a bunch of TBS-inspired D/G goodness
Just wrote a bunch based off Taking Back Sunday songs. Fun.
First one, Doll, was written with Draco/Ginny in mind. You can decide which guy Draco is (the one who broke her or the one whose PoV it is), but the girl is definitely Ginny. Being a D/G shipper, I'd prefer him to be the narrator, but hey, he could very well be the jerk she's not over yet. Anyway. Doll is based of TBS's "A Decade Under The Influence." I wrote almost exactly the same thing twice a year ago, but it was never quite good enough. Since it's two in the morning, I'm probably not too good a judge of whether it's any good this time around, but I kind of like it right now in my sleep-deprived state.
Oh, and be warned: PG-13 for sexual content and one or two swearwords.
Doll
You’re a broken mess. Glassy-eyed. Paper-thin porcelain skin. Delicate. I should know better than to come over when you’re like this, but I can’t resist because it means that, for once, you want (need?) this more than I do. After so long (three months without this, I can’t believe it) it doesn’t really matter who used to want it more, though, does it?
“Handle with caution,” you whisper sarcastically.
I love how you can always read my mind (eyes?). But if you know how messed up you are too…well, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
I don’t feel right touching you. This is one of those nights when I think you need to cry more than you need to fuck, and keeping yourself emotion-free after a guy like that (three whole months) can’t be good. You seem more like a doll than a person right now. Painted-on pretty face, with wide eyes (until you close them, eyelashes dramatically dark against your skin as you lean in) and
I kind of think you really are broken. Not just breakable-broken. Like he smashed you.
“I’m a nervous wreck,” I whisper. (Why did I have to tell you that?)
“Don’t be.”
I try not to feel guilty. You’re helping with that, I see, by instigating everything. You lean in to kiss me. You walk backwards and pull me along with you until we’re in your room, and when I realize my shirt’s off (when did that happen?) you must have been the one to remove it. It’s your hand at the waistband of my pants, not mine. Your fingers tangled in my hair, on my skin.
You know, maybe we fit together so well because we’re both such wrecks right now, such messes.
Yeah, that explains a lot.
“Anyone will do tonight.” I think I heard you whisper it (think being key) but I pretend I didn’t because it hurts a little.
Just a little, though. It isn’t as if you’re getting to me or anything.
How could you (an empty shell) get under my skin? I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in you right now.
If I’m in you and you’re not, though, then
I kind of am you, aren’t I?
“Who needs him?”
I whispered that, and I’m glad I did when I feel your smile against my collarbone. “Yeah, who does, right?”
So maybe you’re in there, somewhere.
Secondly, Bad Habits. (I'm so thinking up the titles as I type this.) This one's based off "Little Devotional" and also resembles something I tried to write a few times last year. Once again I don't use any names, but it's definitely Ginny and Draco, more so than in Doll. You can pretend it isn't if you don't like the ship, though. As for what everybody downstairs is celebrating, well, use your imagination. Keep in mind that this is post-Hogwarts, or at least after Draco's graduated, and in the summertime.
Also PG-13 for the same reasons as previous.
Bad Habits
“I really wish you’d stop that.”
She means the cigarette.
Well, she might.
She also could mean showing up in her bedroom and surprising her while her family’s still awake downstairs and kissing her senseless without so much as a hello before fucking her on the bed she’s slept in since childhood that’s still covered in a pink and white floral bedspread.
He goes with the cigarette. It’s less complicated.
“Don’t pretend you don’t have any bad habits.” He shoots her a knowing grin, but she misses it due to her insistence on keeping her back to him while she slips her dress back on. He watches with interested eyes as she finishes zipping up the back.
She turns back around to face him. “Yeah, well, you’re one of them, so you probably shouldn’t bring bad habits up unless you want me to start thinking about quitting. Don’t look so smug; I’m serious. And put that thing out-I don’t want mum thinking I’ve been smoking in here.”
“Window’s open.” His eyes glide over her body, appreciating how her blood-red dress hangs on it. He hadn’t realized how good she looked earlier-he’d been too busy wondering how to get the damn dress off. She shivers a bit at the intensity of his gaze. “You know, I heard you talking to Lovegood about your dress for tonight.” He brings it up casually, but the fact that he’s remarking on her appearance at all is huge. “I figured you’d look better in the blue number you mentioned-red usually clashes with your hair-but this shade doesn’t look half bad on you.”
She doesn’t say anything in response, but a self-satisfied smile creeps from the corners of her mouth outwards. “How’d you hear me talking to Luna?” she asks as she leans out the window, resting her elbows on the sill. “You were halfway across the room when we had that conversation…and having one of your own, I might add.”
“I pay more attention than you’d think.”
She watches him stub the cigarette out on the windowsill. “Nasty habit. Sometimes I feel like you only keep it up to annoy me.” He neither confirms nor denies it, so she continues. “And how’d you get up here, past the family members and guests galore?” Her expression suggests that she’s glad he did but at the same time wishes he hadn’t.
He doesn’t meet her eyes. “You’d be surprised at how inconspicuous silence can make a person.”
She knows he’s lying, but she doesn’t push the issue. “Maybe someone thought you were related to Bill’s new French wife, hair like that.” She stares out the open window, down towards the people still gathered in the yard. Someone had charmed a few candles to float since she’d come up to her room to fetch a sweater, casting romantic lighting over the festivities. “I should probably get back down there. Seamus’ll miss me.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you doing with him?” A pause. “He better than me?”
“We aren’t having sex, if that’s what you’re suggesting. My mum just wanted me to bring a date, and it isn’t as if I could have brought you.”
“True.” He lies back on her bed, stretching his legs out so his feet dangle over the edge just a bit.
“Don’t accuse me of anything. He’s cover.” Her voice is quiet, so quiet that he barely hears her next words. “That’s all anyone ever is.”
He isn’t sure what to make of that. Pretending he didn’t hear her seems the best course of action, so he closes his eyes and waits for her to exit and rejoin the happy partygoers below.
She doesn’t. Instead he hears her drop the sweater she came up to get on the floor. “Move over.”
Gray eyes open and give her a look that’s both curious and annoyed. “I thought you were going back downstairs to your date.”
“I just realized I’d rather be here.”
The smile they share then is almost sweet.
And finally, Start Over, based off bits of "This Photograph is Proof (I Know You Know)" and originally intended as a drabble. It went 73 words over, though. Post-Hogwarts. Implied sexuality. Approach with caution.
“You’re just going to leave?”
She won’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, well, you made me feel better-thanks for that, by the way-but that really isn’t any excuse, is it? It was
great talking to you…among other things. But it doesn’t make up for all those years of animosity. I’m sure you agree.” By now she’s fully-clothed once more. “It was nice, but I need to go.”
“So you can forgive yourself for giving up but you can’t handle feeling right?”
His hard tone surprises her.
“You disagree?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. You don’t need excuses. And yes, it more than makes up for ‘all those years.’ I say to hell with what other people might think. Let’s start over.” He holds out his hand. “Draco Malfoy.”
She eyes him reproachfully for a second, and when he doesn’t pull his hand away with a “Ha, just kidding, blood traitor!” and keeps his eyes locked on hers quite seriously, she takes his hand. “Ginny Weasley. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
And I think I'll be writing another little D/G one-shot for "One-Eighty By Summer" tomorrow (today, technically, since it's in the A.M.) or sometime soon.
First one, Doll, was written with Draco/Ginny in mind. You can decide which guy Draco is (the one who broke her or the one whose PoV it is), but the girl is definitely Ginny. Being a D/G shipper, I'd prefer him to be the narrator, but hey, he could very well be the jerk she's not over yet. Anyway. Doll is based of TBS's "A Decade Under The Influence." I wrote almost exactly the same thing twice a year ago, but it was never quite good enough. Since it's two in the morning, I'm probably not too good a judge of whether it's any good this time around, but I kind of like it right now in my sleep-deprived state.
Oh, and be warned: PG-13 for sexual content and one or two swearwords.
Doll
You’re a broken mess. Glassy-eyed. Paper-thin porcelain skin. Delicate. I should know better than to come over when you’re like this, but I can’t resist because it means that, for once, you want (need?) this more than I do. After so long (three months without this, I can’t believe it) it doesn’t really matter who used to want it more, though, does it?
“Handle with caution,” you whisper sarcastically.
I love how you can always read my mind (eyes?). But if you know how messed up you are too…well, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
I don’t feel right touching you. This is one of those nights when I think you need to cry more than you need to fuck, and keeping yourself emotion-free after a guy like that (three whole months) can’t be good. You seem more like a doll than a person right now. Painted-on pretty face, with wide eyes (until you close them, eyelashes dramatically dark against your skin as you lean in) and
I kind of think you really are broken. Not just breakable-broken. Like he smashed you.
“I’m a nervous wreck,” I whisper. (Why did I have to tell you that?)
“Don’t be.”
I try not to feel guilty. You’re helping with that, I see, by instigating everything. You lean in to kiss me. You walk backwards and pull me along with you until we’re in your room, and when I realize my shirt’s off (when did that happen?) you must have been the one to remove it. It’s your hand at the waistband of my pants, not mine. Your fingers tangled in my hair, on my skin.
You know, maybe we fit together so well because we’re both such wrecks right now, such messes.
Yeah, that explains a lot.
“Anyone will do tonight.” I think I heard you whisper it (think being key) but I pretend I didn’t because it hurts a little.
Just a little, though. It isn’t as if you’re getting to me or anything.
How could you (an empty shell) get under my skin? I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in you right now.
If I’m in you and you’re not, though, then
I kind of am you, aren’t I?
“Who needs him?”
I whispered that, and I’m glad I did when I feel your smile against my collarbone. “Yeah, who does, right?”
So maybe you’re in there, somewhere.
Secondly, Bad Habits. (I'm so thinking up the titles as I type this.) This one's based off "Little Devotional" and also resembles something I tried to write a few times last year. Once again I don't use any names, but it's definitely Ginny and Draco, more so than in Doll. You can pretend it isn't if you don't like the ship, though. As for what everybody downstairs is celebrating, well, use your imagination. Keep in mind that this is post-Hogwarts, or at least after Draco's graduated, and in the summertime.
Also PG-13 for the same reasons as previous.
Bad Habits
“I really wish you’d stop that.”
She means the cigarette.
Well, she might.
She also could mean showing up in her bedroom and surprising her while her family’s still awake downstairs and kissing her senseless without so much as a hello before fucking her on the bed she’s slept in since childhood that’s still covered in a pink and white floral bedspread.
He goes with the cigarette. It’s less complicated.
“Don’t pretend you don’t have any bad habits.” He shoots her a knowing grin, but she misses it due to her insistence on keeping her back to him while she slips her dress back on. He watches with interested eyes as she finishes zipping up the back.
She turns back around to face him. “Yeah, well, you’re one of them, so you probably shouldn’t bring bad habits up unless you want me to start thinking about quitting. Don’t look so smug; I’m serious. And put that thing out-I don’t want mum thinking I’ve been smoking in here.”
“Window’s open.” His eyes glide over her body, appreciating how her blood-red dress hangs on it. He hadn’t realized how good she looked earlier-he’d been too busy wondering how to get the damn dress off. She shivers a bit at the intensity of his gaze. “You know, I heard you talking to Lovegood about your dress for tonight.” He brings it up casually, but the fact that he’s remarking on her appearance at all is huge. “I figured you’d look better in the blue number you mentioned-red usually clashes with your hair-but this shade doesn’t look half bad on you.”
She doesn’t say anything in response, but a self-satisfied smile creeps from the corners of her mouth outwards. “How’d you hear me talking to Luna?” she asks as she leans out the window, resting her elbows on the sill. “You were halfway across the room when we had that conversation…and having one of your own, I might add.”
“I pay more attention than you’d think.”
She watches him stub the cigarette out on the windowsill. “Nasty habit. Sometimes I feel like you only keep it up to annoy me.” He neither confirms nor denies it, so she continues. “And how’d you get up here, past the family members and guests galore?” Her expression suggests that she’s glad he did but at the same time wishes he hadn’t.
He doesn’t meet her eyes. “You’d be surprised at how inconspicuous silence can make a person.”
She knows he’s lying, but she doesn’t push the issue. “Maybe someone thought you were related to Bill’s new French wife, hair like that.” She stares out the open window, down towards the people still gathered in the yard. Someone had charmed a few candles to float since she’d come up to her room to fetch a sweater, casting romantic lighting over the festivities. “I should probably get back down there. Seamus’ll miss me.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you doing with him?” A pause. “He better than me?”
“We aren’t having sex, if that’s what you’re suggesting. My mum just wanted me to bring a date, and it isn’t as if I could have brought you.”
“True.” He lies back on her bed, stretching his legs out so his feet dangle over the edge just a bit.
“Don’t accuse me of anything. He’s cover.” Her voice is quiet, so quiet that he barely hears her next words. “That’s all anyone ever is.”
He isn’t sure what to make of that. Pretending he didn’t hear her seems the best course of action, so he closes his eyes and waits for her to exit and rejoin the happy partygoers below.
She doesn’t. Instead he hears her drop the sweater she came up to get on the floor. “Move over.”
Gray eyes open and give her a look that’s both curious and annoyed. “I thought you were going back downstairs to your date.”
“I just realized I’d rather be here.”
The smile they share then is almost sweet.
And finally, Start Over, based off bits of "This Photograph is Proof (I Know You Know)" and originally intended as a drabble. It went 73 words over, though. Post-Hogwarts. Implied sexuality. Approach with caution.
“You’re just going to leave?”
She won’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, well, you made me feel better-thanks for that, by the way-but that really isn’t any excuse, is it? It was
great talking to you…among other things. But it doesn’t make up for all those years of animosity. I’m sure you agree.” By now she’s fully-clothed once more. “It was nice, but I need to go.”
“So you can forgive yourself for giving up but you can’t handle feeling right?”
His hard tone surprises her.
“You disagree?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. You don’t need excuses. And yes, it more than makes up for ‘all those years.’ I say to hell with what other people might think. Let’s start over.” He holds out his hand. “Draco Malfoy.”
She eyes him reproachfully for a second, and when he doesn’t pull his hand away with a “Ha, just kidding, blood traitor!” and keeps his eyes locked on hers quite seriously, she takes his hand. “Ginny Weasley. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
And I think I'll be writing another little D/G one-shot for "One-Eighty By Summer" tomorrow (today, technically, since it's in the A.M.) or sometime soon.