#starshaping

(Soooo, trying my hand at a new ship and a new fandom, cos why not? Though it’s really only pre-slash, this is skysolo.)

“You still smell like death,” Han said, crossing his arms and leaning on the edge of the doorway. “Like hell I’m letting you in here.”

“Come on, Han,” Luke pleaded, stamping his feet and hugging himself. “I have to bunk up with someone. The heating in my room is broken. I’m not about to ask Leia!”

Han raised an eyebrow at him. That was something he’d love to see. They’d been awkward and red-faced around each other since the moment Leia had kissed him.

“And whose fault is it I smell awful anyway?” Luke huffed, two spots of pink gracing his cheeks even in the cold.

Han reached over and prodded the centre of his chest. “Shoving you in that tauntaun saved your life, kid! Would it kill you to show some gratitude? I smelled just as bad from sleeping with you in that shelter all night. It took hours to wash the stench off!”

“You dealt with it fine for one night. Wouldn’t kill you to go one more,” Luke muttered, looking down the hallway, probably wondering who else he could ask.

Han felt for the kid. Even though he was the hero who’d blown up the Death Star, everyone still thought he was strange. All that mystic nonsense. But Han still didn’t think bunking with him was a good idea. Not after how sentimental he’d got when he’d thought he’d die. He was just lucky Luke had been too out of it to notice.

“Come on, Han,” Luke said, turning back to him with his big eyes. “Please? One night, while they fix my heating?”

Given how run-down the base was, and how long he was waiting for basic parts for the Falcon, Han seriously doubted it would be only one night.

“I’d rather sleep with Chewie,” he muttered, trying not to feel bad, but failing. The kid had some serious puppy eyes.

“Fine,” Luke huffed, his cheeks still pink.

Han watched him trudge halfway down the hall, his stomach sinking with every step he took, and how droopy the kid’s shoulders were. With a grimace, he rubbed at his forehead. Damn kid and his damn moods.

“Wash that smell off properly and then come back,” he called after him.

He only let himself catch a glimpse of the smile on Luke’s face as he turned around, before turning back into his room and engaging the door to cut off the sound of Luke’s gratitude. But in his room, he was faced with what a mess it was, and how very small his bunk was.

Damn kid would be the death of him.

Link to AO3, if you’d like to leave me a comment, interactions with this post are very welcome too =)

For @ibuzoo @rmeisel because i really love your writings and edits and they are so beautiful it makes my heart aches. Inspired from: 

Confession: I always loved the way your freckles spelled I love you over your cheeks like gasoline spit and sparks that danced in different shades of red and orange and pink and yellow just before the flame sets. When I see your face I see a goddess staring back at me, stars alive in your eyes and the warmth of a golden autumn day spilling between your eyelashes. I see peace in the soft lines of your cheeks when the world tries to beat you down. I see your cocky exuberance of youth but most importantly I see home. I see forever. I see eternity.

Also, if you don’t mind me asking, where do you find your pictures at? They’re all so well matched and breathtaking! Your color matching is phenomenal, oh my gosh.

So, me and Anna ( @starshaping​) were bored one day on skype, and opened a shared google doc, and this was what happened =)

It’s our first time collaborating, and really we were just playing around, but we had fun =)

Anna wrote Harry’s dialogue and actions, and I wrote Draco’s.

Harry Potter and the Seven Owls... and That One Preening Peacock

2.1k | Mature | AO3

The scene: Draco is sitting in an ornate, poncy looking chair, while Harry is shirtless and sitting amongst a pile of metal rods, bars, screws and other materials in the centre of the room.

“For fuck’s sake, Potter. You’re doing it wrong!” Draco sneered, as he put down his teacup and saucer down on the side table.

“Fuck you, I’m not! That’s what the bloody instructions say to do,” Harry grumbled, glancing away from the instructions long enough to glower at Draco.

“Well, then the instructions are wrong, and written by imbeciles who know nothing. I’m telling you, you’re doing it wrong!”

“Do you think you can do it better then? Go ahead!”

“If you think for one second that I’m touching that metal monstrosity, you are ever dumber than you look. And you look like a stupid peasant. Did you even try today? Half of your hair is sticking up, it has been since breakfast. Did I mention?” His fingers itched with the urge to fix it, as they had been all day.

But touching Harry’s hair often resulted in them losing the day, and getting nothing productive done. Besides, fixing Harry’s hair meant he couldn't laugh at him about it. He did so love to laugh at him.

“No, but thanks for that,” Harry replied sarcastically. “Stop being a whiny arsehole and just do it, if you’re so sure that you’re more capable.”

Draco fixed him with a sneer. “Malfoys don’t build things, Potter. We hire others to do it for us. That’s the whole point of having money.” Draco had thought they’d resolved this, the last time Harry had wanted to change something about the house. “You have a somewhat acceptable fortune yourself. You should know this by now.”

“I build things myself, prat. As you well know, since there’s that nice desk over there that you like to... You know...” He coughed pointedly, and tugged at his ear.

Draco smirked. The ear tug. That was the most ridiculous habit Harry had, and Draco loved to pretend he had no idea what it meant.

“No, Potter, I do not know. You’re going to have to be more specific. I don’t speak idiot.”

“You know what, Malfoy? I should leave you to do this yourself. You’re capable, so you say.”

Draco snorted, and added that to the mental tally of all the times he’d got one over on Harry. Making him show how difficult he found talking about sex, outside of sex itself at least, absolutely counted. Anyone would think he was a prude. It was hilarious. Harry Potter was no prude.

“Capable of calling someone to come and make it for me, sure,” he admitted easily. “I don’t see why we need such an elaborate bloody enclosure for all your fucking owls. Just get rid of the owls. I mean, really. Do people not coordinate gifts anymore? Did no one check to see if anyone else had had that fascinatingly unique idea of getting you a replacement owl, after you finally admitted that you might, might, be ready?”

Absolutely ridiculous. They were all idiots. Even three owls would have been too many.

“You leave me and my seven owls alone, you arsehole. They did nothing to you!” That was a lie, and they both knew it. At least two of them were vicious little beasts.

“Verity nearly ripped off my fucking earlobe! Jingle, and who the fuck thought it was appropriate to name an owl Jingle anyway, left a fucking scar on my wrist!” Draco exclaimed, making an angry gesture towards the little white mark on the inside of his right wrist. “Your owls are a fucking nightmare, and they must be contained or gotten rid of. Hurry the fuck up and use what small amount of initiative you must have to figure the damn thing out!”

“First of all, Maven likes you! He’s a sweetheart.” Harry paused, and chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Though, you’re right, a few of them are quite mean.”

Draco snorted, feeling smug.

“Second of all, Andromeda let Teddy name Jingle, and Teddy is a child, so you can’t judge him for that. I’m sure Jingle makes absolute sense as a name, to a child. Stop being an arse! This is never going to get done if you don’t have some common decency and stop insulting me. It’s distracting.”

“Fuck decency. I’ll speak to you how I fucking like! You didn’t start dating me because I’m some simpering, hero worshipping trollop who’ll never have a harsh word to say.” And thank Merlin for that, because even while in love, Harry did more things to irritate him than anything else, even if it was more of a fond irritation now. He’d have gone mad if he couldn’t taunt him about it.  

Draco uncrossed his legs, and then re-crossed them the other way, leaning back in his chair, and making that hand gesture he knew irritated Harry.

“Fuck your stupid owls. Except Maven. You’re right, I like Maven. And fuck your incompetency with this gigantic fucking enclosure. Fuck your stupid pride, and your inability to let the men who delivered it construct, like they fucking offered, for free. And fuck your stupid fucking hair! Flatten that side of it before I grab it and bend you over your fucking desk!”

Sucking in a deep breath, he glared at the offending hair. It was distracting him from his annoyance. His favourite thing about Harry’s hair was how resilient it was to being pulled, and how much Harry seemed to like it, but now wasn’t the time. He did not want that metal monstrosity to remain unfinished for any longer than necessary. It would be an eyesore when completed, but it was even worse now.

“You’re really pretty when you’re angry. Did I ever tell you that? And just because you said that, I want to fuck up the rest of my hair.”

Draco scowled. “You are a contrary wanker, Potter! And of course I’m pretty when I’m angry, it’s about fucking time you noticed.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You’re pretty all the time, but I can’t tell you that as often as I think it because your ego is already the size of Hogwarts. Can’t inflate that pretty head any more, now can we?”

Against his will, Draco felt his cheeks flush with warmth. That wanker.

“Cut it out! You can’t flatter me into helping you with that stupid enclosure. I wanted them to construct it, like they offered. You’re the stupid twat that said you could handle it.” Ever the prideful Gryffindor. Idiot. And Draco even more so for not insisting the delivery men do it for them. “And if we’re talking egos, you’re a fucking hypocrite, Mr. Saviour of the Wizarding World, Sexiest Wizard however many years in a row it’s been. Preening like a fucking parrot whenever someone brings it up.”

“I preen whenever you say it, arsehole. I spend the rest of my time trying to melt into the shadows. I cannot believe you actually think I preen. That’s you! You preen every time I call you pretty! Or when anyone else does, for that matter. Now please help me with this stupid enclosure.”

“I’m a Malfoy, I was born to preen. It’s expected of me.”

And so amusing to watch Harry go through the stages of annoyance over it, attempting to ignore it, and then watching with fondness, before Draco did something to make him cycle back to annoyance. It was high class entertainment.

“You’re pathetic for cowering in the shadows, by the way,” he added, looking him up and down. It did no one good to hide that body from the world. “I wish you did preen more often. Your wasting those chest muscles you’ve been building lately, don’t think I haven’t noticed them. And no, I will not help. I told you that you couldn’t set it up on your own. Owl the company back, and get them to send someone, like any intelligent person would.”

“Shut up. I just don’t want to be out of shape by the time I’m thirty, you preening peacock. And why don’t you call them, since you’re so insistent on not helping me? Stop insulting my intelligence!”

Draco snorted. “What intelligence? I see none,” he sneered. The peacock joke. How tired. That had stopped annoying him a long time ago. Harry needed new material. “If I ruffle my feathers at you, will you stop being a stubborn git and owl them? You’re the one who made the purchase, it has to be you. Idiot.”

“You’re a prick. Of the highest degree. Why do I like you again? Oh, that’s right. Because… You know what? I’ll just call them tomorrow. Later today. Fuck, what time is it?”

Draco checked his pocket watch, and looked mournfully at his empty teacup. Why was he still watching this idiot try to construct this? Teasing him while he cursed and got annoyed was amusing. Watching him work was always nice too. Still, he should have gone to bed hours ago and left the stupid prat to it.

“It’s two in the morning, but don’t stop there. Why do you like me, Potter? Do tell. I’ve been watching you struggle with this for fuck knows how many hours, comforted only by you removing your shirt early into proceedings, and by how fucking perfect your arse looks in those trousers. And now you’re admitting I’m right?” That always sent a shiver through him. Every time Harry admitted he was right, it was like he was laying hands on him, and Draco immediately flushed with heat. “Careful, we might not make it somewhere more comfortable, and if we have a shag in here, you’re bound to hurt yourself on all those materials that are lying around now.”

There was the desk, and he did so love a fuck on or over that desk, it was a gorgeous desk, but Harry had managed to cover it in parts for the enclosure as well. If Draco found scratches on that beautiful dark wood, he’d kick the git’s arse.

“You know why I like you, I’m not going to feed your ego by telling you. But my arse does look pretty good in these trousers, doesn’t it?” Harry twisted around, trying to get a look at his own arse, before suddenly freezing. “Wait, it’s two in the morning? Where the hell did the time go?”

Draco couldn't help but snort again. Harry’s idiocy was most endearing, and endlessly amusing. And the stubborn set of his mouth, accompanied by the flush to his cheeks was most arousing. Harry wanted him, he’d been wanting him for a couple of hours now, only delayed by trying to finish the stupid enclosure. The signs were obvious. The more Draco had taunted him while he’d worked, the more Harry had wanted him. Draco had been greatly enjoying his struggle to stay on task.

“The time went into you trying and failing to construct a hideous owl enclosure for your demon owls that are, no doubt, at this very moment, tearing the basement to pieces. But yes, your arse is fantastic, I refuse to even pretend I didn’t mean that. Why don’t you lose the trousers, and I’ll give it some more lasting compliments.”

“Are you teasing me right now? Because if you’re teasing me, I’m going to punch you. Or something.”

“Potter, it’s only teasing if I don’t follow through. When have I ever failed to follow through? I may tease you for a while, or for hours, until you’re begging, and that begging slowly becomes incoherent. But I always follow through... eventually.”

If it wasn’t so late, several hours of teasing sounded fantastic, in fact. He loved nothing more than reducing Harry to an incoherent, begging mess. Even better for the stages of cursing and swearing that preceded the begging.

“Great, now I’m turned on. See what you did? Arsehole. Poncy git. Fuck you. I’m mad at you.”

Draco drank in the sight of him, red-faced, chest heaving as his breathing quickened, and that defiant posture of his.

“Excellent, how about you come over here and do something about it?” Draco uncrossed his legs again, and spread them, leaning back and slouching slightly in his chair. “Or are you the tease now?”

“Fuck yes, I’ve been wanting to break in that chair with you for the past few hours. Let me just… Wait. Fuck, it’s two am! The owls! I forgot to feed the owls!”

“What?”

Harry didn’t respond, as he grabbed his discarded shirt, and left the room without looking back.

“They can…” But Harry was gone, and Draco growled and got to his feet, crossing to the open doorway to yell after him, “Are you serious? Fuck the owls! Get your arse back here you fucking tease!”

(Definitely random haha sorry, only a short one for this one)

“How the hell are we going to explain this?” Seamus muttered, surveying the mess that had been their dorm room.

“Uh… Aliens?”

Seamus raised an eyebrow at Dean. “…Aliens?”

“Aliens.”

Seamus turned back to the mess. Every bed was reduced to splinters and scraps of fabric and mattress stuffing. All the chests had been thrown open, their contents strewn about.

“I was going to say Peeves,” he muttered, still surprised they had managed to cause such destruction.

“Oh,” Dean muttered, looking a bit lost. “That makes more sense.”

Seamus nodded, and turned just in time to watch the fractured remains of Harry’s bed frame splinter into a pile of broken wood.

“Let’s never keep our wands on us while drunk, yeah?”

Dean nodded. “Should we just…?”

“Pretend we slept on the couches in the common room and never knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“We shouldn’t have stayed for Christmas.”

“We shouldn’t have touched Trelawney’s egg nog.”

Link to AO3, if you’d like to leave me a comment =)

(Babe, not only is it Dean and Seamus, but it’s so romantic, it involves a wedding! Although…maybe it’s not hella romantic, but you get what I mean =p)

“Technically, it wasn’t on fire.”

Dean gave Seamus a dark look.

“Of course it wasn’t on fire! You blew the fucking thing up!”

Seamus rubbed the back of his neck. “Everyone thought it was hilarious, and intentional. No one cared.”

“No one cared?” Dean sputtered. “What about me? I care!”

“It was just a cake,” Seamus muttered, wincing as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Dean put his wine glass down so hard the stem broke. “Our wedding cake. At our wedding. The most important day of our lives. Ruined, because you thought it was funny to blow up our fucking cake!”

Seamus watched the wine drip off the table, and start to stain the carpet. He had a feeling that drawing his wand to clean it up would get him landed on the couch for the night. Although, looking at how irritated Dean was, that was likely anyway.

Dean was the one who had wanted the big wedding. He was the one who was so insistent on getting every little detail right. Seamus had known he was going to cock it up somehow, but he hadn’t thought Dean would be this upset.

Grimacing, he made a helpless gesture. “What do you want me to say, Dean? I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said weakly. He was still so embarrassed about it himself. “I was emotional. You know how my magic gets when I’m emotional.”

Dean scoffed. “I worry about the future of our marriage, if you were feeling something at our wedding that led to destructive magic!”

Seamus scowled, and looked away. “I made things blow up the first few times we had sex. You didn’t take it this way then.”

Dean didn’t reply, and Seamus dared to look at him again. He was frowning, and still the red wine stained the carpet.

This was not how Seamus had imagined his wedding night would go.

“Dean, it’s not about what kind of emotion I feel when I blow things up. I’ve tried to tell you this before, but you never seem to get it. It’s about how much I feel.”

Dean scoffed, finally drawing his wand, cleaning away the mess, and repairing the glass. “So I’m supposed to believe you were so overwhelmed by happiness and love, that you blew up our fucking cake? While you weren’t even trying to cast magic?”

Seamus looked at his feet, feeling his face burn. “It was our first dance as a married couple. Sorry if my feelings got in the way of your perfect day.”

“You don’t even like formal dancing,” Dean muttered.

Cringing, Seamus made another helpless gesture. “But it’s a thing. The first dance at a wedding. It’s… I just… I was… fuck this!” he finally snapped. “You knew who you were marrying. Sometimes I blow things up. Get over it. I didn’t even want a big wedding. I only did that for you. Don’t be such a wanker. It was just the cake. At least I didn’t make something flammable explode this time!”

He stepped closer, and glared up at Dean. “If you’re so upset, then you can sleep on the couch to get some space. I’m not exactly happy I blew it up either. It’s bloody embarrassing. It’s just pure luck that they all thought it was staged. I’m not letting you ruin today by being a pissy little shit about this.”

Dean blinked down at him. His cheeks were darkening, and Seamus set his face in the stubborn expression that Dean should know meant he wouldn’t back down.

“You…” Dean swallowed, and his gaze darted to the side for a moment. “You blew up the cake, because you were overwhelmed… by a waltz?”

Seamus scowled. “You cried during the ceremony. You don’t get to call me out on this.”

“I had dust in my eye!”

“Like hell you did,” Seamus snorted. “Come on, love. Wouldn’t you be more upset if I hadn’t blown something up? Think about what that would have said. That I wasn’t sufficiently emotional at our wedding.”

Dean gave him a considering look. “I didn’t think about it that way.”

“No, because you’re still being a sappy little shit about your perfect wedding not going perfectly to plan.”

“Piss off!”

“Not yet. Part of the perfect wedding is the shag at the end,” Seamus said, gesturing towards the bedroom. “Or are your feelings still too hurt for that?”

Dean’s expression darkened.

“That’s what I thought,” Seamus said, starting to walk backwards towards their room, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. “But don’t force yourself. We must protect those delicate sensibilities. I can certainly fuck myself, if you need to weep over the cake some more.”

“Seamus!” Dean growled, advancing on him.

Seamus made a gleeful sound before he could stop himself. “Ooh, that kind of shag, eh?” he said, as he backed into the bedroom. “Hope you’re prepared for another explosion. Not going to get all weepy again, are you? Because wedding night plus a rough shag, I am definitely going to—”

Dean cut him off with a rough kiss, and Seamus internally high-fived himself.

From a potential night on the couch, to a fantastic shag. And he only had to embarrass himself a little with that admission about the dancing.

With any luck, Dean would be pissed the next morning about whatever he blew up while they shagged, and he’d have forgotten all about Seamus’ sappy admission.

AO3 link (if you wanna tell me what you thought in a comment)