I have finished my short, two-part post-season-two series, for those who crave that "Final 15" flavor with their smut.
He thought, for a minute, that it had worked. Aziraphale made an undefinable sound in his throat and hesitated, but then pushed back against him, hard. His mouth was very warm. Crowley felt his hands land flat on his back, one after the other, clutch him; his lips part just so slightly and he thought wildly, yes, angel, yes, yes -- but then Aziraphale let him go, took his hands off and Crowley had dropped his hold. Stepped back.
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Other Heroes : " Should I really kill Emperor Evulz? Even though he massacred thousands of villages , dissolved people alive in acid, enslaved millions of people, subjected countless innocent people to fates worse than death and literally ate a live kitten, wouldn't killing him make me just as bad as him? He turned the world into a hellhole but a life is a life. The choice is so agonizing." *wangsts and cries*
Sonic : * Straight up Mercs a villain by spindashing through their chest* "Oh well . c'est la vie" * speeds off somewhere else and hangs out with his friends without a care in the world and not a tear shed*
Leaning into the bowser/luigi ship, but also being fucked up. Imagine one of bowser's "rewards" for being good being luigi dressing up as peach?
Like, luigi isn't into it. He thinks it's a little creepy, even. But it's his biggest tool in keeping bowser on the right track. One week without incident? He's dressing up as peach on date night.
And, like, at first, it's kind of comical(?), "haha, luigi's emasculated! he's in a dress!", but then there's the reality that luigi's dressed like a friend(?) - his brother's... romantic interest(?) - so his boyfriend can get off, and that his boyfriend getting off on it is what's keeping said boyfriend from going to war.
Like, not only is that basically cheating and a very real sign of disloyalty, but then luigi's being "forced"(?) to push a boundary by dressing like that. And that's not even getting into how peach might feel if she ever finds out!
Is he wearing accurate underwear? How'd he find that detail out if so? Did fuckin mario take his brother lingerie shopping so he could point out his... tentatively ssying girlfriend's... underwear? That's a whole other... Thing!
It was supposed to be a one time thing, just a one time thing, but it began to turn into something more. The kiss that was a spur of the moment, turned into something else. The guilt of Emma's actions ate her away; it ate her alive, plagued her mind and never left. Not even for a single moment. It didn't let her rest.
And it hurt her because she loves you, not Draken, yet she kissed him and did everything she shouldn't have done.
It hurt because she saw you in that man, everything about him reminded her of you and because she was out of her mind in that moment, she pulled him down to her height and placed the lips that were reserved for you, on someone else's.
But only his lips didn't remind her of you. It was foreign and left an unpleasant feeling in her stomach, yet she continued further because she was craving for you. You, who has been away for the last couple of days. You, who didn't spare her more of your time because of work.
When you told her that your boss has been piling up work for you, she understood that you're going to be busy for a while and will have to deal with that wretched woman until your next income before you retire from that 9 to 5 job and finally do something about your [___] degree—to support the two of you with a stable and steady income, of course.
Yet, this one's taking longer than usual. You've been staying more in your office rather than at home, even your coworkers have noticed and notified her about it, saying she should scold you out of it because it's becoming worrying. However, nothing worked. And no, she didn't want to scold you, she normally would have but seeing you so stressed, she doesn't think it will work.
It has been weeks, and before you knew it, it turned into a month. You finally got your last paycheck and left the company. You were going to stay unemployed for a little while since it won't be a breeze to do something out of your degree, so you came home with a smile, happy that you were now able to spend all of your time with Emma.
However, that home reeked of something else.
Normally, coming back home always felt somehow like a picnic at a beach and smell like flowers, but you only felt dread and tired. Emma wasn't sitting in the living area like always to greet you, even if you weren't going to return the gesture. She always had a batch of fresh food and desserts to serve you but there were only cold dishes set on the table.
Were you gone for that long that she had started to drift for a while?
You kept your hopes up, strongly holding onto that hope that it will all go back to how it was and always will be now that you're out of that toxic company. You wanted to spend this first night of finally being free with Emma, maybe to watch a movie or go out on a stroll, but your plans weren't going to go through.
There was a different smell inside the room you shared with Emma. It smelled like always, but there was another hint to it. There was something else. There really was. You couldn't put a finger on it but it didn't feel right, it's as though you shouldn't know about it but you should, but if you do, it'll only ruin something.
Or that's how it feels.
Processing those feelings, an idea popped up but you pushed it to the back of your head.
Emma wouldn't do something like that, you thought.
You shook your head, put your bag down and stretched before heading inside the bathroom, only to see Emma inside. You immediately closed the door with a thumping heart and hot cheeks, before it opened once again.
You hear her chuckle, oh how nice it is to hear that again, "We're already married, what are you so shy about?" She began to change into her night clothes before turning to you. You were going to speak but you noticed the red surrounding her eyes, "Were you crying?" you asked,
She couldn't answer, well, she didn't answer. You only wrapped your arms around her, swaying side-to-side, telling her that it's all right now because you're here. "It's going to be all right. I finally left that place, I'm all yours."
Oh, I wish I could pretend nothing happened, she thought. Emma was guilty but nobody can say that she was wrongfully accused or even the victim in the situation. Draken didn't know she was even married, but of course, she knew that but she still did everything unimaginable.
What have I done? She kept thinking and crying to herself for the past month that you were away and replaced with someone new,
Why did I do that? Why did you, Emma?
How could I?
What was I thinking?
What is wrong with me?
Questions stemming from her guilt began to consume her. Even as she cooked, as she cleaned, before she slept and in her dreams. It was like having eyes and lips all around her, the walls in this home that you two have built know about it and it haunts her every day and night.
It haunts her even in her sleep.
"Emma, you're so cruel." I am,
"Emma, you're horrible." I am,
"Emma, look at what you did?" I know,
"Emma, you don't deserve her," I don't,
"Emma, you should die." I should.
The voices in her head remind her of that night. That night she did something horrible. That night she managed to put a huge gap between the two of you. It haunted her, like the shadow behind her figure and she can't do anything about it.
But you know what? She doesn't want to tell you. She loves you so much, but she doesn't want to let you go. You don't deserve this, but she's selfish and wants to keep you by her side. Even if this shadow of guilt stays for a lifetime right behind her, she'll live with it if it means getting to keep you with her.
But it's not going to let her get away with it.
Just as everything was going all right for you and seemingly for Emma, you find something.
Men's clothes.
You were going to confront her, of course you were. It hurt and you know it hurts her as well.
Even when you find out about this, you're still sure that Emma loves you and that you love her as well. But were you enough for her? Most probably not. Because, what have you been doing the past month? Even after all the warnings and longing for her, you continued with the work that was supposed to be second in your priority's list.
I should have talked to her,
I should have re-established my priorities,
You were wrong as well.
Even during the times you could have taken a break and provided the promised love and affection you would give to her, you didn't. And it was intentional.
You thought that if you did something about your work earlier and did it all throughout with no breaks whatsoever, you thought it would go by in a flash. It did, but you lost something along the way;
Emma,
You lost Emma.
All because of the work that you decided to deem more important than her.
It's my fault.
Sitting in the dining area, you forced your eyes to open wider than they should be, trying not to let your eyelids relax and appear to bear sorrow behind them that may add more to the tension that you feel very strongly in the room.
Once Emma and you finished your meals, you put them away and Emma takes out a box of blueberry cheesecake that she bought this afternoon.
"I got these from the newly established bakery just a few minutes away from here!" Whilst feigning the most believable, true smile she could muster, she said. You returned the smile, however, you knew that Emma knew it wasn't genuine.
What's wrong? She wants to ask you, however, she probably gets it already.
All the things she did is why, that's what's wrong.
You took bites, even when you were full, you took bites. You ate and ate until you had finished about three slices already. And unbeknownst to you, you started playing with the ring, that still shone beautifully, that was placed by Emma herself on your ring finger.
As Emma finishes her turn in washing the dishes, she notices your act.
Please, she pleads to the heavens in her little mind. She didn't need words to explain what she was asking for since it was crystal clear.
"Emma, sit down."
She does as asked,
You don't speak and time passes, almost an hour has passed and you've not spoken.
"Please... Emma, tell me this is a joke."
She can't hide it from you anymore,
"What can I do to keep you here with me, while being assured that you'll stay?"
Is that really what you ask of her? Is that the first thing you ask when there are other ways to approach the situation? "Other ways," as in fighting, throwing objects at each other, screaming.
She doesn't deserve you.
Sobs can't be heard but a cascade of tears fell from your pretty eyes as you silently cry in front of her.
Emma can't even cry anymore, she's cried too much that she's probably wasted all of it. But even when she thinks like so, tears stream down her face as well, and more when she sees you clutching onto the fabric covering your chest as you cry and silently scream.
"Is...this what I come home to...?"
No, she thought, no, she knows that it's not what you should come back home to,
"You were... away,"
What am I saying?
"Even while I was away, did that mean you can bring somebody else home?!"
No, she thought.
"Much more... a man? You brought home a man?!"
It hurt beyond words. If you were to write an essay of your feelings, you wouldn't even know where to start. It hurt like that. It was so painful.
You didn't even spare her another word before taking the ring off,
"I don't think I can stay here with the knowledge of what you've done."
Emma can't speak, she only cries once again when she hears nothing else but a wallet and a phone getting picked up from the table, then shoes being put, to the door being opened where you walk out.
This is me writing Hinny smut (or any kind of smut) for the first time, so, you know, be gentle? Thoughts and suggestions are appreciated!
And because I can’t write pure happiness, it’s more of an wankst (wangst?) than anything else.
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Summary: “...after a while Harry found himself taking it out simply to stare at Ginny's name in the girl's dormitory, wondering whether the intensity with which he gazed at it might break into her sleep, that she would somehow know he was thinking about her, hoping that she was all right.”
In which, unlike Harry thought, Ginny was not sleeping.
Rated M, so below the cut:
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It’s well past midnight when Ginny finally finishes her shower and leaves the bathroom. For a few seconds, she just stands on the door, hearing the soft breaths of her sleeping friends, but her eyes are on the two empty beds. Anne and Janet didn’t return to Hogwarts this year. They are both Muggleborns; she hopes, as she does every time she sees their beds, that they just fled with their families.
The alternative is too painful to think about.
And if there is something Ginny’s been understanding lately is pain.
Not that she should be complaining today. By Alecto Carrow’s standards, her detention was easy, but then Alecto is much more smooth than her brothers. Alecto likes her venomous words and, unfortunately, she had finally heard more about Ginny’s relationship with Harry.
Ginny supposes she was lucky if there is such a thing in her life now. But she had three free months in Hogwarts without the Carrows knowing more of her connection with Harry than the fact that her family was close with him; why Snape didn’t mention it to them - or why he didn’t question her himself - she is too tired to guess.
She should’ve known there was something weird when she entered that room on the fifth floor and Alecto was waiting for her with a sweet smile. Ginny had faced other detentions with Alecto - she’d endured a few rounds of the Cruciatus Curse, had felt the pain of a quill cutting her skin, had blacked out once after being thrown in the room - but she had never feared Alecto as then, with that smile that did not fit the room with chains and spots of blood.
‘You’ll clean up today. Muggle style, since you love them so much’, Alecto had said, pointing to a bucket and a mop.
After so many detentions, Ginny just nodded. She knew that her silence annoyed the Carrows more than when she’d scream to them, so she just concentrated on her task, trying to stop her thoughts of who had been bloodied in that room. Not a pure-blood, sure, they were so protective of them. Maybe a First Year, someone who was as innocent as she'd been before the darkness had tried to wrap her…
‘I heard you used to date Harry Potter’, Alecto said then, and when Ginny didn’t answer, she snorted. ‘Maybe you forgot to mention early when I asked you about him’.
Ginny tried to control her breathing. She’d know a moment like that would come up sometime.
‘It was nothing’, she said without looking up. ‘We were just messing around. He dated other girls’.
The truth is far from it, but Ginny expects her apathy is enough to convince Alecto.
‘I see’, said Alecto and for a second Ginny thought she had believed. ‘So he just used you then he dumped you’.
That was low and they both knew it; there was no good answer for Ginny, so she just kept her head down, trying to clean the floor as fast as she could.
‘Boys are after one thing only, you should have known better’, Alecto continued, and Ginny could hear the mocking tone in her voice, could now understand her sweet smile. This was her real punishment. ‘You’ll be lucky if any Pureblood accepts you after you are… profaned’.
Ginny bit her lips to keep from screaming with so much strength she felt the iron taste of blood on her mouth. Alecto was talking as if Ginny was dirty and no matter the fact that she and Harry never had time to really be together, she knew that nothing she’d ever do with Harry would be stained.
But Alecto didn’t deserve to know anything about her relationship with Harry. That was one thing that nothing - not Tom, not that Dark Regime, not the Carrows - would take away from her. The memory of the way his green eyes spark when he laughs. That dimple in his face when he’s smiling shyly. The way his hair is even messier after he lands from a flight. The determined expression on his face the first time they kissed. The way his eyes had darkened that night when she’d opened her shirt, had taken out her bra -
Perhaps it was the fact that it happened also in an empty classroom, a lifetime ago, but somehow this specific memory stayed with Ginny, protecting her almost as a Patronus against Alecto’s increasingly obscene comments. It was almost easy to turn off Alecto’s voice and after that, Alecto’s fun seemed to be dispersed. She discharged Ginny with a disdainful look, but Ginny didn’t notice for once; when she met Neville in the Common Room and he looked at her with concern (that’s the only kind of look they share these days), she’d been almost truthful when she told him she was okay.
‘I just need a bath’, said Ginny, and Neville nodded, understanding.
Ginny stayed under the hot water for a long time, as if the heat could clean away the filthiness that the Carrow’s presence always brought to her - it was worse than the blood that made her scrub her hands almost to raw skin, it was their evil dark magic. It reminded her of Tom’s diary and that’s the worst part for Ginny.
So she concentrated on her memories of Harry, letting the pure raw emotions she’d felt with him draw the heaviness of the day away.
It had worked for her shower, but as Ginny lays down on her bed, closing the curtains around her except for an opening where the moonlight enters, the stress returns as always.
She is tired and she feels tired. She can’t complain, though, because people look up to her to not give up. Neville and Luna are counting on her as much as she’s counting on them. Neither can fall.
But somehow Alecto Carrow’s voice still echoes in her mind and Ginny closes her fists, feeling her fingernails in her flesh, using the pain to draw away Alecto’s laugh that Harry used and dumped her.
‘No’, she whispers, hearing her voice. Her voice is real. Her relationship with Harry was - is - real. ‘He cares for me’.
She repeats it to herself as many times as she can, until Alecto’s voice is far away in her mind, no more than an annoying fly. Quietly, Ginny takes the Gryffindor scarf she always keeps by her bedside and hugs it close to her body, feeling its scent.
Even after five months, the scarf still has Harry’s scent.
She sniffs it, letting that musky smell fill her nostril, until she shamelessly wraps the scarf around one of her pillows, hugging it, pretending it’s Harry she’s with. It’s only imagination, of course - she doesn’t have a memory of sleeping like this with Harry, but she wonders if he would cuddle her, if she would caress his hair until he falls asleep first, if he would wake her with soft kisses - she likes to think she would giggle them, marvelling at the fact they were together...
That’s what hurts her the most. All the questions that she doesn’t have an answer to only because there wasn’t enough time.
When these thoughts come, Ginny admonishes herself. Be grateful for what you had together, she says firmly, and waits for what will come in the future. She can do both.
She bits her lips carefully to not reopen her wound, and she hesitates just one second before grabbing her wand from below her pillow.
‘Muffliato!’, she whispers, pointing from one occupied bed then to the other one, her mind already remembering Harry casting the same spell after pushing her to that deserted classroom seven months ago. Her heart beats faster, just as it had then, thrilled by the fact that Harry was the one being bold then.
He’d been so innocent at first, so careful with her and with her boundaries that in the first weeks it was Ginny that had been the one to pull him into empty broom cupboards, who had coached him to wait for her in the Common Room so they could have a moment together alone on that couch in front of the fireplace.
But that night Harry was the one who had searched for her in the library and had called her for a night stroll. Ginny had accepted eagerly and it had been so worthy.
She touches her lips, feeling the ghost of Harry’s mouth over hers - the moment the door had closed, Harry had spent two seconds casting a protective spell on the door and then he’d kissed her as if he’d stayed away from her for years rather than since breakfast. His mouth had been hungry, demanding, and for once it was Ginny that was matching his excitement instead of the other way around.
‘I’ve missed you so much’, he’d whispered, his mouth inches from hers only enough so those words could slip away, and even then it had sounded more as groan than anything.
Their time together had been scarcely on these last few days, with her exams starting and Harry not wanting to disturb her in this final stage. They had barely a time together - other than a good morning kiss and a brush of lips before she went to bed, exhausted, and Harry had not once complained; he was too noble for that.
The fact that he was asking - almost demanding - a few minutes for them - of her - brought Ginny an elation she’d missed amongst all stress from her exams.
Ginny remembers how she had pressed herself even closer to Harry, and how he had lifted her until she was sitting in one of the tables, with him standing in front of her, their heads for once in the same level. It had been exhilarating, but she had wanted more back then and she wants more now.
Just like that day, her hand trembles slightly when she opens the button of her shirt. With her eyes closed, she can visualize how Harry’s eyes had widened when she took off her shirt, then had darkened when she had removed her bra; he had seemed so torn between his evident desire and his nobility. He had already felt her up during their fumblings on broom cupboards, both above and below her blouse, but this was the first time he was really seeing her naked skin and Ginny would have hexed him mercilessly if he’d dared ruin the moment. Harry didn’t.
She takes off her shirt and the light breeze makes her nipples harden, just how it happened then - or maybe then it was the pure adoration in Harry’s eyes, how he seemed entranced beyond words seeing her naked chest. With an almighty effort, he’d looked in her eyes, asking silently, desperately, if he could touch her, and she had nodded in silence.
Her hand cups her breast, just like Harry did; her hand is less warm than Harry’s had been, but it doesn’t matter. She can reproduce how he’d touched her, carefully as if he thought he could break her - as if he couldn't see the shivers his touch was causing -, before his thumb caressed her nipple; just as before, she lets out a soft moan and the sound excites her now as much as it seemed to excite Harry. Now both of her hands are cupping her breasts, playing with the nipples, letting small waves of excitement flow through her.
She can’t reproduce what Harry did then - how he’d lowered his head until he was kissing her neck, then her collarbone, then the top of her breasts as he’d already done before, enjoying the cleavage of her summer top. But Harry had lowered his head even more, not stopping his kisses, until he’d taken her nipple in his mouth and pleasure had left her out of breath for a few moments, as if there wasn’t anything else in the world but the feeling of his tongue teasing her nipple, his mouth sucking it lightly then harder. She had moaned, not caring of how she had sounded, and Harry seemed to correctly take that as approval; his other hand had gone back to cup her breast, squeezing with the same amount of gentleness and roughness and -
And then they had stopped because there were sounds outside the door and they had thirty seconds - during which Harry thrown his Invisibility Cloak above them - before Filch had opened the door and looked around with mistrust.
But just as Ginny cannot reproduce Harry’s mouth on her nipples, she also doesn’t need to stop now. She wishes there were memories - she certainly tried on his birthday -, but if there aren’t, then she can let her imagination take over of what it would have happened if no one had interrupted.
She lowers her hand, below her waist that Harry had enjoyed holding while they kissed, until her hand slips under her panties. She is not as wet as she can be, but she imagines how Harry would be patient, how he’d be so gentlemanly touching her carefully until he was sure he wasn’t crossing any limits she wasn’t comfortable with.
She touches her more sensible spot, feeling another wave of pleasure, and she wishes it was Harry - with his calloused hands, long Seeker fingers - touching her now, making those gentle circles that make her want more. He wouldn’t know exactly what spot she liked most, but Ginny could show him - and Harry would be an eager student, a fast learner.
If they weren’t interrupted, she thinks she would let him touch her even more; perhaps she would touch him as well, would let him ease the tension and hardness she’d felt during their most passionate make-out sessions. Harry had wanted her, that she knew. She imagines she was still on that table, with Harry standing between her open legs; if she would move her body just a bit forward, she could rub herself on him - Harry would be the one moaning then - and Ginny pretends it’s this she is doing instead of using her fingers.
She slips her finger forward, inside, and now she’s wet, she’s ready for him. She doesn’t think they would go all the way then - Harry would want something far more special than a quickie in an empty classroom -, but she can pretend they are meeting there again, that this is just the umpteenth time that they are doing it, that they can lose themselves in each other. It can be rough, it can be desperate.
She can imagine Harry inside her, how he’d groan and how she’d be moaning with the feeling of him, alive and heart beating and thrusting into her, filling her. She can’t reproduce a feeling she’s only imagining how it would feel, but it doesn’t really matter. She slips out her finger, letting her attention focus on her clit, on that spot where she knows how to touch, how to make her come; for everything else, she and Harry will have time later, and anyway she thinks he wouldn’t mind seeing her giving herself some pleasure. He’d enjoyed it, because that’s who Harry is.
Her fingers move faster in that circle, her breath now coming in short intakes, unstable, and she presses her eyes even more, imagining Harry kissing desperately her lips while he too moves faster, how he’d warn her that he was so close and how she’d kiss him, looking at the desire in his face that matched hers, and say it was okay. She too was close.
For a second Ginny is so fixed on the image of Harry, his brows furrowed while he tries to last a bit longer waiting for her - he’d always wait for her -, that her coming almost surprises her. That final fatal wave of pleasure washes over her and she moans loudly his name - Harry, Harry, Harry - until she feels adrift in the space, as if the only thing connecting her to the world is her finger still touching her clit, pulsing - and Harry, who’d thrust once more and then he’d come, crying her name like a prayer, pleasure and bliss written all over his face.
He’d pressed his lips fervently to hers, unable to properly kiss her; they would hug, hearing each other’s heavy breathes, feeling their racing hearts slowly calming down, and she’d hear Harry whispering to her: Open your eyes, Ginny.
She obeys him without thinking, but all she can see is the canopy of her bed. Harry is not there with her and suddenly everything comes back to her.
She is alone and Harry is just in her imagination. They are even dating anymore. Harry is out there, lost or hurt - never dead, because that is a thought she never lets herself even conjure -, not knowing that Ginny is in Hogwarts dreaming about him, wishing he returns safe, missing him as if he took with him a part of her.
The last bit of that wondrous bliss leaves her and Ginny dries her moist eyes, hating the tears that doesn’t fall. She hugs the pillow with Harry's scarf, closing her eyes and letting herself pretend they are just cuddling, protected in each other's arms.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 16/21
Fandom: Borderlands (Video Games)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Troy Calypso/Tyreen Calypso, Troy Calypso/Original Character(s), Tyreen Calypso/Original Characters
Characters: Troy Calypso, Tyreen Calypso, Original Characters, Surprise Canon Guest
Additional Tags: dead dove do not eat, see Ao3
Series: Part 4 of Grimeverse: The Satellite Arc
Summary:
Tyreen and Troy take one last shot at making a name for themselves on ordinary people’s terms, so much as anybody on Pandora qualifies as ‘ordinary’. Slight setback: Tyreen’s not getting enough of anything she needs. Oh, and it’s raining.
Basically, the 70’s-style exploitation movie staring the Calypso Twins that you never wanted.
Part of Grimeverse and the true sequel to Satellite, but exists on its own terms. Please bend, fold and read the tags.
11/22/2021: I'm not kidding about the cringe today. I hope you like cringe! And also Catter. There's quite a bit of Catter.
I was inspired yesterday by all the lovely wangst from @floreatcastellumposts and @thedistantdusk, which was perfect and everything I never knew I needed. Their beautiful fics got me thinking about what it was like for Ginny at Hogwarts during her seventh year (post DH). I started writing, and came up with my first little smut/wangst. NSFW below the break.
Also on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/26253649
She didn’t understand why it was so difficult to be apart from him. Last year had been excruciating- the hours spent writhing in pain, the uncertainty whether she’d ever see him again, a war that seemed endless, and an enemy that, at the darkest hour, seemed invincible. It should be easier now, she thought. Easier now that the war had been won. Easier now that they could write to one another. Easier now that she knew, with absolute certainty, that he loved her.
But it wasn’t. Not on nights like this where she lay behind the velvet bed curtains, listening to the sounds of soft breathing and snoring around her, unable to sleep because she missed him terribly. It wasn’t easier when Luna said something ridiculous and she instinctively looked for him to exchange a grin with, or when she was out on the pitch, expecting his rumbling voice to yell out when someone made a bad play or flew out of position.
And now that Hogwarts felt like a school again, rather than a prison, it was all too easy to hear his strangled moans and gasps when she walked past the shade of the copse of trees by the lake shore. To imagine the taste of his mouth in an empty corridor. Too easy to remember the feel of him, pressed up against her on the rough stone wall of the broom cupboard.
What made it harder, she thought, as she lay in the cold, midnight stillness, was that she now knew exactly what she was missing. She no longer had to imagine, to piece together what it might be like to be with him from those few shining weeks of kisses and stolen touches. She knew the electric heat she felt when he gently stroked between her legs. The whispered murmurs of encouragement, his voice low in her ear, as he touched her. She knew what it felt like to lay on her back, just like she was now, with his mouth on her, his tongue swirling and lapping. The intensity in his darkened eyes as he gazed up at her, the feel of her hands fisting in his soft hair. She knew exactly what felt like when he slid into her, the fullness, that delicious pressure when he moved in her. And she knew what it felt like to lay in bed with him after, her head resting on his bare chest, his arms wrapped around her, his voice telling her he loved her.
She knew it was silly to miss him this much, that in a few months, she’d be done with school, and they could be together in the way they both wanted- in the way she had secretly always wanted, though even thinking of the possibility last year was too painful. Soon they would be coming home to each other at the end of the day, cooking meals together, having lazy lie ins on weekend mornings, no longer having to sneak around to avoid her parents or her brothers.
But she couldn’t shake the fear that this was all too perfect, that something would come along and pop the shining soap bubble of this life with him. She tried to push these thoughts aside, because god knows, Harry was fatalistic enough for the both of them. But the fear persisted, niggling at the back of her mind, coming to the forefront in the still, dark night- fear that he wouldn’t come home from a mission, that something would happen to him, that she would never get to experience the life she pictured, which was so close she could almost taste it.
And she wanted it, badly, more than anything, more than even Quidditch or the Harpies. She wanted to see him at the end of the aisle, to watch him cradling a newborn, to walk together with him on a sandy shore, surrounded by laughter and children. She realized that her fear was not just that something would happen to him, but that if something did, she would never be able to have these things, because she knew enough now to know what it would be like to share her life with him, knew enough to know that she could never be satisfied with less, that she couldn’t ever settle for someone who wasn’t Harry.
The little voice in the back of her head told her that she was only seventeen, that she shouldn’t think like this, but she couldn’t switch off the fear as she lay in the dark. She felt a lump form in her throat and bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself out of her current thoughts.
She took a deep breath, and thought of Harry, his eyes, his lips, his hands. She thought of him doing all those things to her that she no longer had to imagine, the feel of his hands and his mouth on her, of him inside her. Her hand instinctively slid into her knickers, her finger tracing slow circles. She imagined that it was him there, doing this to her. She could almost hear his voice, low in her ear, whispering that she was beautiful, that he’d wanted this for so long, how much he missed her, that he loved her. She gave herself over to the feeling, the tingling, buzzing pleasure that began to crest inside her. And soon, like a wave, it crashed over her. As she removed her hand, shuddering, she felt relief.
The little voice in the back of her head sounded again, stronger this time, more like herself. He’s Harry, it said, he will always come back to you. He’d do anything to come back to her, she knew that, he already had once. You’ll write to him tomorrow, it said. You’ll see him in Hogsmeade next month and for Easter holidays. You’ll be with him each night in half a year’s time.
