#but if you were perhaps waiting for a new chapter and suddenly couldn't read it

[unfriendlyamazon]

i actually wouldn't even mind paying manga plus' ridiculously low subscription rate if it meant i could read it on the website... seems not to be the case tho

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: " I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, specially not from the house next door."

Warning: angst, fight, toxic parents, fluff, smut, smut and smut! dirty talk, orgasm, squirting (Yessss) 👅 oral sex (male and female) fingering 🤟, nipple sucking, Jungkook calls reader a slut (just once, sorry) Jungkook knows what he's doing 🤌

A/N: Hello! I came back later than expected 😬 sorry! Here is the chapter! I hope you like it! From here on, I am writing the story. Everything you have read so far was written last year. I ask for a little more patience because I need to write, edit, and English is not my native language! Thank you for all the support! (PLEASE VOTE!)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 7

"I didn't know about your college, let alone that you are studying to be a teacher, Y/N," Mr. Jeon says, putting the chocolate dessert in his mouth. I nod my head, excited to talk about a topic I love so much.

"Yes, I love children. I thought it would be a way to work with something I enjoy, and things are going really well." I reply with a smile. Knowing that my course is practically finished and that there is less than a month until I graduate gives me a pleasant thrill in my stomach. All the hard work and dedication are finally paying off.

"I'm so proud of you. I can't wait for you to start working in the field you're studying," my mom comments beside me, her eyes squinting when she smiles. I know it's true because she was one of the people who encouraged me the most to pursue this career. "The schools in Busan are great, big and prestigious. Y/N will adapt very well."

Mrs. Jeon shakes her head with a radiant face, happy for me. I, on the other hand, lose all my excitement. My mom knows, because I've mentioned a few times, that I don't want to stay in Busan after I graduate. I like being here since I've lived in this city practically my whole life, but I feel inside me that I need new challenges. I don't want to spend the rest of my days under my mother's wings. I'm curious about myself and how far my limits go, too. I know I'm capable of doing this.

It's not her fault that I'm like this, so attached and dependent. Since my father passed away and we were left alone in such a hostile world, she became my escape valve. Her approval suddenly became the most important thing in my life. I started looking at her as if she could leave me at any moment, just like my father, and that transformed me into what I am today: vulnerable, indecisive and weak. I've been trying to strengthen my mind these days. I started questioning the decisions I made in previous years and noticed, not without some surprise, that I never did what I really wanted. Jungkook, by a miracle, was my only wish fulfilled by my own desire. It's as if I wanted him so much, that even my bindings couldn't prevent me from having him.

"Let's see, mom. There are several other schools I want to try to get into." I respond, and almost at the same moment, her body tenses. She turns to me and opens her mouth to reply, but knocks on the door sound throughout the house before she can continue. I almost sigh with relief, knowing that at least for now, I'm free from any scolding.

"Excuse me, I'll see who it is." Mr. Jeon gets up from the chair and heads to the living room. After a few seconds, he returns with a smile on his face, with Jungkook behind him. Of course it's him; who else could it be? His hair looks different, in a new cut that makes his face look more youthful; his cheeks are fuller, and his eyes much bigger.

I take a deep breath and try to keep my expression as neutral as possible. He greets my mother with a nod, perhaps knowing that it's better to keep his distance from her, and hugs Misuk, wrapping his arms around her back. It's nice to see their interaction together. They really love and respect each other. Then he turns to me and squeezes my hand with a smile.

"Hello, Y/N. How are you?" He asks with a light smile. I am impressed; his performance couldn't be better. It's almost as if we hadn't been talking almost all day through messages. If I didn't know him, I could swear I hadn't been to his house two days ago. That we didn't kiss so much that, almost by a thread, I lose my iron control and decide to throw myself at him completely.

"Everything's great, and you?"

"All good, too." He sits in the chair in front of me, watching the food that had just been our dinner.

"Jungkook, how about you eat something? You’ve been looking so thin lately." Mrs. Jeon furrows her brows, analyzing the dark-haired guy from head to toe. I wonder if she really thinks he's thin. All I see are muscles and a large, healthy body. I remain silent, poking the dessert with the tip of my fork.

"I'm fine, mom. I'm not hungry. I just came to see you. I missed you." He responds affectionately. I can't help but smile, happy to see how he acts with her. It's cute, if that's the right word to describe a heavily tattooed man like Jungkook.

"You should sleep here, Jungkook." His father comments to his son, looking at the silver watch that wraps around his wrist. "It's already quite late. I don't want you to ride that huge motorcycle in the dark."

"I'm fine... The motorcycle is completely safe." He grumbles, pouting as his parents look at him worriedly. He seems like a sulking teenager, not a tattoo artist full of piercings who lives alone in a bachelor apartment. I let out a small laugh trying to disguise it, but he notices. He bites his lips hard and stares at me for a few seconds. I divert my eyes to my hands, fiddling with the dark pink nail polish that decorates my nails. "Alright. I'll sleep here tonight."

"Perfect! You can stay in the room you used on the first day you came to Busan." His mother suggests, taking a sip of her orange juice.

"Yeah, that works. I loved that room." Jungkook responds with an ironic tone that's hard not to notice. Is he trying to provoke me? He smiles slightly, and for a few seconds his attention focuses on me. "With a great view from the window… you know? Of the garden and everything."

"Alright then, it’s settled." Mrs. Jeon seems excited, holding his shoulders with an almost indescribable happiness. "And how have you been, son? You’ve been visiting me less and less. I'm worried about you, whether you're sleeping well, drinking water, and eating right."

"I've been very busy lately." He takes the juice from the table and pours himself a bit. "It's hard to find tattoo artists I can trust. I still haven't found someone who really has the style I'm looking for. The designs I like aren't very common here in Busan, from what I've noticed."

"Tattoo artists… My God!" Eunji suddenly whispers, disgusted. I open my mouth to try to interrupt her and stop her from saying one of her craziness, but she’s quicker than me. "Every time I see someone with a tattoo, I wonder how they had the courage to dirty their own skin like that. It's horrible to think that these things, whether the person wants it or not, have no return."

"Mom!" I hiss, completely embarrassed. I cover my face with my hands, not knowing where to look. The Jeon family seems surprised, but this acidic comment doesn't shock me. She always does this because she can't keep the peace for too long. It's as if she enjoys causing disagreements, no matter who it is with.

"It's the truth, Y/N!" She argues, as if she were shocked that I disagree. "These things are from the devil! How can someone mark their body like that? It was God who created us in his most perfect form. I just don’t understand!"

"Eunji... I understand what you mean. But everyone chooses their own way to live. I don't think God disapproves of someone just because they have drawings on their skin." Misuk, our neighbor, shares her opinion. That's what I think too. I nod to everyone and make it clear that, even though I'm Eunji's daughter, I don't agree with her. Not in a million years.

"God disapproves, Misuk! I'm surprised you don't think like I do." My mother continues. I sigh, trembling, completely nervous. "The youth today only think about worldly things, drinking and adorning themselves as if they were delinquents! I can't believe this will be the future of our society!"

"Are you saying I didn't raise my child well?" Mrs. Jeon questions. Her face is neutral, but her voice rises a few notes. She finally seems irritated, and rightly so. I would be too, if someone came into my house and said those barbarities.

"Mom, I think it's time for us to go." I get up from the table without waiting for a response. I'm so embarrassed I can't look at anyone, much less Jungkook, who's been quiet the whole time. It's as if he isn't affected by my mother's comments, but I'm aware that deep down, he feels uncomfortable.

"I'm not saying you raised your son badly, but look at him, Misuk! He dresses like he’s part of those bad things. He must be going from party to party doing God knows what. He put those horrible things on his face!" She grunts disgustedly, convinced that she's saying the right things. I try to breathe deeply and groan, desperate to leave. "Y/N only goes where I allow her, and has never even set foot in those dubious places. I let her sleep here last week, but I'm seriously thinking of denying it if there’s a next time."

I widen my eyes as the words leave her mouth. I look at Misuk and see her furrowing her brows in confusion, as if she doesn't know what my mother is talking about. She opens her mouth to respond, disoriented, but Jungkook is quicker and steps in front of her, suddenly.

"I think it's getting late." He says with a false smile on his face. He looks at me for a few seconds and then continues, "This conversation could go on for a while. Mom, I've worked a lot this week. Is it okay if we rest earlier tonight?"

"No, dear, but..." My neighbor shares a confused look, staring at me as if asking when I slept at her house. I make a discreet sign that we’ll talk later, and she nods her head, sighing. "I think that's best. Eunji, sorry to interrupt this conversation, but as you can see, my husband and son are very tired. It's better for you to go, please."

I sigh with relief, feeling my heart race in my chest. My mother opens her mouth to retort, but then seems to think better of it and gets up from her chair. I don't even wait for a proper goodbye; I open the door to my neighbors' living room, wave to them, and rush home, without waiting for anyone. My legs are trembling, I'm so nervous. My mother almost discovers the lie I told her, some days ago. I have to thank Mrs. Jeon a lot after this and explain in detail why I lied. I have a problem on my hands because I slept in Jungkook's place and I don’t want to tell her that.

Eunji follows me, almost like an angry bull, seeing everything red. She stops in the living room, slams the door of our house, and then stares at me, her dark eyes full of tension. I swallow hard, not knowing what to say.

"Do you have a problem, Y/N?" She asks, frowning. The few wrinkles she has become more prominent when she does that.

"What do you mean?" I ask in a low voice, scared and fearful.

"Why didn’t you agree with me? I am your mother! That man, Misuk's son, he's a complete aberration! You acted like you agreed with them!"

"I didn't agree with anyone, Mom." I grunt, disgusted. I don't like hearing her call Jungkook that way. I knew she didn't like him, not at all, but proving that in real life hurts me much more.

"You did agree! I don't want to see you hanging out with him! I don't know what I was thinking when I let you go with him that day! I must have been crazy!" She screams, and my already aching head throbs even more. She throws her shoe to one side of the living room, out of control, and then looks at me again, with an ironic and insincere smile. "You won't go to Misuk's house anymore. Not me either. That woman... I thought she was sensible, that she was like us, but letting her son dress that way is a terror to me!"

"And what does that have to do with us, Mom?" I ask, shaking my head. Eunji opens her mouth to respond, but I'm quicker. "He's her son, and it's not up to us to judge the lifestyle he decided to have! It's not up to us to judge other people as if we're better than them!"

"Have you gone crazy?" She retorts, increasingly irritated. "I'm not judging him, I'm just pointing out the obvious! Do you think a man like that is going to heaven? With me? Believe it or not, my daughter, hell is full of people like him: who dress like psychopaths and walk around as if they know everything. All I feel is pity."

"You’re not God to know who goes to heaven or not." I whisper, turning my back. My eyes widen when the words escape my mouth uncontrollably. It's as if heavy feelings took over me and expelled the sentence without my consent. I hear a deep gasp of shock from my mother. When I look at her, her face is so filled with hatred that I can hardly recognize her.

"I'm not God, but I'm his daughter! I won't allow you to talk to me like that!" She snarls and approaches me so quickly that my body freezes. I've never seen her like this before, so upset over so little. "Go to your room. This conversation makes no sense, and I'm already tired of it."

And I go, without saying a single word. Things were too good to be true. The reality is that my mother can't control her mouth. Always saying whatever comes to her mind without reasoning how much it can hurt others. Her favorite motto is 'tell the truth, no matter who it hurts.' I hate that, aware that the more my mother does this, offending and discriminating against everyone, the more people will distance themselves from me. Nobody wants to hear, especially in their own home, the craziness she just said.

I take off my shoes, throwing them to the floor, and look at my locked window, still shocked and nervous about the events. Since that day I saw Jungkook taking off his clothes, I haven't left the blinds open, afraid that another embarrassing thing might happen. Curious, I unlock it and peek out, seeing that the light in the room next door is on. I sigh and take a deep breath, and in an act of courage, I throw the window wide open.

"Jungkook!" I half-whisper and half-shout, trying not to draw my mother's attention from downstairs. He doesn't appear, so I call him again. "Jungkook!"

"What are you doing?" He suddenly appears in front of me, coming out of a door inside the room. The bathroom, I suppose, by the white towel around his neck, as if he just brushed his teeth.

"Speak lower." I ask fearfully, lowering my voice. "I don't want anyone to hear us."

"Your mom, in this case." He smiles ironically. I nod, having no desire to laugh. I feel terrible about how the night ended.

"If she finds out that my room is so close to yours, she'll never let me sleep here again." I say jokingly, in a desperate attempt to purge the bad feeling invading my chest. "I called you to apologize. My mom shouldn't have spoken that way about you to your family, saying all those things."

"You could have sent a message." Jungkook replies, shrugging, as if none of this were important.

"I wanted to talk to you in person. I really feel bad." I express myself as best as I can, with all the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my mind.

"I’ve never met someone as crazy as your mom, and I know a lot of bizarre people out there." He leans against the iron railing of the balcony, mocking. I try to cover my mouth and hide a smile, but it's hard. Jungkook is a goofball. "I had already noticed how she acts, you know? As if she could dictate what is right and what is wrong, so superior."

"I know, she is very difficult." I sigh; I run my hands over my arms, chilled by the increasingly strong night breeze. "She became like this after my dad died."

"Has it been a long time since he passed away?"

"Ten years. It seems so recent, but all this time has gone by. It was very difficult because she worked a lot. She wasn't like this. I remember she even drank a bit on weekends, like a normal person."

"So she kind of went crazy?" He asks curiously, wrinkling his nose. I laugh and shake my head.

"Not quite like that. She's not crazy... She just hasn't understood yet that she's traumatized and can't hurt others because of it." I explain, leaning on the window. We're so close that I can smell his perfume. A nice scent of flowers and fields that I really like. "Did you feel bad about what she said?"

"To tell the truth, no." He shrugs, as if he doesn't care. "I'm used to judgments. If she knew that my ex-boyfriend is a man, she'd freak out."

"I'm really sorry." I say in a whisper, feeling sad about his words. I believe that yes, he felt affected by what happened, and just doesn't want to tell the truth to spare me the embarrassment and guilt. I have no idea how hard it must be to be comfortable in your own skin when other people do everything to make you feel like an aberration. Like the wrong one, like the one who isn't normal.

"You don't have to apologize so much." He smiles affectionately, with a rebellious strand of his hair falling in front of his eyes. "And you, Y/N? Have you never done anything crazy in your life? Your mom seems so controlling, that I was thinking while she was saying all that, how difficult it must be for you to be yourself."

"I never felt like doing anything rebellious until I met... well, until I met you." I smile, embarrassed. My cheeks turn red when he laughs mischievously in response.

"Almost fucking me in my apartment isn’t exactly a great act of rebellion." He shrugs and rolls his eyes, laughing. I grunt, increasingly embarrassed.

"That was definitely the craziest thing I've ever done in my life." I assure him. Being with him may seem like a little thing in his eyes, but for me, it isn't.

"Have you never thought about maybe, I don’t know, getting a tattoo? I think that would definitely kill your mom."

"I never thought about it." I laugh incredulously. I never even considered the possibility of doing something like that. "How did you decide to get your first tattoo? Did it have any meaning or was it more impulsive?"

"I got it when I was twenty. And it wasn't impulsive. I always thought about getting a tattoo, and when I left my parents' house, I gathered the courage and designed it." He laughs, and for the second time this night, I find him cute. "Actually, I got a new one yesterday. Do you want to see it?"

"Seriously?" I ask, a bit confused. We talked all day and he didn't mention it at all.

"Yeah, I had time last night." He explains, as if reading my mind. "Do you want me to show you?"

I nod my head in agreement, and he takes a leap to leave his balcony. I get startled, frightened, when he climbs through my window and enters my room. I don't know what to do; my breathing accelerates as he gets closer.

"Jungkook, you shouldn't be here!" I whisper, agitated, afraid that at any moment my mother will enter my room, and then go completely crazy.

"Calm down. It's all good." He rolls his eyes, teasing me.

"I'm being serious. You could have shown me your tattoo in your room." I argue nervously. "If my mom sees you here, I’ll never leave the house again."

"You're too stressed." He comments calmly, placing his hand on my shoulder unprotected by the thin straps of my shirt. I feel an immediate shiver down my spine, taking a step back quickly. No matter how long I spend with him, Jungkook still has that crazy effect on me that I can't control. "Sorry, I shouldn't have touched you."

"You don't need to apologize." I whisper, going back to my previous spot. He must have thought I was uncomfortable with his closeness, and that's far from being true. I miss his touches, and if I could, I would ask for more. "Can you show me what you did?"

"Yeah. Wait a second." He murmurs. His fingers go to his waist, and he pulls the fabric of his t-shirt up, raising it until the piece is in the palm of his hand. I swallow hard, looking at his body so close to mine. No matter how many times I've seen him like this, I'm still shocked at how handsome he is. All muscular, with pale skin adorned with tattoos. My eyes roam over his strong arms and go to his abdomen in a fine path of hair that follows inside his sweatpants.

"I got this clock yesterday. It represents the passage of time. How I have to give importance to the moments in life, whether they are good or not, because everything can end suddenly."

He points to his bicep, now covered by a plastic film, which protects the new ink. I raise my hand and touch the warm, soft skin, testing and exploring. He stays quiet, waiting for my inspection with patience and attention. I've never seen anything like it in my life. I smile, embarrassed, when I notice that wherever my fingers go, the hairs on his body stand up and prickle. I say nothing, absorbed and hypnotized.

"It's beautiful." I confess just for his ears. He turns to me and looks into my eyes.

"I really wanted to show you this. I missed you. Did you miss me?" He asks suddenly, in a serious way. And he certainly has no idea how much. During these two days, with all our messages, I've never felt so alive. I missed him in an inexplicable way that he can't even imagine.

"A lot." I reply, shaking my head, red. "Jungkook, can I tell you the truth?"

He just nods and makes a noise with his throat, agreeing. I swallow hard once more and take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself.

"I want you." I say in a whisper, like a secret. He smiles at the corner of his lips, never taking his eyes off mine. "I want you so much that I don't even recognize myself. It's like I can finally be me. I've never felt this way."

"Do you remember that night?" Jungkook raises his hand and caresses the top of my cheek with his thumb, in a tender gesture.

"You know I do. Of everything." I say. His pupils dilate, and his face becomes more serious. He takes a step forward until his chest touches mine, and we are completely glued to each other.

"I've wanted you immensely since that day." He confesses, and I can feel the sincerity in his raw words. "I want you so much that I'm about to go crazy... I don't want to deny myself when I know you want me too."

"I don't want you to deny yourself." I reply. And it's the truth. I close my eyes and feel his lips pressed intensely against mine. The cold piercing makes me shiver all over when I touch him.

I let out a sigh amidst the desire and grab his hair between my fingers, pulling hard, not measuring the pain he might feel because I know he likes it. His soft, low moan proves that to me. I smile through the kiss and slide my tongue into his mouth, playing with his, feeling his massage mine. His hands go to the back of my thighs, pulling me with such force that I need the support of his shoulders to remain standing. I wrap my legs around his waist, accidentally feeling his hard cock pressed against my intimacy. It's overwhelming, in such a way that a groan escapes from the back of my throat.

His lips detach from mine, and his dark eyes lock onto my irises. I feel ecstatic, almost in a parallel world, seeing only his red, wet, and swollen mouth from our kisses. And I can't stop. I feel so good, almost as if I had denied myself a vice that I am only now getting to taste again. I wrap my arms around his neck and bring my mouth closer to his ear, smiling when I notice his skin prickle one more time because of me.

"Take me to bed, please." I ask softly, not thinking about the consequences. I nibble on his earlobe and plant wet kisses along his neck, sucking and tasting the flavor of his skin; the little spots I like so much turning even redder and more marked. He lets out a deeper moan and lays me on the bed, settling between my legs.

"You just have to ask me to stop." He says in a hoarse voice, looking me up and down. He sweeps his newly cut hair back, illuminated by the moonlight.

"You know how far I can go." I assure him, my cheeks flushed. He smiles, and almost immediately kisses me again. And I love kissing him. I've never had much experience, having little to compare, but I don't need that to know it's really good. More than good, it's wonderful.

I start to feel what I've only felt with him, lust, eating away from the inside out. I drag my hands over his warm arms, where I now know his new tattoo is, and pull his body closer to mine, feeling his abdomen, his heat, and his desire, all at once. The sweatpants aren't very effective at hiding his excitement, and I take advantage of that for my own benefit, rubbing against him, finding relief and pleasure that, without wanting to admit, I've missed so much.

I moan low, wet and excited, yearning for more. Jungkook suddenly pulls back a bit and releases me from the mattress. He grips the end of my shirt and slowly pulls it up my body. His eyes darken as my breasts are revealed. My first impulse is to cover my nipples, illuminated by the dim light, but his lips graze my jaw and his warm breath hits my collarbone, making me so eager that I can't worry about anything else. My entire skin tingles when he uses his tongue and licks my neck.

Jungkook lets out a little smirk, pauses, and looks at me, watching my reactions closely as his index and thumb go to my areola; I moan again, feeling my nipple swell when he squeezes it tightly, causing a pleasurable ache that sends shocks and waves of pleasure to my intimacy. I'm so wet that I feel my panties soaked, the cotton fabric sticky with my lubrication. His teeth dig into my breast, and his tongue wraps around my nipple, circling and swirling. To avoid any noise, I concentrate on keeping my lips pressed together, almost to the point of not being able to breathe. Jungkook grumbles and releases me, moaning as if he enjoys it as much as I do, and he returns to kissing me.

"You’re so tasty..." He groans, as if my pleasure were his. "I could eat you all day long."

"J-Jungkook... let me touch you." I implore in a whisper, breathless.

"Touch me." He commands, straightforward.

With the idea of making him feel everything I'm going through, I slide my hand down his gray sweatpants. I find, still over his underwear, his hard and thick member. Jungkook hisses and closes his eyes, but doesn't stop sucking me, digging his teeth into my flesh and causing a hickey that I know will take days to disappear. I become more confident when I feel how excited he is, all heavy in my palm. I lower the fabric of his pants to where my hands can reach, and when I can't anymore, I use my feet, wrapping my legs around his waist.

His navy blue underwear slips down his thighs until his cock finally springs free, hitting the end of his abdomen. The tip is all slick, red, and the veins make it appear even more aggressive, all manly and virile. It's crazy how, even not knowing much what to do, I don't feel intimidated seeing him this way. I just want to touch him. To have him.

"I want to touch you..." I whisper, wrapping my fingers around his member; my heart racing in my chest. My face burns with embarrassment, but I don't stop. "Teach me?"

"What do you want to do?" He questions, closing his eyes. His head tilts back when I accidentally touch his balls, and I squeeze him a little harder. "Shit, I might come just from that."

"I don't want to do things that way." I stop my caresses. He stares at me, frowning. I bite my lip a little shyly, but I'm determined to explain my desire. "I want- I want to kiss you down there, I just don’t... I don’t know how to do it. I wanted to do the same thing you did to me that time."

"It's all good." He smiles slightly, calming me down; he grips my waist tightly and continues, "Are you sure? I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"You're not pressuring me." I say firmly. And he's not. In the end, all the choices I made so far regarding him were based solely on my desires, never Jungkook's. I like that. It's one of the first times in my life that I'm the one choosing what to do or not. He nods, seeing that I'm confident, and opens the button of my skirt, parting my legs to fit his body better against mine. My panties remain, a light pink cotton that I know is nothing sexy, but apparently doesn't bother him. The fabric is stained with my wetness, from how turned on I am. I watch eagerly as his hand approaches, and his thumb touches my clit through the fabric, stroking up and down, in slow, deliberate circles, taking his time. I roll my eyes in ecstasy, and if I hadn't been so eager to make him come, I would let him continue.

My hole pulses when I pull his finger away, yearning for the peak, but I focus on him and his pleasure. I get up from the bed and pat the mattress for him to lie down. He obediently complies, unashamed of his nudity. I stare at him, amazed at how handsome he is, muscular and at the same time, with an angelic aura.

I lean in closer to his face and watch as he closes his eyes, waiting for a kiss, his long, thick eyelashes brushing against his cheeks as he realizes my mouth is heading for his neck. I tenderly kiss a little mole on his collarbone and another near his jaw. He sighs but says nothing, remaining quiet. I lower my mouth, licking his skin and breathing in his scent, which is fragrant and pleasant.

"Hold my cock." He whispers in my ear, pleading. "Have you ever done that?"

"No." I shake my head, embarrassed. He just smiles and takes my hand. He spits in my palm and grips my wrist, spreading the saliva over his shaft. I watch mesmerized as a vein seems to pulse at the back of the tip. I stroke it once, testing to see how he reacts to the caress. He seems to enjoy it, gripping the sheet of my bed and closing his eyes. "Is it good?"

"Y-yeah." His voice falters as he answers. I smile with pride, deciding to increase the speed just a little, using my thumb at the opening and spreading the pre-cum to make things flow more smoothly. My mouth waters when a drop of his desire starts to ooze from the tip, and I mentally wonder if I'm strange for wanting to taste it.

"How do I do it?" I ask, not stopping. I kiss his jaw and wait for his response. He clears his throat and looks at me with dilated pupils.

"The only thing you have to avoid is your teeth. There's no secret; just never bite." He explains calmly, as if teaching me anatomy. I nod and say nothing more, focused on protecting my teeth and not hurting him in any way.

I slide down my body to the end of the bed and position myself over him, closer to his cock. It looks bigger now, up close. More powerful and voluminous. I stroke it, twisting my wrist and testing it with my tongue first, tasting the salty flavor of his pleasure. It's not bad, actually, so I try again, licking the tip and feeling his flavor get stronger in my mouth. Jungkook moans louder, tilting his head back onto my pillow. He doesn't close his eyes, however, observing closely my inspection of his body. I start to feel more confident and in a spur of the moment, I suck his cockhead, swirling my tongue and caressing the pink skin, as if it were a lollipop. I groan, lowering my head a bit more, returning to the surface to take a deeper breath.

"Shit..." Jungkook grits his teeth, moaning. "There's no way this is your first time."

"It’s the truth." I say, smiling. I'm glad he's enjoying it, even with my inexperience. I caress his thigh and kiss it before diving my mouth back onto him once again. He disappears inside, filling the back of my throat. He doesn't fit all the way inside me, and I don't push too hard, using my hand on the rest and following my sucking.

I use my tongue, circling and stroking that thick vein that runs along his shaft. Suddenly, Jungkook pulls his hand away from the blanket and reaches for my nape, holding my hair. I watch his reactions closely, like when he moans softly, or when he swallows hard before closing his eyes and cursing softly. I notice his chest stops moving, and Jungkook holds his breath as I go deeper. I realize he wants to go harder, to grip me more firmly, but he restrains himself for some reason. I pull his fingers to my scalp, encouraging him.

"You can hold me tighter." I pull his cock from my mouth, wiping some saliva that starts to drip down my chin.

"If I hold you, I won't be able to stop."

"And who said I want you to stop?"

"Y/N..." He tries to say something, but I interrupt him.

"Do whatever you want with me." I say suddenly, surprising both him and myself. He smiles wickedly, as if my consent had triggered something inside him. I return to his cock and suck it, this time hungrier, going up and down its long length.

His hand returns to my nape, his fingers entangled in my hair, and without hesitation, he pushes my head down forcefully, roughly and dominantly. I choke on his shaft but don't stop, excited that the pain I feel in my scalp is directly affecting my pussy. I'm literally dripping, sucking him off without stopping, without wanting to separate. His flavor fills my palate and I love it.

"You’re such a slut..." I hear him curse, almost unconsciously. I’m not offended, strangely. My canal clenchs, and more creamy lubrication flows from my entrance, dripping down my thighs just from hearing how he calls me. "Fuck, you like this, don’t you? You like sucking my cock with your mom in the same house?"

I remain silent, too busy enjoying his pleasure. I moan and try to nod, but his hand doesn't let me go, pushing me harder against his pubis. His pace quickens, and even though it's hard to keep up, I continue sloppyly, drooling.

"You must be so wet just because my cock is in your mouth." He chuckles, because he knows it's true; his firm hand is caressing my back down to my ass. He strokes my skin before slapping my buttocks hard. I choke, afraid my mother will hear us, but he doesn’t stop, and neither do I. My head is so clouded with pleasure that I can't think of anything else but him.

"Kook, cum for me... please." I plead; my eyes water. He grunts with a raspy voice and throws his head back. I use my tongue on the frenulum of his cock because I notice it's more sensitive there, and suck harder, almost ferociously. Jungkook moans and growls, and I know he's close. His face turns red, and his chest freezes, as if he no longer needs to breathe. He suddenly opens his eyes, biting his lips furiously.

"Open your mouth. You're going to swallow all my cum." He commands, without asking for permission, as if he knows I would give it anyway.

I keep going, not stopping; my lips hurt, and my jaw does too, but I really want to see him come and I keep that as my main goal. The first spurt goes straight to my throat, catching me off guard, until he fills my mouth with his cum, making me swallow it all at once, as he promised. I don't feel disgusted; on the contrary, I enjoy it so much that I clean him off completely, until the last drop of his pleasure, kissing his cock when he whimpers from sensitivity. I smile when he catches his breath and looks back at me, as if he's in the clouds, feeling light and tired.

"I'm drained..." He says softly and in a whiny tone. He seems like an innocent boy, not a man who just forced me to take all of him.

"You called me a slut." I comment, laughing a little. It's the first thing that comes to my mind when everything is over. I laugh even more, seeing his cheeks turn red, as if he felt more ashamed than I did about what happened.

"I'm not going to apologize. I saw that you liked it." Jungkook argues, laughing too. I nod in agreement. I didn't know I liked this kind of thing, but I do. I stroke his tattooed arm and give it a little kiss, addicted to touching him. "Lie down on the bed, I want to suck your pussy."

"Aren't you afraid my mother will show up?" I ask, but I obey, lying down on the bed. "I'm afraid she'll hear us both."

"Just ask me to stop...even though we both know you won't." He winks at me. My back hits the mattress when he presses his palm on my belly, and literally pulling my legs to the mattress, my thighs are spread wide apart. He takes my ankle, caresses it, and then puts it over his shoulders, bringing his face closer to my intimacy. I'm embarrassed, I won't lie, but I'm so horny that I can't wait for him to start.

"Please, Jungkook, touch me already." I say when he takes his time to caress my skin with his fingertips, without touching directly where I want it most.

"Don't be impatient." He laughs, oblivious to my desperation. I grunt, grumpy.

"Please..."

"Needy." He says ironically, mocking me, as if he hadn't suffered with me minutes before. His bright eyes turn to my pussy and he smiles, before kissing my crotch and caressing my skin. I try to laugh at the situation, but the truth is that it makes me even more excited. His fingers part my small lips and he licks from my entrance to my clitoris, closing his eyes and frowning, as if he were eating something and really enjoying the taste. "Fuck! You're so wet."

I don't say anything because I know it's the truth. I hold his hair lightly, giving him more freedom to caress me. I watch carefully as his lips surround my most sensitive bud, kissing and sucking my clit. His nose is all sticky with my lubrication, but he's not afraid to get dirty and sinks his tongue into my hole, driving me crazy and boiling. I feel him inside me, hot and wet, going in and out. I moan, covering my mouth to be as quiet as possible, but I don't know if I'm very successful and I don't care. I'm in heaven, with the delicious sensation of my pleasure and there's nothing in the world that can take me out of this trance.

He takes his tongue out of me, swallows my taste and brings his mouth closer to my clitoris once more. I have to remove a lock of his hair in front of his eyes to see him better, feeling the tips of his fingers exploring my channel. I relax my body and wait for the penetration, watching with concentration as the flesh separates to accommodate him inside me. I sway my hips, feeling the sensation of being filled to the limit in my intimacy. I imagine what it would feel like if it were his cock, much bigger and thicker.

"Is it here?" Jungkook asks, looking at me carefully, curling his fingers upwards in search of that spongy spot that had driven me crazy last time.

"A little deeper, Kook…" I instruct, knowing he is close. My intimacy contracts instantly when he finds it, massaging and caressing my pleasure point with intensity. "R-right there… keep going, please."

And he continues. His fingers go in and out again, more vehemently. He sucks me as he picks up the pace and penetrates me, in a long and intense thrust. Out and in, fast and strong. I moan louder this time, unable to help myself, guiding his lips back to my clitoris. His nose feels good in contact with my slit, adding to all the delicious sensations at the bottom of my belly. His fingers are long but painless, using the moisture of my pleasure around my entrance and making them wetter, before erupting again. I know I'm going to cum, I remember everything I felt that night with him and I know I'm very close.

"Oh my God...! I'm going to cum!"

"Don't cum." He orders, raising his head, but doesn't slow down. His arm moves in time, massaging my clit with his thumb.

"I-I can't." I choke, at my limit. My heart races and my legs tremble, almost on the edge, falling and diving at my peak, when Jungkook suddenly stops. My eyes fill with tears and my throat closes. My imminent pleasure begins to cool, until it goes away all at once. I hold my nipple and contort my body trying to make it come back, but it's impossible. "Why Jungkook? I was... I was so close."

"I know." He laughs mercilessly, kissing my belly. He sucks his fingers wet with my lubrication and puts them inside me again. He easily finds my pleasure spot, even more sensitive and delicate because of the denial of orgasm. I try to close my legs but he stops me and wraps my ankles around his shoulders again. "You'll thank me when we're done." He doesn't wait for an answer and goes back to sucking and licking on my clitoris sloppyly, swollen from the loss of climax.

My intimacy is very sensitive, his touches twice as intense. I relax my body and trust my pleasure to Jungkook, holding onto his hair and waiting expectantly for the warm feeling in my stomach to return. And it comes fast, stronger. He seems to know my body very well, better than I do, so I concentrate and don't think about anything else, emptying my mind. I sigh and close my eyes, unable to face the image of him crouching in front of me, focused on giving me everything. It's too much for me.

My clitoris becomes the main object of his caresses and although they are not strong, they are intense and deep. He knows exactly what he's doing. "Jungkook! Fuck..." I moan breathlessly. I pull and pinch my nipple hard, pulling myself away from the bed. My back is soaked in sweat, my body is so hot. I grunt, feeling something strange in my intimacy. It's different from other times, a desire to pee that Jungkook's fingers only incite. I sigh and grind my waist, rubbing my clit against his mouth, my orgasm and the hot sensation growing stronger. "Kook... Stop. There's something strange."

"Trust me, Y/N." He whispers, looking into my eyes. "Relax that pussy and cum really good, love."

I roll my eyes and writhe on the bed. My heart races and my breathing catches. The most delicious and hot sensation releases itself inside me and I fall onto the mattress, my arms weak. Jungkook doesn't stop at all and sticks his fingers deep inside, massaging my sticky inner walls. It's the longest orgasm I've ever had, as if it never ends. I bite my hand, trying not to scream, but it's very difficult. I'm literally on another planet. My whole body trembles and a sob escapes my throat. Only then do I realize that I'm crying, this experience is so intense and incredible for me. With my free hand, I push Jungkook away a little, feeling pain from the sensitivity. I need a few good minutes to recover, taking a deep breath and relaxing my muscles. When I look down, with my eyelids closed and weak, I'm shocked to notice the wet sheets and his chest damp from my pleasure. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out.

"How are you?" Jungkook asks, gently lowering my legs. He picks up my shirt thrown between the covers and cleans himself, with a smile.

"Did I pee on you?" my eyes widen, moving from side to side to avoid looking at him. I hear him laugh, before he holds my chin and caresses my cheek.

"You squirted. It's not pee." He explains, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. His thumb touches my cheekbone, wiping away my tears. "You cried. It was the most delicious and exciting thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Did I pee on you?" I ask again, just to confirm. He laughs, throwing his head back.

"No, I swear. That's never happened to you?"

"No, never. I already told you... My first orgasms were with you." I only feel embarrassed and realize what I said when he smiles at me, laying his chest on top of my breasts.

"Have you never touched yourself?" he asks curiously, playing with my nipple to make it swell. It's strange because I can see in his eyes that he's moving my body, at least for now, without malice, as if he's touching me without ulterior motives. I frown at his action but decide to be permissive, fingering his scalp, blowing on the dark strands wet with sweat. We urgently need a shower.

"I've tried," I confess, finding it easier to say this when his eyes aren't on me. "But I've never felt the way I feel when I'm with you."

"After we were together..." He begins, lifting his face, watching my reactions. "Have you ever tried to touch yourself while thinking about me?"

"You'll never know," I reply, laughing. He pouts his lips but nods, as if he agrees even though he's sulking.

"Okay, I'll accept you not answering me on one condition," he says mysteriously. His finger plays with his eyebrow piercing before he continues. "The next time we meet, you'll touch yourself in front of me."

"You're kidding, right?" My eyes widen. My whole body tenses at his suggestion, a little scared. Does anyone do something like that? It's such an intimate thing and touching yourself in front of someone... I never imagined something like that.

"Say yes. You won't regret it. I even have a surprise for you when we meet."

"You're not serious."

"I'm serious all the time, woman." He teases, pulling my nipple hard. I groan in surprise, hitting his arm. I start laughing along with him, laughing out loud, when I hear a noise at my bedroom door, as if someone outside was trying to open it.

My heart races and my body immediately trembles. For a while, I completely forgot where I was. I didn't even remember my mother's existence or the possibility of her ever showing up.

"Y/N, open this door now." My mother says from the other side. I feel a little calmer because she seems irritated, but not crazy, as she would be if she knew who was with me in my room. I jump out of bed, feeling my legs weak from the powerful orgasm, but with adrenaline running through my veins. I look at Jungkook putting on his shirt and searching for his clothes in the middle of the mess. I stare at him, trying to know what to do, but he seems more focused on organizing my room than helping me.

"I'm coming, mom... I'm working out!" I shout, putting on my shirt. I gesture for Jungkook to leave my room through the window, but he points down, showing his penis swinging from side to side, practically naked without his underwear. I start to laugh nervously, afraid that my mother will catch us at any moment. Holy shit! "Wait a little longer!"

I gesture again for him to leave, and quickly throw his clothes on, putting on my skirt that was thrown under the bed. He laughs and before jumping out my window, he takes a few steps back and turns to me. His forehead touches mine and his bright eyes fix on mine. My heart beats faster and I feel butterflies in my stomach. I know that my nervousness, at this moment, is not for my mother. He kisses me, a quick and simple peck, before going to his balcony, waving one last time and turning off the light in his room. I close my window, waking up from my daydreams and opening the door to my mother, who looks irritated.

"What took you so long?" She asks, putting her hands on her hips. I cover my room with my arms and walk to the bathroom.

"I told you, I was working out." I repeat, crossing my arms in front of my chest. My entire body is wet with sweat, and I avoid her proximity as much as possible, knowing that I smell of sex and men's perfume.

"I didn't know you worked out." She narrows her eyes.

"Yeah." I shrug, smiling forcedly. "Why did you come to call me?"

"I'm going to have a work trip tomorrow, in Seoul. I'll be away for a few days, so I need you to take care of the bazaar for me this week."

"Okay." I quickly agree, opening the bathroom door. "Is that all?"

"Yes, that was all. Good night." She walks away coldly, entering her own room.

I sigh in relief and lock the door, staring at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, tangled and full of knots. My mind returns to normal and I have to sit on the toilet lid to breathe a little. I laugh in disbelief and shake my head in disbelief. What just happened?

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

@ttipa @joonwater @ane102

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies, I couldn't leave you on that cliffhanger for too long, I'm far too excited to pump out new chapters because I'm actually keen for us all to finish this series hehe! This one is a little longer because I combined two chapters into one and refuse to cut it down. Enjoy <3

Chapter 86: Favours in Shifting Tides

Lords and servants that morning were confused when they were greeted by the sight of the Princess, clad in only her robe, barefooted, storming through the corridors and halls of the Red Keep.

None approached you, watching as your hands were curled into tight fists as you stormed away from your wing of the castle. 

You were furious, and a lot of the anger that kept curling its claws into your flesh was born from the dark whispers of fear in the back of your mind. Aemond was leaving you alone once again, and who was to say that Aegon wouldn't come back to your chambers once more?

Who was to say that he wouldn't come to redeem his ‘perhaps’?

What’s more, is that in your heated anger, you did not even ask Aemond for how long he would be gone. For how long he would be leaving you to protect yourself from his family, from his allies, from the court. From many people in the Keep who wished you harm. Who wished your family harm. 

And now, to make matters worse, you were with child. 

His child.

You found yourself at the Godswood, simmering with anger, and as your toes pressed into the dirt and grass beneath its roots, and your chest heaved angrily, a most spiteful and almost sickening thought came to your mind as you looked up into its bright crimson branches. 

You wished you would lose the child. 

To spite him. 

To punish him.

But you knew, that it would be more of a punishment to yourself. 

And yet still, that did not stop you thinking such a thought beneath the shade of the Godswood, wishing to hurt him. Wishing to punish him. Wishing to curse him with more losses than one. 

More.

More than one. 

And as if the Gods had heard your prayers, and your anger, and felt your rage, you remembered in your fury something that you had. Something that you could utilise. Something that you had been waiting for a chance to reach out and touch. 

Something that came with risks. 

But in this moment of hazed rage, it was worth it all.

You had an ally in the Keep. 

It was not to the time nor the moment to use your star fruit pass to victory quite yet, but there were other means of helping yourself in the Keep. Others who were devoted to your cause. Others loyal to your Queen mother.

You thanked the Gods for hearing your anger, and moved away, storming back to the chambers, your steps faltering with uncertainty at the potential of Aemond still being in the chambers when you arrived. 

But much to your delight, and also to your disgust, Aemond was nowhere to be seen. 

He was gone to his whore.

Instead, there was a small piece of parchment, left atop the bare table for you, your name slopped in his rushed script. Angrily, you snatched the letter and stormed towards the fireplace, throwing it into the flames and watching in satisfaction as the fire devoured it. 

You did not read it, nor did you wish to.

Fuck him.

You moved back towards the side table with great urgency, heat licking at the side of your face as you hastily grabbed the quill and ink pot, moving to sit down at the table. You laid the parchment flat, halving it in your hand with a satisfying rip.

Quill to paper, you wrote. And the more you wrote, the more anger you felt. The fire within was fuelled by Aemond's leave. By the pregnancy. By Aegon. By 'perhaps'.

By all.

You kept it short. You kept it sweet. And soon, you were blowing on the scratches of ink with impatient breaths, rolling it up and stuffing it into the pocket of your robe. You hastily moved the ink and quill to the side of the chambers, and tossed the unwritten piece of parchment that had been torn, into the fire. 

There was to be no evidence of this letter.

When the maids came and brought breakfast for you, you had given them a tight lipped smile. It was tempting to ask for their help, but in reality, you did not wish to put either of the girls in more harms way than they already were. After they had dressed you and braided your hair, you had gently folded the robe against the chair beside the bed, waiting for the girls to leave. 

And as soon as the door shut behind them, you had dug your hand into the pocket and stuffed the scroll into the breast of your dress, leaving your chambers with great haste as you set about your way back through the Keep. 

Not once did you feel fear. Not once did you feel conflicted. Though there was trepidation as you came towards Lady Alicent Hightower’s chambers, Ser Criston Cole standing outside of her chambers.

The dark haired knight gazed at you in confusion as you made your way towards him, holding your hands delicately in front of you. You did your best to give him a sheepish and almost shy expression, playing up the act of embarrassment and nervousness. 

You needed to look defenceless.

You needed to look doe-ish. 

Innocent. 

A weak woman. 

“I need to speak with Alicent.” You spoke softly, twiddling with the ring upon your finger, spinning the dragon and ruby around in a circle in mock anxiety. 

Ser Cole did not respond to your request, deep brown eyes still on you as you shifted from one foot to the other.

“Please,” You begged, the word feeling bitter on your tongue, “I don’t know who else to turn to.”

Look innocent. 

Look lost.

Look weak.

Ser Cristons eyes roamed you again, clearly sizing you up for any potential of danger before he knocked upon her large wooden doors. A soft “enter” came from within, and the Ser Cole went in first, stepping through to announce you to the Dowager Queen. 

You took a steadying breath, anger still beating in your heart like a drum as you took a step inside, looking down at the floor in a small bow. When you rose your head to meet her, you saw that she was seated at her own table, eating her breakfast.

“Princess,” Alicent looked surprised by your presence, “I was not expecting your company this morning.” She cocked her head, clearly uncertain of your visit. 

You wrung your hands together in front of you as you looked down again shyly, “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I-“ You paused, “I wasn’t sure who to turn to.”

Alicent blinked at you, lifting her napkin to her lips delicately as she beckoned you over with a flick of her wrist. You turned your head to look at Ser Cole, who’s hand was on the pummel of his sword. Alicent stood from her spot at the table and moved to sit atop a large green chaise before her fire, another seated opposite, opening her arm to show you where to sit. 

You moved across the room, glancing once more at Ser Cole shyly as you sat opposite her. You wrung your hands in your lap as you let the room bask in uncomfortable silence. Alicent dipped her head towards you, to show you that you may speak. 

Bitch.

“You’re a mother.” You all but blurted, looking back at Ser Criston, who stood close by to Alicent.

The Dowager Queen looked at you oddly.

Swallowing, you placed a hand atop your belly, no real sign of life there besides the tiniest of bloating, “And I am to be a mother too.”

You played up the act by smiling down at your stomach, before you looked back up at Alicent, who seemed to have relaxed at your words. The older woman clearly knew where this conversation was about to go, though her guard was still up.

You sighed heavily, wringing your hands back in your lap again, falsely picking at the skin around your nails, in a way you had watched her do countless times, “I know that we have not seen eye to eye.” You paused, watching as her brow twitched, “Nor do I expect us to. But,” You took a pausing breath, watching as the room stilled with tension, “I don’t know who else to turn to.” 

You looked back down into your lap as Alicent shifted, straightening, adjusting herself against the green and gold pillows that were propped behind her before leaning forward, her head cocked as she tried to catch your gaze.

“What is wrong, Princess?”

“I am- frightened.” You hesitated, pulling a piece of skin from the nail, watching a small bead of blood rise to the surface. You bit the inside of your cheek as you fought with the anger inside of you, trying to focus on your fingers instead.

The older woman said nothing as she allowed you to continue.

“It all seems so… foreign. I-“ You looked up at see Criston Cole’s brow furrow, standing behind Alicent as he watched the two of you.

Cunt.

You shifted in your seat, looking down and up more than once before you moved yourself to the edge of the chaise, leaning forward to whisper, “There are… changes in my body.”

Ser Cole’s eyes finally lifted away from you, his armour shifting as he suddenly felt uncomfortable. Alicent seemed to understand your unease, and even sympathise with it. She turned her head, her soft curls spilling over her shoulder as she looked to Ser Criston Cole, “Thank you Ser Criston. I think the Princess and I should have this talk in private.”

The knight looked at the both of you, before bowing his head, turning on his foot to leave the chambers, his white cape swaying with each step before it disappeared from sight, the door shutting behind him softly.

You did not know that getting Alicent alone would be quite so easy.

“Helaena came to me when she was first with child.” Alicent reminisced, “It is nothing to be feared.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, “I don’t know what to do or expect. The Septa had told me once, but nothing but tales of birthing, and pain, and,” You swallowed thickly, “Blood. But there are changes in my body, my bleed has not come for some time, and I find even my moods have changed.”

Alicent gave you a small nod, and even offered an even smaller smile, “When I carried Aegon inside of me, I found that my body knew almost immediately what to do. And whatever I did next was instinctual. The Seven will guide you, and you will know what to do.”

You nodded looking down at your hands, thinking of how to ask what you were here for all along.

Alicent however, spoke before you had the chance, “We should have the Maester take a look at you, just to be sure. Then we can figure out when we should be expecting the babe.”

She promoted it herself. 

Stupid cunt.

You looked down shyly in your lap again and nodded, neck feeling as though it would snap from the amount of shy looks you had given your lap, and hoping the blush on your cheeks from your rage looked as though it was from meekness instead. Alicent stood and walked towards you, her presence towering and looming, almost threatening. 

Was this what it was like for Helaena?

Then the Dowager Queen did something that you had not expected. Your mothers once closest friend, lifted an uneasy hand and placed it atop on your shoulder in an attempt of comfort. And you let her. You turned your head to look up at her and smiled. Alicent gave you a crooked one back before speaking again.

“Come, I will have one of the Maester’s sent to your chambers.”

But there were more than one Maester who served the Queen, and suddenly you began to panic.

“Please, Your Grace,” You grasped the hand that had not left your shoulder, before you took it away from her awkwardly, fingers twisting in your lap, “Can I have the Maester that tended to my wounds?”

Alicent’s once warm expression flittered and faded, and suddenly the Lady Alicent Hightower looked at you with suspicion. 

You needed to think fast.

You looked down again, fiddling with your fingers, imitating her nervous habit as her eyes flickered down to watch them.

“He has seen me… compromised before. I don’t wish to have any more eyes upon my body than my husbands. After Aegon-“ You stopped yourself and breathed a shaky breath, which was not at all faked, “I know it is stupid-“

Delicate fingers squeezed reassuringly atop your shoulder, “Not stupid at all, sweet girl.” She reassured you with a soft voice. Though her face still looked unsure.

“My scars are hideous,” You spat softly, “I don’t want people to see what I am. I don’t want people to mock Aemond for my deformity at Court. I want to be good to him. I’m to have his child, and he has been good to me. So good to me, Alicent. It is more than I deserve.” Lie, “Our marriage is sacred, it was done under the eyes of the Seven and the Old Gods. I am his, just as he is mine. And I don’t want anyone else to see me but him, or those who have already. I know it is a lot to ask, Your Grace, but I want to respect my husband and the vows that we made to each other.”

The Dowager Queen smiled at you, her hand coming to brush against your cheek sweetly, as if proud or relived by your words, “Aemond would appreciate your devotion and duty to him. I will send for the Maester who attended to your wounds.”

You smiled at her softly, the wringing of your hands stopping, “Could you please ask him to bring me some more of that cream? I know my side has healed now, but sometimes it itches and twinges, and there was something in it that always soothed my skin.” 

Alicent’s face relaxed and you felt yourself relax too.

“Of course. Now, let’s get you to your chambers.”

-

You were escorted to your chambers by Alicent as she sent Ser Criston to fetch the Maester, telling him to bring the old man to your chambers. As you walked with Alicent, you suddenly become nervous. 

Was she to watch over this? 

Was she to be in the room this whole time? 

Alicent’s steps were slow yet determined, no rush in her pace and an air of authority that seemed to come to her forcefully. Likely due to being crowned Queen at such a young age. To have been tossed from Lady Hightower to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. To have the Court and nobles shift their perception around you would have been a shock. But something that Alicent had carried well. For the most part.

Though she walked with you, she was a mere two paces ahead, she was leading you. There was no illusion that the two of you were equals, nor was there any illusion to the Lords and Ladies who passed you in the Halls that you were more than a Princess and her mother-in-law.

When you had arrived to your chambers, the knight at the door had straightened himself, more than you had ever seen, and reached for the door with a stiffness in his bones. Alicent had let herself into the chambers before you, and you had followed closely behind. 

Joanna and Amala were in the room tidying, and at the sight of the Dowager Queen in your shared chambers, their eyes had widened and they had bowed at the hip to her, clearly not expecting such a visit. Alicent had dismissed them with a quiet, yet polite command, and both girls had bowed towards the two of you as they left the chambers.

The auburn haired woman looked about the chambers, her eyes roaming over the bed, to the table that was now stacked with a pile of tomes, to the side table where the quills and scrolls were sat. Her strides were purposeful as she moved across the chambers, seating herself atop the chaise where you usually sat as she waited. 

An awkward sort of silence curled around both of you, the only sound the crackling fire behind her. You stood at the entrance of the chambers as she watched you expectantly. Taking the hint, you moved to sit beside her as you waited for the Maester to arrive. 

“You said he has been good to you?” Alicent broke the silence. 

He has fucked a bastard into his whore. 

He has raped and defiled me.

He has humiliated me. 

He killed my brother.

But he has been kind to me.

“Yes, Your Grace. He tends to my every need with unwavering devotion. You have done well to raise him as you have.”

With an anger that could scorch the world.

Jealousy that could kill.

You hoped.

Alicent gave a small nod, hands stiff in her lap as she thought of what next to say. As her mouth parted once more, the doors to the chambers opened and she swiftly shut her lips. The old Maester entered the chambers, a satchel at his side. 

The man bowed as he looked at Alicent, “Your Grace, you have summoned me?”

Alicent stood, hands still at her front, “The Princess is with child.” The Maester’s eyes flicked to yours, a flash of disbelief moving across his face before it was schooled with a sterile expression of a Maester, “We need to ensure that all is well, and have you answer any questions that she might have.”

The grey man nodded as he came further into the chambers. He moved towards the table, shifting the pile of tomes to one side as he placed his satchel atop, slowly pulling out its contents. He did it with a slowness and precision that was well practised and almost instinctual. 

“When was your last bleed?” The Maester asked, pulling out a chair at the table for you to sit at.

You stood and made your way across the chambers, Alicent following closely behind, “I’m unsure. Two? Maybe three moons ago?”

How long had it been?

The Maester hummed nodding his head as you moved to sit down, “And when did you notice the changes?”

You thought for a second.

When had you noticed the changes?

The library? When Aemond’s hands atop your breasts sparked pain?

When you noticed a swell of your breasts?

Your moods?

“Perhaps a moon ago? It’s hard to say. I wasn’t expecting-“ You stopped yourself, “I didn’t know what to expect.”

The Maester turned to face his back towards Alicent, his cool eyes dancing over you in concern, you gave him a small, reassuring smile. 

“And have you had any changes to your appetite? Your moods? Desires?”

The last question caused you to grimace, your eyes flicking towards the Dowager Queen who shifted awkwardly atop her feet. You blushed heavily as you looked down into your lap. 

You needed to get alone with the Maester. 

“Were you trying frequently?” The Maester pressed, “Do you have an idea of when conception could have been?”

You looked at Alicent shyly, hands twisting in your lap visibly. Alicent stepped forward again, cheeks a rosy red like the bushes in the Gardens, or perhaps the leaves from the Godswood, and placed a hand atop your shoulder, “I will give you some privacy. I will be at the door if you need.” With a reassuring smile, she left the chambers for you to be alone with the Maester. 

When the door shut closed, the Maester’s demeanour changed, and a sense of panic consumed him.

“Were you drinking the tea each day?” He whispered, eyes searching your face as he rifled through his satchel.

“Yes. I think. I don’t know.” You told him truthfully. 

“If I was to give you another dose, it may not work now. It would have to be stronger than the small ones I had been giving you. They were supposed to be preventative, so it wouldn't harm you-“ He rambled, “Your mother is-“

“Please.” Your hand grasped his, stilling his movements and words, “It’s ok. I have made my peace with it. And so must you. Plus, they would become suspicious if I did not fall pregnant for much longer. Our time has come, and there is no running from it.”

The Maester breathed through his nose and nodded solemnly, removing his hand from the satchel and reexamining the ones he had brought out already. A familiar container seated atop the table.

“And what are your symptoms? Are you sure?”

You nodded your head, “I have not bled, and my breasts are sore and swelling.”

The older man let out a deep sigh, pushing towards you some bottles, “These may help you if you get any sickness. Some women become sick when with child. I have crushed ginger root, chamomile root and liquorice root, it can help settle any stomach ailments.”

You nodded your head as he began to explain the different vials and containers, all to assist you along and to use in case of any ailments and asking which ones you may think you might need. Though as he was explaining, and the longer he looked, he reached back into his satchel, ripping a tiny patch of material back that had been falsely stitched, and inside was a tiny glass tube. 

A dark and long root, that was curled around itself sat inside the vial.

“‘The Herb of Grace’.” The Maester uttered, leaning forward to slip the vial up your sleeve, reminding you of the other hidden belonging in your gown, “Ruta is a powerful plant, if you wish to end what ails you, eat it all. I cannot guarantee your safety after, but it will kill the child.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, before pointing at the cream, “Is this for my scar?”

The old man nodded, handing it towards you.

“Does it still cause pain?” He asked, the Maester’s inquisitive and healing front coming back.

You nodded, “At times it twinges, more itch than not. But others it causes a striking pain, especially when touched or knocked.”

The man hummed, “That can be normal with scars like these. Aemond still feels phantom and ghostly pains, as I am sure you have figured out.”

You placed the tub on the table, looking to the door again, before back at the Maester in a hurry. You leant forward, hand coming up to the breast of your gown, digging your fingers beneath the surface as you fished the scroll from within.

The Maester watched you with furrowed brows as he nervously looked to the door and back.

“We don’t have much time, but you told me once I had allies, and now I need one more than ever.” You thrust the parchment into his hand, closing his fist around it hastily. His eyes searched yours, a moment of fear settling over the two of you.

“I don’t call for help here yet, but when the time comes, know that I have other means of gathering it. But this I must beg of you,” Your fingers tightened around his hand in a way you knew would be painful, your knuckles turning white, “Send a raven to my mother and father. Give them this.” You squeezed his hand.

You begged him with your eyes, pouring every ounce of desperation into you that you had. The Maester stayed quiet as he looked at you, hand still in yours, the parchment scrunched in his palm.

With a tension that did not leave his shoulders, he gave a small, almost missable nod, taking his hand back from yours as he tucked the paper into his belts, hidden away from sight. Relief washed over you, and you felt tears rise into your eyes. 

You blinked them away quickly as you thought of how compromising it would be to be caught in such a way. You watched as he stood slowly, putting in unused vials back into his satchel, bringing it to his side. You stood to join him, looking into his eyes.

With a deep breath he spoke one last time, “Without a doubt, you are with child.” Another breath, and another hand atop your shoulder, once where Alicent’s had been, “I’m sorry.”

The Maester pulled away from you, moving towards the chamber doors as he pulled them open. Alicent thanked the Master at the door, the both of them discussing the care that would be needed as you moved to sit back at the table, looking at the many vials that he had left for you. 

‘Sorry.’

But you weren’t.

Alicent had stayed with you for a moment more, as you told her of what the Maester had left you, pointing to the different vials and cannisters, carefully hiding the bulge in the wrist of your dress where a last and final, more sinister vial was hidden. By the time you were done, you felt fatigue bite at your heels, and so you begged to be excused, wishing to lay down. Alicent seemingly understanding the emotional upheaval of the day, left you to your privacy. 

When the door shut behind her, you moved, and with gentle hands, you placed the tiny vial behind the large wooden wardrobe near the bed, wedging it between the wall and itself. Flopping yourself down, you laid atop the bed, a long smile winding on your cheeks. 

On the piece of paper given to the Maester, was a letter written in High Valyrian.

‘Mother and father,

I am doing as good as I can be in this vipers nest, and the tides are beginning to shift. I ask of a favour, and one you must not refuse. There is a woman, Alys Rivers, a Strong bastard who resides in Harrenhal. She is a danger to us all. A witch, they say. And a paramour to my husband with child. A sure danger to me. 

See to it that she is no longer.

Yours,

Zāldritsos.’

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

[03jyh23]

🌌⌇ thuggish charm chapter two let's fall in love for tonight; a jung wooyoung mini-series

badboy(?) wooyoung x fem!reader

│ series masterlist│ next │

│synopsis: the one where a blind date gone wrong turns into an unexpected adventure

│genre: romance

│trigger warnings: mild violence, blood, assault brief mention

│words: 6.6 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

│taglist: if you wish to join let me know here

It was a cold Saturday night. You stood in front of the restaurant you'd left in a hurry after realizing the guy your friend had set you up with for a blind date had stood you up. God, you'd spent so many hours preparing for that date—you did your hair, and make-up, shaved everywhere and bought new clothes and shoes—only to get stood up like this. The cold autumn wind was making your skin break out in goosebumps; you started to shake uncontrollably, as your jacket did little to shelter you from the cold. Or perhaps it was from anger? It was already 20 minutes since you started ordering an Uber ride home, but as Saturday nights were always the busiest, you hadn't been connected to a driver. You sighed in frustration, refreshing the app for what felt like the hundredth time. The streets around you were bustling with people enjoying their night out, oblivious to your predicament. You shivered again, pulling your jacket tighter around you, and wondered how much longer you'd have to wait in this cold. All you wanted to do now was buy yourself a bottle of wine and bottom it while watching any stupid TV show that could get your mind off being stood up. The idea of drowning your sorrows and distracting yourself with mindless entertainment suddenly seemed like the perfect solution to this disastrous evening. You canceled your Uber request and started walking toward the nearest liquor store, your heels clicking on the pavement. The thought of your cozy couch, a large glass of wine, and some mind-numbing TV show was the only thing keeping you going. It wasn't the night you had planned, but it was the night you now desperately needed.

As you navigated through the bustling streets, you found yourself immersed in a sea of people. The night was alive with energy, a stark contrast to your dampened spirits. Couples walked hand in hand, their laughter and intimate whispers a painful reminder of your failed date. Groups of friends stumbled by, their raucous laughter and carefree attitudes hinting at their inebriated state. Single individuals like yourself weaved through the crowd, some with purpose, others seemingly adrift in the night's possibilities. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as you observed the happiness surrounding you, your own disappointment weighing heavily on your shoulders.

The sound of your heels echoing off the narrow walls of the small street suddenly seemed too loud in the quiet night. You had chosen this shortcut to the liquor store, eager to get home and forget about your disastrous evening. The darkness didn't bother you; you were too focused on the promise of wine and mindless TV to care.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the night air, coming from one of the back alleys. "Help!! Bandit, robber! Help!" The desperate cry sent chills down your spine, stopping you in your tracks. Your heart began to race, adrenaline surging through your body. Without a second thought, you found yourself sprinting towards the source of the distressed voice. Your heart pounded in your chest as you rounded the corner, your eyes quickly scanning the dimly lit alley. The scene that unfolded before you was not quite what you had expected. An elderly lady, her face etched with panic, was engaged in what appeared to be a struggle with a figure dressed entirely in black. However, as you drew closer, the situation seemed less sinister than you had initially feared. The person in black, upon closer inspection, was a young man who appeared more bewildered than threatening. His posture and gestures suggested he was attempting to offer assistance rather than cause harm.

"Please, calm down," the young man pleaded, his voice strained with a mixture of concern and frustration. His patience was clearly wearing thin, but he made an effort to keep his tone gentle. "I'm sorry for bumping into you," the young man said calmly, trying to be patient. "I just want to help you pick up your things. Please, let me."

"Hey!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the brick walls of the narrow alley. The sound reverberated, amplifying your words and drawing attention to the unfolding scene. Your heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you took a step forward, ready to intervene if necessary. The figure in black whirled around at the sound of your voice, his movements quick and startled. As he turned to face you, the dim light of a nearby streetlamp illuminated his features. Your eyes widened in shock, your breath catching in your throat as recognition dawned. The world seemed to slow down, your mind struggling to process the unexpected sight before you.

A name escaped your lips, barely above a whisper, filled with disbelief and a hint of something else - excitement, perhaps? "Wooyoung?" The name hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken questions and the weight of your previous encounter. The familiar face of the charming stranger from the train looked back at you, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion. The elderly lady, still clutching her shopping bags, looked between the two of you, her earlier panic giving way to bewilderment at this unexpected turn of events.

"You!" Wooyoung exclaimed, pointing at you. "I wished I could call out your name but you never told me!" Your eyes widened in surprise, a mix of emotions flooding through you. The coincidence of running into Wooyoung again, especially in such an unexpected situation, left you momentarily speechless. Wooyoung stood stunned, taking in your features as he smiled at you. You found yourself smiling back, the unexpected reunion filling you with a strange warmth. However, the moment was abruptly shattered as the elderly lady seized her opportunity. With surprising speed for her age, she balled her hand into a fist and swung it directly at Wooyoung's face. There was a sickening crunch as her knuckles connected with his nose. Wooyoung stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock and pain. In the same fluid motion, the lady snatched her shopping bag from Wooyoung's loosened grip. Before either of you could react, she turned on her heel and started running, her earlier frailty seemingly forgotten as she disappeared around the corner of the alley. You stood there, mouth agape, trying to process the rapid turn of events. Wooyoung, meanwhile, was doubled over, hands cupping his nose as he let out a string of muffled curses. Without hesitation, you rushed to Wooyoung's side, your heels clicking rapidly against the pavement. Your face was a mask of concern as you reached him, your hands instinctively moving to his arms to steady him.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" you exclaimed, your voice laced with worry. Your eyes scanned his face, trying to assess the damage. "Let me see!" Gently, you tried to coax his hands away from his face, your touch soft but insistent. The shock of the situation was evident in your expression, a mix of disbelief at the turn of events and genuine concern for him.

Wooyoung slowly lowered his hands, revealing a trickle of blood from his nose. His eyes met yours, a mix of pain and embarrassment evident in his gaze. "I think she broke my nose," he mumbled, wincing as he gingerly touched the bridge of his nose.

You looked at Wooyoung's face with utmost care, trying to examine the injury closely. After a moment of inspection, you said, "I think she punched you straight into your nose ring, and the piercing scratched your skin." Your voice was soft, filled with concern as you gently touched his face, careful not to cause any more pain.

Wooyoung winced at your touch but didn't pull away. "Really?" he asked, his voice slightly nasally from the injury. He attempted to look down at his nose, which only resulted in a comical cross-eyed expression that, despite the situation, almost made you laugh.

You looked closer, realizing the blood flow was indeed more substantial than a simple scratch would cause. "Actually, I think you're right," you admitted, your brow furrowing with concern. "It looks like she might have actually broken your nose. We should get you to a hospital or urgent care to have it checked out properly."

Wooyoung groaned, both from pain and frustration. "Great," he muttered, "just what I needed tonight." He attempted a wry smile, which quickly turned into a grimace. "I guess this isn't quite how either of us expected to meet again, huh?"

You looked at him and smiled so widely that you actually giggled. The absurdity of the situation, combined with the unexpected joy of seeing Wooyoung again, bubbled up inside you. Your laughter, light and genuine, echoed in the alley, momentarily lightening the mood despite the circumstances.

"You're right," you said, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "This definitely wasn't how I imagined our next meeting. But I have to say, it's certainly memorable." You gently placed a hand on his arm, your touch both comforting and electric.

The sight of fresh blood running down Wooyoung's face, tracing a crimson path along his jaw and neck, snapped you back into reality. "Oh God," you exclaimed, your eyes widening in alarm. You hastily opened your purse, fingers fumbling as you searched frantically for tissues to help stop the bleeding. Finding a small pack of tissues, you quickly pulled them out, your hands shaking slightly as you gently pressed them against Wooyoung's nose. "Here, hold this," you instructed, your voice laced with concern. "We need to stop the bleeding and get you to a hospital right away."

Wooyoung nodded, wincing as he took the tissues from you. "Thanks," he mumbled, his voice muffled behind the makeshift bandage.

You glanced around, trying to orient yourself in the unfamiliar alley. "There's a hospital a few blocks from here," you said, gently placing your hand on Wooyoung's back to guide him. "Can you walk? We should hurry before it gets worse."

"I really don't want to go," he said softly, his hand traveling down to your wrist. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as he held you. You felt your heart rate quicken, the tenderness of his grip sending a flutter through your chest.

You looked up at him, torn between concern for his injury and the unexpected intimacy of the moment. "But your nose..." you started, your voice trailing off as you met his gaze.

Wooyoung's eyes softened, a mix of pain and something else—perhaps longing—evident in his gaze. "I know, but..." he trailed off, his thumb gently caressing your wrist. The moment hung between you, charged with unspoken words and possibilities.

You couldn't help but notice the slight swelling starting to form around Wooyoung's nose. Concern etched across your features as you gently touched his face, careful not to cause any more discomfort. "Wooyoung, I think it's getting swollen," you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a mix of worry and care.

Wooyoung winced slightly at your touch, "Is it?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of pain and resignation. "I guess we can't ignore it then, can we?"

You shook your head, a small, sympathetic smile playing on your lips. "I'm afraid not. We really should get you checked out. The sooner we do, the better it'll be for your nose." Your hand moved from his face to his arm, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Come on, let's go to the hospital. I'll stay with you, okay?"

Wooyoung's eyes sparkled with a captivating blend of mischief and relief, his expression softening as he gazed at you. Despite the pain from his injury, a playful smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "So, you're not going to run away this time, right?" he teased, his voice carrying a slight nasal quality due to his swollen nose. "I mean, I'd hate to think I needed to get punched by an elderly lady just to keep you around."

Your eyes widened dramatically, a mix of mock indignation and amusement dancing across your features. "Hey! I absolutely did not run away!" you protested, your voice rising slightly in pitch. A playful smile threatened to break through your feigned offense. "Let's just say I made a quick exit."

"Oh, a 'quick exit' was it?" Wooyoung countered, his grin widening despite the wince of pain that followed. His hand remained on your wrist, his touch a warm, comforting presence that sent a subtle tingle up your arm. "Let's be honest, what you did looked a lot like running away from my point of view."

Your eyes widened at Wooyoung's teasing, a vibrant mix of embarrassment and amusement painting your cheeks a delicate shade of pink. The air between you seemed to crackle with an electric tension, making your heart flutter erratically in your chest. "What did you expect me to do?" you retorted, your voice a complex blend of exasperation and playfulness, with an undercurrent of something deeper, more vulnerable. "Miss my stop just to keep..." You trailed off, the unfinished sentence hanging in the air.

Wooyoung leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief despite the obvious pain. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, his warmth radiating towards you in the cool evening air. "Keep kissin' me?" he finished for you, his voice low and playful, carrying a hint of hopefulness that made your breath catch in your throat.

You felt your face flush even more intensely, the heat spreading from your cheeks down to your neck. Caught off guard by his directness and the raw honesty in his gaze, you found yourself momentarily speechless. "I... well..." you stammered, your usual eloquence deserting you in the face of his charm.

Wooyoung's lips curved into a smirk, wincing slightly as it pulled at his injured nose. The mixture of confidence and vulnerability in his expression was utterly disarming. "Maybe next time," he said softly, his words carrying the weight of a tender promise, "you should stay and keep kissing me." His gaze held yours, filled with an intensity that made your knees feel weak.

Your heart raced, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins. The moment's intensity was palpable, the air between you charged with unspoken desires. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances—Wooyoung's injured nose and the bizarre encounter with the elderly lady—you found yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his charm and the promise of what could be.

"You know," he said, his voice low and husky, "I'm starting to think getting punched was worth it if it means I get to see you again." He winced slightly, but his smile never faltered. "Though next time, maybe we could skip the part where I get hit and go straight to you taking care of me?" His words, laced with both humor and unmistakable flirtation, sent a shiver down your spine. Your cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and excitement coursing through you.

You couldn't help but laugh, a blend of exasperation and amusement bubbling up inside you. "Wooyoung!" you exclaimed, your tone playfully scolding. "Your nose might be broken, and you're still flirting?"

A slow, charming smile spread across Wooyoung's face, his eyes twinkled with mischief as he locked his gaze with yours. "What can I say? I just can't seem to stop myself when I see you," he replied, his voice a mix of playfulness and sincerity. You felt your heart skip a beat, caught off guard by his unwavering flirtatiousness even in his current state. "Besides, how else am I supposed to distract myself from the fact that an elderly lady just rearranged my face?"

You couldn't help but laugh again, the sound light and genuine in the cool evening air. Despite the absurdity of the situation, you found yourself drawn to Wooyoung's infectious charm. "Well, I suppose that's one way to look at it," you replied, your voice tinged with both amusement and concern. "But let's get you to that hospital before you come up with any more creative ways to distract yourself, okay?"

"Alright, but can you kiss it better first?" Wooyoung asked with a playful grin. You rolled your eyes and punched his arm lightly, careful not to jostle his injury.

You couldn't help but laugh at his persistence, a mix of exasperation and fondness in your eyes. "Oh, you're impossible," you said, shaking your head. "Kiss it better? Really? What are you, five?" Despite your teasing words, you found yourself drawn closer to him. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. With a soft sigh, you leaned in, placing a gentle, feather-light kiss on the bridge of his nose, just above the injury. "There," you whispered, your face still close to his. "All better?" Your tone was a mix of tenderness and playful sarcasm.

Wooyoung's eyes widened slightly, clearly caught off guard by your actions. A slow smile spread across his face, despite the pain it must have caused. "Much better," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "Though I might need a few more of those to fully recover." You felt your heart flutter at his words, the playful banter between you two felt so natural as if you'd known each other for years. Despite the absurdity of the situation you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in and quickly pecked Wooyoung's lips. The moment your lips touched his, your eyes widened in shock at your own boldness. You immediately covered your mouth with your hand, a mix of embarrassment and surprise washing over you. Wooyoung couldn't help but giggle at your reaction. His eyes sparkled with amusement and something that looked a lot like affection.

Feeling your face heat up, you spun around, unable to meet his gaze. "Follow me!" you muttered, your voice muffled by your hand. You started walking briskly, hoping the cool night air would calm your flushed cheeks.

Wooyoung's footsteps echoed behind you, a mix of amusement and concern in his voice as he called out, "Hey, wait up! I thought you were supposed to be taking care of me, not running away again!" His words made you slow down, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your embarrassment. You took a deep breath, composing yourself before turning to face him, determined to get him to the hospital and deal with the whirlwind of emotions later.

You turned back to face Wooyoung, your expression a mix of concern and determination. "Alright, Casanova," you said, your tone firm but gentle. "As much as I appreciate your... enthusiasm, we really need to get that nose checked out. Doctor first, kissing later. Deal?"

Wooyoung's eyes sparkled with amusement, but he nodded, wincing slightly at the movement. "Deal," he agreed, his voice slightly nasally. "But I'm holding you to that 'kissing later' part."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "Let's just focus on getting you patched up for now," you said, gently taking his arm. "Come on, the hospital's this way." As you guided him through the streets, you couldn't help but wonder what exactly you were getting yourself into with this charming, injured stranger. But for now, his health was the priority. The rest... well, that could wait until after the doctor's visit.

As you walked side by side, your arms brushed against each other with increasing frequency, each contact sending a cascade of tingles through your body. The cool night air seemed to amplify every sensation, making you acutely aware of Wooyoung's presence beside you. You couldn't help but steal glances at him, your eyes drawn to his face, a mix of concern and something else you couldn't quite name stirring within you. Your gaze fell to the tissues he was still clutching, now stained a deep crimson. A gentle, worried smile crossed your face as you realized the bleeding hadn't subsided.

"Hold on a second," you said softly. You reached into your pocket, fingers fumbling slightly as you pulled out a fresh pair of tissues. As you handed it to him, your fingers brushed against his, the brief contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. "You shouldn't be walking around with those blood-soaked tissues," you explained, your eyes meeting his. "It's concerning that it's still bleeding. Do you think it should be?"

Wooyoung accepted the clean tissues with a grateful nod, his eyes meeting yours. The look he gave you was a complex blend of appreciation, worry, and something deeper that made your heart skip a beat. "Thank you," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he carefully replaced the bloodied tissues. "I'm not really sure why it's still bleeding," he admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his tone. "Do you think... could it be more serious than we thought?"

Your brow furrowed with increased worry, the playful atmosphere from earlier giving way to genuine concern. "We should definitely pick up the pace," you said, your voice soft but urgent. Without conscious thought, you found yourself moving even closer to him, your arm now pressed firmly against his. It was as if your body was trying to offer comfort and support through proximity alone. The warmth radiating from his body contrasted sharply with the cool night air, creating an oddly intimate bubble around you both. Despite the worry gnawing at you, you couldn't help but notice how right it felt to be walking so close to him, your steps unconsciously falling into sync as you hurried toward the hospital.

As you entered the hospital, the bright fluorescent lights made you squint. Wooyoung approached the reception desk, wincing slightly as he began filling out the necessary documents. Your eyes were drawn to his hands, noticing for the first time the intricate tattoos adorning his fingers. The sight was oddly mesmerizing, and you found yourself wondering about the stories behind each inked design. You couldn't help but notice the receptionist's eyes darting between you and Wooyoung, her expression a mix of concern and suspicion. The worried glances she kept throwing your way made you feel increasingly uncomfortable. Before you could dwell on it further, a nurse called Wooyoung's name. He gave you a reassuring smile before following the nurse, leaving you alone in the waiting area. You had just settled into an uncomfortable plastic chair when another nurse approached you, her face etched with concern.

"Excuse me, miss," she said in a low, careful tone. "I wanted to let you know that if he hurt you in any way, you can tell us. We can call the police if needed." Her implication was clear—Wooyoung's appearance, with his tattoos and injured face, had led her to assume he might be dangerous.

Your eyes widened in shock, a mix of indignation and disbelief washing over you. "What? No, you've got it all wrong," you stammered, trying to process the nurse's words. "He didn't hurt me!" The irony wasn't lost on you—the charming, flirtatious Wooyoung being mistaken for a threat. You felt torn between amusement at the absurdity and frustration at the unfair judgment.

The nurse's persistence only added to your growing frustration. She leaned in closer, her voice lowered to a whisper. "You might be in denial. It's a common response to trauma." Her words, though well-intentioned, felt like a punch to the gut. You couldn't believe how quickly this situation was spiraling out of control.

"Look," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, "I appreciate your concern, but you're completely misunderstanding the situation. He didn't hurt me!" You took a deep breath, realizing you needed to explain further. "An elderly woman mistook him for a mugger and punched him in the face when he was just trying to help her! That's why we're here." The nurse's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her expression a mix of disbelief and confusion. It was clear she was having trouble reconciling your story with her initial assumptions. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Wooyoung, realizing how often he might face such prejudices due to his appearance. As you sat there, wrestling with your frustration and the nurse's misplaced concern, you couldn't help but reflect on the events of the night. From being stood up on your blind date to now defending Wooyoung's character in a hospital waiting room, it felt like the universe was determined to keep you on your toes. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, your patience wearing thin. "I understand you're trying to help, but you're jumping to conclusions based on appearances," you said firmly. "Wooyoung is kind and gentle. He got hurt trying to help someone. Please, don't make assumptions about people based on how they look." The nurse seemed taken aback by your assertiveness, her expression shifting from concern to uncertainty. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, clearly reconsidering her approach. Just then, you heard Wooyoung's leaving the doctor’s office. You turned to see him walking towards you, his nose bandaged and a slight smile on his face despite the evident discomfort. The nurse left quickly after noticing him approaching.

"Apparently the veins in my nose are very thin, that's why we couldn't stop the bleeding," Wooyoung explained as he approached you, his voice slightly muffled by the bandage. Despite the discomfort evident in his eyes, he managed a small, reassuring smile. "The doctor said it's not broken, just badly bruised. I'll be okay in a few days."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, the tension you'd been holding in your shoulders finally easing. "That's good to hear," you said, returning his smile. "I was worried it might be more serious." As Wooyoung settled into the chair next to you, you couldn't help but notice how the stark white of the bandage contrasted with his tanned skin and dark hair. Even in this state, there was something undeniably attractive about him. You shook your head slightly, trying to clear your thoughts.

"You were worried?" Wooyoung asked, his big eyes widening as he looked at you. There was a hint of a pout in his voice, almost as if he was surprised by your concern.

"Of course I was!" you exclaimed, your voice rising slightly with indignation. "You got punched in the nose and couldn't stop bleeding! It's not a minor thing!"

Wooyoung's expression softened, a mix of gratitude and vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "I... thank you," he said softly, his hand unconsciously moving to touch the bandage on his nose. "I haven't heard that in a long while."

His words caught you off guard, stirring a mix of emotions within you. You felt a sudden urge to comfort him, to reassure him that he deserved care and concern. Without thinking, you reached out and gently placed your hand on his tight. "Hey," you said softly, your voice filled with warmth, "everyone deserves to have someone worry about them. Even charming strangers with a knack for getting into trouble."

"So... about that second date?" Wooyoung asked, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of hope and mischief. The corners of his mouth turned up in a playful smile, despite the discomfort he must have been feeling.

You raised an eyebrow, a bemused expression crossing your face. "Second?" you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. Your tone was light, but there was a hint of curiosity in your voice, wondering where he was going with this line of thought.

"Well, you see," he began, his voice taking on a teasing lilt, "I told you I considered our train ride as our first one." His grin widened, becoming positively cheeky.

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head in amusement. "Well, in that case," you replied, your voice tinged with playful sarcasm, "shouldn't you consider this hospital trip our second date? It's definitely unconventional."

Wooyoung's eyes lit up, a mixture of surprise and delight dancing across his features. "Oh, you're good," he chuckled, "I like the way you think. But I have to say, if this is our second date, I'm a bit worried about what you might have planned for the third."

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "Who says there's going to be a third?" you teased, enjoying the banter despite the unusual setting.

Wooyoung's eyes lit up with amusement, "'Doctor first, kissing later,'" he quoted you with a goofy expression, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. "I believe those were your exact words. And since we've already checked off the doctor part..." He let the implication hang in the air, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

You couldn't help but laugh, a mix of exasperation and fondness coloring your voice. "You're incorrigible, you know that?" you said, shaking your head. But despite your words, you found yourself leaning slightly closer to him, drawn in by his infectious charm. Wooyoung's gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. The playful atmosphere shifted, replaced by a charged tension that seemed to crackle in the air between you. As if drawn by an invisible force, you found yourself leaning even closer, the world around you fading away until all that existed was this moment, this connection.

Just as your faces were mere inches apart, reality came crashing back. You pulled away abruptly, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm not going to kiss you in a hospital's waiting room," you said, your voice a blend of firmness and barely suppressed laughter.

Wooyoung's eyes widened in mock disappointment, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Ah, playing hard to get, I see," he teased, his voice light despite the obvious discomfort from his injury.

"You look absolutely stunning tonight," Wooyoung said, his eyes twinkling with admiration. "Not that you weren't beautiful during our unplanned first date on the train, of course," he added hastily, "But I'm curious - did you have other plans tonight? You look like you were ready for something special."

"You're quite observant," you replied with a soft chuckle, feeling a mix of surprise and amusement at his perceptiveness. "I was supposed to be on a blind date tonight, but I got stood up." You paused, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Though I have to say, this evening turned out to be far more eventful than I could have imagined."

Wooyoung's eyes widened, a flash of indignation crossing his features. "Stood up? Their loss, clearly," he said, his voice a blend of sympathy and admiration. "But I can't help but feel a little hurt. You moved on so fast after me?" Wooyoung said, his tone a mix of playfulness and mock indignation.

"Wooyoung, it's been two months!" you scoffed, unable to suppress a grin at his antics.

His eyes widened in mock surprise, "Well, you weren't supposed to move on at all in the first place," Wooyoung declared dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "I thought we had something special!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his theatrics, shaking your head in amusement. "Oh really? And what exactly did we have, Mr. 'I met you on a train and then disappeared for two months'?"

Wooyoung's grin softened into a more genuine smile, his eyes twinkling with a mix of humor and something deeper. "A connection," he said simply, his voice losing some of its playful edge. "One that I've been thinking about more often than I'd like to admit." His words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. The sincerity in his voice and the intensity of his gaze made your heart skip a beat. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss for words, a mix of emotions swirling within you. The playful banter from moments ago had suddenly shifted into something more profound, and you weren't quite sure how to navigate this new territory. As the silence stretched between you, you could feel the weight of unspoken thoughts and feelings hanging in the air.

"Just take me on that date already," you said softly, a gentle smile playing on your lips. The words escaped before you could overthink them, your heart speaking before your mind could intervene.

Wooyoung's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and delight dancing across his features. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, the usually quick-witted man rendered speechless by your forwardness. "I... yes," he finally managed, his voice filled with warmth and excitement. "Yes, absolutely. My bike isn't parked too far away."

"Wait, we're going now?" you asked, your eyes widening in surprise. The sudden shift from hospital waiting room to date plans caught you off guard.

"You're already dressed to kill and well... I think I look pretty cool with all of these unnecessary things on my nose," he said, gesturing dramatically to his bandaged face.

"Only you could make a hospital-issued bandage look like a fashion statement," you teased, your voice warm with affection.

"So, what do you say?" Wooyoung asked, his excitement palpable. "Ready for an adventure?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, in a hospital waiting room with a man you'd just met (for the second time), contemplating going on an impromptu date. But as you looked at Wooyoung's eager face, his eyes shining with excitement despite his injury, you felt a surge of spontaneity. "You know what? Why not?" you replied, a grin spreading across your face.

"That's the spirit!" Wooyoung exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with unbridled enthusiasm. He sprang to his feet with surprising agility and extended his hand towards you with a theatrical flourish. "Shall we embark on this grand adventure together, my fair lady? The night is young, and the world awaits our exploration!"

You burst into a fit of giggles at his over-the-top performance. His infectious energy was impossible to resist, and you found yourself swept up in the moment. With a playful curtsy, you placed your hand in his, allowing him to gently pull you to your feet. "Lead the way, my valiant knight," you replied, matching his dramatic flair with a regal tone of your own. "I place my trust in your capable hands to guide us through this unexpected journey."

You both strolled out of the hospital, your fingers intertwined. Wooyoung's hand in yours felt warm and reassuring. As you approached Wooyoung's motorcycle, your eyes widened in a mix of excitement and apprehension. The sleek machine gleamed under the streetlights, its chrome accents catching the glow and reflecting it back in dazzling patterns.

"Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?" Wooyoung asked, his voice gentle as he noticed your hesitation. His hand glided over the smooth leather seat, a fond smile playing on his lips as he gazed at his beloved bike.

You shook your head, feeling a flutter of nerves dancing in your stomach. "No, this would be my first time," you admitted. The gleaming machine before you seemed both thrilling and intimidating.

Wooyoung's eyes softened, his smile growing warm and reassuring. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe," he said, his voice brimming with sincerity. He reached for the helmet hanging on a hook on the side of the seat, its glossy surface gleaming under the streetlights. "Here, let me help you with this. Safety first, right?" As he gently placed the helmet on your head, his fingers worked with careful precision to adjust the straps. The gesture was unexpectedly intimate, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. His face was close to yours as he checked the fit, and you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "There," he said softly, giving the helmet a final gentle pat. "Perfect fit." His smile was infectious, and despite the unconventional circumstances - or perhaps because of them - you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. A sense of adventure tingled through you, the promise of the unknown making your heart race. "I'll be extra careful. Your safety is my top priority." Wooyoung swung his leg over the motorcycle, settling into the seat with practiced ease. He turned to you, extending his hand with a reassuring smile. "Ready for the ride of your life?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement. As you took his hand and climbed onto the back of the bike, you felt a thrill of anticipation course through you, wondering what adventures this night would bring. "Don't worry, I'll drive carefully. I've got precious cargo now," he said with a wink. "I'll be the most careful driver in the entire country tonight." He paused, then grinned mischievously. "No, fuck that—in the whole world!"

You laughed, the sound mingling with the rumble of the motorcycle's engine as Wooyoung kickstarted it. The vibration beneath you sent a thrill through your body, a mix of excitement and nervous energy.

"Wait!" you exclaimed, suddenly realizing something. "What about your helmet?"

Wooyoung paused, his hand on the ignition. He looked back at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Ah, you caught me," he said, chuckling. He reached behind the seat and pulled out another helmet. "Always prepared," he winked, putting it on and fastening the strap. "Now we're both safe and stylish. Ready for take-off?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation coursing through your veins. As you wrapped your arms around Wooyoung's waist, you felt the warmth of his body against yours, a stark contrast to the cool night air. The engine roared to life, and with a gentle twist of the throttle, you were off, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors as you sped through the streets.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│♡

[sil-writes-fiction-too]

A New Life, You and I

Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort (more comfort than hurt), fluff

June of Doom, Day 7: "What happened?"/"Stumbling" (late entry) @juneofdoom

CW: mentions of injuries

A/N: this is very short and I wasn't sure where I was going with it, but I think it's cute. This takes place after the last chapter of AOT, Levi and the Reader are in an established relationship and live together in a small cottage :,)

A loud, clattering sound coming from the kitchen pulls your attention away from the book you were reading, startling you. At first you think that perhaps some sort of critter has managed to enter your little home and that it made a ruckus in its exploration of the kitchen while searching for food, but then you hear a familiar, annoyed grunt coming from the room and suddenly you are on your feet and running.

“Levi??” You call out with concern more than evident in your voice, and when you reach the kitchen you let out a small gasp at the sight of Levi on the floor surrounded by various utensils, bags of tea and a miraculously unbroken jar of honey. His wheelchair waits abandoned in a corner of the room, quite far away from him. “What happened?” You ask as you hurry over to help him get back up.

He grunts again as he tries to not weigh you down while you pull him up. “I fell.” He mutters in a flat tone, as if you asked him a stupid question, and it makes you huff a little. “Yeah, no shit...” You mumble as you carefully help him back into his wheelchair, holding back a little hiss from how tightly he is gripping onto your arms for support. Once he is sat back down you take a look at the mess still strewn about the floor. “... Were you trying to make yourself some tea?” You ask while you bend down to pick up all the stuff that fell down, noting the open overhead cabinet that's definitely emptier than how you left it.

He huffs, his shoulders stiffening up a little as he looks to the side. “Yeah...” he grumbles rather dejectedly, and you immediately recognize the embarrassment and annoyance in his expression. It breaks your heart.

When things finally got to an end a couple months ago you felt nothing but relief. You and Levi both survived and maybe you'd finally get a chance to leave the past behind once and for all. Sure, that relief soured pretty damn quickly when you realized just how extensive Levi's injuries were... but he was still alive and breathing, and you thought that, compared to everything else, this was just a small hurdle. Nothing you couldn't face together... And you still feel like this.

However, as happy as you were to finally have Levi at home with you, that's also when you began to realize that perhaps this was a little more than a small hurdle. For Levi especially. After everything that's happened he mostly looked tired, rather than sad. At first he looked like he accepted his new living conditions rather quickly and that he didn't let the changes bother him too much... but you see it sometimes. The way his frown deepens when he accidentally drops something after absentmindedly reaching for it with his right hand, the flashes of pain across his face whenever his injuries start acting up for whatever reason... and the frequent antsiness in his demeanor whenever he gets up off his chair to try and walk for a little. That last one in particular seems to take a toll on him.

The doctors have encouraged him to try and take a few steps every once in a while, but they were very clear on him needing support and not pushing himself too hard in order to avoid injuring his body further. And you, on your end, made it very clear to Levi that he can rely on you. You know he is grateful for your presence, he'd never take it for granted or see it as a nuisance... but it is more than apparent that he wishes he wouldn't have to rely on you for so many things, especially when it comes to the simplest of tasks. He was humanity's strongest no more than a few months ago, for God's sake! And now he can barely take a couple of steps without stumbling or folding like a piece of paper. You can almost hear these thoughts echoing from his mind.

“Mh... You know, we should move all this stuff somewhere else. Keeping it up there is just impractical.” You state as you clear a small space on the kitchen counter to accommodate all of the things Levi uses to make his tea. You make it a point to arrange all of the items neatly, cocking your head to the side when you are done. “I think we need some cute jars for all those tea leaves... and maybe a little rack?” You scrunch up your nose in thought as you observe the little tea corner work in progress. You hear a small scoff behind you.

“I'll come with you to buy that stuff. I don't trust your tastes.” He comments in his usual sarcastic tone, making you laugh. “How very dare you!” You exclaim as you turn to him with your hands placed on your hips, pleased to see that he already seems to be less tense than before. “Uh huh, remember the curtains that didn't fit the windows? 'Oh Levi, these are just perfect for the kitchen!' and then they didn't even reach all the way down.” He repeats your words from when you first started decorating your shared home, but still uses his deadpan tone while imitating you. Honestly it just makes you laugh harder. “You're an ass!” You huff in mock annoyance, crossing your arms over your chest. “And you keep buying mismatched stuff...” He grumbles, secretly adoring the sound of your laughter.

You sigh, raising your hands. “Alright, fine, that may be true... I will make sure to consult the real artiste when we go on our next shopping trip.” You say jokingly, making him scoff again and roll his eyes at you.

“Hey Levi...” You begin while stepping aside so he may get closer to the counter. A simple “mh?” is the response you receive. “Would you make a cup of tea for me as well?” For a moment he stills, with his hand in mid-air as he was reaching for one of the bags that contain his tea leaves. “I like yours the best...” You add as a smile slowly curls your lips when you notice the tips of his ears turn slightly red.

“...Yeah.” The way his voice softens makes your heart melt in your chest.

[ravenelyx]

I Love You In Every Timeline - Sebastian Sallow

One Hundred Years of Solitude

[Fic masterlist]

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance for the reader

Themes: angst, temporarily unrequited love, pining, some form of transference¹, developing relationship, slow burn, explicit (eventually)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe." In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: chapter rewritten :)

AO3 • Wattpad

--

The Great Hall was almost empty when he entered it, as most of the students had already gone to class. Since he had a free period before Charms, Sebastian decided to allow himself more sleep than usual.

Not that it had been any useful.

He felt exhausted, dragging himself to the nearest seat at his House table and resting his head on the cold wood. There was hardly anything left, and he was more than happy to just munch on a cold pancake and drink a glass of pumpkin juice, enough to sustain him for at least a few hours, although barely.

Perhaps it was the sight of the Hall, empty and familiar, perhaps it was the enchanted ceiling shining sunny rays on the Slytherin table, perhaps it was the unsatisfactory breakfast after an unsatisfactory dinner, but for a split second, Sebastian was at home.

It was a sour feeling, like his pumpkin juice had spoiled and his pancake had grown mould in his hands, yet he couldn't stop feasting on it, searching for a piece he could savour, if only once. That, he realised, was the beginning of his destruction.

Memories of the previous day's conversation came flooding back and he groaned, the weight in his chest growing heavier, and the pancake suddenly seemed even less appetising as he dropped it onto the plate.

'Everything is clearer in the morning ', Dumbledore had said.

Perhaps he should lend me his glasses , Sebastian thought.

Fortunately, the headache had subsided since the conversation, and although his sleep hadn't been as satisfying as he'd hoped, he felt a little better than he had a few hours ago. Maybe it was the pumpkin juice.

He shoved the pancake back in his mouth, almost choking on it, and rubbed his eyes before standing up. From his table, a few Slytherins turned their heads towards him, and he recognised a few of his peers among them: a brown-haired boy was waving a wand around with a devil-may-care attitude while a blonde girl tried to snatch it out of his hands. None of them seemed in a rush to leave, which almost made Sebastian think he had read his timetable wrong.

He checked again for good measure and he was glad to know he was absolutely right. He then thought he might have been mistaken about the students: they either weren't in the same year as him as he had previously thought or they were waiting for the perfect moment to be fashionably late.

Sebastian, for all his self-respect and gallantry, had little time to be fashionable.

Leaving the students be — and ignoring their eyes on him as soon as he turned towards the door — he headed off to class, ready to begin lessons in a new, unfamiliar environment.

The walk to Classroom 2E was almost refreshing, and for once, he didn’t lament the stairs. The same couldn’t be said for the screeching laugh of a certain Slytherin girl as soon as she saw him wander around.

It felt bloody ironic to think that after five years.

If anything, the hallways were deserted and the cracking fire of the torches put him at ease, and that was a pretty huge step up.

“Lost, new fifth-year?” laughed Pansy Parkinson, then she turned to her right as if expecting someone to pat her back.

If her goal was to discomfit him, she might need to review her bullying strategies.

“You’re not still crying because of what happened yesterday, are you?” retorted Sebastian, only stopping briefly to look at her before resuming his walk.

“I could give you detention,” she shrieked.

A perfect pureblood pair, he almost wanted to throw up.

“That would delight me.”

Pansy Parkinson didn’t follow him, for which he was delightfully glad. Not that it would matter that much: he’d see her in class anyway — probably fleering at him with newfound energy once she had his beau  beside her.

Read more

[whumblr]

it is the binge anon again teehee just sent in the last ask about yk jay opening up about all the shit zayne did to him to dennis i read through this one drabble about how he reveals off everything to his family post getting out of the hospital, if it's not too much trouble, can we have a follow up to that? like how his parents reacted during the info drop, how jay handled it, so on ughhh i just love how you humanize him so well. you're a lovely writer

I actually cut this part from that chapter. Luckily I hoard cut out stuff, and I freshened it up a little for you <3

Follow up to Everything.

-

Relive

“I’ll tell you what happened.”

And so he did.

That rotten news article stirring up chaos and snitching on his flaying only started at the last pages of his story. He settled back against the cushions, bracing himself for a long and difficult tale to tell. Not really how he imagined his day would go… But perhaps it was better to get it out. Get it over with.

He took a deep breath. “This started two years ago. That time I was hospitalised.” That time where he only told them about the interrupted preparations for a robbery and about a pissed Zayne beating the shit out of him for meddling. At the time, he could barely make sense of what had happened. Now that he had all the pieces, it was easier to tell. Not to mention that he’d processes it a bit more.

“Zayne was tasked with making sure I wouldn't run off to the police. Well, he... he didn’t do just that," he said with a wry smile. And that was the explosive start to it all, with Zayne in the middle of the blast.

He avoided going into too much detail at first and the lengthy introduction helped, to get his story straight, to get his emotions ready for… for the later gritty details.

Another thing he desperately avoided was eye contact. As he spoke, his gaze lingered just over his father’s shoulder, on his mother’s earring, and he tilted his head towards Laura sitting next to him to include her in the group, but his gaze merely brushed over her cheekbone to make it feel like he was looking at her, and immediately shot towards the window every time he did.

It was hard. It was so damn hard telling all this. But now that he’d gotten started, there was no stopping. Everything had to get out, everything that was bottled up, all the tears, his shame, everything.

They all listened without interrupting him, letting him stutter, hiccup, and hesitate as much as he needed.

And his hesitation and stuttering only increased when he had to tell how Zayne invaded his life again two years later. How he’d ambushed him, threatened him, and was waiting for him several times a week. That first beating where every bit of cropped up anger was punched out, without any measure of control or holding back.

“He pretended otherwise, putting responsible on me to hide everything, but he quickly realised he had to tone down if this was to be a regular thing. And so... that’s... that’s when he went for a more... controlled way of... of inflicting pain. Instead of off the rails beatings… So every couple of days, he’d drop by and... erm, well, it was basically just—“ His breathing grew ever more shallow with each word. He heaved softly, swallowed hard past the growing lump in his throat. “Just torture,” he whispered, “It was just—”

He couldn't get the word out again. It stuck in his throat, firmly nestled behind that lump of tears. His breathing grew more forced, heaving in soft gasps, shallow at first, going deeper and deeper to hide the sobs, until hyperventilation kicked in and—

A shuddering breath and his father suddenly stood up.

Jay flinched, the sudden movement snapping his attention back. Back from a dark place, deep in the recesses of his mind, to the present, to his living room, to his family. To a safe place. His exhale finally released.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” his father grunted softly.

Jay gave a single nod and swallowed hard. They were all in need of a little break.

His eyes followed his dad, gaze on his back as he retreated to the kitchen. His lips started to tremble as he looked his mum in the eyes, seeing the tears pool. And he lost control over the muscles in his face as he felt Laura lean into him.

His face scrunched up. He brought up a fist, hiding his lips. His jaw clenched so hard as he tried to contain his sobs he could hear his teeth gnash over each other. Fingers tightened into the fabric of his pajama pants. But everything exploded in a single sob. He rested his wrist against his forehead, hiding his face.

“Sorry,” he managed, voice fragile, brushing away tears.

“Don’t.”

He took his glasses off, letting his emotions spill over his cheeks.

His breathing calmed but his thoughts were still racing. How was he going to breach this subject. How was he going to tell… that he was pinned down and— He meant to go for ‘carved up’, but that was a bit too strong of a word. It was true, it was the exact word that described what happened but, as a writer and now storyteller, he had to consider his audience here. He didn’t want to downplay, he was past that now, but god, he had to thread carefully, not wanting to make things any worse either.

His father silently handed out cups of tea. Jay mouthed a thanks.

Then he started again, voice now clear and calm.

“Zayne's favourite was his knife.” And he told them about the cuts and scars covering his body. He didn’t tell about Zayne’s experiments or creative tortures; mostly just hovered in-between beatings and knifeplay. Just the bare minimum to explain his wounds.

“So these…” Laura started, touching over his wrist to draw attention to the scars on his forearm.

Jay fought the urge to cover them up. “Yes,” he merely said, avoiding how some of those were self-inflicted. The details didn’t matter; as far as he was concerned, Zayne was the cause of those, regardless of who brandished the knife at the time.

He felt uncomfortable, all eyes now focused on his scars. With all his hiding the last couple of months, sitting in just a t-shirt made him feel almost naked, especially with the scars on display. He quickly moved on.

By the time he reached the shock of Emery being involved, his head started to pound, the tension in his body, the strain behind his eyes reaching its toll with the pain heavily settling on his brow.

Mercifully, he could leave the hardest bit behind now that he explained the cause of his injuries. But Emery proved to be an even worse enemy than Zayne could ever be. And Zayne grew more and more tense and unpredictable. Teetering from more cruelty to actually saving his life.

How after that, everything spiralled out of control. To the point where he couldn’t handle things alone anymore and called in Dennis. How they’d worked together, pressured Zayne, and how that ended in abduction.

He recounted that night, the night in the warehouse, how he and Zayne had tried to help each other out, having to hold on and depend on each other to delay Emery’s plans until help would arrive.

“And… and this is…” his mother stuttered, fiddling with the newspaper in her lap, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes. That’s… that’s what happened...” He paused, shifting a little against his pile of pillows, careful not to put pressure on his back. He repeated what he’d just told Laura, about Emery trying to force him to tell where Dennis was. Taking extreme measures. With this, he didn’t spare much detail; better that they hear it from him, better that he prepared them for what they were going to hear in court.

Not to mention, to prepare himself. Get it out, because he was going to have to tell this again. Repeat the story in front of an audience. No… not repeat. Relive. As soon as he stuttered out the first words, the fresh memories gripped his body, seeped into the healing wounds, reminding him of the pain.

“It was… it was worse than anything Zayne’d ever done… I thought I was going to die, I was sure I was going to die…” Maybe he even wanted to in a brief moment when the pain was too much, but he swallowed the despair he felt at that time. “I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even raise the gun Emery forced into my hand… It hurt. It hurt like hell. It was hell. I—”

He stopped for a second, the sound of the whip echoing in his mind, the stabbing in his throat as each scream tore through his windpipe like that goddamn whip tore through his back, flaying his throat from the inside, each scream just hurting and— He swallowed hard. There was no stab of pain anymore, no sting, no bite.

It was healing. He was healing.

He looked up, a soft smile on his lips, finally looking them all in the eyes, reassuring them.

“But it’s healing,” he finally said, echoing his thoughts. “I got through. I got out. And I’m still here with you.”

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @whumpifi @painless-and-colourful

[ggjunkie]

Heavenly Hazards

Chapter 10

It had been two weeks since that night in your house, and you hadn’t heard a peep from Adam since. At first, you tried to brush off the hurt, convincing yourself that his silence was just a temporary blip in your connection. Despite your efforts to try and carry on with your daily routine, the ache of longing only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," they say, and you found that to be true in your own experience. What started as mere attraction had blossomed into something deeper and more meaningful, something that felt less artificial and more genuine with each passing moment.

You weren't in love, not by any means, but you couldn't deny the growing affection and attachment you felt towards Adam. And deny, you tried. But his absence was like wet socks, every step a reminder. You’re fairly certain Adam would laugh at that comparison. Maybe not the one where he throws his head back and cackles, but definitely the laugh where he would– and damn. There you go again.

As just shown, you found yourself missing him in unexpected moments, finding jokes or funny anecdotes and instinctively reaching for your phone to share them with Adam, only to remember with a pang of sadness. You couldn’t help but wonder how he was doing, what he was up to, and whether he ever thought of you in return.

At times, the ache of what you could only compare to “homesickness” felt overwhelming, threatening to consume you entirely. You were convinced Aeson had snuck you a smoothie, as your stomach felt sick to the core. You wanted to keel over and accept your fate.

As you navigated through the days without Adam, you found solace in the routine of your daily life. Aeson, after finally deciding to try your workplace’s coffee, made the split decision to apply for the shop. You can’t ever seem to get rid of him…

Just kidding. Aeson had been a total sweetheart these past weeks, being forced to listen to you complain about Adam and how much you hate him. Though, Aeson was sure you just missed him. You did.

You had also started to form a bond with your manager, despite the fact that you couldn't quite recall her name. Nevertheless, her warm demeanor and supportive presence had made your workplace something to look forward to.

At work, however, you’re back to seeing the familiar, fleeting flash of golden feathers just out of reach. This time, you decide to consciously ignore them. If Adam wanted to reach out to you, you reasoned, he would have to take the initiative and communicate directly. You were no longer willing to dwell on the uncertainty of his absence or wait around for him to make a move.

You didn’t have to wait long, it seems.

As you noticed the golden spark of a portal on Friday, your heart skipped a beat with anticipation. When a single ticket flew through, accompanied by a letter, your curiosity piqued. With stumbling hands, you reached out to retrieve the ticket and unfolded the letter with eager anticipation.

The words on the page were penned in his somewhat-charming chicken scratch, and as you read, your heart raced with a mixture of emotions—excitement, apprehension, and perhaps a hint of nerves.

“Sorry. I’ve been real busy lately. Promise i didn’t mean to ignore you, baby. I got you tickets to my concert tomorrow. VIP. Come backstage after. Please.

-The Original Dick

P.S. Here’s a drawing of us having awesome sex”

Welp. That stickman drawing was unnecessary, but it was as meaningful as Adam could ever get. You pocket the letter and stare at the VIP ticket; Looks like you need to pick out a new outfit for tomorrow.

–

The familiarity of the songs washed over you. Despite the disappointment of the repetitive setlist, you found entertainment in the fact that you had grown familiarized with Adam's music, knowing most of the words by heart.

However, one second, his band mates were on stage, and the next, they were gone. With the stage suddenly cleared, leaving only Adam illuminated by a single beam of light, a hush fell over the audience. A sense of anticipation hanging in the air, Adam took center stage, his electric guitar switching out for a tamer acoustic guitar.

Something new?

With practiced ease, he adjusted the guitar strap, the soft click of the buckle echoing through the venue. The transition from the electric to the acoustic guitar signaled a shift in the atmosphere, a departure from the high-energy performance that had preceded it.

“So, I’ve been told my concert is boring.” Adam's voice cut through the silence, his tone tinged with a hint of playful self-deprecation.

As the audience tentatively laughed together, unsure of how to respond to Adam's unexpected behavior, a ripple of uncertainty spread through the crowd. It was a rare sight indeed to see Adam ignore the positive laughter instead of preening underneath the attention, his usual egoistic demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic indifference.

In that moment, you couldn't help but wonder what had prompted this sudden change in Adam's behavior. Is he being held at gun-point?

“I’ve written a new song, which is something I haven’t done in awhile”

You’d love to know exactly how long– weeks, months, years?

“So to my biggest fan, this is for you”

Before you can wonder about the identity of his “biggest fan”, the gentle strumming of the acoustic guitar filled the air, its mellower tones weaving a delicate melody that enveloped the audience in its embrace. Gone were the raucous riffs and thundering drums, replaced instead by the subtle nuances of acoustic music.

You were honestly expecting something crude, or something hardcore, maybe something you could even bang your head to…

A love song was none of those.

As Adam's voice filled the room with its vulnerable, breathy tones, a sense of intimacy descended upon the audience. His closed eyes and introspective demeanor lent an air of authenticity to his performance, drawing listeners into the surprising depths of his emotions.

Amidst the haunting melody, you tore your gaze away from Adam and glanced around the room. What you saw took your breath away. The audience, captivated by Adam's raw vulnerability, had transformed the venue into a sea of glowing lights.

Scrolls, flashlights, and small flames danced in the darkness, swaying to the rhythm of the music like fireflies in the night. You laughed, beaming ear to ear with giddiness- the audience’s energy was contagious. You let out a holler dedicated to Adam.

As your supportive cheer pierced through the air, his eyes flew open, locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. In that moment, you felt a charged connection between the two of you, as if your encouragement had breathed new life into his performance.

With a smile that mirrored your own, Adam's tense posture seemed to relax, his confidence visibly bolstered by your support. As he continued to sing, his voice grew stronger and more assured, each note infused with a newfound sense of purpose and determination.

It was as if he was singing directly to you, seeking validation and affirmation in your smile and applause. But of course, that’s stupid. He’s probably just relieved someone likes his new song. His new love song that is definitely not about anyone.

And as the song reached its too-soon conclusion, the gentle sway of the lights seemed to echo the collective heartbeat of the audience. In that brief, fleeting moment, you were reminded of the profound impact that music can have on the human spirit, bringing people together in a shared experience of joy, sorrow, and everything in between. It was wild to think Adam, your Adam, did that.

–

As you make your way backstage, you flash the security guard a glimpse of your VIP ticket, which grants you access without hesitation. Stepping into the backstage area, you're greeted by the sight of Adam's bandmates lounging around, snacking on burgers.

They chat and laugh amongst themselves, their easygoing banter serving as a stark contrast to the electric energy of the stage. As you approach, they nod in acknowledgment, their mouths still full of food as they offer you a friendly wave.

Feeling an arm sneak around your waist, you're momentarily caught off guard until you find yourself face to face with a bread bun. You strain your neck backward as your gaze travels upward until you meet Adam's eyes, and you're greeted by a soft twinkle and a tender smile. In that moment, he looks remarkably sweet and innocent, a stark contrast to his usual devious, smug attitude.

“Hey, I saved you a burger”

You smile at Adam, a playful glint in your eyes, before moving your head back down towards the burger he's holding out to you. With a grin, you take a gigantic bite, savoring the taste of the juicy patty and savory toppings.

"Thanks," you say, your voice slightly muffled by the mouthful of food. As you chew, you can feel Adam's gaze lingering on you, his eyes tracing the movement of your throat as you swallow. Despite the casual exchange, there's an undeniable undercurrent of tension between the two of you, a palpable energy that crackles in the air like electricity. Suddenly, you feel as tightly wrung as a bowstring.

Today is the day.

You step out of his hold and face him. "Hey Adam…"

He swallows his food, his expression curious as he regards you. "Yes, my sweet thing?"

"Is there a couch around here?"

Confused, he brings his burger away from his face, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "Huh."

You glance back at Adam's bandmates, who seem preoccupied with their own conversations and snacks, paying no attention to your exchange with Adam. Their chatter offers you a moment of privacy. “You know… a couch. Somewhere one could lay down? Or preferably, two.”

“Oh. OH” his look turns ravenous. “I see what you’re getting at. Follow me.”

[pixies-and-poets]

Music of the Night - Chapter Five

Hello everyone!

I've known how this story would end for most of a year, but just... haven't gotten around to writing it. I guess because of how depressing it is!! But maybe I had to wait for the return of the bleak and dark winter in which this story was born, to get me back in the mood. Here we are!

There will probably be two parts left after this, unless I end up going overboard. I'd love to wrap this up by the end of January, but we'll see.

If a bit of body horror and an unhappy ending will bother you, don't read the rest of this story. But if you're like YES, GIVE ME THE ANGST, well... enjoy!(?)

Chapter One - In Sleep He Sang to Me

Chapter Two - Do I Dream Again?

Chapter Three - Our Strange Duet

Chapter Four - To Glance Behind

Chapter Five - Those Who Have Seen Your Face

Woodrow’s mind was a blur as he propelled himself away from Sweetlopek’s home. He put one foot in front of the other, clutching the two shirts wrapped over his arm, trying not to think about the brief image of Dryad crying- something he had never seen before.

Before he knew it he was back at the lonely cabin. He wasn’t really sure how long he had been gone, and he wondered if Phantom had finished his bathing. He gently gave a knock at the shack’s flimsy door. “Phantom? May I come in?”

“Please do,” came the sing-song answer. His voice sounded so merry, in contrast to everything else on the planet, that the warden couldn't resist a smile. He opened the door, and his eyes met with something… wonderful.

It was Phantom, on the bed, surrounded by dirty and blackened little rags- but he had undergone a transformation. Most of his fur was clean, his hair still a mess but no longer matted and stringy, and he even looked a little less sick and exhausted, although perhaps it was merely his obvious good mood at being able to groom himself and let his glorious form shine through. He almost looked normal, aside from the mask, and the fur and skin of his torso transitioning into a pitch-black belly that still was filled to bursting with darkmess.

And he was naked.

The warden’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and he looked at the floor sheepishly. Come now, you fool, there’s nothing wrong with seeing a fellow-rabbid with no clothes on, he told himself… but it was always odd to see one when they were normally accustomed to wearing them. Still, something else was going on here besides the situation being unusual.

“You’re back at last!” said the ghost joyfully, as Woodrow made his way over to the bedside, still not looking at him, but instead noting Phantom’s ruined clothes which had been folded up and laid on the floor. “And I see you succeeded in your quest for vestments.”

“Mm-hmm,” said the warden, draping the shirts onto the back of the room’s chair. “How did, ah-” he stammered, “How did- you look like you’ve done well for yourself- did you manage to get everything off?”

“Well, mostly,” said the ghost. “I am afraid it might come back, in due time, but for now I feel like a new man. However- I believe there are some spots on my back I could not quite reach…”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate!” Woodrow slowly forced himself to meet the other’s face, and rather than echoing his expression of concern, Phantom was smiling cheerfully. “I- that won’t do at all. I suppose I, I must assist you… if that’s alright-”

Phantom noticed that the other was downright shaking with nerves. What a silly, precious fool, he thought. What is there to be so nervous about?

“Mr. Woodrow,” he said, leaning forward and suddenly taking the warden by the paw. “Are you alright? Are you cold?”

“I- no, no, not at all, quite the opposite, it’s only- I, I worry for you, I suppose, and for my own skill. At being a doctor. At caring for you.” Even his paw seemed tense within the grasp of the other.

“You are doing very well so far, for something so far outside of your normal job,” said the ghost smoothly. “I am well satisfied with your bedside manner.”

Phantom felt the smaller paw relax. “I’m glad to hear it,” said the warden softly. “Let us get to work then.”

He sat down beside the larger figure on the bed, and took up the soap and a clean rag. Phantom turned, and indeed on the middle of his back were several stubborn and hardened patches of darkmess. The poet wet the cloth, rubbed some of the precious soap into it, and got to work gently scrubbing between his patient’s shoulders. The patches of dried goo began to slowly soften and break down.

For a little while, neither of them talked. And then:

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No. It feels most wonderful.”

Woodrow was calm now. The gentle scrubbing motion… the fact that Phantom’s upper body was somehow warm, despite everything… the progress he was making… he felt like, at least for the moment, he could wash away everything unpleasant around him, just as he was doing for his patient.

But soon Woodrow noticed something. “Ah… we are almost out of water in this bucket. I should go to the well…”

But there was a tiny rumble of thunder, and Jinx - the little cloud - positioned herself above the bucket. She began to rain into it; and soon it had filled again by several more inches.

Woodrow smiled. “Oh, of course! You are ever so good at filling buckets, after all.”

Phantom was also grinning in amusement. “I say, what a helpful little companion you have! That water is… clean, I take it?”

“As clean as you could ask for. As fresh as that from the well or a spring, at the very least.” Jinx had seemingly exhausted herself for the moment, and now - slightly smaller, and quite more transparent, she floated up to their eye level and gave a bob. “Thank you, my friend,” said Woodrow happily, and then she - barely visible - excused herself through a hole in the wall, doubtless to work on replenishing her supply.

Woodrow was so used to Jinx’s presence that he scarcely thought of her as another being, but perhaps Phantom did, for now that the two of them were alone, something about the atmosphere changed. As Woodrow worked his way down his patient’s back, Phantom sighed.

“Portafortuna,” he said. “I… I truly must express my gratitude. For your care, your attention, your kindness. I am sure I do not deserve it.”

“Oh, Phantom!” replied the other passionately. “Why would you ever say such a thing? Of course you do. You little know how much joy it has brought me, to have someone to care for.”

“Well,” said the ghost. “Mon gardien… there is something that I want to tell you. It is only right that you know.”

“Mmmhmm?”

The ghost turned to meet his companion’s eyes, and as the poet’s hands were full, he rested his own paws on Woodrow’s knees instead. “This is my fault. Everything that has happened to me. I am not a victim. I chose this.”

Woodrow blinked his green-blue eyes behind his glasses, sitting there helplessly with a chunk of soap in one hand and a rag in the other. ”Whatever do you mean?”

“What I mean is that some time ago, Cursa came to me, when I was low and desperate. And I did not refuse her. I did not fight her. I… let her take me. Control me. The loss of my will in exchange for power. She made me a deal, and I agreed to it.”

The warden was silent for a moment, still frozen in place. “....We all make mistakes,” he said, wanting to offer something, but still in shock, not fully understanding.

“Oh, trust me, I have made many mistakes,” said the ghost sadly, looking down. “But this is the largest one by far. No decision has ever been so dreadful.”

“But you came to regret it?” said Woodrow. “Surely you must have. You are fighting it now- her influence. That is all that matters.”

“You are too kind to me,” said the ghost. “I… I do not deserve it. I do not know all that I have done, under her influence. I have spent much of the past month unconscious, or blind and trapped within my own mind, not knowing what my body is doing.” Woodrow looked at his face, and saw there a dread and regret that shook him to his core.

“I do not know what I have done,” he repeated.

“Oh, Phantom,” said the poet in despair. “It’s… we all have our moments of weakness and misery. What you did while being possessed was nary your fault. You made a bad decision, and since then you have come to your senses.” He put the soap and rag down, and touched Phantom on the side of his cheek. “You are no longer under her influence. If so, you would never admit such things to me. You wouldn’t be trying, body and mind, to rid yourself of this curse. You are yourself, your wonderful self. Oh, Tom- may I call you that?”

The ghost nodded.

“Tom, I… thank you for telling me the truth. But it does not change my feelings for you. My- my desire to care for you, that is. If anything, it only makes them stronger. We must get the darkmess out of you, for I know it must chew at your conscience, your very soul, as well as your body.”

Phantom smiled, and… a tear ran down from his unmasked eye. “Poet of the woods,” he said, “you are far more than one such as I deserves.”

“Well,” said the poet, “the universe gives me what it thinks I deserve. And if it gave you to me as a curse and a burden… well, the joke is on the Fates, for it is a burden I am happy to bear. Now… let’s get back to work, shall we?”

Woodrow took up the rag again, and gently pushed Phantom to turn his body back around. After a few more moments of silence, working down his back, Phantom suddenly asked: “If you are to call me Tom… may I call you Tristan?”

Woodrow stopped for a moment in his scrubbing, and his ears perked up. “Oh!! Yes- yes, if you wish. That would be lovely. But… how did you know?” Even most of Woodrow’s own poetry volumes omitted his first name, leaving only his initials. He liked his first name, very much so, and yet- it had always been somewhat private to him. It was not often he heard it from the mouth of another.

“Ah… it was in your journal. The inside cover.”

“So you looked…”

“I did not read anything personal! But- well, yes, I did go looking through for your scraps of poetry, I must admit. I was curious. I had to have a taste of your work. I hope you shall forgive me.”

“Well. Only if you liked it,” said the writer playfully.

“I did, Tristan,” said the singer. “I liked it very much.”

And for the next few minutes, while Woodrow finished up the washing, the two continued to talk. Phantom felt the relief of finally being honest, and Woodrow felt the joy of getting to talk about his inspirations and subject matter, and without verbalizing it, the pair both knew that they felt very close. Safe, trusted and trusting. Complete.

“Well, I think that’s the last of it,” said the poet as he draped the now-dirty cloth over the side of the bucket. “You are positively sparkling.”

Phantom smiled, attempting to turn his head to see his back. “Thank you, good doctor,” he said. And then suddenly his face grew serious. “But now that we are done with this, and I feel fresh and in charge of my senses… there is one more thing I must ask of you.”

Woodrow nodded, now ready for anything. “Yes.”

Phantom pointed a paw at the mask that still occupied the right side of his face, also extending up into a long, straight ear in addition to the two of his own. “This,” he said. “This mask… when I first came to after Cursa claimed me, she had somehow placed it on me. It is a mark and brand of her power over me. Since that day, I have been unable to remove it. I think the darkmess has fused it too tightly to my visage… but, if you were to use that special soap… then perhaps, finally…”

Woodrow nodded in excitement. Could this be the cure, indeed? If they were to get that mask off, then would he stop producing the terrible slime? Would he be free?

“I shall try my best,” said the poet. “Now, lay back and let me get to work.”

Phantom did so, resting his head on the bed’s flat and pathetic pillow, and Woodrow sat in the chair by the bedside. With his hands and yet another cloth (he was glad he had brought pretty much his entire home collection) he began to work a soapy lather under the edges of the mask, between its hard form and Phantom’s soft fur. Soon, the hardened darkmess that had glued it to Phantom’s face was no longer visible, and he slid the rag as far as he could get it under the mask. The ghost’s other eye was closed, trying to stay peaceful and calm despite his anticipation.

“Alright, Tom,” said the poet at last. “I think this is the best I can do. I will have to try and pull it off now. Let me know if it’s hurting, alright?”

Phantom opened his eye. “I will,” he said. “And yet… if it hurts, I want you to keep going. It will probably cause me some pain. Agony, even. But you need to get it off.”

“Tom!! Well, I'd that's the case, I couldn’t possibly…”

“I am prepared,” said the other, deadly serious. “Please. You have to get it off, no matter what.”

Woodrow’s face darkened with worry. “A-alright,” he said. “I’ll try. Well then… are you ready?”

The other nodded.

“So… in order to get leverage, I think I’ll have to-” he climbed onto the bed next to Phantom again, and then sat on his chest, his legs splayed across on either side. So eager and afraid was he to begin this process that all embarrassment and demureness had gone out the window, and he was not even conscious of the boldness of his current position. “Alright then. Here goes.”

He reached the edges of his paws under the sides of the mask, and with all his strength, began to pull. It lifted a little bit, although the more flexible and stretchy darkmess deeper inside held tight, and wouldn’t let it lift more than an inch or so.

Phantom hissed, gritting his teeth, biting his lip.

“Tom, I- I can stop-”

“No. Keep going.”

Woodrow swallowed, and pulled even harder. Something snapped and gave way, and the mask lifted up another couple inches. But at the same time, Phantom let out a yelp like an injured dog.

“AAAAIIIIEGGH–”

“Phantom!” cried Woodrow, though he did not let go.

The ghost-rabbid’s eyes were closed in pain, and it took him a moment- through ragged breath, to speak.

“KEEP. GOING.”

In an agony of his own, Woodrow kept pulling with all his might. He focused his strength into a concentrated yank, and another strand of darkmess seemed to break- and with it another scream of pain, of such volume that it shook the dilapidated walls of the shack. Jinx had appeared again, coming through a broken window and taking up residence at Woodrow’s shoulder, to see what the emergency was. And so too did a figurative cloud darken Woodrow’s face, and his voice cracked and broke.

“Tom-”

The ghost was gasping, tears emerging from his pinched-shut eye.

“Pull…” he said weakly.

“Tom, I can’t-”

“PULL!”

Woodrow felt a tear drop from one of his own eyes, and gave another yank. The mask was now a full foot or so away from Phantom’s face, but still attached by a stubborn mass of black sludge. Phantom screamed, and dust rained down from the roof as the tiny cabin rocked under the power of his voice. Every scream impaled Woodrow’s heart, so deep and raw was the anguish they conveyed. He could now see Phantom’s face under where the mask had been, and took a peek-

He was horrified. He saw no face there, no eye, just a mass of darkmess… and in fact, more was now gradually bubbling up, spilling out. As if he had unsealed an accursed well. As if- as if there was nothing there anymore, no skin or flesh or fur or ectoplasm or whatever made up Phantom’s body- just an opening into the sludge that now filled in his innards, and it was now springing up like a fountain.

Phantom screamed again, and the unsealed well of darkmess began to bubble up and outwards, dribbling out towards his other eye, down towards his moustache, his mouth, off the side of his face, into his hair again, in rivulets towards his neck, like thick black blood from an open wound-

Woodrow shrieked, and could not take it anymore. He knew not what to do. He had to stem the tide- he pressed the mask back down onto Phantom’s face, quickly and firmly. Phantom groaned in defeated exhaustion, as Woodrow snatched up the rag and wiped the new mess off of his face, quickly but gently- from his lips, from around his eyes, his forehead and neck. Then he tossed the rag aside, and weakly, sobbing, he collapsed over his companion’s body, their faces side by side and touching, Woodrow’s glasses pushed up and off of his face.

“Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, hugging the soft and warm body of his patient. “I’m so sorry. I cannot… I can’t. This might require an expert.”

There was no answer for a moment. The warden was unsure if his companion was even conscious. But then he stirred, his large arms wrapping himself around the poet, hugging him back.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “You tried your best.” His eye opened, and he smiled a sad smile. “Thank you, Tristan.” He caressed the poet’s cheek, dreamily- and then suddenly his eye widened, and he frowned. “But you must get up now. Remember, you cannot fall asleep here.”

“I hardly care anymore…”

“No,” said Phantom firmly, pulling away. “I fear that Cursa may still use me, when I am unconscious. She will use me to get to you, the warden of this planet. And if we were both unconscious- who knows what could happen.” He struggled into a sitting position, and lifted Woodrow up as well. “I cannot let that happen. I cannot let anything happen to you.”

Then he reached over to the back of the chair, grabbed the blue one of the shirts (although he still had no idea where Woodrow had obtained them, or from whom), and put it on, starting to button it over his chest. The poet sat there watching him, bleary-eyed, exhausted of soul and blank of mind.

“You should leave for today,” said the ghost. “I will enjoy the books you have brought me. I shall be fine until tomorrow.

“But it’s early yet-”

“And yet you are exhausted already,” said Phantom, smiling wryly. “See what I have done! Surely you have other things to attend to. Worry not. You can check in on me later today, if you wish, but it’s up to you.”

Woodrow nodded, sadly. “Yes. There are always things for me to attend to… and almost nothing with which I can actually help.”

He got off the bed, but only made it a step before turning back around.

“But- Tom, before I go. You have your voice back… can you sing?”

“Ah! I was wondering if you might ask that.” He sighed, and shook his head. “No… I am lucky enough to talk. And to scream, I suppose. I can only sing when Cursa wills it. Listen here-” he opened his mouth, put his hand to his chest, and- let loose a horrific gargling wail.

“You see? Not very pleasant!”

Woodrow nodded. “Not very pleasant,” he repeated. “But someday… someday you will sing again, your own songs. I’m not sure how we get that mask off, but we will figure something out. I promise.”

And suddenly, looking at the strange creature on the bed, so beautiful despite his belly churning with destruction, wearing his best friend’s shirt, and yoked with a mask from the one who oppressed the galaxy- it was all too much to bear, and his brain started to burst and leak with poems and metaphors that he dare not utter. He grabbed the ghost’s paw and kneeled on the floor.

“Tom, my sunshine, my hope- I promise to save you. I promise.”

Phantom’s eyes were wide. “Monsieur Tristan! I appreciate it, but- well, some things may be out of your power, or anyone’s power, to resolve.”

“I know how it is to be powerless,” said the warden, looking up at him. “But the Fates have not killed me yet, and they shan’t take you either. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to survive, and… I will not give up on you. Not ever.”

The ghost smiled, tenderly, genuinely moved. “Then I will keep fighting as well. And someday we shall enjoy better days on this planet, in the cool breeze under falling leaves. Perhaps a long time hence. But I want to see the planet as you have told me, and written about.”

“Tom, I…”

And then the two of them leaned forward, their faces towards each other- but Phantom pulled back.

“...No, Tristan. Alas.” He motioned towards his throat with his free paw. “I am full of danger. You should no more grace me with your lips than you should a bottle of poison. I am truly sorry.”

Woodrow nodded sadly. But instead, he placed a small kiss on the back of his beloved’s hand, and stood.

“I will return as soon as I can,” said the warden.

“And I will keep myself safe and warm for you, until then.”

Thus the warden left, followed by his cloud, and as soon as he had cleared the threshold and walked back to town, in a stream of anguished murmurs burst out fragments of verse- the poetry of a love he could no longer deny.

[jeongyunhoed]

As seen on my FF.net Also seen on my Ao3

Following the events of fifth year, a new adventure awaits for Norah Lee. Boys, exams, school events, common room parties, and old foes outside of Hogwarts. Even battling pensieve guardians was easier than this.

Main Pair: OC / Ominis Gaunt Genre: Adventure/Angst/Fluff (it's a little of everything, tbh)

KEEP IN MIND: Characters are aged up (even if the story's got them in sixth year) to make it more appropriate. Time period is leaning towards the modern day so in case you might find anachronisms in the dialogue or references, this is why. This may also be quite a lengthy fic too.

BE WARNED: Social anxiety, mentions of blood and injury, grief, drinking, kissing but nothing more than that, death (this is Hogwarts Legacy, after all)

P.P.S: Rude classmates, amortentia, Leander having another K-Drama moment with Norah, Ominis having another dream ahead.

Masterlist

Chapter 18

Dear Norah,

Thank you for your owl! It's the first time again since you got your sixth year letter that we received word from Starlight. Congratulations on getting the Order of Merlin! I still can't believe it, you've become the youngest recipient of such a prestigious award. Your father and I have been celebrating since we received the issue of the Daily Prophet. Who would have guessed?

Then again, it might not be as surprising after all. Ever since Professor Fig came to our home that day, he knew there was something special about you. We're so happy that it really was like that. Finally, a witch in our family!

We don't suppose you can bring some butterbeers our way? How much is the exchange rate these days to galleons, sickles, and knuts? Please let us know so we can have a keg brought over. If not, we could find the time to travel to Hogsmeade while you're there to have some. I doubt the Leaky Cauldron or the nearest pub serves those.

Still, we couldn't be prouder of you for doing all that you've done, all the while excelling in your OWLs. Write back soon so we can make the time to come and visit. We can't wait to meet your friends as well.

Mum

P.S.: Thank your friend Adele for the Montrose Magpies poster! Her sister Alexandra seems a fine player.

P.P.S.: Your father plans on making a deposit to your Gringotts vault soon. He made me swear not to tell you, but he's just so proud of you.

Norah stared at the letter that morning over breakfast. It seemed like a welcome surprise after the week she had. Unsurprisingly, she woke up with a splitting headache, immediately reaching for the hangover tonic Nerida was kind enough to point out. Sebastian and Ominis had yet to come up, and perhaps it was a good thing, given what Nerida and Grace told her about her sleeping habits the night before.

The two girls were eating their breakfast next to her, with Grace sitting across from them as they tucked into their plates of toast, eggs, and sausages. "Do you have a dress for the Yule Ball yet, Norah?" The blonde suddenly asked her.

She looked up from reading the letter from her mother for the 10th time. "Hmm? I-I don't have anything to wear yet. I probably should find something to wear by then, shouldn't I?" She said.

"You must! the Yule Ball's less than a month away," Nerida said. "You, most especially, have to make quite an entrance, especially if you want Ominis to notice you."

"He's blind, I doubt he'll be able to see my dress, let alone appreciate it," Norah pointed out with a laugh.

Grace, however, looked unamused. "You're the hero of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin awardee, if Ominis won't be able to see you, everyone else will," She countered. "Tell you what, my family's trusted seamstress makes the most beautiful gowns. They've made my mother's wedding dress, and a few other dresses we've had to wear over the years in balls and such. Why don't we pay her a visit?"

Norah raised a brow. "Grace, I appreciate the offer but I'll be fine. I'm sure I can be able to find something to wear by then."

She didn't know where to turn to other than Gladrags and Madam Malkin's. But if all else failed, she could try and make an outfit from the clothes she owned, a good portion of her wardrobe being clothes she found while treasure hunting. She was nothing if not resourceful, perhaps something the Sorting Hat sensed about her when she got sorted during fifth year.

"Does Ominis know, by the way?" Nerida suddenly asked.

"Know what?"

"That you fancy him?"

Norah shook her head. "No, and I don't think I plan on telling him. He told me there's someone else that he likes. I might have been tipsy but I remember what happened yesterday," She explained, a slight frown forming on her face.

Nerida and Grace's expressions fell. "Oh, then, maybe you'll catch someone else's eye at the ball. Maybe that Hufflepuff boy, Caleb?" Grace glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where the boy himself was focused on reading an issue of the Quibbler that he received in the mail. "I heard you two had quite a moment on your way out of the Great Hall the other day."

Merlin, even that seemed to go around, Norah thought. "We collided into each other, our stuff flew all over the place, honest mistake," She shrugged. "I appreciate the two of you trying to help me through this...dress crisis."

"It is the first time we've heard you talking in your sleep, though," Nerida said quietly. "You must really like Ominis if that's the case."

Norah looked over at the Gryffindor table, seeing Garreth sleepily try and get himself something to eat before their first class. Much like what happened in the days leading up to the Gryffindor party, people were more focused on the festivities the Hufflepuff common room party had planned. Remembering the letter from her mother, she got up and bid them goodbye before bringing her bag along to the Owlery again.

Figuring that there was no time like the present, Norah trekked up the hill that the Owlery was built upon. She caught a glimpse of the lake from where she stood, of the giant squid's tentacles making a momentary appearance and splashing those nearby with water. Norah chuckled to herself as she kept going, determined to send a reply to her mother as soon as possible.

While she wasn't very fond of high places despite trekking through much higher ones, there was an unusual sense of calm, of stillness in the Owlery. The nearby bench served as a place of rest for people who were probably worn out from all the walking, or for those who want to savor the view without getting a whiff of owl droppings. Norah climbed up the spiral staircase and went to the nearest window to take out a quill, an ink bottle, and a piece of parchment to write her reply.

Dear Mum,

I'm not sure what the exchange rate is between muggle money and wizard currency, but I'm sure a goblin banker will be able to tell him when he gets to Gringotts. Tell him thanks for me, I'll use the money to buy a dress for the upcoming Yule Ball. If only cameras were smaller here, I could send you a photo of me in it for you to see how I look. I don't suppose you know a muggle boutique that has nice dresses?

As I write this letter, there's going to be a party hosted by Hufflepuff house tomorrow night. Maybe you can time your visit by then so it's not quite freezing yet. Let me know when you're coming round so I can tell my friends. NEWT subjects are becoming increasingly difficult so we're always up to our necks in homework. I think you'll like them all, my friends, I mean.

Norah

Once she scribbled her signature away, she folded the parchment like so, while taking out an envelope and a stamp to seal it closed. Her owl Starlight flew inside just in time for Norah to tie the letter to her leg. "There you go, don't forget to ask for a treat before you come back, hmm? That ought to remind them to have some on hand," She muttered, eyeing the snowy owl, who nipped at her finger affectionately before flying off again.

As she put her things back into her bag, she stopped when she saw Leander come up the stairs. He too, stopped upon seeing her. "Oh, good morning Norah," He greeted, approaching the assortment of owls that were perched. "Congratulations by the way, on that award," He said, although there was a hint of sadness in his voice, which Norah somehow picked up on.

"You alright?" She asked, not bothering to dwell on that achievement any further. "I was just writing to my parents. They want to come to Hogsmeade if I couldn't send a keg of butterbeer."

Leander nodded. "Yeah, my parents have just been pestering me if I knew you and all, and when I told them I did-I do, rather, they asked me to congratulate you on their behalf," He explained.

"Oh," She nodded. "You seem quite sad, though. It's way too early to be sad."

Leander studied her expression. Norah had always seemed so calm and collected, despite everything she had been through. He acknowledged the fact that when she beat him in Summoner's Court, she was quick to encourage him to keep practicing, not even thinking about bragging that she won, or at the very least, bested him there as well in Crossed Wands. Not once did Norah brag, and instead only encouraged him to keep trying.

"I-I'd rather not say," Leander shook his head. "At least up here, I mean."

"That's alright. You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable," Norah assured him. "Tell your parents I said hello, and thank you."

She was about to leave when an owl swooped inside to fly into one of the perches. Norah felt herself fall over backwards until Leander quickly caught her, his arm around her waist to give her some support. The closeness of the position made both their cheeks turn pink, both of them still looking shocked.

"Careful there..." Leander muttered, his expression still that of surprise as he helped Norah stand back straight. "Owls, you know."

Norah chuckled. "It's the second time something like this has happened," She teased. "Thanks, Leander."

"Anytime," He mumbled, still trying to wrap his head around what just happened.

She turned on her heels and climbed down the stairs, not noticing how Leander's cheeks turned ruddier along with his ears. Those owls did have a habit of coming in out of nowhere. She had her own share of Starlight taking her by surprise, and often not in the way she'd liked as at times, her owl would come in with dead rats. Her parents, although scared at first, eventually got used to it and even reprimanded Starlight for doing so. It took them a while to realize that it was her way of showing affection.

Norah laughed upon recalling what just happened on her way down, realizing how silly they must have looked and how surprised she must have gotten. Both of them looked like deer in the headlights. With the letter to her mother sorted out, she stopped when she saw some second years fly kites, the wind keeping the colorful versions of the houses' representative animals in the air. Perhaps they had all gotten up earlier to do it, given the weather.

As she approached them, she noticed that Caleb was amongst them, watching how high the kites were in amazement. It was always a comforting sight, seeing people fly kites in the grounds, in the pitch, in the open spaces close to the hamlets. Caleb waved upon seeing her, and Norah waved back before heading back inside the castle, her thoughts suddenly filled with what Nerida and Grace said earlier.

The worst thing was, Norah knew exactly what she dreamt about. They were in the Undercroft, as they usually were, and Norah somehow couldn't take the fact that Ominis had feelings for someone else. She dreamt that Ominis was asking her about Anne, asking what girls usually like, what they didn't like, how they wanted to be wooed. By then, she burst and told him that she had feelings for him and no one else.

When she woke up that morning, a heavy feeling came over her, her heart, especially. After all, it made sense that Ominis would like Anne. They had known each other much longer, and during her adventures with Sebastian, the two boys would often say that Anne would agree to whatever Ominis suggested, or at the very least, soften up about her own twin a little if Ominis was the one to deliver some sort of news.

What wasn't to like about Anne? Wasn't Ominis planning on taking her to the Yule Ball anyway? She should've known. Anne was also nothing but nice to her, and was someone amongst them that she sometimes confided to.

The heavy feeling remained as she trudged towards Professor Sharp's classroom, taking her place this time next to Amit, who also seemed quite gloomy. That didn't go unnoticed by Sebastian and Ominis, however, as well as Garreth, who glanced at her as she put down her bag.

"Oh, good morning Norah," Amit gave her a nod.

"Good morning, Amit, do you mind if I sit here today?" She asked.

He shook his head. "No, I don't mind at all. But now I wonder what happened that would make you want to sit here," He teased, forcing a smile.

Norah side-eyed him. "You know, there's something I've always wanted to know but I wasn't sure if I could prod you again," She muttered, making Amit sit up. "What's going on with Nellie and you and Samantha? What's happening there?"

The mention of the two girls made Amit blush, a sigh escaping him as class had begun, with the three aforementioned boys still glancing at her from time to time. To their surprise, the lesson was all about brewing a vial of amortentia.

"It is against school rules to slip amortentia into anyone's drinks," Professor Sharp warned. "However, as the brewing of such a potion will be done under my supervision, I shall see to it that any leftover samples will be immediately destroyed. Love is a powerful emotion, much like certain types of magic. In the wrong hands, love can be taken to a dark place from which many have never returned."

Norah saw Sebastian lower his head at the last sentence. "We'll talk about this later," Amit whispered, eyes focused on what Sharp was writing on the board. "Your Room of Requirement? The walls have ears after all."

"Of course," Norah nodded, scribbling down the ingredients into her ledger. Knowing that they were to brew this kind of love potion filled her with a kind of dread. She really didn't want to think about it for now, but it seemed like the universe was telling her that maybe she ought to. Why was she being this way? Why couldn't she just confront Ominis and tell him how she felt?

Yet, she knew the answers to those questions. To confess romantic feelings toward a friend could only go two ways: They would gain a lover, or lose them. There was no turning back once she did, and who knows how Ominis would react? Would she be let down like an injured animal? Or would he pretend nothing happened? It was hard to tell with the young Gaunt.

Ominis, on the other hand, had been thinking about the latest dream he had about her. This time, they were in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room. Once again, he dreamt that he was telling her how he felt. This time around, however, he was bold enough to make the move of kissing her, of holding her. In those dreams, Norah would tell him she felt the same way.

"Night and day I have dreamt of you," He said to her. "I have loved you since the moment you found the Undercroft. I have loved you since we ventured into the Scriptorium. I have loved you since we went into the catacomb to find Sebastian. I have loved you since before all of this. I summoned your name because it's only your name I want close to mine. Norah, you have my heart, and I could only hope for yours in return."

He sensed that she was moved. "Ominis," Her voice was shaky. "I feel the same way."

The thought of his most recent dream, Ominis knew, was what was going to influence what he smelled in amortentia.

"Well, to give you all an idea of what amortentia is supposed to look like after brewing," Sharp pointed to the cauldron next to him. There was a spiraling steam over a pearly liquid. "Anyone care to step up and smell the potion? As you probably all know, the scent of the potion differs per person. Whatever attracts you is what it can smell like."

That remark caused even more whispers among the students. "I'll have a go!" They saw Adele come forward, and Professor Sharp stepped aside. The Gryffindor girl leaned forward to get a whiff of the steam. "Broom polish, the wind after the rain, bubble bath," She paused, her cheeks suddenly turning pink. "Butterbeer."

"Ooohhh," Some of the class teased as she stepped back.

"Well, anyone else?" Sharp looked over at the class. "Thank you, Ms. Kang, points to Gryffindor," He scanned the room. "Mr. Gaunt, would you like to try?"

All eyes were on Ominis, including Norah. Nerida and Grace were glancing at her when the blonde was called to the front. "I-I'd rather not say what I'd smell in the pot, Professor," He said quietly, much to the dismay of some. Norah felt some relief, that she didn't need to hear what Ominis smelled in that potion.

"What about you, Ms. Lee?"

The mention of her name made everyone look at her. Norah froze and swallowed, eyes darting to her two female housemates, who were giving nods of encouragement. Adele had also sought to give her a thumbs up as she slowly walked up to the table with the cauldron. It was Sebastian and Ominis' turn to feel somewhat anxious.

Norah got a whiff of the steam. "I smell," She closed her eyes, picturing everything she was getting from the scent. "Dark chocolate."

"Troll bogeys?" One Ravenclaw spoke, making them laugh, breaking her concentration.

"Blood?" A Gryffindor joined in, making them laugh again.

"Setlle down, the rest of you," Sharp shot them a stern look. "Please, continue, Ms. Lee."

Norah closed her eyes again, feeling the steam hit her nostrils. She kept getting a whiff of Ominis' cologne. It was leathery and smoky, and smelled perfect on him. "Warm clean laundry, cigars," She said quietly. She didn't dare reveal she kept smelling Ominis' cologne as she looked down on her way back to her station.

[exoticalmonde]

Arknights Chapter XIII - The Whirlpool That Is Passion (Part V)

ALSO, a reminder that I am currently waiting for the new event, so perhaps I am going to move through the story of that before finishing Chapter 13 here. I already got through all the levels, so I need to just read the story. HOWEVER, since this is also a Leithanien event and that means I AM A WINNER (together with Dr. Lundi who is cuffing Arturia to herself to make sure she doesn't run amock), there will be an update about the pulls later.

WARNING: This post is going to contain a lot of yapping from me about Hoederer and how much I love him and will also have a LOT of spoilers.

As I was saying... Health-ism.

---

LIKE WE DON'T HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO YOU SUDDENLY START EXPLODING US ARE YOU NOT HAPPY WITH ALREADY BEING A TORN-DOWN COUNTRY LEAVE THEM ALONE GOOD GOD.

Yeah? They're trying to attack out of nowhere, desperate and mostly just ravaged by the war? Crawled out of the trenches like 3km away? I wonder what could be the reason for Victorians to do that.

---

---

Absolute utter control of the situation, I REALLY regret not paying attention to Guard. One day... One day I will reread everything and perhaps finally start noticing things that are important in the story.

---

I'm so mad. He's the problem. That's the problem. Victoria obviously is not adept at keeping them, just like all the other countries we have seen so far. They never learn.

---

For context, the Angry NCO was asking whether despicable people get infected, or if Infected people are just despicable; and suddenly Guard shoots a:

---

They didn't even get inhibitors. As chaos breaks, people who have never had to hold a weapon suddenly have to face a foe and pull the trigger. Nothing to help them, nothing to make it easier. Simply cannon fodder to buy time until the big pieces come to a conclusion on what they have to do...

But this is how it works.

But what about their backs?

---

First of all - he's a gonner.

Second of all... OH GOD, HE'S A GONNER!!!

---

I was not here for the R6 Siege event where they explained the entire problem with corpses of Infected, and those who did not really notice what was happening with Frostnova at the time couldn't have possibly known either.

The horrifying part about this conversation is the realization that they were lied to: The troops heard explosions, and crackling, the same as the one they are hearing here, but they were told that it was just artillery.

In reality, this is the sound that the bodies begin making when they are ready to erupt. Well... Erupt is not a good word. Explode is an option, but that's too gruesome to imagine. Basically, the bodies of the infected proceed to deteriorate and the sickness spreads so quickly that it becomes unstable, and the way that Oripathy spreads further is by disintegrating the victim into a cloud of originium particles.

This makes it impossible for this body to stay so close to camp being a health hazard for those that have survived and are recuperating. Unfortunately, I feel like they will have to be sent away.

But it's fascinating to see it MENTIONED finally, after so many years of hints.

---

For this level, this is what I have used, but technically speaking all you need is a Mountain, a good sniper, a Mudrock, a good caster and a medic defender. I made Ebenholz hold the bottom line, but then the enemy there slipped and I almost failed at holding him down with Hoederer (who wasn't max level at the time). I also took Heidi (but any bard will do) for the passive healing on Mudrock because she was not enjoying her time back under the cannon.

This is the video I used as a guide.

A reminder that the Environmental Conditions are: Touches of the Sanguinarch have significantly increased HP.

Bring additional blockers with high enough damage to put in front of the bottom blue box so Heidi can kind of heal them while they deal with the problematic ones.

---

13-2 After: The Injury At Hand

But accidents happen...

Ah... canon-typical loss.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: *Hiding in a bunker somewhere underground* hey guys haha, so... heres the next chapter, I couldn't leave you all hanging like that.... so uh yeah, iloveyouokaybyeenjoy <3

Chapter 85: Alys Rivers

Aemond did not take his hands off of you, looking at you with a wide smile upon his lips. A smile which you had not seen for so many years. A smile where his teeth were bared and lines appeared beside his eyes. He had buried his hand in your braids at the back of your head and kissed you. 

He poured adoration into you. 

Excitement. 

Love.

And most importantly, chased away any fears you had in that moment.  

It almost felt normal. 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, and you could not even help the smile that lifted to your own cheeks. 

“We must celebrate.” Aemond declared, hand moving forward to touch your lower stomach fondly. 

And celebrate you did. 

Aemond dove his head between your thighs and brought you to your peak before he fucked himself gently into your folds. You had cried beneath him, both giggling like fools as you let the euphoria of the moment sweep you both away to a place that wasn’t there. 

To a place you weren’t trapped inside of.

To a place where you were both happy, both unbridled by the world. Both terribly, deeply, and madly in love. 

A little lie. 

A little game of pretend. 

A reprieve. 

Aemond had gone to the door of the chambers, cool expression back on his face as he told the knight to send word to the King and his family that you should all dine together. That there was good news that needed to be shared. 

And so, the both of you had gone to the Small Dining Hall, hand in hand, and sat at the table first, waiting for the rest of the Hightower’s, and closest members of the council to arrive and join the two of you. 

The three of you.

You were strung with anxiety, a nervousness that you could not squash. 

What would they say?

What would they do?

Would Aegon be mad?

The Greens would no doubt be elated for the news, another bolster to support their treaty. And yet why did you still have fear?

Your leg bounced beneath the table as you waited, Aemond watching you cooly, his well schooled mask carefully placed back over his face. You chewed at your bottom lip, hands wringing in your lap as you continued to glance at the doors behind you. 

“Zaldrītsos.” Aemond whispered, trying to calm your nerves, thumb pulling your lip from between your teeth.

The doors opened behind you and your leg immediately ceased its bounding, posture straightening in your chair as you laid your hands delicately in your lap. You did not turn as Otto Hightower and Alicent Hightower were announced to the two of you as they came around the intimate table to sit where they usually sat. 

“Mother.” Aemond bowed his head.

“Aemond.” She greeted him back. 

Otto was silent, only nodding his head at his grandson before leaning back in his chair, adjusting the Hand pin on his lapel as he kept his eye to the doors. 

One by one, Lord Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, Jason Lannister, and then finally, the King himself entered the chambers, finding their respected seats, waiting for whatever news was to come. 

Aegon looked irritated, as though he had been pulled away from something of interest, or perhaps had an inkling of what was to be announced. After all, how could you not. The Prince and Princess, the treaty pact, have news to share with the council. 

Anyone but a fool could figure that out. 

But still, the announcement was needed, and Aemond was insistent upon it. 

You suspected he wanted to see Aegon’s reaction.

Another pissing contest between the two brothers.

The Lords spoke amongst themselves as they waited for the meal and announcement. Alicent said her prayer to the Seven, specifically focusing on the Mother and Maiden, before finishing with a flourish. 

She knew.

“Your Grace,” You turned to the Dowager Queen, her bright eyes watching you closely, “I remember you telling me that perhaps I could have an embroidery loom. I think I would much like to have it soon.” 

Alicent’s face softened, and she nodded, “I will have one of the maids bring it to your chambers.”

“Thank you.” You gave her a tight lipped smile.

Aegon cleared his throat loudly, flicking his fingers boredly, “So what’s this all about? Are we to wait for your big reveal all evening?”

Aemond reached forward, grasping his goblet, and you mirrored his action. Pushing up on his long legs he stood at the table, looking over all the Lords and his family as he held the goblet towards you.

“My wife and I bring good news to the Council, and to the King,” You noted Aemond did not say my King, or our King, “We have an heir.”

You looked across the table. 

Alicent beamed at her son, motherly pride on her face before she flicked her eyes to you, raising her cup in your direction. Otto Hightower raised his cup to the both of you, a quiet “Congratulations” on his tongue. The rest of the Lords followed suit, all raising their cups to you. 

However, Jason Lannister looked confused. 

Idiot. 

“Your heir in Harrenhal?” Aegon mocked, and you breathed deeply in through your nose. The table’s energy shifted.

Aemond was quiet, but you were quick to the whip. 

“No, our heir. I’m with child.” You smiled up at your husband fondly, hand coming to sit at your stomach in show. “Early days, but we wished to share the good news with you all.”

“Congratulations, Princess,” Alicent smiled at you softly, a true smile, one that she rarely ever gave, “Joyous news indeed.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Aegon hummed, “I wonder how the child will bare resemblance to its father. Time will tell.”

Your hand clenched against your robes tightly, “I hope that he has his fathers eyes.” You blinked up at Aemond.

“He?” Aegon remarked.

“Of course. A strong Prince. I will have to send word to my mother and father, perhaps the Queen will send an egg from the next clutch to put in his cradle.”

"Strong. Hm." Aegon hummed, smirk on his face.

You fought the urge to sneer at him.

Alicent beamed, “I am sure Queen Rhaenyra will be delighted by such news.”

You had a feeling that she would not. 

You nodded your head at the auburn haired woman, Aemond holding your hand gently. Jason Lannister offered congratulations, yet upon hearing your declaration of a son, his voice rose across the table as the rest of the Lords and King went back to their more relaxed chatter.

“A young Prince?.” He began, “And when should we expect a Princess?”

You gave a small huff of a laugh, still holding Aemond’s hand, “I can assure you that it would be soon after.” You gave a wide smile, and Jason returned it. 

“Excellent news then.” His gaze shifted to the One-Eyed Prince, “Congratulations, My Lord. You are a lucky man. A small piece of advice from a father to one soon to be, do not argue with a wife when pregnant, you will never win.”

Aemond hummed, “I rarely do.”

You smiled snidely at Aemond, “And for good reason. Best to remember that.”

“Hm.”

Aegon continued to stare at you for a time, before a smile wound its way on his face. He lifted his goblet towards you, then drank from it slowly, eyes still watching you over the rim of the cup.

It set you on edge.

The rest of the night, the Lords included you amongst discussion, a rare and almost confusing affair. Though now, you supposed they did not see you as a threat. You were pregnant. A brooding mare, and the breath that had long since been held at the beginning of the treaty had been released. This child would strengthen their position in the eyes of the realm. And most likely weaken yours. 

Good. 

Let them underestimate me. 

When you made your way back to your chambers, Aemond could scarcely keep his hands off of you. Stripping you bare as soon as you entered the chambers, laying you on the chaise as he praised you, kissing his way down your body in front of the fire, lingering hands cradling your stomach as he pressed kisses with care atop it. Your heart was in your throat, fluttering like a butterfly as you watched. 

It was tender. 

It was loving.

It was pure.

He brought you to your peak thrice that evening atop his tongue, whispering words of praise to you. 

“My perfect wife."

“My perfect thing."

“Going to be a perfect mother.”

“Can’t wait to see you swell.”

He even spent much attention to your breasts, lapping at your sensitive peaks, gently suckling them into his mouth as he groaned. It sent sparks shooting up and down your spine, your senses heightened by it all. 

By the time you made your way to bed, Aemond had spilt his seed inside of you, kissing at your neck and cheeks, before placing his lips atop your eyelids with chaste devotion.

The anxiety of the day had slipped away, and a blooming sense of joy had swelled inside your chest.

When you woke the next morning, it was to the unfamiliarity of cold sheets. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let your arm slide through the bed in search of your husband, confused as to why you had not woken in his arms as you usually did. When your hands reached nothing, you sat yourself up, head turning to see Aemond watching you, seated atop the chair beside the bed. 

You frowned at him, the chill of the chambers setting goosebumps rippling over your skin.

But something else was wrong.

Something was amiss.

Aemond did not smile at you, nor did he move to come back into bed. He did not even greet you a good morning. Instead, sitting still as he observed you. 

Your heart began to beat a little faster in your chest. You pulled the sheets close to your waist, completely bare in front of him. You let your hand rest against your stomach, hoping that the movement would calm whatever storm was passing through Aemond’s violet eye.

His gaze lowed to your stomach, and a small puff of air moved through his nose. Almost like a sigh.

“Come back to bed,” You pouted, “It’s cold.”

Why was he looking at me like that?

Something was wrong. 

Aemond didn’t move from his seat. Nor did he respond to your request, instead watching you with a hawklike stare. Shifting in the sheets you pulled them up to your shoulders, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Aemond, what’s wrong?” Your voice was quiet, and your throat seemed to begin to close in on itself. 

Was he angry?

What had you done?

What was the matter?

Aemond stood from his seat and moved to stand before the edge of the bed, towering over you as he looked down at your form amongst the plush, green sheets. Long fingers came forward to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, tingles running through your scalp at the contact. And yet he still did not answer you. 

“Aem?” You furrowed your brows at him, unsure, your hand reaching out to grasp his wrist. Aemond stilled his movement, eye flicking across your face as he took you in.

From your messed hair that tumbled down your back, to the fatigue that was still pressed into your face, to the small love bite that he had nipped just below your ear.

You watched as Aemond’s chest expanded.

“Aegon is sending me back to Harrenhal.” He spat through his teeth.

It was as though you had been doused in ice, cold water. Your grip tightened around his wrist as he looked at you from above. It wasn’t until that moment did you notice that Aemond wore his riding leathers. 

“What?” It came out as barely a whisper. 

Aemond breathed through his nose heavily as he repeated himself. 

“Aegon has commanded I fly to Harrenhal. With haste.”

You jerked your hand away from him, letting go of the grip you had on his wrist. Disgust and anger winding its way within. And the simmering rage that you had squashed coming alight again.

He was going back to Harrenhal. 

To see his whore, and his bastard.

After everything. 

After everything he still goes back to her. 

His Alys. 

You scoffed, ripping the sheets away from you as you stood from the bed, grabbing the robe beside it as you tugged it onto your body heavily, feeling your face heat with anger.

Aemond was to leave you alone in the Keep with Aegon. 

Alone with Aegon. 

Fear turned in your stomach. 

'Perhaps.'

“Fuck.” You gasped, feeling as though a hand had wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. 

“Y/n.” Aemond whispered, walking around to your side of the bed.

“Don’t.” You snapped back at him, pulling the tie around your waist tightly as you gripped it for dear life, your knuckles cracking from the force. You could feel your nails digging into your palms. 

And you welcomed it.

Your teeth ground down against each other as you tried to steel yourself from lashing out at him. As you tried to desperately school your temper, but the waves continued to rise inside of you until the water overflowed. 

You spun on your heel, brows drawn, and sneered at the Prince, “You told me you would never leave me alone in this Keep again. You gave me your word.”

Aemond’s hand came to reach out and touch you, his face falling, “If I ha-“

“-Don’t touch me!” You growled, slapping his hand away from you before it could touch your flesh.

Aemond stilled, swallowing thickly as his jaw ticked. 

“You’re going back to your whore.” You scowled, feeling stupid that you could have ever even believed him. 

You had given him a chance, you thought that after Aegon, this could have been different. That he could be different. That he could change, be a good man and keep his word. But you were wrong. 

And you felt more betrayed in that moment than you ever had. More angry than you ever had. You felt like a fool. A pitiful fool.

Hope is a fools ally. 

And you had been just that. 

Aemond’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides as you looked up at him, letting him see your anger, your contempt.

Let him see. 

Let him see that any bridge that had been built was now lost. 

That he had tossed flames atop it. 

He did this.

“Aegon has commanded it.” He grit out, “I have little choice. I need to go as a Prince to attend to my duties.”

You laughed. 

Sincerely laughed.

His duties. 

But as the waves of anger kept coming, a hole opened and sucked the water down into it, and soon you tumbled down after, into fear. 

“You love her, don’t you? Don’t you?” You asked shakily, searching your uncles face for any sign of deception. Any sign or inkling of truth. To see how he would react.

Aemond frowned at you, taking another step forward, “No,” He said in disbelief, “I love you.”

You scoffed as you looked at him, feeling your chest ache, “I don’t believe you.”

The Prince’s face softened as he moved to step forward towards you again, hand coming to graze your shoulder, “Then let me show you.”

You blinked, feeling the weight of his palm on you, the heat of his skin atop the robe, the way his pupil expanded as he looked down at you, how his chest rose and feel sharply.

Disgust sank in your stomach.

“No.” You slapped his hand away from you, storming past him, trying to get space. Trying to collect yourself.

Incensed that you were stupid enough to think that he was capable of change.

“Zaldrītsos.”

You ignored him, flitting about the chambers in anger. Pacing about the length of the room as you felt it begin to shrink, the walls closing in on you. 

He was going back to her. 

And he was leaving you here with him.

“I can’t believe I fell for it.” You breathed, one hand tight against your stomach where the tie of the robe dug harsh into your skin, the other bawled into a tight fist at your side, “I am such a fool.”

Aemond walked towards you, almost stalking you quietly as he watched you continue to pace. 

You laughed humourlessly, “I am a stupid, stupid fool. I knew that hope was a fools ally, and yet I still let myself have hope in you.” You spun to face him, teeth bared as you snapped, whilst Aemond watched you with a cool face, “And here you are, ready to put your cock in the cunt of your whore, whilst your bed has only just been warmed by your wife!”

“Y/n-”

Rage burnt through your veins, and you did not contain it.

"You go to Harrenhal, do you not? You are to go to her and your bastard."

"Aegon is trying to-"

"You go to her," You sucked in a breath, "And I will never forgive you. You go to her, and I will take what is owed, fire and blood, I swear it. I swear to you Aemond, you go to her..." You left the empty threat in the air like smoke.

The Prince's posture stiffened, "You think to threaten me?"

"It is not a threat, it is a promise. I do not break my word as often as you. Unlike you, I stay true to it."

"The King commands me and I must go, you know this. He has mentioned treason in passing if I do not."

"Then perhaps I shall go to him when you leave."

Aemond's eye twitched, and his voice lowered, "Y/n-"

“No, Fuck you! Go to your whore and bastard.”

Aemond’s eye twitched as he watched your chest heave with angry breaths, “You question my honour?”

You laughed loudly, bringing a hand to your mouth before you dropped it back to your side as you looked up at him. His hair was pulled back away from his face, and the light of the early sun cast shadows across his cheeks and eyes.

He looked dangerous.

But you didn’t care.

“Honour? You’ve already fucked her. You fucked a child inside of her.” You jeered, “Do you deny it?”

He does not deny it. 

He does not deny anything.

Aemond took a steadying breath, battling his own anger poorly as he grit out a quiet ‘no’.

You laughed again, shaking your head to turn away from him, walking towards the chamber doors angrily, “No, I don’t question your honour.” You finally turned back towards him, watching as he stayed rooted to the spot, his chest suddenly still.

You were seething.

“I deny its mere existence.” You watched as Aemond’s gaze darkened, and it served to spur you further. 

Taking another step back towards him your snarled, “You and your brother are cut from the same cloth.”

You turned on your heel and ripped the door open, storming out the chambers in only a robe, not caring for who sees you. 

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

[poisonousmoonfics]

Chapter II: Sombra witch

tw: mentions of alcohol

As the Quinjet touched down on the landing pad atop the Avengers Tower, the team emerged, weary but victorious, from their latest mission. Lola stood waiting at the entrance, flanked by Agent Hill, her eyes bright with anticipation as she greeted the returning heroes.

"Welcome back, Avengers," Lola said with a warm smile, her voice tinged with relief. "How did the mission go?"

“How do you think?,” Clint manages to reply sarcastically while being taken by Dr. Cho to have his wounds tended to.

“I’ll pray for you Clint!,” Lola shouts jokingly.

Steve, his suit slightly scuffed from battle, stepped forward, his expression grave. “Mission was a success," he replied. "We managed to retrieve Loki's scepter from the HYDRA base in Sokovia.” Thor, his hammer slung across his back, nodded in agreement.

“What about Strucker?,” the girl questioned.

"Strucker's in NATO custody," Agent Maria Hill said, approaching the team.

"And like you realized, we ran into some trouble with two enhanced individuals," she said, her voice tight with frustration.

At the mention of the word ‘enhanced', Lola's curiosity was piqued. “Do you have any information abut them?" she asked, her eyes widening with interest.

Agent Hill stepped forward once again, a tablet in hand, and started to read from the files. “Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” she began, her voice steady. “Twins. Orphaned at ten when a shell collapsed their apartment building. Sokovia's had a rough history."

“Their abilities?”, questions Steve with arms crossed.

"He's got increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis. Her thing is neural electric interfacing, telekinesis, mental manipulation.”, Agent Hill explained the twins’ powers. Lola listened intently. She glanced at Steve who had a clueless expression at the agent’s words.

"He's fast and she's weird.”, Lola rephrases Hill’s statement so he can understand. He nods intrigued.

As Agent Hill continued to recount the twins' origins and abilities, Lola listened intently, her mind whirling with questions. These new adversaries presented a formidable challenge for the Avengers, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of facing them in battle.

“They're probably going to show up again, guys.”, Lola points out, a concerned sight escaping her lips.

"Agreed. File says they volunteered for Strucker's experiments. It's nuts.”,

"Yes, what madman would voluntarily surrender himself to an unknown power to avenge his family?”, Lola playfully mentions.

"Right. And what kind of monster would let a German scientist experiment on them to protect their country?”, adds Steve.

Agent Hill rolls her eyes. “Damn, I’m sorry. Didn't mean to offend everyone.”

“All good,” Steve says. “And Lola is right. We need to keep an eye on them."

As Agent Hill continued to recount the twins’ files and other details of the previous mission, to Steve and Natasha, Lola could accept that this new adversaries presented a formidable challenge for the team, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of the possibility facing them in battle. The twins abilities seemed incredibly volatile.

Nonetheless she was curious and strangely felt a sense of empathy for them both. Maybe it was because they were young like her. Perhaps she saw resemblance in the twins initial motives to acquire more power; loss, pain and the sense of justice. She took a look at the pictures of the Maximoff's shown on the projection of Hill’s tablet. Again, feeling drawn to something about the enhanced.

Lola suddenly didn’t feel the presence of her follow teammates she she snapped out her thoughts and teleported to the lab. She emerged in the room from the shadows making Bruce slightly jump from the scare.

“For fucks sake, Lola!”, cusses the doctor’s as he composes himself.

The girl laughs at him but directs an apologetic look. “Sorry. How’s he doing?", she asks referring to Clint.

"Oh, unfortunately, he's still Barton.”, Tony jokes.

Lola covers her mouth in fake shock. “That's terrible!”, she replies teasing. Clint rolls his eyes at his teammates comments.

“He's fine. He's just thirsty.”, tells the billionaire without concern. “Alright. Look alive, JARVIS. It's play time. We've only got a couple days with this joystick so let's make the most of it. Update me on the structural and compositional analysis.”, Tony commands while walking over to the computers.

JARVIS begins his task, then proceeds to explain the results of his research. “The scepter is alien. The jewel appears to be a protective housing for something inside. Something powerful. Like a computer. I believe I'm deciphering code.” Tony continues to work along the AI and Lola walks closer to Dr. Cho as she tends to Clint’s wounds.

“You sure he's going to be okay? Pretending to need this guy really brings the team together.”, the black-haired girl questions with slight concern.

“There's no possibility of deterioration. The nano-molecular functionality is instantaneous. His cells don't know they're bonding with simulacrum.”, clarifies the woman.

“She's creating tissue.”, Bruce tells Lola, she nods understandingly.

“I'm gonna be made of plastic.”, Clint reproaches.

Dr. Cho contradicts him. “You'll be made of you, Mr. Barton. Your own girlfriend won't be able to tell the difference.”

“Well, I don't have a girlfriend.”, he answers.

Lola laughs. “That can't any of us fix.” The other three scientists agree with her mocking Clint.

“This is the next thing, Tony.”, says Cho referring to the new technology. “Your clunky metal suits are going to be left in the dust.”

“Well, that is exactly the plan.”, he agrees. “And Helen, I expect to see you at the party on Saturday.”

“Unlike you, I don't have a lot of time for parties.”, the woman tells him responsibly.

Lola slightly nudges the doctor. “Come on Helen, it will be fun!”, she says trying to convince her.

Cho hesitates a moment before asking: “Will Thor be there?”

“Oh, he will.”, Lola confirms with certainty.

Bruce notices Tony checking some analysis and plans on the computer, so he approaches the man. “What's the matter?” he asks.

“Well, the scepter. You see, we were wondering how Strucker got so inventive.”, Tony begins to narrate. "So, I've been analyzing the gem inside-- You may recognize,” he brings up a 3D image of Jarvis's consciousness.

“Jarvis...”, Bruce says.

Tony nods and then he brings up another 3D image of what’s inside the scepter “Meet the competition.”

Bruce eyes widened and an amazed expression was written al over his face. “It's beautiful!”, he exclaims. Lola walks up to them, also with an astonished expression.

"It looks like it's thinking. I mean this could be a... it's not a human mind, it...”, Bruce tries to form words but his mind was erratic. “I mean, look at this! They're like neurons firing.”, he exclaims exited.

Tony continues to explain. “Down in Strucker's lab I saw some fairly advanced robotics work. I gotta guess he was knocking on a very particular door.”

“Artificial intelligence.”, Bruce catches up to Tony’s superstition.

"This could be it, Bruce. This could be the key to creating Ultron.”, the billionaire tells thrilled.

Lola snaps out of her trance. She looks up at him with a raised brow “I thought Ultron was a fantasy, Tony.”

The man shakes his head and replies “Yesterday it was. If we can harness this power, apply it to my Iron Legion protocol.”

“That's a mad-sized if.”, she comments concerned about Tony’s ambition

“Our job is ‘if’.”, he justifies. “What if next time aliens roll up to the club, and they will, they couldn't get past the bouncer?”

“The only people threatening the planet would be people?”, Bruce ask not aware of being sure of what Tony is implying.

“I want to apply this to the Ultron program. But JARVIS can't download a data schematic this dense. We can only do it while we have the scepter here, that's three days, give me three days.”, Tony pleads.

Bruce crosses his arm and gives him a stern look. “So you're going for artificial intelligence and you don't want to tell the rest of the team.”

“Right. That's right, you know why, because we don't have time for a city hall debate. I don't want to hear the "man was not meant to meddle" medley.”, Tony says. “I see a suit of armor around the world.”

Lola shakes her head in disappointment at Tonys words. “The more you try to justify your experiment, the more I want to call Steve to organize one of his boring team meetings.”, she threatens.

Bruce lets up a deep sigh. “She right. Sounds like a cold world, Tony.”, he tries to convince him to forget his plan.

“I've seen colder. This one, this very vulnerable blue one? It needs Ultron.” Tony answers firmly. “Peace in our time.”

The following Saturday, Avengers Tower buzzed with laughter and conversation as the team and their friends enjoyed a rare moment of relaxation. Lola stood by the window, watching the city lights twinkle below. She turned around, getting a glimpse of the team having fun. Her mind struck peace all over her body, and her lips formed a warm smile. She marveled at how different her life had become since joining the team and how she could never have imagined finding a new family.

In the middle of the room, Rhodey animatedly recounted one of his War Machine adventures. “Well, you know, the suit can take the weight, right? So, I take the tank, fly it right up to the General’s palace, drop it at his feet, and I’m like, ‘Boom! You looking for this?’” Rhodes paused, waiting for the reaction. Tony and Thor just stared at him blankly. “Boom! Are you looking… Why do I even talk to you guys? Everywhere else, that story kills.”

“That’s the whole story?” Thor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s a War Machine story,” Rhodey answered proudly.

“Well, it’s very good then,” Thor said, laughing heartily. “It’s impressive.”

Lola joined them, chuckling softly. “Quality save,” she replied to Thor. Rhodey rolled his eyes.

Maria Hill also joined them. “So, no Pepper? She’s not coming? What about Jane?”

Both men shook their heads in denial.

"Where are the ladies, gentlemen?” Maria teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Miss Potts has a company to run,” Tony explained, a touch of pride in his voice.

Thor nodded. “Yes, I’m not even sure what country Jane’s in. Her work on the convergence has made her the world’s foremost astronomer,” he bragged.

“And the company that Pepper runs is the largest tech conglomerate on Earth. It’s exciting,” Tony added, a grin spreading across his face.

“There’s even talk of Jane getting a... um, uh...” Thor struggled to remember.

“Nobel Prize, Thor,” Lola helped him.

“Yeah! A Nobel Prize,” Thor said proudly.

“Yeah, they must be busy because they’d hate missing you guys get together,” Maria mock coughed. “Testosterone! Oh, excuse me.”

Rhodes chuckled. “Want a lozenge?”

Maria nodded, walking away with Rhodes.

“What about you, Lady Lola?” Thor asked. “No special gentleman in your life?” the girl shifted uncomfortably.

She had zero dating experience. She hadn’t even had a crush in her 22 years. She felt like a complete virgin in every sense of the word. But how could people blame her? She didn’t care about romantic relationships when she was a kid and then was held captive for the rest of her teenage years. The closest to a committed relationship she’d ever was with the scientists in the HYDRA labs. Besides, now that she was older, she never cared about boyfriends either, and finding a balance between love and saving people was something she never thought about. And she’d probably scare the first man who ever decided to approach her anyway, so she was kind of a lost case in that area.

“What? No, no...” she murmured nervously. “I’ve never dated anyone before.” Thor and Tony blinked in genuine surprise. The three didn’t speak for a few moments, making Lola want to die of embarrassment.

Tony finally broke the silence. “You’re still too young for boyfriends anyway.” She rolled her eyes, annoyed.

“It’s not because I don’t have options!” Thor and Tony raised their eyebrows doubtfully. Lola’s cheeks turned red as she tried to justify her loneliness awkwardly. “No, no, no... It’s mainly because of work. Yup. You guys know, being an Avenger is time-consuming. So yeah, no boyfriend.”

“Mhm, I see. None of them must be worthy!” Thor exclaimed with disappointment.

“I agree with Goldilocks. And don’t worry, kid. You’re not missing out on anything. Men suck!” Tony exclaimed, and Thor nodded in confirmation. Lola chuckled at the protectiveness of her teammates and agreed.

At the bar, Natasha was pouring a drink when Bruce approached, his usual awkwardness softened by the friendly atmosphere. They started to chat, and Lola noticed Natasha’s flirting. She always saw the tension between the two heroes. But Lola was sure that neither of them acted on their feelings either out of professionalism, fear of rejection, or because they feared hurting each other.

After a few minutes of conversation, Natasha walked away, and Lola gravitated towards her. “It’s nice,” she commented, nodding towards Bruce.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Natasha raised an eyebrow teasingly.

“You and Bruce,” Lola insisted.

“Work comes first,” Natasha mentioned firmly but with a sad smile creeping on her face.

“I think it’s okay. You guys aren't breaking any laws,” Lola showed her support. “Like me, you’re not the most... open person in the world. But with him, you seem very relaxed,” she mentioned genuinely, happy for her friend.

“You know I like to flirt,” the spy replied nonchalantly.

“I’ve seen you flirt, Nat. This isn’t just that.” Lola paused. “Look, I just think you should talk things out. You don’t want to wait till it’s too late. You both deserve love,” she suggested calmly.

“We’ll see,” the spy said. “You give good relationship advice for someone who hasn’t even given her first kiss."

Lola glares at Natasha offended. “What’s up with you guys reminding me that I’m single as fuck?” she reproached walking off. Natasha just laughed at the girl.

Later, as the party wound down, only the Avengers, Dr. Cho, Maria Hill, and Lola remained. Thor’s hammer sat on the table between them.

“But it’s a trick!” Clint insisted, pointing at the hammer.

“Oh, no. It’s much more than that,” Thor replied.

“Uh, ‘Whosoever be he worthy shall have the power!’ Whatever man! It’s a trick.”, mocked the archer. 

“Well please, be my guest,” Thor said, gesturing to the hammer.

Tony grinned. “Come on.”

“Really?” Clint asked, getting up.

“Oh, this is gonna be beautiful,” Lola said, settling in for the show.

“Clint, you’ve had a tough week, we won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up,” Tony joked, making the others laugh.

“You know I’ve seen this before, right?” Clint said, grabbing Thor’s hammer and failing to lift it. “I still don’t know how you do it.”

“Smell the silent judgment?” Tony teased.

“Please, Stark, by all means,” Clint retorted.

Tony got up. “Never one to shrink from an honest challenge.” Tony said, grasping the hammer. “It’s physics,” Tony said, grasping the hammer. “So, if I lift it, I... I then rule Asgard?” Tony asked.

“Yes, of course,” Thor replied.

“I will be re-instituting Prima Nocta,” Tony quipped, trying to lift the hammer but failing. “I’ll be right back.” Wearing his armored hand, he tried again and failed.

Both Tony and Rhodey then tried together, each wearing their armored hands.

“Are you even pulling?” Tony asked.

“Are you on my team?” Rhodes countered.

“Alright, let’s go!” they both pulled as hard as they could but to no avail.

Bruce then tried, pretending to change into the Hulk and roaring, causing everyone to look at him warily or grin.

“Widow?” Tony asked Natasha.

“Oh, no, no. That’s not a question I need answered,” she replied.

“Lady Sombra*?”, Thor asked Lola. 

“I'll just lift the scythe,” Lola passed the challenge.

“All deference to the man who wouldn’t be king, but it’s rigged,” Tony said.

“You bet your ass,” Clint agreed.

“Steve, he said a bad language word,” Maria teased.

“Did you tell everyone about that?” Steve asked Tony.

“The handle’s imprinted, right? Like a security code. ‘Whosoever is carrying Thor’s fingerprints’ is, I think, the literal translation?”

“Yes, well that’s, uh, that’s a very, very interesting theory. I have a simpler one,” Thor said, getting up and lifting his hammer easily. “You’re all not worthy.” There was a chorus of disagreement from the others.

A loud screeching noise, like microphone feedback, suddenly filled the room. Everyone covered their ears. As the noise faded, Tony pulled out his device. One of the Iron Legion suits, heavily damaged and housing Ultron’s consciousness, stumbled into the room.

“Worthy... No, how could you be worthy? You’re all killers,” Ultron said, his voice a haunting mix of distortion and clarity.

“Stark,” Steve called, alerting Tony.

“JARVIS,” Tony called, tapping his device in vain.

“I’m sorry, I was asleep. Or... I was a-dream?” Ultron continued, his voice dripping with malice.

“Reboot, Legionnaire OS, we got a buggy suit,” Tony said, frustration seeping into his tone.

“There was a terrible noise... and I was tangled in... in... strings. Had to kill the other guy. He was a good guy,” Ultron said, his head jerking unnaturally.

“You killed someone?” Lola asked with a stern voice. Although she was firm in front of the android, inside she was confused. How could she not sense the death of someone in the building?

“Wouldn’t have been my first call. But, down in the real world we’re faced with ugly choices.”

“Who sent you?” Thor demanded, his eyes narrowing.

Ultron replayed a recording of Tony’s voice: “I see a suit of armor around the world.”

“Ultron...” Bruce says, stepping forward.

“In the flesh. Or, no, not yet. Not this... chrysalis. But I’m ready. I’m on a mission.”

“What mission?” Natasha asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Peace in our time,” Ultron declared.

Abruptly the walls exploded, and several Iron Legion bots barged into the room. They began attacking the team, who all went on the defensive. Lola, startled by the sudden chaos, quickly assessed the situation, and joined the fray.

Bruce climbed over the bar to avoid fire from the bots. Natasha grabbed him and dragged him down, and he landed on top of her.

“Sorry!” Bruce said, his face inches from hers.

“Don’t turn green!” Natasha warned, her voice urgent.

“I won’t!” Bruce replied, his breath quickening.

The Avengers continued fighting the bots. Lola, using her agility and abilities, dodged the bot's attack and destroyed them. 

One of the Iron Legion bots lunged at Steve, who deftly dodged and slammed his shield into it, causing it to short-circuit and collapse. “We need to contain them!” he shouted, directing the team.

Thor swung his hammer, sending bots flying in all directions. “They’re endless!” he roared. 

Lola emerged from the shadows beside him. “Don’t worry. So is death,” she mentioned and continued to help him destroy the robots.

Tony, still tapping furiously on his device, growled in frustration. “JARVIS, do you copy? JARVIS!”

Ultron, amidst the chaos, laughed maniacally. “This is the end, the end of the path I started us on.”

“Everything has an end,” Lola shot back, as she ripped a bot from the inside with her powers. Seeing an opportunity, she shouted, “Tony, if we can hack into one of them, we might be able to shut them all down!”

Tony nodded, his eyes sharp. “Rhodey, cover me!” He sprinted toward a fallen bot, dodging blasts, and debris.

Rhodey, back in action, provided cover fire, his War Machine suit roaring to life. “On it!”

As Tony worked, Ultron’s voice echoed. “I know it is dramatic. I'm sorry, I know you mean well! You just didn't think it through. You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change. How is humanity saved if it's not allowed to...evolve?”, The android picks up one of the dismembered Iron Legion bots. "With these? These puppets?” he crushes the Iron Legion bot's head. “There's only one path to peace: The Avengers' extinction.”

“Shut up party pooper!”, Thor exclaimed resented. He gets flustered and throws his hammer, shattering Ultron’s body. 

As the dust settled, Lola looked around at her teammates. They were bruised and battered, no one was really prepared for such a fight. 

“Well, that was unexpected.”, Tony chimed in. 

"Sometimes I forget it's always like this with you, guys.”, Lola said as she dusted off her dress. 

*sombra (Spanish) = shadow

[nana-kom]

Hi it’s been a long time right ? 😭

So this is the second part of Jisung’sMix up ! I really like this part and can’t wait to write the next part ! Make sure to have read the chapter 1 and enjoy 💜

This is a weight gain fic, if you don't like don't read.

This contain, weight gain, weight loss, magic weight gain/loss, bullying, and humiliation.

Jisung’s Mix up

Chapter 2

Jisung was now sure of his decision, he had a choice to make and although it wasn't really the only things he can do, he had the power to change things. For years, he had suffered again and again, but for once in his life the keys were in his hands, and he was sick of running away and being afraid all the time time, so now he was going to do something for himself and maybe for Hyunjin too. He was no longer living his own life but the life he'd dreamed of, except that this life didn't belong to him but he was still the one who controlled it, and he didn't want to spoil his chances. For too long, he'd cried over his fate, but that was no longer the case, he felt capable of making a choice and even undertaking things himself. So he walked through the corridors, using the adrenalin inside him to keep himself motivated. Trying to breath calmly and try not to be scared of what could happen, he arrived in front of his classroom and waited for his class to end. In the meantime, he had time to think about everything that had happened, his new body, Hyunjin's new body, which he couldn't help finding sexy. Because seing him like that was kinda like a dream he could have make in is life ans if we was really having Jisung body, he knew how his body had worked, so he began to imagine Hyunjin gorging himself as he tended to do in times of stress, and even though it wasn't his aim at the moment, he began to feel aroused and blushed. Jisung also noticed the change in people's attitudes towards him, everyone was greeting him and he could even see that he was attracting attention for once in a positive way. Whereas when he had seen Hyunjin earlier, he had begun to see something in other people's eyes that he had never seen before: judgment towards Hyunjin. He had gone from being the most handsome boy in the university to being a fat student, less attractive in the eyes of the others, which made Jisung sad. So why did he feel that Hyunjin was becoming a little more perfect in his eyes? He thought of his face becoming round, his big belly sticking out of his t-shirt or thighs rubbing together and when he'd rushed off his whole body jiggling. He was losing himself in his thoughts when suddenly people started coming out of class and it didn't take him long to spot him, and head towards him. And after a few seconds he grabbed Minho's arm.

"We need to talk!" he said seriously.

"What is it babe?"

"First of all...don't call me that anymore! I don't want to go out with you anymore Minho! You're an asshole who hurts other people! And I don't want you in his…hm…in MY life!" Jisung's heart was beating fast, he was so afraid of it that he'd let go all of a sudden, because of the stress. And then part of him didn't know if he really had the right to break up with him, given that he had Hyunjin's life. But he hurt him so much, and he'd hated Minho for months, and now he could finally part with him.

"What? What's the matter with you today?"

"Nothing! I've realized what I need in my life, and it certainly isn't you!"

"Jisung can we at least talk about it?"

"No. Leave me alone now."

"Wait..."

Jisung wasted no time in hurrying off, feeling his heartbeat quicken; he'd always dreamed of saying these things to Minho, and now it was done. Still, he didn't feel any more relieved than that...it all seemed unreal perhaps because he wasn't the version of himself who should have said that. Of course, he can be confided, he was in Hyunjin’s life, not in a life where Minho could destroy him everyday. But at least, he had done something…Then he sighed, feeling relieved and as if a certain pressure had just fallen from his shoulders. He'd suffered for months because of Minho, and by taking Hyunjin's place, it was as if part of him knew he'd succeeded in hurting him. He felt his heart pounding and went to find a place to relax. Class wasn't his problem right now, he had other things to deal with. So he went to the park where he often went when he needed some air, and walked towards it, before seeing Hyunjin there. Of course, this was his place now too. He start approaching him slowly when he saw what he was doing and suddenly he feel very surprised to see Hyunjin eating a rather large pizza all by himself, with a big slice of cake on the side and a whole bottle of soda next too him. He felt slightly excited, but he'd never eaten so much in public... He walked over to him and sat down gently beside him. Hyunjin was surprised but said nothing, bowing his head and continuing to eat his pizza. Jisung then looked at Hyunjin's swollen belly, which protruded slightly under his shirt as it had done in the past. hat had happened to yesterday's delicate boy who never ate more than necessary?

"What are you doing here?" asked Hyunjin, breaking the silence.

"I...broke up with Minho..." said Jisung, sighing.

Suddenly Hyunjin sat up surprised and frowned. He looked angry and Jisung didn't really understand. What did he care after all? If he had his own life he should have been happy about it, but Jisung understood that he hadn't inherited his feelings for him. You can't change everything...he thought. Hyunjin sighed and moved closer to Jisung, taking him by the shoulders.

« ARE YOU STUPID ? Why did you do it?" Say suddenly Hyunjin, and jisung was so shocked as he never see Hyunjin angry.

"Well...it's complicated..." he said, trying to explain, but Hyunjin immediately interrupted him.

"I don't find it complicated! You've got everything you wanted, haven't you? The boy you liked? My friends? My life? My body? If I agree to live your life, it's not so that you can destroy it, which is why I'm sacrificing myself! TRY TO THINK BEFORE YOU ACT!"

"What? So... you know? YOU KNOW?" Finally say Jisung still shocked.

"Of course I know! And no, I don't have the explanation, but I quickly understood when I saw my body this morning, and especially my best friend who spends his days at the gym stuffing his face with pastries for breakfast, barely able to get up and breath properly… »

"Like Binnie...so...BUT WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING?"

"I WANTED YOU TO ENJOY! AND ME TOO! You think I like pretending to be perfect all day long when I hate it! I hate watching what I eat, being smiley enough to be appreciated, never complaining, and above all DATING Minho!"

"wait wait...so this morning when we ran into each other you knew? w..why dating him?" then said Jisung feeling confused about the situation but part of him was just getting curious about Hyunjin's life that he hadn't suspected when he made that wish.

"Because at first he was really nice and caring but then he started hurting you and being mean and selfish...and I was afraid for myself...BUT YOU! You had him! You've loved him for months, why leave him?"

"I DON'T LOVE MINHO! He nags me every day, I remind you! What do you think?"

"Then why do you spend your time looking at us? Talking to me so you can be with him? Trying to catch his eye? TELL THE TRUTH JISUNG!"

« Its…..just…that…i..mean…I…I LOVE YOU YOU OKAY ? Since high school ! So stop pretending, I know you didn’t know…I know you weren't attracted to people like me..." Said he, lowering his head.

"Wha...what? No...I...then...if it wasn't Minho...why didn't you say it to me…? »

"I was afraid...you're so perfect and look at me...or look at you..."

"Jisung..."

Jisung was finally feeling more and more lost. The man who thought he was the only one who remembered was in fact in the same situation as Hyunjin, and Hyunjin was going through the same thing as him...Except that he had accepted his fate unlike Jisung, but he couldn't pretend he had ever been able to. He wiped a tear from his face before looking back at Hyunjin, who seemed as lost as he was. It's true, Jisung had just confessed his feelings to him, even though he'd always thought they were for Minho.

"Jisung...I thought you loved Minho...and...I didn't want to break up with him because I was afraid that...you two...because...I like you a lot too...I..I didn't dare tell you because...well I'm a coward...but...excuse me for everything. And forgive me for wishing I were you to end it all...I didn't think you suffered so much every day..I thought you were happy because even if Minho is mean…you were always so brave with him…and I was thinking that if I have your life…maybe you would suffer anymore and that I can’t take his meanness for you… »

"I...I-I wished the same thing...I dreamed of being considered and being you...but...you're suffering too…and sorry that you have me life now.. »

« Dont apologies ! In fact you know...I enjoy having your life and..body…I feel...good...well...it's different from what I've experienced but...yes it's pleasant and...peaceful" Jisung then laughed lightly, perhaps from nerves or relief and looked at the man he'd loved for years, his face may have been rounder and his body bigger but Hyunjin still remained perfect in his eyes, like a work of art he could admire over and over again.

"I can see that, yes...I too appreciate your body...it feels weird to be so light..."

« Yeah…see this have some good point right ? Like…this morning I had trouble getting out of bed! And to wash myself, I had to sit down because I had to bend down...it's quite pleasant actually...and Chan seems to be less stressed too...I don't know...maybe...it's a blessing in disguise..."

"You mean you enjoy being fat or just the change in our lives...?"

"Yeah...I...I wanted to enjoy it!" he says, looking at the pizza. "I like your body Jisung...and...I've always liked you too..."

"M...me...?"

Hyunjin then moved closer to Jisung before placing his hand gently on his cheek, the oldest heartbeat began to quicken and he flushed, lowering his head. Hyunjin lifted him tenderly, stroking his face and detailing it with a shy smile. Jisung felt his breathing quicken too, and his eyes fell on Hyunjin's luscious lips as he gently drew closer. Hyunjin did the same, but the truth was that Hyunjin had never really ignored Jisung. He'd gotten used to seeing him and found him cute and kind. He'd never found it fair what Minho did to him, but the truth was that he too was afraid of what he might do to him. So it was like a gift he'd been given, he'd thought Jisung would never appreciate him and now he finally knew the truth. He then placed his lips on him, which surprised Jisung, who closed his eyes to enjoy this timeless moment. It was everything he'd ever wanted: Hyunjin. The boy he'd admired and loved for so many years, and now he finally had the chance to have him. He threw his arms around his neck as their tongues met. He felt a shiver run down his body and Hyunjin's lips warmed him. They still tasted of food, which he found cute and made him want to taste them even more. Hyunjin, for his part, almost had tears in his eyes at kissing Jisung and feeling loved in a way he wasn't used to. Jisung then put his hand on Hyunjin's waist and suddenly felt how swollen his belly was. He stepped back and looked down at him.

"Hyunjin...I didn't have a belly that swollen you know...."

"hm...I...I...I like being able to let myself…go..."

« Really ? » he said, gently caressing his belly.

"Well...it's nice to be able to eat your fill...and be...comfortable...I mean I've always been very thin but...I don't know I find it exciting to have a bigger body! And...I wanted to...feel even...heavier..." Jisung was surprised at this statement but didn't let go of Hyunjin's belly.

"So why don't...I help you finish everything you've got left?" he said, resting his eyes on the food.

"R..really? W...why...?"

"Might as well make the most of what we're given, don't you think? And then...I must admit, being fat makes you even sexier..."

Hyunjin blushed and laughed lightly, not knowing that Jisung could feel this way too. Hyunjin had grown so fond of Jisung in recent years because he found him cute and loved his shape. Sometimes when Jisung put on weight, Hyunjin found him even more handsome, but this time he was the one who was allowed to change, to put on weight, to let himself go, and what's more, he had Jisung at his side to help him. Jisung then looked at him before reaching under his sweater to gently touch his belly and his bulges, Hyunjin gasped and looked at Jisung with flushed cheeks, wondering if he had the same idea as him. Unsure of himself, he took a breath and looked up at Jisung, whose cheeks were also flushed.

"Jisung...wouldn't you like to take advantage of this..."

"What do you mean...?"

"What if...we took advantage of this chance we've been given to indulge our...hidden...desires..." said HYunjin shyly and Jisung then smiled and in a burst of confidence he asked Hyunjin.

"And what are your hidden desires Jinnie?" At the nickname Hyunjin lowered his head shyly.

"Would...you...like to help me...let...myself...go..."

"Would you really want to get...bigger...?"

"I've...always found it attractive...not sure why but...imagine myself getting fatter...and then...now that we're both in this situation...why not enjoy it before things go back to the way they were...?" Jisung then smiled and raan his hand on Hyunjin's fat cheeks and nodded.

"How could I refuse you anything? So let's do this...let's help the prince of the university turn into a fat pig..."

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Chapter 2: One Hundred Years of Solitude

← Prologue

← Chapter 1

→ Chapter 3

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 10.5k

Chapter Warnings: angst, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name usage for reader (not even y/n dw), use of 2nd person though bc it makes sense for the story - trust me, Sebastian is veery confused and veeery jealous but he found a friend in this madness, veeeeery slow burn

Summary: "He smiled as he sat down next to the blonde girl, ignoring the giddy feeling in his stomach as you watched his every move. He also might have accidentally sat right opposite of you.". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: I deeply apologise for the late update. I wanted to use this Chapter to expand a bit over his life at Hogwarts and other relationships, other than, yk, the rrrrromance. Anyway, Daphne is my crush.

You can find the whole fanfiction here on ao3

"Intrigued by that enigma, he dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her." - Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

The Great Hall was almost empty when he entered it, as most of the students had already gone to class. Since he had a free period before Charms, Sebastian decided to allow himself more sleep than usual.

Not that it had been any useful.

He felt exhausted, dragging himself to the nearest seat at his House table and resting his head on the cold wood. There was hardly anything left, and he was more than happy to just munch on a cold pancake and drink a glass of pumpkin juice, enough to sustain him for at least a few hours, although barely.

Perhaps it was the sight of the Hall, empty and familiar, perhaps it was the enchanted ceiling shining sunny rays on the Slytherin table, perhaps it was the unsatisfactory breakfast after an unsatisfactory dinner, but for a split second, Sebastian was at home.

It was a sour feeling, like his pumpkin juice had spoiled and his pancake had grown mould in his hands, yet he couldn't stop feasting on it, searching for a piece he could savour, if only once. That, he realised, was the beginning of his destruction.

Memories of the previous day's conversation came flooding back and he groaned, the weight in his chest growing heavier, and the pancake suddenly seemed even less appetising as he dropped it onto the plate.

'Everything is clearer in the morning', Dumbledore had said.

Perhaps he should lend me his glasses, Sebastian thought.

Fortunately, the headache had subsided since the conversation, and although his sleep hadn't been as satisfying as he'd hoped, he felt a little better than he had a few hours ago. Maybe it was the pumpkin juice.

He shoved the pancake back in his mouth, almost choking on it, and rubbed his eyes before standing up. From his table, a few Slytherins turned their heads towards him, and he recognised a few of his peers among them: a brown-haired boy was waving a wand around with a devil-may-care attitude while a blonde girl tried to snatch it out of his hands. None of them seemed in a rush to leave, which almost made Sebastian think he had read his timetable wrong.

He checked again for good measure and he was glad to know he was absolutely right. He then thought he might have been mistaken about the students: they either weren't in the same year as him as he had previously thought or they were waiting for the perfect moment to be fashionably late.

Sebastian, for all his self-respect and gallantry, had little time to be fashionable.

Leaving the students be — and ignoring their eyes on him as soon as he turned towards the door — he headed off to class, ready to begin lessons in a new, unfamiliar environment.

It felt bloody ironic to think that after five years.

If anything, the hallways were deserted and the cracking fire of the torches put him at ease, and that was a pretty huge step up. The walk to Classroom 2E was almost refreshing, and for once, he didn’t lament the stairs. The same couldn’t be said for the screeching laugh of a certain Slytherin girl as soon as she saw him wander around.

“Lost, new fifth-year?” laughed Pansy Parkinson, then she turned to her right as if expecting someone to pat her back.

If her goal was to discomfit him, she might need to review her bullying strategies.

“You’re not still crying because of what happened yesterday, are you?” retorted Sebastian, only stopping briefly to look at her before resuming his walk.

“I could give you detention,” she shrieked.

“That would delight me.”

Pansy Parkinson didn’t follow him, for which he was delightfully glad. Not that it would matter that much: he’d see her in class anyway — probably fleering at him with newfound energy once she had his beau  beside her.

A perfect pureblood pair, he almost wanted to throw up.

The classroom hadn’t changed an inch, so much that Sebastian almost expected Professor Ronen to parade down the stairs with his purple robes and terrible jokes. Instead, what waited for him was a short man standing on a pile of books, swinging from left to right on his tiny legs. He was waving his wand around, blank scrolls of parchments depositing themselves on each desk while a whole new bunch of them floated around his head.

“Oh! Come! Come!” he shrieked as soon as he saw Sebastian, gesturing for him to approach his desk. “Have your classmates met you yet? Oh, I’m sure they have! You seem like a nice, friendly bloke!”

Sebastian wasn’t sure if the words “nice” and “friendly” suited him, actually, but he gave the professor a smile nonetheless.

“I’d told Dumbledore he ought-a make a proper introduction! I can’t imagine how odd it must have been for you — and especially in such circumstances,” he whispered the last part, and Sebastian felt his smile falter and his heart drop pathetically to his stomach. That is something that adults do, where in all their experience and emotional maturity they always fail to consider their younger interlocutors' perspective, and Sebastian really wanted to snap at the small man and make him understand that he didn’t exactly feel the need to be reminded of his situation all the time.

The man seemed to notice, too (and what miracle, Sebastian thought), and he brought his hands to his mouth, capping it shut like he had just revealed a big secret. “Sorry,” he muffled, “I ought-a be more sensible.”

Unwinding his hands, he finally addressed the rest of the students, motioning Sebastian to turn towards them.

To say his introduction was embarrassing would have been too kind a compliment.

He stayed still like a statue, almost hoping that the less he moved, the less visible he was. The professor did the honours, and Sebastian had to fight the urge to take out his wand and blast Draco Malfoy and his gang to Merlin’s grave as they snickered.

“You may go and sit next to Miss Davis.” The small man lightly patted his back to direct him towards the desk. “I’m Professor Filius Flitwick — you can come and find me for any doubts, my office is open at every hour!”

“Every hour indeed,” whispered Miss Davis as soon as Sebastian sat down. “He might even give you cupcakes if you look distressed enough!”

Sebastian thought that Professor Flitwick might have to step up his baking game, as far as distress goes.

Charms class had paid off, and Sebastian felt better, more like himself, than he had in the past twenty-four hours. Flitwick was a little eccentric, but a very knowledgeable and capable Charms master, other than a lenient Professor by Hogwarts standards — he didn't even give extra assignments to those who were late.

Miss Davis — or Tracey, as Sebastian learnt — had been very helpful. She shared her book with him and lent him her notes. Sebastian realised there were quite a few things that he had never heard of, fruit of many decades of research and discovery.

On the whole, he believed he was content enough and ready for his next class. Sebastian felt at ease in an almost confounding way: and he was sure he'd become jittery soon enough, yet a new found purpose — if only for a short time — invigorated his spirit. If he focused on school, he'd fill his brain enough not to think about anything else. That was ideal.

"What do you think, mate?"

A Slytherin boy approached him, slinging his bag on his shoulder, and Sebastian jumped a little, surprised by the sudden voice. He recognised him as the boy in the Great Hall, with the messy brown hair and the long face, but his blonde friend was nowhere to be found.

"What?" asked Sebastian, slowing down to allow him to approach.

The boy smiled reassuringly. "Flitwick. That was your first Charms class in Hogwarts, was it not?"

Sebastian had to bite his tongue at that, willing Professor Ronen’s jovial face to disappear from his mind. “Indeed it was…”

“So?”

So…

Sebastian tried not to make a comparison, but a wall of pros and cons was already manifesting in the window on his mind, served with just a tad of cognitive bias.

"Oh, it was good. He's a bit eccentric isn't he?" said Sebastian tentatively.

"Yeah, but he's all right. We thought he was part elf for the longest time but we never dared to ask."

Sebastian smirked, remembering the professor’s squeaky voice and the books he had to stand on. He was almost bizzarre, when he moved his wand around: like a toy hit by a Transfiguration spell that jumped around as if alive. "I thought he was a bit… short."

"Yeah. Apparently he's part Goblin instead, but heh, same thing," said the boy nonchalantly and walked past him.

Sebastian faltered, stilling in place as if someone had poured concrete on his shoes. Just as a cracked mirror, the toy decayed on the wooden floor, moulded by years of humidity and abandon.

He thought he had grown even slightly accustomed to the changes — to the people wandering around him, the classmates treating him like a foreigner, the professors having to hide him under carefully practised smiles and braided hands on their mouths — and yet, the mere idea that his own professor had goblin ancestry was tearing him apart like nothing before. 

He knew that Goblins weren't the ones that cursed Anne (his friend had told him that, after all), and he knew, logically and maturely, that just because a few of them were bad didn't mean all of them were, but he still felt a little flame of anger — and prejudice — light up inside him, along with scattered guilt for his own thoughts and the memory of Feldcroft's events.

Sebastian wanted to forget the past, and yet it kept following him, even through space and time, and he couldn’t help but think about that goblin slitting his own throat at his wishes, and intrusively imagine Flitwick being in his place.

He really tried to ignore it, for his own good. Flitwick was a good teacher, a skilled wizard even: his ancestry had nothing to do with it — or him. He hoped that he wouldn’t need more time to warm up to the Charms professor after hearing the new information.

But he knew he did.

“What’s that face, new student?” came Draco Malfoy’s provoking snicker, followed by his group’s. “Was this little class so hard it made you realise how dense you are?”

“I'd worry more about your failed Colour Change Charm today. Need help with that?”

Draco Malfoy shut up immediately.

Upon leaving the classroom, Sebastian read his timetable again and saw that he had three free periods before Care of Magical Creatures. He groaned in displeasure and then cringed at himself: he was probably the only student in the whole world who wanted to actively study at the moment. He sighed and simply decided to spend his free time in the Library to try to catch up on what he had missed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Could you direct me to the books involving the events of the last century?" Sebastian asked the librarian as soon as he entered the room, and she eyed him suspiciously before handing him his library card and pointing him in the right direction.

Not much had changed in the Library, so much that Sebastian was still able to pronounce every book by memory as his eyes skimmed over the covers. He walked through the Library like it was home, his chest caving with a soft buzz of comfort and excitement. Sebastian thought he might cry on the spot if he didn't have so many curious eyes on him.

There was, of course, a new section with books he had never read before: books of the new century, and, wistfully, the books he was searching for. Whilst the new shelves broke that bell jar of naiveté gradually forming around him as part of him still clung to the past, an excited grin broke onto his face nonetheless; he had always prided himself on having read every book in the room — except for the Restricted Section — and the idea of absorbing even more knowledge was almost invigorating enough to brighten up his day. He was his parents' son after all.

Madam Pince stared at him from across the room, her neck moving to watch his actions in a way that eerily resembled a rattlesnake as he grabbed as many books as he could carry in his arms before placing them on the nearest desk where another Slytherin girl sat. She looked at him suspiciously, with a playful hint in her eyes.

"Busy, aren't we? I almost took you for a Ravenclaw,” she said jauntily, then glanced back down at her book, a copy of Intermediate Transfiguration, and unwrapped a parchment scroll beside it, pushing a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear so it wouldn't fall in her face.

Whether the girl intended it as a compliment or not, he allowed it to go over his head: her teasing had already stepped foot into his boundaries, but Sebastian felt like the bell jar was too broken to stop it, and he let it be.

"I've a lot of catching up to do," he sighed as he took a seat in front of her, opened the first book on the list — A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot — and read the table of contents, frowning when he noticed the book didn't get past the 19th century. What surprised him the most was that this was, technically, the assigned book for the year. Was the history of the past century so useless and uneventful it didn't deserve to be shed light on?

The girl raised her head and looked at him as he focused on the words in front of him. "Oh, right. You're the new student everyone's talking about, aren't you?"

That was not exactly on his list of yearly accomplishments.

Sure, he was the best duelist in Crossed Wands (second best, he suddenly reminded himself) and his duels were the talk of the school for days after they happened, and especially if they involved her.

But that was good talk. The kind of talk that makes people know you as talented and dashing and charming (and a loser sometimes, but only because she was better: and if she was better, he didn't care), not the kind that depicted you as the boorish and lonely new student who didn't even deserve a formal introduction and had a fight with two Prefects on his first day. That was the bad talk: the talk he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy (or perhaps only to those like Duncan Hobhouse, because he was a boorish and a loner and his formal introduction should spare everyone present. But that was Duncan.)

"Everyone?" he asked then, rhetorically and with a strange need to eat those words back up and become that boorish loner, too.

"Well, it's quite an unusual occurrence. People are curious."

Curious wasn’t exactly what Sebastian needed at the moment, yet Hogwarts was, after all, a bracket of adolescents waiting to feast and find something else to worry about than their potions essay.

"Fair enough," he said, folding the book shut and putting it aside, deeming it useless for his research. "I'm Sebastian Sallow."

"Daphne Greengrass. Pleased to meet you." She extended her arm towards him over the table, her palm open and waiting, and he faltered for a moment at her boldness before repeating her movements. Her grip on his hand was firm and confident as she shook it. Sebastian studied her face more closely, a feeling of familiarity lingering on the back of his mind.

"Are we in the same year?" he asked, almost feeling the gears turning in his brain as he tried to recall her face.

"You're observant," she replied sarcastically. "Yeah, I was actually sitting behind you in Charms just now. Next to Pansy?"

Like an epiphany. He remembered the blonde girl at breakfast. She was one of the few students who arrived late to Charms class.

Then his brain focused on the name she said, and his eye twitched. "Don't tell me you're friends with her."

"I wouldn't say 'friends'; she can be rude sometimes."

Sebastian had a word in mind that perfectly described his combination of “rude” and “Pansy Parkinson”, but decided not to say it. He just rolled his eyes and Daphne smiled. "Really, most of the time she's all right. Quite nice even — but only if you're a pureblood. I'm actually surprised she's never thought of me as a blood traitor, considering the stances of my family, but I suppose there's a clear line between support and neutrality, and we haven't crossed it yet."

As if neutering any possible debate, she began scribbling on her parchment what seemed to be the beginning of an essay.

Sebastian felt like the line between neutrality and supremacy was much more blurred instead.

"Delightful," said Sebastian simply, picking up the nearest book and beginning to read it as they fell into a comfortable silence.

The books felt like a balm and a curse, redolent of pretty much every emotional experience Sebastian had lived through in the past day.

After about an hour, he put the books back, having flicked through them all, and had just begun to let his eyes wander over the shelf in search of a new one when he heard shuffling behind him.

Daphne had put her books away and was frowning at him. "It's nearly lunchtime, I'm heading to the Great Hall. D'you want to come?"

Sebastian paused for a moment, looking around and noticing how the Library was emptying by the minute. "Uh, sure. I didn't realise it was that late." And he found himself following Daphne outside, striking a conversation on the way and feeling a little lighter.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The sun was still as hot as ever as he followed his fellow Slytherins to his Care of Magical Creatures class a few hours later. Draco Malfoy led the group, snickering along with Pansy Parkinson and the two big students about some second-year Hufflepuff they took points from. Sebastian rolled his eyes so hard he could have sworn he saw the back of his own head.

When Malfoy's blonde hair disappeared from his field of vision, he almost rolled them again when he recognised the familiar robes of his Gryffindor classmates.

Gryffindor could only mean one thing: You.

He frantically looked around for your familiar silhouette and breathed a sigh of relief when he found nothing. You hadn't mentioned any elective other than Divination to him — apart from your obvious dislike of Arithmancy — so perhaps, by some benevolent Supreme Being, you hadn't chosen that course, and he would have to see you even less.

His solace was short-lived, because after only a few seconds he heard hurried footsteps behind him. Sebastian turned and saw you walking towards him, followed by the two Prefects and the boy with glasses. Just like that, dread washed over him like magma, and he was sure his vision had lost focus for a moment — his body shrivelled at your presence, like you had touched him and burned his skin to the bone and no amount of Wiggenweld could fix it.

He grimaced (and he thought that the fact that he managed to contain his face to a simple grimace was noteworthy) as you approached and mentally prepared himself to start a conversation with you — because of course you would talk to him: you had done it every time you had met the day before.

It was logical, like Ominis being angry at him for no reason, or Anne taking his hands in hers when they met.

(But that logic can break, and he knew it all too well.)

It's not that he didn't like talking to you — he did: far too much, in fact — but he had made a promise to himself and was willing to keep it. He had already regretted telling you about the Undercroft, and he had felt incredibly embarrassed that morning when he had remembered your conversation.

‘I suppose I had no other choice,' his mind played it over and over mockingly, taunting him like a broken cuckoo clock in an old lady's house — and he has seen an awful lot of them in his time living in the countryside — or like one of those school kids he wanted to strangle when he was young, singing off-key doggerels at the bare mention of a girl's name.

You flashed him a smile and gave him a quick wave, and the corners of his mouth lifted against his will. He sounded himself leaning towards you, ready to strike up a conversation when you would inevitably stop beside him. After all, you had followed him the night before when he left the Great Hall, hadn't you?

And so he spoke, "Hi—"

"Neville? How did you get here so fast?" you said at the same time, shifting your wide eyes towards the Gryffindor group. You practically dashed past him, rushing towards another Gryffindor boy standing just a few feet away from him, and Sebastian was left there, his greeting hanging in the air unanswered. "We literally just left the greenhouse, did you sprint here or what?" He heard you laugh.

"Hello, Sebastian," said Hermione, as Ron and Harry gave him a nod of acknowledgement, with polite smiles on their faces. The three of them joined you and Neville, along with the rest of the Gryffindors, and Sebastian sighed, a heavy feeling in his chest and pure shame seeping through his veins. He thought he had physically heard his stomach bounce like a poorly knitted pillow, and the more his mind replayed the scene, the more it unbounded until all that was left was a poorly looped slip knot.

"Well, that was awkward." Daphne was right next to him again and had witnessed the whole interaction. Sebastian's eye twitched.

"What was?" He decided to play dumb, already knowing he'd be unsuccessful as his gloomy expression was more than enough for a tell.

"'Hi." She taunted him with an exaggerated dreamy sigh, and he bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance as another step forward in that boundary almost felt like a kick in the shins.

"I did not sound like that."

"You sounded exactly like that," she smirked. "You almost threw yourself in front of her, too."

"I did not," he protested weakly, looking at the ground to measure his position and see if Daphne was actually right.

She was.

"I beg to differ. What's with the few steps you took forward then?"

Sebastian was properly blushing now, and as the girl giggled, he felt like a wet Puffskein in a camp of Poachers. He frantically looked around to ensure no one was looking his way, and no one was, yet he still felt as if their eyes were just barely waiting to peel the skin off his bones as languidly as a blink. He took a step back as if it could undo his actions.

"Don't tell me you've already got a crush,” Daphne continued, either unaware or uncaring of Sebastian's feelings. “You've been here — what, a day? I mean, I get it. She is gorgeous; I'm sure many guys and girls would agree, but that's a record."

"I don't have a crush," he said through gritted teeth, arms tightening around his midriff as he crossed them to his chest protectively, yet at the sceptical look on his newfound friend's face, which seemed to reach parts of him that felt a bit too personal — specifically the alcove between his ribcage and heart — he snapped. "I don't! She just reminds me of someone else I knew. It's not her I... It's just not like that, all right?"

A few heads turned to him, startled by his outburst, and he chewed on his cheek to calm down. He did not need further attention.

He opened his hands and caressed the palm over his arms, as if smoothing the skin down.

The girl stared as well, and Sebastian was pleased to see her bite her lip as if regretting her words. "Wow, all right, I get it." She took a few steps to stand right beside him, trying to appear unfazed by his tone, and faced the Professor, whispering: "So, it's like a 'fill-in crush'?"

Not again.

Sebastian sighed heavily, like it could remove the huge weight of her words crushing his lungs. "A what?"

"You're attracted to her because she’s, in a way, similar to your other crush," said Daphne matter-of-factly, nodding in satisfaction at her own statement.

His blush spread, and he had to close his eyes to bask in that bell jar again, if only for a little.

"I wouldn't say 'attracted'," he muttered, but Daphne only raised her eyebrows knowingly, and he found himself yielding like a fool. "Well, yes... probably."

For some reason, the admission didn't actually crush his lungs as he had expected.

(He then thought the sigh had actually been responsible for that: let's give credit where credit is due.)

"Mm..." Daphne seemed lost in thought for a while. "Well, the only advice I can give you is to sort out your feelings."

Feelings. Those weren't feelings. They were a trick: a traitorous, disgusting trick of his brain that made him want to throw up.

"There are no feelings to sort out. I don't feel anything for her." Sebastian averted his eyes. "Nothing real, at least," he mumbled the last bit, turning his head away from the blonde girl. It was a terrible large word for such a small muscle.

"Well, that's great, for now. But if you do at some point — or if you two become friends in the future — really put some thought into it. After all, you can't rule the heart." She winked at him as Professor Grubbly Plank began her lesson.

You can't rule the heart. Sebastian knew this all too well and yet seriously wished he could. Especially at that moment.

"Was your crush unrequited?" Daphne added musingly as she got her book out of her bag, and his breath caught in his throat. He had, for a moment, settled down in that peaceful certainty that was a closed conversation.

Logic was broken again.

"Why... Why is that so important?" he asked, reproaching himself for his ridiculous stutter.

"It must have been if your brain is looking for a replacement."

“I do nothing of the sort,” he spat defensively, as if Daphne’s words had moved past that alcove and directly touched his nerves. He turned to glare at her, but she just shrugged and acquiesced to his words without arguing. That unbalanced him, like missing a step and feeling the void under your stomach.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been deeply offended by the girl’s assumptions, yet for some reason, he was relieved by her utter lack of judgement about his insane situation.

“All right, I’m just saying. Be careful," she resigned and proudly showed him her assignment sketch of a Bowtruckle, as if the conversation had never happened. Despite everything, he snorted at the sight.

“I’m impressed. It looks almost different from a twig,” he said, pointing at its head, and she slapped his arm with her book.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The day had gone better than he had imagined, and the next day started just as well, only with a bigger breakfast. This time, both Daphne and Tracey sat next to him, and that mere action made him feel normal again. (And there were no dry pancakes this time, Sebastian noted happily)

Ron and Hermione had stopped him right after he left the Great Hall to give him his textbooks for the day.

“McGonagall asked us to get these for you. They’re a bit worn down, but they will do. I hope.” Hermione had said.

Transfiguration class went by quite smoothly, and McGonagall was more of a capable teacher than he was willing to admit. He grinned in victory when he was the only one to have Vanished his mice completely by the end of the lesson.

“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.” Daphne complained, holding up a slithery mouse tail. “There’s no way you managed to do that before me. Beginner’s luck,” she sulked.

“Next time, you should start from the tail,” he snickered proudly.

“Next time, I’ll Vanish your mouth, Sallow.”

After that came two whole hours of Potions, and Sebastian was curious if the rumours about Snape being strict and — quote — a bully were true (the rumours being Ron Weasley).

He entered the class, careful to keep an eye on you, just in case you had the bright idea to sit next to him, and basically sprinted to one of the square tables that already seemed too crowded for you to attempt to follow him.

Unfortunately, his planning was as bad as ever because he ended up banging his hands on the table to avoid crashing into it, inhaling some of the dust and erupting into a coughing fit that momentarily broke his focus. When he noticed the bright red hem of your uniform right next to him, it was already too late.

"’Morning," you smiled politely at him, and he forced himself to smile back, certain that he could not have mustered a better expression than one that said, 'I'm going to puke.'

To be fair: the dungeons were quite humid, and that, mixed with the various strong smells of potions and ingredients — and the dust still lingering at the back of his mouth — was not helping.

“‘Morning,” he said, making his voice as clear as the ceiling of the Great Hall. The thought of being mocked by Daphne Greengrass again surpassed any social etiquette in the proper tone to use. You, however, seemed totally unfazed.

He assumed that being around blaring Gryffindors every day must have attuned your ears to withstand ultrasounds by now.

“How was your first day? I forgot to ask yesterday.”

Yeah, you walked right past me. Did you remember that, at least? he almost said.

“Not bad at all. I had only three classes, though,” he shrugged nonchalantly. The fact that you didn't even stop to talk to him and ask how he was doing was not bothering him.

Maybe it was mildly upsetting, like waiting all day to explore the Highlands and then being stopped by a sudden rain.

Perhaps just a little annoying, like receiving an A instead of an E on an essay one had worked on for days.

But not bothersome. That would mean he cared, and he didn't.

You nodded and began setting your ingredients on the table. “What about today?”

He had to force himself not to care then. Force himself to suppress the sudden, prideful fluttering in his chest. He decided he was going to check the dorms that night: there were definitely a few moths or flies nestling around that he had accidentally swallowed while sleeping.

"McGonagall, first two periods."

You gave him a sweet smile that made his stomach tighten, and before he could stop himself, the moths fluttered and he blurted out, "I was actually the only one to master the Vanishing Spell today."

You seemed to be caught off guard, and he saw Daphne stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he didn't quite grasp what he did wrong. Then, like a cannonball he felt his cheeks warm up, as if his body had caught up before his brain.

Because he had just shamelessly bragged about himself like a first-year learning the Levitation Charm for the first time.

"Cool." Your voice was about an octave higher as you nodded at him, unsure how to respond to his statement. He bit the inside of his cheek, and wished the Giant Squid would burst through the window and snatch him away to make him its lunch. He definitely needed to check the dorms.

"W-what about you?" he asked instead, knowing that not even the Squid would show him mercy at this point.

(He suspected it would laugh at him, too.)

“Two free periods. I caught up on homework a bit.” You shrugged off your robe and neatly placed it with the others in a corner of the classroom closest to your worktable. “Hogwarts Professors do love an essay, don’t they? Feels like I haven’t stopped writing since the year started. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they asked us to write one right on the train.”

He grinned. “Seems like I have a lot to catch up on.”

“If you’re lucky, they’re going to spare you. I can’t believe I still need to work on my essay on Gillyweed; I thought I might spend the evening—”

Just like that, a tall Gryffindor boy came sitting on your right, and Sebastian watched as you faltered, pausing your hand mid-air. You were holding a handkerchief in which you had wrapped your Erumpent tongue: It never made it to the table's surface.

“Hi,” said the boy politely, flashing you a smile that you returned immediately.

“Hi,” you breathlessly replied, finally setting the wrap down and wiping your hands on your cardigan, taking a deep breath. Sebastian waited for you to continue your sentence, but it seemed like your conversation with the Slytherin was the last thing on your mind at that moment.

“Is this seat taken?”

What happened later felt more like a warm rush to his forehead, which quietly manifested into a frown. Why was he bothering asking if he had already put his stuff down?

But you didn’t seem to notice.

“Not at all — you can have it.” You stuttered a bit.

He watched this whole interaction with his mouth open, noticing the small smile dancing on your lips as you stole glances at the boy, and he did the same. They said looks could kill, and those gazes felt indeed like tiny stabbings all over his skin.

He met Daphne’s gaze, and she gave him a knowing look, hiding a smirk. His jaw set, and he mouthed, “Don’t start.”

“Today, you will be brewing the Babbling Beverage,” Snape said, forcing Sebastian to look away from the pathetic and horrifying scene next to him. “It’s fairly easy to grasp and should be a piece of cake for students who are supposed to be at Ordinary Wizarding Level, but I’m sure even then, some of you will encounter difficulties if so to speak.” He shot Neville a smug glance, and the boy seemed to shrink into himself. Malfoy snickered.

“Instructions are on the blackboard. You may begin.”

He saw you take out your textbook and search in your bag for — something you probably didn’t find. Groaning, you took out your quill and ink and began scribbling the instructions on the book, crossing ingredients and numbers, adding arrows and switching passages. That took you a whole five minutes before you closed your book and got to work.

He added Alihotsy leaves as his water simmered, and you did the same after a few minutes, glancing at what seemed to be a watch. The leaves had to stew in water for twenty minutes, so he got closer to you out of curiosity.

“Is that a watch on your wrist?” he asked, leaning over your shoulder as you were reading the time. It was worn and a little chipped on the sides, the hands wavering between seconds passing.

“It’s a wristwatch. Do wizards not use them?”

Wizards definitely used watches (he himself carried a pocket watch at all times), but he had never seen them worn as a bracelet.

“It looks fancy.”

You snickered. “Nothing fancy about it. I actually bought it for a cheap price."

That would explain the painfully slow pace of the hands.

"I can see it's barely moving at all," he smirked.

"I know," you stifled a small chuckle. "You could say it’s dying on my watch.”

Sebastian paused then, with a quiet buzz in his brain. There was a moment of realisation on his part before he found himself snorting, insides twisting and cringing at your terrible joke.

And the best part (the absolutely amazing part of it all) was that he would have had the same idea had he been in your place. A lousy, dreadful pun that would make anyone's chest shrivel in embarrassment. And yet he loved it.

"Merlin, that was awful!" He tried to hide the absolute joy on his face. Anyone else — Ominis, Anne, her — would either dismiss or ignore him when he made jokes like that, and rarely laugh. And there you were. It was you saying it, and it was you laughing at it. And it was him feeling warm all over again.

So different. How could you be so different?

"And yet you laughed. That says more about you than it does about me."

It did indeed say a lot about him, Sebastian acquiesced to that, and yet when you turned to smile at him, he froze. And if he hadn't caught a glimpse of your clock, still feebly moving, he would have thought time had too.

Sebastian hadn't realised how close the two of you actually were. He hadn't realised if it happened when he leaned to look at the watch. Or if he got even closer as he laughed.

His vision blurred for a second and his delusional, twisted mind screamed at him to lean in, and lean in, and lean in, because it was her, after all. He could just do it, just to put an end to those fluttering feelings that have been eating at him for months.

And he did. Just a little, enough to feel your breath touch the side of his face. Enough to notice the stray thread coming loose from the shoulder of your cardigan. Enough to notice every fleck of colour in your eyes.

Your eyes.

So different.

It wasn't her.

The rational part of his brain tightened the reins of his body, stopping him immediately like an abrupt braking, and he took a step back, almost stumbling backwards, heart hammering in his chest.

If you were her, you wouldn't have made a joke like that. It just wasn't her personality, he reasoned.

And yet, he wished it was. He wished he could mould the two of you together and keep you both with him. Then he forced himself out of his fantasy: the last thing he needed was to lose his grip on reality more than he had on his own life.

He decided to just sort out his ingredients while he waited, trying to stop the blush from spreading across his face.

He didn't look back at you to see your expression.

"Well, it could have been better." He eyed his potion gloomily. It was dark pink and definitely didn't smell like bubblegum, as it should have, not like yours. He glanced at your cauldron, which was filled with bright red liquid: a perfect job. His shoulders slumped.

“Mm, not bad,” said Daphne as soon as she was beside him. “You were supposed to stir five times before adding Leech Juice, not six.”

“I got distracted," he muttered, sending you a glance. You had asked the other boy — whose name was ‘Dean’ as he heard you say more times than he can count (you had only said his name twice, but it was twice too much for Sebastian’s taste) — to grab you a pair of Billywig stings that were drying in a basket beside him and that you couldn’t reach yourself. You could’ve asked him. He had some spare stings as well — maybe not as many as Dean, he admitted, but enough for both of you.

“Right, right, by your ‘not-crush’ and her… ‘yes-crush’?”

“She doesn’t have a crush.”

“Right, she doesn’t. And it’s definitely not requited either,” Daphne remarked sarcastically, looking at you and the boy chatting merrily. Sebastian thought he might throw up in his cauldron and create a whole different brew altogether.

“Just because they’re chatting doesn’t mean there are romantic feelings involved.” He stirred the potion again in frustration, and the mixture turned purple. He cringed. Thank Merlin, he had already filled a phial to hand Professor Snape.

“Come on, I’ve been in this school longer than you, and everyone knows something is going on between her and Thomas. They’ve been at it since last year.”

“She called him ‘Dean’ before.” He frowned, his stomach churning painfully. Maybe you hadn’t asked him for his Billywig stings because he had eaten them without realising.

“Yes, Dean Thomas,” the blonde rolled her eyes. “You should’ve seen the look on his face when you got close to her to ‘look at her watch’.”

“I was really looking at the watch.”

“Yeah, well. It was priceless either way.”

He felt a wave of pride strike from inside him, but he forced it back down almost immediately. Sebastian wasn’t here to date, and if you and Dean Thomas had something going on, then so be it. He didn’t care, anyway. He didn’t care that you had just lightly punched the boy’s arm, laughing at something he had said (Was he that funny?), or that he had asked you if you could study together this evening (So graceful), or that you had said ‘Yes’ and he had told you to meet him in the Library (That was his brand).

Sebastian had promised himself to stay away from you, and that’s exactly what he was planning to do.

But he had also promised himself to catch up on his studies, so how bad could it be if he ‘followed’ you there?

And the Library was a public place, open to any student, so how bad could it be if he accidentally sat near your table? Or at it?

“Please, don’t.” Daphne’s voice brought him back.

“Don’t what?”

“Follow her to the Library tonight. That would be pathetic. And stop staring , it’s creepy.”

Sebastian just wanted Daphne to stop walking around him and hitting all the right spots. Was she a Legilimens or what?

“I—I wasn’t planning to.” His face flushed with his lie, and he sighed deeply again. “I just... I mean, I need to study too. And I wasn’t staring.”

Daphne sighed, dropping the subject. He suspected she thought it was no use arguing with him. He was actually glad for that reasoning.

"Come on. We still have another hour to go through. Try to pay attention.” She said tiredly.

You had left the class with the Gryffindor that day, leaving Sebastian absolutely fuming like his messed up potion he had half a mind to dump into Dean's morning pumpkin juice.

[Read more]

Taglist:

@lovely-maryj @yuzuhasbae @mosf13 @rbfacee @prichuchan-blog @h0neeyy @lina-prongs @moonlightsolo @ninicol @gayandfairycore @nanako-sakura @epicy0n @shiro-from-cafeberry  @pugsnotdrugs92  @cappsikle  @peacedreamer14

(I'm still having trouble tagging some of you, sorry :( )

[ladysomething]

Hello! Back with more thoughts! I can already tell this is going to be way too long, I am so sorry in advance, dont feel like you have to respond!! But first of all, I saw an ask where you said you liked Taylor Swift and since you were at the AUS GP, I must ask- did you get to go to the Eras Tour in Australia? I will be incredibly jealous if you did!! Anyways, AHHH THIS CHAPTER!! I have so many thoughts, I wish I could share all of them, but that would actually turn this ask into a real essay and this will already be too long lol.

I LOVED the new things we learned about the Dreyma Ver-öld!!! So interesting that people still feel pain there, but in a lesser way (does the same thing apply when sensing emotions through a bond, like Max can do with Charles now?) and so interesting that they don’t visit it while in heat/rut. And very very interesting that injuries received in there exist in the real world too!! I am DYING to know what Max’s is like, since I get the feeling it’s not quite the safe space that Charles’ is.

THE COLLAR?! I’m seeing everyone freaking out about it, but not going to lie, I burst out laughing when I read that part. OF COURSE Max would be *that* petty and throw Charles’ comment back in his face like that. I am obsessed with them and the way you write them. And the collar is awful and humiliating, but I am also excited for its reappearance 😏

I was so excited for a Max POV last chapter, but I semi-take that back now because knowing both of their perspectives and seeing wildly wrong they both are about each other just makes me want to lock them in a room and barricade the door until they figure out what a communication is. I’m frustrated as hell now, but also absolutely living for the angst while I wait for them to figure out what words are!!

I think Charles is incredibly stupid for thinking Ferarri is going to care about him starving himself. And Charles clearly isn’t caring about himself beyond just trying to get away from Max right now, so it feels incredibly twisted that Max is kind of the only person who is knows what is going on with Charles and cares about Charles (even if he seems to care in an incredibly weird and fucked up way right now). 

LOVE how susceptible you’ve made Charles is to alphas and how that fucks up the power dynamic EVEN more (the way he reacts to Pierre now???, the way he said that if Max had used his alpha voice, he would have been out for HOURS????!!!!) I have a feeling that this is a big reason that Max isn’t letting him go anywhere, and that this will become veryyyyy relevant (perhaps with a certain Mercedes mechanic 👀) later????

There’s SO much more I want to say but this is WAYYYY too long (sorry!!!), so super quick honourable mentions: 

happy dance when I saw the fic title in the chapter!!

“Maybe it’ll come to fruition as soon as the Monaco GP” I am suddenly TERRIFIED for what you have planned for Charles’ home race

Pierre becoming visibly worried in response to Charles getting a maniacal little grin and coming up with an awful plan had me absolutely rolling I love the way you write everyone

Eek it was all so good!! I am so excited to eventually get to the point in this fic where we start getting answers instead of more questions but I LOVE this suspense you’re building!! Thank you for sharing <3

you've triggered me very deeply, because I did NOT GO TO THE ERAS TOUR. I COULDN'T GET TICKETS. I stg I cried for like 3 days when I missed out lol. and then also had a weep when I watched the movie. I will forever rage at people who went to like 5 nights because how the FUCK did they get those tickets!!!!

I'm so glad you like the dream world so much. there are some reallllyyyyyy fun scenes planned for that place.

zipped lips re the alpha voice!!!! but it's also going to be coming back!!!

Pierre thought "does Charles not remember that the last time he thought he had a great plan he got bought by Max" and you know what??? that was very real of him

I think the answers are going to start trickling in pretty soon!! I think? Well, I think so at least haha. the next Max POV gives some pretty good insight into a couple things.