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lancelotrevolver · 11 days

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Lie to Me

She’s good for him. That’s what they say. Sunshine and sweetness and shared childhood trauma. A doe-eyed, big-titted replication machine, he’s meant to stick his dick into, until copies of him come out.

When she smiles at him, all trusting and supportive, he smiles back. Holds her hand and lets her kiss him, even though he wants to retch.

They don’t have sex. She thinks he respects her too much. He thinks he’d rather fuck a bowl of cold oatmeal.

Everyone says they make sense as a couple, because…corresponding genitalia and geographical proximity, he guesses. Everyone expects it. Expects them to fall in love. So he goes through the motions.

But he doesn’t want love. Love is heavy and sticky and nauseating. Like a tar pit full of chewed gum. You just sink into it and slowly suffocate to death.

What he feels…it’s something raw and wretched and dark. Writhing in the abyss. Poison and pain and gut-wrenching despair, and yet he can’t get enough.

He thinks about it, day and night. Till he’s shaking like a junkie, itching to stick that hot needle back in his veins.

He starts biting his nails again. Biting them till they bleed. Bleeding until he hears the squeak of leather, in the dark behind him. The intentional scrape of a boot, that announces the hunter’s presence.

“S—someone’ll see.” He’s pinned against the wall, but he’s already rock-hard and leaking, pressing his own face into the rough bricks, tilting his ass up like a bitch in heat.

“Tell them I forced you.” That voice scrapes like sandpaper across his eardrums. “I would, after all. Only, you seem to want it so badly.”

“I mean, I want them—m to see.” His voice hitches when a big, gloved hand slides up over his adam’s apple. It pauses.

His heart pounds in his ears. What if that was too much. What if he stops. Please please don’t stop do anything to me anything anything but never stop please never stop.

The hand squeezes tighter. It almost fits all the way around his neck.

“Little liar,” the voice rasps, heavy and sultry, hot breath on his cheek. “I like it…when you lie to me.”

The other hand is already yanking his trousers down around his thighs. Then his underwear. He shudders with anticipation that looks like fear.

The voice laughs, low and mocking. “I won’t put it inside. I’d tear you apart. Want my little puppet nice and healthy.”

“T—tear me apart. I want you to,” he whispers, shaky and breathless.

“Good. Lie to me.”

That long, hard, searing-hot thing, so much bigger than his own that it makes him feel dizzy to think about, pushes between his thighs. It’s slick with something that might be spit. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. He clenches his thighs together, as tight as he can.

“Give it to me, I want it,” he begs, arching his back. “I want you inside me, please.”

The big, muscular body rocks against him, harder and faster. It’s like they’re really fucking…almost. “More. Lie to me, more.”

“I want you!” he half-sobs. “I want you I need you I love you I—ha…ah!”

The gloved hands clamp down on his hips, so hard he feels his bones strain under the pressure, pelvis beating into his ass, jarring his spine, the head of that big, thick cock slamming into his balls over and over. He reaches between his thighs and wraps a hand around it, letting him fuck into his tight fist.

The serpentine voice loses its cool silkiness and suddenly sounds hoarse and ragged and desperate, almost human. “Lie to me! Lie to me!”

“I love you…I love you…Seph—ngh!”

Sharp teeth sink into his neck, puncturing the skin, drawing blood, while that huge, hard thing convulses, spurting long bursts of hot fluid between his legs. He could let it splash onto the wall but he catches it in his hand and it slops all over his thighs.

He’s so hard he can feel his pulse in his dick. A sharp chin rests on his shoulder, green eyes watching, while jerks himself off, fast and dirty, in the slippery slick of semen all over his hand. The same hand that beast of a cock was just fucking into.

Lust-drunk and suddenly bold, he winds a lock of that silver hair around his fingers and pulls hard, while he comes, hips stuttering, spattering pearly-white streaks all over the brick wall.

For a moment, there’s a heavy head, resting against the back of his head, warm breath fanning his neck, a chest, rising and falling, pressed flush against his back. Silver hair, still hanging over his shoulders. Two gloved hands, wrapped around his waist.

The scent of leather permeates the air around him. Leather, sweat, cordite, a little bit of ozone, and something ever so faint, like cedar and agarwood, hidden just beneath the strong, masculine scents.

The hands are lifted off his waist, and his heart plummets into his stomach. Into the cold sea. Into the black abyss. He hears rustling, and the faint jingle of buckles being refastened.

That voice ghosts past his ear, soft and taunting. “See you soon, little liar.”

He whips around. “I’m not—”

But he’s already gone. Vanished without a trace, the way he does. The way he always does. And he’s left standing in an alley, alone, with his pants down and cold, sticky semen all over his thighs.

He’s hastily pulling them up, when a black feather flutters down, and lands softly on the asphalt, between his boots.

He looks up quickly, but of course there’s nothing there. This feather is probably just from some bird. But he wipes his hands off on his trousers and picks it up, anyway.

Even though it’s stupid. Even though he knows he’s just grasping at straws. He picks it up, just in case. Tucks it carefully into his shirt, and walks away.

Somewhere high above, concealed in the inky shadows, a pair of slit pupils dilate, then slowly contract, fixed on a small, yellow-haired figure, as it walks briskly down an alley, till it rounds a corner onto the bustling, city street, and is gone.

#sefikura #sephiroth #cloud strife #minors dni #18+ only #18+ content #short one shot #oneshot #canon typical homosexuality #canon verse

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fandomsbyladymelodrama · 4 months

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Merry Christmas, friends! (and to be clear this is not a Christmas fic oops XD but it is a new collab from the talented @salzrand and myself so Merry Christmas just the same :))

#jorleesi #jorah mormont #daenerys targaryen #game of thrones #dany x jorah #daenerys x jorah #fanfic #essos fic #canon verse #angst with a happy ending #lobsters on the run #only one bed in all of essos #it's a tragedy #;)#art by salzrand #<3

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mrsarnasdelicious · 1 year

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TLK Christmas - Christmas with Finan, Sihtric and Osferth

"Our first Christmas in our own house." Osferth says softly. "Which built ourselves." Sihtric grins proudly. "Actually, it is my house." Finan tells them firmly. Uhtred had granted the Irishman a generous lot of land at Coccham to build a new house on, and Finan couldn't do without the three of you. And he couldn't have done it without you, either.

"We are invited to feast in Uhtred's hall." You remind your men. "We'd much rather feast on you." Sihtric grins. "Christmas is supposed to be a period of prayer and abstinence." Osferth tells him. "Good thing I celebrate Yule, then." Sihtric replies. He pulls you into his embrace. "Means more for me." He nuzzles his face into your neck.

"Oh no no no, you are not getting her all to yerself." Finan protests. "But you are supposed to pray and abstain. The Baby Monk just said so." Sihtric retorts, smirking against your neck. "I will be sure to tempt him plenty." You say. "Oh it will be a joy to see him try to resist." Sihtric adds. "And what about me?" Osferth pouts. "Will you resist, too?" You cooe. Osferth flusters darkly. Gods you adore how shy you can get him with just a few words.

"I don't think he will." Sihtric purrs. He lets you go and instead goes to Osferth, to attack the monk's throat with nose and lips. It swiftly reduces Osferth to whimpers and whines.

Finan turns to you. "Now how about you explain this Yule thing to me." He winks at you. You roll your eyes and take him by the hand. "Come, Uhtred is expecting us to pick up a barrel of wine to mull. And those two look like they will be busy for a while." You nod to Sihtric chasing Osferth to the loft, to the bed. Finan looks down on you, smiling gently. He gives your hand a squeeze. "Mulled wine it is, then." He agrees. "Oh and how drunk we will get." You cooe. "So very fuckin' drunk." Finan agrees.

You draw him out of the house you built together, into the snow.

#tlk #the last kingdom #osferth x finan x sihtric x reader #sihtric #osferth #finan #arnas fedaravicius #mark rowley #ewan mitchell #canon verse

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tosxah · 2 months

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"Since when have you been aware of how the sky looks like?" her hand hovers on his, her lips pressed in a small smile that reflected the light in her eyes "I thought your eyes have always too busy to follow the next battle to look up above your head." @nagareboshiko

Childe closed his eyes, enjoying her closeness, enjoying the way her hand laid on top of his. "Even mainiacs on a rampage would take the time to look at the sky." He opened his eyes to be met with the beautiful amber eyes of his traveller. "And I'll always make the time to look at you." Stroking her cheek, he inhaled, enjoying her scent from this distance. "You spend so much time living amongst them, girly, maybe you should take a minute to see them too. You should rest every once and a while."

#canon verse #nagareboshiko

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tippenfunkaport · 6 months

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Home

"Hey, babe!" "Adora! Hey!" Catra had been so intent on the recipe that she hadn't even heard her wife come in, which was impressive since she was the one with the advanced hearing and Adora had all the stealth of Rogelio in tap shoes. From the other room, Catra heard the miniature whirlwind called Finn dismantling the living room she’d only just cleaned, but it was so good to have her loves back, she hardly cared. As much as she'd pushed for their little family to have their own space outside of Bright Moon castle, she hadn't accounted for how quiet it would feel sometimes.

(domestic fluff / canon-verse, 511 words)

Read on AO3

Part 6 of my Catradora Shorts collection

(I actually wrote this back for @domaystic for the prompt "learning something new," but I forgot to post it then so I'm sharing it today for the Catratober prompt "feast")

#catradora #catra #adora #finn #spop #shera #she ra #fluff #catratober #fanfic #fanficition #cooking #domestic #domestic fluff #shorts #canon verse #femslash #wlw #sapphic

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hangesbrattyapprentice · 8 months

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Chains in the Sand

After losing the battle of Shiganshina, three Warriors return to Marley with some unplanned cargo.

Zeke has a new hobby.

cw: allusion to canon-typical violence, injury, and death, angst, kidnapping, yandere behaviour, zeke being messed up in general, miscarriage, suicidal thoughts, nudity, eventual smut.

Dark content in general. My dead dove radar is very skewed so I can't really tell how dark this is but please read at your own discretion and MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!

Sooo I recently finished chp 2 on ao3 and decided to post this fic here as well because this is pretty much my second home rn. Hope you enjoy!

Things here felt…wrong. She didn’t know where they’d brought her – having seen nothing for days save for the inside of a trunk before being transferred to this hovel – but everything here, even the most normal of objects, seemed to emit an unsettling aura.

The bathroom she was in was simple enough – dingy tiled walls and floor of a shade that didn’t match any identifiable colour, a drain in one corner, a toilet in the other, one water fixture jutting out of the wall, a barrel-like tub that would not accommodate unbent knees, and nothing else.

And yet, the sense of discordance clung to every corner of this place just like relentless nausea clung to her. The glaze of the tiles was strange. The pattern of holes in the drain’s strainer was unlike any she had ever seen before. Outside, the cacophony of civilisation sounded foreign, although their language was the same as hers. Inside, the man knelt by the tub tending to her was foreign also. Even the air felt different to breathe. Though, she conceded, that might just be her battered lungs.

Is this really what it’s like on the other side, she wondered.

I am outside the Walls.

She didn’t need reminding, but the voice in her head had been chanting the words persistently… Ever since she’d woken up that first time after Shiganshina.

She was angry, furiously so, at the voice for being of no use at all, but she’d learnt to welcome it in place of other things – thoughts that might creep in were it silenced.

She was outside the Walls. And the man’s ministrations, every scrub, every sweep of the washcloth over her skin, brought back fragments of her journey.

He’d started by carefully rubbing the mixture of dried vomit and tears from her face. Most of the journey had passed with her unconscious, but she had woken up disoriented, in excruciating pain, lying on her side in a box darker than the insides of her eyelids. It might have been fear, the agony from her burns, or the realisation that all had been lost. The slow, steady rocking sensation didn’t help. It made her feel like there was no solid ground beneath her. Made her organs feel as if they were sloshing around inside her, untethered.

She’d managed to vomit into a corner further away from the scratchy rag that served as her makeshift pillow, but it hadn’t made much difference when they simply put her under again to loll within the same confines.

The first time they had injected her was before the trunk, right after the battle. Seeing the syringe, she had screamed and thrashed, thinking they would turn her into a pure titan. It was the only function she’d ever associated with the needle, after all.

So stupid. They had all been so stupid, kept in the dark by these others who lived beyond the Walls. Who made titans. Who could make it so your body was paralysed even as your mind stayed wide awake.

Two of them had held her down while a third pierced the skin at the periphery of her injuries. She thought it might have been this man, the one now clinically scrubbing the grime off of her one unbandaged arm after thoroughly cleansing her hair and wrapping it in a towel.

She watched him absently as she tried to recall.

Those same hands. Large, sturdy, their backs dusted with fine golden hair. These were the hands that had meticulously picked the charred bits of leather and cotton from the sludge of her skin as she lay on the ground, unfeeling save for light tugs and twitches.

Back in the bathroom with walls that had no colour, the man spoke, but she didn’t hear him. He lifted the golden mop of his head to fix her with an expectant look. Behind the round wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes didn’t have a distinct colour either, nor any discernible affect. They could have been blue or green or a golden hazel, she couldn’t tell. But they held patient expectation.

He wanted her to lift her arm. She complied, and he washed under her arm and across her sternum and breasts, taking care to be thorough but gentle over her sensitive skin. Her raised arm quickly lost strength and gingerly, it drooped down to rest on his shoulder.

Water seeped through cotton fibres, making them cling to her skin and his. He didn’t seem bothered by it, only continuing – now beneath the water’s surface – his task of wiping away grime to reveal cuts and bruises instead. Cuts and bruises were manageable. But part of her, the part that wasn’t numb from shock, feared what was under the bandages on her left shoulder and upper arm. It wasn’t just burnt flesh. Or at least, not just her burnt flesh.

She feared what else had been lost in that explosion. That –

She took a rattling breath, a feeble attempt to gather herself.

I am outside the Walls.

The man looked up at her face again, hooded eyes regarding her.

“Does it hurt?”

What an absurd question. There was nothing in all of existence that didn’t hurt.

“Alright, now hold on tight,” he murmured, sliding his hands under her arms to lift her to her feet.

Water streamed from her body back into the tub, her stomach feeling as though it followed the same downward motion. Her legs wobbled, her grip on him tightening for stability. He waited until she steadied, his palms flat against her sides.

She glanced down at herself, being careful not to dislodge the towel folded atop her head. The lukewarm water had washed away most of the blood, but a significant amount remained, congealed and dried, between her legs and down the insides of her thighs.

The man knelt again, manoeuvring her so that both her hands rested firmly on his shoulders. With a hand supporting the back of her thigh, he lifted her leg and began cleaning her vulva. He seemed to have no reservations about a task so…delicate. The blood didn’t phase him either. He only muttered something about what an inconvenience menstruation must be during battle and the unfortunate choice of white uniform trousers.

Maybe he was a doctor.

She vaguely recalled that said trousers had been stuffed into a bag along with the rest of her clothes, presumably to be discarded.

She tried to tell him she wasn’t menstruating. She hadn’t, in almost three months. But speaking was difficult, and she decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Saying anything wouldn’t make a difference whatsoever.

Everything that mattered had been lost on either side of that broken gate to Shiganshina.

Everyone on that side of Shiganshina is dead.

That’s what they’d told her when she – a lone, badly injured scout – had challenged the retreating Cart Titan with a broken blade at the border of the city. The river’s current had carried her all the way there.

She wasn’t sure anymore who exactly had given her this information. Her thoughts were jumbled and muddy from all the chaos and drugs. There was the Cart Titan, and others. Traitors...

The Colossal Titan, she remembered. Berthold! That filthy lowlife of a traitor who had killed everyone in his devastating explosion. She would have been among them, had she not hurtled herself into the river, gear whirring at full speed.

She gazed down, swirls of brown and burgundy coiling around her knees where her legs disappeared beneath the murky water. Maybe it would have been better to die with them.

The thought felt oddly, comfortingly familiar.

When she had been scrubbed head to toe, the man straightened up and sighed as if he had just finished a long day of work at a desk.

He undid the towel on her head, using it to gently dry her hair and massage her scalp. Then he patted dry the rest of her body and helped her out of the tub, one leg at a time. He guided her by her right hand into the space that was the rest of the miserable dwelling.

The entire place was a square room with a crooked, boarded-up window beside the door, directly opposite the bathroom. There was a sink outside the bathroom, a mattress on the floor covered with a thin sheet, and a single rickety wooden chair. The rest of the furnishings, if you could call them that, were built into the walls like extensions of the building. There was a tall shelf and a counter about waist-high.

It was all so peculiar…and she just couldn’t bring herself to care.

She barely noticed him dressing her in a plain sleeveless shift. She only took note when he sat her on the trunk in which she’d been packed and began unwrapping her bandages, starting just below her elbow and working his way up. She flinched when he pulled on a section that had stuck to her skin.

His gaze flickered up to her face.

“Ah, apologies, Liebchen. I’m out of anaesthetics,” he said, cocking his head and reaching up to scratch his earlobe absentmindedly. “Be a brave girl for me, hm?”

He resumed the unwrapping, not expecting a response. This suited her just fine. She lost interest in what was being done to her, eyes glazing over as she stared into space.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The change unsettled her.

He spoke often, right from the moment he had cracked open the lid of the trunk, going on about this and that. But he hadn’t tried to initiate conversation, never actually expected an answer from her. She wouldn’t have responded now, but some old part of her remained from a time when her name meant something – when declaring it meant claiming some power.

“M…”

She pressed her lips together to form the consonant, but they wobbled, unaccustomed to use.

“Mmm-” she tried again, the vibrations of the sound shaking her to the core and finally tipping her teetering body over the edge of nausea. She bent over, retching violently. Her stomach didn't have much to give, but bile splattered on the floor before her – and on his bare feet.

With a nonchalant sigh, he stood, fetching a mug and the towel he had just used on her from the bathroom. She panted and observed him as he moved, not rushing to clean up the mess but methodically wiping away the evidence of her sickness. His foot was lifted, inspected with a detached curiosity, then cleaned with the same painstaking precision.

"It really is quite something, isn't it?" he started, the silence broken once more with his rumbling baritone. "The human body, that is." His gaze remained on his task, fingers expertly swiping over the floor. "It’s such a complex and yet vulnerable thing. You, for example, are in the aftermath of a rather impressive display of resilience. Yet here we are, brought low by a simple biological response."

As he worked, he continued to chat away, his tone casual, as if they were merely two old friends catching up. The conversation remained decidedly one-sided, filled with his musings on the nature of humanity and the bitter-sweet paradoxes of life. He seemed entirely unbothered by the lack of response, perfectly content with the rhythm of his monologue in the background of his clean-up while she sat there, weak and broken.

"But I suppose that's just how things are, isn't it? We are always at the mercy of something, be it other people, circumstance, or even our own bodies. It’s a constant balance – the want to survive and the inevitability of our fragility."

Finally, the floor clean, he straightened. A casual glance in her direction was accompanied by a knowing smile. The towel he'd used to clean up her mess was rinsed, wrung out and hung up over the counter to dry. He returned to his earlier position in front of her. His tall, rugged form towered over her but not in a way that felt threatening. Despite everything, he was careful, almost reverential, as his fingers – dry and cool – worked gently on the dressing.

The bandages came away bit by bit, revealing angry burns and scorched flesh.

"Mmm," he hummed, more to himself than to her, dabbing at the worst of the burns with a clean, wet cloth. "These should have been attended to earlier. It seems I have a trip to make."

The observation was casual, almost conversational, but there was a calculated awareness in his eyes, an understanding of the predicament that lay beneath the seemingly offhand remark.

Throughout, his gaze would occasionally flicker to her, his eyes ever searching, but his touch remained unwaveringly gentle. "I'll need to head out soon. Get you some food and medicine. Painkillers. Ointments. Perhaps some fresh clothes." His voice had a velvety depth, a soothing counterpoint to the sharp sting of his ministrations. "We can’t have you staying in this state."

His words floated past her like wayward leaves on a stream, inconsequential and distant. She remained motionless, her gaze directed at the far corner of the room, unseeing. Her heart, mind, and body were cloaked in an impenetrable fog, only the occasional sharp tug on her wounds tethering her to reality.

He paused his task, looking up at her, his gaze focused and contemplative. "And, ah, sanitary items," he ventured. "You'll be needing those as well, won't you?"

The question accentuated the strange, invasive intimacy between them. But she simply shook her head, a feeble motion that hardly moved her. The hollowed-out shell of the woman she'd been managed to scrape together a faint whisper, "No."

She felt the momentary shift in pressure from where his hand held hers, a flash of something unidentifiable flitting across his features. Understanding? Pity? It was gone as soon as it came, his expression once again pleasantly, if unsuitably neutral behind his glasses.

“Alright,” was all he said, collecting the soiled dressing. The conversation was left to dwindle in the still air of the room, the silence wrapping around her once more like a blanket. Her response hung heavily in that silence, a harsh reminder of all that was lost.

#zeke jaeger #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger x oc #zeke x reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #levi ackerman #aot fanfiction #no y/n #original character #oc x canon #canon verse #canon compliant #yandere zeke #soft yandere #angst

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cupcakeslushie · 9 months

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That episode of New Girl with the background check is one of my favorite episodes of anything ever. And Nick being a horrible liar reminds me of Dee.

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #rise of the tmnt #rise leo #rise donnie #rise april #tmnt #save rottmnt #saverise #rise season 3 #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #my art #new girl #canon verse

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clown-demon · 5 months

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@utallige asked:

ibuki slips between his legs as he sits reclined, adjusting their position so their back was against him; the villain careful to not block his vision. shigaraki took his video games very seriously. they adored it. they nuzzled into him, fingers softly dancing over his forearm. (SINCE YOU SAID... I NEED THEM)

Shigaraki was concentrating on his game. He made a grunt noise when they joined him on his lap and shifted the controller so they could sit without bother his hands on his controller.

"Did you need something?" he asked as he focused on his game. Fingers skillfully pressing buttons, not even skipping a beat to kill his enemies on screen.

#itallige #Canon verse

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emerald-might · 8 months

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A Hero in Sheep's Clothing

(closed rp with @nsfwsonicmuses )

"Sorry. Mei Hatsume is booked with many other commissions for hero outfits. I can point you to another student of mine. She's new but she has a knack for it, certainly knows how to make an outfit look good and functional."

Izuku was in need for some needed upgrades to his hero uniform, and repairs. The boy just kept getting himself hurt and pushing his body to the limit, his uniform doesn't stand a chance in most fights. Unfortunately he couldn't go to his go-to support item maker and find someone else. The home teacher of the Support Class directed him to a lass named Lanolin.

Izuku was given instructions on where to find her, either in her classroom or at her dorms. He certainly hoped she would be in the classroom, being in a girl's room would be... nerve racking.

"Excuse me," Izuku spoke up as he opened the door to the classroom of another Support Class. "I'm looking for a Lanolin, I need to make a commission." From what he was told, she was to be a sheep looking female. Whether that be literal or a figure of speech was yet to be said.

#nsfwsonicmuses #lewdness #canon verse

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dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you · 1 month

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester Characters: Castiel, Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut, Fluff, Smut, Cuddling & Snuggling, Touching, Touch-Starved, almost, First Kiss, First Time, Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Dean Winchester, Dean is a softy in this one guys, whoops, my characterization is a bit off, sue me, Prompt Fic Summary:

Dean LOVES being touched. Actually, it's closer to a NEED to be touched. And he just discovered that he loves it the most when Cas touches him... specifically Cas. And with this revelation, he tries everything he can to get Cas to touch him as much as possible. It makes him go a little bit crazy.

Prompt: "This isn't cuddling, I'm just really cold."

#spn #spn fanfic #destiel #less than 10k #stumbled upon this on ao3 #canon verse #q

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ererifanficprompts · 1 year

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#168 Prompt

After Eren's death, Levi realizes that the timeline was repeating and that every restart happens after Eren dies.

With that knowledge, Levi sets out to save Eren, and at the same time, save the world.

#Prompt #Ereri #Riren #Rivaere #Rivaereri #Ereriren #Canon Verse #Canon Divergent

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thejilyship · 2 years

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split in half

This is written in a different tense than I usually write in. Why? I don't know. I didn't notice until I was done writing it. I tried writing something in first person about a month ago and now I don't know how to write in past tense anymore. I don't know how those things relate, but there you have it. Anyway, I've had this idea rattling around inside my brain for a very long time now, and I've had a few lines of the dialogue written out, but I finally sat down and finished it!

wc: ~800

ao3

Lily has just turned out the light when she hears someone knocking on her door. She sighs, but doesn’t move to sit up or turn the light back on.

“Come in!” She hears the door opening and waits for whoever it is to say something. After a long stretch of silence, she sits up. “I figured it was Mary, but now I don’t think so.” She reaches for her wand and taps on the lantern on her bedside table.

It’s not Mary.

It’s James.

“You know how to get up here too?”

“Too?” His mouth hardly moves with the word. His arms are hanging limply at his sides, and he looks a bit slack-jawed. His eyes are wide, his cheeks are flushed, his tie is missing, but given the late hour, that’s not surprising. His general appearance is disheveled though, tie or no tie.

“Yeah, your mates are always coming up here.” She says, fiddling with the hemline of the blanket she still has covering her lap. “Though, I’m not complaining. Remus brought me chocolate last time, and Sirius has let me borrow a few records.”

“You hang out with my friends a lot?” His expression hasn’t changed yet, and his mouth still isn’t moving enough. He came here for a reason. He’s just shuffling through this first part of the conversation. Lily’s stomach experiences a bit of a flutter.

“I suppose,” She shrugged. “Are you gonna tell me how you got up here? They won’t.”

“You fancy me.”

Silence.

“Ah.” Her stomach is hosting a swarm of butterflies now. Those bastards, by which she means James’s friends, she can’t fault the butterflies. “They told you that, did they? I asked them not to.”

“They’re my mates, of course they told me.”

“Alright, well, I didn’t really want you to know.”

“I broke up with my girlfriend.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“For me?” It sounds juvenile, but the question is a knee-jerk, wrenched out of her without her permission.

James tilts his head, his glasses slipping down his nose just a fraction. “You have to know how I’ve felt about you all these years.” He lifts his hand to push his glasses back into place.

“Do I?” She shakes her head, worrying the blanket in her hands and pressing it into her lap. “I almost kissed you not too long ago. And you’ve sort of been avoiding me since then. And then you got a girlfriend. None of that really instilled me with confidence.”

His hand shoots to his hair now. “I misread- I was being an idiot.”

“When did you break up with her?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

“Right.” Lily’s butterflies are a bit erratic. A bit too much.

“Lily, do you think that I can-“

“James,” Lily interrupts him, pressing her lips together for a second to stop the butterflies from flooding the room. Ten minutes ago is a bit sudden, a bit deliberate. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this right now. It’s late and a lot has just happened. Maybe we should do this later.”

She needs time to think, to rethink, to make sure that she’s heard him right, that she understands everything that’s just been said. She needs time and space to quiet her swarm and tame her racing heart.

“Alright.” He agrees quickly, and she knew that he would. He looks unsure though and so she almost takes it back. Almost.

“Alright.” She nods back at him and then reaches for her wand. She twirls it in her hand. “I’m going to go back to bed now.”

Another stretch of silence.

Lily can’t look at him anymore, so she lays back down.

She feels him move across the room, though he doesn’t make a sound. Lily pulls the blanket up under her chin, but she doesn’t turn out the light yet. She’ll wait until he leaves.

There’s more silence. An infinite, vast, stretch of silence where Lily is certain that he can hear her heart pounding in her chest. Maybe he can even hear her blood pumping loudly in her ears.

And then he breaks the silence.

“Is it later enough yet?” He asks, his voice quiet and pleading.

Lily freezes. Her breath caught in the middle of an inhale, and everything is quiet and still for just a moment. A brief moment where everything becomes very clear.

What exactly is she waiting for?

What is going to be different tomorrow or in a few days?

Nothing.

She throws the blanket aside as she sits up. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

James catches her in his arms, and they’re entirely tangled up before their lips even find each other.

#jily #jily fic #fel writes jily #jple #canon verse

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