Moonlight 🌙

This was the sweetest, most tooth rotting fluff ever omg. Kicking my feet in the air and punching it. The flirting is what got me cause omg they’re so into each other I can’t.

“‘You’re pretty clumsy you know… always tripping… it’s a real hazard.’ She hadn’t tripped in years.”

OH IM SWOONING

“His eyes half lidded and staring down at her soft lips.”

AGAHGAHAHZUSHWVSKDIWNWB. Safe to say this broke me. 😭

Terrible Lies

I’ve never posted on Tumblr before and I don’t write a lot so apologies for any mistakes! Don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. I’m open to comments and requests!

Cross posted on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61937722

The first time their hands grazed, it was purely by accident… possibly. Years ago when their partnership was still fresh and the idea of working near someone new was starting to bud, his fingers had brushed against hers while she handed him a wrench. He broke his steady gaze from the metal object he was tinkering with to look at where his fingers had made contact. He opened his mouth to say something but then furrowed his brows and closed his mouth. After a moment he said, “You should be more careful.”

Her lips parted with wide eyes and a soft smile forming at his humor. “Yes… it would be a real shame if I dropped it. I could have broken something.”

He hummed in agreement, nodding to the spotless floor.

He tried to shake the feeling of the softness of her skin to no avail. And so the habit began, the “accidental” and very frequent touches. They continued the habit of his hand slowly brushing against the bottom of hers when she handed him anything but it slowly morphed into other acts.

Over time their little touches became second nature - evolving with their relationship. She was standing on a chair and his hand rested against the small of her back. She peeked down at him and smirked. He looked right back at her and said, “You’re pretty clumsy you know… always tripping… it’s a real hazard.” She hadn’t tripped in years.

“You’re absolutely right.” She said as a matter of factly, “I don’t know what I’d do without your support!” She chuckled. A sound so soft that his breath hitched in his throat. Taking a swallow his eyes locked on her back where his fingers splayed.

Soon to follow were more touches, a gentle hand came to rest in between his shoulder blades one day, “Viktor! You’re slouching, you know that’s not good for your posture.” She said feigning concern. His back brace prevented him from slouching which he knows she can feel under his vest and shirt.

“That is very thoughtful.” He said earnestly.

“Isn’t it? You know I want the best for you”

His lips quirked up at the way her hand trailed to brush against the back of his neck when she moved away. Viktor briefly glimpsed her covering up a smile at her desk.

And then there were the late nights. Long hours spent in the lab, going over formulas, revising blueprints and tinkering with Hextech, often turned into leisurely walks home together - purely to ensure her safety and nothing else. On one night, her arm slipped into his and said, “The topside is such a dangerous place,” her voice laced with concern and a small frown tugging at her brows. He looked down at her face and saw the corners of her lips quirked up.

“Much more dangerous than the Undercity.” He said without missing a beat.

“Yes, I’m so glad that you’re here. I think someone could jump out and grab me if I were alone.”

“You would be at a great risk without someone to hold on to.” He said while nodding his head to get the point across as they walked through undoubtedly the safest area of Piltover. His mind halted at the warmth of how natural her arm fit into his.

On one evening when he was about to walk her home, he slowed his pace and said, “Hmm, the weather is dreadful to be walking in. At this rate our shoes will be flooded.” She looked up at the clear sky and frowned, shielding her hair with her free hand.

“We should hurry to your apartment.” She said as they took their time.

At first she took his bed while he took the couch, and then the next night she took the couch while he slept in his bed. It became a ritual to go straight to his apartment rather than hers that was all the way across town. It was truly a miracle that she had been making the trek to her own apartment this whole time. She thanked her stars that he was kind enough to let her stay with him more often than in her own bed. She made sure to stop just next door to grab some of her toiletries though.

One evening, he was resting in bed watching her braid her hair before she retired for the night. He watched the rhythmic motion of her fingers weaving silky strands together and felt a jolt in his chest. Before he could stop himself he quietly said, “It’s a little cold, don’t you think?”

She rubbed her toasty feet together, “You’re right. There’s definitely a chill in here. I guess we can share the bed if we keep to our own sides.”

He hastily agreed, “That would be the most respectable thing to do.”

He struggled with the knowledge that he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears not knowing that she was going through the same struggle. She was glad that the dimness of the room blanketed her flaming cheeks while he was grateful that the moon shone on her face enough to tell that she was blushing for him.

“This cold sure isn’t letting up is it?” She whispered staring into his golden eyes.

“Bitterly cold.” He said without hesitation.

“Freezing” her breath tickled his face as she scooted closer

“Unbearable” he murmured, his arm brushing against her waist. The crickets chirped outside, louder with the open window allowing for the summer breeze to cool off his room.

Every touch came with a reason. That was the most sound thing to do in any scenario. It would be very irresponsible to touch a coworker for no reason.

Tonight was different. The pull between them was so taught that they could no longer skirt around what was happening between them.

As they worked late into the night, the tension between them seemed to settle heavier and heavier with each passing moment. She felt his eyes on her and turned to meet his stare. His eyes narrowed at her lips.

“Your lips are chapped.” His tone infused with something deeper. His eyes quickly flitted from her eyes down to her mouth.

“Are they?” She felt like she was out of breath from the look on his face.

“Yes, they are so chapped that they are practically cracking. You should probably do something about that.”

“That would be a real tragedy. How would I go over plans with you and Jayce?” She said in a worried tone, her hand coming up to brush over them lightly - smooth and velvety, and she gasped, “Yes, you’re right - they’re very chapped.”

“I’m sorry to say so.” He said softly leaning forward.

“It would be a shame if they bled.” She said just as softly with a teasing smile.

“Disastrous.” He was leaning forward, “You wouldn’t be able to talk for days.”

“I should probably find something to cover them.” Her gaze fixed on his lips, “I just ran out of lip balm though and the market is surely closed by now.”

“That’s a real shame… covering them has to be the only solution.” His eyes half lidded and staring down at her soft lips.

She nodded, her nose brushing against his, barely mumbling, “Mhm.”

Their words stopped with gentle breaths against their faces. She looked up at him through her lashes and let them flutter closed at his proximity. His hand came up to rest on her nape, thumb brushing the juncture where her jaw meets her neck. Their lips met in a slow kiss. Moving gently together with a hesitation that deepened into an unmistakable pull.

When they parted, breathless and flushed, she whispered “Well… that solves the problem for now.”

“It’s only practical.” He whispered.

[ A LITTLE DEATH — FT. KINICH ]

synopsis: sometimes, he comes back to you with a beating heart. other times, his body is cold and limp until he reemerges from the flames. you never get used to kinich falling during the pilgrimage, but you’re certainly used to the feeling of his body

word count: 4.4k words of emotional porn. ty & goodnight

before you read: female reader ; major spoilers for natlan archon quest and kinich’s character story one ; kinich falls during the night warden war and resurrects so technical character death (but not for long) ; graphic descriptions of injuries and blood from war ; mentions of gambling, alcoholism and abuse (his father’s lore) ; slight exploration of mortality ; hand jobs ; orgasm delay (kinich to himself) ; cunnilingus ; fingering ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read because i wrote this all in tumblr drafts like the psycho i am

notes: this is an unhealthy progressing obsession. this boy is not good for my health unfortunately

“Will you stop crying?” He sighs softly, thumb tracing your cheek as it catches yet another rivulet of your sorrow.

You glare up at him, lips curled into a scowl as you sniffle and counter, “how about you stop dying?”

Kinich is no stranger to dying. He and death are good friends, in fact—he visits often, and in return, it houses him kindly for however short his visit may be.

He likes traversing the Night Kingdom, likes to speak to those who have borne his name before him. Dying isn’t so bad when you get a chance to see the things he does in the realm of the Wayob.

But you don’t like to see the aftermath. Blood. Bruises. Cuts. Gashes. Sometimes mangled limbs. Every time he falls in battle, the aftermath serves as a jarring reminder that revival is miracle you can’t take for granted.

Kinich doesn’t understand it, but he tries to. He holds you when he comes back, listening to you sniffle into his chest. He’s always silent as his hand rubs along your back, always unsure of what to say.

I lost you, you’ll always whisper first.

I was always going to come back, he’ll always respond.

The Pyro Archon, you think, loves fiercely enough to rival the God of Cryo herself. The Tsaritsa, God of Love, loves clearly. It’s delicate as it leaves chills, and yet, it is reserved, rare to find after she’s hardened herself. The God of War’s love takes form in the exact opposite. It’s blazing. Warm. Unrelenting. Irrevocably bright. It’s a flame that never dies out, that never needs a ceremony or ritual to keep burning like the contending fire.

She loves all of her children—you know that because you see it on her face, too.

The brief, fleeting flash of horror every time she sees a body. The bitter pride that comes with such a noble sacrifice. She loves her people, and that’s why, when your tears hit the ground as you cry for a fallen Kinich, she gives your hand a squeeze right before she brings enters the night kingdom to bring him back.

The people of Natlan are proud of their history. So much, that they find honor in dying for the cause.

You think you’re the only exception.

You and death are not good friends. You don’t like the way it mocks you with the limp hands of the boy you love and his beat-less heart. You don’t like the way it cozies up against him, dragging him away from you with its hand clasped firmly in his.

It never takes him away for too long before it gives him right back, but you don’t like sharing.

Not Kinich. Not with death.

Your broken out of your thoughts when his fingers gently press into your cheeks, squeezing them together as his hand tilts your head up from his chest to look into his eyes.

“I’m okay,” he insists bluntly, but never without that gentleness.

You’d laugh any other time. Always so straight to the point, you’d tease if it were some other day.

Instead, this time, you sniffle once more before you croak, “you don’t know what it’s like to witness.” Slowly, your hand creeps up his body, traveling over his abdomen before coming to a stop right over his heart. “This time…this time it was here.”

This pilgrimage, Kinich comes back to you with a stab through his heart. Other times, he’s returned pierced through his lungs from behind. Or perhaps with a bloodied head, split open by a blunt force.

It never gets easier. This time, however, you think it’s gotten even harder.

He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s contemplating what to say before he decides to toss the idea of words out entirely. Suddenly, his hands find your waist, flipping you to sit on his lower belly, legs straddling his hips.

Kinich isn’t always good with words. He can count on one hand the number of people he’s had in his life to love. His life has not been kind enough to him to allow keeping all fingers up at the same time.

One for his mother. Down.

One for his father. Down.

And one for you. Up.

He’s sure one day, he might be able to lift a finger for Mualani and Kachina, too. He cares a great deal about them, of course. But love is a difficult thing for him to grasp—perhaps because it’s always been something he never got in full.

Not until you.

More than most people, Kinich understands loss. You know that. He understands it too well, in fact. Sometimes, he wonders if he’d lost his father’s love long before the body was limp and lifeless to show for it. Sometimes, he wonders if his mother ever loved him enough to count as a loss at all. Maybe if she had, then she wouldn’t have walked away. Maybe she never loved him quite as much as she loved herself.

But you’re different for him. You love him more than you love anything else. More than yourself, too. He’s never been loved more than anything else. His father loved gambling, maybe even the burn of alcohol on his tongue, too. His mother loved freedom, and more than that, she loved the idea of living in the absence of fear. Neither loved him more than any of those things.

So, you’re different. You know that, too. You’re a loss he can’t comprehend. Not that he’s ever had to, of course, but his brain cannot handle the idea of being without you.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t fully understand your pain. Maybe that’s why he wonders why knowing he’ll always come back from falling isn’t enough to soothe you.

He’s never loved someone who he knew would come back even in the face of death. It’s a luxury, he thinks sometimes—you get to love him with the luxury of a safety net. But you’re too precious to feel the weight of a real loss. He hopes he can shield you from it for as long as he can, one pilgrimage at a time.

His hands settle for your hips, squeezing once, twice, a third time before he sits up and pulls you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

You kiss back easily. Drinking the breath straight from his mouth is best proof that he’s alive. You take it in greedily.

“I’m okay,” he repeats one more time. This time, it’s a much softer tone. Like a gentle reminder. Like a plead to understand.

His hand grabs yours, pressing it right over his heart so you can feel the erratic beating under your palm. Just from kissing you, it’s rapid enough that he almost feels he should be embarrassed. But you close your eyes and let out a shaky breath, making him watch you carefully as he takes in the relief in your face.

“You’re okay,” you nod slowly.

“I am,” he agrees.

You don’t know when it happens or who starts it first. One moment, your hand is traveling under his shirt to feel his bare skin, to have better contact with him so you can feel more proof he’s alive.

Warm skin. Flexing muscle. Damp sweat. When your hand finds his heart again, his hand cups the back of your head and pulls you into a heated kiss.

Clothes come off after that. It’s a blur. It’s not until you untie the bandana to uncover his forehead do you really take it all in.

Bare under you, Kinich is alive. The proof his body is breathing and pumping blood through his veins is right there before you—standing tall between his legs in the form of a flushed, red cock. Blood rushed there to prove his desire for you.

“Last time, it was here,” you whisper, thumb tracing a pale, faint scar over his ribcage, right where his lung is. “Did it hurt?”

“It did,” he nods, studying you as you don’t meet his eyes. “I don’t remember much of that, though.”

“Do you like it?” You whisper. “Is that why you do it?”

He’s silent. And then, quietly: “Sometimes.”

“Why?” You breathe, cupping his cheeks as you search his eyes for an answer.

Finally, in a rare moment, he chuckles. “Because it’s good to remember I’m alive,” he murmurs, “right before you die is when you realize you’re alive the most. Why you’re alive, too.”

“I don’t understand,” you furrow your brows in frustration. He smiles fondly, kissing your jaw as he lets out a low hum.

“I think of you,” he whispers, sucking sweetly into your skin, “and then I remember how you’re alive, too. Every time I die, you get to stay alive a little more.”

The abyss never goes away. Now, more than ever, he’s aware of that. It’s a war he has to see the winning side of, no matter the price.

There’s a loss this time that he’s unwilling to pay. Can’t bear to witness. Can’t allow to happen.

You decide you give up trying to understand—much like you do every year. Instead, you throw yourself into feeling him, pulling him into a heated, deeper kiss as your tongue glides against his. You give into the battle fast, letting him take the lead and taste you.

You’re not one for battles, not like Kinich is. You’d rather relish in peace than remember the cruelties of war.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t lose you.”

“You’ve never lost me,” he argues.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you admit quietly.

“Then let me show you I’ve always been right here.”

As if on cue, his cock twitches between your bodies, hot and throbbing as it presses against your lower belly. You reach between your bodies, wrapping around the thick girth before your thumb grazes the tip.

He shudders, stifling a groan as you slowly smear the dribbling pre cum along his length, taking gentle care to make sure you don’t hurt him.

You’ve seen Kinich hurt enough times.

“Does that feel good?” You grin slightly, watching his eyes flutter shut as you stroke him up and down, fisting around him in a tight squeeze.

“Feels great,” he breathes, “like I’m very alive.”

“Good,” you nod.

“Fuck,” he chokes when you squeeze around the tip, pace quickening as you glide your palm up and down along him faster.

Faster.

The faster he cums, the faster you’re proven he’s living once more.

But he stops you—right before he can spill into your hand, a shaky wrist comes to force yours to stop moving. You look at him questioningly, and he closes his eyes and takes labored breaths to calm himself from the slow, fading orgasm that would’ve shaken through his body.

“What are you—oh,” you gasp, when your body is flipped to lay on your back, Kinich hovering above you as he stares down at you.

You think love is the look in his eyes when he sees you like this, every time. That longing in his pupils, desperate and almost pained even though you’re right there.

Loving something is always a double edged sword. It hurts just as much as it heals—the scabs forming around your heart from his temporary departure is proof of that.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing along your neck.

I love you isn’t something Kinich says often. You feel his love in other ways. The fresh fruit he brings you on his way back from a commission. The small kiss between your brows he always greets you with, and the delicate kiss to your mouth when he leaves. The hand on the small of your back as he guides you along places, never letting you feel his absence. The pillow he shares with you every night when you invade his space and take up his side of the bed.

You know he loves you. Being reminded is a good feeling, though. Your body shivers as you feel a familiar ache building up between your legs at his sudden confession.

“More than anything?” You ask.

“Yes,” he responds, amused.

“You better not be lying,” you warn playfully.

He chuckles—you’re slowly coming back to your usual self. Causal teasing and playful flirting. You’re all the things he’s not. Open. Vulnerable. So inexplicably bright. You smile and something in him heals. Something in him itches to do better—be better.

“When have I ever lied to you?” He challenges.

You pretend to think for a moment before caving and stretching your lips into a wide grin. The first real smile of the night. You pull him close, kissing him again. Just to kiss him. There’s no heat or desire this time around.

He kisses back sweetly. Just to kiss you.

“What did you see this time?” You whisper when you pull away. “In the Night Kingdom.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, tracing shapes into your hip with his thumb, “I think I was too busy thinking of you.”

Kinich is only flirty when he avoids something. He’s only ever indirect when he doesn’t want you to know something. It takes form in less honest, more playful banter that he learns from you.

You sigh, rolling your eyes half-heartedly as you whisper, “don’t lie to me.”

“I did think of you,” he insists. “It’s not a lie. I always think of you.”

He decided to prove it by dropping down to busy himself between your legs, gently spreading them enough to press his nose against your clit as he breathes you in.

Sweet. You’re always sweet. You taste and smell it. You drip of honeyed, saccharine desire. When his tongue presses between your folds, he thinks he’s dipping it in gold.

“K-kinich, wait—”

“You say that every time,” he raises a smug brow. His fingers press into you, spreading you open as he inspects your fluttering walls. “But you never mean it, do you?”

Filthy, you think. He’s got an air of pure obscenity to him that you’re sure comes only when he’s tired of feeling alone. When he needs to know you’re here for good and not just for the moment.

“You play dirty,” you scowl, twitching when his tongue swirls over your clit, the smooth rumble of his chuckle vibrating against the sensitive bud. His fingers curl into you, pressing against a very delicate, very responsive spot in the back of your walls.

“Is that so?” He drawls, “you don’t exactly seem to mind it,” he murmurs.

And then his lips wrap around your clit, sucking as his tongue rolls in circles against it as you writhe. You can feel the tips of his digits bully into that same spot over and over, making your back arch as you whine.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “baby, please.”

You don’t know what you’re pleading for. He’s giving you what you want exactly how you want it—maybe that’s why you always say it, though. So you can never stop having him. Asking and asking and hoping he’ll give you everything without pausing.

He does, too. Kinich never gives half of himself into anything. For the right price, you get all of him. You pay the price in gentle kisses along his cheek and soft fingertips in his hair. In a warm lap under his cheek when he’s tired and a soft voice to remind him he’s not alone. In a worried look every time he’s scuffed and a soft smile every time your eyes meet his.

You pay the price of your love, and he compensates you with the reward of his. It’s a fair trade.

The only difference is that unlike his other deals, Kinich would still pay his love to you even if you stopped paying yours. He couldn’t stop if he tried. It’s an exception he doesn’t exactly choose to make, but doesn’t necessarily want to change, either.

Lucky for him, you don’t show any signs of pulling away.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, whispering the words into your cunt like he’s speaking directly to your desire, “and mine.”

“G-gods,” you moan, hand flying to grasp at his hair and tug as his fingers quicken their pace, fucking into your heat mercilessly as his tongue rolls over your clit.

It’s hot. It always is in the Pyro Nation. But hotter is the growing desire in the pit of your belly, and the heat between your legs that only one person can ignite. The flames lick at your sanity before something erupts in your system and all you feel is a gush of pure, white hot pleasure.

“That’s it,” he praises, working you through your orgasm as you let out a soft cry of his name.

Kinich is alive. You know that because only he could make you feel this way, and he is. He’s making you feel like there’s love between your legs as he coaxes the height of pleasure from you, buried into the apex of your thighs like it’s the only place he ever wants to be. You’re reminded that instead of blood dripping from his fingertips, it’s the essence of your arousal.

You’re reminded that when you need him, he’s never not there. Never leaving you behind from this world into another.

“I love you,” you blurt out in a post-orgasm haze.

He looks up at you with a toothy grin. It’s so rare to see him smile so freely. It’s like a child’s, sometimes. Something youthful and joyful and almost innocent enough that it makes your heart ache a little more than it does feel full.

Only a little, though.

“You say that a lot when I make you cum,” he laughs smoothly, a boyish and sweet little sound. You huff with a roll of your eyes.

“You do too,” you counter. “Maybe we only love each other when we feel good.”

“I always feel good with you,” he grins.

“I can make you feel a whole lot better,” you wink, wriggling your brows in a playful, tempting offer.

He takes it. With another soft laugh, he climbs up your body to hover his face over yours, admiring the sweat clinging to your forehead like it’s proof of his good work.

“Go on then,” he whispers. “Make me feel better. I just died today, you know.”

“I know,” you grumble only slightly, “I remember that very clearly. It was very rude of you.”

“My sincerest apologies,” he offers.

When Kinich was young, love was transactional. His father loved him with a box of sweets when a gamble of wages doubled. His mother was happy enough to afford him her gaze when there were flowers in the vase. He knew from early on not to expect any of it unless the proper price was offered.

And then he learned necessities were transactional, too. To exist is to pay a price. He watched as strangers took away his home, the remainder of his family’s belongings packed away as his mother wiped her tears. Food is not free when she is not there to tend to crops. Clothes don’t come easy when your father spends his days drinking away instead of working.

Without mora, you survive more than you live.

He hated it. Hated not having enough. Not being enough. He wasn’t enough to make his father want to be good and he wasn’t enough to make his mother want to stay. Didn’t have enough to offer for something as simple as unconditional love.

Love with you feels a lot different than what he’s grown up learning. You love him even when he’s closed off and a little cold. When his blunt words are a little too blunt and his words press hard into you with force. When he’s tired, and can’t offer you proper company, you love him, too. When he’s gone for days at a time for a commission further away, you still love him as you wait.

It’s always enough for you even when what he gives really isn’t enough at all.

He stopped trying to understand a long time ago. He’s still human—not everything can make sense with the logic of equal transaction. Sometimes, he just wants. Sometimes, he can’t give enough for what he wants. You always give it, though.

He’s stopped trying to make sense of it all for the sake of finally knowing joy. Peace. Possibly even comfort.

“Why do you love me?” He asks softly, rubbing the tip of his hard cock against your thigh. You rub along his bare back with a gentle hand, feeling the goosebumps raise along his skin under your palm.

“Because it’s easy to,” you answer.

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t life hard enough?” You shrug, “it’s nice having something simple. Loving you is easy, and that’s enough.”

“I don’t understand,” he mirrors your words from earlier. “But as long as you don’t stop, I think it’s okay.”

You want to tell him you’ll never stop loving. Every flame in Natlan will have to burn out before you stop loving Kinich. You’re confident that it’s impossible that will ever happen. But instead of words, you gently reach between your bodies to grab at his cock—it’s been hard and neglected for long enough that he lets out a soft, needy sound at the sudden touch.

You bring him to brush against your entrance, murmuring a soft, “I want you,” before he groans in response.

“Fuck,” he says shakily, “me too.”

And then, finally, he presses his tip into you, pushing past your folds and nudging into the deepest part of you.

He’s alive. You know that because you can feel him in the most rawest, purest way. Bare skin to skin. Warmth on warmth. Sweat against sweat. Body tangled into body. He’s alive and here and you can feel all of him at once.

He’s everywhere. He’s in your lungs as you kiss him and steal his breath. He’s in your heart as you feel it skip a beat for him. He’s in your soul as it burns at the very idea of him. And he’s in your cunt as he presses himself into you with a roll of his hips.

You love him when he’s alive.

You love him when he’s dead.

You love him when he’s resurrected.

You love him when he’s yours like this.

“Kinich,” you gasp, letting out a breathless moan as his tip slams into that spongy spot in your walls, “there—y-yes, like that.”

“I know,” he murmurs, grinning a little smugly enough that you feel embarrassed to already be this fallen apart. “I know exactly where.”

“Smooth talker for someone who ruined my whole day,” you huff.

“I told you I’m okay,” he grunts lowly. He kisses your throat, right over your pulse as he whispers, “I’m right here.” You whine as he rolls his hips particularly harshly to slam his cock into your most delicate spot.

“Knowing something is coming back doesn’t mean you like losing it,” you argue. “I don’t want you anywhere but here.” He gasps when your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer as you squeeze tighter around him.

You hate seeing Kinich fall because you’re reminded it’ll happen one day for real. There’ll come a time where he won’t be resurrected. You don’t like being reminded of this simple truth.

He doesn’t understand it because he’s always too busy denying your fall. He’s too busy making sure he fights every battle to win this war so you can live beside him. So you don’t have to succumb to the cruel likes of the abyss.

Neither of you can seem to grasp the other’s mortality very well. So you try to forget in the feeling of being lost in each other’s bodies. Where proof of life blooms in every inch of skin. Every labored breath and drop of sweat, every flex of muscle and rapid thrum of a heart.

You’re alive, and so is Kinich.

He’s not alone, and neither are you.

No one has had to bear a loss, and that’s all that matters. For now, at least.

“You feel so good,” he says hoarsely, letting out a soft, low whine when your walls flutter around him at the praise. “C-can’t…can’t live without you.”

“Don’t say that,” you sob, reaching your limit, “enough talk about living. I’m tired of it.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “then just cum again for me. I want to feel you do it around me this time.”

Your second orgasm makes you forget Kinich is alive. You’re too busy feeling the rush of life yourself. Your body burns with pleasure through every nerve, the familiar snap of pressure between your legs that has your entire form spasming under Kinich.

“’M c-cumming,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, muffling your sounds into his mouth as he swallows them whole.

“For me,” he hums.

“F-for you. Always for you.”

And then he cums too. Hard. For the last time, you’re hit with the evidence that he’s here with you and not somewhere else. Somewhere unreachable. Somewhere in a world apart from you.

He’s spilling warm, sticky cum into your walls with shaky arms holding him up above you, desperate rolls of his hips as he lets out choked sounds.

Skin slaps against skin and a combination of your arousals leaves a mess smeared between your legs, spilling down your inner thighs.

“Fuck—ngh. I’m…I’m…” he trails off.

He’s never been good with words like you. So instead, he buries his head into your neck and presses his nose into your skin, letting you cradle the back to his head so he knows you’re there.

“I know,” you pant, letting him fuck himself into you and ride out the high of his orgasm.

I know you need me. I need you too.

When he slumps over your body, you can feel his heart beat against yours. Rapid. Erratic. Harsh. Pounding. All of it is proof you’re both painfully mortal as you are alive.

“I love you,” you both whisper at the same time, utterly spent.

“You’re alive,” you breathe out a sigh of relief as your eyes close tiredly.

He hums, lifting his head to press a soft peck to your lips before he slumps into your neck against. “And so are you,” he murmurs in exhaustion.

You both fall asleep together with another year behind you.

Writing an emotional Kinich is actually really hard I’m not sure I even got it right bc we haven’t seen nearly enough of him but 😭 I hope this was not ooc enough that it was slightly believable. IDK I had a hard time deciding how he’d be in an emotionally charged moment of intimacy

Chapter 2: Regent

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The sound of skin to skin contact echoed throughout the meeting room. Pale skin becomes red as blood flows to the surface of it. A mild stinging pain could be felt, the feeling of embarrassment flooded his senses, but he kept a cool front. His poker face never faltered no matter how humiliated he was.

A sense of lingering anger and authority dropped from the hand that slapped the boy. His face filled with worry as his voice spoke out,

"A squad leader can't put his squad members' lives at risk." His voice was serious.

He was dead serious, and it showed not just through his expressions, but through his violent actions. He'd never once laid a hand on them no matter the circumstance, but he felt the need to express it this time to show that he was the one in charge for once and wouldn't be put down.

"It's dangerous to show our back to the enemy. I took the possibility of Orochi pursuing and attacking us from the rear into consideration." He defended himself.

He stared at Haise the whole time and asked him, "does that warrant a slap in the face?"

"You think you're so smart. Why else do you think I called for Haise? You would've died had it not been for me telling him as soon as we left to pursue Torso." Reina yelled at the foolish boy.

His ego got too big that he almost killed himself and the rest of his team all because of his selfish desires. Haise stood still as everything unveiled itself.

"Ghoul investigators must run even if their arms and legs are torn off!!" He raised his voice, veins popped out the side of his neck. His face contorted into one of worry.

"We'll have our chance as long as we're alive. What can we do if we're dead?!"

Sighing, Reina got in between both boys and put a hand on each of their shoulders. She pushed Urie away a bit and turned to face him.

"Urie I'm relieving you from duty as Squad Leader of the Quinx Squad." She stated.

Again Urie started arguing, he made sure his voice was heard when he said, "I find this unacceptable," but both of them didn't budge, instead Haise put his foot down and in an authoritative voice jibed, "it's an order."

Gritting his teeth Urie breathed heavily leaving a heavy suspenseful silence in his wake until he sneered at both of them, "but you're both ghouls..."

His eyes widened meanwhile the rest of the squad squeaked in surprise at his bold claim. How could he disrespect their mentors?! Shirazu wasted no time in beating some sense into the boy.

"You're a piece of shit!!" He yelled as he kicked the purple haired boy.

He continued to lecture the boy about how responsible and considerate their mentors were. How they both risked their lives for theirs. He tussled him around like a rag doll, Urie having no reaction to the treatment he was getting at the moment. Instead he looked behind him where Mutsuki was standing.

There the shy boy stood watching Shirazu manhandle Urie. Noticing that he was looking back he decided to speak up.

"Urie.. I.. I'd like you to apologize to Instructors Sasaki and Nakou."

"Shirazu let him go." Reina raised her hand in a stop motion.

Following her order he did so slowly. Looking back at his mentors he noticed that Haise was about to speak up.

"No matter what he says, my decision is final. Besides, I'm appointing Rank 3: Investigator Shirazu as Squad Leader." He pointed at the blonde.

Shirazu screeched and tried to protest. He had no idea what Sasaki was thinking, but this wasn't right. Him? Squad leader?! Those two things should never be in the same sentence. Haise reassured him that he'd teach him what it means to be a leader.

Turning to face the boy that was walking away he playfully hit him a small smile gracing his lips that didn't quite reach his ears.

"Urie. You keep disobeying me and I'll eat you! I'm a ghoul, remember?" He chuckled softly.

Having nothing else to say, the denoted boy just walked out the room. Noting Haise's weird behavior she walked behind him and patted his shoulder making him look down at her figure. She smiled weakly at him and left to follow after Urie.

She looked around everywhere and found him sitting on the couch by himself in the living room. Deciding to sneak up on him she quietly approached him and hugged him tightly against her chest. Startled at first he tried to pull her arms off of him until he heard the familiar sound of her voice reach his ears.

"Got ya." She tilted his head so he could look up at her.

Huffing he let her have her way with him. She let go and climbed over the couch to sit on the glass coffee table. Her small figure leaning back, strands of lilac hair letting loose from her messy bun.

"I'm going to make it quick since we have to wake up early tomorrow." She put it simply as she crossed her legs.

He looked her dead in the eye and motioned for her to get on with what she initially came here for.

"You need to learn to respect others, you know. If you keep up this rude attitude it won't make others like you. Now since I started living with you I've learned a few things." She started.

"You don't like sweets, so I don't know why you have that with you. Two you don't care for relationships, whether it's romantic or platonic it doesn't matter. You push those who care for you away all because of your personal goals." She sat upright and stood up walking behind the couch.

"Let me tell you from personal experience... you'd rather have friends or people you can call acquaintances than enemies. Why? Because you don't know when the last time you'll need them by your side is. If you have no one to be there for you, you'll feel lost." She leaned over it and whispered in his ear,

"I know you don't care about these mundane matters, but it'll come and bite you back in the ass. Especially if you mess with the wrong people." She breathed out and turned around to leave.

"And who would those people be?" His voice echoed throughout the vacant room.

The girl stood glued in her place.

"Since I started living with you I've learned a few things." He mocked.

She turned around and smirked.

"Yeah? Like what?" She taunted.

"You've been acting up since you moved in. Not a single time have you actually acted yourself. This little vulgar act you're putting up isn't fooling anyone. Who are you? Is the real question, Reina Nakou." His voice dripped of venom.

She smiled at his words and walked up to pat his cheek.

"I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, darling."

wc: 1.1k previous chapter  masterlist next chapter

a/n: short chapter cause of writers block but also because I wanted to stop meshing chapters together for a bit. Next chapter will be a bit longer but shorter than the previous ones.

ps. school is gonna kick me in the ass soon so… spontaneous updates will ensue

Tag list:

I’ll be posting on Friday!! I just need to format the chapters for tumblr and they’ll be on their way :) I apologize for the long wait, I’ll be going on hiatus again soon because of finals and AP exams :( but I’ll be back by late May/early June. Thank you so much for you patience

— Emmy <3

(Senior year kinda sucks 🥲)

Edit: I got caught up with work n shit, I’ll post at 12 or 1 tomorrow (for sure)!! (05.10.24)

the black cousins

all the hidden meanings!

colors:

red is the color of sirius’ shirt, narcissa’s lips and regulus’ pocket handkerchief. red represents how they rebelled against their family (sirius ran away and was openly against their morals, narcissa lied to voldemort and basically helped defeating him w her words, regulus turned against voldemort at the last moment, dying for his cause)

narcissa and andromeda are the only ones not wearing black, and they’re the only survivors in this picture.

clothes and accessories:

andromeda is wearing a white dress that resembles a bride’s dress, because she ran away to marry ted. her and sirius’s clothes are also less restricting than regulus and narcissa’s, because unlike their younger siblings they got their freedom.

andromeda, like her cousins, is wearing silver jewelry, aside from a gold ring (her engagement ring), and with her hand she’s covering a family pendant (she chose love over her family). regulus is wearing a pin that looks like salazar’s locket.

poses and such:

andromeda isn’t looking at the camera because she was the first to “look away from her family”, and sirius is looking at her because he would soon follow in her footsteps (andy also has a hand on his shoulder to further represent her influence on him). similarly, bellatrix (who is the only one smiling) is keeping an hand on narcissa so she wouldn’t leave. narcissa has a hand clenched in a fist, covered by her left, (as a way to hide her defiance).

ok i think this is all but i’m not sure lmao xx

hope you like it ^^

Emmy, you are the sweetest person ever!! Thank you for your love! I truly am always so honored to see you around :) <33 ! I hope you're having a great day/night, lovely!

No, thank you, love! It’s always been a pleasure reading your works. I can honestly say I’ve never interacted with anyone’s page as much as yours which is saying something. Your works always intrigue me. They’re so eloquent, full of drama, and the themes in it always help out the plot of the story. The way your add more characteristics to the already known characters adds to them. It’s as if we see them as a person and not just a character we like, it’s someone we can relate to in our own way. I love your work and will always continue to support you, I’m glad to be there for you. Have a great morning :)

Glad You’re Home (TASM! Peter Parker x fem!reader)

Summary: You’ve known Miles Morales for years. You knew high school would be an interesting time for him. What you didn’t know was that would involve him becoming Spider-Man’s protégé. Nor did you know it would involve him bringing an injured Spider-Man to your apartment one night for you to take care of.

Warnings: Fluff, descriptions of injuries, hint of angst, mild sexual innuendos and lots of flirting. Reader also has a nickname. Set after No Way Home. Reader and Peter are in their 20s (post college).

Notes: I haven’t written in literal years, but couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Shoutout to @lipstickbisous​ for inspiring me to write the fluff you want to see in the world. 5.5K words later and here we are. 

Part two is up! As is part three!

You were beginning to prep dinner when you got his text.

MM: Hey, you home?

Yeah. Why?

MM: Need your help. Be outside in 5.

Keep reading

please rb when u see this!

many palestinians have asked me to donate and share their gofundme links. most are still far from their goals so please donate if u can ♡

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Second Son (XVI) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The soul-tracking ritual ensues, and Anders has a precarious idea.

Part XV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: I hope you guys enjoy this chapter :). Sincerely hoping this chapter doesn't glitch again.

The excitement of performing the soul-tracking ritual wore off rather quickly when you realized that you had to draw out all of the runes since Anders was unable to crouch down. It was an extensive process and each character had to be extremely precise, causing your fingers to cramp up rather quickly. 

Your feet were feeling fuzzy as the circulation in your legs started to suffer from your position, your knees cracking noisily with every shuffle you took to continue mapping out the ritual circle. 

“I can’t feel my legs anymore.” You whined, upper body flopping down as you braced yourself with your palms. 

Anders grunts from in front of you, “You’re not even halfway there yet, and careful you almost smudged the Dagaz.” His drawl has you huffing, head instinctually snapping to the side to make sure you didn’t actually smear anything. 

“Easy for you to say, you’re sitting on a bloody stool while I’m hunched over, practically shining your boots!” Your exasperation was painted across your face, words spewing out in a mixture of annoyance and jest. 

The man rolls his eyes and rubs a hand over his knee, the joint no doubt aching, “Careful loyal vassal of mine, I am graciously offering you my help after all,” his tone of amusement melts away and he suddenly grows serious, “but it is imperative that we do this quickly.” 

You huff and adjust your position, swinging your head up to look at the man in curiosity, “Why’s that?” 

Anders’ face is darkened with a grim frown, and he peers down at the papers on his laps, “You said that those buddies of yours were going to kill Tom, right?” 

“Yes…” Your uncertain tone has you fidgeting with your wand habitually, eyes flickering between the window of the room and the man in front of you. 

“Well he’s puppeting the inferis with his magic, so they’ll undoubtedly be reduced to husks once he’s gone. So we need to hurry,” Anders elucidates, mouth set into a firm line as he delved deeper into his thoughts. 

Putting a hand up, you blink owlishly at the man, “This is too much information. So, not only are inferis still housing their original souls – but you’re saying that it's Voldemort’s magic that’s tying these souls down to the land of the living?” 

You didn’t know whether you wanted to curse the detestable man into oblivion or begrudgingly allow yourself to be grateful that his existence meant Regulus’ soul was still with you. 

Well, he was chaining down hundreds of souls for his own selfish desires – so you were leaning towards wanting to stick your hand through his head. 

“Only the inferis of his own creation, but yes, in theory.” The man looks mildly impressed at your quick thinking. 

“Would it be a bad idea to owl Harry and ask him to raincheck on his plans to eviscerate the Dark Lord?” You draw a hand to rub at your forehead, a newfound migraine blooming from the back of your neck and straining across your occiput. 

Anders gives you an unimpressed eyebrow raise before waving his hand towards the abandoned quarter-circle behind you, “A terrible idea. Now, let’s continue.” 

You finish drawing the ritual circle an hour after sunset. 

Your hand was shaking uncontrollably, jerking with every cramp that tugged at your muscles. You had begun sweating at one point, causing Anders to limp over and slide both of the windows open. The cool air bristled through the room and circled around all the loose papers, the sounds of rustling and quiet cruising from the older man flowing around the atmosphere. 

As you step back to survey your hard work, you can’t help the smile that plays at your lips: the intricacies of the circle was alluring, practically glowing under the yellow light fixtures above you. The wind began to whistle, and Anders took that as a cue to interrupt your little reprieve, “Looks decent enough.” 

“Decent? Have you gone senile since the last time we chatted? This bloody thing is the embodiment of perfection!” You cry out in incredulity, pondering all the ways you could attach the nifty piece of work to your academic portfolio.

Anders rolls his eyes and organizes his papers, “Yes, yes, you’re practically a Runes Master. Take a picture of it, why don’t ya?” 

Playfully narrowing your eyes at his back, you go to retort, but a knock at the door has you pausing just as you open your mouth. Sharing a look with Anders, you carefully move to investigate, only cracking the door open marginally in order to hide your work. 

It wouldn’t do you much good to have the neighbors thinking you were summoning something. 

“Luna?” Your squawk of surprise only causes the girl to smile, eyes darting over your head as her gaze seems to fade in and out of fixation. 

Bouncing on her heels, she reaches into her pocket, “So, you’re done?” 

“Yeah, I finished drawing up the circle. I think the old man wants to perform the actual ritual tonight though, so I won’t see you until tomorrow.” You exhale tiredly and murmur to yourself, “If I wake up, that is.” 

Luna nods quickly and pulls out a few items from her coat, “I see. Well, I’ve brought some things. I was told that you were in need of this as well by the Humdingers” In her outstretched hands, you see a couple of wrapped sandwiches and a small camera. 

“What?” You gape and slowly reach forwards, “Where did you get a camera from, little moon?” 

The girl smiles brightly and fiddles with her coat buttons, “I asked Asger.” You nod in appreciation and smile at the girl, waving with your full hands as she gracefully skips away towards the house. 

You retreat back into the room and brandish the camera at the expectant man with a victorious smirk, “I have great friends.” 

Anders grunts and reaches for one of the sandwiches, “That’s my camera, kid.” 

You examine the device with your oh so supple fingers, and ignore the urge to stick your tongue out at him, your sensibility winning out for once. As you both eat in silence, your eyes run over the respectable pile of papers in front of Anders, realizing that the man was absolutely serious about publishing your findings. 

“What have you got so far?” You nod towards his papers. 

His eyes quickly flicker beside him, “Magical essences and the imbuing work your boy did, and now I’m drafting up some pages about inferis and their souls.” 

You hum quietly and dust off your hands as you finish the last scraps of your food, feeling more vigilant as your aching stomach settles. The camera was smaller than the jarring flash bulb that Rita Skeeter always had around, and if anything, seemed way more practical. 

It was a bit blocky and had a round lens in the center with a small depression that you could only assume was for the flash. The bottom of the camera had a small rectangular slit — an output. 

“Polaroid 600. Film is as expensive as it gets, so don’t you go and waste it.” Anders’ quietly mumbles as he gets up from his spot, hands reaching for the camera. As he fiddles around with it for a few moments, the top suddenly seems to prop up and he hands it back to you with a satisfied nod, “Think you know how to operate a camera?” 

“I’m not a dunce, thank you very much.” Your riposte causes him to roll his eyes as he gestures for you to move towards the circle. Despite your initial indignance, it took you a few moments of consideration and blind thumbing until you were confident enough to snap the photo. As you (luckily) manage to get a good shot, you conceal your surprise as the photo immediately begins to peek out of the bottom slit, slowly being spat out. 

How convenient.

You nimbly pull the photo out once it seems to stop sputtering, and hand the camera over to Anders before peering at the developing square film. Slowly, you watch as the outlines of the ritual circle bloom into visibility. 

You take a couple more moments to run your eyes over the photo before placing it in Anders’ awaiting palm. The man hobbles over to his table and clips the photo to one of the pages, placing the camera on the stack of papers afterwards. 

“Okay, now put your boy’s photo in the center—next to the Uruz symbol.” 

You wordlessly comply with Anders’ words, and slowly tiptoe out of the circle, eyes never straying from Regulus’ face. The man moves to the opposite side of the circle, and pats at the air, gesturing for you to sit down. 

Watching from your position on the floor, Anders begins to chant evenly, eyes closed as you feel him begin to gather his magic to pool across the symbols. The faint steely nature of his magical signature washes over you, and you clasp your hands together in your lap as you feel an immense pressure begin to weigh on the room. Regulus’ photo gives a faint jolt, then another, and then another, until the whole paper begins to vibrate. 

You watch in awe as the photo slowly rises into the air, the Uruz symbol glowing brightly with a faint red hue. In the blink of an eye, the photo jerks sideways and falls onto the Hic symbol to your left just as Anders’ chanting ceases. 

“Hic? Here? What does it mean, here?” Your questions seem to spill out uncontrollably, and you see the older man give the photo a look of consideration. 

“I’m not quite sure. Usually, souls still in the realm of the living are classified as Vivus,” Anders mutters, hand coming up to rub at his chin, “Kid, is that ring of yours imbued with his magic?” 

You nod and reach for your ring, fingers running over the two snakes that you’ve grown accustomed to. Anders sighs before slapping his hand over his entire face, dragging it down as he seems to wage an internal war with himself. 

“You said your boy was in a cave?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, and nod slowly, “Yes…and so are hundreds of other inferis, why?” 

The man meets you gaze with a determined look as you slowly stand up, hands fiddling with your ring. 

“Well, let’s go fetch your boy.” 

The journey back to the cave was bittersweet, and you almost lost your footing as you apparated to the very spot you had before, except this time with a rather grumpy presence by your side. Water batted against the rock you were rooted to, droplets of water flying into your face periodically. You could barely make out the view in front of you as the moon faintly illuminated the waves.

As you apparate with Anders to the shore, you feel a lump grow in your throat. Your heart was beating violently against your chest, and a cold sweat started to break through the surface of your skin. 

The muted crunching of sand and rocks under your shoes grounded you to reality as the void of the cave engulfed you, washing away the sea of stars that had been beaming at you from above.

“Lumos.” 

As you extended your wand in front of you, you had half the mind to be cautious of potential bloodthirsty death eaters or one psychotic dark lord, realizing that perhaps the certifiable man would be on the upkeep for his horcruxes. 

Soon, you both reached the rounded end of the cave, and Anders shoots you an unimpressed look. Holding a hand up at him, you extinguish your lumos and bring your wand to your palm, “Secare.”

Dragging the tip of your wand against your palm, the spell slowly cuts your skin enough to draw blood. Satisfied with your work, you swipe your bloodied cut against the damp rocks behind you. 

“Lumos.” 

The wall of charcoal stone crumbles away like you remembered, and you’re immediately met with a wave of faint heat. 

Remnants of your fire storm from last time?

“Bloody hell,” Anders croaks from behind you, eyes glimmering at the sight of the sumptuous crystal clusters. The milky geodes sent a shiver down your spine as you started to draw a resemblance between their geometric planes and the cloudy skin of the inferis. 

Making your way through the dark ventricle of minerals, you slowly emerge into the belly of the cave, the familiar void of water just meters away from you. 

“We’re here. They’re in there,” your voice falls into a whisper, “he’s in there.”

Anders steps out from behind you and pulls out his own wand, the worn ashen wood barely visible in the light of your lumos. Tilting his head towards you, he looks at you with a solemn gaze before asking, “His full name?” 

“Regulus Arcturus Black.” 

Nodding, the man turns towards the lake and moves his wand counterclockwise, “Prodire Regulus Arcturus Black.” 

Nothing happens for a few seconds, until abruptly — something breaks through the surface of the water and flies towards your awaiting figures, stilling to a stop in front of Anders as if colliding with an invisible wall. Your hand swings to cover your mouth as your eyes trail along the spindly creature: its body was slack in the air, arms stiff like milky needles, chest unnaturally thin with a protruding rib cage that threatened to burst through bruised skin, and a rawboned face veiled by the darkness. 

This thing was Regulus?

You felt your world begin to tip and spin, eyes burning then blurring rapidly. Shivers wracked through your chest as sobs seemed to well in your throat. Closing your eyes, you try to steady your breathing, but the flashing image of Regulus’ face and then the sight of the horrid creature infiltrate your head. 

It feels as though a millennia of your discombobulation passes by before you feel a firm grip on your shoulder, the gesture helping to keep you upright on your feet. 

“Come on, kid,” Anders’ face comes into view and you see his eyes soften uncharacteristically, his mouth set into a hard frown. Your eyes stray to the side and you see that the man had summoned a cloth to cover the inferi during your small episode, the lumpy bundle now floating in the air nearby. 

Nodding quickly, you swallow harshly before spinning around, “Right. Sorry.” Your whisper is met with a comforting silence, and you appreciated more than ever, Anders’ ability to know when words weren’t needed. 

As you both stiffly trek back through the cave, you begin to feel a weight of foreboding blanket your body. Picking up the pace, you step out of the mouth of the cave with sweaty hands, eyes darting around wildly. 

“Hurry,” your choked whisper confuses the older man, but he abides nonetheless. As you grab his forearm and hesitantly grab a part of the covered inferi, you hear a faint warping echo from off to the side. 

Gasping quietly into the chilly air, you barely catch a glimpse of the familiar figure before you’re tugged away by the distortion of apparition. You can barely breathe as your heart seems to stutter uncontrollably. 

You land back inside the research room with Anders and Regulus’ inferi, not even noticing how cramped the space now was as you tried to quell your panic. 

“Kid? What’s wrong?” Anders floats the clothed figure down into the center of the circle as you buckle to the ground, blood flushing cold. 

“Voldemort. He was there.” You gasp out. 

The man jolts to a paralyzed freeze as his eyes widen comically, his heart no doubt beginning to race as fast as yours. You shake your head jerkily and wave your hand aimlessly, “He didn’t see you. Or well, you were covered by the cloth, but he definitely noticed me.” 

The dryness of your mouth was beginning to prickle and itch, your skin suddenly feeling too tight on your body. You were sure he recognized you, after all, he was always in Harry’s head. 

“Then we just have to hurry a bit.” Anders' steady words have you snapping your attention over to him, confused as to why he was so calm now. Seeing your distraught gaze, he sighs, “He won’t come for you for now, I’m sure he is focused on your other friends. Besides, even if he were, he has no idea where to even look.” 

Nodding with an unconvinced frown, you feel your fear melt away into a stony resolve, eyes flickering over to look at the figure laying in the circle. 

“Thank you, Anders.” Your dry whisper has him cracking a small smile. 

“Thank me when your boy is back up and running.” 

You were robotically drawing more rune characters, eyes unfocused as you were too entranced by your thoughts. You weren’t sure what the older man was planning as he hadn’t explained to you what this additional ritual entailed, but you were determined to make it work. 

As you complete the last etching, head rising up to look at the concentrated man, he finally breaks the tense atmosphere, “I don’t know if it’ll work, but the combination of his soul and your ring might just do the trick.”

Tilting your head to the side, you try not to sound too hopeful, “So, he’ll be completely recovered if it works?” 

“Not completely, he’ll need time to rejuvenate his magical core. This would be unprecedented, kid. I don’t have all the answers, and I can’t promise that it will work, but I am going to do my best.” His eyes are unwavering, back straightened with coiled tension. 

You nod hastily, knowing that you were both pretty much running on wishes. As Anders double checks your rune work, you slowly slip your ring off your finger, cringing as the cold air brushes against your naked finger. 

You hadn’t ever taken it off before. 

Placing the cool band next to the covered figure, you step out of the circle and clench your hands. Anders nods in confirmation before stepping out as well, slowly hobbling over to stand on the opposite side of the circle. 

“Let your magic funnel out into the circle as well. You won’t need to chant.” Anders' brief words have you nodding, and you slowly shuffle from leg to leg, fatigue starting to seep into your veins. 

The chanting begins soon after, and you allow the metaphorical valves of your magical core to open, feeling the coolness of your magic sweeping to tangle with Anders’ metallic magic. Both of your magical signatures dance around the circle and collect in the center, flexing together above the figure. The entire rune circle seems to radiate in shades of reds and stormy greys before blazing into an endless black.  

Suddenly, you feel magic seep from the clothed figure — a deep, harrowing magic that roused with a small rumble before erupting into a suffocating cloud that could only be described as numbing. 

It was nothing like Regulus’ magic, which meant that this corrupted energy belonged to Voldemort. You grit your teeth as you flush out more of your magic to try and drive away Voldemort’s lingering signature, the psychopath’s magic seeming to screech violently at your attempt. 

The prolonged battle with the stifling magic finally ends as the dark cloud is ripped away from you, pulled in all directions towards the additional runes you drew, the characters radiating in almost a blinding way before ripping apart the corrupted magic. 

The once dark circle stews into a cool grey before disintegrating into a pale green, the light beating melodically. You watch in wonderment as the magic in the ring bubbles into your magic, intertwining with yours before slowly clutching at Anders’ as well. Your potent whirl of combined magic slowly descends towards the clothed figure, causing it to jerk wildly. 

The cloth shuffles with the movements and you see it begin to pull upwards as if the inferi was arching towards your magic. Suddenly, the strings of magic slam into the clothed figure, sending shockwaves throughout the room. 

As you hear a few books tumble to the ground at the energy, the figure twitches once more before falling still again. Anders continues to chant for a few more moments as the circle flares into a blinding white light before it, too, simmered into nothingness. 

You nearly topple over in exhaustion as the energy draws back into your body, the synergies of magic in the room evaporating almost instantaneously. Anders wipes his forehead with his sleeve, and shakily stumbles over to his table for stability. 

“Did it work?” Your voice is crackly as a sharp, sticky pain climbs up your neck. 

The man huffs and glances at you before slowly making his way towards the figure, grunting as he tries to crouch down. He tugs the cloth upward and peers inside, expression unreadable. 

“Well?” 

Anders looks up at you, eyebrows drawn, “I have a lot more to write about.” 

Leaping forward at his words, you rip away the cloth slightly to expose the figure’s head, and you nearly pass out on the spot. 

“It worked. It worked. It worked.” Your quiet chants spurs on a wave of tears as you slowly run your fingers over Regulus’ face. The boy looked picturesque in his sleeping state, face no longer emaciated and bruised, but now mirroring his appearance from when he was just a portrait in your pocket. 

You brush his curls aside and resist the urge to just keel over and fall asleep on him, your magical exhaustion echoing through your bones. 

“Do you have something else on you that’s imbued with his magic?” Anders’ quiet words have you snapping out of your euphoric state, eyes drawn up in confusion. Seeing your perplexity, he clarifies, “He might not remember you, this ritual simply revitalized him and unchained his soul. He might only remember the events before his death.” 

You pause at the revelation and sit up straighter, hands dropping to your sides. Gaping for a few moments, your mind whirs as you try and grasp for the right words, “Uh, wait, yes. I have these.” Your hands fish into your pockets and you pull out the tattered pieces of the golden portrait frame, outstretching them for the man to see. 

“His portrait frame?” Anders’ eyebrows shoot up in stupefaction. 

Nodding, you slowly drop the pieces into his rough palm, “It doesn’t matter.” The man frowns, puzzled, so you continue, “As long as he’s okay, it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t remember me.” 

Straightening up from his position, he stares at the pieces of wood in his hand, “He just might remember… if these are truly imbued with his magic.” Looking up, you see skepticism flicker in his eyes, “Are you too beat for another ritual?” 

“You should be asking yourself that, old man.”

You don’t remember much that happens afterwards. 

As you crack your eyes open, lingering fatigue weighing on your eyelids, you are keenly aware of a hand running across your shoulders. 

“Reg?” Your voice comes out as a strained whisper. 

A familiar face pops into your line of sight, “He’s okay, just resting upstairs.” Luna’s smile warms your chest, and you resist the urge to turn over and bury yourself into the warmth of her arms. 

Your body was incredibly sore from the activities of the previous day, and you were sure that your magical core was rolling about, emptily inside of you. The longer you laid, the more groggy you grew as the air started to warm against your skin. 

Gently pushing up from the mattress underneath you, you run a hand down your place as Luna shifts to stand up. The girl helps you shuffle upstairs and towards the bathroom, quietly insisting that you wash up as she prepares tea for you. 

Sluggishly washing up, you take a moment to peer into the cloudy mirror, raising an eyebrow at the sight of heavy bags under your eyes. Your shoulders sagged from exhaustion, and the sound of your grumbling stomach prompted you to make your way towards the kitchen. 

As you slowly trudged into the room, eyes squinting from the beams of sunlight that flitted through the window, you see Asger approach you with a plate in hand. 

“Good afternoon. Dad’s in his research shed right now.” The man extends the plate to you, and your mouth waters at the sight of the hearty lunch. You nod in thanks and drop down onto an awaiting chair, gaze straying towards one of the closed doors down the hall. 

Asger, seeing your restless ministrations, chuckles before answering your unvoiced question, “He’s in there. Hasn’t awakened yet, but Dad said it’s only a matter of time. He's recovering quite fast.” 

Right, your rituals worked. Both of them. It was starting to come back now, and you could feel the weight of the frame pieces and your ring in your pocket, both now depleted of Regulus’ magic. 

Scarfing down your meal, and ignoring Asger’s cringe, you start to mentally debate on whether you should visit Anders first, or Regulus. Luna places a mug in front of you, and plops down into the seat next to yours, fingers fiddling with a few strings of yarn. 

Regulus won out, of course. 

As you dismiss yourself with endless words of gratitude to your two friends, you slowly make your way into the room Regulus was resting in. You cross through the threshold, mug in hand, and immediately surrender yourself to the comforting wave of magic that envelops you. 

The warm magic — Regulus’ magic, brings tears to your eyes, and you have to take a few moments to compose yourself. The aching hollowness in your heart, the one you had grown accustomed to in the following months after the destruction of his portrait, seems to sing with inklings of joy. 

You were still in a state of disbelief, mind reeling from the fact that you not only discovered uncharted branches of magic, but also that you got Regulus back. No, not only you — Sirius was going to get Regulus back, too. 

The boy in question was laid on a makeshift bed, covered by a fleece blanket. Anders took up the great responsibility of clothing him after your flustered realization that he was nude, the man murmuring tidbits about how he did the same for Asger when the younger man fractured his hip years ago. 

You walk over and sit down by his side, brushing your hand over his hair. 

Things would change now. They would be better. 

You spend a long while just sitting by the boy’s side, mind still unconvinced that he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. 

After a long thread of thoughts that devolved into heart wrenching what if’s, you decide to pay a visit to Anders, immensely grateful for his help and wisdom. The sunny skies slowly dimmed as clouds drifted by, the air chilling to sooth the faint migraine that still sunk its claws into your head. 

As you make your way into the research room, you can’t mask the smile that stretches across your lips. Anders was hunched over his table, hand moving furiously across a sea of pages as he tried to document every droplet of theory and fact on the papers. Not wanting to interrupt the man’s train of thought, you linger by the doorway before slowly teetering towards a fallen stack of books. 

You organize the endless towers of tomes for a few minutes before Anders takes note of your presence as he goes to stretch his back. 

“Finally awake?” His voice is light, and you could see the remnants of engrossment creeping in his eyes. He truly did have a passion for this branch of research.  

You nod and grin brightly at the man, “Sure am. Now, are you going to accept my thank you?” 

Anders grunts and waves you off with an amused eye roll — the closest thing to a “you’re welcome” in his language, and turns back to his papers, “Anyway, another owl came for you this morning. The letter should be on your stool.” 

As the man resumes his writing, you peer around to try and find the envelope, clicking your tongue when you find the paper beaming at you from across the room. 

Dear Padfoot’s pup, 

We hope you are well. At first, we weren’t going to accept the offer, but some unexpected events happened that forced us away. We are safe now with the frightening widow. We’ve gotten two more, but now the Goblins hate us. 

Stay safe. We are going to remain here until we are forced to confront the darkness. Unfortunately, we fear that it will be soon. 

We miss you. Padfoot keeps whining, we think he misses you most. 

-Prongslet and co. 

You laugh lightly at the contents of the letter, and you fold the paper back up. Good to know that Harry and the others were safe with the Contessa at the very least. As you stuff the paper back in the envelope, you see another folded paper sidled against the wall of the envelope. 

Hello lost friend of mine, 

A certain dragon of ours is growing restless, we fear that his blood father is in trouble with a certain man. The Carrows are a nightmare, and it appears that many students are disappearing with every passing day. Theodore keeps shooting down my (entirely plausible) theory that those twin professors of ours are hiding their bodies in a dark closet somewhere. 

I’ve received a letter from my mother informing me of the rearrangements at home, and I must say, it was quite a surprise. I haven’t heard back from you since you’ve departed, and I almost thought you were dead for a while. Glad to hear that you aren’t. 

Theodore says hi, and he wants to know all the research you’ve done. Our dragon also says hi and that he hopes you received his last letter. 

I hope to hear from you soon. 

(Reply to me.)

-B

“Was it a tawny owl?” Your question rings out into the quiet atmosphere, drawing Anders out of his work. 

The man gives you a grunt of confirmation and you nod in satisfaction. It would appear that Harry is corresponding to you via Contessa Zabini, the woman no doubt telling Blaise to forward the letter to you along with his. 

Merlin, what a strange web of dynamics.

As you tuck away the papers into your pockets, a knock has you spinning on your heel in curiosity. Anders barely even looks up from his work as you make your way to the door, a wave of deja vu slamming into you. 

Opening the door, you see Luna smiling brightly at you, similar to her airy demeanor from the night before.

Before you can get a word out, the girl quickly supplies you with news that has air fleeing from your lungs, “He’s awake.” 

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txorua @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke @summer-noir @mikeikax @musically-ambiguous @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @randomfaeriechild @misacc08 @that-bitch-bri @littleshadow17 @chocochannie @bl4stonesc @shari-berri

annoying.

pairing - james potter x slytherin!reader

summary - james potter has a crush on you, but you don't feel the same way. or do you?

trope/tags - friends to lovers (kind of), grumpy x sunshine (again, kind of), fluff

word count - 8.5k

warnings - language, mentions of sex

lowercase intended!!

the very first time james tried to get your attention was in your second year at hogwarts. he could not recall the exact moment he realised that he would do quite literally anything for you, even if it meant that he would have to die, but he knew for sure that you were the one he was meant to be with. remus thought he was being a bit dramatic, he was only twelve, for merlin's sake, what does he know about love, but james paid no mind to his worries and complaints. sirius, of course, supported him, and peter simply just trailed along hoping that they will make it out alive. why? well, you were a slytherin.

you were having lunch in the great hall with your peers like every other day. barty was acting like his usual joker self. which, frankly, was not his smartest idea, considering the blaringly obvious fact that everybody was eating and a choking hazard comes in package with laughing while chewing. no one really batted an eye, though. pandora was barely holding herself together, and evan was miserably failing at keeping a straight face. regulus was rather unphased and continued shoving pieces of beef into his mouth, but not while secretly chuckling at the stupid faces barty was making. you and dorcas, being the oldest ones, attempted to calm them all down, but your worries went on deaf ears. regardless, you were having a wonderful time, blissfully unaware of what your life was about to turn into.

"oi, l/n!" the laughter around you faded away and everybody's focus was now shifted to james standing at the entrance of the great hall.

"is that potter?" pandora wiped her tears away and rose up from her seat to see the show which was about to unfold. you furrowed your eyebrows as you slipped away into thought, picturing all sorts of possible terrifying scenarios, because why the hell was he addressing you all of a sudden? out of all people? and so loudly? you'd only ever spoken to him in potions class the previous year when slughorn assigned you to work together.

it was all very confusing and you weren't sure what to make of it.

you panicked when james started walking towards you and failed to notice the way your friends sniggered at the way your face went completely pale, just like that. he slipped into the empty spot next to you, smiling while he was waiting for your reaction. gasps left the mouths of multiple slytherins at the table, and your eyes widened in horror when you recieved dirty looks from snape and his peers. they were certainly going to terorise you and your friends for that.

it took you a few seconds, but you managed to connect the dots in your head. those sudden behavioural changes whenever you passed him in the corridors, the all but subtle glances he would send your way, the smiles, that weird twinkle in his eyes - everything suddenly made sense, as much as you hated to admit it. james potter had a crush on you, and he finally mustered up the courage to do something about it. and in the stupidest way possible.

"hello." you tried sound as polite as you possibly could despite wanting him to give him a hard push to the floor. you were everything but delighted by his presence, and restored to picking at the food in your plate without sparing him a second glance. regulus let out a snort.

"can i ask you something?" he leaned forward on the table with his hand supporting his chin. he was way too enthusiastic for your comfort and you wanted him gone.

"uh, alright, i guess." you shrugged lazily, biting the inside of your cheek in distress. part of you felt like you should let him speak; what if it was school related? potter was smart, and you could use some help on your transfiguration essays. the other part of you, however, was just about ready to strangle you.

"wanna be my girlfriend?" he smiled stupidly and it was followed by hollering and cheering from his friends, including your own. the students at the gryffindor table all appeared to have a million questions running through their minds, and your fellow housemates were not very pleased - not only did he ruin their lunch, but he was a gryffindor. and top of it, he was james potter.

you did a double-take. your mouth fell open in surprise. this was exactly what you feared.

"what?! no!" you whisper-yelled, petrified by his offer. your face was on fire, and not because you were flattered by his words, but purely out of embarrassment. barty and evan dissolved into laughter.

"okay, then how about a date first?" he was persistent and you moved away from him by instinct, only to have dorcas push you forward and towards him.

"no! go away!" you hissed, mortified, and turned your face away from him to hide the fact that it was burning. you almost reached for your wand and hexed them both.

"i have a book with some cool jinxes that i can teach you! it'll be fun! please!" he kept pushing, his eyes sparkling with hope. you swore you felt like smoke was about to come bursting out of your ears. regulus reached from behind dorcas and tapped your back in a comforting manner, but you did not miss the way he smirked after he retrieved his hand.

"teach me?! do you think i'm stupid?!" you snapped, finally whipping your head in james' direction with rage evident on your face.

"i thought you wanted to learn the– ow!" you kicked barty in the shin from under the table. the sudden impact made everybody's plates shake. "hey, i almost spilled my soup!"

"come on, y/n! please!" he decided to shoot his shot one more time, this time with puppy eyes, and a sodding pout, but you refused to give in. nothing in the world could have made you say yes to james bloody potter.

"no." you said sternly, crossing your arms and not allowing yourself to look in his direction again.

"fine! but just so you know, i'm not giving up," he stood up, it was amusing to you how unaffected he was by your rejection. he was as enthusiastic as he was when he first took a seat next to you, "i'm gonna make you mine."

***

and james kept his promise. the next several years at hogwarts became certainly memorable. getting rejected bruised the gryffindor boy's ego, so he was determined to prove himself to you and became quite a little show off. he was awfully cocky, and to top it all off, he did the absolute stupidest things to try and impress you - from jinxing snape after he heard him berate you for messing up a potion, to straight up helping you cheat in transfiguration class and getting himself a year's worth of detentions. he was a gentleman, though, and didn't try to pressure you into going out with him after you made it clear that you did not want to. as much as he adored you, he never went out of his way to actually do something that would cause you discomfort. no, that was his biggest nightmare.

funny enough, it was also why your hatred for him began fading away, and very unfortunately for you, there was no going back. you really had no true reason to dislike him as much as you did, which only made you loathe him even more. truth be told, you felt bad, and that was what you hated the most.

after james' terribly unsuccessful attempt at asking you out, things became rather awkward and you did everything in your power to avoid him. you despised him, or so you told yourself. your friends were sure you did, you spoke about him with so much venom in your voice that pandora thought they'd have to lock you up to stop you from using a forbidden curse on him. but then somehow, the two of you formed a strange sort of relationship, one would even call it friendship - james would randomly wind up in the same places you (he'd always claim that it was only coincidental), but you wouldn't chase him away. yeah, you'd be mean to him, obviously, and any normal person would probably cry, but he was enjoying it, because, well, it was you. when you grew closer to the gryffindor girls, mary macdonald managed to open your eyes and you saw that james wasn't the creep you assumed he was. so, you warmed up to him, and by some strange miracle, stopped completely loathing him and his presence.

though you still found him completely, utterly and unbearably annoying.

"oi, l/n! what you up to?" he showed up in the astronomy tower where you were reading one gloomy afternoon. regulus must have told him where you were, looks like someone's sleeping on the floor tonight. the lake seemed like a perfect place to drop a bed into at times. it's not that you didn't want james there, it's just that you didn't want to see anybody at that particular moment. you had grown to love colder weekends. they were the perfect excuse to avoid any unwanted trips to hogsmeade that would usually lead to you getting in trouble because barty had a habit of setting off a dozen dungbombs to poke at mulciber and snape. as satisfying as it was, you had gotten enough detentions that year and you weren't exactly prepared to receive another howler.

so, you just couldn't miss out on the perfect opportunity to go up into the astronomy tower and read in the peaceful atmosphere. it had always been much calmer up there compared to the other parts of hogwarts.

"reading." you replied flatly, returning your gaze back to the text in front of you. or at least you pretended to do so. no matter how hard you tried, you could not focus again, so you kept your eyes on the same sentence while you waited for him to do something. for a moment, you wondered what he had been up to before he found you. he peeked over your shoulder to take a better look at the writing.

you did not say a word, and you realised that if you sat there pretending to read while waiting for him to leave you alone would most likely take hours, so you continued trailing your eyes over the letters, and got lost in the story once again.

what you didn't notice is that he got invested too, completely by accident. it wasn't james' intention to come down there and read with you, he wasn't even sure what you were up to and all he wanted was to see you, but there he was, reading from behind your shoulder in the tranquil ambient of the tower.

it was when he suddenly asked you to wait before flipping the page that you realised he had been reading with you all along, and you squinted your eyes at him with a glint of curiosity in them.

"what are you doing?" you quiered. the sudden shift in the atmosphere took him off guard a bit, and he gulped when you locked your eyes with his own.

"reading?"

"didn't know that was a synonym for being an annoying little git."

"i'm not that bad." he defended himself, trying to look back at the letters. you scoffed.

"i thought you hated books." you hid the writing away from his gaze and quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

"i don't hate them. i just prefer not to read." he responded, sounding a lot more cocky than intended which drew a chuckle from you.

"way to impress a girl." you rolled your eyes.

"i am professional at it." you laughed in his face.

"at least you're honest," you shrugged, he furrowed his eyebrows in puzzlement, "merlin, are you daft? what i mean is, you're staying true to yourself. not pretending that you enjoy something just to sweep me off my feet. it's admirable."

"of course i am! i could never lie to you. you're the most beautiful creature i have ever beheld in my sight." you let out an exaggerated sound of disgust, pressing your palm against his face and pushing him away, "lay off, romeo."

"oh!" he stood up suddenly, putting his hand over his heart dramatically and looking up, "with love’s light wings did i o’erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out. " he glanced back at you. you guffawed, looking at him in bewilderment, "where on earth have you managed to hear that?"

"watched romeo and juliet in the theatre during holidays." you cocked an eyebrow at him. never would you have thought that james potter was the one who'd take interest in muggle literature and films. "got a favourite scene?"

james pursed his lips in thought. "the morning after." he wiggled his eyebrows and sat back down.

"that's disgusting." you laughed.

"i'm only joking, i think the balcony one would be my favourite. i'd say it's very romantic," he shrugged with a sly smirk, "and it also made me feel the least emotional pain, if you know what i mean." he put a hand to his chest for dramatic effect and sighed.

"oh, merlin." you rolled your eyes playfully, letting out a snigger at his act. "look, i'm gonna be straightforward with you right now," you began. james sat up straight. you held back a laugh, poor fool probably thinks you'll return his sorry little feelings.

"you're not nearly as distasteful as i thought you were." you poked his arm. james looked a bit perplexed, almost as if he was expecting something more (which he was).

but then he laughed breathlessly, seeming more proud than disappointed. you couldn't help but chuckle. he bit the inside of his cheek in thought as he took in the sight of you, wondering how in the hell he got so lucky to know you. you may not feel the same way, but you surely make his life seem like an utopia, even though you're quite mean to him.

"continue, please." he reached over your arm to turn the page. you were rather intrigued by whatever that was.

"hold on for a second. why are you here, exactly?" you leaned forward to prop your chin in the palm of your hand, observing his face attentively as he scratched the back of his neck in thought.

"i guess i wanted to see you." he responded honestly.

"and there i was hoping you had something exciting to tell me." he chuckled lowly. you had come to notice that his voice was getting deeper. it wasn't high pitched and annoying anymore, definitely a lot less infuriating.

"wait, i didn't finish–" he tried to stop you before you could turn the page. "sorry, guess you gotta read faster."

"that isn't fair."

"i beg to differ."

"you're so not cool."

"then why d'you keep pining over me?" james opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. he huffed and crossed his arms. you smiled in victory, laughing when he stuck his tongue out at you.

***

by the end of year four, you had read about ten books together. he even read muggle poetry to you in the hospital wing when you got sick, which, to nobody's surprise, lead to what seemed like never-ending teasing from barty and evan (who were also james' biggest hypemen aside from the marauders). when you looked back at it a few years later, you realised that it was the moment when your first romantic feelings for him started blooming, though you would have never admitted it at the stubborn and rebellious age of fourteen. you were headstrog, a bit in denial as pandora liked to say, and top of it off, you were hard to please. in between all of that was james, who wasn't subtle about being head over heels for you in the least bit, and who would have done anything to get your attention. a match made in heaven, really.

you loved to tease him about it. he sometimes wondered why he had to be the one to fall in love with you. that's where the worst part of it all came in; feeling insecure, comparing himself to his friends, secretly wishing he was sirius (since all the gryffindor heartthrob had to do to win a girl over was to wink in her direction) and an existential crisis as an extra in the package. you clearly were never interested in him, and he couldn't help but think you never would be. sometimes, all he was doing seemed pointless, but he kept telling himself that one day you'll love him the way he loves you.

when your fifth year rolled around, you thought he would've dropped the act by then. you had matured over the summer, or at least you believed you had, and you assumed he had too. you had what some may call a summer romance with some stupid muggle boy, and to everybody's surprise, you were the one to break his heart after realising that whatever you felt for him wasn't love. a little something was stopping you from loving him and you may or may not have attempted to obliviate yourself in order to forget about james. obviously, you failed. stupid idiot.

the entirety of your holidays, you kept wondering if james had got over you, or if he was more lucky than you when it came vacation romance. you thought about him meeting a girl who actually cared for him and returned his feelings instead of teasing him, a girl that could have made him forget you completely, a girl who he had a happy ending with. you rather hated the mere thought of that. thinking about it caused an unexplainable ache in your heart.

much to your own delight, you were totally wrong.

however, things were not the same as they were the three previous years. you two became almost inseparable. dorcas kept teasing james, calling him a thief, saying he took her best friend from her. he would play along, tease her back, and tell her that he's a better best friend anyway. it made your heart flutter in a disgustingly sweet way.

you hated the way he made you feel. you hated the way you wanted to see him more often instead of avoiding him. you hated the way he smiled at you. you hated the way he tried to make you more comfortable by pointing out that you are indeed just friends. you hated james potter, yet you couldn't get enough of him.

you would never admit it, though, no. he was still that stupid little boy who offered to teach you jinxes, that idiot who chased snape away from you like a proper knight in a shining armour, that tosser who's voice was still cracking when you read together in the tower, that adorable–

"do you fancy going to hogsmeade with me tonight?" james appeared from behind you the moment you exited the classroom after finishing with ancient runes.

"studying, sorry." you shrugged, pulling out a piece of parchment to remind yourself which class you had next. "really? that's more important than me?" he sighed in disappointment, trotting after you as you began making your way over to the transfiguration classroom.

"who said you're important to me?" you smirked and looked over your shoulder. he flipped you off with a playful eyeroll, chuckling at the way you looked so proud of yourself for that comment. "i'll meet you at the portrait at six." you added.

the two of you entered the classroom, laughing over some horrible joke he cracked on the way. you took your usual seat next to dorcas who shot you a funny look the moment you stepped through the door.

"what?" you deadpanned before slamming your book onto the table and flipping through the pages. "care to explain?"

"explain what?" you scrunched your face up at the amused look on her face.

"twat," she slapped your shoulder, "you and potter?" dorcas motioned her head towards him, and you looked his way to find him scribbling something down into sirius' book. he looked up just in time to meet your eyes and sent a smile your way. you grinned back and turned to your friend again.

"what about me and him?" you weren't quite sure where she was getting at with whatever the hell this was. she knew your relationship with james was platonic with a capital p, simple as that. she laughed in your face.

"dorcas! don't be ridiculous, he's only my friend." you leaned back in your seat, profusely blushing and crossing your arms over your chest. everybody knew that you and james were just friends. nothing more.

"i think you better tell him that." lily turned in her seat to face to you. mary, who was sitting next to her, only nodded her head which confirmed that she wasn't on your side either. and neither was marlene who looked rather amused observing you from the table next to yours. of course she wasn't, the fact that she fancied dorcas was more obvious than she thought.

"oh, please. he even calls himself my best friend, you lot are delusional."

"fuck, y/n, you're hopeless." dorcas groaned, exchanging some disappointed glances with the gryffindor girls. she let her head fall down onto the table in frustration. you scoffed, averting your eyes to james and keeping them there for a while.

that was how the rest of your fifth year went; you and james being friendly, him asking you to accompany him on some stupid adventures he often came up with, you playing hard to get, but agreeing to hang out in the end. all of that would usually be followed by dorcas'... and pandora's... and lily's... and pretty much everybody's pointless attempts to talk some sense into your head. you would brush them off, saying he's just a nice bloke who's nobody but just a good pal of yours. you even said it to sirius.

and all of you knew that wasn't true.

***

soon enough, you began your sixth year and james was starting to lose his mind. he was so in love with you, he could barely keep a calm act around you. hiding it became a lot more difficult. he was convinced that you thought he was over you, because why on earth would somebody still be friends with a person who rejected them and showed zero interest in a romantic relationship? he felt miserable. he wanted you by his side, but just friendship wasn't enough to ease the ache in his heart. one thing was for sure, and that was that he had to talk to you.

he needed to let you know that he still loved you, and pour out all of his feelings if it was necessary. he thought that if you rejected him again, he would drop the whole thing and really, truly settle for just being friends, and that is, if you end up wanting anything to do with him. it would be difficult, getting over you. it would hurt, coming to terms with it all would be an absolute nightmare. he would be heartbroken without a doubt, but he believed he could manage it if he tried hard enough. lies.

very conveniently, you and james got into a bit of trouble that day. that was a well-known concept to you both. neither of you completed your major muggle studies essay on time, hell, you hadn't even started with yours, so you decided to do the only rational thing. which was to ditch the class.

it was nerve-wracking, sneaking through the corridors and trying to avoid getting caught by mrs. norris, or filch, maybe even by a professor, but you managed to make it to the grand staircase. you thought you were going to succeed, you were so close, but surprise, surprise - you were caught by bloody dumbledore himself. instead of cooperating, you tried to make a run for it and hide in a broomstick closet, just in time for filch to catch you.

task failed successfully.

you weren't sure how you managed to dodge getting forbidden from going to hogsmeade or even leaving the school premise, as that was the punishment you both expected to get for running away from the headmaster, but you were more than grateful that the man settled for simply giving you detention.

"do you fancy going for a walk by the lake tonight?" you questioned when you finished cleaning the floor of the potions classroom after your poor attempt at skipping muggle studies.

"what?" james mumbled incoherently, bending over to pick up some crumpled up parchment under one of the seats.

"that was a yes or no question." you crossed your arms. you weren't sure where you were getting all of the confidence from, but you settled for blaming in on james and his self-assuring personality which had quite the influence on you, even though you willingly began spending a little too much time with him. you cursed mentally.

"wait, huh?" he stopped what he was doing, looking rather confused.

"was i not clear enough?" you rolled your eyes in a teasing manner.

"you're asking me to hang out?" his entire face lit up, a hopeful smile found its way to his lips. "yeah, silly, that's what friends do," you scoffed, though you were slightly crumbling on the inside, "so don't you dare treat it as a date." you quickly added, fixing your stance and straighteing your back to come off more relaxed. regardless of your shitty attempt at trying to pretend you were disinterested in him, james looked like he just won the lottery.

"of course." he scrambled to clean up the rest of the mess under the seats as fast as possible. he could not believe you. it truly seemed like he the odds were in his favour that day. just when he was planning on giving up and destroying everything, that simple question restored all the hope he had lost. that was the first time you asked him to hang out. it was usually him initiating everything. you quietly giggled at his overjoyed reaction, and a strange feeling washed over you. you ignored it, all of it, and settled for avoiding his gaze as much as you could for the last thirty minutes of detention.

eight o'clock rolled around so fast you could barely keep track of it. you were in a state of disarray - nervous, panicking and desperately trying to come up with some excuse you haven't used to brush james off before just so that you didn't have to show up. but that would be stupid, wouldn't it? you were the one who wanted to hang out. dorcas, evan, barty, regulus and even pandora were laughing at you, showing no signs of wanting to help you and refusing to give you any form of emotional support whatsoever.

"what great friends you are." you remarked sarcastically, pulling the first jumper you saw in your trunk over your head.

"isn't that his?" barty smirked devilishly, scanning the clothing item with his eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows, looking down just to see that the gryffindor jumper you put on did not in fact belong to you. your eyes went wide. all five of your friends convulsed with laughter when you scrambled to take it off. evan fell off of dorcas' bed right onto the hard floorboards.

"i don't know how it got here, but i swear it's not what you think!" regulus was clutching his stomach after joining evan on the floor, and you threw the jumper right in his face. pandora wiped some tears away with the sleeve of her shirt and then quietly chuckled again as she was trying to stop any more tears from coming.

"i will strangle you all, i'm not joking." you lifted your hands up in frustration, stomping back to your trunk and this time taking a shirt you were sure was yours.

"oh, c'mon, we're only teasing you," dorcas stood up, walking over to where you were and hugging you from behind, "i'm sure the laundry got mixed up." barty trailed off, and you could see him holding back a grin.

"right, but," dorcas pulled away from you and began walking backwards towards the door, "it would be quite romantic if you kept it after a nice shag, wouldn't it?"

"dorcas!" you screeched, and she was out of your reach before you even made it halfway towards the door. your friends burst into giggles again, or what was left of them, as evan and regulus were half-dead. you were a blushing mess, and you left your room resembling an angry child who was moments away from throwing a tantrum, but not without james' quidditch jumper in your hands.

you didn't notice the strange looks you were given by the students you passed by in the dungeons. you looked furious, with your jaw clenched and your face beet red, all while holding onto something which belonged to a certain dark-haired gryffindor. your thoughts did not seem to go in that direction even once. you could think of nothing but james.

the mere thought of him made you feel strange. it was a feeling that wasn't too familiar to you, but you had quite clear of an idea of what it could be and it was devouring you. simply looking at him made you feel giddy. his smile would make your heart jump. the light brush of his shoulder against yours would make you shiver. you were in love. but boy were you stubborn.

"who hurt you?" you stopped in your tracks when you heard james' voice come from behind you. you met his warm gaze. there it was, that flutter in your heart again. you blamed his smile for it. you almost cringed at yourself, you were so preoccupied by thinking of him that you failed to acknowledge his actual presence.

was he always that attractive? his eyes are so pretty. how's his skin that perfect? god, his lips look-

your swallowed harshly, feeling heat rush to your cheeks and the handsome boy standing in front of you gave you a questioning look. you cleared your throat before handing him his jumper.

"i found this in my trunk." you looked down in embarrassment, crossing your arms and fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of your shirt.

"oh!" he took it from your hands, his jaw fell slack, "how did that - there must've been mix up with the laundry."

"probably." you replied dryly, avoiding his gaze. "won't you be cold?" he questioned when he noticed how light the shirt you had on looked. the sleeves reached your elbows, the material was almost see through and certainly not suitable for chilly autumn weather.

"i'll manage." you shrugged lazily, looking down at the floor. those old tiles seemed rather amusing all of a sudden. 

"put it on." you lifted your head. you looked at the clothing item, then at james. you sighed and reached for the soft material. "thanks," you mumbled under your breath, holding the jumper close to your chest in a tightening grip, "should we go now? or are we just gonna stand here like idiots?" you put on a smile, hoping it would look convincing enough and hide the embarrassing fact that you were nervous. really nervous. first date nervous. you may have had to remind yourself that that little hangout of yours was supposed to platonic. friendly. not romantic. definitely not a date with that boy who's life goal was to win you over because he was desperately in love with you. and he fucking succeeded.

you lost track of time. neither of you knew how many hours had passed or how long you'd been sitting at the shore, lost in conversations about something that may seem so irrelevant to the ears of others, but so important to the two of you. you found comfort in being able to open up to james. it was different than talking to dorcas, or evan, or any of your other friends. it warmed your heart, and in a strange way, it felt like home.

you only realised how late it had gotten when the sky above you turned dark and became covered with stars. finishing that date off with stargazing would have been a delight, but rain decided to make an unexpected visit and ruined your good plans.

you retreated inside together through one of the passageways james and the other three marauders managed to discover, tippy toeing your way through the corridors in attempt to go unseen and unheard. you successfully made it through the portrait hole without alerting a prefect, and you stepped through the door of james' room, sighing in relief. james could finally release the breath he was holding all the way down from the lake. that was one of the rare times he didn't fail at sneaking around without his cloak. you celebrated a tad bit too soon, though - the high pitched voice of a seventh year girl who was supposed to keep the peace at night came from behind you, and you froze in your spot. james gulped, making eye contact with you before turning to face her.

"potter, what on earth are you doing outside at this hour?" james laughed uncomfortably, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he tried to come up with an excuse, "i was uh," he let out a cough, making the prefect eye him suspiciously, "i was using the bathroom."

"why aren't you wearing your pyjamas?"

"i was busy doing, uhm, something else, y'know, forgot to change and stuff."

"and what is that thing that you were doing, exactly?"

"i don't really think you'd wanna know." he grinned in misery, and you had to slap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from making any sounds. the girl's eyes widened as she realised what the younger meant. she turned beet red and massaged her temples in frustration.

"merlin's beard, oh, fuck– shit! get out of my sight, we'll pretend this never happened. shoo, leave."

"sorry." he gave her one last awkward smile before sliding into his room, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. "remind me not to do that ever again."

"why not? that was pretty hilarious." you snickered at his demeanor - the boy's cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment.

"that poor girl probably thinks i was wanking in there." he groaned, waddled away from the door and slumped down onto his bed. the springs in the mattress squeaked from the impact. "if i don't get kicked out this year, then i must be a walking felix fucking felicis." he continued rambling as he began digging through the mess under his bed.

"where are your friends?" you looked around the room curiously. the other marauders were nowhere to be seen. "they're sleeping in the girls dormitory tonight."

you hummed as you took a seat on the floor beside him and eyed some of the items he had scattered around. a couple of chocolate frogs, some crumpled pieces of parchment and quills, a few records, and an empty bag of whatever the hell he got at zonko's next to a small stack of books. "so, what do we do now?" you looked his way, and he shrugged as he ducked under his bed, with only his legs peeking out. the action drew a snort from you. he dusted himself off as he dove back from under the bed.

"can you help me out?" he scratched the back of his head.

"what are we looking for here, exactly?" you questioned as you peeked underneath. "no clue. i'm trying to find something fun we can do."

"have you still got that book about jinxes?" james blinked in surprise. "with the ones i offered to teach you, what, like four years ago?" he gave you an amused smile.

"yeah, figured i should make up for breaking your heart or whatever." and definitely not because you realised that it was a perfect date idea. definitely not.

"i might, if sirius hasn't snatched it." he shrugged and then you both started digging through the dark and dusty mess of books, boxes and smelly socks.

"is this," your hand grabbed onto something which felt like a glass bottle, "muggle alcohol?!" you laughed at the way james' face went pale.

"i swear that's not mine!" he immediately defended himself, reaching for the bottle desperately.

"no need to lie, potter, i've a fair share of that stashed under my bed as well."

by two in the morning, both of you were absolutely pissed, but had no intention of stopping until the bottle was completely empty. so much for the jinxes.

"have you ever shagged somebody?" it was strange. the alcohol seemed to have effects similar to what was known as the veritaserum. so apart from the constant laughing fits it gave you, it made you both feel rather confident. so confident you kept spilling out truths and secrets not even your friends knew. and, well, it made you flirty. especially yourself. just a few hours ago, you were freaked out by the mere thought of getting involved romantically with the boy in front of you, but now you were shamelessly asking each other questions about your love lives. not to mention that you managed to lose your clothes in the process. james was shirtless, and you lost your trousers.

"how dare you ask me such a question?" james gasped dramatically, drawing a snort from you, "i reckon your body count is higher than mine."

"are you calling me a slut, potter?" you asked in amusement, he shrugged lazily with a smirk on his lips, "no, i'm calling you more attractive than myself."

"why thank you, my dear friend," you smiled, feeling another surge of confidence shoot through you after receiving the drunken compliment. friend. that word suddenly sounded strange.

"i haven't." james finally spoke after a few moments of silence. that little soberity you had left was what held you back from smiling.

"me neither." james bit his tongue. he felt like he could breathe normally, at last. you were relieved, and so was he.

"virgins." he let himself fall back onto the floor. you scoffed, snatching the bottle out of his hand.

by the time the sun had started to rise, you were fast asleep - james sitting down with his back up against the wall, and you on the floor with his jumper posing as your pillow. james was lucky that lily and the girls agreed to take in his three idiot friends that night because he would have had to deal with endless teasing if they had been present.

the sound of a loud knock on the door shook you both awake, and your head was met with the bottom of sirius' bed when you tried to sit up. you groaned out in pain, letting your head fall down onto the red jumper that smelled of that specific vanilla-scented bodywash only james used. you hated how you loved it.

"potter!" dorcas' voice pierced through the door from the other side, and the boy groggily sat up, making his way over to the door. the hangover headache was unbearable, but it was something he could have expected as an aftermath of last night's turn of events. the whiskey bottle lied empty on the floor. he wasn't sure how either of you managed it, but he woke up to a clean floor, and no stomach-turning stench of vomit.

"you knocked?" he leaned against the doorframe, his vision a bit blurry as he barely had time to think or grab his glasses after being woken up so suddenly.

"have you by any chance seen y/n?"

he wordlessly opened the door wider, and a very exhausted, hungover looking creature came into dorcas' view.

"what's this?" dorcas smirked, resting her hands on her hips.

"uh, a friendly hangout? what else? wait, where are my trousers?" you murmured, not quite sure of what you were stating as your brain hadn't woken up properly just yet. the piercingly painful headache was not helping.

"friendly, huh?" she eyed you both with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "yes, friendly." james confirmed.

dorcas sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her pointer finger and thumb. she felt a migrane incoming. you tiredly stood up from the cold floor, feeling a wave of pain shoot through your back from lying on such a hard surface. "goddammit, remind me to sleep on the bed next time." you winced, stretching in attempt to soothe the pain.

dorcas left, with marlene trailing along with her (to nobody's surprise), after you and james decided to head down to the kitchen to ask the house elves for some leftovers from breakfast since you missed it. you were lucky that the elves loved you both, and you were given a few pieces of toast as well as some strawberry jam.

you sat in the gryffindor common room, quietly chatting with james. mary and remus joined you and they took their seats in the chairs in the corner of the room, along with sirius who claimed that sitting in between remus' legs was more comfortable than any armchair. you and james, however, were squashed together on the sofa. you recieved several questioning looks from other students. not necessarily because you were a slytherin in the gryffindor common room, but because you sat so close to one another. you were practically sitting in his lap. someone unaware of the status of your relationship would have assumed you were dating. james' friends noticed too, but decided not to say anything, though they couldn't hide those proud smiles that found their ways to their lips.

***

you could not stop thinking about that night for days. and you did everything you could to forget about it. you drowned yourself in school work just to wipe the thought of it out of your mind. hell, you did extra credit. you even bullied pandora into being a model for your paintings for two weeks straight, and went as far as to make yourself accompany barty on his daily adventures where he was essentially begging for detention. but nothing was helping. that was the best date of your life. not like you had many to chose from, but it was the best. shit.

"oh, for fuck's sake! it was not a date! shut up!" you said to yourself, or to be more specific, your malfunctioning brain. you were speed-walking through the corridors, your breath uneven and cheeks red.

you came back from the gryffindor dormitories to the dungeons after another friendly hangout with james. all those things you did to forget about the first one ended up seeming rather pointless. much to your dismay, you realised you can't go too long without seeing him, as it turned out. the boy successfully found his way into your heart after all those years. and you didn't even know why. well, him being james potter should be enough of an explanation. you were visibly flushed. dorcas raised both of her eyebrows once she saw you and then fell back into her pillow, shaking with laughter.

"oh merlin, you are so red." she pointed at your face, giggling uncontrollably.

"great observation skills, meadowes." you responded sarcastically, pulling james' jumper over your head and tossing it onto your bed. yes, you forgot (read: didn't want) to return it, and no, he didn't mind because he wanted you to have it.

"where's everyone?" you quickly changed the subject. you were not ready to talk about whatever the hell your relationship with james was at that moment. you were pretty sure you wouldn't ever be ready to talk about it.

"well, regulus is probably throwing snape into the lake. again. barty and evan are surely snogging somewhere and i think pandora went for a poo, but i'm not sure." dorcas shrugged. her eyes didn't leave you, which obviously meant she was curious about what happened while you were gone. of course she was, she was one of your best friends after all. one of them, just like james. she may have got strange thrills from teasing you, but she cared about you and she made sure you knew that. so did the rest of your friends, even though they were all out and about in that given moment.

you sighed, covering your face with your hands. you felt guilty - not because you were in love with james, hell no, but because it took you so long to admit it to yourself. you never once thought of his feelings or what you've been putting him through for all those years. the first time you felt a bit different while he was by your side, you chalked it up to some weird feelings of admiration and tried to forget about it. but then it just kept happening, and you couldn't simply brush it off and pretend it's nothing. you weren't even sure why you kept lying to yourself; maybe it was because you were so set on the two of you being just friends, maybe it was because you got so used to his presence and his embarassingly obvious eagerness that you couldn't imagine living your life without all of that in it.

tears welled up in your eyes, and you bit the inside of your cheek to prevent any sounds from escaping. dorcas was not as oblivious as you thought she might be. she could immediately tell something was wrong and she rushed over to your side, wrapping her arms around you until you were comfortable enough to speak.

"dorcas, i'm in love with him," you cried, clutching her shirt as she held you close to her chest. "i know, darling." she sighed.

"i'm such a bloody idiot."

"i would usually say that's not true, but i don't really think i'd be doing either of us a favour if i denied it." that drew a laugh from you, but you quickly returned to your messy state. dorcas kept rubbing comforting circles into your back until your shoulders stopped shaking and you were able to speak properly without breaking out into tears again.

"am i an awful person?" you quiered, staring into what seemed like a void to you. you looked lifeless, and dorcas sighed, putting her hand on your knee.

"y/n, we both know you aren't. and james knows that too."

"but what if i am? dorcas, i hurt him. i treated him like a puppet and i never took his feelings seriously."

"well, i can't argue that," she bit the inside of her cheek, "but you know, you couldn't have exactly done much about it. you can't just force yourself to love somebody. and some people take a while to come to terms with their feelings, and that's okay, so don't you dare blame yourself for that. he's still in love with you, anyway."

"i could have just not befriended him." you picked at your nails as you spoke.

"that wouldn't have helped him much, would it?"

"it wouldn't make him feel as miserable."

"maybe, but you'd break his heart either way and the poor bloke would probably still feel the same. look, he was annoying as shit, and you may have been a bit, well–"

"evil?" you interrupted. she covered your mouth with her hand. you blinked in surprise and she laughed at you.

"alright, yeah, but y/n, don't you think you could fix that now? you know, do something about it at last?"

"don't make me make you, 'cause you might be the next person to get dunked into the lake. i'm feeling particularly ruthless today." regulus suddenly appeared at the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

"how long have you been standing there?" you spoke once dorcas retrieved her hand.

"just got here, actually."

"as i was saying," dorcas raised her voice and then put a finger over her mouth to motion for regulus to shut up. he raised his hands up in defeat, "do what you need to do."

"you know what's tomorrow though, right?" regulus interrupted once again. you and dorcas exchanged confused glances, but her face shifted into something that seemed more amused than questioning.

***

"oi, potter!" you pushed open the door of the great hall. the laughter around james faded away and everybody's focus was now shifted to you standing at the entrance, but you were looking for one person's eyes in particular.

it didn't take you very long to find them. james' surprised gaze met your rather nervous one, and you made your way towards the gryffindor table, just like he skipped over to the slytherin one four years ago.

you slid into the empty spot next to him and smiled while you were waiting for him to say something. just like last time, you failed to notice the way all of the students around you chuckled as they watched the show unfold. all because of you and james, yet again.

"hello." he sat up straight, holding back a smile that wanted to make its way to his lips.

despite being friends for all those years, you never once had the chance to sit next to each other at lunch, other than that one particular day in your second year. so he took the sudden change in your behaviour as a good sign, especially after the events of the previous night, and the night at the lake.

"can i ask you something?" you leaned forward on the table with your hand supporting your chin. james furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and then his mouth fell open in surprise. he laughed breathlessly, shaking his head at your teasing smile.

"go ahead." he shrugged. his eyes haven't left you since you entered the great hall. it was not making your job easier, but you weren't gonna let that pretty face of his stop you from doing what you came to do.

"wanna be my boyfriend?" you smiled stupidly and it was followed by hollering and wooing from all of the students at the table, including his friends, and your own from behind you, "okay, now sn–" barty was shut up by evan's hand clamping over his mouth before he could finish that. pandora was violently blowing her nose into a tissue already. regulus seemed unphased, even though he wasn't. and dorcas looked like she finally discovered the true meaning of inner peace.

james did a double-take, and then grinned like an absolute idiot. you were furiously tapping your foot against the tiles, but froze when he cupped your cheek with his hand.

"can i kiss you?" you nodded, biting your lip to hold back the squeal that was threatening to escape. james was glowing. he grinned, launching himself forward. his lips finally met yours. your hand instinctively found its way to the back of his neck, pushing him further against you. his lips were so soft, and he kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world. you could feel each other smiling into the kiss, and you broke apart giggling like two fools.

"is that a yes?" you quiered, just in case.

"oh god, yes." then he kissed you again, only to be pulled back by sirius who had just about enough of the pair of you, "some of us are trying to eat, thank you very much."

"sod off." james smacked the back of his head. he could not care less about what anybody else thought at that moment. sirius shook his head as he exchanged a knowing glance with his own lover, and neither of the boys could be bothered to hide their smiles.

"i wanted to do that for six years." james leaned his forehead against yours. you quickly pecked his lips again. "don't worry, i'll make it up to you."