“I’m not saying anything, every time I say anything you think i’m attacking you.”
“Calm down, it’s just a chocolate bar!”
“Why are you looking at me like that…?”
“Wait! Stop!”
“Please tell me you brought a toothbrush?”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere!”
“You take the bed, you need it more than me.”
“You want to set up camp? It’s been a long day? Here’s as good as anywhere else.”
“I’m not getting involved, this is between you two.”
“How do you want to do this?”
“You’re ridiculous”
“You’re so warm!”
“You’re freezing, jesus!”
“You want to go trick or treating? Seriously?”
“I’m sorry….”
“I’m (First Name) Fucking (Last name)!”
“You owe me one”
“You always look beautiful.”
“That looks like it hurts…”
“Do you need anything?”
“Hold on. You’re telling me that you want to go out to the creepy woods in the middle of the night on a full moon? Really? Really?”
“We walk in together.”
“This is my collection”
“Be quiet! You’ll get us caught!”
“How would you feel if it was you?”
“You’re hands are so small!”
“I brought you a muffin. You’re favourite…”
“Sometimes I just want to cuddle, okay? Is that so bad?”
“Now I know where half my wardrobe went.”
“I’m fucking terrified and I don’t know what to do or how to stop feeling that way, okay? I’m scared…”
“Here, let me just-”
“You’re right…”
“Nothing about us is conventional”
“I need to make an entrance.”
“Just..just smile and don’t talk too much”
“You’re really special to me.”
“No more stupid stunts, please?”
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“How do you feel?”
“Damn…I really thought that would work.”
“Stop! Just stop!”
“That tickles!”
“I didn’t mean it like that! Stop making everything I say dirty!”
“I can’t believe you just said that!”
“Why are you naked?”
“I am so sorry! I’ll just…I’ll just go…”
“I’ll just wait here…”
“Do I have to?”
“Don’t point your wand at me!”
“Exams are going to kill me.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“It’s not supposed to be easy…”
“Are you proud of me?”
“You’re so drunk.”
“Please tell me this is a joke!”
“What is that?!”
“We only have one room left for the night…”
“Room service?”
“I can’t believe you eat pinapple on pizza…what sort of monster are you?”
“I’m getting married? Since when were you choosing my future spouse!”
“We all fuck up sometimes.”
“Sometimes it just all gets to much, y’know?”
“Naps are life, okay?”
“I don’t think I could love you anymore than I already do.”
“If I marry them?”
“You’re my fake husband/wife/spouse, deal with it.”
“I kept every letter…”
“You missed the best fight!”
“Do you remember high school? When Lisa McKendrick got pregnant with Rob whatshisface and Maria was sleeping with Rob and her and Lisa got in that fight? That was…”
“I have to live with what i’ve done.”
“I had the weirdest dream….”
“Who did the laundry? My favourite shirt is pink.”
“I got you a trophy, it’s only plastic, but it’s for being the best human I know.”
“Another bad date?”
“Someone keeps leaving love notes in my locker and I’m not sure if I should find it endearing or creepy…”
“Hello ms./mr grumpy.”
“Do you want to wake them up or…”
“Can we keep them?”
“Look at you!”
“Did you just whistle at me?”
“Remove the hand before I remove it for you.”
“I love your voice”
“Put me down! I can walk!”
“I need you…”
“Can…can you come over?”
“Where were you?”
“This is the. Best. Thing. Ever!”
“I mean witchcraft isn’t quite hocus-pocus, toil and trouble, type deal y’know? There’s some serious work involved!”
“You’re the best.”
“Can you please stop biting your lip…it’s distracting.”
“You’d make the best boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/husband/partner”
“Oh who cares what they think!? I want you!”
“Backseats aren’t as comfortable as movies make them out to be”
“Can I please see some photos of you when you were younger? How bad could they be?!”
“And i’m dead.”
{Feel free to reblog and use yourselves. You can request prompts with these if you want to, but it’s first come first serve as I’ll only use each prompt once. As per usual you can always send in your own made prompt or ask me for a random prompt since I have a large collection of other peoples prompts for that.}
Since I achieved 100 followers on Tumblr I am going to be doing this lovely person's prompt lists! (˶◕‿◕˶✿)
Send in a request of who you'd like coupled with the number and I'll create it! You can have more than one number if you'd like, but I'll only use each prompt number once, so first come first serve, no shoving though please and thank you haha~
I'll update this post so you know which ones have been used, so don't worry my little Flutters~! ★~(◠‿◕✿)
Once all prompts on this list have been used I'll continue to the next one this creator has made!
~
I just want to say a quick but heartfelt thank you to all those for supporting me, and I mean that to everyone not only on Tumblr but my Wattpad and Ao3 as well. All your comments and words of encouragement make me so happy. I hold them all so very close to my heart <3
You were an absolute vision, this John was most sure of. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe to your shared bedroom, eyes attentively watching your reflection in the vanity mirror. He could stare at you all day fixing your hair, straightening your collar, leaning forward to make sure your earrings were in place.
Never would he have imagined that he, a simple farm boy born and raised in Oklahoma would be your significant other. You a not-so-simple person born with a silver spoon in your mouth in Japan. There were so many differences between you it would take his whole life to write it all down.
That was the problem though. He just hoped with every fiber in his being for the differences in social-economic class to not ruin the night. He could already see it, his siblings going on tangents only for you to become confused, embarrassed, or more importantly hurt. He couldn’t live with himself if the person he had finally let himself open up with and care for was driven away by tedious misunderstandings and-
“John, darling?” His blue eyes refocused, sight filled only with you. Your hands came up to cup his face, so soft like he was going to break. Maybe he would crumble into pieces if you kept gazing at him with worry at his tense shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing? Why, does something look wrong?” He plays it off nonchalantly, a smirk rising to his face to ease your worries.
“This looks wrong,” you whisper, low as if not to scare him away. He sees and then feels the pad of your thumb rubbing the space between his brows. His eyelids flutter closed when your hands move to his shoulders, applying pressure of every place that has his knees going weak.
“If you keep doing that I don’t think we’ll make it to dinner tonight,” he jokes. Unfortunately, you feel something else entirely. He yelps, eyes flying open, when your fingers snag and pull one of his earlobes. “H-hey! Wait no need to get aggressive, I know you like it rough-”
“I’ll bend you over my knee and spank you if you keep acting like everything is okay.” Your first words entice him, but the tone is only serious. Your fingers have stopped their motions, just resting there, a comfort unlike any other.
“Everything is okay, isn’t it? I mean-” The look on your face has his heart sinking. “No, I…I wasn’t thinking I just,” His hands that had been idle and useless come to take ahold of your waist to pull your bodies close. He is lost for words when he smells it, the perfume that you had sprayed on your neck. A present that his family had scrounged together for you as a welcome gift.
He nuzzles into your neck, lips pressing to the pulse point that has you hitch on a breath. Your arms move from in between your bodies to let you scoot closer, wrapping around his shoulders to rest there. He shivers when your fingers lazily run through his hair, every once in a while you tug at a blond lock that has him kissing your neck in response.
“John,” your voice so close to his ear would have had him ripping your clothes off in a different circumstance. Now though it calms the nerves in his stomach. “Are you sure about meeting them tonight?”
He lets out a quiet sigh, tongue peeking out to wet his lips as a way to procrastinate his answer for a few moments longer. “No,” that is perhaps the most truthful thing he has said all night. “Even so, everything is ready, except for us mentally it seems.”
You pull away, eyes searching his own. “We can do this,” you reach up to his flat cap to shove it snugly on his head so it doesn’t fall off on your way there. The chuckle he lets out has your heart thump against your chest in happiness. Paired with his thumbs slipping into your waistband, for no reason except to have something to hold, it’s perfect.
“I know,” that grin he always sports is back on his face. It fills you to the brim with relief. “I want them to love you. Love you so much, that if they don’t I have no idea what I’ll do, because I…”
He doesn’t have to say it, you already know. He joined the Guild, under Fitzgerald’s reign, to be able to support his family back in the U.S.. He traveled so far away from them so he could make sure they were safe, happy, and fed.
“I can support you,” your hands stop moving the same moment he goes still. Your eyes glance to the side, away from whatever expression he holds. “Whether I’m overstepping a boundary or not I need you to know if something ever happens I can take care of you and your family as long as you let me. If…if you would ever let me.”
His silence suffocates you, so you peek back up into his eyes. It’s the tears glistening over his ocean eyes that have you releasing a gasp. “Wait, John I didn’t mean to-”
Lips connect with yours, taking you aback so immensely you stumble a single step. A hand moves to splay across your upper back to not let you fall. His teeth clink against yours, it hurt, yes it really did. But you can only focus on the way he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. It’s hot and almost too much to handle all at once.
He leaves too soon, as always. Giving you too much at once to only leave you wanting more. You feel you should ask him the reasoning behind his behavior. You don’t. You have no need when the creases at the edges of his eyes, and the softening of his gaze has you knowing the answer.
To you, money has never been a problem. Whatever you wish for you have gotten. John on the other hand. Sweet, caring, protective John has worked hard to gain everything he has. Set up in a capitalist society that pounds him down no matter what he does. Pushing him so far he has resorted to joining an organization that has him committing murder for a man he absolutely despises.
#41 with Masato! Its almost his birthday so I was wondering if this could be a birthday post for him pretty please!
It was a wonderful request, I'm glad to see others that love Utapri interact with me! In Shining Live I actually obtained Masato's Joyful Birthday UR on the first try, something I was afraid I wouldn't get since I only do 1 or 2 Steps as of right now. It's such a beautiful and serene card. My heart races every time I look at him dressed so formally on my home screen.
I got his Joyful Birthday UR on my first step, an SR that surprised me by changing into a UR! I love it in cards when they gaze directly at you and interact with you in some way, usually a hand out for you etc. It makes it feel amazingly intimate! I get squeamish and blushy thinking about it haha ///^-^///
Happy Birthday Masato Hijirikawa~!
December 29th, 2021
Requested by Anonymous for the Prompt List #1
#41--"You're really special to me."--
~satori
noun.
sudden enlightenment~
You are slow in taking a seat on the piano bench. There's a piece of music in front of you titled Happy Birthday in beautiful handwriting. You notice its penmanship, loopy and filled with excellently finished flicks. Dutifully practiced calligraphy. Under the title, you laugh a little at the parenthesis (Good-morning to Masato).
Watch caught your eye when you first entered the room was the perfectly placed present stationed on the piano lid. It is a soft midnight blue, the colour of your eyes, fitted with a bow that is white decorated with translucent snowflakes that shine in the light when you move.
With a tender hand, you remove the lid from the present, both hands coming to pick up the contents inside. It's a tiny doll, so small it only fits in the palm of your hand, the length spanning from the inside of your wrist to the knuckles before your nails being.
It's you. Or well, it's you in the form of a doll. Crocheted and made together with the utmost care. The shade of his hair and his eyes are so exact he marvels at the grandness of it. They even remembered your mole, a part of you some people forget. The doll is wearing the Saotome Academy uniform, tailored to fit the doll's body. The details of the emblem badge on the doll's breast has you running a soft thumb over it in awe.
You squeeze the doll's body just a little, releasing in the softness of it all. Eye's rising upward you peak a note in the bottom of the present, taking it out to inspect it. Deep blue eyes begin to water, even so you are careful to not get the letter in your hand nor the doll held in the other wet at any cost.
Dear Masato,
Thank you for all your lessons on how to crochet. I actually started so I could create something for you, so really I was using you in a sense, so I apologize... I've seen how happy Mai-chan is when you embroider cute little rabbits and adorable puppies on handkerchiefs for her. I wanted to do it for you to, but decided I wanted to crochet a doll together as something you could hold on to it and look at it fondly.
Is it odd to snuggle up to a doll that is a replica of yourself? Maybe it is... I know it would be even weirder if it was a doll in my image. That would be ridiculous of me to do that, wouldn't it have?
I've come to realize that I don't feel right. Right about you, or well I mean not the way you would like. I like you as more than just idol and idol. Our relationship is more than just that to me. I think I've come to love you in the way our songs convey. Me saying this changes everything, but it doesn't have to. Just knowing how you feel on your end will make me come to terms and either move on or move forward with you. So to just get it all out there before I crumble another paper for the 8th time in just the last hour...
You're really special to me, more than you know...
I love you, Masato Hijirikawa.
And happy birthday
Love,
Your most loyal friend
You lowered the letter onto your lap, shiny eyes gazing at the doll in your hand once again. They had indeed asked for lessons on how to crochet. With your help they had learned quickly, creating small animals with the height of someone's pinky to even bigger. The time you spent with them was the happiest you'd ever been. Having them there to talk to you and take what you loved to create something new.
Too soon though there was nothing left to teach and you had to watch as the scheduled times you spent together were now empty. Gone were the appointments with them on your personal calendar. Weeks of time alone, just with them. You were left without their voice and without their insightful input when conversing together on meaningless topics. As their hands became more skilled with every day that passed the more anxious you become. The day did come when you heard them say they didn't need any more lessons.
Now you knew why. Why they asked how to create semi-accurate figured dolls with tailored clothes. You hadn't gotten to witness them make a doll at all, because it was right here. Their hard work and dedication all in this little doll for your birthday. So much time was spent on a present that they weren't even sure you would like. So much time spent rewriting a letter that revealed pure and simply their feelings for you that could either be crushed or lifted with the awaited response.
Folding the letter back up to pack it inside the present once more you clutch the doll tight to your chest. You flee the music room on a mission. The sun has barely set, you just pray they haven't retired to their room yet.
You have something to tell them. Something you've been holding in since you first laid eyes on them, the first time you heard them sing, and the first time you were granted the pleasure of having a duet with them.
There they were, walking unaware to their dorm.
Their fingers sliding across yours as you grab their hand is something incredible. The way they turn around eye's alight, mouth parted open in exclamation. You want those eyes to always look at you. You want to feel those lips on yours.
You have to tell them how you feel. Tell them how you, Masato Hijirikawa feel.
They see who you are, they see what you hold close to your chest. The blush sprinkling their face has time stopping as you muster up all the courage within you.
A little late because I kept deleting and rewriting ideas that I felt I wasn't accurately portraying as I wished. This is the end result and I am quite happy with it. I had fun thinking up a little family for him, people he was invested and wholeheartedly in love with.
Happy Birthday Keigo Takami~!
-Mod Icarus ଘ(੭ºัᴗºั)━☆ﾟ*:.
Omegaverse AU
~The 28th of December~
"Ha...ake up," something stirs you but the beckoning of the soft blankets and the cozily warm body next to you has your eyes staying closed shut. "I've decided...special...Is that okay?"
Your absent hand twitches, nudging another to curl and give it a squeeze that has your body swell with the feeling of being grounded to the world. "'s what ok?" Your morning speech is intelligible half of normal sleepiness and half of your native Fukuoka dialect you try more than hard to suppress.
A laugh meets your ears, familiarity has your stomach lighting with warm. Wings of crimson unfold on your back and curl over your mate as instinctual protection. The nest is safe, your chick is asleep in their crib only a few feet away, and your mate is curled up against your body.
"Is it okay if today we celebrated your birthday?" Your mate's voice is soft, the normal tone just a little deeper and that much more alluring. You peek an eye open at the question then the other after seeing the same sleepy expression you are sporting on their face.
"Why the question all of a sudden?" His eyes squint to spy the low lighting of the moong flickering through the window curtain. "And so late night owl."
He feels your tinier chest move with a tiny laugh, chin leaning back above your head, eyes drifted closed once again. While it has you quirk your lip up you remember their question that has your muscles tense and mind race. The atmosphere starts turning slowly.
"We've been together for so long and I still...," you know how hard it is for your mate to confront your demons and commanders. "I know near nothing. We are bonded. We have a beautiful month-old chick. Can't you let us turn a meaningless day into something meaningful? Even if we disguise it as something else, but it's about you no matter what?"
Your heart lurches for their desire. The Commission could find out. There are bad things that could come of this, but when did that ever stop you from pursuing a relationship with such a sweet selfless omega? Stop you from asking for their hand in marriage? Stop you from mating them, biting them to create a bond, and then fill them with your cute little pup, watching them grow round and glow as you took care of them when they got bigger? Kept them safe in your private nest, away from the eyes of villains that would do anything to get their hands on the Number 2 Pro Hero Hawk's greatest weakness?
"Today?"
"Yes," your answer, voice is soft, breath rolling like a soft caress on his collarbone.
"What is today?"
Their hands press flat on your back fingers spread to have your wings between one, downy feathers brushing your knuckles. You know exactly what to do to have him begging on his knees. "I'll check when we wake up," is all you offer, appeased at the simplicity that came with your decision. You know they must have thought you would have argued in one way or another. Nevertheless, all they say after is today felt special for some reason they can't explain.
"Hmmm," you hum, wings fluttering over their bare skin. A hand takes a hold of their thigh to push it up around your waist. They help you, snuggling closer in a position that swims with domestic bliss. "Satisfied?"
"Very," the word has you chuckling. A mere minute goes by before they speak up again. "Hawks?" Your grunt has them going on, "Happy Birthday..."
You don't say anything, you don't believe you can. So mustering up you what you can you move your head to dig in their just-washed hair. Nose wiggling closer he can smell you pure and anew. Your omegan scent of strawberries and milkweed wafts through the room. It had calmed down your pup immensely after being difficult to put to bed, their wings growing stronger each day. The same going for Hawks after a rough day at work.
You made sure to remember to drown them in your scent before breakfast. Before they left these sheets, they would smell of nothing but pup milk and the crisp air at dusk from you.
You whisper their name into the open and get no response. Slowly the hand on their thigh lifts to the bedside table. Groggily you flip the phone on the charger, clicking the power button. It blinks 12:47 am. Your eyes freeze at the date next to it. It takes more than a minute of trying to process it before you have to let the phone fade on its own. Reaching your hand back under the blankets you become sentimental.
Feathers of red, the softest but strong of the bunch flitting to the crib to lift up your pup and settle it between you and your sleeping mate. They fuss at the shuffling before following their omegan maternal instinct to wrap an arm around the bundle of pup. Your arm and wing cover them up again gaze soft and proud at the fact they sense your pup close and instantly provide them safety and care. Their scent sweetens as does yours, in result something akin to blueberries invades the air, the first minute traces of your pups grown scent.
You kiss the crown of your pup's little head. A coo whispers out of you communicating to your pup that is given a response with their own babytalk flair. They've made such a beautiful pup you're worried they'll draw attention. Especially when those light pink feathers that'll turn red soon blossom as they grow older. How they've promised everything to this little creature. You will grant the same thing. You'll continue fighting till everyone doesn't have to worry about their lives anymore. Till he can tell you his name, his background, every piece of knowledge stuck in his brain.
For now, you basked in the warmth of the smell of your mate and pup, cuddling close and safe. Excited to wake up to two sets of eyes, both the color of your mates. Such wonderful proud genes they had. The thought has you purring to sleep.
Hi I am new and I read you're last post. What does 'flutters' mean exactly? I was a bit confused, is this what you call your followers/readers or something?
You are absolutely correct Anon, thank you for asking~ ｡^‿^｡
I was debating for quite a while what to call everyone because I am Icarus and I wasn't sure which direction I should go with that. My main Oc I use across all platforms is quite consistent, having wings of some form if in a universe/world with powers/magic, but if not they are still called Icarus and share wing-like quirks. (Such as loving winged animals and so much more)
I say wing-like because Icarus, in the Greek Mythology I base it all after isn't an angel nor any other kind of winged animal. He just had wings made of wax and feathers given to them by his father Daedalus because they were both were trapped in the Labyrinth and had to figure a way out. I could say so much more but that is the basic synopsis.(⌒_⌒;)
Calling you my Flutters would include all the animals with wings that I adore from Angels, Fairies, Butterflies, Pegasus' to any kind of Bird and beyond!
❀can't let you watch me die❀ Gender Neutral Injured Gryffindor Reader
A sob wracked through you, ribs feeling as if they were literally shaking inside your chest. Every beat of your heart caused a dull ache to spring through your limbs, felt all the way to the tips of your toes to the ending of your fingers.
The back of Bellatrix Lestrange's bony hand met the side of your face with such force you flew sideways, plummeting to the ground with a tremendous thump. Arms too late to brace yourself you met the floor harsher than your body could handle, the hair knocking itself out of your lungs, the edge of your brow hitting the ground at a painful angle. You can already feel it begin to trickle blood. Your ears ring with a shrill noise.
"Puny little one! You really think I'll stop, this is much too fun you know!" Bellatrix's shrill laugh makes you want to puke. "Too bad, as a pureblood you could have found a nice place at our Lord's table~! Too bad you and your parents aren't dark inclined! So now I guess all you're good for is shutting up and accepting it!"
"Can't you see they can't handle it!" a deep voice shouted and though you couldn't see, eyes screwed up, you knew who it was. Your dear Harry. Sweet, courageous, stupid, Harry Potter.
He should have escaped by now, you know he could, saving Hermione and Ron who resided in the dungeon below. But he had done something, something you didn't catch but Bellatrix did. She singled you out and separated you from the rest of the group. Dragged you in the center of the room to be not only physically but mentally tortured, Harry watched it all unfold.
"Stop! Don't touch them!"
You could hear him now, the ringing decreased, struggling as a Death Eater older, stronger, and more than brutish held him down on the floor to kneel. You remember the fright, the anxiety that coursed through your veins, not at what would happen to you, but the image locked into your mind before all the pain began.
Harry on his knees, a brawny hand dug into his hair, almost close to ripping it out in the process of pulling his head up so he couldn't take his eyes off of you. You wanted to just die already, not to stop your pain, but to stop his. You didn't want the one you loved more than anything in the world to see you like this. To be put through this. He'd gone through so much at such a young age, and still is, you didn't want to pour any more salt into an already gruesome wound.
A sob wracked through you, ribs feeling as if they were literally shaking inside your chest. Every beat of your heart caused a dull ache to spring through your limbs, felt all the way to the tips of your toes to the ending of your fingers. Your eyes open looking through hazy vision, one eye closed as blood flows over it from your split wound. "Harry...," your voice was so soft, so broken, you didn't know if he could even hear you. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I shouldv'e ne-Aah!"
"Be quiet, are you deaf or something! I said to shut up!"
Bellatrix heeled clad boot thrusts itself into your gut, you swear it connected between two ribs, punching a lung that has you sputtering and choking on the floor. You don't want Harry to look at you, drooling on the floor, writhing and so unlike what you want him to remember you as. Your arms reach out, a thought coming to you, a purely human instinct to crawl away, but you know it's futile. So as you fight for breath, your eyes focus on the wooden floor, trying to focus on the spiral and circle in the wood to remember to stay awake. Your nails dig into the wood. Wood that shouldn't look so pretty, look so beautiful as you suffer upon it.
There's something low, like a growl, that meets your ears. You can't make it out through everything happening. You just hope it's not something you need to worry about. Any more pain and you know you'll black out from lack of sufficient airflow.
"I said stop!" A loud grunt is heard behind you, a body that is too heavy to be Harry's crashing to the ground. It rattles the floor and you want to cry from the feeling it wracks through you. The thing is you already are crying, the wood darker where they splattered.
"Stupify!" You want to turn around, but can't. That's Harry's voice, you try to remember if they took anybody's wands. Bellatrix had yours, the question was though did she take Harry's?
"You little brat, how dare you try and-"
"Expelliarmus!" Bellatrix's shriek is heard, her wand flicking out of her hand.
You want to see, you want to know what's happening. Yet can't as your vision blots black and white, like little stars that mock you. The last thing you hear as your head rests upon the tear-stained wood and your body slumps exhausted from exertion is Harry's voice shouting so loud it clangs in your skull. For a second you think you hear Hermione and Ron too.
*
It's bright, much too bright. A grown slips between your lips, pain ricocheting through you as the ache in your ribs is brought back to the forefront of your mind. Speaking of mind, your head is throbbing in more places than one.
You reach your hand up, blindly, to try to pinpoint where it is coming from but a hand catches it. It's soft and warm and so much better than everything else that feels so strange and new. Slowly blinking your eyes open you drink in the scene around you. Watching the hand holding yours lower it back down on the woolen blanket has you humming in confusion. Following the fingers that gingerly hold your dainty wrist up to the elbow, the shoulder, and the face you are more than happy to see who it is.
"Harr-," you stop yourself, throat scratchy and dry. He is attentive, realizing your need. So with his unoccupied hand, he grabs a cup on the table next to you and pushed it to your bottom lip. Slow and oh so gentle he tilted it as you gulp it down. At one point he stops in the middle to make you slow down, you want to laugh, the thought of rattling your ribs stopping you from doing so.
Satisfied with your fill you try again, more careful this time. "Harry...," you have so many questions. So many things you want to ask, want to say, but you settle with, "I'm so happy to see you."
His eyes, bright and beautiful emeralds shining down on you with something you can't decipher. A smile is on his face, it wobbles though trying to rise up. His voice is more watery than you had initially imagined. "I'm glad," he holds your wrist tighter the tiniest bit. "I was scared that you...that you wouldn't wake up. Madam Pomfrey said it was possible you might've fallen into a coma from the severe hit to your head."
"Hmmm, I'm glad I didn't. I didn't," your eyes trail downwards to the blanket where your free hand twiddles with a loose thread before looking back up, "want you to see another person die in front of you."
There's an unspoken word you feel he might insert there himself a 'because of you', like so many people like to do. To put blame on him for deaths out of his control or knowledge.
He seems to not take it this way, a real grin starting to form on his face, He runs a hand through the mop he likes to call his hair, something you absolutely adore to no end. "So, let me get this straight. You are on the brink of death and instead of 'I want to live' it's 'I don't want someone to see me die'.
"Well," you go to correct him, a smile is on your lips, the mood lightening even after everything that occurred, it'll hit you later but not now, "more like I didn't want you to see me die. I didn't want you to see me like that."
Harry's brows furrow, scooting to the edge of his chair, closer to you to inquire more. "Not to sound...blunt, but...I've seen worse. I mean! Not to disregard your pain or anything you went through, I just-"
"Harry, I know. I just mean," a surge of confidence rushes through you. Maybe it was your near-death experience that helped you. "For the boy, I like to see me in that position...I couldn't stand it. I well-"
A hand settles on your cheek, thumb brushing the contour of your cheekbone. Green and black flood your vision till your eyes close the scene and lips press to yours. It's almost nothing. A bare hint of pressure, light as a miniature tap. You realize it's him being gentle, he doesn't want to hurt you with how broken you are. You appreciate it yet at the same time wish you could kiss him harder.
He moves away and it takes you a few seconds to register you've had your eyes closed for longer than necessary. Opening your eyes the expression Harry wears is something you want to see him have every single day.
"And I thought the girl I liked wasn't interested in me at all," his laugh is music to your ears. His fingers that held your wrist are cautious, moving to interlock with yours. You squeeze in reassurance, it's all you can do right now and hope he feels your love shining through.
It does when there is red starting to paint the edges of his ears, seen even through his crazy hair. For a second his smile falters, eyes glazing like he is remembering something.
"What is it?" you ask voice soft and worry-filled.
"When you were being...," Harry's voice trails off, you get his meaning, a nod of his beckoning him on, "you said you were sorry. That you shouldn't have ever done something. What did you mean by that?'
His eyes lock with yours, you know what he's talking about. "I thought I was going to die. I shouldn't have even thought it, but I did. I...I was going to say I should've never invited you into my train compartment when we met our first year. I realize now how cruel that would've sounded, but you know what I mean now," he nods hand squeezing yours. "If I hadn't met you I wouldn't have caused you the pain of seeing me die in front of you."
"You're not dead," he takes your hand, pressing his lips to the bumps of your knuckles. "And I'll make you stay that way for a very very long time."
It's not your ribs this time. It's your heart, shaking inside your chest that has you taking a small labored breath. "The same goes for me, at least once I'm healed. I'm a Gryffindor I can get through this easy peasy." The smile against your hand is felt, nerves shot in the hand. You'll be lucky they operate after he lets go.
"I want to say thank you though, for saving me." A tear trailed down your cheek, over the plump flesh of it to your pillow. "I don't know what would have happened if you didn't..."
You both know what would have happened. It brings horrible visions of what could have been, so to ease both your worries once again he leans over your body a kiss placing itself below the bandage you just realize is on your head. A finger moves your hair from your face when he pulls away.
"You should sleep more, I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."
You do as Harry says, feeling more than safe with him watching you.
*
"I was correct," Hermione's voice is full of smugness, but it's her right.
"Just because they confessed right now, doesn't mean you are," Ron huffs, foot stapping in exasperation. "I thought we agreed they had to confess in the Gryffindor common room."
"Details, details. You forgot the agreement was on Hogwarts grounds before the seventh year."
"I guess...it took them long enough. They threw so many hints I was getting tired of watching them be oblivious," Ron looks through the hospital wing door's window as Harry watches you go back to sleep for more needed rest.
"You're one to talk..." The expression on her face is an interesting one that has Ron crinkling his eyebrows.
"What do you mean by that?" he asks but Hermione turns on her heel. "Wait, I'm serious Hermione, what do you mean by that!?"
Modern AU ~ (Though technically not implied either way)
~show me how you're different (show me pleasure)~
Tom wants to reach forward and slide his hands around your waist, press the pads of his fingers into the plump flesh of your hips like a snake constricting you to bend to his will. The look you give him dares him to do so again, the last time he did he was quickly swatted with a pretty manicured hand.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I believe my head will melt off,” he says, lips quirking into a sly smirk, a challenge. He straightens his back into the chair he had found himself situated in when one of your fellow dancers had guided him to this quiet, secluded back room.
“If only I could,” you hiss, hands smoothing the silk scarf wrapped around your shoulders. Moving then to readjust the veil with golden jewelry covering the lower half of your face for modesty. Your actions come off as sure and calm, but Tom can plainly see just how nervous, just how unprepared you are. He remembers the way his friends commented on your attire.
“You think he wears that thing to cover his face because he’s ugly?”
“With a body like that he has to have at least an average-looking face.”
“Who cares about the face? I would bang that Palestinian boy from the back so I forgot he was a man.”
“I’d like to see you try,” his voice comes out softer than he wants. The edge of it is flimsy and soft. His hands clutch the arms of the chair, an absent thumb rubbing the texture of it.
Your eyes light up at the playfulness he has slowly started to exude, intrigued and more than interested in this man’s true intentions. Stalking forwards, legs peaking through the slit on each side of your leg, you circle around his sitting figure. You try to disguise the slight pain that shoots up, ass tender from when his friend had gotten much too handsy.
“H-hey! You can’t do that!”
“Slapping you wasn’t a big deal now, was it really?”
“He was begging for it, look how red his face is!”
Tom notices, he notices everything. He wants to ask if your alright, to decline this private dance he asked for. But the way you looked was too much for him to pass up. He had to know more about you, this is the first idea that came to mind. Not his brightest moment, but he was with you now wasn’t he?
“Paid for like a common whore,” the sneer you let out sends tingled down the entirety of Tom’s spine. You come full circle around the chair, leg raising high to press a bare foot, golden ankle bracelets tinkling and shining in the dim light, upon his chest to push him back against it. “Who do you think I am?”
Tom’s answer is quick, gray eyes blazing, breath letting out the lightest gasp. “I don’t know, but I want to.”
Your hands clench subconsciously, pretty eyes glancing away from him. Who does he think he is. To say things like that so easily. You turn your head to stare back at him, just a bit more subconscious with your bare chest open for him to gaze at. At least it is covered with sheer material like the rest of your outfit. You can keep some of your dignity, even if his friend had not.
“He has his whole body practically exposed, no shame at all.”
“You say that like your not drooling from seeing his legs so out in the open.”
“Eh, if only he was English and not some nasty Middle Eastern trash.”
You soften your voice, feeling his chest heave slow with your foot on it. “Then let me show your, sir.”
You move your foot down, anklets clanking softly together as you raise your hands and begin your dance. He watches your every movement with abated breath. Your beautiful and in the low glow of the light through the oriental cafe’s lamps your skin shines. His eyes don’t move from your figure, ears ringing with the melodious sound of golden jewelry that shakes with the movements of your hips.
Your hands, decorated with a candescent shine of rings, flow through the hair whipping and forming it as if carving a sculpture. The only is, Tom thinks eyes drinking you in, you are the sculpture. If only he could open his mouth and say how beautiful you are. To tell you he cares not for your differences in culture, in religion, in anything that may separate you. All he cares about is getting to know you, understand you. You don’t know how much he wants you, in every possible way.
You turn, twirl, and twist in every which way. Your belly dance is a miraculous display of power and unfathomed control. Who knew a boy could move in such an incredibly feminine way?
“Can I get closer?” Tom realizes you are asking him, asking his permission. Where did both their feistiness go that had held fire in the air earlier? When had everything dissolved into sugary sweetness and schoolboy nerves?
He comes back to his sense when he notices he has yet to answer, your eyes holding onto his fingers twitching worriedly. He gulps and pokes out his tongue to wet his lips, speaking just loud enough to not frighten you. “Yes, please.”
You move faster than he anticipates, a gazelle with your pretty limbs and long shadowed eyelashes. He knows he can’t touch you but when you cage him with your thighs he can feel his self-control slipping from in between shaky fingers. How are you defeating him of all people so easily? Exactly who are you?
If he couldn’t keep his eyes off you earlier it is more than impossible now. The feel of your ass presses just right against the fabric of his pants that conceals his dick. If you keep that up he won’t be able to show you mercy for much longer. The breath is almost knocked out of his lungs when your hands come forward and push under his overcoat, nails trailing his white button-up. He wants you to rip his shirt open, feel your nails on his feverish chest.
You revel in the way his face contorts into semi-concealed pleasure. Does Tom know what kind of face he is showing? Does he know his cock has started to press harder into the crevice of your ass? You want him to touch you. You know you strictly told him not to, the fact of that paired with how obedient he is blossoming a warm feeling in the center of your chest.
Your eyes travel to the clock hanging on the wall, its hands crushing your spirit. “Time’s over.” You move, yet don’t when he speaks up.
“Hayat,” Tom says it in such a debauched way your toes curl upon pure instinct. “I’m not like them. I want you to know that.”
Your eyebrows crinkle together, “How do I know for sure? How do I know you won’t throw me away,” voice stern and strong.
He looks at you like nobody has looked at you before. “You won’t till after this. So all I can ask is for you to trust me.”
You have nothing to lose, not really anyway. Either way, you’ll have had a good night. You’ll have met a handsome man with wishes you could fool yourself were true. No matter what happens to your heart in the end.
“Then show me you’re different, habibi.”
It’s a moment of stillness before he brings his hands up to settle on the edge of your sheer mask. He silently asks your permission, that of which you give a silent nod to. Letting it fall from your face he has to take a few slow breaths to stop himself from devouring you. Oh god, you are beautiful, why are you hiding such a pretty face?
Lurching forward, lips meeting yours. His hands are big on you, one on your uncovered thigh and the other trailing to the curvature of your back to push your body fully against his. His palm on your back, skin to skin, is better than any wet dream you have ever had because this is reality. This is really, truly happening. A rush of resistance overflows within you.
Pushing hard you slip your tongue into his mouth, not caring that he tries to fight you. The slide of his tongue against yours is intoxicating. Roaming over his perfect teeth, his cute pink gums, the taste of him is being swallowed whole by you. His fighting is nonexistent now, his hold on you lax. Holding a hand against the column of his throat you can feel when he gulps a load of air as you pull away from his lips. His are shiny, wet, absolutely beautiful. His hair is a bit tousled from the struggle of it all.
“Hayat-”
“That’s not my name,” you say, revealing it’s but a stage name to protect your identity. He eyes you as you glance behind your shoulder at the door that separates you both from everybody else in the oriental cafe, before turning back to him. Moving close you whisper your real name in his ear, lips pressing a soft kiss to the shell of it.
“I’m Tom. Tom Riddle,” a smile more gentle than gentle playing upon his face, “so no more sir.”
Your heart bursts and shrinks at the same time in an unending paradox. You’re having a heart attack, aren’t you? Because you can’t handle what is occurring now.
You decide to not ponder it, coming forward to place skittish wet kisses on his throat, thumb tilting his head up for more room. His hips buck yours, a moan flying out both your mouths from the spark that starts to spread fast through each of your bodies. He begs for you to keep going, don’t stop, and right there, that spot. This man who sauntered in here, aura of a politician and sleazy racist friends, was whimpering beneath you. The power in your veins was is immense, you swore you had wings. Pulling away, the way he tries to catch your lips is endearing.
“Right here. Right now,” your voice run ragged already. Your eyes meet as he leans his head back down, a predatory look not hidden at all within the depths of his eyes. “Show me your different.”
The glint of his canines peeking from between his charming lips has your body quivering with a mix of excitement or fear. “My pleasure.”
And it is as he says. Nothing but blinding white pleasure.
Soulmate AU ~ You can taste what your Soulmate is eating and/or drinking.
~Find Me; Taste Me~
Strawberry flavoured lollipop suckers were the first thing you tasted almost every single morning when you woke up. Sometimes it was so prominent you would dream of dancing lollipops around your head, endlessly swirling and twirling around in bubbly misshapen contortions.
It had become such a frequent occurrence that on the days you didn’t taste it when you woke or taste it at all throughout the day you felt as if you were having withdrawals. Anxiety would crawl on your skin and you would worry something was wrong with the soulmate on the other end of this voice line telephone line you shared.
It was irrational, you know this for sure, but you couldn’t help that you looked forward to it every moment of every day. When the flavour would burst on your tongue and you realized, somewhere out there, was your Soulmate indulging in their highly addictive habit of sweets and candies. It was a drug by now, you could easily tell. And perhaps it was a bad thing, noticing how your leg would bounce beneath your office table in your bedroom for no reason. Only rid of the annoyance of moving when your tongue burst with blueberry flavour late at night when you had started to get irritated.
It had become such a habit that you yourself would go to a konbini near your house, legs walking directly to the candy aisle. You had always loved sweets, but upon reaching an age of identifying your soulmate's shared taste had given you a newborn fever for all things sugary and delicious. Now it may have affected your everyday life, though it was really no inconvenience for you.
You always felt giddy nowadays, heart spiking when you popped a hard candy in your mouth, rolling it with your tongue, fascinated as it turned sour to sweet. You were a little child again, indulging in the simplicity of sweets and confectionaries
Idly tugging on the drawstrings of your (F/c) hoodie, tiny shopping basket hanging on the crook of your elbow, you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear before trailing it along the shelves labels. It seemed there was a sale on a brand new candy item, one of them an exclusive limited-time flavour. A smile burst on your face as you grabbed a few, knowing that taking too much would be rude to others that may want some later. But going through the flavours offered you realized that there was only one more left. It was your favourite flavour, (F/f), and though you were more often than not a generous person it would be a shame to let it go when it was right in front of you for your hands to grab.
Reaching for it you didn’t notice another hand going in the same direction. Heat burst on your face as yours clasped upon somebody else. Releasing with a quickly issued apology and a slight bow you thought you were going to be met with an onslaught of crude words by a man's deep, grating voice you were shocked to hear laughter.
It was like fuzzy cotton candy, warm and tasty. But like cotton candy it dissipated on your tongue, dissolving and disappearing much too quickly than you would have liked. Looking up you were shocked by locks of pink lemonade and pale pink macaroon highlights, though most is covered by a black baseball cap. His eyes had been shut, the back of his hand over his black mask-covered mouth to muffle his chuckles in vain, but when he opened them to stare at you, edges crinkled in joy, it was his periwinkle blue eyes that made you catch your breath.
“No need to apologize onee-san~!” he says, a finger hooked to bring down his mask, the nickname he gives seems less like a gender thing rather than something he could call everybody he passes. You find it cute. “You wanted this right?” He reaches for the exclusive limited-time candy flavour, hand in the air for you to take it. “Here~”
“Oh,” his kindness surprises you. A personality just like the candy he holds. “Are you sure? It’s the last one and I wouldn't want to steal it from you. Anyways I might not even like it and it’ll be a waste and-”
You cut yourself off as he laughs again. Embarrassment burns your cheeks, not from thinking you were being laughed at, but more of just how wonderful he sounded when doing it.
“No worries, no worries,” he shakes his other hand. “Ne, this is probably my fifth one today. I may love them too much. But if you’re so worried, how about trying it right now?”
“Right now?” You were never one to open food right in the store before you paid and left. “Would that be alright?”
“Of course it is!” His fingers are fast and it looks as if he really has done this before when he does it so quickly and precisely in no time at all. “Try it. If you don’t like it I’ll take it. It’ll be eaten either way won’t it?”
Before you can protest he has already brought it close to your face. His logic is right though, and you can think of nothing other than running out of the shop to get out of this predicament. But you had an armful of candy. Seems your only two chances are being hand-fed or becoming a criminal. He is expecting you to take a bite of the candy that he is graciously offering you, so as to not disappoint you do just that. Better than the criminal option.
Careful of the weight you carry you lean forward and take a conscious bite. It’s a burst of many delectable flavours ranging from banana to watermelon, to strawberry. You know now why it was so sought after and rarely stocked in stores. You hum, grinning wide, tongue licking your lips. “Wow, that’s so good! No wonder you love it so much.”
You chuckle staring at the candy, but when you look up you stop immediately. His body is stock still, pretty eyes shiny and wide. His mouth is silently muttering words to himself as he stares at you. Did you do something wrong?
“Ah, sorry did I take too much I didn’t mea-”
“Soulmate.”
“What?”
He doesn’t answer and instead he takes a bite of the candy, eyes piercing into your own. Not tearing away and glued to your reaction as it meets his tongue. It’s then you register his words when your mouth is bursting with those same flavours you had tried mere seconds ago. You choke on your words as you try to say something, nothing escaping you as you hold on tight to your shopping basket.
He just smiles though, his rigidness leaving him. His demeanor is different, glee not as excitable and appearingly unpredictable. Calmer, subdued, and may you say...relieved?
“I have a proposition,” his words are slower than they had been, but there is still that childish tilt. Teasing, but more than just mere playfulness now. He takes another bite of the candy in his hand, eyes glinting with something you can’t decipher as your tongue is enticed with flavours once again.
“What would that be?” Thankfully your nerves have calmed down enough to ask this simple question.
“Ne...would you mind tasting this?” He surges forward before you know what’s happening. You can taste just how happy he is to finally taste you on his tongue.
Soulmate AU ~ You can detect your Soulmate by heat. The temperature gets hotter the nearer they are, colder when they are far away.
~Hypothermia~
Your hands are cold. Well, they are always cold. So cold you don’t know if it is your mind playing tricks on you or if your hands are collecting frost. Spiraling, glistening frost that sprouts from your fingertips that are a soft pinkish hue to around your inner palms and inner wrists. It grows slowly, coming from within your own body or just appearing there is a question you would like answered.
You are tired of it. At first, it was manageable, starting when you were a child because you thought it was the weak powered product of a lesser passerby demon that had given you a small curse. But as the days went on, turning into months, and then into years, and till even now, it grew increasingly worse. Now you have resorted to hiding your delicate hands in your kimono. Inconspicuously pull them close to your body and hope whatever heat you exude from within is enough to melt what has infected your skin for so long.
The problem now is that not only are your hands being tortured it is your feet, your neck, your cheeks, and everywhere else that you never thought was a vulnerable part of you. It has even crawled to your forehead, something you internally sneer at. Your clothes and hair are eventually affected too later in life. The frost becoming bunches of snowflake particles now. Clumped and gathered together. It feels as though no place is able to escape it’s reaches.
Traveling, something you do every day has become bothersome because of it. Drowsiness has set in upon you, sleep sounding like a pleasure you would indulge yourself in. Nevertheless, you control these urges even when you lose consciousness when walking, though for only a few seconds.
Your short and anxious ‘companion’ senses something wrong and mumbles about it under their breath but says nothing in fear of angering you. You had taken notice of his worry a long while ago but don’t act on it. (Yet punishing him does sound like a good idea). Your other ‘companion’ of odd sorts doesn’t hide their worry at all. They are vocal and ask questions anytime they feel you are amiss. You admire her audacity and courage.
With a few simple words though you ease their worries, moreso shut them down, until other symptoms come and catch you by surprise. Symptoms are formulated such as in and out confusion and patchy memory loss. They ail you more and more frequently these days. They are not so much as memories being taken from you but the hours of walking you do feel as though it took only a handful of minutes. You don’t say anything about it though, knowing it would only make your companions fearful for your health. And either way, you weren’t one to talk about your emotions openly anyway.
Being taught to keep it inside and concealed must of had a big effect on you even into adulthood and beyond.
It is only when you near that tree, that accursed tree near an even more cursed village that you feel healthier. The frost is still there coating prominent parts of your pale, flawless skin, but it is warmer. Who knew that you would feel so much relief over something as small as feeling warm.
Your ‘companions’ see the change quite quickly. Though the frost has not left they can see it. The energy, if you really showed in the first place at all, coming back to you. They can see it in the way you carry yourself, in the way you walk, and in the way simply radiate this certain type of energy.
It is only when they go to obtain food, cutting through a thick and dense forest do you have time alone to ponder what you should do. You are methodical and logical which helps you immensely. So it takes just a few moments for you to collect yourself before you begin your almost aimless walk.
You travel around the village, feet swift and soft against the grass when you then pass the tree your brother was trapped against for so many years. Only when you get to the clearing with the well do you realize the warmth has come to you. It radiates within your very soul, swimming and cascading through your veins. It’s liquid fire. Perhaps even hellfire.
You don’t know how it happened, how any of it occurred but before you are completely aware of what is happening you had glided to the Well. The Bone Eaters Well. It glows, a purplish-white beaming on the old stones, spilling over the Wells wooden confines.
It is then you know someone is coming. They smell unfamiliar thus notifying you that it is not that priestess girl your brother is infatuated with. This one smells sweeter, softer, and gentle. The scent and light grow stronger until it is all that is there. Every breath you take is filled with that smell, it’s dare you say borderline intoxicating.
Then they appear.
At first, it is but an outline, of clothes and hair swaying in the breeze of blinding light and pure magic, one knee parched on the side of the Well, the other dangling yet suspending inside. For some reason you cannot explain, you both reach out at the same time towards one another.
The connection is an immediate burst of nothing but pure, untainted, blissful warmth. Your body reacts as if you have never felt something so nice, and you would believe it because whoever this person was, was doing things to you that made you melt.
A single touch of fingertips to fingertips was the tip of the iceberg that soon crashed into a boat when the light grows just a bit dimmer causing the person to fall into your arms. They fall into your embrace, chest to chest, cheek to cheek and you know this person will mean everything to you. Cause just by the way your pulse accelerates, just by the way your skin alights with unadulterated heat has you wanting to collapse.
You don’t though, knowing this person needs your help to stay up. They pull away from you while still grasping you by the full length of your arms. It is like heaven has settled in their eyes. Eyelashes long and covered with frost, tiny snowflakes spread from them to their cheeks like a window in winter. It all has your soul reeling, spinning, and left dizzy.
You think it can’t get any hotter this heat that has begun to trickle over you, but it does as they lift a hand to your face. If it had been anyone else they would have been killed upon the spot but watching them do it had left you as still as a statue. That hand of theirs is soft, frost-covered, but soft.
They smile at you. They look like the sun, a contrast to you that becomes apparent when they wipe away the frost covering your crescent move birthmark with their other hand. The trickling has begun to gush at a steady beat that followers your heart in sync.
It’s only when you lean in to kiss their blue-stained lips does the heat explode. It overflows, seemingly coming out of every pore of your body. Every muscle in your body is attuned with it tensing and untensing when they grip the back of your head, hair tight in their grasp, with the hand that wiped your birthmark.
It has all melted. With every shiver of their body, with every tiny moan they make against your lips you feel both of your frost-covered bodies liven. Damp now for sure from all the accumulated frost and snowflakes you both couldn’t care less.
They pull away, a deep groan falling from your mouth though you are unabashed by it. Their laugh is music to your pointed ears, sharp nails gripping them tight enough to let them know you won’t let go of them. When they speak their words are a pool of silky, golden honey.
“I’ve been...looking for you..,” their voice is trembling, tears at the brim of their wonderfully bright eyes. “I’ve been looking for you...,for so long.”
You don’t say anything to them. Opting for actions to trump over words.
The kiss you give them casts away the hypothermia.
