#a yearning for closeness. both desperately wish to hug one another but cannot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loopy-froots · 3 years ago

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Childhood Friends

Brahms Heelshire x afab!Reader

Author: @loopy-froots

Word Count: 3261 (WOW wtf…)

Slight request by @leahromanof : small age gap (Brahms is 26-28 and the reader is 20)

Summary: The Reader grew up very close to the Heelshire family, as their parents were business partners with them. However, after the fire incident, Brahms and the Reader took some space from each other. While the Reader knew Brahms was still alive, they didn’t know under the circumstances he was. When a sudden tragedy strikes their family, the Reader is left with no home. The Heelshire family offer their home with welcoming arms, but much has changed between all of them since they have last seen each other.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, swearing, slasher x reader, smut, virgin/unprotected sex (masc and fem), abusive parents (fem), insecurities (on both parts), slight age gap (6ish years?), a slight size kink (if you squint?), etc.

Author’s Note: I wasn’t too sure what to write for the age gap so I hope this is good enough!!! I also threw in a lot of personal needs I’ve been having, so I hope y’all don’t mind! Feel free to let me know your thoughts!!!

~~~

*2nd Person POV*

You couldn’t believe this was happening. You were finally going to see your beloved childhood friend, Brahms Heelshire, again after close to ten years of separation. You wished this was not under these circumstances, as you never intended to cause your family such turmoil.

“Y/n! Come in, why don’t you?” Mr. Heelshire exclaims as he opens his front door. He must have seen you walk up their driveway. You can see Mrs. Heelshire inside, but she shares a concerning expression. Trying to brush it off, you step inside and am greeted by the warmth of the house. It was a terribly chilly winter day, and the walk there exhausted you.

“Come, dear! Let me get you a cup of tea to warm you up! You look rather frozen!” Mrs. Heelshire snaps out of her funk and laughs al0ng with her husband. Their jovial attitude makes you feel rather welcomed and loved.

“I cannot thank you enough, Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire… I… I’m terribly sorry that this all happened… especially so suddenly…” You look down with embarrassment.

“Nonsense! We’re always happy to have you, Y/n! Our home is yours!” Mr. Heelshire smiles at you, but you get a somewhat urgent vibe from him. You’re not sure how to feel about it, but you figure since they’re being ever so kind you were in no position to question.

“Now, dear… why don’t you tell us exactly what happened… Perhaps we may help with your parents’ situation?” Mrs. Heelshire gently suggests, but you shake your head in disagreement.

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure that’s possible… you see, I recently came out to my parents as non-binary… they’ve never been overly supportive of that kind of stuff, but I knew I couldn’t hide myself any longer…” You explain shamefully.

“Oh my… that is a rather difficult predicament, hm? However, we want you to know that we fully support you… in fact, our own Brahms considers himself genderfluid,” Mrs. Heelshire shares, which honestly makes you feel less alone.

“Really? I… I had no idea… Thank you, but speaking of which… where is Brahms…? Does he still live with you?” You wonder.

“Oh, um… yes… he does, but he’s grown to be rather… timid… so he doesn’t always come out when people are visiting…” Mr. Heelshire explains swiftly, and you try to understand. You don’t fully know what he’s been through, so who are you to judge his social anxieties?

“That’s alright. Well, I just hope he knows how excited I am to see him again…” You confess, causing a surprised reaction from the Heelshire couple.

“Really? Well, that’s certainly wonderful! I’m sure he'll become more open to meeting you after he gets used to you being in the house…” Mrs. Heelshire states with a gentle smile, and you nod your head in agreement.

With that, you are then taken on a tour of the house. You’re shown areas you can and cannot wander to, and you mentally note each location that’s off limits. You’d never want to make the Heelshires uncomfortable, despite how curious you were. They show you to your room, which you immediately recognize as Brahms’ childhood room.

“Oh wow! This looks exactly how I remembered it!” You giggle.

“I’m glad you’re fond of it still, as Brahms insisted you take his room for your own… comfort…” Mr. Heelshire shares, but something tells you he’s not entirely being honest. However, you ignore the feeling bubbling up in your stomach.

“Well, feel free to unpack your things dear. As we mentioned before, we are planning on going on a trip within the next few days. So it will be just you and Brahms for a while…” Mrs. Heelshire reminds you, and you shiver slightly for some reason.

“Oh, yes… Well, I hope the two of you enjoy it!” You politely respond.

~~~

“Goodbye, dear! And remember, follow the rules and you’ll get no trouble from our dear Brahms!” The Heelshires bid you farewell and leave in their cab. Closing the door, you sigh in relief.

“Alright, follow the rules… I can do that… it’s the least I can do since they were so kind as to let me stay for a while…” You motivate yourself.

“Y/n…” A sudden familiar, childlike voice echoes through the house. You looked around to see who it came from, but you saw no one. It had to be Brahms, right? Who else could it have been, but where was he?

“B-Brahms?” You sheepishly call out. You hear no answer and suddenly feel quite stupid. Maybe you just heard the shifting of the house or imagined someone was calling your name?

“Alright, focus… first things first, making some lunch… hopefully he’ll come down to eat with me…?” You hope. You could’ve sworn you heard another childish giggle somewhere, but you try to shake the skittish feeling building up. You quickly make whatever you feel like for lunch, desperate to finish so that you can call Brahms down to eat.

“Um, Brahms? I… lunch is done… if you want some?” You yell throughout the house, but you hear no answer. Finally feeling defeat, you turn back to the kitchen and notice that one of the plates of food has disappeared.

“How did he get to it without me noticing?” You ask out loud. Every instinct within you tells you that something was wrong, but you tried your best to give the man some time to adjust to the new living situation.

“Y/n…?” In the middle of eating, you hear a now more adult version of the voice you heard earlier. You drop your fork in surprise and frantically look around for the source. You then see a tall and scruffy looking man standing at the end of the dining room. He was holding the plate that is now empty, and you figure that must be Brahms. He was very odd looking, in all honesty. He wore a porcelain mask that resembles the type of little dollies you used to keep as a kid.

“Oh, um… h-hello, Brahms…?” You try to be friendly towards him, despite the creepy feeling you got from him already. However, him not answering causes the suspicion to form again.

“Um… did you enjoy the meal I made for you?” You try to spark a conversation, but Brahms nonverbally nods in response.

“That’s good! I’m… glad…” You smile awkwardly at him, but his masked face remains expressionless. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, and Brahms notices the tense state you’re in. He begins to step closer to you, and sets his plate on the table. Sweating profusely, you wonder what he’s doing. He steps closer and closer to you until he’s directly in front of you. While you sit, he towers over you. You’d never admit it, but he’s very intimidating. However, you try your best to be polite.

“Is… everything alright, Brahms?” You ask innocently. He just stares at you, though, never saying a word. When you were about to get up and try to walk away, he grabs your arm and pulls you into him.

“B-Brahms…?!” You exclaim as he squeezes you in his broad arms. He’s rather warm, but trembling. Your heart relaxes when you realize he only wanted a hug.

“Y/n… nice to see you again…” He finally peeps out. Your cheeks heat up, but you lean into the embrace. The two of you just hold onto each other for a few moments, enjoying each other’s presence.

“Good to see you, too! I was worried you were upset with me for coming back after such a long time…” You try to pull away and look him in the eyes, but his grip keeps you there.

“Mm, no… not upset… lonely…” He breathes into your ear, sending a chill down your back. He was… lonely? That makes you feel bad… really bad… how could you leave him like you did after the incident?! It wasn’t completely your fault, as you parents were the main reason you stayed away. They told you what a dangerous person Brahms was, and they forbid you from being influenced by him in any way.

Additionally, your parents never liked how fond the two of you seemed towards each other, despite the slight age difference you had. Brahms was only six years older, and to you it didn’t matter for terms of friendship. However, your parents saw the attraction Brahms had towards you right away. As children, it only developed into a little crush, but the older the two of you got the more obvious it became, to the adults at least. You seemed quite oblivious to his attempts to woo you, as you had just thought he was being friendly.

“I…I’m sorry, Brahms… I should’ve… I wish I’d have… I’m sorry…” Tear well in your eyes as you look down from his gaze. Your focus then shifts to the ever growing bulge in his pants that you hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s alright… happy you’re here now…” Brahms strokes your hair with his free hand, and he leans into you. You feel him stroke your neck with his nose, seemingly trying to get a reaction out of you. Completely frozen, you felt unsure of what to do. All of the sudden, your head’s ideas clicked and made you realize the years of yearning he’d been doing for you.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still have feelings for the boy you grew up with. You always admired how protective he was of you. You never admitted your affection towards him, though, as you thought he might react negatively. To you, the age difference acted as a barrier, but to him, it seemed he didn’t mind in the slightest. All he’s ever known was his love for you, despite the age gap. However, is this still the same boy as before? You probably barely knew him anymore. Then why were you getting so flustered over this simple interaction?

“Brahms?” You look back into his eyes with a curious glint. What was he planning with you?

“Hm?” He nonchalantly answers.

“Are you…?” You start, but then feel too embarrassed to finish.

“Yes,” He agrees without needing you to explain. You feel him jerk his hips into your stomach softly, desperate to get some friction between the two of you. As intoxicating as he was being, you still felt unsure of your stance with him.

“I’m not sure I want to… I mean, this is so soon… don’t you think?” You try to reason mainly with yourself to try and stop this from happening. With that, Brahms stops and pulls away from you with a pout.

“No?” He questions with sweet eyes.

“I… yes…?” You try to stand your ground with yourself again, but it’s no use. Brahms’ heartfelt pleading turns you to putty in his hands.

“Please?” He begs. With that, you finally agree, and he’s onto you. Groping all up and down your sides, front, and back, he feels every inch of your body as if he’s desperate to find something in you.

“Brahms… wait…?” You stop him again, realizing you hadn’t seen his actual face yet. You politely ask him to remove his mask, but he visibly slumps.

“Why…? You… don’t want to see me…” Brahms insecurely explains, but you shake your head.

“I do! Please…?” You whine as he continues to feel up your back. Brahms hesitates slightly, then agrees. With that, he slowly removes the porcelain from himself. This leaves his bare, burnt, and uncertain face into your view. You’re unsure of what to say at first, as your feelings are conflicted. However, you quickly decide to go with what your heart felt.

“You’re so handsome, Brahms…” You confess with a sheepish smile. He doesn’t respond, though, almost as if he’s debating what to say as well.

“Mm!” You moan through a sudden kiss he placed on your lips, making Brahms smile to himself in the kiss. He loved the way you reacted to his touch. He quickly realized you were feeling the same towards him, and that gave him the confidence to continue. You rapidly grew a certain heat in your pelvic area, but the feeling was still unfamiliar to you. Only on the rare occasion did you allow yourself the pleasure, but you felt guilty for it every time.

“Slut… whore… useless daughter…” Your parents’ past words radiate in your head, and a panic washes over your body. Brahms senses your inner conflict again, and stops once more.

“Y/n…?” He gently asks to see if you’re alright. Tears well up in your eyes as the guilt of disappointing your parents consumes you.

“I’m sorry, I just… my mom and dad would be so upset… I just feel so… lost…” You admit, and Brahms wipes your cheeks with his calloused hands.

“Mm, screw them…” He chuckles darkly.

“But…” You try to argue, but he shushes you instead.

“They’ve never been good to you, Y/n…” Brahms shares, and it confuses you at first. They’ve always given you food, shelter, and anything else a child would need.

“But they… they mean well…” You try to reason it out, but he still disagrees.

“I’ve been watching, listening to how they treat you your whole life, Y/n… the way they scream at you, gaslight you, disappoint you… that’s not love… that’s abuse…” Brahms whispers with a broken heart for you. The pain of realization hits you, but you try to muffle your cries with your hands over your mouth.

“I’m so sorry… I know how hard it is… but I… I want to love you… really love you…” He kisses the top of your head sweetly. His words fill your heart with hope that you might not be miserable the rest of your life.

“Really…? I mean, I would love that… but I don’t want to force you into anything…” You self doubt yourself.

“Absolutely. I mean, hell… why do you think I was doing all of this?” Brahms wonders, and you suppose he’s right.

“Yeah, true… I’m sorry, I just feel bad… but thank you, I’d love to… y’know…?” You admit with a shy grin, which he immediately returns.

“Good,” He smirks and kisses you again. This time, the kiss was much more desperate for the sweet result. Brahms shows no mercy for you this time as he begins biting your lips. Your little gasps invoke a strong sense of pride within him. He was making you feel this way, and he alone would make you feel good.

“Hm,” His deep voice rumbles in his chest. Your eyes flutter open and shut, unsure of how to go about this situation. Squirming around awkwardly, you then feel Brahms grab your waist as he lifts you up and onto the table.

“Ah! Brahms...?!” You yelp in surprise.

“Take off your shirt, Y/n.” He demands, already sliding his hands underneath. You timidly follow his instructions, removing your shirt and bra from your body. Brahms looks down from your face and onto your breasts. He adored them, so he ran his hands over them as he gave each nipple a cheeky pinch.

“Oh, Brahms…” Your eyes close in bliss, but he snaps your attention back to his eyes.

“Look at me,” He suggests sternly.

“O-okay…” You do as he wishes and stare deep into his icy eyes. He’s tender and gentle, but he still makes you feel so small next to him.

“You’re so pretty, Y/n… I’ve always loved you…” Brahms brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, giving him a better view at your beauty.

“I have loved you for the longest time, too, Brahms… I just never knew how to tell you…” You try your best to express your feelings, but your past experience with doing so has never been easy for you. Each emotion you shared ended in an argument with your parents.

“I’m so glad… please…” Brahms pleads, leaning his forehead against yours. He didn’t have to finish for you to understand what he wanted.

“C’mere…” Your sudden burst of trust hits the two of you like a train. Brahms roughly attacks your neck with his lips and teeth, nipping at all your sensitive areas. Exploring each and every inch, he scopes out which areas you like best.

“Mm, Y/n…” He whimpers, rubbing his needy cock against your body. You had neglected it for far too long, and you wanted to give it some love too.

Lowering your hand down to his member, you stroke him through his pants. Pre-cum leaks from his tip and soaks through his underwear slightly. His moans fill your ears with sweet misery. The lack of being inside of you was killing him, but he wanted to take things slow for you.

“Ah, Y/n…! Please! I’ll be a good boy!” He begs you to allow him entrance, and you agree. Instantaneously, he pulls his clothes off and prepares his painfully hard cock to slide into you.

“Oh! You feel… so tight…!” He didn’t tell you, but this was his first time as well. The first feeling of being inside of someone, especially when that someone is you, was the best feeling he’s ever felt. He couldn’t help himself but pump in and out of you. He tried his best to go slow, but his selfish excitement got the better of him. However, you were far from upset by this.

“Ah! D-don’t… stop…!” You plead with him, and he obliges. Slapping his body into yours in a rhythmic motion causes you to quickly feel that coil in your stomach tighten around him.

“F-fuck…! You’re gonna make me…!” As quickly as it started, your love making ended. The two of you came together simultaneously, and everything felt perfect to you. However, Brahms felt a wave of guilt.

“I… I’m sorry… I wish I had lasted longer… and I shouldn’t have pressured you into this…” He goes on and on about all the things he could’ve done better, but you then stop him with a chaste peck on his lips.

“You were perfect. Thank you,” You lovingly look into his eyes. He searches for any sort of regret, but when he finds none he settles into your arms.

~~~

MY REQUESTS FOR DRAWING AND WRITING ARE STILL OPEN!! FEEL FREE TO SEND AN ASK/MESSAGE WITH YOUR IDEA!!

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achillieus · 4 years ago

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let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

quick note: i wrote this back in 2018 after meeting sebastian in greece but i redited it now, so if you see any mistakes or typos please tell me :)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning

part: 2/6

(other parts) (masterlist)

It’s Monday when they come back from their small trip to the south. You’re watering the jasmine in your balcony when you hear the engine of Argyris’ car slowly shut down and see two figures getting out of the back seats.

It’s him and a blonde woman. You remember meeting her that night in the terrace. You’ve learnt that she’s a great actress and will play the other main character in the film.

When she notices you looking at them, she waves.

“Hey, Sebastian it’s your friend there.” She gives his shoulder a soft nudge.

We’re not friends. That’s what you almost yell back at her.

His head shots up, smiling.

He’s always smiling. It’s getting annoying.

You can see him going through his bag as he calls your name.

“Look, I brought you some traditional sweets.” He’s holding a small wrapped up package. He starts wiggling it in the air.

He looks so jolly and proud of himself. It makes your throat dry.

And before you can control it, you laugh. You can’t see it from where you’re standing but he bites his bottom lip at the sound.

Two hours later he’s sitting in your kitchen devouring half of the pastries he got you.

“These are actually so good, how can you not like them?” He says and it comes out all garbled. His mouth is full of sugary dough.

You do like them. But he does too. And you can find them anytime you want here. You doubt it’s the same in New York.

“They’re just not my favorite,” he nods “but thank you anyway.”

“Well let’s say you owe me,” you furrow your brows in confusion “and will repay me by sending me some of those once I’m gone.”

He laughs before taking another bite.

And as you stare at him, you notice that he’s different. His gaze is tranquil, his voice is soft and he has some cream at the corner of his lips.

Like that, he looks more like a guy you met at college than a well known actor.

Like that, we could be friends, you think.

You talk a lot. He tells you about his time in Romania and his first audition. It makes you realize you are far more interested in acting than what you thought. You tell him how you think team Iron Man is the superior team. He gasps, as if he is hurt.

He doesn’t mention his girlfriend. You don’t ask about her. It’s easier for both of you this way.

A stifling heat rises to your body as you walk under the burning sun. You don’t realize how Argyris gets you to give Sebastian a tour around the city, but you can remember a pair of light eyes pleading you.

You can easily hear him humming to himself. You turn to look at him. He’s wearing a hat and his forehead is sweating. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re in a very good mood today.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well I’m stuck with you for the day so what choice do I have?” You shrug.

He makes a face at you. You crack and a huge smile forms in your face.

He leans closer, mouth to ear and then he speaks.

“You know, I can’t tell if you hate me or just like me too much.”

His breath hits your cheek.

You try not to blink at the sudden foreign touch.

His words find your skin and they’re so clear and powerful. Suddenly you’re an open page to him.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for an answer, a nod, a glance.

You are still standing close, the city sounds doing nothing to ease the heated silence between you two.

He realizes you’re not going to give him any response so he lowers his eyes.

And then, when he looks up again, it almost feels like he gives you mercy and agrees to let you get away with it this time.

He smiles.

“So where is Acropolis?”

When he’s lying on your couch after six hours of being a tourist and under the summer sun he looks exhausted. Still he’s his typical talkative self.

“You are always so pumped.”

“And you rarely are.”

“Doesn’t it get tiring?” you ask each other at the same time. It seems like you are two different sides of the exact same coin. One body. One heart.

“Today was nice.” He stretches his arms. “Thank you.”

You open the window. There is barely any wind out there. The air smells of hot cement and flowers.

The man on your couch has closed his eyes, breathing softly.

You try to ignore him over and over for the last days. Until you cannot ignore him anymore; your world has come to an end.

So many people know who Sebastian Stan is.

Only few will ever know him like this; falling asleep on a cheap brown couch with his hair messy, his chest rising and falling and his mind empty of thoughts.

These are photographs of your memories now.

An involuntary smile spreads across your face at the thought.

You see him swift and his hand clenches tightly around a throw pillow.

“Stop looking at me like that you creep,” he says.

“Come closer,” he means.

The sun is long gone and he’s still asleep when there’s a knock on your door. It’s Argyris.

“Please tell me he’s here.”

You nod and motion towards Sebastian’s drifted away body.

“When I left you this morning, I didn’t actually think you’d last this long together.” He tells you the moment he sees him.

The words fall out of his mouth too easily for your liking. “But I should have known better.”

You don’t understand much. You take a step out of your door. You don’t want to wake him up.

“Do you know how many times he mentioned you while we were away?’

Everything stops and falls quiet in the hall.

The words choke you. You shake your head.

“I need you to be smarter than him.” He says and touches your shoulder. “His world moves too fast for people like us.”

It’s effortless not to look at the man in front of you. It’s hard not to shallow his saying.

He wakes up an hour later. He looks at you and it feels sacred. His eyes are still red and the pillow has left a mark on his left cheek.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep here.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it was rude, you should have yelled at me to wake up or something.”

“But you looked tired.”

You carry on with doing the dishes and you hear the couch squeak as he stands up and steps towards you.

The water is refreshingly cold on your skin and the soap smells like lemon.

His hands find your waist and his touch is burning. You wish he disappears. You wish he stays for the night. You don’t even know what you’re wishing for anymore. He comes closer and rests his head on top of yours.

And then he wraps his arms around you and you get flashes of days and nights where there was not enough air for you to breath and your ribs ached.

His action is not so noble. It feels like his body steals all the rationality you have. But it gives you this feeling that there will be no more starless skies at night. And that’s enough for now, so you don’t complain.

His skin feels soft and he smells of sweat and vanilla. Somehow you find that alluring.

He looks at you for a second, like he’s trying to memorize your face. And then he pulls away completely silent.

You try to understand what he’s thinking but he gives nothing away. You were never good at reading people.

You blink and he’s almost out of your apartment.

“Goodnight” he shouts.

“Goodnight” you whisper.

You close the window. You wonder how he will spend the night. He probably won’t sleep soon. He just woke up.

But you can’t sleep either. You just move around in your bed. You sink into the sheets and try to close your eyes.

Your phone buzzes.

He follows you on Instagram.

I need you to be smarter than him.

You go through his profile. You want to think he’s doing the same. You want him to do the same.

His world moves too fast for people like us.

You sigh. Perhaps there could have been a time when you would have stayed away from him, but you can’t pretend to ignore it for much longer. And you’re scared of it. And you’re scared of him.

But you’re more scared of how hard it’s for loneliness to fade. And you wish this doesn’t end like a greek tragedy.

One day of the following week you go out for coffee. The curly haired woman comes with you. You don’t understand why. And while you’re adding more sugar to your espresso, she tells him she loves his acting. She uses all kinds of adjectives to describe it; hopeful and poignant, celestial.

You like the way she talks. She sounds beautiful. You almost envy her abundance of words.

But Sebastian stops listening.

He watches the way your fingers wrap around the sugar box. He can see your nerves and your synapses move underneath your skin and he thinks he’s watching a dance show.

He will never tell you, but it’s then; under the morning sun and with sugar in your hands, that he feels his heart beat with the power of cymbals for the first time.

He thinks you don’t have to know.

He’s wrong.

You learn the girl is an actress herself. They’ll be in the movie together. They look stellar together.

Looking at them, gives you a violent feeling that wrenches your stomach around.

You can’t hate her for that. You feel like it’s more your fault than hers. That feeling however, grabs you by the shoulders and doesn’t let go. You try not to let it show.

But for some reason when Sebastian almost touches your palm, you look at her and you’re certain this is entirely mutual.

You make a silent agreement to not include him in any of this.

“You were extremely quiet earlier.” He says as you reach the building you call home.

He wants to spend time together until his scheduled shooting. You don’t complain.

“You always say that.” You try to joke. He looks right at you.

And then you notice that his eyes aren’t the color of the sea. They’re more grayish blue. They’re like a frozen lake in December.

“I know,” he starts messing with his hair “But you can’t deny you barely talked back there.”

When you enter your apartment, he immediately throws himself on your couch. These last few days it feels like he owns that right spot there in front of your big window.

“I’ve told you, I talk when I have something to say.”

He smiles at your words.

“Then I must be lucky you talk to me.” He whispers softly.

You sit next to him. If you move a little closer you could touch him, feel his warmth. You don’t.

You never thought of how easy it has become to talk to him. You don’t keep your thoughts locked and your teeth clenched around him. And that’s a novice feeling for you.

You let your eyelids fall close and lay back.

There’s a language between you two. It starts with secret glances and whispers and now it contains words that build and ruin bodies and souls.

Sometimes you want to say them all together. Sometimes you just want to open your mouth and let everything flow out but then you’re scared you’ll make him mad. Or you’ll make him love you.

You can’t decide which is worse and that’s enough to stop you.

“What is this thing between us?” He sounds all tender-like, but his blood feels heavy at the moment. He’s not sure if he can keep breathing. He regrets the words that leave his lips, when it’s already too late.

You have the answer figured out long time before he asks. But you’re not ready to give it to him.

“I don’t know” you open your eyes “I don’t know.” You repeat.

He doesn’t tell anyone but sometimes he feels nauseous before a shooting. You can clearly see that now. His pacing up and down the room and his roaming eyes give him away.

You are surprised. You never thought he could be nervous. He looks so confident and radiant all the time; you sometimes forget he is still a regular human being.

“You have no reason to worry.” His lips twitch.

“I know.”

“But you still worry.” You grin and catch his arm to stop him from moving.

The look he gives you is acute.

“You have no reason to be sad,” he starts, without breaking eye contact “but you still are.”

You feel naked and hug yourself close.

It’s very strange to have someone scratch everything from you and see your raw truth. You’re not certain it’s something you enjoy. You wish it didn’t make you quiver.

Sebastian wishes he could scratch deeper under your dermis and your fingernails and slither there between your muscles and your heart where blood runs thick and melancholy hasn’t conquered yet.

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head.

“You didn’t say anything hurtful.”

You worry your words may come out bitter. You don’t want that.

“It won’t last forever.” he says and then your name appears in his tongue. You like the way he says it. It almost sounds like poetry. “You won’t be sad forever.”

You smile and, in that moment, you aren’t a worldwide known celebrity and a girl in her early twenties. You are just two people seeking comfort.

The same night there’s a party for the first day of shooting. You don’t feel like going, but he doesn’t let you stay home.

What did you do last night?

Went to a party with Sebastian Stan, typical Thursday night.

You can picture the look on everyone’s face. It makes your lips turn upward just a little.

“I told you to be careful.” The voice sounds almost far away but your neighbor is standing right next to you as he mutters.

“I am.” You say with a laugh. He crosses his arms.

“No, you are here, watching him starry-eyed.”

Your fingers start playing with the rough fabric of your dress.

“I don’t know how to stop it.” You whisper.

He tells you to not entail yourself in something you don’t know the way out of. But what does he know about solitude and rushed breaths?

What does he know about a pair of eyes that look like a frozen lake?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

He’s watching you from afar while you talk with Argyris. He notices how your chest moves along with your breathing in a way it looks like it’s made of pure glass.

For a while he thinks of staying there and keep observing you but then Argyris leaves and you’re all alone. And he starts walking closer to you.

All eyes are on him as he goes through the main dance floor. The curly haired actress stops moving to the beat and follows him with her gaze.

They both reach you.

And you know he’s moving towards you before you can see him. It’s like your body is aware of his presence madly fast.

His eyes seem darker under the hazy light.

He grabs your hand.

You almost heave.

“Let’s get out of here.” He breaths.

You walk for some time. It’s late and Athens is quiet around that time. There is only a soft broken sound of cars and you think about that time you saw a car crash happen in front of your eyes.

You sit close in an old dirty staircase in a forgotten back alley. The city has a lot of those, but people don’t notice. They just walk past them, always in a hurry.

Sebastian sighs heavily. He looks at you in a way it makes you think he’s trying to memorize everything. The way midnight air caresses your body, the way red lighting falls in your hair from that street lamp. He looks at you for an indefinite and long period of time and it feels exquisite.

You place your fingers on his palm and the world flickers. He’s still wearing the rings they gave him for the movie and they feel cold against your skin.

“Do you ever miss Romania?”

The question startles him.

“Every day.”

You nod. Maybe he knows more about sorrow than you give him credit for.

“I remember the dog fence and our neighbors’ daughter and the orange sky through my window, minutes before sun set.”

Your hand locks around his and you stay silent for a while.

“This is the Lyra constellation.” His eyes light up as he looks up.

You remember reading about how much he’s into space. It’s intriguing.

“Where?”

He doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead he picks it up and guides it with his own. His body moves closer. There’s no cold in the air.

As your eyes search for the stars that your hands point at, he watches you and he’s certain that one day he’d love to lay on his back, with you on his side and show you all the little dead planets in the sky. Show you the secrets of the universe.

And he feels like this is the type of beauty that musicians try to write songs about.

“Ah!” Your grip becomes tighter and you smile. “I can see it!”

He laughs at your childish enthusiasm.

You laugh too.

And then you let your head fall on his shoulder, your hair touching his bare skin. You don’t blame them for making him wear sleeveless shirts for the film.

You can him feel shudder at your sudden motion, but then he exhales and his muscles relax.

He observes the features of your face from this angle. He almost traces them with his fingers.

“They’re probably going to kill me for stealing you away from the party.” You whisper.

“I think I was the one who grabbed your hand and left.” He laughs again and you can feel his chest pounding.

His phone buzzes. He doesn’t look at it. He closes his eyes.

“Δείξε μου όλα τα αστέρια. ”

He doesn’t understand a word but your voice sounds too close. You feel too close. And that’s almost tearing him apart.

“What does that mean?”

You turn to look at him. The neon sign on the old building behind him keeps trembling.

“It means, show me the stars.”

And he does. And he feels like he could burn alive.

And you will never tell him; but you still think of him when you catch a glimpse of burning stars.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :)

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #monday the movie #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #letyoudown

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

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Ok folks! Here’s some demiromantic Jaskier/ Ace Geralt (feat. a prostitute or two)

This idea was by my ever lovely friend @slythnerd who gave me a bullet list fic and I offered to write it! This is smutty. Do not read if you are under 18. I’ve also never written anything like this before. So be kind? __________

What do you call a bard who’s never fallen in love?

A bad joke, perhaps. The answer is Jaskier. A bard famed for his romantic poetry and exploits and yet he’s never once felt that flutter in his heart strings when he’s looked at someone beautiful. So he keeps trying, over and over and over. He falls into beds of lovers all over the Continent and earns himself quite the reputation. He enjoys sex. He’s good at sex but dearest Melitele he yearns for more. He wants love.

He’s a poet and a romantic and he wants love.

He’s twenty six when he gives up on romantic love for himself. Love is a beautiful and enriching adventure but not one that he will ever experience.

Or so he thinks.

He’s twenty eight when his world is completely turned upside down. After travelling with Geralt for a decade he’s sure that the witcher cannot surprise him any further. That’s when the dreams start. He dreams of holding the witcher’s hand as they walk down the path, Roach trailing after them. He dreams of kissing Geralt goodbye whenever they part, be it for winter or just for the evening. He dreams of waking up each morning wrapped in a lover’s embrace. He dreams of Geralt saying those words.

And for once in his short life, those words don’t scare him. They don’t make him want to run away. They don’t feel him with dread and a sense of inadequacy. He dreams of Geralt saying those words… and he dreams of saying them back.

It’s a startling realisation and one that has him scrambling for his notebook and quill. He stays up all night scribbling away in his messy scrawl until his feelings are left staining the page.

He’s exhausted and giddy with love when he sees Geralt the next morning over breakfast but instead of joy he’s hit with icy dread. How could Geralt ever love him back? He’s been sleeping around, quite unashamedly for the last ten years and it’s gotten them both into more trouble than Geralt’s contracts.

Fuck.

So the smile falls from his face and he pretends that nothing has changed.

Everything has changed and Geralt fucking knows it.

After three days of tense silence every unspoken word explodes between them.

“Just fucking say something, Jaskier!” Geralt yells across the campfire.

“I can’t!” Jaskier buries his face in his hands. His heart aches and he wishes he could return to the numb nothingness of before but it’s too late. He loves his best friend and he loves him with all of his heart.

“Why not?” Geralt glowers, eyes ablaze in the light of the flames.

“Because I love you!” Jaskier screams and the words fill the forest like a battle cry. “I love you” He’s rambling now. “and I never thought I could so I just fucked around hoping that someone would be good enough in bed to make me fall in love with them. No one ever was and… and I felt so fucking broken!” He exclaims with a wide wave of his arms. “Broken, useless, unlovable sorry excuse for a bard! But oh no no, turns out it wasn’t a good fuck I needed.” He glares at Geralt, blaming the witcher for his sudden tidal wave of emotions. “turns out I just needed you. My best friend in the whole wide world but I never fucking saw it so I kept screwing around and now you hate me for it and that’s just shit because it turns out… it turns out that I love you. You bastard.”

He’s said too much. He claps his hands over his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

And he runs.

Or at least he tries to. Geralt’s hand in holding his wrist. “Don’t be. Don’t be sorry. Don’t go.” Geralt whispers in the dark of the night. His face lit up by the orange glow of the campfire. “Stay.”

“You. You don’t hate me?” Jaskier asks, his voice cracking pitifully.

Geralt shakes his head. “No. The opposite. I think.”

Jaskier frowns as he tries to decipher Geralt’s riddles. “The opposite? But. but Geralt?”

“I know.”

“Don’t fucking mess with me now, witcher.” Jaskier hisses, his heart is too fragile. He’s not used to any of this torment.

“I’m not.” Geralt sighs. “But I can’t. I don’t want.” He cuts himself off with a low groan and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Jaskier tilts his head. “You don’t want what, Geralt?”

“Sex. I know, the whole Continent knows, how much you love it.”

“Oh hey!” Jaskier protests but really Geralt does have a point. “Hang on, what about Yennefer, or Triss…. or what was her name? With the swords going missing?”

“Coral.”

Jaskier snaps his fingers. “You fucked her for weeks!”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s what they wanted.”

Alarm bells start ringing in Jaskier’s mind. It’s what they wanted, not Geralt. Geralt hadn’t wanted it. “Did they….”

Geralt smiles faintly with a shake of his head. “No. I said yes. It’s what they wanted, what’s expected of me.” His nose wrinkles. “Yen’s unicorn though. Never again.”

Jaskier whimpers as he embraces Geralt tightly. “I will never. I promise you. If you don’t want sex then we don’t have to have sex. Are kisses alright?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

Geralt frowns. “Umm.”

“No then.” Jaskier sighs. “Hugs?”

“Yeah.” That’s a relief for Jaskier. He’s always needed physical touch and he’s been hugging Geralt for years. The thought that he could have been making his best friend uncomfortable makes him feel sick to his stomach. “What about you?” Geralt asks. “You love sex.”

Jaskier shrugs. “I have two hands.” He winks. “And I’ve heard mages sell all sorts of enchanted toys these days. I’ll manage.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No. I can’t take that from you.”

“But I love you. Do you know how much that means to me Geralt?” Jaskier says quietly, staring down at his feet, fingers pulling at his sleeves. “I never thought that I could.”

“What if you still have sex with others?” Geralt suggests and Jaskier just gapes at him.

“You. You mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t be jealous?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him. “You love me, after fucking your way around the Continent. You love me.”

Jaskier licks his lips and nods. “I do. Fucking mother of… I love you.” The words still sound like heaven on his tongue. He would never get used to saying them even if he lived for a hundred years. “I love you.”

Geralt laughs softly and strokes Jaskier’s cheek with his thumb. “I love you too. I trust you. You’ll come back to me. You always have.”

Jaskier joins in with Geralt laughter. The witcher is right. Even before his epiphany Jaskier always returned to Geralt whether it’s after years apart, or merely after a quick romp in the hay. He would come back to Geralt until his dying breath.

So they settle into a new routine. Geralt enjoys sharing a bedroll or bed at the inn when they can but doesn’t begrudge Jaskier if he finds another partner for the night. He rarely stays with them after sex now though. He has his heart to return to and that’s better than any carnal delight. One evening after one such adventure with a particularly gorgeous prostitute, Geralt surprises them both.

“Did you have fun?” He murmurs into the nape of Jaskier’s neck as they snuggle close in the bed.

Jaskier frowns. Surely Geralt’s not asking about his sex life? “Yes?” He answers, sounding more than a little unsure.

There’s a soft press of lips to the back of his neck and he shudders. Geralt didn’t kiss him very often but it makes his heart sing every time. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“No. It was good.” He stammers, trying desperately to control the way his heart is thundering in his chest.

Geralt scoffs. “Good?”

“Very good.” He admits with a soft moan.

“Tell me.” Geralt all but growls.

“Umm well.” His mouth goes dry. He curses mentally, for a wordsmith all words appear to have left him. “She. She used her mouth?”

“Go on.”

Jaskier swallows, willing himself not to get hard. He really didn’t want to make this uncomfortable for Geralt but Geralt’s voice in his ear and the memories of the girl’s mouth on his cock. It’s all too much.

“Gods, Geralt it was…. she was so talented.” He sighs, sinking back into the memory. The room had smelt like sweat and sex and sin, but the bed was soft beneath his fingers as he gripped the sheets. “She swallowed my cock down in one go, oh and the moan. Geralt, it was sinful. You’ve never seen anyone’s lips so good as her’s did around my cock. Her mouth, fuck, so wet and warm.”

“And that did you do?” Geralt asks, a low rumble in his ear.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Jaskier lets out a moan at the memory. “I. I pulled her hair and the noises she made when I fucked her mouth. She took it all so well. She did this thing with her tongue…” Jaskier bites his lip. He’s hard and he just knows Geralt can smell his arousal. “I didn’t even have time to warn her before I came down her throat, and oh how she moaned. She swallowed every last drop.”

Jaskier feels Geralt’s teeth graze against his shoulder and he realises with a start that he can feel Geralt’s erection pressed up against his arse.

Oh.

“Geralt?” He asks, scared that he’ll shatter the moment and Geralt will push him away.

“Hmm?”

“Is. Is this alright?” His voice is breathy as he tries to contain his arousal. Geralt comfort is more important.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Geralt answers. “Yes. I like it.”

“Shall I continue?” Jaskier asks.

“Please.”

And so they fall into a routine. Jaskier fucks whoever takes his fancy and later that evening, if Geralt asks, he tells Geralt all about it, slowly becoming less shy with the details. He learns what Geralt enjoys most and what he doesn’t really care for. Sometimes he twists the story to make sure Geralt is getting what he needs out of it. Geralt comes in his own hand to Jaskier’s words and quite often Jaskier isn’t far behind.

It works for them and there’s a certain thrill to it all that Jaskier would have never expected when Geralt first told him he wasn’t interested in having sex. They explore the boundaries of this new part of their relationship. Jaskier learns he can be as filthy as he likes when Geralt asks him to tell him about his latest fuck but they can’t talk about any fantasies involving Geralt. Geralt had asked him to describe it one night and Jaskier agreed. He sat in a chair in the corner of the room and began to weave his tale of how he would worship Geralt’s cock but Geralt froze. Jaskier knew in an instant that something was wrong and his words died on his lips. They didn’t share a bed that night and they haven’t talk about Geralt in bed since.

The greatest surprise comes when Geralt hovers next to him outside the door of the brothel.

Jaskier turns to face his partner with a quirk of his eyebrow. Normally Geralt would have left him for the tavern by now but Geralt is just staring up at the door. Jaskier wonders when the last time Geralt visited a brothel was, back when he tried to fit in with what people expected of a man, probably.

“Geralt?” Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s bicep.

“Hmm?”

“Did.” Jaskier cuts himself off and bites the inside of his cheek. He really hopes that he isn’t reading this wrong. He can’t lose Geralt, not now. “Did you want to come in?”

Geralt’s hair flies round as he turns to face Jaskier. “What?”

“You could watch?” Jaskier suggests, trying to keep his voice light. “Or not?” He adds with a shrug.

Geralt makes a choking noise and he’s blushing brighter than Jaskier has ever seen him blush before. “You don’t want that.” He mumbled.

Jaskier wants to laugh in sheer astonishment but he doesn’t. He knows laughing will just make Geralt run from him. “Geralt, dear heart, I would love that!”

Geralt glares at him as if he’s grown a second head but Jaskier can’t let go of the idea now. It’s seared into his mind. The thought of Geralt… watching him.

“Fuck.” He moans and he’s already getting hard.

Geralt’s nose flares and Jaskier knows he’s been caught out. “You… you’re aroused?”

“Yes. Well. Thank you, dearest.” Jaskier mumbles. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You don’t think I’m a pervert?” Geralt’s brow furrows and Jaskier reaches up to try and smooth away the wrinkles.

“No.” He insists. “I want you to watch, as long as you’re comfortable.”

Geralt swallows and looks back at the brothel as if he were preparing to go into battle. “Alright.”

Geralt strides inside and Jaskier is left on the street staring after him until his brain catches up and he scurries after Geralt. It doesn’t take long to persuade the owner to let them share a girl, once they assure her that Geralt will only be watching. Jaskier wants to fight that. If he and Geralt want to share a prostitute and the girl is willing then why shouldn’t they? Just because Geralt is a witcher.

The bloody cheek of it.

But Geralt’s hand is on his back, guiding him upstairs, before he can snap and they’re thrown out of the establishment.

The girl’s name is Anna and Jaskier thinks she’s fucking gorgeous. Her curves are soft where Geralt is all muscle and her dark hair falls down to waist in waves. She winks at them both as they shuffle awkwardly into the room.

“I’ve been told you’re watching, witcher.” She says with one hand on her hips.

Geralt nods stiffly and settles into a chair in the corner of the room as she shuts the door.

“He likes to watch.” Jaskier explains with a wink of his own as she takes him by the hand and leads him to the bed. “And who I am to deny him the pleasure?”

“Jask.” Geralt warns in a low voice.

“What?” He asks, feigning innocence.

“Maybe you should put that mouth of yours to good use, bard.” Geralt suggests with a smirk.

Jaskier blinks, his cock achingly hard in his trousers, and he lets out a soft groan. “I thought you were just watching, witcher!”

Anna laughs and sits on the bed, her legs spread wide. Jaskier’s eyes go wide and he turns back to face Geralt with a tilt of his head. Geralt nods and Jaskier crawls onto the bed, ready to devour the offering in front of him. It’s not often that whores will so boldly put their own pleasure first but Jaskier adores it. He nuzzles at the soft wet folds, relishing in the feel of her warm thighs under his fingers. She lets out a moan as he flicks his tongue out against her clit. He glances up at her, her face with a smirk. She’s flushed already and her eyes are dark with hunger.

“Pull his hair.” Geralt says in a low growl.

She does. Her fingers scrape against his scalp before tugging at his hair, pulling his head back. He feels like he’s on fire and he’s dizzy with lust, a moan escapes his lips and she pushes his head back between her legs. She tastes divine and his head spins as he elicits sinful gasps and curses from her lips and his tongue delves inside her. He hums as he shifts his weight on the bed, trying to get a better angle. His cock drags across the mattress and he whines. He needs the friction. He needs….

She’s tugs again at his hair and he looks up, feeling heady as he wipes his lips.

“Take his clothes off.” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks and looks over to his partner, crawling off the bed so they can remove his clothes without fuss. Geralt’s hand is wrapped around his cock and he’s leisurely stroking it, as if he has all the time in the world. Jaskier can’t help but watch the slow movements of Geralt’s hand, the way the muscles in his arms flex with every stroke. He swallows as Anna turns his face back so he’s facing her. Her fingers are nimble as she unlaces his trousers and he goes to pull his doublet off.

“Let her.” Geralt orders. “You deserve to be unwrapped, to be savoured.”

Jaskier whimpers but lets his hands drop to his sides. Anna smirks and her lips brush against his neck and gods his legs feel weak underneath him as she slowly removes his doublet, followed by his shirt. She kneels in front of him as she pulls his trousers and underclothes down in one swoop. Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat as she kisses the tip of his cock. He looks over to Geralt who raises an eyebrow.

“Can she?” He asks, not proud of the way his voice cracks but he’s so overwhelmed with the desire that’s burning through his veins.

Geralt nods. “Yes.” His voice is a low growl that makes Jaskier’s breath hitch. “But don’t let him come in your mouth.”

Jaskier groans as he eyes flutter shut. “Fuck.”

He’d forgotten he’d told Geralt that. He likes to come inside his partner. There’s just something so impersonal about spilling into their mouth and he’s not as young as he used to be. It takes him longer these days to get hard again.

She works him over with her mouth, and it’s not long before he’s on the brink of a soul shattering orgasm. Geralt tells her exactly how much teeth to use when pulling off his cock, and he knows that his balls get too sensitive to touch. She swirls her tongue just like Geralt suggest and Jaskier gasps wordlessly before her lips pull off his cock with a pop. He groans in frustration.

“You can fuck her now, Jask.”

Oh gods it’s all too much and it’s perfect. They should have done this months ago. She guides him back towards the bed, tugging him by the hand and he gladly follows, his eyes tearing away from Geralt.

It’s heaven as he sinks into the warmth of her body. She gasps underneath him as she grips the sheets. Jaskier loves to hear the sounds of his lovers but he hates it when it sounds fake. He likes it to be genuine and Geralt knows this. Anna doesn’t whine and scream the way most whores do, on Geralt’s request. Every sound that escapes her pretty red lips is like music to his ears, short gasps as he kisses her neck or long drawn out moans when pulls out inch by inch before slamming back until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Fuck it feels so good.” He moans as he feels his orgasm flying towards him. “Feels so good.”

“That’s it darling.” She gasps. “I’m almost there!”

It’s the pet name that does it. Another one of Geralt’s suggestions.

Sparks cloud his vision and he lets out a loud moan as he spills into her. She cries out and her teeth bite down on his neck as she follows him over the edge.

“Fuck.” He hears Geralt’s grunt from the corner of the room.

Jaskier wants to laugh, giddy from the sex. “Fuck.” He agrees.

They don’t stay the night at the brothel but Anna lets him kiss her goodbye. It’s not long before they are curled up together on a bedroll in the forest, the stars shining high above them.

“Soooo….” Jaskier drawls as he draws a slow pattern on Geralt’s chest. They are both fully clothed now but they enjoy the intimacy of the snuggling and it always makes Jaskier feel like he’s on top of the world after an evening of sexual delights.

“Hmm?”

“The brothel?” Jaskier asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“We’re so doing that again right?��

Geralt laughs and presses a kiss to his hair. “Yes.” _______

Tag list: @electricrituals @slythnerd @hailhailsatan @thecomfortofoldstorries @gelos @sweetdreamingpeach @moonysourenza @00qtee

#the witcher #geraskier #ace geralt #aro jaskier #heed the note #no kids allowed #Mind the rating #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #ace week #wolfie's witcher writing

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kuroos-moon · 4 years ago

Text

≪ the love that wrecks, and the one that mends ≫

pairing: atsumu x reader x suna

genre: sfw, angst

warning/s: toxic relationship, implied sex, minor swearing, prolly contains typos & grammatical errors (didn’t proofread)

wc: 2.3k

His breaths are ragged, thoughts a jumble. It couldn’t be true, lies spread far too easily and he knew that. But still, just to be sure—not that he believed a word at all—he’ll ask you. You, his haven and comfort, the thick blanket to his coldest days and the warm embrace piercing through his isolation.

You, who filled his thoughts every night. What if he did this the next day or what if he had done that before bidding you goodbye after he walked you home? You, who had been there by his side all this time, he need not look to know that you’re there; you always will be. Through hurricanes of uncertainties and tides of pain, where every memory was precedented and followed by another misery for you both, you and him will not change.

“This isn’t gonna be the last time we’ll cry because of each other, right?”

His lips twitch up into a small smile as he tilts his head to the side, looking at you as if you were the prettiest sight. “Most likely not. Tell me, do ‘ya want it any other way though?”

Eyes seeing through you, he already knows your answer. You only shake your head, chuckling, “as if there is another way with you.”

That’s right, you can’t expect to have Atsumu in your life if you’re not willing to wet your pillow with tears before slumber, to break the rules—to lose yourself—to get hurt, to bleed, to yearn for more but accept the least. You can’t have it all, they say. Well, you always thought they were wrong.

With Atsumu, you had it all. The thrill, the pleasure, the pain—him, your breathtaking Atsumu who would utter the most painful words and whisper the sweetest apologies. He knew it too, you were willing to go through hell and back. You befriend your demons and say goodbye to the light, you easily do so, without the faintest doubt—if it means a few seconds of intertwined fingers, a glimpse of his loving eyes, an echo of his laughter, you don’t care, it’s enough, it should be.

But where the hell are you? You’re not at home, apparently you’re over at a friend’s place. He takes a moment to catch his breath as he arrives at his own home, exhausted, depressed and anxious. He could feel himself lose control of his thoughts, though he was only thinking of you.

You, who would call him at the most random of times ‘just because’ and you, who had not talked to him properly ever since the last fight you had which was roughly three months ago. What the fight was about, he couldn’t even remember, what he does recall is how you uttered the words goodbye, Atsumu and not your usual see you, ‘tsum.

“I thought we were watching a movie,” there’s the subtlest smile on his lips, dark orbs finally trained on you after he had looked away from the screen. “What I’m looking at is so much better though,” you whisper, intoxicated by his scent and his embrace.

“Really?” He asks, nonchalant but his tone dishonest. If anything, he wishes more than anything else for you to mean those words, yet it felt like they weren’t for him to hear. “Really.”

You’re an angel, badly hurt and wings clipped.

And it’s all okay. He’ll mend you and patch you up with what he could offer, though deep down he knows you still preferred pain than his solace. He’ll make you fly again, overlooking his true wishes that even with flight—even if you’ve healed enough to let Atsumu destroy you once more—you’ll pick him. It’s fine, he keeps reminding himself, even if you dive straight down to that hell again and abandon him.

In a millisecond of staring back at your eyes, he had thought over a million ways for you to actually see through him. Words will not do justice for how deeply he had fallen for you, not by a long shot, so please, “y/n, see me,” he whispers into his dark and silent room while you lay facing each other.

“I am looking at you, Rin,” you assure him, appreciatively running your fingers through his hair. Thank god for him, he’s a work of art.

“Then, do you know how much I love you?” He whispers, the agony of being someone who could only relieve your pain and not truly make you happy had his voice breaking and he hid it so well, but you heard, a tear already rolling down his cheek.

Your heart falls, watching more tears fall from his beautiful, kind eyes. The very eyes that had seen you at your worst, the very ones that you catch already staring at you from across the room.

“Y/n you said you see me, right?” He says, silent sobs forcing its way out of his throat and you pull him to yourself, peppering feather-like kisses on his skin and the heaven knows how far and desperately he truly wished that those kisses were out of love and not of pity.

“I see you.”

You don’t, he thought. You see a friend, a potential lover, a satisfactory replacement, it will always be Atsumu who’s rooted in the depths of your heart he could only dream of reaching.

“I love you Rin, you have no clue, and I do know how much you love me.” Of course you know, how could you not know when he kisses your forehead before he heads off to practice? when he races to your side the first thing in the morning and wordlessly holds your hand, when he tells you he loves you every single day and night, whether it’s through the phone, or in person when he thought you were asleep.

“But you wish he loved you this much instead of me,” he says, and as he’s always done, he puts you first and neglects his hurt, comforting you as you cry silent tears, pushing away the pain in his chest that’s commanding him to just breathe and let go.

He’d rather suffer alone than have you shed tears with him though, regretting to let you see him cry. Like the miracle of peace amidst chaos, his lips find their way to yours, drowning your sobs as his thumb swipes across your cheeks to wipe your tears away.

Your hearts beat faster, and he was wrong to think he was insignificant to you, because if anything, he was your world, your lifeline. Not just because he kissed, hugged, and comforted all your pain away, but because Suna is the only person you’ll love and forever choose to love like this, like words couldn’t describe, and numbers could not measure.

If your relationship with Atsumu was hell, you couldn’t even say Suna was heaven, not even close, heaven’s too flawed and unworthy to be compared to your lover. He’s just him, your cherished Suna Rintarou. The brunette you don’t have to break the rules for or cry over every other night, the gentle Suna who will never utter words he knows would hurt you, the beautiful Suna who with just a glimpse of him, all your troubles fade and love fills you.

It was when you loved Suna Rintarou, that you truly knew what love was like or what love was supposed to be—for you, that is. After months together, you discovered that love for you was listening to your shared playlist as you walk home together with your hand in his inside his pocket, love for you was barging into his room while he was still asleep and waking him up with a kiss, love for you was not hurting yourself over and over, love for you was loving more and more each day, and after loving Suna, love for you is him and him alone.

“Y/n?” The surprise is evident in his voice when you had pulled away only to glue your lips back together as you shift and now lay on top of him. He guiltily cannot peel his eyes away from you when you rid yourself of his hoodie, he had always known you were beautiful, it was common sense, he’d make it a law if need be, but tonight, he’s looking at you where his eyes had never seen or adored you yet before.

“Do you see me, Rin?” You whisper, and he draws his hand to the side of your face, his love for you painfully too overwhelming brought by your small act of kissing the inside of his wrist. He’s drunk from your affection, addicted to it. “I love you, only you, and it will always be you, okay? I’m sorry it took me a while to get to where I belong, to be here with you.”

That night, tears were spilt as your lips met, confessions were whispered as love was made, again and again until early hours of dawn, until your head lays on his bare chest and his arm securely encloses you to him, a smile on his lips as he listens to your even breaths.

Meanwhile, Atsumu suffered a sleepless, restless wake of dawn. It wasn’t confirmed to be true yet, but maybe it was because of the way he knew deep down that it is probable, and it made sense. Your love was toxic—unofficial even—while he had always been yours, he knew that he gave you one too many reasons to no longer be his.

Yes, he was yours as you lay together on your bed that one night, endless conversations and sincere smiles. But no, he was no longer yours when he left your place and called one of his girls, apologizing for not showing up.

He was yours, when he got jealous and possessive, claiming you his and holding you tightly close to him. But the moment you started asking for more again—for a relationship more certain—in his irritated eyes and discomforted language, in his small sigh and aversion of the topic, you knew once more that he isn’t and might never be yours.

He’ll change from now on, he says to himself as he swallows his pride and picks up his phone, pressing your contact starred favorite, a red heart at the end of your name. In the first ring he wishes you’ll pick up on the next, on the second he hoped you were just asleep, and when you didn’t pick up, he looks at himself in the mirror and wondered why tears had already graced his cheeks.

He calls again, you pick up on the second ring.

“Atsumu.”

As if the coldest wind breezed through him, a shiver runs down his spine and he could feel his throat dry. He couldn’t speak, refusing to accept that the person who picked up your phone is the very person he begged the universe you weren’t with right now.

“What?”

“Where is she?”

“She’s asleep, why would you even call at this hour.”

There was silence on the line, and from the other end of the call, Suna was sitting up, gazing at your peaceful features as he covers your exposed arm with the blanket that had slightly gone astray. He caresses your cheek gently with the back of his hand, as if the reminder of Atsumu had him on guard with you, instincts kicking in as he wanted to make sure you feel loved and safe with him even though you were asleep.

“Then are ya really… Ya aren’t right? Y’know y/n’s mine.”

Just like that, Suna’s eyes drop cold, his hand leaving the side of your face. “We’re going out, I wouldn’t really consider the things we’ve done together platonic.”

Before he could respond he hears your voice, from the sound of it—after having heard it a thousand times when he used to stay over at yours—you just woke up, he bets you were barely even awake at all.

“Rin? C’mere,” you mumble.

The sound of the mattress shifting and the fluffing of pillows as you sit up and snuggle into Suna’s chest left him a lot to imagine. Despite the wreck it was all making inside his head, he couldn’t even bring himself to end the call.

Suna had already abandoned your phone, presuming it had already ended as he diverts his full attention to you, looking down affectionately with love behind his dark eyes.

“Did I wake you?” He says in a small voice, yet the kiss he planted atop your head was something Atsumu could still hear, fingers shaking as his grip tightens on his phone.

“’sokay, let me just sleep here,” you smile, kissing the crook of his neck as you close your eyes once more, already feeling yourself succumb to slumber. This was peaceful, your heart had never felt this in tuned with someone else’s, yet here in his dark room, under the warmth of his covers and the serenity of his bare body against yours, you knew you had finally wound up to where you belong.

“Rin?”

He hums in response, tracing his hand across your back as he too starts to fall asleep in your embrace.

“I love you.”

Those words meant the world to one and torment to the other.

“I love you, ‘Tsum! You fucking know that! And if you don’t want to let me go, why can’t you just love me too?”

“Are ya sayin I don’t love ya?”

“Then do you?”

Like every fight wherein you had him cornered, he left you unanswered that night. He bitterly smiles, regretful and anguished. With four last words before hanging up the phone, he welcomes the pain of his loss, the loss he knew was coming because he just couldn’t treat you right.

“I love you, y/n.”

#haikyuu!! x reader #suna x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!! x you #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #atsumu miya #Suna Rintarou #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#hq

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saltpepperbeard · 4 years ago

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Fighting the Rain ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Oh? What’s this? *Cough hacks CHOKES on cobwebs* A one-shot after almost two years of inactivity? Who knew that over-caffeinating was the true key to motivation after all this time! But hello hello everyone! So very happy to be back. I come bearing a bit of Reverent Sweetness™ as a small exercise to hop back into things! I really wish for this energy to continue, and so I’ll be attempting to push myself into getting back into the swing of things.

For the record, I completely and wholeheartedly blame Andy and Cate for such an idea. And I do believe I’ve seen another tub-related piece that was also hanging around in my mind as I thought this up. Whatever the case, thank y’all; your talks and creations fINALLY FUELED ME lmao!

But for now, enjoy some simple Everlark rubadubdub, and without further adoooooo...

Fighting the Rain

No two days are the same, and no two hunts are created equal. Some glow with warmth and yield a plentiful harvest, while others fall into a category of melancholy and disappointment. Unfortunately, as the clouds build relentlessly overheard, my efforts seem to be leaning towards the latter.

My arrows drive into a frustrating nothingness. My pray scurry as if they have an oddly heightened sense of awareness. My attitude grows all the more frustrated and downtrodden. And almost as if to directly mock me, the sky cackles and booms before releasing an onslaught of cold moisture.

Great. I’m quite a ways from home, but close enough to hopefully beat a deluge should it chose to erupt. I hate departing emptyhanded, but don’t feel keen on pushing my luck further. Not when a kindling of annoyance burns within my chest, and the clouds answer back with further rumbling.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and dart with bow in hand, the various unused arrows clinking against my backside. The rain is chilling, biting my skin and hissing against the internal fire. Water is normally apt at putting out flames, but it only serves to amplify mine. My scowl deepens as I continue on, growing damper and colder by the minute.

Aside from the fire roaring in irritation, perhaps it burns for another reason. Perhaps it presents itself now as a yearn for warmth, for the feeling only he can provide. His arms have always been there to chase away the deepest of stings, so of course I would want him like nothing else now.

My step inadvertently quickens, the mental image of his embrace fueling me. A blessing and a curse; the sky groans above and opens up to completion, sending buckets of rain upon me. My desperate speed of course, points to an even extremer drenching effect, my scowl deepening something terrible as I’m quickly soaked to the bone. But in moving faster, in practically flying across the land, the entrance to the back porch quickly appears through the falling sheets.

I waste no time in careening up the steps, practically throwing myself into the house with a hissing groan. But I’m sure such sourness will be short-lived. Such dampness will likely turn anew. Such chilling sensations will be burned off, the embodiment of the sun coming forth to bestow his touch.

Or not.

On the contrary, I’m met with emptiness. Silence. Nothing more than the shivers coursing through my form, and the soft drips of water rolling off my soaked clothes.

My scowl, though now painted with confusion, deepens all the more. Was I too presumptuous? Knowing my current luck, he’s likely elsewhere: wrapped up in the Bakery, next door with Haymitch, or deep in the throes of a painting upstairs.

I shed my father’s hunting jacket, hanging the damp leather to dry before shrugging off my equally-wet bag. My arms come to lace across my chest, crossing in both self-comfort and simmering frustration. Though, my lungs are quick to rattle with a sigh. He’s not responsible for my happiness, and I know so. And I can manage well enough alone when I need to; I’m no stranger to the empty cold.

But God, he definitely helps. He’s everything and more on a rainy, relentless day. And with every hour, with every moment spent with him, it gets harder and harder to deny the growing draw. So used to solitude and survival, and yet now do I find myself wishing for warm company more often than not. How Spring has warmed the deepest reaches of my soul.

I’m about to let my hair down and poke my head out the door to wring it out, when the day continues to prove me wrong. Or maybe, my mental call is answered by the only one who can hear it. Whatever the case, cold limbs run warm and angered heart beats ginger as his voice unexpectedly manifests.

“Katniss?”

My sigh shifts to something of tender relief, blowing out a quivering breath as I feel the instant effects.

“Down here,” I call back.

My chest seems to pound in unison with his footsteps on the stairs. He has no idea, the effect he has. It’s like the dissatisfaction towards the day’s events instantly drains, washing away like the billowing spout outside. Made even more intense, of course, by him rounding the corner.

I should be used to this. This is something of normalcy now. And yet, my breath still manages to hitch, coupled with the stutter of my heart. As usual, he beats me to talking, grinning his endearing smile as his blue eyes lay upon me.

“Hi, my love-” His voice and the expression are short-lived; he must have gotten a proper look at my state. Yes, the widening and wandering of his eyes confirm it, as does the speed in which he reaches me.

“Oh...God, you’re soaked!”

“That obvious?” I grumble through the hairs plastered to my face, though twinges of amusement exist therein.

“A bit!” he softly chuckles, reaching up to brush said strands away. An action which, is unsurprisingly topped off with a kiss, a very tender one against my glistening forehead. In missing him, in wanting the mellowness from my flower, I move for more. I chase after his lips as they depart, quickly bringing forth my own. The tender connection causes me to contently sigh, particularly when I can feel him smiling. We hold each other in the gentle lock for a few ginger beats, before he pulls free- oddly looking sheepish.

I cock a brow at him, which seems to be enough to pry an explanation.

“Didn’t know it was supposed to rain today. Really ah...puts a damper on my plans.”

I roll my eyes at what appears to be a pun, and he laughs a bit before grabbing the back of his neck. I cannot help but pry further.

“Plans?”

“Yeah...”

He puts on the shy smile which likely stole my heart all those years ago, and looks down in the direction of our feet.

“I ah...Drew you a bath. Thought you would like it after a long morning of hunting. Seems kind of counterintuitive now though.”

There it goes, the departure of every ounce of cold, of negativity. Akin to Spring melting the deepest reaches of Winter, easing the snow into the Earth and drawing forth blooms. I’m sure his thoughtfulness will never cease to soften me into awe. And, though it seemed impossible years ago, what with all the roadblocks and challenges that stood in our way, I’m sure my love will never stop heightening.

I find myself hushed into an affectionate silence, my cheeks blushing all the while. Before he can doubt the validity of his decision though, or doubt himself to any other degree, I leap back to him once more. My mouth dusts across his tender cheek first, before selfishly seeking out another caress of his lips.

“No,” I assure when we finally break, “No. That sounds nice.”

“Really? Fighting dampness with dampness?”

“Well, yeah. One is awful, cold, and from rain, and the other is inviting, warm, and from you.”

I’m surprised, though absolutely not, to see a glint flash through his shyness, his smile turning a bit more crooked to match.

“Hmm. Not yet it’s not.”

I roll my eyes and give his chest a playful shove. He of course laughs, and softly grabs my wrists, pulling me close for yet another kiss. I sigh against him, falling all the more into a state of contentment. Unsurprisingly, a trio of relatively new words present themselves on my tongue. Though, in yearning for Peeta, in having my heart beat deeper and faster for him day by day, their utterance feels more and more natural.

“I love you...” I whisper for him to capture, “Thank you.”

He grins so hard our connection breaks, and I can practically feel the heat from his blush, effectively triggering mine all the same.

“I love you too. Now go ahead- can’t have the bathwater turning into sitting rainwater.”

I let out a huff of mirth, and give one last parting kiss before taking him up on his offer. There’s a small bit of apprehension towards leaving him so soon, but I remind myself that this was his doing. The warm water will carry his essence, surely, ushering me away from all the troubles of the morning.

And so I walk up the stairs towards our bathroom, humming softly as I envision what awaits. Dampness to fight dampness indeed; I’m met with a plume of steam when I open the door. But quite quickly, it proves to be a far better option than that of outside.

Unlike the rain which chased me away, this draws me deeper into the bathroom. The steam is like a warm blanket, or a hug from Peeta, wrapping around my slightly shivering form. When I inhale deep enough, it seems like I catch notes of something floral- lavender, maybe? All the more thoughtful of him to doctor it up so.

My cheeks flush, and I quickly rid myself of my soaked garments, plopping them into a wet heap on the tile. My skin is quick to pimple from the biting air, so I’m even faster to slip into the beckoning tub.

And I cannot hush the contented moan that slips from my lips. It’s wonderful. Heated just so, smelling so sweet. My eyes roll shut with a sigh, and I poise myself to slip deeper into the watery embrace. That is, until the day continues on with its ever-changing events. That is, until a jostling of the doorknob halts my movements and breaks the relaxed trance.

Out of pure reflex, I draw my knees up towards my chest, hugging myself and hiding my body away. An action birthed from years of apprehension, and one that immediately unravels at the sight to follow.

Because it’s Peeta, of course it’s Peeta.

But the unexpected element is that he too, stands completely bare, all of him on displayed for my stunned, flustered eyes. I find his own first, and though he’s grinning, I can see that same shyness playing across his features. Much to my blushing dismay, my gaze cannot help but drift to the space I’ve become recently acquainted with. It’s still so new to the both of us that the hitch of my breath is answered by one in return. Warmth seems to travel to more than one place as I gaze at him, though my grey stare wanders to where it’s most prominent, his cheeks utterly rosy with red.

He shifts himself a bit then, looking down and snickering softly before catching my eye once more.

“Too much?”

A shiver rolls down my spine. I’m not sure what he has planned, but I have a feeling I won’t be opposed to anything he brings forth. Thus, I’m entirely earnest as I shake my head, releasing my knees fully.

“No,” I murmur, giving my lips a quick lick.

“Mind if I join you then?”

“Already seem pretty prepped to do so.”

He laughs his beautiful laugh, before blue interlocks tightly with grey. In knowing he’s silently asking for permission, a nodding gesture of my head brings him forward. I watch as he walks towards my backside, and I believe I’ve placed his intention. I slide forward a bit then, allowing him space to slip in behind me, should he choose to do so.

Sure enough, he does, momentarily sitting on the tub’s lip to unclasp his prosthetic before sliding in, the water sloshing a bit and rising from the introduction of another body. And, of course, it seemingly grows warmer, his form, his raw form, utterly reaching the depths of my being.

It’s ridiculous, considering he’s gone where no one else has, but I find myself somewhat timid. Maybe because it’s yet another new form of intimacy. I never really considered so many existing aside from the more carnal ones, but Peeta continues to surprise me. And where I find myself unsure, he also is there to softly guide me.

His warm hands gently slip to grasp my shoulders, and with a gentle tug, he ushers me to lean back against him. I don’t protest in the slightest, venturing back with his grasp and gasping ever so slightly when skin meets skin.

It’s different. Our bodies have been unified before of course, tangled and messy and desperate. But this is...different. It’s vulnerable, it’s tender, and it’s...comforting.

It’s everything. Just as he is.

My thoughts momentarily blip back to the former however, when I feel...him wedged between us. I squirm a bit, my breath hitching as more intense thoughts threaten to invade. But the more I feel, the more I lay against him, the more I realize that he’s relaxed.

And that it’s simply us. All that we are, together.

The thought settles me, and I sigh as I fully melt against him. Every bit of tension saps from my body, and my form seems to meld perfectly into his. His head comes forward to nestle against mine, and I can feel him smiling, the heat evident as he nuzzles and offers the occasional kiss.

I’m back to humming, back to closing my eyes, utterly slipping away like he intended, like I wanted. I had felt almost selfish before, wanting this so badly. But then again, it was nigh impossible not to; it does exactly the intended purpose. I’m ushered to plane where it’s just he and I, where nothing bad exists. I’m taken to a place of pure warmth, of pure love, everything else falling away.

As blissfully lost as I am, I of course have no choice but to vocalize once more.

“I love you so much...”

His turn to hum, as if he’s absorbing and ingesting such sacred words. But all the same, he presses a kiss to my cheek before returning the sentiments.

“And I love you...”

I’m prepped to simply drift away, waiting for my body to become so relaxed that I doze off against his chest. He denies me the opportunity though, but I don’t complain, his fingers coming up to nestle into my messy braid.

“May I?”

When I nod, he begins to softly unravel the intertwined strands. An easier task than usual, as the rain and running left it loose. I give my head a gentle shake when I feel it entirely unwind, fully freeing the waves of darkened ebony.

“Beautiful...” I hear him whisper, and before I have a chance to respond, before I can really even process, his fingers venture in further, sifting through swaths of black to dance atop my scalp.

Any crinkle of my nose towards his compliment instantly dies with such an action. He rubs, massages, the pads of his fingers driving me into an entirely different state of bliss. How is he able to do this? How can he affect me so? How can he drive my body and soul to places unthinkable?

I guess if anyone could be able to do it, it would definitely be Peeta. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I fall even deeper, my skin sliding against his as I descend a bit into the water. He snickers softly, but continues on with the massage. Or wash, perhaps? I think I can smell even stronger notes of flora and sweetness. Whatever the case, I can barely think, barely process, utterly mollified and melting.

So much so that I think my chin eventually brushes the water’s surface, effectively snapping me back into reality. With it, comes a hint of something else. Further selfishness? Guilt? Desire to return? Either way, my whisper breaks through the gentle steam.

“Peeta?”

“Yeah?”

“I feel like...We need to switch places. Take turns.”

His fingers momentarily halt, before he laughs and continues on.

“No. No no- this is more than enough for me. It’s perfect.”

“But-”

“Just enjoy it, love,” he murmurs, “Really. I’m just...happy to be here with you.”

So sweet, sugary sweet, sweeter than the confectionaries he specializes in. Surely something that would have earned a tense scowl years ago; now it draws forth a ghost of a smile. It makes me want to consider the journey, the steps we’ve taken to come to this very moment. But in the delightful erasure, all the pain and hurt is numbed, cast aside in the eyes of our affection.

What it fails to erase however, is my want to be stubborn, my need to please in return. Though blips of meekness still linger, shyness still evident amidst my cheeks, the former drives me and overrides. With a bit of difficulty in the porcelain space, I pivot around to face Peeta, connecting our stares with my smile running to a playful scowl.

Though there’s a slightly confused lift to his brows, he’s grinning immensely, an expression that acts as magnetism between our mouths. I kiss him for just a moment before carrying on with the intended plan. Just as he had done with me, I reach up with both hands, curling my fingers through his ashy blonde locks. I hear him shakily sigh, though the silence it what truly drives me onward; no argument is being made.

My pads nestle deep into his hair, softly rubbing and massaging like he had done for me. It’s lovely, returning the sentiments, returning the newly found intimacy. Unfortunately though, in doing so, I fail to recognize the more prominent form, the more familiar.

Perhaps it’s Peeta’s shaky hand that comes to rest at the small of my back, or the realization that such a position has put him directly at eyelevel with a more than desirable part of me- at least to him. I subsequently bite my lip, blush, and halt at the thought, slipping back to my previous perch.

Sure enough, when I pull away to get a look at his face, the flush to his cheeks and flare to his nostrils paint the correct picture.

“Too much?” I ask, parroting his opening question from earlier.

“Hmm, uh, a test of will perhaps, yes,” he replies with a shaky laugh.

It’s my turn to snicker, reaching to gently cup his face with a hand.

“Sorry. Might make this take a different turn.”

“I mean, it could, if you wanted,” Peeta murmurs, his grin turning crooked once more.

I let out a huff of mirth, softly shaking my head.

“Seems inevitable. But I dunno...I do like this.”

Peeta’s smile shifts back to a warmer tonality, pivoting his face to kiss my hand a kiss before responding.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like you said, I’m just...happy to be here with you. Always.”

His words repeated off my tongue are perhaps more loving and beneficial than the stroke of my fingers; he lights up like the sun, burning away the fog between us as his sapphire eyes sparkle.

“Always,” he reaffirms with a whisper, giving my hand another kiss before continuing, “Whatever you’d like then. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Whether I nestle up against his chest, lay back against him once again, or get ravished atop towels on the bathroom floor, the thick clouds of steam refuse to reveal. Whether they remain entirely chaste and grey, or heated and dripping, they encapsulate us, locking us away from the morning, from the bad.

Just as he does for me, and how I hopefully do in turn.

Oh, how life is simpler, more bearable. How the negatives turn into things so much more desirable. And how humorous is it that I find myself longing to get caught out in the rain once more.

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bellshells · 4 years ago

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Nobody Can Know Part 2

This is part two of Nobody Can Know !

It’s been requested for a part two, and I genuinely loved writing (Y/N) so much, I couldn’t resist. This one is a little darker than the first part, kinda plot heavy too. I also wouldn’t say it runs completely alongside the canon timeline, I would say it’s canon adjacent? Thank you for all the amazing comments regarding the first part and I can confirm there is a third part coming! Thank you <3

Summary: (Y/N) and George’s relationship is threatened when her parents take her to Malfoy Manor, where she makes enemies and unlikely friends. Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Implied assault, Arranged marriage, alcohol(?) Pansy Parkinson is a good friend AU Word Count: 14k+

Part Three

You were lonely. You had been lonely for months. You were angry too, but that was by-the-by, your loneliness was far more pressing. It had been four months since you had last seen George. Four long months since the Weasley twins had shoved two big middle fingers up at Hogwarts and the oppressive regime spearheaded by Professor Umbridge. They had flown away on steady brooms in spectacular twinkling lights taking your happiness with them.

It had been quiet without them, Umbridge had left not long after and whilst that had given you a certain amount of relief; the whispers of what happened inside the Department of Mysteries lingered heavily throughout the stone walls of the castle. That, coupled with the rumours that the Dark Lord had returned filled you with dread. You had carried that dread home with you, school felt like a lifetime ago though it had only been four weeks since you left. Though you were reminded with each passing day how alone you were in your family home, your father barely spoke to you, instead he chose to keep himself locked away in his study and your mother, well she was the same as she had always been; cold and indifferent.

George had sent an owl as soon as he had returned home to The Burrow all those months ago, a hastily written note detailing that he was setting up a business with Fred, and he would send word when everything was settled so you could join him. It didn’t matter, you were so desperately annoyed with him for leaving, for abandoning you when you needed him most. Draco had sent word to your parents almost immediately after news of your relationship with George was made public and they were furious. You were summoned home one weekend. With the hesitant approval from Professor Snape, you were taken to Hogsmeade and then escorted back to your family home in London. You weren’t sure what to expect, but they chastised you, berated you and told you under no uncertain circumstances to put an end to this relationship that brought you such joy. They sent you back to school with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience, you had absolutely no intention of leaving him. But he was to leave you; “Just for a little while.” He had said.

You had weathered your NEWTs with an almost disillusioned passiveness, and whilst you had gained an Outstanding grade for most of your exams, the Acceptable in Transfiguration mocked you. George would laugh you were sure, if you had replied to owl that is. You instead decided to write to Ginny, a firm friendship had blossomed between you and you relished in the near daily correspondence you shared with the youngest Weasley. George was annoyed, he told you so in the Howler he sent, but still- you ignored him. Ginny had invited you to The Burrow for the summer holidays, well; it was just summer to you now. Your school life was finished, and the rest of your life waited for you. You wanted to go to The Burrow, you wanted to see Ginny, you wanted to see George. To put you both out of your misery, to end this resentment you harboured for him. He had suffered enough and all you wanted was to hold him, to feel his strong arms around your body, his head pressed against your shoulder. To feel his soft lips on yours…you would have done anything.

You got ready, bags packed, cloak tied around your shoulders and a fistful of Floo Powder. But your mother had other ideas. “I have told you repeatedly, (Y/N). You are not going.” She had caught you just before you were able to whisper the words, she grasped your wrist firmly and almost dragged you out of the fireplace. You instinctively dropped the Floo Powder and tried to wriggle out of her grasp, she in turn gripped you tighter. “Get back up those stairs, I will send for you when we are ready to depart for the Malfoys.” You turned on your heel, internally you were screaming, desperate blood curdling screams; but on the outside, your face was calm. You ripped the tie of your cloak open and dropped it at your mother’s feet, you stepped over it and made your way to your bedroom. You hastened over to your bureau, a parchment and quill in your hands as you shakily sat down on the little stool. Your hand was trembling as you etched words onto the parchment, tears threatening to fall as you wrote desperately to George.

George,

I have been so angry at you for the longest time, but I cannot let you believe that I don’t love you. I yearn for you, my darling.

You paused, lifting your quill from the parchment slightly. you missed George achingly, it felt ludicrous now, how you felt so maligned by him leaving when you would have given anything to be in his embrace at that moment. You took a deep breath, trying your hardest to steady your hand and continued writing.

I have been so empty without you, you mean absolutely everything to me and I am sorry. But George, I need you to help me. My parents are taking me to Malfoy Manor, there’s a gathering of wizards and I must attend. I tried to sneak away and come to you, but I was caught. Please help me George, I’m scared of what might happen there. You-Know-Who is back and neither of us are stupid enough to think this gathering at the Malfoy’s is an innocent coincidence. We leave today, I hope this reaches you in time.

I’m sorry to have been so distant with you Georgie, I just felt so hopeless without you. I hope you can forgive me, my love. I love you so much, all the stars in the sky could not equal the amount of love I have for you.

Yours always,

(Y/N)

A plea. That’s what that letter was. You hoped George could forgive you for your standoffishness and help you. You were more desperate than you could articulate, terrified of what might happen at Malfoy Manor. You moved swiftly to your bedroom window and opened it wide, whistling as you did so, your eyes searching the large grounds of your family estate for a little tawny owl. When you spotted her, she was already flying intently towards your open window. Desdemona’s wings twitched outwards as she settled on the windowpane, her head moving around in staccato movements surveying the scene. You hastily offered her the letter and she made one swift attempt to bite your fingers, you pulled your hand away and sighed. You offered her the letter once more and she took it in her beak as she fluttered her wings.

You watched Desdemona fly into the distance, a tear threatening to fall as you closed your eyes. You wished that with every fibre of your being that she got to The Burrow safely and George would have your letter and know that you loved him. You felt an immense pressure on your chest as you flopped backwards on your bed. You hugged your arms tight to your chest and rolled over onto your stomach, you pressed your face firmly into the pillow and screamed. Your entire body shook with the ferocity of your scream, your throat hurt, and your muscles ached from being so tense. It was only a knock on the door that made you stop; you sat upright like a shot and tried your best to smooth your hair back into place. Your eyes stung as you watched suspiciously as your father opened your bedroom door and stood awkwardly in the doorframe. “If you’ve come to scold me Father, I wouldn’t bother. Mother has already beaten you to it.” You sniffed. Your father frowned and took a step toward you, you flinched in response. It wasn’t that you thought he would hit you; you were sure he never would; but there was nothing you desired less than physical contact with your father in that moment in time. He used to be such an affectionate man in your youth, he was the one beacon of light you possessed in an otherwise stifling childhood. You would spend hours looking through books. He would teach you spells and charms; and you would laugh, big belly laughs as you would set traps for mother and watch gleefully as she would fall for them every time. That was a long time ago now, it seemed like another lifetime. Almost as if he could read your mind, your father gave you a wistful glance. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, darling.” He whispered, you watched as he offered a half look over his shoulder as he grasped the door handle to leave. “Mother says to fetch your things. We’re ready to go.”

Happy Birthday indeed.

The Malfoys greeted your family ostentatiously at the bottom of a grand staircase as you entered the manor. Your mother held onto the crook of your arm with a vice like grip as she offered a tight-lipped smile to your hosts, your father already looked bored as he shook Lucius’ hand. If you looked hard enough you could see the sweat start to form on the blonde man’s head, he tried so awfully hard to impress your parents and whilst your used to find it amusing, now it just made you uncomfortable. It made you pity him. You glanced over to Draco who stood at his mother’s side, he shifted uncomfortably, and you watched as a blush crept from his neck to his cheeks. A silent rage washed through you, you seethed as your parents followed the Malfoys through the grand hallway and you fell into step behind them, your muscles tense as you walked beside Draco. You looked straight ahead. You hadn’t forgiven him for telling your parents about George and the fact you were being forced to spend time with him was almost more than you could bear. It made you question your friendship with Draco, whether all these years you had dedicated to trying to be a good friend to him were just a waste of your time. At present, there wasn’t anything to persuade you otherwise.

You were led into a large sitting room, there were wizards and witches already gathered mingling in small groups. There was a man dressed smartly with a vacant expression with a silver tray balanced on his outstretched hand. Tall champagne flutes stood proudly on the tray as he lowered it to you and your mother to take a glass. You gave him a small smile in thanks and carefully took a delicate sip, relishing the tart taste. Your mother hummed in approval as she watched you, another man, dressed the same as the one with the tray appeared behind you and offered to take your cloak. You untied it and gave it to him, your parents followed suit. Now free of your bonds, you surveyed the room. You looked to see if there was anybody that you recognised, obviously there was Draco; just a short way away you spied Pansy and her parents. Blaise and his mother and whichever number husband she had currently stood beaming at her side. You detached yourself from your parents and tried to shrink into the shadows, to pretend you were anywhere else in the world. Another smartly dressed man whisked towards you with another tray, you quickly drank the champagne in your hand and grasped another as he passed. You walked backwards, trying to reach the outskirts of the party until you felt something behind you which made you jump. You spilled your champagne over your arm and whirled around about to apologise profusely when a figure stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Professor! I am so sorry!” Professor Snape stood before you, a look of sheer detestation on his face as you noticed you had knocked his glass too. Instinctively you started dabbing at his clothes with the corner of your dress, fumbling embarrassingly to try and dry his sopping coat. “Miss (Y/L/N), I implore you to stop assaulting me.” He said dryly, you stopped your actions immediately and waited breathlessly for his punishment. Strangely, nothing came. He swept his eyes over you and sighed. “Would you like another glass? Perhaps one to drink and not throw over me?” You nodded mutely and stood uneasily as Professor Snape flagged down the waiter and took two champagne flutes and offered one to you. “Thank you, Professor.” “I suppose you are welcome, Miss (Y/L/N).” You stood side-by-side with your up until very recently Head of House, the dynamic between you felt very strange as you silently took turns in sipping your drinks. “I’m surprised to see you here, Professor.” You said, you tried to sound bright and airy and Professor Snape looked at you askance with a small smirk. “I could say the same thing to you, Miss (Y/L/N). This isn’t where I would imagine you spending your summer.” “What? Dying of boredom in a room full of the most pretentious people I’ve had the misfortune of meeting? Present company excluded, obviously.” Professor Snape chuckled softly and took a sip. “Obviously.” He said. “I must agree with you Miss (Y/L/N), this is the most tedious bore.” He over enunciated the last word and you stifled a giggle. You remembered the impressions Fred and George would do of the potions master; Fred really got him spot on. “It’s nice to see a familiar face though. I’m pleased you’re well, Professor.” You offered him a sincere smile; you had always had a soft spot for Professor Snape. “There are a few of your peers here, would you not rather converse with them?” He asked almost with disinterest, you rolled your eyes. “I would rather peel the skin off my own face.” You said with a dark smile, Professor Snape laughed at that and clinked his glass against yours. “You and me both.”

You stood for a brief moment just enjoying the comfortable silence that settled between you and Professor Snape. It was nice to just be still for a moment, to be able to see everything that was going on in the room but feel no pressure to be a part of it. You wondered whether Professor Snape felt the same way, you noticed that very few people tried to bother him as he stood silently at your side. “Have you had an enjoyable summer so far?” He asked you quietly, you looked at him sadly and he seemed to mirror your expression. “Not really.” You took another large sip. “It’s not what I imagined it to be.” “Miss (Y/L/N),” Professor Snape began, “I’m not one for over sentimentality, or sentimentality in general for that matter. But I would like to offer my sincere…well wishes for your future. I hope it takes you far away from here. It was a pleasure to be your head of house.” “Thank you, Professor.” You felt your eyes sting with tears as you offered him a smile. “Oh, please stop that, I will have to leave you by yourself if you start with that nonsense.” He snapped, but you didn’t think that he meant it with any malice. You chuckled and sniffed. “Fucking hell, every day is a struggle.” You smiled widely at the older man and he arched an eyebrow before he nodded in agreement. “Are you looking forward to returning to Hogwarts?” “I would rather peel the skin off my face.” He echoed your words with a sly smile. “Surely you can think of a more interesting topic of conversation, Miss (Y/L/N).” “Please just call me (Y/N), I’d like to think we’re…there.” “Very well, would you like another drink?” “Very much so, thank you…Severus.” “Don’t push your luck.”

Your pleasant chatter with Professor Snape was cut short by your mother squeezing in between the throng of people to grasp your arm. She was breathless and giddy, she looked almost flushed with excitement as she pulled herself towards where you stood with Professor Snape. “There you are darling; I’ve been looking for you.” She locked eyes with Professor Snape and offered him a curt smile. “Severus. Always a pleasure, are you well?” “Cressida. I hope you’re having a pleasant evening.” He nodded in acknowledgement to your mother and a fresh wave of embarrassment engulfed you. You were having a perfectly lovely conversation with your professor, who had been the first person since you left school to speak to you as an equal, and your mother had careered in and spoiled it. “Mother?” You prompted. She rounded on you and placed her hands on your shoulders. “Yes, (Y/N). You must come with me immediately. I have a birthday surprise for you.” She gushed, before you had a chance to react, she was away, and beckoned you to follow. You turned to Professor Snape apologetically, he raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “It’s your birthday?” He asked. “It certainly is.” “Happy fucking birthday.” Professor Snape said with a seldom seen grin, you laughed and raised your glass. “Happy fucking birthday indeed.”

You only had to scan the room for a moment before your mother waved at you, she was stood flanked by your father and Lucius Malfoy. A man stood in front of her, his back to you. He turned to face you just as you approached the group. He was tall, taller than your father but young, maybe twenty-two. Silver haired and devilishly handsome, with brilliant blue eyes. He gave you a warm smile as you settled next to him, his scent was almost overwhelming. He smelled expensive, like rich port and heavy leather-bound books. You felt a blush creep to your cheeks as you averted your gaze away from his face. “(Y/N), this is Mr. Edwin Paris.” Your mother said smoothly, her voice dripping with velvet. “Mr. Paris, my daughter (Y/N).” Mr. Paris took your hand in his and bowed his head to brush his lips against it. His hand was warm and soft, and it took you a moment to remove your hand from his grasp. “Mr. Paris,” You said with a smile, “A pleasure.” “I must assure you Miss (Y/L/N), the pleasure is entirely mine.” Mr. Paris smiled again; hands placed behind his back. “Mr. Paris is to start at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Second only to Ms. Bones herself!” Your mother said, Mr. Paris sighed bashfully. “Oh, are you an Auror?” You asked politely, you wondered if your mother knew this poor man’s life story. “Not quite.” Lucius quipped from behind you, you turned your head to meet his gaze and saw the small smirk sitting on Lucius’ pale face. An immediate sense of distrust began to build within you, you were suddenly wary of this man. Why was he here and why was your mother desperate for you to meet him? Yes, he was very handsome, and he had this alluring presence that was quite hard to ignore; but Magical Law Enforcement was the furthest thing from interesting to you, so that couldn’t be it. There was also something very off about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but something that made you suspicious.

The conversation continued without you; your mother ensured that Mr. Paris was preoccupied talking to your father as she made her way to your side and tapped you gently on the arm. “What do you think?” She whispered; she kept her gaze trained intently onto Mr. Paris and you followed it, cocking your head to the side. “Of Mr. Paris? He’s very handsome.” “Hmm. Isn’t he just?” She conspired; she was positively gleeful. Her eyes glistened with a newfound vigour that made you feel uncomfortable, like she was looking at him as if he were a meal. “He’s the one darling, your father and I are agreed.” “The one? What do you mean?” You knew exactly what she was going to say before she said it, you felt your vision begin to narrow and your breaths become shallow. “He’s the one you’re going to marry, (Y/N). Isn’t it wonderful?”

You looked aghast at Mr. Paris as he shook hands with your father, Lucius clasped Mr. Paris on the shoulder with a grin and brought his wand to his throat. He cleared it and the sound was amplified around the room and the bubbling chatter ceased, and all heads turned towards their host. “Friends, I thank you all for joining us today at Malfoy Manor as we wait with baited-breath for the inevitable…correction of things.” Laughter rose from the guests and a few cheers flew over your head, you could also hear a few snide remarks made about muggleborns from those around you. Panic began to rise within you, you couldn’t escape the thought that this party could be exactly what you feared it was, a gathering of Death Eaters. You shot an anxious look to Professor Snape who, when you made eye contact with him, averted his gaze to the floor. You felt sick. “As we begin our bacchanalian weekend of festivities, I have the most joyous news to announce. Two of our very own pureblood brothers and sisters are to be joined in marriage, solidifying a new age for our great cause.” Lucius continued, his voice slick with excitement and you could barely breathe. You felt your mother slip away from your side and Mr. Paris take her place, he slipped your hand in the crook of his arm and you shuddered. “Mr. Edwin Paris and Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) are to be married at the end of the festival and I hope you will join me in toasting this beautiful, young, pure couple as they embark on this, the most wonderful of journeys.” Loud raucous cheers erupted from the guests and Mr. Paris grinned and waved to his adoring crowd. You couldn’t stop the tears as they fell, you felt a million miles from the safety of Hogwarts and your friends, of George.

After the toast was finished and Mr. Paris had shaken hands with thanks for the congratulations, you slipped away, you turned your back and let your feet carry you out of the room. You moved swiftly through the grand entrance hall and out of the front doors and down the stone steps of the manor into the sprawling gardens now filled with a heavy darkness. You were about to break into a sprint when a firm grip of your wrist stopped you in your tracks, you felt pain in your shoulder as you were dragged backwards. You looked behind you in a panic to see your capturer had a solemn look on his face. “Professor, please.” You pleaded; Professor Snape pulled you into him. You couldn’t contain the sob that erupted from your chest, it was visceral and mournful. He pushed your arms to your sides and wrapped his arms around your torso and held you in place, restraining you. You tried to free yourself from his grip, struggling against him until your protestations became weaker and you gave up, sobbing against his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, and you were grateful, his tight embrace was comforting. You stood like that for what felt an age, you could hear the party had now spread from inside the manor to the large grounds and you knew you would be found imminently. “I have something for you.” Professor Snape whispered, “But if I let go, you can’t run away.” You stared at him blankly as he studied your face briefly before he removed his grip and pushed you away slightly. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a letter, he hesitated before he gave it to you. He muttered a Lumos and you took the letter from his hands.

Severus,

It began. It was written in a hand that you didn’t recognise.

Please pass on a message to Miss (Y/L/N) that we are happy to accommodate her for the foreseeable future and hope you can escort her here before the weekend is at an end.

“M?” You asked confused, Professor Snape rolled his eyes and snatched the letter out of your hands, returning it to his pocket. “It appears your fortune is about to change, (Y/N). Be ready, I shall come back for you.” With that Professor Snape apparated away and left you alone in the stillness of the night. You contemplated the contents of the letter and racked your mind as to whom it could be from. Professor McGonagall perhaps, although she never really displayed any sort of friendliness to you during your school life, but you knew Professor McGonagall’s handwriting so that simply confused you more.

You had no time to stand and contemplate your options as groups of wizards began pursuing groups of witches through the grounds of the manor carrying large torches. The flames grew larger as they made their way towards you and you started to panic. You shouldn’t be here, the festival was about to begin and as an unmarried woman, you were not permitted to see the goings on. You crouched down low and began to crawl back to the manor, the raucous laughter and shrill shrieks of the debauched hunt about to take place thundered in your ears as you crept silently. You had almost made it back unscathed, you stood and weaved through the open doors to the manor when a hand found its way to your shoulders and squeezed hard. Instinctively, you threw the hand away and recoiled backwards. Pansy stood, face screwed up in annoyance as you rounded on her, your faces inches apart. “I am fucking sick of people touching me without asking today, Parkinson. What do you want?” You snarled, Pansy didn’t flinch at your coarse tone, she merely rolled her eyes and stepped to the side of you. “Come on, our room’s ready.” The younger witch said nonchalantly as she walked towards the stairs. “The sooner I can get to sleep the sooner this shit show can be over.” You sighed with exasperation as you toyed with the idea of not following her upstairs into your shared guest room, instead just running away as far as your feet could carry you. You weighed up whether it was worth potentially getting caught and unceremoniously dragged back, and decided that ultimately, it was not. Besides, Professor Snape said he was coming back for you. That was something at least. Pansy stopped on the stairs and turned back to look at you, the frustration clear on her face. “Oi!” She snapped, almost as if your legs had their own autonomy, you followed Pansy in her ascent up the grand staircase and down a long, portrait strewn corridor until she stopped outside a great oak door. “Age before beauty.” She sneered, you scoffed as you pushed the door open.

Your belongings had already been brought in and were sat atop one of the huge canopied beds, Pansy sauntered passed you and immediately started digging in her bag. You made your way over to the bed and lifted your heavy case and placed it on the floor, you made a silent promise to yourself that you wouldn’t cry in front of Pansy and allowed yourself a second to compose yourself. You opened your case and lifted out your nightwear and placed it delicately on the bed. Pansy was distracted behind you, cursing to herself so she wasn’t to notice as you fingered the material of George’s quidditch jersey before you unbuttoned your dress and slipped it down over your shoulders and then your thighs, letting it fall to the floor with a thump. You started on your tights next, pushing them down and stepping out of them ungracefully. You slid your arms into George’s jersey and inhaled the scent, it still smelled like him. Luckily it was clean when he gave it to you that morning before he left school, although at that moment you were sure you would have loved it just as much if he had played a nine hour match in it. Pulling the jersey over your head, you unclasped your bra and tugged it out of the sleeve and discarded it with the rest of your clothes.

“Yes!” You heard Pansy exclaim from behind you, you whirled round to see her triumphantly holding up a bottle of firewhisky surrounded by the contents of her luggage scattered all around her. She looked at you for a moment before she doubled over at the sight of you, her laughter boomed around the room. You rolled your eyes and sat on the edge of your bed. “God would you look at you,” Pansy wheezed, “You’re such a cliché.” “Yeah yeah, I hope you’re sharing that, Parkinson.” You extended your hands out and she tossed the bottle across to you, you rummaged in your bag for your wand and conjured two tumblers and poured the russet liquid delicately into them. Pansy hopped down from the bed and brazenly started undressing, she flung her blouse on the floor and shimmied out of her skirt. “You can pour me a bigger one than that, (Y/N). I only brought it because I knew I’d need it to get through sharing a room with you.” Pansy snapped, you complied and poured another generous measure into her glass. She took it without thanks and returned to her side of the room, she pulled a jumper over her head and sat expectantly. “What?” You said. “Are we going to talk about what happened downstairs?” Pansy replied taking a big sip of her firewhisky, she cringed as she swallowed it. You swirled the contents of your glass and sighed, stretching your legs out as you moved to the head of the bed. “No. We’re not going to talk about it.” “I thought you were still with that Weasley-” “I am.” “Oh. That’s awkward then.” You nodded slowly and downed the contents of your drink and reached for the bottle to refill your glass. You fell into an awkward silence with Pansy and you eyed each other carefully. She stood after a while and slowly made her way over to you, tentatively sitting down on the bed next to you. “Do you want to play a game?” “What kind of game?” You arched an eyebrow inquisitively and a mischievous smile tugged at Pansy’s lips. “A drinking game!” “A drinking game?” “Yes! Okay, we’ll need at least two more bottles. Can you ring for some? You’re of age aren’t you?” “I have been for the last year, Pansy.” “Great, you do that and I’ll set it all up.”

To your surprise, you found yourself enjoying the younger witch’s company. You had polished off two bottles of firewhisky and were just about to open the third when Pansy stopped suddenly. The enchanted bits of paper that had been a part of your game stopped too. “I meant to ask you,” She slurred, she shook her head and continued, “What were you and Snape talking about? You looked- ever so…cosy.” She hiccupped. You laughed and rolled onto your stomach and stretched your hand out with your glass and Pansy readily filled it. “Nothing really. He was just being nice.” You answered wistfully, you would have given anything to back at that point in the evening, where the only thing you had to be worried about was whether George had received your owl. “Maybe…you ought to-” She hiccupped again, “To marry Snape and then…everything will be okay.” You snorted and finished your drink, Pansy took the bottle and tried to pour herself another glass and missed completely, pouring it all over her hand. “How would that fix anyth- Oh, Pansy you absolute idiot, what are you doing?” You laughed as Pansy flopped down next to you. Your stomach hurt from laughing so much, and the firewhisky was doing its job in keeping your thoughts nice and hazy. “I think I might be drunk.” She whispered; the deafening hiccup that followed her statement sent you both into fits of giggles. “You’re actually alright, (Y/N). Shame you won’t be at school.”

You offered her a sincere smile and gazed up and the green and silver canopy above the bed. The party had been going on for hours now, and every now and again you heard voices outside or a door slam inside the manor, but the two of you sat unfazed. “What do you reckon Snape’s like in bed?” Pansy asked casually, you spluttered and sat upright. “What the fucking fuck are you going on about?” “I’m being serious! Draco says he’s a virgin, but I don’t think he is. You don’t get to be that dark and brooding without getting your end away sometimes.” She said matter of factly, you covered your eyes with your hands, desperate to rid your mind of any images of Professor Snape in any shameless situations. “What made you think of that?” You asked incredulously, Pansy looked at you innocently as she shifted her weight onto her knees. ��Just when I saw you talking to him earlier on, having a drink. It made me wonder if he’s ever shagged any ex-pupils.” “Why, have you got an idea for when you finish school?” You giggled and Pansy lips fell into a pout. “Maybe I should shag him, it might get Draco’s attention if I did.” She said quietly. The smile fell from your lips as you turned to face her properly, now quite drunk, you placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to steady yourself. “Do you really like Draco, Pansy?” You asked delicately, the younger witch nodded solemnly, and you felt a pang of sadness for her. You knew what it was like to pine in silence. “You should tell him; you haven’t lost anything if you do. If he doesn’t like you back, so what? It doesn’t matter.” You paused as you thought, Pansy wasn’t your favourite person in the world and Draco had hurt you on a colossal scale recently, but you still held a brotherly affection for him. You wondered whether Pansy and Draco were kindred spirits of a sort. Two people that seemed impossible for you to escape in your life, maybe they deserved each other. “I can talk to him, if you like?” Pansy shook her head vehemently; “No no no, I can do it. I’m just…not ready to yet-” She stopped short as you both heard footsteps outside your door. Pansy leaped from your bed and you grasped your wand, with a swift wave the room was in order and all the candles were extinguished. She flew under the covers of her bed, and you did the same with yours. You had just closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep when the handle of the oak door began to turn, and the light from outside crept into the now dark room. You held your breath and scrunched your eyes closed tight as you waited for something to happen. Maybe it was Professor Snape come back to take you away? Maybe it was the mysterious M about to offer you a new home?

“(Y/N)? Are you awake?” You felt your stomach fall in on itself as you rolled slowly towards the sound of the voice, you acted half-asleep as Mr. Paris crept in on the tips of his toes and perched on the edge of your bed, where Pansy had been only moments ago. “Mr. Paris?” You croaked, even in the dim light is was impossible to miss how handsome he was. Beautiful, even. His eyes illuminated by the light of the open door, seemed dark and you could smell alcohol on his breath. You hoped he didn’t notice yours. He smiled at you and reached a hand out to you and placed it on your cheek, his thumb rubbed tenderly beneath your eye, his hand warm and inviting. “I’m sorry for waking you up, I just needed to make sure you were real.” He whispered, he sank next to you on the bed, lying down with his face on the pillow, his nose almost touching yours. “I don’t understand?” He shushed you and traced a long finger over your bottom lip, your breath hitched in your throat as he sensually brushed his fingers along your jaw and swept your hair behind your shoulder. You shuddered at the contact and your chest heaved. “You’re so beautiful.” Mr. Paris whispered. “Can I stay here tonight?” He asked, his arm lightly brushing from your shoulder to your waist and resting gently on your hip. You felt a familiar warmth creep to your cheeks, and a stirring in the pit of your stomach. “What? No, you can’t.” You whispered, he brought his hand over your backside and pulled you closer towards him. He lowered his head to your jaw and his breath was hot on your skin, you rubbed your thighs together subconsciously, suddenly in desperate need of some contact. Mr. Paris seemed to sense this, as he brought his lips to yours in a searing kiss. You were frozen, partly with fear and partly because you wanted to say yes, you wanted this man to kiss you, you wanted his hands on you. There was something about this man that made you want him. You clenched your fists into balls, your fingernails dug into the flesh there and you almost hissed at the pain. You imagined George clear as day in your head. His smile, the way he threw his head back when he laughed, the way his eyes would darken when he wanted you and the way his hands felt on your body. He knew every inch of you, he knew exactly how to make you cry with pleasure. You longed for him now, with this uninvited stranger in your bed; you felt wrong. You were lustful, but not for him. But for the boy who seemed a million miles away, who held your heart utterly and completely.

You pushed Mr. Paris away with unsteady hands. He started to protest, and his grip of your waist tightened. “No…Mr. Paris, don’t-” He grappled at you tighter, he pushed his head into the crook of your neck and thrust his hips against yours. “Get...off!” You pleaded louder, the heels of your hands dug into his shoulders, but it seemed useless, he was much stronger than you. “Stupefy!” A red stream of light shot across the room and hit Mr. Paris square in the chest, and he fell backwards of the bed, and slumped on the floor. You sat up like a shot and stared widely at Pansy who also sat upright in bed, wand outstretched and a fierce look on her face. She lifted a bottle of firewhisky in the air and cast a Lumos.

She got out of bed and padded over to you, where your hands shook, and your breaths came shallowly. “That was a really shitty love potion you put in there, you piece of shit. Didn’t work did it, dickhead?” She snarled, she kicked Mr. Paris’ leg and turned to you, concern etched on her face. “I didn’t have any of the last bottle, did I? I poured it over my hand on accident, when I did, I didn’t think it smelled right. And when this fucking numpty decided to make an appearance, I put two and two together.” “That was quick thinking, Pansy. Thank you.” You took her hand in yours and she gave it a tight squeeze. “Now, what do we do with him?” She spat. “Nothing. We can’t do anything, just help me get him out.” You said, you moved to Mr. Paris’ shoulders and waited for Pansy to collect his feet. With a groan she did, and with some difficulty the pair of you managed to drag him out of the door to your room and halfway down the corridor, where someone would undoubtedly find him soon. You promised Pansy you would give her an explanation when Mr. Paris was properly dealt with, and as soon as the door closed behind you, she stood; arms folded across her chest and waiting.

You told her of the conversation you had with Professor Snape, and the letter from the mysterious M. You told her how Snape said he would be back to take you away; you just didn’t know when. Pansy listened silently and when you finished, she nodded as if she understood. “Okay,” She began as she got back into bed before she pointed her wand at the door and warded it. “So all we need to do is keep you out of the way until Snape comes back?” “Do you think that would work? If I just hid up here?” “I don’t see why not? I could tell your mother that you had loads to drink and that you’re really hungover, like, coming out of both ends- hungover. She wouldn’t risk you embarrassing her during the festival, so she’d probably insist you stay up here out of the way.” Pansy mused, tapping her cheek with her wand. “That…might actually work, Pansy. You’re fantastic!” You got back into to bed with a grin, “But how do I let Snape know that I’m here and not at the festival?” “I heard my mother say that Snape never stays the night, he always goes home but comes back the next morning; so, I could find him as soon as he arrives and let him know what’s happened.” She said excitedly. “You would do that for me? Why?” You asked, it wasn’t that you didn’t believe Pansy would do it, it was more the fact that Pansy had always acted so indifferent towards you, it bordered on dislike and this sudden flip was quite jarring. “You said no, and he didn’t listen. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” “Thank you.” “Goodnight, (Y/N)” “Goodnight, Pansy.”

The next morning Pansy was dressed and pacing the room when you awoke. Although you had sobered up quite spectacularly before you had drifted off, you still felt a steady throb in your temples and your stomach churned noisily. When she noticed you stir, Pansy hastily sat on your bed and grasped your chin with a strong hand and turned your face to hers. Her eyes searched yours for a moment and you scowled as she smirked. “You look like death.” She said proudly, the satisfaction oozed from her words like treacle. Rather offended, you sat up and glared at the younger witch. “Thanks very much, I feel alright act-” “No, I cast a sickness charm on you. Makes you look poorly to everybody else, when really you’re absolutely fine. I came up with it last year to get me out of Herbology.” Pansy gushed excitedly. “I’ve already found your mother; she was really pissed off. She said she’d come up here after breakfast which should be any minute now.” “Any news on Snape?” You asked quietly and Pansy shook her head. “Not yet, I’m going to go back down when your mother arrives and see if he’s here.” You pulled Pansy in for a hug, she stiffened against you before lightly patting your back. This was the first time you had ever hugged her, and in reality, it was the first time you had enjoyed her company. You felt a slight pang of loss that you wouldn’t be with her at school this year to perhaps become real friends. “Thank you.” You whispered. She pulled away and winked at you. “That Weasley boy must be a fantastic shag for you to be so moony-eyed over him. I’ve seen you reject every person that’s ever asked you out. Which one is it that you’re with?” “George.” His name on your lips felt delicious, you smiled widely and imagined how much he would be aghast at you and Pansy conspiring like this. “I don’t know why I asked, I can’t tell them apart. Can you?” She asked with a sly smile. You laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I can. Took me a while though.” “Have you ever thought about accidentally on purpose forgetting who’s who and seeing what you’re missing out on with the other one?” Pansy wiggled her eyebrows and giggled. You groaned at the thought. The boys were identical yes, but the thought of getting hot and heavy with Fred turned your stomach. “You are such a Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson.” She bowed with a flourish of her hand; a smirk tugged at her lips. You watched as Pansy walked to the large window and drew back the heavy curtains, it was exceptionally bright outside, even for the early hour. The sunlight warmed your skin and you allowed yourself a moment of reflection, all was not lost. Pansy and Professor Snape were going to help you, M would look after you and you would see George again. You would be happy.

Your mother didn’t knock as she entered the room, she took one look at you and sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose as she did so. You could tell she was irritated as she asked Pansy to leave curtly. The young Slytherin offered you a sympathetic nod as she left, her fingers crossed behind her back as she closed the door behind her. You prayed silently that she would find Professor Snape soon and this ordeal could be over. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Your mother said. You weren’t sure whether she wanted a response, or whether she felt like it was something she ought to say. “I can’t say I’m surprised (Y/N), I just hope Mr. Paris doesn’t think badly of you missing the activities today and change his mind.” In the excitement of the morning, you had almost forgotten about Mr. Paris. You shuddered as you remembered the feeling of his hands on you in the dead of night. A cold sweat appeared on your forehead as a fresh wave of nausea washed over you, you knew you shouldn’t feel guilty for what happened, yet you did. There was a love potion in the firewhisky, a weak one at that. A defective one as well. But it still happened, for a fleeting moment you wanted Mr. Paris and you were mortified. Your mother frowned as she placed a cold hand on your head. “Well, you certainly don’t look well enough to join us today. I expect you to pull yourself together for dinner.” “Yes mother.”

She didn’t bother to give you hopes of well wishes or a speedy recovery, she didn’t believe in lip service. You also weren’t surprised either, she had always been that way. You were almost grateful for it in a way, it would be odd for her to suddenly find a maternal instinct almost two decades after you were born. She left as swiftly as she’d arrived without another word. Then, for the first time since you arrived at Malfoy Manor, you were alone. It wasn’t a pleasant nor an unpleasant feeling, but you felt useless. You dressed and climbed back into bed, there wasn’t anything to do until Pansy returned. You sat for what felt like hours, you had found a spot out of the window where a large tree was home to a nest of baby Sparrows, and you watched them intently. The relentless scavenging of the mother to find food for her young, it fascinated you. They would wait with open beaks for anything the mother could find; spiders or flies and they reminded you of yourself. You were caged like a bird in that moment with your beak open for any sort of sustenance to keep you alive. A lone figure walked over to the tree and stopped, looking up at your birds. You panicked, thinking that something would happen to them- but the figure just stopped and stared. From where you were, you couldn’t make out any features of the person, but you were confident it was a man. There were so many men in attendance for the festivities, it could be anyone. You almost looked away when you saw a girl running towards them. She was fast, her cloak billowed behind her as she ran. The man noticed her as she came barrelling toward him, he outstretched his arms as if to stop her and as she met him, she doubled over as if to catch her breath.

You noticed it was Pansy and you rose and rushed to the window to get a better view. Pansy looked over her shoulders as she beckoned for the man to follow her further into the gardens, the man glanced over his shoulder in turn and surreptitiously looked up to your window. Your heart skipped a beat. It was Professor Snape. She had found him. You strained to see them as they walked away from the manor, they walked close together and picked up a swift pace. Desperately, you craned your neck to catch a final glimpse of them as they disappeared. You let out an exasperated cry, if you were sure there were any gods out there that would listen, you would have dropped to your knees and prayed to them. Begged them to encourage Professor Snape to hurry in his evacuation of you.

A knock at the door startled you. Abandoning your futile attempts to see where Pansy had taken Professor Snape, you dove back into bed and pulled the covers up to your neck. The door opened almost hesitantly, and you ignored the light cough from the hallway. “Miss (Y/L/N)?” You froze. It was him. Mr. Paris stood awkwardly in the doorway; his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. You chose not to acknowledge him and rolled over, turning your back to him. He took a step towards you, the floorboards creaked under his feet and you shuddered. He cleared his throat and took another step. “Your mother said you were incapacitated this morning, I wanted to see if you were alright.” You stayed completely still and completely silent. If you never had to speak to that man again it would be too soon. “I brought you these.” The bed dipped as you felt him sit. “I hope they make you smile.” Mr. Paris placed something next to him and sighed. “I don’t know what to say to you, Miss (Y/L/N). I suppose I’ll just leave you to it.” The bed sprung back into shape as he stood, you refused to roll over. He didn’t try and speak to you again; he just closed the door softly and his footsteps disappeared down the corridor. You hadn’t realised you had been holding your breath until you exhaled with a groan. Your hand explored the bed spread to see what he had left for you and a sharp pain in your finger made you recoil with shock. You sat and placed your finger in your mouth, a drop of crimson blood oozed from the tip. Roses. He left you roses. You scooped the bouquet up along with your wand and flung the door of your room open. You threw the bouquet on the floor with disgust and pointed your wand at the flowers with an unsteady hand. “Incendio.” You muttered. The flowers burst into flames and you watched bitterly as the petals curled in on themselves before turning to ash. You contemplated putting the fire out, but as the fire destroyed the petals and made its way to the stems, it lost momentum and offered a few pathetic flames before it died. “Did he bring you flowers? What a psychopath.” Pansy’s voice startled you as you stood in the corridor. You looked to her as she stood with Professor Snape, he looked uncomfortable by her side. You gestured to them to follow you into the bedroom and sat on your bed expectantly.

Professor Snape who only seemed to display two emotions, disdain and annoyance seemed uneasy- almost embarrassed as he stood as far away from you in your shared room with Pansy. “Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” Professor Snape said with a nod. “Get out.” Pansy tutted as she rolled her eyes. She mumbled under her breath and left, closing the door a little harder than necessary. “Professor.” “Are you well? I’ve been informed as to what happened after I left.” He said with a grave look, he looked as though he would step forward but stopped himself. You tried to nod convincingly. “Can we go? Now?” You almost demanded; Professor Snape shook his head. “Not yet, we must wait for the most appropriate window.” “Professor, if we wait any longer, I’m as good as married. We need to go.” “I’m not disagreeing with you, but if you suddenly disappear after I was seen being led to your rooms, what might people think?” He said snidely, you blushed at the thought and swallowed. “I can’t be the one to be seen to take you away. That is why we must wait.” You sighed; he was right. Of course he was right, in all the years that you had known him, you had never known him to be wrong. “Then when?” “Tonight, after dinner. We meet back here and I’ll escort you to where you’re going.” “Where am I going, Professor?” He scoffed at your question and moved swiftly to the door. “Use your brain, Miss (Y/L/N). I know you have been blessed with one.”

With that, Professor Snape left. You were leaving tonight. Tonight seemed a long time to wait, but with your hands tied what else could you do? Being alone again filled you with a creeping dread, it seemed to start at your toes and seep throughout your body. You wished Pansy would come back, you found her a calming presence as surprising as that was and without George, or any of your other friends; you missed her. You climbed back into the great bed and pulled the covers over your head, you wished to sink into the mattress and disappear never to be found, you snickered at the thought of your mother bursting in to find you gone without a trace. How would she react? Would she even be sad? Although you would like to think that she would be heartbroken over the loss of you, you doubted that it would impact her life very much. You were sure that she would probably feel a weight had been lifted, more concerned about her reputation, surely.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you fell asleep. A death-like, dreamless sleep that was interrupted by the shaking of your shoulders. A touch that cold could only come from one person, your mother, and sure enough when you opened your eyes she was stood there, an anxious looking Pansy behind her. “You’re looking much better for resting, Child. Come, we must dress you for dinner.” Your mother said as she pulled the blankets from you, exposing you to the cold. You had no idea what time it is, late afternoon maybe? Definitely not time for dinner. “Dress for dinner?” You asked wearily, rubbing your eyes. “I don’t understand.” Pansy stepped forward and extended her arms to you, a lacy white dress was laid across them. “It’s tradition.” She stated, urging you silently. You lifted a finger to the dress, reminiscent of your mother’s wedding robes. You eyed your mother suspiciously, she grinned at you almost feverishly and beckoned you forward with a ring-laden hand. “Tradition?” You questioned. “Yes, we only get to do this one on very special occasions.” Your mother said with a snide smile.

You let your mother dress you in silence as Pansy moved her wand over your head. She was delicately placing sprays of baby’s-breath in your curled hair with a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You concentrated on your breathing, if you could sit through the next few hours you could get through anything. You smiled falsely in all the right places; when your mother showed you to the mirror and you could see yourself fully, when she dusted your face with powder and put rouge on your lips and finally when she made you stand almost regally with Pansy as she held a small posy of flowers so she could take a picture. You had appeased her, and she was happy. Inside, you were resigning yourself to the fact that this could possibly be the last time you would see her, or your father. They might understand in time, but you couldn’t let yourself be worried about that. Not with so much on the line.

Dinner had already started by the time your mother had finished preening you like a prize-winning horse, the Malfoys had a very large dining room and had enchanted the already unnecessarily long dining table to be even longer. All the men stood on the arrival of your mother, Pansy and yourself. Approving murmurs scattered along the room and a few winks and nudges in the direction of Mr. Paris. You were to be seated in between your father and Mr. Paris, the young man held your chair and pushed it in for you as you sat, not meeting your gaze. You glanced at your father, he seemed as nonchalant as ever, engaged in conversation with Lucius Malfoy. Deciding not to talk to Mr. Paris, you scanned the room for Professor Snape, unfortunately he was sat next to Mrs. Zabini who looked all too pleased to have the potions master for company. You tried to get his attention; you gave him a small wave but to no avail. “Severus?” A voice next to you called out, you instantly cringed as Mr. Paris sat with a stupid smile as he waited for Professor Snape to acknowledge him, which he did- slowly. “What?” Professor Snape answered, his voice dripping with annoyance. You had always known your head of house’s eyes to be an almost onyx colour, quite dull in all honesty. But now they flared with a passion, a burning. Like they would singe anyone who was unlucky enough to stand in his sight, you were quite taken aback. You had never seen him this fierce before. “I believe Miss (Y/L/N) was trying to get your attention.” Mr. Paris said with an oblivious smile, Professor Snape’s eyes flashed to you. “Well?” He said, his face betrayed nothing. Suddenly, you were gripped in a panic. “I wish to return the book I borrowed to you; I would also like to speak with you about it. I have some interesting theories regarding the themes.” You gushed; your cheeks burned red as you pleaded with him to humour you. Without missing a beat, Professor Snape nodded and returned to his conversation with Mrs. Zabini.

Satisfied with yourself, you accepted the glass of wine offered to you. It with rich and a dark red, French probably, knowing Lucius Malfoy. You swirled it around in your glass and enjoyed the scent as it filled your nose. It was decadent, and for a sliver of a moment you forgot where you were. You relaxed into your chair and enjoyed the atmosphere of the ever-increasing bawdiness of the congregation. You turned to your father after a while of ignoring Mr. Paris’ attempts at conversation; you leaned close to him and whispered; “I don’t blame you, father. I love you very much.” “I love you too. I wish there were another way.” Your father said out of the corner of his mouth, you offered him your hand under the table, and he gave it a hearty squeeze. You stayed like that for a moment, just you and your father. You savoured it, the feel of your hand in his. His hands always seemed so big to you as a child, he made you feel safe and loved. Over time, love changes. The days of silliness and fairy tales were replaced with lectures of duty and of family pride. You wondered if he knew what you were doing, whether he knew you were saying goodbye. Your hand in his, one last time.

You ate quickly, as did Professor Snape. Lucius stood when the meal was over and tapped his glass for attention. “Friends, I hope you are full of good food and wine, for now it is time for certainly my favourite part of the festival. One we are lucky enough to participate in on very rare occasions. But my friends, we can revel tonight. It’s time to catch the bride.” Every head turned to you in your white dress, low laughs and wands being drawn. You shot an frightened look to your father who turned to you solemnly and simply said; “Run.”

You raced out of the dining room and through the grand entrance hall, leaving behind you the raucous laughter of Malfoy’s guests. You flew into the gardens and towards a tree, towards your sparrows. You hoped desperately, you willed that Professor Snape would find you, would know where you’d be. In the darkness of the night, your steps were cautious. Your dress caught on some thick brambles and pulled you backwards, you pulled on it frantically until a piece tore away and you continued on to your destination. Sweat gathered in the nape of your neck as you jogged, your chest burned with fear and your mind raced. What the fuck? Catch the fucking bride? You hadn’t considered for a moment that these affluent, pureblooded wizards could be so barbaric. There was a reason unmarried and underage wizards and witches were not permitted to see the goings on at the festival, and now you knew why. You also understood your mother’s words about a ‘tradition on special occasions.’ She meant a wedding, your wedding. Whatever it was that they were planning to do to you made your blood run cold. You ran through another thick patch of brambles, their thorns were sharp and you felt them catch your face as you tried your best to clear a path with your forearms. You were bloodied and sweaty by the time your fingers found tree bark and you stopped, panting heavily. The poor baby sparrows were chirping, their mother still foraging for food or insulation. You wiped a hand across your forehead, and tried to collect yourself, searching the grounds for any sign of Professor Snape.

Footsteps. Almost silent footsteps, if you hadn’t tried to slow your breathing- you would have missed them. But they were there, definitely footsteps. You held your breath and crouched low into the earth, you spied figures in the distances. Crack. There it was again, closer this time. You peered around the bark; your heart thunderous in your chest. There was nothing, nothing close enough to you to disturb the foliage. You closed your eyes in relief, you exhaled and relaxed against the tree and caught your breath. You were so frightened, what were they going to do to you if they caught you? Why would your parents subject you to this degradation? This festival had been a part of pureblood Slytherin tradition for centuries, and your parents had brought you along for as long as you could remember; yet you couldn’t remember it ever being this depraved. Perhaps you were too young to notice, perhaps you didn’t care.

“(Y/N).” You froze still. You would know that voice anywhere. “Come out, I’ve found you.” You hesitantly raised your head and came face to face with Draco, wand raised in your direction. You stood slowly, not taking your eyes from his face. He looked pale in the scare the light, his brow furrowed. His hand shook as he watched you stand, trembling. “Draco, please.” “Please what? Please don’t tell the others? I’m important now, (Y/N). I matter.” He said, his voice faltered slightly as you took a step toward him. “You’ve always mattered, Draco. To me.” You took another step. “Don’t. You couldn’t care less about me, now you’ve got your fucking stupid little weasel. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To be forgotten about?” Draco spat, the veins in his temple protruded as his entire body shook with rage. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be sold as cattle, Draco?” You pleaded frantically, “This life, this world it isn’t me. Surely you can see that, surely you can see I don’t belong here? These aren’t my people, Draco. And I don’t think they’re yours either.” You cried mournful tears as you begged your old friend not to betray you again. “Please.”

“Move aside, Draco.” The young wizard lowered his wand immediately at the sound of Professor Snape’s words. He retreated and let the potions master pass him with a flurry of black cloth, fear flashed across his pale features as he watched his professor grasp you under the arm. “Are you alright?” Professor Snape asked quietly, you nodded and turned to Draco, but he was already gone. Draco had disappeared into the night silently; you were disappointed yet relieved that he hadn’t given you away. “Here,” Professor Snape said as he produced your wand from inside his cloak, “I imagine you will have use for this.” You took it with thanks and enjoyed the feeling of it in your hand, you felt a little less vulnerable. “Shall we be off? We would do best to not stay any longer.” “Yes please.” Professor Snape offered you his arm and you hesitated and looked back to the manor where the figures with torches appeared closer than before. “Will you pass on my thanks to Pansy, professor? I wouldn’t have survived without her.” “No need.” Pansy said emerging from the darkness, she held a torch aloft and smiled sincerely. You returned her smile in earnest and took Professor Snape’s arm. “See you.” Pansy said softly. “See you.”

You opened your eyes in an unfamiliar place. Your ears were ringing and there was an annoying pulse in your head. Professor Snape offered you a hand and helped you up from the ground. “My apologies. That was more erratic than I would have liked.” You stood and brushed your hand over your dirtied skirts, the white dress now looked very sorry. “Where are we?” You asked, you searched the night sky for any indication, any clue as to where you might be. “Turn around, idiot.” Professor Snape snapped. You complied, turning slowly, the night breeze was chillier here than at the manor and your flesh raised in reply. Before you stood a ramshackle house, tall and thin and bowing on one side. The windows were illuminated with a soft orange glow and a joyous, welcoming feeling radiated from every inch of the house. But there, stood not even a foot away from you was a face you had begun to think you might not see again.

“Hello stranger.” You couldn’t think, you couldn’t breathe. All you could do was stare. You lifted your arms and they felt numb, he reached for you; fingers outstretched, inches away. Seconds. “George.” You croaked. Your feet were planted firmly to the ground, you weren’t sure whether you would be able to lift them even if you tried. George’s hands were on your arms, your shoulders and then your face. He closed the distance between you with one step, you had imagined kissing him over and over again since the last time, and when he brought his lips to yours; you were home. He pulled you to him, his embrace was tight and secure, and you melted into him. Your body relaxed as he held you and kissed you tenderly as if it were the first time.

You didn’t want to pull away, you didn’t want to ever feel empty of George again but with one lingering kiss, he grasped your shoulders and tilted his head to the side. His eyes burrowed into yours, a thousand unsaid things now known and understood. “My girl.” He whispered. He brushed a finger over your cheekbone, suddenly alarmed at the blood he found there. “What have they done to you?” “Did you get my owl? Oh George, it was terrible-” “Shh, tell me about it inside.” He gestured towards the leaning house and you took a step before remembering and whipping your head behind you. “Professor?!” You exclaimed into the blackness, expecting to find an awkward Professor Snape. Instead, you found nothing. He had gone, probably back to the party to avoid suspicion. You smiled sadly and hoped your paths would cross again, so you could thank him and repay him for his kindness. “Come on,” George whispered tenderly, “Let’s get you inside.” You slipped your hand into his and he pressed a kiss to it, he guided you over the grassy terrain towards his house, The Burrow. A place you had longed all summer to visit, you smiled a brilliant smile as safe in George’s care, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

George pushed open a creaky door, the house was quiet and much larger inside than it appeared to be from the outside. A fire crackled happily in the fireplace and the smell of clean washing and a roast dinner welcomed you. It was beautiful. Rustic and pure, it was the happiest thing you had ever seen. A home, a real home where a real, loving family lived. You could have wept. George led you through a lounge area passed a charming grandfather clock and toward a dining table, where a familiar group of redheads sat each cradling a mismatched mug. “(Y/N)!” Ginny exclaimed, she jumped from her seat and raced to you and enveloped you in a tight hug. You hugged her back desperately, you had missed your friend. “You look awful!” She said with a concerned look, she pulled you by the hand and pushed you into a chair and thrusting a blue mug into your hands, it warmed you immediately. You smiled in thanks. You spied Fred across the way, and he stood when you were settled and dropped his head to you and gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Glad to see you’re safe, (Y/N).” He said and returned to his perch next to Ginny. “Oi, watch it.” George warned his brother, he appeared next to you and draped a blanket around your shoulders, placing his hand on your knee. “Where’s mum?” “Just changing the bedding upstairs, Hermione’s not happy she’s having to share a bed with me.” Ginny said with a smirk, she looked over her shoulder to where in the lounge, Hermione sat with Ron and Harry Potter beside the fireplace. A full house indeed.

Mrs. Weasley complained all the way down the rickety stairs, about the house not being tidy and the fact she has all these children and not one of them offers to help her. She stopped short as she entered the dining room, she spotted you immediately and her face fell. You instantly felt guilty, Professor Snape had obviously brought you to the wrong place. George’s mother clearly didn’t want you in her house, a Slytherin. You lowered your head and fought back the hot tears that threatened to fall. “Oh my dear girl, look at you!” Mrs. Weasley whispered. Your head snapped up in her direction, confused, you watched as Mrs. Weasley hastened towards you and pulled you up by your hands. “We must get you cleaned up immediately, you poor thing.” She pulled you out of the room and towards the stairs. George chased after you. “Um, Mum? This is (Y/N)-” “Do you take me for a fool, George? I know perfectly well who this is, and she is need of our help so come on.” She continued her way up the stairs with you in tow, you looked back at George bewildered but he just shrugged. “Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley called down, “Come and see if you’ve got any spare pyjamas, would you?”

She pushed you into a bathroom and sat you down on the toilet lid, her hands were in your hair undoing the pins your mother had painstakingly put in place not even hours ago. With nimble fingers, she removed the little flowers and fingered your hair almost affectionately. “You’ve got beautiful hair, (Y/N).” Mrs. Weasley mused as she pinned it back loosely at the nape of your neck. She took your hands and pulled you up, a knock on the door and Ginny entered, a pale pink cotton nightdress folded neatly in her arms. “Thank you, Ginny.” Mrs. Weasley said and took the nightdress and hung it on the back of the door. Ginny slipped away without a word and Mrs. Weasley motioned for you to turn around. She deftly unbuttoned the many buttons at the back of the lace dress and helped you step out of it. You suddenly felt embarrassed as you stood in your slip in front of Mrs. Weasley, she smiled at you gently. You couldn’t help but return her smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” “Oh darling, please call me Molly.” “Molly- are you- are you, M?” You asked incredulously, Molly brushed her hand over your cheek and winked with an affectionate smile. You tried not to let her see how touched and taken aback you were, Molly Weasley was M. Your saviour, your sanctuary. You pulled her in for a hug and she returned it instantaneously, you cried as George’s mother held you. It had been a long time since you had been held by a mother and it felt wonderful. “Thank you, thank you thank-” “No need to thank me, my dear. My boy loves you very much, you are family now.” Molly smiled warmly and patted your arm. “Now, let’s see if we can’t get rid of these nasty scratches.”

You were uncomfortable in Ginny’s nightdress. You were quite a bit taller than her, and it was short on you. Molly led you back down the stairs with the promise of a nightcap and you followed her readily. She had your white dress balled up under her arm and when she had asked you what you wanted to do with it, you said to burn it. Molly said she could make some nice cushion covers with the material so with a laugh, you conceded to let her have it. George was waiting in the lounge with Fred and rest of the siblings, their father in a big armchair. Arthur greeted you warmly with a big hug and protestations over being called Mr. Weasley, you felt totally at ease sat by the fireplace with a small glass of sherry, George’s hand in yours. It must have been very late as one by one, the room thinned out as weary legs carried people up the creaky stairs to bed. Your eyes were closed, you could have slept if you had let yourself as George played absentmindedly with your hair. Maybe you were half asleep, as you heard your name being mentioned but you kept your eyes closed. “She’s had an ordeal, George. You’d do best to just stay put for a while.” You heard Molly say softly. “I think you’re right mum, we’ll stay here for a bit and then when she’s feeling up to it, go to Diagon Alley.” George said, stroking your hair. “What do you think they did to her?” He said after a while. You heard Molly sigh. “Difficult to say, those pureblood fanatics have had weird and wonderful celebrations for centuries. Nobody can say for sure really, unless you’ve been.” “If I find out anyone hurt her, I’ll-” “Alight Godric Gryffindor, calm down.” Fred said with a snort. You heard George mutter under his breath and then a shifting of weight. George shook your shoulder slightly. “(Y/N), come on love, let’s go to bed.” George said, you opened your eyes and smiled at him. There wasn’t a quantifiable amount in the world that would equal the love you held for him, and you wanted to spend the rest of your life making sure that he knew that. You stood and he slipped an arm around your shoulders. “Goodnight all.” George saluted his family. “Goodnight and thank you again.” You said, Molly blew a kiss in your direction and you allowed George to lead you up the stairs.

The landing of the Burrow was full of twists and turns and more steps up and down. George led you down more steps to a door marked Bill and Charlie’s room! You smiled as he opened the door and flicked on the light, you were expecting to find a forgotten teenage bedroom of the two eldest Weasley’s and yet you found a quaint, sweetly decorated guest bedroom. A large bed sat underneath a window which you wasted no time in pulling back the covers and getting into it, patting the other side and giving George a smile.

He slipped his shirt over his shoulders and unbuckled his belt, pushing his jeans over his legs and stepping out of them. You watched him lazily as he climbed into bed next to you, pulling the covers back and settling down, pulling you tight to his chest. You inhaled deeply, you had missed George’s scent and the feel of his skin against yours. “Hello.” You whispered against his shoulder. He chuckled lightly. “Hello.” George sighed; he placed a kiss to the top of your head. You hooked your leg over his and an arm over his stomach. You stayed like that for some time, just listening to the sound of George’s breathing. He traced circles on your back and you hummed contentedly. “You smell weird.” George said after a while. “What do you mean?” You replied, only slightly outraged. George chuckled again and tilted your chin upwards to look at him. “You smell like my sister; you’re wearing her nightie and that.” “Oh…well I can take it off, if you like?” “No (Y/N), you don’t have to-” “I want to, Georgie.” He nodded and kissed you, it was a kiss that you hadn’t received from him in a long time. It was full of longing, and as his hands wandered from your back to your hips and you brought your tongue across the entrance of his lips and he moaned. You sat up slowly, and started unbuttoning the nightdress, he swatted your hands away and gave you a gentle smile. “Let me.” George breathed, his touch was featherlike as he slowly unfastened your bonds and pushed the cotton over your shoulders causing you to shudder under his touch. You were bare before him finally, and he watched you; for a fleeting moment before he captured you in his arms and placed you over his lap, straddling him. “I have waited for what seems a lifetime for this, (Y/N).” “Were you terrible angry at me for ignoring you?” You asked quietly, you felt ashamed for how you had acted over the summer. You wished you had a time-turner in order to go back and leave with George that day. He shook his head with a smile. “Never angry. Upset though, yes. Very.” “I’m sorry George, truly I am. I just felt-” “Shh. Don’t. You’ve had your penance and then some by all accounts.” George paused, as if contemplating something. “Do you promise to tell me if they’ve hurt you? Done anything to you? When I got your owl, your fear jumped right out of the parchment. You will tell me, wont you?” Your mind flashed with images of the last forty-eight hours, of your mother’s gleeful face, Draco with a raised wand and of Mr. Paris.

Mr. Paris.

You longed to tell George there and then as to what they had tried to force you to do, what Mr. Paris did- but you couldn’t, it didn’t feel right. There would be a time, when the dust had settled, and you would tell George everything. But not tonight. You had waited too long to be in George’s embrace, and you craved him.

“I promise.” You said. You pulled George’s head towards you and kissed him feverishly, he answered your kiss with a grappling of your body. George groaned into the kiss and you ground your hips into him. His big hands found your hips and moved you against his hardening member, your smirked into the kiss as you continued to grind against him. The friction of your knickers against your clit was delicious and you moaned against George’s shoulder. He guided your movements as they got increasingly faster, his breath hitched as he watched you; head rolled back, your face aglow with pleasure. He brought his mouth down to your breasts and kissed the sensitive skin there and gently took a nipple in his mouth and rolled his tongue over it, flicking it as he did so. You increased your pace again, moving your sex over George’s now hard cock. You brought your hands down to George’s shoulders to gain a better purchase. “Go on, you good girl. Come in your knickers for me.” George whispered into your ear, as your movements became more desperate, you felt your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. The feeling was overwhelming, it simply felt so good. George held your hips fast as you dragged your clit over his cock. George moaned with you as you came, quietly and with a tremble. He kissed along your jaw to your mouth, his tongue danced with yours. Your legs shook as dismounted him, he looked at you longingly. “That was simply the sexiest thing I have ever seen. Next time I want to see you touch yourself,” He rolled so he was on top of you, he nudged your legs open and lay between them. “I want you to touch yourself and think of me. Did you do that when I was gone?” He breathed against your skin; your hands found his hair as he moved his mouth once again to your breasts. He was rougher this time, he took your nipple and grazed it with his teeth, eliciting a moan from you. His hand moved up to your other breast and squeezed hard, your hips bucked upwards involuntarily. Your clit still throbbed from your orgasm and you knew it wouldn’t take much for you to come again. “Hmm? I asked you a question.” “Yes.” “Yes what?” “I touched myself and thought of you. All the time, I missed your cock inside me.” “Good girl.” George dipped his head and kissed your neck roughly, his teeth nipped you and you knew he was marking you. Good, you thought. Now everyone would know you were his. “Though next time I want to see it. Can you do that for me?” You giggled and nodded. George smiled; the mask slipped for a moment. He brushed his fingers over your lips, and you kissed them lightly. “I love you, Georgie.” “As I love you. So much.”

There was nothing else that needed to be said. You were together again, after what seemed an eternity apart and there wasn’t a single thing that could separate you now. “I’ll marry you one day, (Y/N).” George whispered, the breath hitched in your throat and you brushed George’s hair out of his eyes. “You’d better.” George chuckled at that and moved his hands deftly down your sides, he tugged at your knickers and you did your best to shimmy out of them. When you were completely bare for him, he kissed you again. Long and deeply. “Is this okay?” George said as he positioned himself between your legs. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or if you don’t want-” “Make love to me, Georgie. Please.” George nodded and lined himself up with your entrance, when he thrust himself into you, you spluttered. It had been so long since you had accommodated him, you had almost forgotten how big he was. He hissed as he pushed himself in to the hilt, his hips rocking slightly. He pulled out almost fully, before he thrust into you again, slowly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, which allowed him a better angle and to burrow himself further inside you. “Fucking hell, I missed you so much. You feel so good.” George crooned in your ear, as he started his slow, sensual thrusts.

You didn’t often have sex like this, at school you were nearly always in a hurry, a stolen moment here or there. During the holidays it was easier, but for the first time you had nothing to worry about. No Mr. Filch, or wandering prefect to catch you, just you and George in your new home, surrounded by love. You moved your hips against George, tempting him to pick up his pace. He did so gladly, you kissed his shoulder sloppily between moans. His cock filled you completely and you felt you might burst. His thrusts were determined, you dug your fingernails into George’s flesh as you felt another orgasm building. Sweat appeared on George’s forehead as you could tell he was trying to control himself, to not fuck you roughly. You brought your hand down to your clit and started rubbing, George’s eyes widened as he saw you touching yourself. “Like that, is it?” He managed, as his thrusts became rougher. He hoisted your legs either side of his shoulders and grabbed hold of your thighs, there was pleasure in the pain the new position brought and as your fingers moved over your clit swiftly, your breaths came quickly. “I’m not going to last much longer-” You moaned, the feeling of George filling you to the brim, along with the quick work your fingers were making was almost too much to bear. George nodded. “Come with me.” George panted, “I’m so close.” He rutted into you unashamedly, the sound of skin hitting skin along with your moans was a beautiful soundtrack of your reunion.

Your orgasm was brilliantly intense, George spilled his seed into you as you came. Your clit pulsated in delectable pain as your walls throbbed around George’s cock. He thrust into you twice more, his voice staccato and breathless. He rolled off you and snatched you immediately to his chest and peppered your forehead in kisses. You couldn’t help but grin as you accepted George’s love, he entwined his fingers with yours as you caught your breath.

Dawn was threatening to break by the time you had settled, you could barely keep your eyes open and a few times George had woken himself up by snoring. “I can’t believe you’re really here with me.” George said sleepily, you burrowed your head into his chest. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” George hummed in approval and turned over, his back to you. Slightly shocked, you stayed still. “Come on, let me be the little spoon for once in our relationship.” George said into the pillow. You laughed at that and pressed your body against his back and tossed your arm over his stomach, pulling him close. “Diagon Alley, hm? Does that mean the shop’s almost ready?” You asked on the edge of sleep. “It certainly does, I’ll take you to see it soon. There’s a lovely big flat upstairs we could live in, if you like?” “Definitely,” You yawned. “When do you want to go?” “Not for a few days, (Y/N). You need to rest, and to be quite honest, I don’t have any intentions of leaving this bed for a few days. I’m only having a power nap now so I can fuck you again.” “I see, I best get my head down too, then.” “It would be wise.” You relaxed against George and allowed your mind to drift to nothingness, until you heard the small voice of the person next to you. “Mum’s making you a birthday breakfast because we missed you on your real birthday, okay?” “Sounds wonderful.” “Goodnight (Y/N), I love you.” “I love you too, Georgie. Goodnight.”

You fell asleep to the Dawn Chorus, baby sparrows chirped nearby. You smiled.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x slytherin!reader #fred weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #draco malfoy #pansy parkinson #reader insert #slytherin reader #harry potter #harry potter reader insert #severus snape #professor snape #requests #nobody can know

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imaginethatneathuh · 4 years ago

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The Empress: Telephone Boy - American Gods

Telephone Boy x child!reader, father-child

Telephone Boy wants to be with his kid.

Part of @dragon430’s Tarot Troop.

TW/CW: God death, crying, sadness.

Word count: 1.8+ K

•

Normal children are scared of the dark. The hidden monsters and impossible ghosts hid within them.

For you, you feared the dark for another reason entirely. You see where there is darkness, there is usually no electricity and where this is no electricity your father cannot see. For that reason, you never trusted the darkness without previously knowing there was light there like in your room. In your room, you knew you were safe. Though your father could not see properly there, he had told you neither could the men who would hurt you. Your room and your house was safe.

The soft, warm glow of a gas lamp flooded part of your room leaving the rest in darkness as someone opened the door. That someone cringed as the old door creaked. He feared that you would wake.

Enveloped by soft blankets, you clutched a stuffed animal along with something else and lay fast asleep. You had sworn to yourself that you’d stay awake the whole night to see your father, but you hadn’t been able to keep that. Just like your mother, you were a heavy sleeper. Your father could hold a concrete in your room and the only thing that would be able to wake you up is him.

Telephone Boy closed the door almost all the way before turning to watch your sleeping form.

He smiled at you, pain in his eyes. The young god wished he could have tucked you in with your mother by his side, or maybe have read you a story before M/N pestered him to let you rest, or maybe, just maybe, you and he could just sit in your room and talk for a while. He wished all he could on making something like that happen. Telephone Boy wanted to be your father rather than just a man who was around every once in a while.

He sat on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath him.

A soft black suit jacket lay pressed against your chest. You gripped it hard, nuzzling into it in your sleep. Even as you slept, you yearned for your father in every way a child does.

Telephone Boy smiled softly. Though a sweet moment, he wished you didn’t have to cling to his clothes to feel his presence. There was nothing more in the world that he wanted than to be with his family, but he knew it was not possible. As long as he was a god, you and your mother would always be at risk, whether from the planned impulsivity of World or of angry Old Gods who thought they could do damage to him. His heart yearned for you as much as yours yearned for him.

You squeezed the suit jacket tight and curled into yourself. Even as you dreamt, you dreamt of your father holding you.

Telephone Boy gently leant over and kissed your temple, gently rubbing your head. As he pulled away, he silently stared at you with a small smile, his little baby who had stolen his heart right from his chest the moment they were born.

You whined a little and shuffled, your grip on the jacket loosening. A better form of him was right there on your bed and you were beginning to feel it.

His smile grew and he rubbed one of your small cheeks with his thumb.

You whined again as you woke up and drowsily rubbed your eyes. “Daddy?” You asked, voice dried from sleep.

A quiet sigh left him as he looked at you with reverence in his eyes. “Hi,” he said softly.

A goofy, sleepy smile spread across your face at your father’s gentle words. Though not fully there, you reached clumsily for his hand. He let you take it into your small, soft hands and pull it to your chest. Knowing you were very much safe, you fell back to sleep.

“Goodnight, my sweet angel,” he whispered before kissing your forehead.

More light poured into your room, banishing the darkness to the farthest corners.

Your mother stood there with a look that screamed she was holding back tears.

Telephone Boy’s heart sank. He prayed he’d have more time with you. His time spent with your mother must have taken up much of it, he supposed. The god turnt back to you and kissed your temple. ‘I love you. Forever and always,” he whispered. Tears pricked at his soft, blue eyes as he stood.

He loathed this moment that happened every time he managed to get away from his duties to see you. It broke him each and every time without fail. As a New God, he could never be certain he would see either of his beloved again. He may have been a god, but he still had a heart. That heart was you. You were good and goofy. His adorable angel on Earth.

He left you, a hurt deeply nestled in his heart.

•

Warmth from your father’s reassuring touch and the light from the hallway drifted away.

Though Telephone Boy surely thought you’d gone back into a deep slumber, you had not. Instead, you had teetered on the edge of sleep and consciousness. His absence pushed you to wake up.

"Daddy?" You asked the darkness but it gave no response. "Mummy?" You tried.

A pit grew in your stomach, panic taking hold of you.

He had been right there holding your hand not but a minute ago or so your sleep-ridden mind said. Your mum would have been close by to wish you another good night. Why weren’t they there with you? Had a bad thing happened? Like the ones they warned you about.

Fear consuming you, you flung your blankets off you, forgetting the jacket, your stuffed animal, and even shoes as you ran out of your bedroom, and the front door.

•

Arms wrapped around the mother of his child, Technical Boy had his forehead pressed against hers in a quiet silence. Neither of them wanted to break it, not wanting the moment to end.

They stood near the end of the driveway, just enjoying each other like it could be the last time.

“I wish you could stay longer, my love,” she whispered. "Y/N misses you more and more everyday." She sniffled. “I do, too.”

Telephone Boy kissed her gently on the lips before nuzzling their noses together. “I miss you both, too, but you know the risks. World would throw a hissy fit and do who knows what to you. I’m already pushing his patience as is. I can’t risk you both. I won’t. I refuse to lose either of you.”

She let out a quiet sob as her nails dug into his suit jacket. As more tears fell down her face, she pulled her beloved into a hug, desperately trying to imprint him upon her.

Telephone Boy quickly reciprocated. He wanted to leave as much as she wanted him to.

Every time he left, she knew she may never see him again. That terrified her.

•

"Daddy," you called out, bursting through the front door.

Pulling apart, both your father and mother turnt to see your panicked face.

Telephone Boy knelt down and opened his arms as you ran down the driveway and jumped into him. He pulled you close and kissed your temple.

Something deep inside you knew something was wrong and that a bad thing was going to happen. You didn’t know how to describe the feeling or where it was, but you just knew in your heart of hearts something was wrong, that a dreadful thing was going to happen.

Your father held the back of your head and pressed your face into his shoulder. The two of you desperately hugged as you cried.

“Shhhh,” he said quietly. “Everything’s okay.” He pulled away and tried to put on a smile, but you saw right through it. “You should be in bed, angel.” Your father held your hands in his, giving you a sad smile.

“Don’t leave us again,” you begged. “Please, please don’t do this.”

"Angel--"

"You can’t do this. You can’t go." You hugged him again, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your head in his chest. "Please, please, don't go. Don't leave us alone again." He hugged back, kissing the top of your head as sobs wracked your body. You didn’t want him to go, for yourself and for you mum. "She won't admit it,” you said, trying to calm down. “But Mummy's scared, too, Daddy. She cries herself to sleep if she sleeps at all. Please, don't go. We need you."

Self-hatred burnt bright in him at that moment. For everything he did to keep you both safe, he was causing such strife in you both and he hated himself for it. The only thing he’d wanted since he had met your mother, fallen for her, and had you was to keep you both safe and happy. While he was trying to do the first one, he failed on the second.

He squeezed your small frame tighter, never wanting to let you go.

It pained him, but he broke away from you, eyes shining with tears unfallen. "I love you, angel. I want you to remember that. I want you to know that everything I did was for you, to protect you and your mother."

Though unnecessary words for those who can’t see the future, Telephone Boy felt like he had to say them, like he had to tell them that.

Tears streaked down, dripping off your chin and jaw like raindrops.

"Don't cry, my little angel.” He smiled, trying to reassure you. “I'll be back before you know it." He wiped away the tears, smiling sadly at you. The god of the telephone backed away, toward the car.

"Daddy, please," you begged, still crying.

When you tried to go after him, your mother, trying to hold back tears of her own, pulled you back and held you close.

If she’d known what was going to happen, she would have let you run to him. Hell, she’d have done it herself. But she didn’t know and that was the worst part of it, the not knowing. It leaves a hole in people that eats people alive.

A part of you knew, as he drove away, that you'd never see him again. Some dreadful, paranoid part that screamed at you that night. It was a part you wished you could have properly articulated back then, maybe he would have still been there.

You never did see him again. That night, the night you mourned for him before you knew you were, was the last time you ever saw your father.

After your mother explained what he was you went in search of more like him. You found the other tech gods; Television Boy, Game Boy, Technical Boy, etc. Sadly, you also stumbled across Media (and eventually New Media) as well as the bastard himself Mr World.

You never spoke a word of who you truly were. A version of the truth was all they needed.

And all you needed was to be close to your father again, even if it wasn’t really him.

#american gods #american gods fanfiction #tarot troop #technical boy #technical boy x reader #telephone boy

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damienthepious · 3 years ago

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hello tuesday i’m predictable and perpetually obsessed with these nerds and their soft lizrrd kissin <3

kiss it better

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Mild Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling

Summary: Sir Damien wears a tapestry of scars, new and old.

Notes: just another weird exploration of their relationship told mostly through soft touching. i'm predictable, what can i say? also i didn't have time to edit as thoroughly as i'd like, so forgive any obvious typos or grammar weirdness.

There is a certain sense that Amaryllis and Sir Damien make together: the doctor alongside the knight who cannot seem to stop himself from falling headfirst into injury. They fit together in this way as they do in many, many others.

(Arum, monstrous lord of a monstrous land, is still trying to work out precisely how he fits, within their already perfect embrace)

Arum pretends not to linger, pretends not to watch as Amaryllis disinfects Damien's most recent injury, a set of friction burns on his hands from an ill-advised tug-of-war with an unfortunately stubborn ogre, and a related bruise (contusion, Amaryllis says) on his ribs. She is careful, focused, apparently oblivious to the way that Damien watches her work, moon-eyed and nearly too loving to bear. Arum does not quite understand how she may ignore such attention; he is certain that if Damien aimed such a gaze at him, he might, perhaps, bolt from the room lest he respond to such intensity in foolishness.

Damien winces as Amaryllis puts away the disinfectant and instead begins working one of her healing salves into his battered palms, and Arum-

Doesn't mean to make a small noise of sympathy, but Damien glances up, then, blinking and seeming to remember Arum's presence, observing them. The knight's cheeks darken, but- he does not look away, after he meets Arum's eyes.

"I'm alright," he says quietly, after a moment, and Arum ducks his head with a skeptical growl.

"It should heal up fine," Amaryllis adds, her voice practical and a little distant with her focus. "It's just bound to hurt because there's a concentration of nerves in the hands."

"It is nothing that I cannot bear," Damien says, more gently, and then he quirks his lips into a small sort of smile in Arum's direction, tilting his head, something odd and yearning in his eyes. Arum flicks his tail, resisting the urge to look away or step closer or whine softly in sympathy, or something else equally embarrassing, and after another moment Damien's chin lifts a little higher. "Why... why do you stand so far apart, my lily?"

Arum opens his mouth, hesitates, and then allows himself to take an uncertain step forward. "I shouldn't like to get in the way," he says, shrugging. "Far be it from me to interfere with the doctor's skillful work."

"Honestly I'd be grateful if you'd come cuddle him so he can stop staring at me for a second or two. Not that I don't appreciate the attention, Damien," she adds, conciliatory as Damien pouts, "but when you look at me like that I mostly just wanna stick my tongue in your mouth and I can't exactly do that until you're all bandaged up, can I?"

Arum laughs as Damien flushes even darker, ducking his head with a pleased little breath, and then the poet raises his eyes again, and Arum wonders if Damien knows how compelling and inarguable he looks, pleading up at Arum through his lashes like that. Absurd creature.

Well. If Amaryllis would like him to come closer, would like for him to embrace Damien as she works...

He seats himself behind the poet, out of the way of Amaryllis as she winds her bandages slowly over Damien's palms, and after a moment he sighs, dropping his chin to rest on Damien's shoulder, pressing his snout into the crook of Damien's neck.

"Better, honeysuckle?"

Damien hums, tipping his head to rest against Arum's and pressing a sideways kiss to his brow. "Hmm, yes, it certainly seems so."

Arum pauses, then growls a light warning, his frill fluttering out on one side and trapped against Damien's neck on the other. "You are the injured one, honeysuckle," he mutters. "Again. Don't-"

"I know, love." Damien presses another kiss to his cheek, then one beside his eye, and then over his forehead again. "Only teasing. You know I don't mean to make you worry."

Arum growls again, a little lower, a little more weakly, and he finally relents, reaching to caress Damien's arms, obviously not hugging him close as he wishes to, considering that Amaryllis has shifted focus to the bruise on the poet's ribs, now.

"Not much to do for this one," she says, narrowing her eyes and pressing the tips of her fingers to the skin on either side of the purpling mark. "I'll make a cold pack for it, bring down the swelling, but the best way to treat that one is for you to take it easy, and I know getting you to do that is gonna be more of a battle than the actual battle, so."

Damien gasps, a wordless indignant denial. Arum chuckles against his skin, and watches over his shoulder as Amaryllis replaces her supplies in her bag.

"Whatever would he do without you, Amaryllis?" he whispers, his intended teasing tone failing entirely when his voice wavers.

Amaryllis twists her lips into a wry sort of smirk, and then she reaches to grip Damien's wrist above the bandaging. "I shudder to think," she says, and Damien pouts again with his eyes gone even more pleading, turning in Arum's arms to face him, using Amaryllis' grip on his arm to tug her closer as well.

"Come now, loves, I am not so terribly fragile as all that-"

"Not fragile," Arum agrees, readjusting his grip as Damien twists in his arms. He swallows, and then helplessly drops his forehead, pressing his face against Damien's bare shoulder with a sigh. "A fact which you seem determined to prove by constantly testing yourself against foes that should break you."

Damien makes a noise so small that Arum feels it more than hears it, and then the poet leans even closer and lifts one arm, curling almost protectively around Arum. As if Arum is the one in need of protection, ridiculous little knight-

Arum tilts his head, then flicks his tongue to tickle at a long scar high on Damien's bicep. He presses an almost-kiss to the shadow of an old claw mark on his shoulder, then nuzzles gently against a splash of a burn over his collarbone, and then he turns to another mark, and another-

It is a part of Damien's beauty, in a strange, vaguely terrifying way. The subtle mapping of scars, layers of new marks over older remnants, pale lines like constellations and inkwell spills of old burns, raised bumps of lingering punctures, bites, and, most vivid of all to Arum's eyes, one long, shallow, deliberate silvery slash on Damien's arm, the mirror of his own.

An archive of injury, a tableau of every attempt this world has made on Sir Damien's life.

(As Damien sleeps through some measure of his exhaustion after the Terminus, Amaryllis traces these lines and pools and patterns of silver in the dimness of their newly shared bed, whispering memories old and new over Damien's gently resting body, quietly murmuring needed to poke himself awake so the gorgon wouldn't kill him, took days and I was furious when he finally came home, and a leopard, nonmagical even, just sick and starving and desperate, and an accident from a sparring practice in his training days, and terrible reaction to a Viper-Rose bite, it took weeks for the rash to respond to treatment, and Lord Arum does not sleep a single moment, that night, for the thought of all the ways he could have lost Sir Damien long before they ever had the opportunity to meet.)

Thank every single speck of magic in the Universe that Damien had Amaryllis, that they had each other. Thank Damien's Saints too, if there is even a chance they had a hand in any of it.

Arum draws his tongue soothingly over a long-healed slash on Damien's chest, then presses his snout against a raised ridge of scar tissue on his other shoulder, then lifts his face to flick his tongue against a thin, subtle line on his chin, and the poet makes a soft noise, a sighing noise.

Amaryllis cups his chin, tilting his face towards her and pulling him into a warm, lingering kiss.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you're trying to outshine my bedside manner," she breathes against his mouth, and Arum gives a helpless gust of laughter. "You are so- Saints-"

"Amaryllis-"

Damien coughs politely, one arm still wrapped around Arum's shoulder, and then he smiles very shyly when they both glance towards him again. "The both of you, my loves, my flowers, you make me feel... you make me feel as treasured as a relic, as beloved as- as-"

"As beloved as you are, I should hope," Arum murmurs, looking away reflexively, but Amaryllis tugs his face closer again for another kiss, humming her agreement against his lips. Arum sighs as she releases him, his nerves settling, and then he turns in Damien's arms, kissing him just as soft.

Damien is not fragile, not truly. He is resilient, headstrong, brave in spite of his fear. Damien is not fragile, but-

He has endured more than his fair share of harm. Arum cannot soothe that harm as Amaryllis can, cannot help him heal, but that does not mean that Arum can do nothing. He can still hold him safe, he can still smooth his fingers over those ridges and lines and marks, can still kiss him across every beautiful inch of his body. He may love Damien's scars, for all that they prove that Damien has survived.

Damien is not fragile, but Arum and Amaryllis may still treat their brave, headstrong, resilient knight gently, may treat him delicately.

As delicately, perhaps, as honeysuckle.

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #hwaaaaaaaaaaaa

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jisung-mp3 · 4 years ago

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𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

✎ pairing: hirai momo x reader

✎ warnings: none

✎ description: just some plain old fluff jghjghjx

✎ vibe check! [checking....loading....loading....loading results.....] [vibe check passed! :) ]

you opened the door to your apartment and stepped inside, letting your bag slide off your shoulders immediately. it landed on the floor with a light thunk, however it didn’t catch the attention of the other person in the room.

you peeked inside and saw momo staring intently at the screen, the only source of light in the apartment coming from the tv in front of her. she was leaning forward on the couch, she seemed so focused that you didn’t want to ever disturb her.

you quickly took off your coat and hung it on the clothing hanger in the corner, and slipped out of your shoes. you started heading towards the living room, towards the person your heart had been yearning for the past hours. it was the end of a long day, and you wanted nothing more than to slip into momo’s embrace and just stay there forever.

“momo”, her name slipped gently out of your lips, immediately yanking her out of her focused state. Her eyes landed on you, and her focused gaze turned into a loving one, her face breaking into a big smile that made your heart jump in ways you never managed to get used to.

“babe, you’re home!” she opened up her arms widely for you, welcoming you into her embrace, the very same embrace you dreamed of being in whilst you were walking home.

you slipped next to her, locking your arms around her waist, your head finding its home in the crook of her neck. you breathed in her scent and closed your eyes, hugging her tighter. her arms went around your shoulders, bringing you closer to her, if that was even possible. she softly leaned her head on top of yours, and even though her gaze returned to the tv, she was still focused on you.

“how was your day?”, she asked softly, running her hands through your hair, and making the patterns she knew you adored, and a content sigh left your lips.

to be honest, you had a horrible day. you left your home in the morning completely happy, still drowsy from the morning cuddles with momo, but you were happy nonetheless, but then everything went downhill. you had forgotten your umbrella, so you were soaked to the bone when you arrived at school. you had forgotten your card, so you couldn’t take the bus. you had brought the wrong schoolbag with you, you were supposed to bring your tuesday bag filled with only your course books for tuesday and your hand written assignments, but you had accidentally brought the wednesday bag. and on top that, you had an exam that day, which normally wouldn’t be a problem since you had studied. But you didn’t bring your allowed cheat sheet paper with you with all the formulas that were needed if you wanted to answer the questions. and just like that, you had failed your exam miserably.

you wanted to confess everything to momo, but you didn’t want to burden her, since she had a long day too. “my day was good. it was okay, yeah I guess it was okay. how was your day? you had a lot of practice right?”

momo reached for the remote controller and turned the volume down, and then she looked at you. placing two fingers under your chin, she lifted your head up so you would meet her eyes. you continued looking at her, at her eyes, her lips, her nose, her cute eyelashes and her red cheeks, probably red from the heat. you felt yourself heat up, in awe of how much she affected you even after getting so used to her. then again, could you ever get used to momo? no matter how often or little you saw her, or if you had a petty fight with her or if you had stayed in bed all day with her, you still felt nothing but pure adoration and love for her. sometimes your love threatened to pour out of you, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to stop once it did.

lost in thought, you didn’t notice momo leaning down towards you until her lips had softly met yours. she placed a quick peck on your upper lip and then leaned back to her original position, but you didn’t let her. you gently tugged her towards you again, asking her for another kiss, but this time a little longer. momo complied, and you felt her smiling against you once she had connected your lips with hers again.

after a few moments you pulled away, “getting soft, are we?” you teased, and earned a small giggle from her.

“you have no idea how much i missed you. it was really dreadful to get out of bed after you had abandoned me.”

“i didn’t abandon you!” you softly nudged her to the side, “god, i wish i had stayed in bed all day with you.”

“you forgot both your card and your bag today, and i saw how much it rained, so i can also assume that you forgot to take an umbrella with you.” her tone was soft but with a hint of worry.

you were taken back by how much she had noticed, “wait, how did you know that i forgot all that?”

“i mean your card is literally laying on the kitchen table, it’s kind of hard to not notice. and once i noticed that you forgot your pastel bag it was too late for me to tell you, i’m sorry that i didn’t tell you sooner.”

your eyes widened in surprise, “you shouldn’t be sorry! you literally have nothing to be sorry for, it was me who forgot to bring the correct one with me.” you softly kissed her jaw, desperately wanting to show her that she had done nothing wrong. “it was unfortunate though, i forgot my formula sheet and i totally failed the exam.” at hearing your change of tone she looked down at you, shocked to see that your eyes had become glossy from tears.

“wait you’re crying? no don’t- don’t cry, why are you crying?” she was flustered, she wasnät completely used to seeing you cry.

you sniffled quickly, trying to not spill too much, “i don’t know, i just studied a lot for this and in the end i didn’t even succeed. and the worst thing is that this wasn’t even an exam, it was more like a test, yet i hate the fact that i failed. i really don’t like this feelings.”

momo placed soft kisses on your cheeks, and at that moment, some tears managed to slip and fall, but momo was there to catch every single one of them.

“it’s completely fine to feel like that. i don’t think it’s even going to go into the grade, and even if it does, it won’t drag your grade down at all. you’ve been absolutely perfect with all your exams and assignments, and you’ve spent so much time studying. please do’t let thing bring you down.” she continued kissing your cheeks until they were flaming red, then she moved down to peck your neck, making you jolt in surprise.

she kissed you in all the places she knew you were sensitive, and you couldn’t help but start laughing. you were gently pushing her away, she was tickling you and you felt yourself squirm under her. if it had been someone else, you would have already pushed them away, but this time, you were laughing so hard that you could barely form a sentence.

a while later, you had both calmed down. momo had put her hands on both sides of your face, making you unable to avoid her gaze. when she spoke, she spoke with such softness that you were afraid that even your breathing would break her voice.

“one bad day cannot define you. it’s fine to feel down, but in my eyes, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

you sighed, leaning your head against her chest, “then cuddle me forever.”

she let out a laugh, making your heart speed up yet again. she leaned back against the couch, pulling you with her. suddenly you were squished between her legs and your head on her chest, in the perfect position to hear her heartbeat clearly.

momo kissed the top of your head, before turning her gaze to the tv once again. she began playing softly with your hair, telling you softly about her day and the food she ate.

her gentle voice and her quiet heartbeats were suddenly like a lullaby to you, singing you softly to sleep. just like that, with your hands intertwined with hers, you fell asleep in the comfort of her embrace

#momo #twice momo #momo imagines #twice imagines #kpop imagines #girlgroups #kpop #hdbdbxxhh this was literally my first ever imagine but it got stuck in my drafts #anyways i love momo!!! stream more n more !!!

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

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Highland Destiny Chapter 10 ~Spring Has Sprung~

"Ah, Jamie come in, come in...take a seat." Ned Gowan motioned with a wave of his hands as Jamie was ushered into his office by his secretary. "I'm so glad ye can come. I will try and make this as quick as possible."

Ned Gowan, Fraser's family lawyer, had called early Monday morning after the weekend of the ball, urging James Fraser to see him as soon as possible.

"Ned, ye said it's an emergency?" Jamie shook the elderly man's hand before sitting down.

Ned Gowan took some papers from his desk drawer and stacked them neatly in a row in front of him. "Aye, it concerns Château Cheval Blanc. I personally think ye should put off the sales of yer shares...weel at least for now until I can establish the validity of my theory. I have reason to believe that our mystery shareholder may soon surface. But before I proceed, I do have a question...do ye know or have ye heard of the name Jonathan Edward Randall? Or if by any chance your uncle mentioned the name in the past."

"Jonathan...Jonathan," Jamie's brow furrowed in concentration as he uttered the name. "Aye, uncle mentioned that name a few times when I worked in his winery as a young lad. An old foe he once said...set on destroying him...I believe that's what uncle said. I understand that this person has been deceased for some time."

Ned's eyes lit up and quickly leafed through one of the stacks of papers. "Hmmm, interesting ye should say that. Firstly, we have a couple of the late Jonathan Edward Randall's lawyers enquiring about yer shares, and I find that quite suspicious considering Randall is long dead. Secondly, not too long ago, we dug up some old business records from Frédéric de Marillac. And as it turned out, Jonathan Edward Randall was once his business associate and long-standing friend. They go a long way back when they were students in Oxford. From your statement, there is a high probability that Frédéric de Marillac had been buying the shares for Jonathan Edward Randall. We have found a copy of one particular shareholder agreement. This contract was especially drawn-up for de Marillac, meaning this did not apply to all shareholders. There are two paragraphs I find highly interesting in de Marillac's contract. First one is, it states here, he may assign a successor to his shares without the approval of the other shareholders and the second one states here that upon the death of the shareholder, the deceased shareholder stocks are to be bequeathed to the next of kin. Yer uncle must have been quite desperate to sign such a contract. Now, Jonathan Edward Randall's next of kin was Franklin Wolverton Randall or also known as Frank Randall."

His thoughts were on Claire and were only half-listening to Ned Gowan when Jamie suddenly sat straight up. "Frank Randall?"

Ned ignored the interruption and carried on. "Now Frank Randall died five years ago and left behind a widow. At the moment we cannot find any documents of the widow's name. It's as if her identity has been erased overnight. This should have been a public record, but we cannot find Frank Randall's marriage certificate. But we did find phone records of de Marillac contacting Frank Randall's former residence. But there are no records of that contact reciprocated. And last but not least, we were able to acquire a bank transfer statement with a substantial amount of money sent to de Marillac. And this money came from Jonathan Edward Randall. To summarise the hypothesis, the money transferred, we believe was used to buy the shares. And because of the agreement signed between your uncle and de Marillac, we have reason to believe that Frank Randall's widow is our elusive shareholder by default. She is Frank Randall's next of kin."

Dhia Claire! Jamie was dumbfounded. "What is the probability that yer theory is correct? I thought the secret shareholder hold only 15% of the share."

Ned Gowan leaned back on his chair and smiled, looking satisfied with himself. "We found in some old records that the 15% share was under Frank Randall's name, making the probability of my theory very high, but I have a few people investigating and will confirm in the next few days. The good news is if the widow does surface, and we can prove that de Marillac's shares are legally hers, ye can make an attempt to buy it from her. With yer charm and popularity with the ladies, I don't think that should be too difficult for ye. So Jamie lad, what do you propose we do next once we have established the name of our secret shareholder?"

"Sell my shares to the secret shareholder at a fraction of the price, " Jamie answered, his face expressionless.

"What!?!"

..........

Claire got out of her car. She had been expecting the garden to be unkempt and over-grown, but instead, found a well-kept yard with arrays of wildflowers, herbs and spring flowers in full bloom. It had been three weeks since she was last at the cottage and it was on the night before she left for the St. Agnes Charity Ball. Claire had been staying at Joe's, and he was kind enough to let her stay in his apartment, considering he lived half the time at Gail's townhouse. He had insisted Claire stayed for as long as she needed knowing she wasn't in the right place to be alone in the cottage.

Ever since the night she walked away from Jamie, he had been continually trying to reach her via phone, messages, emails and sometimes through her friends. It took a lot of willpower not to succumb to his pleas, but Claire knew she needed the time and space for herself to heal and to sort out her feelings. She had been astounded at the force of her anger and intensity of her pain during that disastrous night. She knew she never wanted to feel that way again.

Geillis had been a blessing throughout the past few weeks. She had taken upon herself to take care of Claire's needs: retrieving a few of her clothes from the cottage and her car, admonishing Jamie for his stupidity and acting as their mediator. Geillis had found out the whole truth after hollering and shouting all sorts of abuse at Jamie when she came to the cottage. He had been silent, contrite and close to tears which was very much a far cry from the self-assured and cocky Jamie she knew from all the years she had known him. And of course, there was that headline news from the Daily Mail, much to the horror of Claire, plastered on the front page, DISTILLERY KING DITCHES FIANCEE FOR LADY IN RED. There were two photos under the headline. One was of a scowling Jamie dragging Annalise and another of Claire and Jamie kissing. Bloody tacky journalistic piece of shit! She had thought then.

"Claire, what do ye want to do? Ye cannae hide here forever. Do ye love him?" Geillis had asked one evening over takeaway dinner.

"Oh, I do Geillis. I wouldn't be in this mess if I didn't. But I'm scared... too scared..."

"Och come here." Geillis had gathered Claire to her arms. "Listen, hen, it's reasonable to be scared, but runnin' away wilnae help. I've known Jamie since he was a wee laddie. Ah ken he'd done a lot of stupid things in th' past, but he'd done a lot of good too, like puttin' a lot of money in St. Agnes' restoration an' other stuff like that. He's got a big heart, an' th' media hae portrayed him a playboy. Sure he had other women in th' past, but ah have ne'er seen him in such a state before. He's in love wi' ye, Claire, an' it breaks mah heart that both of ye are sufferin' like this."

Claire had given Geillis' words a lot of thought, and she knew she had to confront Jamie sooner or later. So it was on one untypical warm spring day, on the way to the garden centre when she decided to stop by the cottage. It was on the spur of the moment decision as if some force of nature was guiding her. She was dressed in jean shorts, a white sweatshirt with a Union Jack print and white sneakers. She had been planning on taking a walk in the open fields after plant shopping.

The cottage was tranquil when she arrived, and she didn't see Jamie's vehicle or noticed any presence. She had quickly gotten out of the car before she could change her mind but not before taking an A4 size envelope she meant to give to Jamie from the compartment. She knew Jamie had stayed in the cottage all that while and he had told Geillis he will only leave if Claire wished it. Secretly, Claire was glad he stayed.

Walking through the front garden, she was amazed at how beautiful it had turned out to be. It had been her plan ever since she arrived to plant some medicinal herbs and wildflowers and put a trellis on the cottage exterior wall for some climbing plants. It seemed someone had already done the job for her.

Inside the cottage, everything was spic and span, and in every room, there was a vase with a bouquet of wildflowers in assorted colours. She was just placing the envelope on the coffee table in the living room when she felt a presence from the doorway. She turned around and saw a very stunned Jamie standing there. Claire didn't even hear him come in.

"Sassenach..." His voice was almost a whisper. Jamie's hair was a tad bit longer and curlier from his usual wavy locks, and he had several days old beard, making him look like some medieval Norse warrior. He was wearing a black shirt, and grey sweat pants and his skin was very bronzed, probably from working in the garden or running.

"Hi, Jamie," Claire stammered, "I'm sorry for coming unannounced...I was just driving by..., and I thought I'd stop and...I didn't see your car, and I thought ..."

Jamie took a few steps forward as if to reach out but stopped himself midway. "Claire, what are ye talking about? This is yer home," he said softly. He then ran his hand through his hair, quite unsure what to do next, he took a deep breath and muttered, "Christ Sassenach I've missed ye so much. Would ye mind verra much if I kiss and hug ye?" His eyes were full of yearning, but he was very cautious.

Looking at his beautiful deep blue eyes, all doubts seemed to dissipate. "No, I don't mind Jamie but..." Before she could finish her sentence, Jamie had Claire in his arms, kissing her with so much tenderness. The kiss was not one of seduction, nor of demand. It was a kiss full of longing and outpouring of love. Claire gave in and put her arms around his neck as a single tear ran down her cheek. He smelled of sweat, fresh air and tasted of mint, and she loved the feel of his stubble against her skin.

"Oh Christ Claire, I'm so verra sorry for everything," Jamie murmured in between air. "I don't ever want to lose ye again. So so sorry..." He rained kisses all around her face before kissing her deeply once again.

As his hands wandered up from under her sweatshirt, Claire stopped him. "Jamie, please..." She gently placed her hands on his chest and looked up at him. Like his, her breathing had become shallow. Although she didn't want the kiss to end, there were still a lot of unanswered questions.

Confused, Jamie searched her face. "Don't ye want me anymore, Sassenach?"

"Jamie, that's not it. We need to talk. We can't just start from where we left off as if nothing happened..."

Still dazed from the kiss, Jamie managed to regain control, "Aye, that's true...come we'll take a seat." Without letting go of her hands, he led her to the sofa. He turned to face her and sighed. "Look Sassenach, everything I've ever told ye was true, but I admit I omitted some parts of the whole story...and as for Annalise, I never told ye about her because the last time I was with her, it was almost 9 months ago. I'm not proud tellin ye this, but our relationship was never one ye can really call a relationship. Geillis must have told ye the whole story surely. And also, I was going to tell ye on the night of the ball about Frisealach, but Annalise happened. I suppose ye know already I own the distillery."

"But why didn't you tell me you owned the distillery? I asked a few times about your job, and you always came up with some feeble answer, such as working in the administration. I suppose that's part of your work, so I guess there's some truth to it. And I don't even know where you live...you only spoke of your family home, but that's a couple hours away from here. I don't suppose you travelled every day from Lallybroch to Inverness."

"I don't know Sassenach why I never told ye the things I should have. There are a lot of things I should have done and not done, but ever since I laid eyes on ye, I haven't been thinking clearly. I haven't been myself. After we made love for the first time, I couldna bear to leave yer side, and before I knew what was happening, I just slotted into yer life. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to be with ye. Before meeting ye, I lived in a luxury apartment in the town centre. Aye it's posh, and it has everything, but it has no soul. I never felt at home in it. With ye here, it's the first time I've ever felt at home outside Lallybroch."

Claire gave him a mock warning look. "Jamie, are you trying to charm your way out of this?"

Jamie smiled and took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. In a serious tone, he answered, "No. I promise you it's the truth. It's like I'm under yer spell and, to be honest, I'm only too happy to remain there."

"How about those string of women in the papers, internet and magazine? I saw photos of you with different women each time..."

"Christ Sassenach, do ye really think I slept with all of them? If I did, I wouldna had time to run my companies. It's a marketing ploy to be seen with the right people and to introduce my whisky in Europe and truth be told, I hated every moment of it. I dinna care for a celebrated lifestyle. Everything about it was very superficial, and ye have to be mindful all the time of what ye say in public. That's no easy thing for me - I grew up in a family that says their mind a lot. No Sassenach, it wasn't for me."

"So, what do you want of me? From us?"

Jamie got off the sofa to kneel in front of Claire. Then taking her hands in both of his, he looked into her eyes. "Claire, I want to be with ye. I have never wanted anyone as much as I wanted ye and I promise there'll only be truth between us." His voice cracked, and his eyes turned to a darker hue. "Ye see Sassenach, whenever I look at ye, my heart starts to pound, when for years, I dinna think it beat at all. I dinna ken what was missing in my life until ye came and filled in the holes and took away the emptiness. And when you're not by my side, the loss is unimaginable. The night I carried ye out from St. Agnes and looked down upon yer face, I knew I was ruined for life. Totally, utterly ruined. I can't be good for anybody now, except for ye. What I'm trying my hardest to say is, I love ye, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. And I am scairt because ye have my heart now in yer hands."

"Jamie.."

"Sssh." He placed a finger on her lips. "Sassenach, may I kiss ye?" Jamie didn't want to hear what Claire had to say in fear she may not feel the same way. Without waiting for her to reply, he pulled her tight against him and kissed her softly, one hand behind her neck as his thumb caressed a sensitive part just under her earlobe. She tasted of warm honey, and her skin as soft as the petals from the flowers. "Claire, will ye stay with me tonight?" he asked hoarsely.

The spell broke when Claire was reminded of her plans for that night. "Oh Jamie, I can't tonight...I've already made arrangements..." Although rattled by his confession, she wanted to stay, but this time she didn't want to rush things between them. One baby step at a time!

Jamie tried to hide his disappointment, and gave her a smile instead, not wanting to rock the boat. "Are ye going out with Geillis?" he asked.

"No, I'm meeting up with Tom tonight." Claire felt him stiffen and gave him an apologetic look, knowing that both men had some sort of disagreement.

"Oh! Are ye seeing him...I mean is it a date?" Jaime was no longer smiling, but he kept his hold on her.

Claire reached out to touch his face and sighed. "No Jaime, it's not like that. It's just for a couple of drinks. I promised him a few days ago that I will see him. And then I have some things I need to do for Joe...medical kinds of stuff."

Feeling slightly heartened, Jamie asked in a hopeful voice, "Errm, Sassenach, can I see ye tomorrow?" His finger was tucking a lock behind her ear.

"How about lunch before I go to work tomorrow...that's if you're not too busy being a boss?" Claire asked, good-humouredly. "I start work late...we have a few shift changes this week."

Thinking that lunch would be a longer wait, he suggested an alternative. "How about breakfast? I will bring it up to ye, so ye didna need to dress." Jamie attempted a wink before giving her a suggestive smile.

Claire laughed. "Alright breakfast then but not too early...I was planning on sleeping in. I'm staying at Joe's apartment. You remember where he lives?"

"Aye." He nodded.

"Oh by the way, before I leave, this is for you." Claire took the brown envelope from the coffee table she had earlier and placed it in Jamie's hand.

"Sassenach," he said, giving her a suspicious look. "This is not a goodbye letter, is it?" He frowned as he weighed it in his hands.

"No Jaime." She gave him a lingering kiss, telling Jamie with her own lips how much she loved him too.

.........

It was probably not a great idea to meet Tom at the Scotch & Rye Pub. It was Saturday, it was loud, it was teeming with employees from Frisealach and Laoghaire MacKenzie was there. Most likely, Jamie could walk in any minute soon. They found an empty high table near the entrance and quickly took it.

"Claire, what would you like to drink?" Tom's soft voice broke into her contemplation.

Distracted, she replied, "Oh, a glass of dry white, please." She had been thinking of what Jamie said earlier in the afternoon.

Claire watched as Tom made his way to the bar. She saw Laoghaire approached him at the counter, smiling sweetly at him as she placed well-manicured painted fingers on his arm. She saw her opened her bag as she continued to chat with him and took a few pound notes from her purse to give to the bartender.

Claire smiled as Tom came back with their drinks, but her smile quickly faded away as she saw Laoghaire was right behind Tom. "Claire, the drinks are from Laoghaire, she says it's a truce and apologies offering."

"Oh! Well then, thank you, Laoghaire, that's very kind of you!" She raised her glass to her. "To truce and forgiveness." Her heart warmed a bit for the girl, but she still felt slightly uneasy about her mannerism.

"Och think nothin' of it. Anyway, I hope ye both enjoy yer date!" Before Claire could protest its not a date, she had turned around sauntering towards the Frisealach employees' table.

Once alone, Tom revealed, "She's a funny girl her. She asked me a week ago, here in the pub, if I fancied ye. I told her it was none of her business." He leaned forward and in a lower voice, he continued, "Stay clear away from her, Claire. She might not seem to be the brightest, but I can't help but feel apprehensive whenever she's around. I think she's a bit of a gossip."

Claire laughed nervously, taking a big gulp of her wine, trying to dismiss the warning. "Don't worry. I think she's just young and full of mischief."

"Don't ye want to find out Claire?"

"Find out wot?" She took another sip of the wine and grimaced at the taste.

Tom leaned forward and smiled at her. "Whether or not I fancy ye?"

Claire thought he had a beautiful smile. "Well, do you?" she asked boldly. Suddenly Claire felt relax and loose-tongued. She stood up from her high chair to lean forward to remove a fluff off Tom's hair when suddenly she felt wobbly.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Feeling the room was spinning out of control, she attempted to sit back but instead ended up slipping into the darkness.

..........

Jamie was just walking into the pub when he saw Claire swayed precariously as she held onto the high table. Before she could fall and Tom could react, he caught her in time before she hit the floor.

He shot Tom an angry look as he propped Claire's head with his hands. "How much has she had to drink? Didn't ye think she might have had enough?"

"She's only had one glass, and she drank it too fast," Tom snapped, as he kneeled down to check Claire's pulse. People were gathering already, and he knew Claire needed air. "Listen, Fraser, I'll deal with this. I'm a doctor, and I'll make sure she gets to the hospital. Go and join yer friends."

Jamie was lifting Claire up already. "She lives with me, so she's practically like my wife, so back off Tommy," he growled, determined not to relinquish his hold. "I'm taking her, my car is just outside."

Unperturbed, Tom let Jamie carry Claire as he held the door open. "I'm coming with ye."

"Suit yersel'"

..........

Both men drove in silence as they headed to the Northern Royal Infirmary. Tom had called Joe and the hospital in advance as Jamie laid Claire in the passenger seat. When they finally got there, they were greeted by Gail, Joe Abernathy's girlfriend, who was the doctor on duty, and Claire was immediately put onto a wheeled stretcher and taken away.

Seeing the concern on both the men's faces, Gail guided them to the waiting area. "Listen, boys, it's probably not serious. Claire has been under a lot of stress, so it's probably just the repercussion rearing its ugly head. Wait here, please. We'll do some test, and I'm quite sure the results shouldn't take very long," she said, smiling warmly.

Quite contrary to what Gail said, both men waited two hours.

When Joe finally arrived in civilian clothes, Jamie and Tom were sat at opposite ends of the waiting area. He had just come out of the operating room when he heard the news about Claire and immediately went to see the doctor attending her. After reading the initial results, Joe volunteered to relay the report to Tom and Jamie. As soon as he appeared in the waiting area, both men stood up and were surprised when they saw he was accompanied by two security guards and two policemen. Joe liked both men, but his main concern was Claire at this very moment.

"Tom, Jamie, we have the result from the initial tests." His voice sounded stern and very professional. "But before I can reveal anything, I want to ask... who was with Claire when she blacked out?"

Tom raised a hand. "I was with her, and we were both on our first drink. She drank the wine rather quickly, and I was surprised that she seemed tipsy all of a sudden," he explained.

Joe closed his eyes before making a formal statement. "We have found traces of Ketamine in Claire's saliva and urine test. Ketamine is also known as Date Rape Drug, and we have a very strong suspicion of an attempted sexual assault." Turning to Tom, he proceeded, "I'm so sorry, Tom, I need to have you detained until further results come in..."

Before Joe could finish his sentence and the police could react, Jamie, with his hands clenched and his face dark red with fury, threw a punch at Tom Christie's face sending him sliding across the hospital floor and knocking him out cold.

Joe had also wanted to tell Jamie that Claire was pregnant, but he guessed it could wait later.

#melodyheart #highlanddestiny #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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doctor243 · 4 years ago

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The Girl Who Cried Wolf Chapter 9

Firstly, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update, the world has been kinda out of whack. But seriously, thank you to everyone who has been messaging me and commenting and checking in on me. It means the world to me and it motivates me to get off my ass and write. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Summary: 5 times MJ says ‘I love you’ and 1 time Peter says it back.

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker, May Parker, Ned Leeds

AO3

Fuck. “No.”

“Oh come on, this is gonna be awesome!” Ned laughed, holding up a pamphlet. “Queesnborough Community College Art Show,” he read, but MJ already knew what was written. “Listed artists: Michelle Jones. Yeah, we’re totally going.” Fuck.

“No,” she repeated, threatening his cunning smile with her cold stare. “You’re not.”

“How’d you even get a spot at the art show anyways?” Peter asked through a mouthful of sandwich, and she desperately wanted to pin his lips shut. “I thought they were only showcasing their own students.” Double fuck.

“I am one of their students,” she sighed reluctantly, pointedly staring at her book and avoiding all eye contact. Why couldn’t they just leave it alone? Showing her art to random strangers was one thing – she’d never have to see them again. But her friends? She wasn’t ready for that. “I’ve been taking classes with them part time.” She popped another French fry into her mouth before turning the page on Goodnight Mister Tom. Art was a revelation of the soul, and she didn’t know if she wanted her two friends to see that yet.

“WHAT?” she heard Ned cry out, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

“Oh we’re so going to this show,” Peter piped up.

The conversation immediately descended into chaos as her best (only) friends started yelling about injustices at the same time. It was difficult to keep track of what both of them were saying, so MJ just shut her book with a thud and looked up, effectively silencing them. “No,” she spoke.

“Okay, okay,” Ned laughed. “We won’t go.” She believed him.

“Oh, we’re totally going,” Peter argued, and unfortunately, she believed him too. Triple fuck.

“In fact,” he continued, as only he would dare. “We have to get the flashiest brightest suits we can find to pretend like we’re important art buyers-”

“Art collectors,” MJ interrupted in frustration.

“-you know what I meant-”

“And art collectors don’t necessarily wear flashy loud suits to art shows.” Please just shut up and don’t come.

“Still gonna do it,” he grinned deviously. Fuck.

“The art pieces aren’t even for sale,” she made a final attempt at resistance. “It’s just an exhibition to showcase the school’s students!”

“Still. Gonna. Do. It.” Damn you, Peter Parker, and that goddamn grin that makes my heart do funny things.

She sighed and pinched her eyebrows. “I’m gonna be so embarrassed,” she grit out. She ignored the flop that her heart did at the sound of Peter’s triumphant whoop. Fuck.

::::::

MJ plastered a smile on her face at the polite visitors who spared her work a glance. Behind her back, her fingers were nervously finding new ways to imitate spaghetti, and she held her breath in hopes that one would just stop and look carefully. Artists were, after all, contradictory in that manner. They desperately wanted someone to look at their soul on the canvas and understand them, but the chance was so small that they often dared not reveal the art. Please look at my art, they often cried out inwardly. Even though I’m afraid to show it to you.

Where the hell is Peter? She thought furiously, glaring at her watch that read 9 o’clock. Again, another contradiction. She had dreaded his presence at the expo, but now that it seemed he wouldn’t show, MJ felt the disappointment pooling in her gut.

She watched University recruiters and photographers talking to a few of her classmates, and others with their families, smiling and taking selfies with their works. Taking a deep breath, she looked at her watch again, albeit almost in vain. 9:10. There was 20 minutes left, so he probably wasn’t coming after all.

Her neighbours started taking down their canvases, and she saw Professor Latham helping some students clear up. Well, this was an absolute waste of everyone’s time. An evening down the drain. MJ sniffed softly as she felt her eyes sting from the warning of tears. Don’t cry. Not now.

“Aha! There she is! MJ!”

Her breath hitched and she dared herself to hope again. She turned around.

“Peter?” She whispered, almost in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he finally stopped, looking up to catch his breath. “There was a huge thing with the police and a baby and-” she could barely hear him over the thumping of her heart, but she assumed it was Spider-Man business. “Ah I’ll explain it to you another time.” You’d better.

“You came,” she tried to hold back her smile, but it turned into a sort of grimace.

“Of course we came!” He replied excitedly. “We came to see amazing art!”

Wait. Hold up a minute. “We?” MJ wondered out loud. Did Ned come too?

“Hey MJ.”

She spun around again to see the epitome of motherly love beaming at her with pride. “Aunt May,” She breathed. “You came too.”

“Of course, sweetie!” May laughed. “This is important to you right?”

“Well…I mean…Um…” she struggled out a stutter.

“Oh hush,” the older woman pulled her into a hug, and MJ would never admit it, but she always yearned for an Aunt May Hug. “We’re all really proud of you. Now why don’t you start showing off to us?”

“Ok,” she mumbled, eyes stinging even more than before, but her heart infinitely warmer.

She turned to explain a few of her paintings, but Peter was already staring intently at them.

“Holy crap you did oil paintings?!” He whistled. “This cannot be cheap.”

“Yeah I-” How do you know that?

“Dang, these are pretty amazing! Aunt May! Look, it’s Queens! You could see our apartment from here!”

“It’s not-” It is. That’s exactly what I was trying to get.

“How did you get such detail with oils? I just make a messy blur and call it interpretive art.”

“You-” You are overwhelming me with these compliments.

“And this one’s Midtown! You even painted the school?? I thought you hated school!”

“I-” I did, but now I love it because I get to see my favourite people every day. And my favourite person.

May placed a gentle hand over Peter’s mouth. “Let the poor girl talk, you’re overwhelming her.”

MJ just stared at the corner of the Midtown portrait and struggled to regulate her breathing. Be still, my heart, she scolded herself. One, two, three, four��

“Excuse me, sir, ma’am.” Oh good, Professor Chang.

Peter and May turned to regard her teacher. “The exhibition will be closing in 5 minutes. Can I help you with anything before we close?”

“Yeah!” Peter chirped up, the wonderful idiot that he was. “Is purchase of these art pieces allowed?”

Professor Chang smiled again, and was that a wink? “Purchase of the art pieces are between you and the artist,” she replied. Oh no, Professor Chang. “The purpose of this exhibition isn’t for the sale of art, but if the artist agrees, who are we to hinder their budding career?” MJ wished that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Now she had to go over to the Parker’s residence and see her own work permanently? Talk about being mortified.

“Now, wait just a minut-” she tried to protest weakly, but for the second time that day, to no avail.

“Aunt May! Can we buy one please?” Peter interrupted, eyes shining.

“Okay, Peter,” she smiled. “Just one though, ok?” She warned. Was she allowing Peter to buy candy?

“Peter, you can’t,” MJ protested weakly. “These aren’t any good.”

“What’re you talking about?” He laughed. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best artist in this entire gallery!”

“I’m just a high school kid in a college exhibition,” she mumbled.

“And that’s what makes you amazing,” he replied, and she could tell that he meant every word. He turned around to choose while Michelle quietly struggled to process the sudden influx of emotions.

“This one. I want this one. How much d’ya want for it, Ms Jones?” He teased. She looked up and smiled weakly. Of course he’d choose that one. The New York skyline that she’d painted from her rooftop. From there, she could see Peter’s apartment building, and sometimes, she’d wonder if he could see hers too. The sun was setting, and she’d tried her best to incorporate every colour that had been present, but her oil paints were limited, and the sky was just too beautiful to be captured. Too free and wild to be held still in the four walls of a canvas frame. Too beautiful for one to do it justice. Just like the little spider in front of her.

“Nothing.”

The word popped out of her mouth before she could shut it, and she hugged him before her mind could deny her body. Here goes nothing. “Because I love you,” she whispered. She felt his body stiffen and she and immediately regretted her words. He didn’t speak for five seconds, and that was five seconds too many. Her throat seized up and her heart dropped. The buzzing in her gut turned into a scream and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Abort mission. She pulled away and flicked him on the forehead.

“I’m kidding, loser,” she smirked, even as her chest ached and the colours on the canvas looked sadder than they had before. “It’ll be 50 bucks. Do you have any idea how expensive oil paints are?”

“Yeah, I do,” Peter replied, clearly a little nervous. “Good thing I asked Mr Stark for some cash before coming here.”

“In that case, it’ll be 70.”

“Hey!” he gasped in mock offence, but she’d already hopped forward and given May a big hug.

“I love you, Aunt May,” she said, distinctively more audibly. And she meant it. Peter didn’t love her that way, so it was better if she didn’t give him any ideas that she did. The truth didn’t matter, as long as he was happy.

“Aww honey!” cooed May. “I love you too!” and while the words comforted her, she’d have preferred to hear them in a different voice.

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Coming Soon!!!

Masterlist: Here

Tags: @jmsjssc @you-guys--are-losers @spideychelleforever @spideychelleee @spidermaninlove @tonystarkissist @spideychellefics @spiderxboy @spideychelle-4-ever @spideyxchelle @thespideychellelibrary @here-be-spideychelle

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!

#spider-man #homecoming #far from home #mcu #spideychelle #michelle jones #peter parker #mj #marvel #fanfiction #tgwcw

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suwunnysideup · 5 years ago

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eclipse

@biyikes we be out here

fellas......... its gay (under the cut bcuz its too long not to be)

For eons, you’ve only had one job to perform.

Walk. One foot in front of the other in a straight line, as you have done for many lifetimes.

Your heart yearns for freedom, but Time cannot be disobeyed. The chains that hug your wrists tightly silently remind you of the fact. You, the Night, must not be a second early or a second late, or chaos would run rampant throughout the mortals’ world.

The stars above you hum a soft song, and you can feel a tired, small smile tug at your lips. They have always been with you, a gift from your lover when Earth was first conceived. Your heart is crushed with an overwhelming wave of melancholy.

Your lover, the Day, has also been burdened with the responsibility of keeping Time’s wishes fulfilled. She walks ahead of you, so close, yet untouchable. Her duties shackle her to the path that you have both walked for so long. It has been forevermore since you have last seen her – her shining eyes, crinkling at their corners as her laughter echoes off the confines of Space’s borders. Time had separated you to keep balance in order.

But Time is not heartless.

Your old friend granted you both an opportunity to be reunited, for Time had seen you both fall apart and wither the longer you stood apart from one another. Every so often, the chains that imprison you would be released, and you could finally see your love once more.

Giddy warmth spreads through your chest; the time is soon.

The stars that hang over your head began to sing more loudly, more cheerfully than before. They know you so well.

The golden cuffs glow softly, before falling away from you, dissolving into nothingness as Time smiles down on you.

One hesitant step forward, and you can see the golden halo on your lover’s head. Your slow steps grow more frantic – desperate to see, to feel her once more.

You leap, already knowing that your lover will catch you, as she has time and time again.

Her strong arms encircle around you, wrapping you in an ethereal blanket of her fiery embrace. She gently tucks your head into the crook of her neck, as she gently rests her head on yours.

Your tears, like the drops of the galaxy, dampen the warm yellow that rolls off her in waves. She laughs, a sound more beautiful than an angel’s harp rings loudly in your ears, and she gently eases you back onto your own two feet.

Her warm, calloused hands gently wipe away your tears, as eyes with lilac pools of joy and love seek out your own amber ones. She gently cups your jaw, running her thumb over your lips as she smiles, so softly in fact, that you feel tears spring up once more.

She leans forward, and dozens of stars brighten and sing of love and life as your lips touch, and a remembrance of such tender, close embraces tug at your heartstrings like they always do when you are reunited with her. She sings softly to you, her voice like honey and the song is an old one, one she used to sing jovially to you when you were both still free.

She pulls back, and you’re somewhat disappointed, before she carefully tucks an errant lock of ebony hair decorated with the stars behind your ear. Her smile is so warm and loving and suddenly you forget how to breathe. She chuckles softly, and pulls you into a much more intimate embrace.

Your eyes close in bliss as you reciprocate the hug, and warmth pools in your heart where black holes and asteroids normally fester.

She takes a step back, sighing quietly as she offers you a lopsided grin.

The smile does not reach her eyes.

The question is on the tip of your tongue, but she quietly interrupts you by raising her hands, and your heart dives into your stomach.

The chains are returning.

Looking down at your own two hands, you gasp sharply as the weight makes itself known. Suddenly, it all goes blurry, as inky tears begin cascading down your cheeks, dripping onto your gown.

You stumble onto your knees, and she is there to catch you and hold you tight, possibly tighter than ever. Her warm hands rub up and down your back in a soothing motion, but the sadness is too overwhelming.

She gently kisses the crown of your head, and suddenly, the warmth is gone, and her violet chains tug her onward, her long golden hair bouncing with the uneven movements.

You collapse to your hands and knees as sobs wrack your lithe form and choke you of any breath you had before. The stars that cluster around you sing you a hushed lullaby, one of love and happiness, yet also one of heartbreak and emptiness. Your lover, your warmth, your home is gone, once again taken from you by Time’s silent commands.

Your anguished cries ring loudly to no one in particular, except perhaps Time, who looks away in shame and sympathy. The shackles on your wrists yank you to your feet, and you stumble forward, despite feeling all of your previous strength and life leave you and ebb away from your bones.

You feel sickly and hollow at the same time, a horrible feeling that tears through and through your weeping heart. Your cries begin to hiccup as they catch each other in your own throat. The tears still haven’t stopped.

Beyond your sight and hearing, the Day weeps, her golden tears of honey leaving ripples on the starry bridge she crosses. Both of your hearts break and shatter once more. Your heart rebels at the chains and begs for you to tear them off and race after your beloved.

But Time must not be challenged. So you walk, like you have for so many lifetimes.

And the pain never fades.

#my writing #eclipse #man.... i was Yearning yearning huh #sun/moon lesbians #anyways. happy anniversary for these 2018 gays!#might upload to ao3 later....#original writing

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themoonwatchess-blog · 6 years ago

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Hiraeth - 1

Chapter 1 - Laughter In The Tombs

Word Count: 3665

Warnings: Minor gore, swearing

Hiraeth; homesickness for a home you cannot return to, a home that maybe never was, a nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

Hiraeth. That's all I feel now. I'm too caught up in the past to focus on the present tense, not that it matters anyway. My life is full of running, running from the monster I have become. Every month leaves me in a new city, a new place to call "home". The nostalgia of my past life haunts my sleep. I yearn to be in my real home, to be back in normal life, but that life will never come back, for I have ruined it.

Boney fingers outstretched and touch crumbled and faded words embedded in granite. Years of neglect had left the stone blackened with muck. These words have seen years of pain and sorrow but have also seen many generations come and go. One day we will all have this slab of granite above our heads, it is certain. We all die, it is the one thing guaranteed in life, yet we fear it more than anything. I retract my hand from the stone, letting the feeble appendage fall into my lap. A cold wind blows through the public cemetery, a shiver quakes down my spine as I sit in front of the oldest gravestone that rests below the oldest oak tree. The words engraved into the stone are nearly illegible, only someone who had been there for the corpse's burial would remember the name etched into the stone. A shame, but just like the gravestone, we too wither and fade away.

"You do know it's rude to step on a grave, right?" A voice from behind calls out. The words are soft, the slightest murmurs of a giggle finish the sentence. I lift my head ever slightly to get a glimpse of the man who greeted me. He was short and skinny, head shaved clean and the hints of tattoos tease along his shirt line.

That was my lover, the man who I love more than anything, Chester. He had stuck by my side since, well, the whole beginning. At times, he's too caring. I always feel like I end up hurting him, yet he stays. I beg him to leave, to find a better life, but he insists he's happy with me. I hate myself for loving him too much, for letting him stay... but at times, I couldn't imagine my life without him in it.

"Hello to you too, Chester," I reply back, "Didn't think you'd find me."

"I always do," He audibly exhales before sitting against the old oak tree, "You need to have more faith in me."

"I do have faith in you," My face remains stern, eyes fixate back on the stone, "Do you ever wonder about these people?"

Chester is too busy picking at a hangnail that irritates one of his index fingers when the question is posed. Dumbfounded by the question, he simply quirks a brow at me in response. There are no other people around and I guess I'm not too blunt about who I'm referring too.

"The—" Chester begins but is ultimately cut off.

"The dead people," My eyes dart away from the stone just long enough to stare daggers at Chester, "D'ya think they lived happy lives?"

"I dunno," He stands from his spot against the tree trunk, wiping his pant seat from the dirt he acquired upon sitting there, "I'm sure they were happy, Brad. No one is miserable forever."

"Well—" I open my mouth to say something, but decides otherwise and shut it quick. Chester furrows his brow, a frown tug at his lips as he watches me closely. He knows internally what I want to say, I can tell by the way his eyes droop down along with the corners of his lips and he overall begins to slouch in appearance.

"I love you," Chester breaks the sudden awkward silence, "I don't think we're miserable."

Another round of silence, I feel my lover's eyes drawn on me. My heart thuds in my chest, the steady beat rings in my ears as I utter the words in my head. We are miserable. No one deserves a life like this.

"I think we are."

I state the words bluntly, completely ignoring the words of affection that my lover professed. Chester's lips purse, a sigh leaves his throat as the atmosphere grows tense. We were miserable, life had turn cruel towards us many moon cycles ago, but at least we were lucky enough to be miserable together if you would consider such thing a blessing. Long have we abandoned our fragile and tender nature, instead, we adopted the sternness and unlovable appearance after losing our own humanity to an otherworldly curse. I had fallen victim to a curse— changed me, both physically and mentally. I became a creature of legend, a werewolf. I would be a wolf in sheep's clothing if I continued to live such a human way of life, even now it seems I desperately cling to the one thing that makes me feel human; Chester, my lover for many of years before the curse was bestowed on me. It is all I have left, the only thing that keeps me from becoming an animal. I close my eyes, breathing deeply as another gust of wind blows through.

"Let's just.... let's just leave." Toneless words speak up against the sound of the wind but fall on deaf ears. Chester must be tired of having a conversation like this nearly every month, I hear him sigh again before he impatiently begins to walk in circles. He's itching to leave, I think.

"Where are we going to go?" Again, I don't even have the decency to look at the other man.

We had already traveled halfway up the west coast, it seems almost inevitable that we would run out of places to hide. We were nearing the border of Oregon now, California has already felt our taint. What will we do after we finish the West Coast? Go into Canada? The Midwest? It seems like it would only be a few more months before we would have to figure it out.

"Um," Chester sucks on his teeth, "Etna."

Our only option was to run. I had become numb, detached to the feeling of leaving once again; it was only worse to get so attached to a city. I let my head hang down, my shoulders slouch at the words. Chester steps forward prudently, cautious of disturbing me.

"How long is the drive?" I perk up, dark eyes follow up Chester's skinny figure. Our eyes lock, the standing man offers a sympathetic smile as we look at one another.

"Three hours, I'd think," Chester extends his hand to help me up, though I don't take his offer. I help myself to my feet. The bags underneath Chester's eyes weigh heavily on him, their dark image reflect the thousands of tears he shed and the years of pain that besets him. I hate myself for doing this to him, at times I wish he would just go back to his normal life and leave me to rot here, "We can leave today."

"Today?" I reply with a groan. My eyes wander back down to the gravestone I had been so fixated on before Chester arrived. I suck in my lip, letting my teeth bite down in the dried skin. I pick at it for a few seconds while I begin to wander in thought, a red streak of blood paints the waterline of my bottom lip now. The metallic taste draws me back to reality.

Emotional inertia besets me, overwhelming guilt fills my cruelly treated heart. Thoughts wander all over the place, barely leaving a second of thought to peg out the irrationality of some of my thoughts. My brain just draws illogical conclusions, making me believe that I am someone to be feared, that I don't deserve love. However, another part of me pulls towards my humanity, begging me to retreat back home with Chester.

"I don't wanna leave," I speak breathlessly, my tongue wets my lips, the metallic taste of the crimson liquid is all too common of a sensation for me, "I'm— I'm tired of running."

There's a moment in which we both just stare at one another wordlessly. Chester's mouth hangs agape for a hint of second before he scours for an answer to give me. My legs tremble with my sudden jolt of anxiety, again my mind rolls through an infinite number of irrational outcomes to this conversation, most of which end badly.

"We don't have any other choice, Brad," His words run sour, "Just— I'm sorry... I'm sorry."

"I— I'm sorry... for... for everything..." I crumble with those words, Chester immediately swoops in to wrap my frail figure in a hug.

Life is hard, but we are stronger. I can't keep going without his support. All we have is each other. Chester's lips grace against my forehead, he mumbles something incoherent as his arms travel up my back in a soothing manner. I am vulnerable now, but at this moment I know I am safe in his arms.

"Don't," He squeezes my frame, "It's okay."

I lean into his chest, sniffling against the black fabric of his shirt. We stand in the middle of a cemetery holding each other as a bitter autumn wind continues to rumble through. His arm continues up my spine till they find a spot to rest on top of my shoulders, another kiss plants itself on my sweat-dampened forehead.

"Why don't we head to the car?" He asks me quietly, he is torn down by hearing me bite down a whimper.

"I don't— don't wanna leave yet," My words come out jumbled and fight against the urge to sob. He squeezes me tight again before finally letting me go. His arms drop to his side, unsure of what to do.

"We won't leave yet," He reassures me quietly, "We can... we can just go get something to eat, you get emotional when your stomach rumbles."

"I do not--" I protest his little joke, forcing a quick smile as I reach up to wipe my teary eyes, "But some breakfast does sound good right about now."

He giggles as a smile tugs at his lips, he reaches out to take my hand. I let our fingers interlock, his hand is cold and clammy, nauseating at best, but I love him nonetheless. His cheeks dimple as he catches me studying our intertwined fingers, he playfully sticks out his elbow to shove me but I dodge his petty attempt for a laugh. Hand in hand, us two walk together towards the well-worn cemetery gates. The metal fencing is rusted and starting to corrode, vines cover most of the surface area now. The front gate reads 'Hogan Cemetery', underneath is a small engraving detailing the year the cemetery was founded.

"So," Chester looks over at me as we walk, "Did you know that guy?"

"What guy?" I furrow my brow at his question which in turn causes his smile to drop into a frown.

"The--" He shakes his head quietly, "The dead guy, Brad, you were sitting there for a while, touching his tombstone and shit. Please tell me you knew him or else we're gonna get cursed."

"Why'd we get cursed?" I ask stupidly, "I didn't know him, though, no. His gravestone just... had an energy to it."

"If you step on a grave, they say that person'll haunt you," I snicker at how worried he sounds. He was always one to believe every conspiracy he heard and would stay up at night after I told him half-assed ghost stories that I would make up on the spot. Those were simpler times then when we had the time to be young and dumb, "If we wake up dead tomorrow 'cause you pissed off a dead spirit, I'm gonna beat yer ass in the afterlife."

"Shut up," I roll my eyes, "Have you ever even seen a ghost? Much less one that can hurt you?"

He looks up at me with eyes wide open, his face is drained of color and his body goes frigid. I roll my eyes again, this time I'm sure he's watching me. He opens his mouth to say something, popping his lips together for added effect.

"There was a ghost in our last motel room, in-- in Red Bluff," He's bluffing, I can tell by the way his eyes can't sit still, "Scared the shit out of me, I tell ya."

"Whatever," I extend my free hand and forcibly shove him, he yelps stupidly, acting like I just hurt him, but we both end up laughing it off together.

We pass under the cemetery gates, leading us into the parking lot. It's quite out today, the only other car here is owned by the cemetery workers, I guess because we didn't see anyone visiting some dead relatives out there. Chester leads me to our beat-down but still ass-kicking, Camaro. The paint shines a pristine white against the early hour of sunlight. She was a birthday present I got Chester back before we had to run, he always used to gush about how he wanted an old Camaro with white walls and pitch black glass windows. I wonder if he still likes the car as much as he used to.

Our hands detach from one another, we crisscross each other to get to our respective side of the car. Chester never lets me drive, not like I really care, I'm a terrible driver anyways. I look over at Chester, his fists around in his pocket for the car keys, after an eternity of me pulling on the door handle, he finally manages to pull out the small key. He pushes the unlock button and the car chirps a sound to signal that it unlocked.

~ ✦ ~

The diner, named 'Mama's', was our second stop for the day. Chester chose it because it was on the way to our motel room. He's still pushing for us to leave today, I finally agree with his decision and decide it is time we leave Redding.

The diner is full of churchgoers, their fancy suit and ties and dresses stand out against Chester and I's ill-fitting and (most likely blood) stained clothing. One man's suit catches my eye, his hair, though matted and greying, rests strongly against his shoulders; the red undershirt from his suit brings attention to his face, illuminating the dark features. It reminds me of my past life again. No, I wasn't a churchgoer, but I did attend Temple every Saturday that I could. I remember having Chester stir me awake one Saturday morning, griping about how I'd miss Temple again.

I, of course, abandoned my religion when I became a lycanthrope, but there is still a psalm that holds true to my heart. "They bend and fall, but we rise and stand firm." I always would speak that into the air right before bed, more so since my affliction. I always have hope that maybe He would save us, would forgive me for my actions, but G-d is cruel. Cruel like his own creations.

Chester and I get seated together at a window booth. The hostess smells of cheap wine and cigars and for a moment I curse my lycanthropic sense of smell, as all I can get a whiff of is her flavor of cigars— and they smell (and taste) cheap. Chester shoots me a look, obviously catching me wrinkling my nose as our hostess walks off. I wave him off, mouthing an 'it's nothing,' to him so he doesn't become a worry wart.

There's a small television bolted on leverage above our booth. The screen faces me. A sudden face pops up on the screen, drawing my attention. It's a family photo of an old grandfather, his face is painted with sunkisses and scarred with wrinkles. He looks vaguely familiar, I zone in on the news report about this elderly man. 'Missing Person,' the headline reports, 'Last seen August 30th,'.

Then it clicks.

A vision of a hunting bolt into my head. Visions of the beast I was a moon cycle ago. I know this man, he had fallen victim to that unholy creature; to me. Another vivid memory comes to mind, the morning after that big hunt in which my body was painted with gore and dried mud. His lifeless, nearly unrecognizable body lay next to mine, the trauma of the event must have caused me to block it out from recent memory. Now though, reawakening, I remember the day after more and more clearly. I remember Chester helping clean the crimson lifeblood off my sickly pale skin, I remember him saying a mantra of how 'you couldn't help it'.

My head suddenly finds itself buried in my hands, I cradle my head as I come to terms with what I've done. Now I know why Chester is itching to leave this city... because I've killed again. I feel my lover's hand extend and touch the top side of my hand. His fingers are cold, colder than mine. I peek my eyes through the crack in between my fingers only to be greeted with a soft smile.

"It's gonna be okay," He speaks sweetly, "We're leaving after this."

I don't respond, I can't respond to him. How can he let me live like this? I close my hands tight, covering the rest of my face from his sympathetic gaze. A waitress walks by with a coffee pot, she stops over our table and asks if we want coffee. Chester nods and mouths 'please'. I'm still angry with myself to speak and my obvious unwelcoming presence drives her away before she can even ask if I want any. All I want to do now is leave.

Chester drinks his coffee loudly, making a slurping sound as he sips. The atmosphere grows tense again, I had been nothing but rude to my lover today. Sensory overload hits me full force, my ears fixate on the sound of Chester's lips touching together, the pitter patter of children's feet, and the overall noise from the diner causes my head to throb. I dig my nails into my temple, hoping to gain some clarity. Those cold hands touch mine again, gentler than before.

"You're hurting yourself."

"I—" I drop my hands onto the tabletop, my eyes lock with Chester's, "I'm sorry. I'm just—"

"You're hurting," He takes my hand in his, "Why... Why don't we just leave? We can grab something to eat on the road."

I stare at him without making a sound. Slowly my head begins to nod, Chester simply smiles in response. He thumbs around in his pocket for his leather wallet, pulling out a ten dollar bill and leaving it on the table for our waitress. He always tips excessively. Together, we leave our window booth and head towards the entrance to leave. A few of the churchgoers stare at us as we leave, their eyes send a chill down my spine, it reminds me of how impious I have become. The entrance to the diner chimes as we open it to exit, the bell above hardly stands out against the clammer from the people talking inside.

The parking lot is, as expected, packed full of fancy cars. Clouds loom overhead, their dark visage contrasts greatly to the morning sky. An ill omen, I think. An omen that a storm awaits us in our life, that we will be caught in a hurricane of distress soon. One of the clouds glows with lightning, purple streaks rumble against the clouds and a boom of thunder follows. Maybe this might be a good thing, maybe the rain will wash away my sin and let me start anew. Maybe that is the omen.

"Are you gonna sit there and cloud gaze all day or are we gonna leave?" Chester calls from the driver's door, a cocky smirk imprinted on his lips. I crinkle my nose, though I don't outright say anything to him.

With my head hanging from my shoulders, I walk over to the passenger's door of the Camaro. I open the door, ready to leave, but instead, I look towards the sky again. Clouds now cover over the sun, yet its light still beams. I finally let my gaze drop and I sit down in the passenger seat. Chester puts the keys in and starts the motor. We waste no time leaving the diner and heading towards the interstate, I-5, it leads all the way up to Washington State. We don't even need to stop at our motel, we always keep our belongings tucked away in a holdall in the trunk.

And so, here we are again. Riders on the storm, running from our troubles. Chasing the sun, as it's our only solace from the night. One day, we will stop, one day we'll run out of road to travel. One day we will be free from this prison... but not today, not anytime soon.

"Hey, uh," Chester speaks up as we merge onto the interstate, "When we get to Etna... maybe we should sit down and have a, uh, a fancy dinner? Somethin' dim-lit, maybe have an expensive wine?"

"If you can scrounge up the money for a fancy dinner," I smirk quietly in his direction, "We can go. It's been, what, like... six months since we've been able to go, huh?"

"Yep," He smiles lowly to himself, "I think we deserve it."

"I think so, too."

For a moment, I feel... at peace. I'm reminded of how much I am loved, how much Chester fills me with joy, even in these trying times. We run, we leave everything behind and start anew, but at least I'm doing it with him.

#writeblr #writing #book #chapter #hiraeth #story #writers on tumblr #werewolf #lgbt #mlm #werewolves #runaways #first chapter #laughter in the tombs

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lilacmoon83 · 6 years ago

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Finding You Always

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Chapter 139: Born to Be Yours

Snow pulled back from hugging Emma to cradled her daughter's face.

"You did it…" Snow said proudly. Emma smiled.

"I'd say you and dad were right there with me," she countered. David smiled and cradled her head.

"And we always will be," he promised, as he shared another look with Snow that spoke the way words never would.

"I'm sorry...I got really angry and Eva stopped me from doing something really stupid," Leo apologized.

"What are you talking about, honey?" Snow asked.

"I kind of stormed out to Zelena's farmhouse and tried to get Jekyll to come out and was threatening him. I just...got so angry after the Queen came to see me at the reserve," he confessed.

"She came to see you?" Snow asked in concern.

"I was playing right into her hands too. I wanted revenge...and I know that's not our way. I'm sorry," he said, as she hugged him.

"Oh baby...I know, I'm so sorry you got hurt again. You don't know how much I wish I could make it all better," Snow replied tearfully.

"Me too...but promise us you won't do that again. We don't know what kinds of things Jekyll might try. He's insane," David said sternly. Leo nodded.

"I know," he agreed.

"Uh...hey bro, what's with the snake?" Emma asked, as the cobra in the cage hissed at all of them.

"Oh yeah...I almost forgot. This is...the Queen," he revealed.

"What?" Emma asked in amusement.

"Bloody hell…" Killian agreed.

"Yeah...Chad showed up at the reserve too and I think this was his way of apologizing. She was trying to get me to act on my revenge and he got mad. Said it was time someone gave her what she deserved," he explained. The cobra hissed, as Regina peered into the cage with amusement.

"Well...I'm still mad at him for hurting you, but I have to say, this is very fitting," she said smugly.

"You're not bringing it home, are you?" Eva asked with a sour look on her face.

"I'm not really sure what else to do with her. We probably should keep her close," Leo replied. Regina waved her magic over the cage.

"It should be safe to bring her home now. I protected the cage with magic. She can't get out," Regina promised. Snow wrinkled her nose.

"Okay...just keep her in your room," she said, not liking the idea much. David put his arm around her and kissed her hair.

"I think home is where we all need to be. It's been a really long night," he mentioned. They all agreed and knew that this was just one battle in the war. David especially remembered Rumple's warning that there would be a final battle and he could almost feel it stirring in him, as he felt it was almost upon them. Snow looked at him, as if sensing the same thing in him and he gave her a reassuring smile. They knew facing this darkness would be anything but easy and they had much to figure out. But as always, they were confident in the power of their love.

Jekyll watched the battle through one of his well placed spying devices on a screen in his lab with bated breath. Things had not been going his way again. First he learned that his ally in the Queen was null since she had been transformed into a snake of all things, though even he admitted that it was fitting. He had seethed as that brat had stood outside the house, taunting him. Just like his tactless father, that one.

He considered trying to make an ally out of his Black Fairy, momentarily. She wanted Snow and Charming dead and he was willing to chance that she might consider his proposition. Kill Charming and allow him to have Snow, with a bit of her magic to help keep her in line. But he quickly decided against it. He had nothing to offer the Black Fairy in return and he didn't want to take the risk that she might just zap him to dust.

No...he needed help elsewhere to see his plan to fruition and that meant making a deal. Fortunately, he knew exactly how he was going to get what he needed.

"I received your summons, though I cannot begin to deduce what we might have to talk about, doctor. I want no part of your foolish plan that will probably end up getting us both killed," Hyde stated.

"Yes...with Rose Red in town, I suspected you would go quite soft," Jekyll retorted. He glared at his counterpart.

"I was as surprised as you when I found out she and her Asgardian brute were in town, but it made me realize that I can finally get my revenge," Jekyll said. Hyde pointed a finger at him.

"You go near Rose again...and I swear I will destroy you, even if it means my own demise," Hyde hissed. Jekyll smirked and chuckled.

"Predictable...you still pine for her, yet you do nothing to make her yours. You could have easily got rid of Fandral the moment he stepped into this town and yet...you didn't," Jekyll goaded.

"I want only happiness for Rose, unlike you. There is a great sickness in you, doctor. It's quite liberating finally be free of your disease," Hyde retorted.

"I am not sick! You were the darkness inside me! You are the monster!" Jekyll insisted.

"Just because you keep telling yourself does not make it true," Hyde warned.

"You are the reason I cannot be happy! You cost me a life with Rose years ago, but you will not cheat me out of a life with Snow White this time!" Jekyll ranted.

"Snow White is disgusted by you. She could never love anyone other than her Prince Charming, yet you are so despicable that you are going to force her into a life with you. The Prince was right earlier...you are pathetic," Hyde hissed.

"So you say...but thank you for wandering right into my trap," Jekyll said. Hyde looked at him curiously and then realized what was about to happen. But it was too late. The doctor had converted the weapon used to subdued him before into the doorway of his lab. Hyde was zapped with the purple energy and collapsed, writhing in pain on the floor. Jekyll chuckled in amusement and reached into Hyde's jacket pocket, before taking out the contract that Hades originally had on Rumpelstiltskin's second born child.

"Thank you...this will come in handy," the doctor said deviously, a he went to his lab table and selected a syringe that he had waiting. Hyde could do nothing, as the doctor took a blood sample.

"What...are you doing?" he questioned.

"Well...as you know you, Snow White helped me develop a serum to nullify your magic and thanks to my genius, I have figured a way to reverse engineer it," Jekyll stated, as he selected the syringe with the serum he had developed with Snow and then Whale.

"Now that I have what I need from you, I cannot have you interfering," Jekyll said, as he injected Hyde with the serum.

"There...no longer will you be impervious to magic or have superior strength," he stated, as he put the droplets of Hyde's blood on a slide and examined it with his microscope.

"Yes…" he drawled.

"Fascinating, indeed," Jekyll marveled, as he picked the other vial and then dropped some of Hyde's blood into the liquid. There was a puff of smoke and he was pleased, as he watched the serum turn light blue, as opposed to pink like the one he had just injected in Hyde. He found a clean syringe and injected himself with the blue concoction. Hyde watched him convulse violently and fall to his knees. The crazed, warped look in Jekyll's bloodshot eyes was bone chilling and the smirk he now wore spoke of the horrors he had in store for all in his way. Once he stopped shaking, he got to his feet and hovered over Hyde. He reached out and Hyde's eyes bulged, as Jekyll grabbed him around the neck and lifted him off his feet, cackling as he did.

"So...this is what true power feels like…" he hissed, as he tossed Hyde away like a rag doll.

"Nothing will stop me now…" Jekyll said, as he looked at the contract. It was time to get exactly what he wanted and he now had the means to do it…

Once Summer and the baby were in bed, they retired to their bedroom and attempted to decompress from the latest harrowing experience.

But sleep was not on their minds and decompressing would come in the form of sexual release, as it often did between them. Their need and want for each other ruled supreme, as it often did as well. Many years spent together hadn't dulled their hunger. If anything, it had only increased it. As always, the love and passion so prevalent between them yearned to be unleashed and was. Snow became lost in her husband the moment they were finally alone. She clung to him, desperately pulling him as close as possible. The need to have his skin against hers and feel him inside her was overwhelming. His hands and lips everywhere left her breathless, as he loved her. Her nails raked his back and she bit his shoulder, as she reached her peak. His strong arms held her writhing form, as he continued to make love to her, seeking his own completion. Her legs gripped him around the waist, bringing him as close as possible and as deeply in her as possible…

After, she lay in his arms, half atop him and listened to his half heart beat in sync with hers. He pressed a kiss to her hair and then her forehead, his lips lingering there. When he opened his eyes, they met hers in a soulful stare.

"It was you...I still can't believe it. It was you I saved that day," he said, still marveling at all of it. She hummed and pecked him on the lips.

"I told you're my hero...in more ways than you realized," she whispered and he kissed her deeply again at that.

"How long have you known?" he asked curiously once their lips parted again.

"A while...Wilby kind of tipped me off," she replied, as she kissed his scar and then moved down his neck. He closed his eyes, trembling slightly, as his body responded in kind to her ministrations.

"I've been meaning to tell you...but things have been so crazy and when we are alone like this…" she said. He smiled.

"We tend to get distracted with other things," he finished her sentence, as he squeezed her hip. She beamed at him, thrilling as his hands touched her and she pressed her forehead against his again.

"Then I realized that telling with words just wouldn't do the situation justice. We both have the memories...the chalice just let us relive that moment together. We just never realized it was a memory we both had," she explained. He hummed and pressed another kiss to her lips.

"I know that we need to sleep...but I don't want to," she confessed.

"I know...but I'll be right there with you. He can't keep me out…" he promised.

"What if he's found a way to?" she fretted. But he shook his head.

"No...I'll always find you. Just think of me and let your heart call to mine," he said, as he kissed her again. This time, they settled down, still thoroughly entwined in each other, but allowed sleep to finally take them.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself in that hazy dream realm again, with fog so thick, it was difficult to see. She glanced down, finding herself in a flowing, airy white gown. It was very low cut and accented all her curves.

"You truly look like the Goddess you are in such attire," Jekyll praised and just the sound of his voice sent a chill down her spine. She felt the urge to cross her arms over her chest and did so. Her glare on him was icy enough to freeze a volcano and she resisted the urge to back away, as he approached. She would not let him scare her this time...it only gave him power.

"Stay the hell away from me," she spat, as he got closer and his eyes took her in.

"No need to cover yourself...you're absolutely stunning. I imagined this dress specifically for you and I must say...it accentuates your incredible fairness and beauty quite perfectly," he leered, ogling her. Snow punched him in the eye and his head snapped to the side. But what should have knocked the doctor away with a good amount of force barely moved him. He chuckled and looked back at her with a feral gleam. She screamed, as he grabbed her arms and she felt herself unable to break his hold. She was at a loss at how he had suddenly gotten so strong and kneed him between his legs. Fortunately, that was still a vulnerable spot and she tore away from him, as his grip loosened. She ran through the fog, desperate for escape.

"Charming!" she cried out. He appeared in the fog and she sighed in relief, as he rushed to her, dressed in the exact garb he wore when he woke her from the sleeping curse all those years ago.

"I'm here...I told you I'd find you," he said, as he folded her in his arms.

"But Charming...he's suddenly really strong! Like as strong as Hyde is...I don't understand how, but we need to get out of here," she pleaded, just as Jekyll emerged through the fog.

"Or maybe I just need to take him down right here and now," David growled, as he unsheathed his sword and rushed at the doctor.

"Charming no!" Snow cried and watched in horror, as the doctor stopped her husband's sword with his bare hand, stunning them both.

"Now I not only outmatch you in intelligence, but strength as well. Suppose that just leaves you with those good looks," Jekyll goaded. David punched the doctor, but it barely fazed him and Jekyll grabbed him around the neck.

"NO!" Snow cried.

"Let him go...please let him go!" she pleaded, as she ran to him and started pounding on Jekyll's arm. But he only chuckled in amusement and then tossed the Prince away. Snow cried and out and started to run to her husband, but Jekyll caught her arm and held her again in a vice-like grip.

"This can't be what you want...I will never love you," Snow tried to reason.

"Yes, I know...I've decided that love is for fools. I shall never have your heart," he responded, as he let his eyes wander over her, drinking her in.

"I've just decided that the rest of you will do just splendidly," he hissed and she shuddered, pulling away from him, as his hot breath slithered down her neck.

"Please...don't," she begged, as he pressed against her and tears began to fall down her fair cheeks. David appeared through the fog again and lunged at the other man, toppling him over. Snow helped him to his feet and before Jekyll could rush at them, their lips met. The doctor cried out in frustration, as the wave of true love's magic burst forth from their kiss and they disappeared from his reach once again.

Snow and David awoke with a start that had her then collapsing against him in sobs. He looked at the clock, seeing that it was only three in the morning. But he didn't care. This couldn't wait any longer. He picked up his phone and dialed the hospital.

"This is the Sheriff...I need to speak to Dr. Whale immediately," David said.

"I'm sorry Sheriff, but one of his patients required an emergency appendectomy. He's in surgery," the nurse reported. David clenched his teeth and sighed.

"Fine...when you see him, tell him that I need to speak with him as soon as possible. It's urgent," David stressed, as he hung up and then cradled his wife.

"I will stop him, my love...I will not let him keep doing this to you," he soothed, as he kissed her hair. She wanted to believe that, but if the Doctor really was just as physically powerful now and impervious to magic as Hyde was, then she feared for her husband's life more than ever.

As a new day dawned in Storybrooke, Aphrodite awoke in a very pleasant way. Despite being the Goddess of love and portrayed as a man-eater, it had been a very long time since she enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. But even she didn't remember feeling quite like this.

"James…" she breathed, as she came down from a place she had not felt in a very long time. The scruff on his chin made her shiver, as he it brushed against her neck and then lower...and lower. Then there was that smug grin on his face and she showed her strength as a Goddess, as she flipped him over. Then it was his turn to shiver and moan for her, as she teased him mercilessly and then had her way.

After, she cuddled against him again, as sunlight began to stream through the curtains. They had a lot of talk about and she still had to confront her son, who had been actively avoiding her. But she had not felt like this since Eros' father died and she was still in shock by it, for she never expected to fall in love again.

When they finally managed to get out of bed and made their way into the kitchen that morning, she thought they might finally have that moment to talk. But her hopes of that were dashed when they saw the Black Fairy waiting for them in the living room.

James immediately unsheathed his sword and started toward her, but she waved her hand and froze him in place and stared evilly at him, as she approached.

"Yes...I suppose I can see the appeal in this one and his brother. Handsome for sure...this one has a darkness in him too," Fiona stated.

"What do you want?" Aphrodite hissed.

"Have you not done enough to me? You stole my son, you killed my first true love, and you raised Eros to perform your dark deeds. And you have his heart!" she cried.

"Yes...he's been mommy's very good boy. But I'm afraid your troubles are only starting, Goddess. Your champions and their brats stand in the way of my ultimate curse," she warned.

"Snow and David will not be so easily defeated, nor will Emma. I think they have proven that," Aphrodite retorted. Fiona smirked.

"Yes...I have to give you kudos for that. They are a remarkable pair...but in the end, it will not matter. They will be swept away and I will cast the curse to end the light. Darkness will reign and misery will drown happiness," she stated.

"You're wrong...you won't win this time. Snow and Charming...and this family are unlike anything you've faced before. And I will see to it that you pay for everyone you've hurt...especially my son," Aphrodite growled. Fiona smirked.

"We'll see…" she goaded, as she disappeared and James was finally able to move again. He rushed to the window to see if she was really gone and noticed a patch of pink flowers suddenly bloom in the yard.

"Do flowers usually just pop up like magic around here?" he asked. Her brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?" she asked, as she came to the window beside him.

"Those...they just appeared," he said, pointing to them. She gasped in wonder.

"Poppies…" she uttered.

"Poppies? Don't those put you to sleep?" he asked.

"Not pink ones...they're incredibly rare. They only bloom in the presence of pure evil," she replied, emphasizing the pure. He knew enough to know that many like him who had done evil things were not considered pure evil. She smiled at him.

"She just unknowingly provided us with a way to restore one happy ending," she said. It was his turn to be confused.

"I don't understand," he said, as he watched her run out and pick one of the poppies.

"You will once we get to Regina's," she responded.

Snow and David walked hand in hand into the hospital with Paul and Eva that morning. Paul headed for the nurse's desk and was not happy to see Nurse Ratched covering the post.

"Doctor…" she said coolly.

"I need you to page Dr. Whale for us," Paul replied. She looked at him and then at Snow and David behind him.

"I doubt he's sober. I heard he was at Aesop's last night trying his luck with some of the fresh meat from the Land of Untold Stories," she mentioned.

"They told me when I called at three in the morning that he was in surgery," David countered. She shrugged.

"Yes, well I'm sure that's what he asked the desk nurse to tell people or maybe he went there after surgery. Either way, like I said, I doubt he's sober," she replied.

"I don't care...get him here," David snapped and Snow put a soothing hand on his arm.

"Baby…" she whispered.

"Snow...his help against Jekyll could be vital. This is your life we're talking about and I don't have time for his bad behavior," he replied irritably.

"Don't worry...your Savior is here," Whale drawled, as he approached and filed his tablet.

"You're no Savior, but we need to talk about Jekyll," David retorted.

"Yeah...I thought I put the mad in scientist, but I got nothin' on that guy," Whale joked.

"You're drunk," Snow said distastefully.

"Sure am," he leered, as his eyes wandered over her and then to a nurse that was passing by.

"You are disgusting," Eva commented.

"Get some coffee and sit your drunk ass down," Paul said angrily.

"But I have patients," Whale said.

"Not anymore...you're off duty," Paul ordered, as they found the cafeteria and made Whale down some coffee.

"Ugh...this stuff is strong enough to peel the paint on the walls," he complained.

"Perfect for sobering you up," David admonished.

"Listen...I don't know what you want from me. We all know Jekyll is as crazy as it gets," Whale replied.

"He's built a device for the Queen. It allowed him to not only invade Snow's dreams, but trap her there in a type of nether realm. She would have been at his mercy if I hadn't been able to join her in this dream realm," David explained.

"That's quite fascinating," Whale mentioned.

"So...the Queen found someone to hatch that plot. Very intriguing, indeed," he added. David slammed his fist on the table.

"This is my wife's life we're talking about!" David exclaimed and Snow put her hands on his shoulders.

"Charming...please," she pleaded and his anger deflated at her touch to his face.

"I'm sorry...but he keeps trying to hurt her and he won't stop. Your admiration of him isn't appreciated," David said.

"I'm not admiring what he's trying to do...it's a professional admiration that you wouldn't understand," Whale replied.

"Can you help us? Can you build something to counteract his device?" David asked.

"Possibly...it will take some time and research. How did you manage to release yourselves from this nether realm?" Whale asked. They exchanged a glance and David squeezed her hand.

"It took true love's kiss to do it," he said. Whale sighed.

"Which is magic. Science is my area of expertise. Mixing them...that's never worked out for me," he said, thinking back to his brother. Snow's shoulders slumped and she shuddered, thinking about what might happen the next time she went to sleep.

"But there might be a solution," Whale offered and they looked at him.

"I may not be able to stop his device, but I could try to build something to help Snow block him," he said.

"Really?" she asked. He nodded.

"It will go faster with help though," he mentioned.

"Mom and I can help you...anything if it means we can keep that monster out of her dreams," Eva offered.

"Then we need to get to my lab and I need more coffee...good coffee and not this sludge," he said. David nodded, as they followed the doctor out. Paul stayed behind to cover both Whale and Eva's patients.

The shop bell rang and Gold looked up to see Dr. Jekyll waltzing into his business.

"Well, well, you certainly are brazen, Doctor. If the Sheriff gets his hands on you...you're a dead man," Gold warned.

"Oh...I don't think the Sheriff or his brats will be a problem for me any longer," Jekyll said, demonstrating his point by picking up a wooden cane from the holder at the door and snapped it like nothing. Gold frowned, wondering how he suddenly had inherited inhuman strength.

"You must be aware that superior physical strength doesn't intimidate me," the Dark One hissed, as he used magic to begin choking the doctor. Jekyll held his throat momentarily, but then started cackling, as his immunization to magic kicked in. The shock on Gold's face was palpable, as the doctor strode toward the counter.

"I figured out the chemical makeup in Hyde's blood that gave him his superior strength and made him impervious to magic. A reverse of the serum I originally made to nullify his gifts. Now, thanks to my genius, I am not only gifted in mind, but body as well," Jekyll boasted.

"And you really think this will allow you to capture Snow White?" Gold questioned.

"Oh, I don't think...I know and you're going to help me," Jekyll retorted.

"Oh it will be a cold day in the Underworld before I help you with anything, dearie," the Dark One retorted.

"I beg to differ...let's make a deal," Jekyll offered.

"You have nothing I want. Now get the hell out of my shop," Gold retorted. Jekyll smirked and reached into his jacket pocket. He unfolded the weathered piece of parchment and held it up for him to see.

"Are you sure I have nothing you want?" he questioned. Gold's face went ashen and he tried to swipe the contract out of his hand. But Jekyll pulled it away.

"Ah, ah...if you want this, then I need something from you," the doctor said in a goading tone.

"And what exactly is it that you want?" Gold growled.

"Something to separate Snow and Charming...something to kill or trap him so he is no longer an obstacle in my path to Snow White. Something that will ensure she will do whatever I ask to protect her family and her people," Jekyll said. Gold glowered at him silently for a moment and the doctor smirked.

"I take it you know of something that can help me?" he asked.

"Perhaps," Gold growled.

"Give me what I need and the contract on your second child gets torn up. If not...then I guess it will be mine upon its first breath. I have no desire for a child, but I'll find use for it if I have to," Jekyll added callously. Gold opened his potions cabinet and took out a small vial of milky gray water.

"This is water from the river of lost souls. If you were to threaten her husband, her children, or even the people of the town with it...then I assure you that Snow White will do whatever you ask to save them," he stated. Jekyll took the vial and Gold swiped the contract.

"It's a start...a very good start," the bespectacled man mused. Gold lit the contract on fire and it turned to ash.

"Get the hell out of my shop," he bit out. Jekyll smirked and waltzed out. He picked up his cane and smashed one of the display cases. When Belle found out what he had just done, she'd be livid with him. He may have nullified the contract on their baby, but it was at the price of selling out her friends. And this time, he worried that she may never forgive him...

Regina put a plate of breakfast foods, Roland's favorites, in front of him and the little boy smiled up at her.

"Thank you Regina," he chirped with a smile. She smiled back, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"You're very welcome, sweetie," she responded. Just weeks ago, he would have looked at her and called her mommy and the absence of that ached more than she ever imagined it could. She put a plate in front of Robin and sat down with her own. Breakfast was amiable these days since he had come home, but not even close to the same as it had once been. Robin had looked through all their photo albums from over the years and yet nothing had jogged his memory yet. It pained her and Zelena's situation had only complicated everything. Her sister was getting some extra sleep, while Robin held his daughter.

She was glad they finally found a bottle that Jade wanted to take, as it was allowing Robin to now bond with her. Regina had taken Snow's advice and bought about seventeen different ones. Thankfully, Jade had decided there was one she didn't hate and Zelena had learned how to use the breast pump, allowing them to have some milk on hand to help with feeding her. It was the oddest situation Regina had ever experienced, but this little baby was bringing them together in a way she wouldn't have expected.

Zelena still had a lot of anger and resentment to work through, but with the baby to focus on, she found her sister seemed to think about revenge less these days. It made perfect sense though, for it had been Robin and Roland that had finally allowed Regina to let go of her own desire for revenge. Though she wouldn't deny that she enjoyed seeing her darker half get exactly what she believed she deserved for the havoc she had wrecked on them in her short time in town. But she could not expect that her happiness would be restored on that day and was curious when she answered the door to Aphrodite and James.

"Is everything all right with Snow and David?" Regina asked, as she let them in.

"For the moment, though that creepy doctor is still a problem. But that's not why we're here," the Goddess responded.

"Okay...then why are you here?" the former Queen asked.

"This…" Aphrodite said, holding up the pink flower.

"A pink poppy?" Regina asked, not quite understanding.

"See...she doesn't know what it is either," James commented.

"You shush…" she chided and then floated her way into the kitchen. They all watched her curiously, as she waved her hand over the flower, activating the pollen. It swept over Robin and Roland, returning the memories that were lost. Recognition dawned in Robin's eyes, as he practically jumped out of his seat and took Regina in his arms, kissing her soundly. She quickly got over her surprise and kissed him back, as tears filled her eyes.

"Mommy?" Roland called, as their lips parted. That made the tears finally fall, as she picked him and hugged him tightly.

"Yes…" she answered, just as Zelena was coming down the stairs to witness the scene. They were a perfect picture with Roland and baby Jade in their arms and she felt that familiar envy rear its ugly head inside her.

"Thank you...but how?" Regina asked.

"It's quite possibly the only good thing that will come from the Black Fairy being here. These pink poppies only bloom in the presence of pure evil. She visited me this morning and left a patch of these behind. They restore that which has been lost," she explained.

"So...you have your memories back," Zelena mentioned. Robin's smile became a frown, as he glowered at her.

"You…" he growled, as Regina put a hand on his arm.

"Believe me...I didn't want to be with you either. It was the Queen...I let myself be manipulated," the redhead said.

"You were manipulated? You conspired with her to hurt Regina in the most painful of ways!" Robin cried.

"I did...and I'm sorry. I would say something good came out of it though, wouldn't you?" she asked. He continued to glare at her, but then looked down at his daughter.

"If you try to keep me from her…" he started to say.

"I won't...I know this is a mess, but like Regina said, we're family. I don't deserve anything from you. But I hope that you won't cut me out of Jade's life," Zelena pleaded. Robin's gaze was still stern, but then he looked down at the baby.

"I'm so far from being okay with being anywhere near you…" he started to say.

"But for her...we can try this," he relented. Regina smiled softly and rested her head on his shoulder. She finally had him back. Now if only they could get rid of Jekyll and the Black Fairy, their whole family might actually have a chance at peace. She would take a page from Snow's book on this and hope they could win the final battle and find that peace...

#Snowing #Snow x Charming #Charming family #OC Charmings #AU Retelling #season 6 AU #Jekyll and Hyde #Rose Red #Fandral the Dashing #Dashing Rose #background OQ #background CS #Prince James #Aphrodite #romance #adventure #ouat fanfiction

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