started to moan louder. She moved her hips with his trying to bring him to his climax. His thrusts grew uneven and he couldn’t contain it anymore. His legs tensed and his dick twitched inside her. He groaned loudly and lustfully as he came, filling his wife with every ounce of his desire. He collapsed on top of her, exhausted from fucking so hard. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. She kissed his shoulders and neck tenderly. Harry lifted himself from her body after just a moment of laying in her arms. He fell to the bed next to her. She smiled as she looked at her husband. His hair was a mess, sticking to his face because of how sweaty he was, but she loved it.
“Ever going to act like that at an awards show again?” Harry asked her with a knowing smile.
“Every fucking time, baby.” She replied with the same smile. Harry pulled her into his arms again. She rested her head on his chest and stroked his sweat soaked skin lovingly. They laid in silence for a long while, just listening to and feeling each other breathing.
“I’m going to have a bruise on my ass.” Harry laughed kissing his her hair lightly.
She looked up at him with sweet, tired eyes, “Sorry, honey.” She then stated, “My lip is bleeding a bit. I can taste it.”
Harry pecked her sweat covered forehead, “Sorry, love.” He then placed his mouth over hers. She moaned slightly when he began to caress her bottom lip with his tongue and suck on it gently, trying to ease the almost non-existent pain. “Maybe next time, we shouldn’t get so carried away.” He murmured backing away.
She shook her head with a smile, “Where’s the fun in that?” Harry smiled as well, not so worried that he’d been too aggressive toward her. “But next time…” She began. “I get to tell you how I feel about you watching me the way you were. All sexy with your bow tie and shirt undone.” She stated with a glint of mischief in her eyes.
Harry smirked, “Why wait?” She grinned as she sat up and he knew that he was in trouble.
From the ones in dresses to the ones in jeans. From the ones in heels to the ones in sneakers.
The ‘shut up I’m studying’ kind to the 'hey what’s number two’ kind.
Ravenclaws that scoff and roll their eyes. Ravenclaws that simply laugh and shake their heads. Ravenclaws with their nose deep in a book. Ravenclaws with their heads turned towards the sky.
The ones that have book smarts to the ones that have street smarts.
Bright eyes behind long lashes. White teeth past smooth lips.
Smiles that hide truths, eyes that hide lies.
Floor length ball gowns and pinned up hair. Ripped skinny jeans and messy high ponies. Neatly arched eyebrows. Perfectly manicured nails.
Posed and sophisticated, yet clap back like a boss. Tired eyed and busy, yet up for an adventure.
Some that are a hot mess and can’t handle stress. Some that that fuel on coffee to get it just right.
Ravenclaws that are muggle born, half blood, and pure blood.
The ones that are straight, gay, bi, pan, ace, trans, however they identify.
Those that have a mom and a dad, or just a mom, or just a dad. Those that have two moms or two dads, or none at all. Those in a group home or with adoptive parents, living with aunts or uncles or grandparents or friends.
They make Slytherin raise their brow, Gryffindor gasp, and Hufflepuff worry.
Shoutout to the Ravenclaws, and their wit beyond measure that’s a mans greatest pleasure.
You slammed your locker shut feeling more frustrated than ever as you gripped your books hard in hand. You felt like a total outcast. It wasn’t a bad thing to be inexperienced when it came to sex and you took pride in the fact that you hadn’t given it up to just anyone. You were waiting for the right one and that’s all there was to it. But that came with endless taunting and teasing from your classmates. Especially in sex-ed class where you, obviously, got it the worst.
“You mean…you’ve never like…fooled around with a guy?” Your friend Shawna asked you, her eyes wide as she shoved a bobby pin in her hair. You were in the girls washroom and you looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. The last thing you needed was the entire school knowing you were still a virgin.
“No.” You shrugged. “Does that matter?”
“I mean…no..” She frowned slightly. “But why? Guys are pawning after you left and right.”
“Not really.” You sighed. But being the virgin made you a prime target. Guys were dying to be your first and it really kind of grossed you out.
“Yes, really. You also have the hottest fucking friends in the entire world who I’m sure would jump at any opportunity to get in your panties .”
Draco was furious. First, that wild animal of Hagrid’s had attacked him - and he still had the sling to prove it even if it wasn’t completely necessary - and second, one of the horrid nifflers that same oaf had brought onto school grounds had ambushed Draco and stolen the shiny Malfoy crest pin right off his robes.
If his father found out he had lost the pin, he would be in the deepest pools of absolute shitville. It was an heirloom worth more than Hagrid’s entire life, if the pathetic hut he had followed the niffler into was any indication.
He could hear the stupid creature - it almost sounded like it was laughing at him - but he couldn’t see it. Where was the damn thing? He cast stunning spells around the cabin recklessly, waiting for the stupid noise to stop so he could rescue his pin. But no matter where he cast, the creature’s laughter continued.
Draco hastily tucked his wand away, picking up one of Hagrid’s oversized chairs instead and throwing it across the room for good measure. “This is not happening,” he muttered to himself. “This is absolute - “
“Caught you at a bad time, Malfoy?” Interrupted a very familiar voice from behind Draco.
“Get stuffed, Potter,” Draco responded without even looking around. “I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” Although he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. He’d been trashing Potter’s favourite teacher’s house - it was all too likely the encounter would end in a one-handed duel. For the first time, he regretted insisting Madam Pomfrey put his arm in a sling.
Sure enough. Potter jumped straight into accusations: “What do you think you’re doing in here?” There was anger in his voice of course - Potter’s temper was a precarious thing - but glee too - clearly at the excitement of catching Draco out.
Draco swivelled around and leant back on Hagrid’s table - better to be facing his opponent when the first curse was cast. “One of that half-breed’s nifflers is what - “
“His name is Hagrid,” interrupted Potter in the cold, serious voice he reserved for showing off what a flawless, noble prick he was.
“Whatever,” Draco said dismissively, because he knew better than to fight the point when Potter used that voice. Rage fuelled Potter’s power and Draco did not feel like being on the receiving end of a bombarda disguised as an expelliarmus right now. “One of his nifflers has stolen my Malfoy crest pin and if I - “
“You have a Malfoycrest pin?”
Draco didn’t appreciate Potter’s condescending tone so he bit back. “Of course. You would’t understand since you don’t have a family.”
Potter didn’t even flinch at the quip. He wandering into the hut, assessing the damage Draco had made. “You really need some new material,” he said calmly over his shoulder as he picked up the thrown chair, but Draco could see the white of Potter’s knuckles quite clearly.
“Perhaps if I wasn’t so busy chasing this stupid niffler, I’d have the time to come up with something witty enough for you, Potter,” Draco retorted, mentally preparing himself to pull out his wand if Potter made a move - it seemed imminent. “Now if you don’t mind, I prefer it if you wandered somewhere else.”
Potter turned back to Draco. This was it. Draco edged his free arm towards the pocket of his robes - towards the safety of his wand. “Hagrid’s a good person, you know.”
Draco dropped his arm. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You provoked Buckbeak. I know you know it. And now Hagrid might lose his -“
“Have you not seen my arm, Potter?” Interrupted Draco before he could be guilt-tripped - that was Potter’s speciality. “I was viciously attacked.”
“We both know your arm is completely fine, Malfoy. Stop the act. I’m asking you to have some decency and - “
“Ah,” Draco laughed - Potter was really quite skilled at getting on his noble bloody high horse. “But you seem to have already made up your mind that I have no decency. So why should I bother?”
“What do you care what I think?”
“I don’t,” Draco said quickly. He was just making a point for merlin’s sake - did Potter have to be so…so…urgh.
“You still have time to take it back. Get rid of that stupid sling and apologise.”
“My father already - ”
“Your father is a-
“Not one more word, Potter!” Draco went for his wand instinctively, his arm jerking his sling open as he reached for - the sling! Shit. He froze, realising what he’d done, and looked up to gauge Potter’s reaction.
Potter didn’t look surprised but worse, he just looked unimpressed. He crossed his arms and stared at Draco with that one static look that made Draco want to fall inside himself and disappear. Draco couldn’t move - not even to return his arm back into the sling. Any move he made would be too telling under Potter’s eye. Why couldn’t Potter just stop staring already?
And then something strange happened - Potter sighed, releasing a long drawn out breath - and when he spoke, it appeared his previous anger had vacated in the same air. “Have you tried coaxing it out with something else valuable?”
It took Draco a couple of seconds to process the question. After all that, they were back to the niffler? “Like what?”
Potter silently pulled a golden snitch from his pocket and placed it at his feet.
The combination of the snitch and finding himself alone with Potter, drew up a memory of the previous year, one Draco thought he had successfully erased from his head. But no, the faint sound of Potter’s laughter rang in his ears once more. Draco fought hard not to enjoy it.
A husky sniffling sound brought Draco back to the present - the niffler! It had crawled out from underneath Hagrid’s stove and was shuffling to the snitch, making its greedy little noises as it did. Draco reached for his wand - with his uninjured arm this time - but Potter stopped him with a raised hand. Draco obeyed automatically, but immediately wished he hadn’t. Since when did he follow Harry Potter?
Potter waited until the niffler raised a grubby little paw above the snitch before he dropped to the ground with impressive speed, grabbing it with gentle hands. He turned it upside down and stroked its belly, all the while making the most revolting cooing sounds Draco had ever heard. Is this what Potter was like around babies?
After far too much cooing, a number of shiny objects began to fall from the niffler’s clutches - galleons, necklaces, something that looked exactly like the hair pin Professor McGonagall wore, and there it was - the Malfoy crest. Potter’s hand shot out and caught it before it hit the ground - now he was just showing off. He placed the niffler lightly on the ground - where it promptly picked up the rest of its valuables and scampered behind the stove again - and walked over to Draco.
“Here,” he said, holding out the pin. Draco was sure to take it with his good arm. He needn’t have bothered - Potter didn’t look away from his face, a steely expression on his own. Oh merlin - Draco already knew there was something preachy coming. And: “You don’t have to be your father, you know. We don’t choose our family.”
Draco blinked back at Potter as his hands closed over the pin. He should have been angry at the audacity of Potter to comment on his family, but he couldn’t work up the energy for a fight. So he just took his family crest back from Potter’s hand silently, an automatic thank you dying before it reached his lips.
Potter waited there a moment as if expecting Draco to reply - but how was he supposed to reply to something like that? When enough time had passed in silence to make the moment truly awkward, Potter shrugged and walked to the door.
“Wait, Potter - “
“Yes?” Potter turned around immediately.
Shit. Malfoy hadn’t meant to say anything. How had that even come out of his mouth? And he certainly hadn’t expected Potter to stop. Shit. Potter was looking at him expectantly. Draco found himself trapped between the way he wanted to act and how he was supposed to act around Harry Potter. He hadn’t felt like that since the day he - wait. “What day is it?”
Potter looked at him strangely. “Wednesday? November Third? Why do you - “
November Third. The day I beat you. It was a coincidence. It had to be. But still, something seemed off. On every other day, Draco never felt like this. Never felt anything other than hatred towards Potter. They were arch enemies. That was how it should be. This was wrong. Like he’d been cursed. Which didn’t make sense unless -
“I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Potter, but I’m not having a bar of it.” Draco pushed past Potter and made his own dramatic exit before Potter could continue his.
November Third. It couldn’t have any significance. Really. That was absurd. It was just Potter. Being his usual do-gooder self, trying to get Draco to feel something. Merlin. He needed to stay away from Potter. Every day of the year. Or he was going to lose his mind.
The official end, anyway. Theirs ended later. No surprise there.
First in, last out. It was how they’d used Shepard from the moment she achieved her N7. Maybe since Elysium. Truth be told, Garrus knows it’s how they use her even now.
Garrus stands in the doorway, watching his wife dress. She’s pinning medals to the breast of her impeccably pressed dress uniform. She hasn’t pulled her hair back yet, so it hangs loose and heavy down her back, nearly to her hips.
He knows exactly how that hair would feel between his fingers. He knows its smell, knows its weight, knows its softness. He knows it pulled into a military knot; he knows how it looks spread out around her naked body.
The medals jingle against each other as she bends to retrieve the Star of Terra from its velvet case. She has two but refuses to wear them both. “Ridiculous,” she always grouses. “And heavy as hell, to boot.”
“If you’re just going to stand there staring, you might as well make yourself useful,” she says. In the mirror, her reflection smiles at him. He chuckles, already crossing the room, already reaching for the medal. He slides her hair out of the way and fixes the clasp behind her neck. When he straightens the Star on her chest, he lets the tips of his talons trace the line of her collarbones beneath the jacket.
They look good together. He’s wearing formal turian dress, of silk and heavy brocade in shades of blue and grey and gold. The long tunic is perfectly fitted; the cloak draped and pinned in perfect folds hanging to brush the ground at his heels. Shepard, by contrast, is all crisp lines and military precision. Except for the hair.
He hooks a lock of it and curls it around his finger. “Not like they’d court-martial you for wearing it down,” he says.
She laughs. “It’s not for them.” She taps her medals. “It catches on these.”
“Want me to do it?”
In the last ten years, he’s done this dozens of times. She closes her eyes as he retrieves her brush and runs it through the gleaming red strands. It’s the work of only minutes to wind and twist and pin her hair, leaving her slender neck bare to his nuzzling kiss. She giggles because it’s one of the very few spots she’s ticklish—and he knows that, too, because he’s made a mission of seeking them all.
He runs his hands from her shoulders down her arms, as if his touch can smooth some of the tension from her. It can’t, not really. She hates the speechifying. She hates having all eyes on her.
He’s not really a fan, either, when it comes down to it. They’re both snipers, after all, who prefer solitude and silence and perfect perches with uninterrupted sight lines.
Still, they’ve gotten used to the visibility, the attention. They’ve had to.
“Ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be. You?”
“As I’ll ever be.” His mandibles flicker; he knows she hears the faint tremor in his subharmonics.
She leans back against him for a moment, looking for comfort and giving him strength all at the same time. “Ten years,” she says. “Hard to believe.” Turning to face him, she wraps her arms around his neck and stands on her toes to press a kiss to his scarred face. “Want to go for ten more?”
Her eyes narrow. “Double or nothing?”
“Raise you a hundred,” he replies, seriously.
She grins. “High-roller.”
“All-in,” he agrees.
“That’s what I like to hear.” She kisses him again, softly, lips like a miracle. “What do you say we get the ceremonial stuff over with so we can do what we do best?”
She snorts. “I meant celebrate, but maybe we can work your idea in, too.”
“y/n? You here?” Shawn asked as he walked into his apartment.
He had been at a Halloween party with you when you suddenly disappeared. He asked around and someone told him they saw you getting an Uber.
“Where else would I be? It’s not like I would have stayed at that stupid party.” You hiccuped from the living room floor. “Models draped around like fucking couch throws, making me feel worse than I already do.”