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yandere-society · 4 years ago

Text

pjm | “carnal lechery”

pairing: yandere! vampire! jimin x novice nun! virgin! fem. reader

rating: M

genre: yandere au, supernatural (vampire) au, smut, angst

word count: 10.5K

Headline: Halloween Night Massacre; Police Baffled By Murdering Spree

warnings: yandere themes, dub con, angst, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral (m.rec & f.rec), bonding, blindfolding, biting, loss of virginity, virginal blood worship, overstimulation, use of feathers and chains, mentions of blood, graphic descriptions of slaughtering, mentions of religious cults, mentions of christianity, mentions of sacrifices, gore.

synopsis: Attempts to precede his arrival made you ornery as he slipped like thin air from your fingers, even when you’d have him so close. You had almost ultimately fixated in your mind that you’d never know your secret admirer. Meanwhile— mysterious murders, disappearances and uproars about the return of the most fabled coven of vampires: ❛The Rouge❜ leads you to expect your imminent death. However, you do not expect the turn of events and the appearance of the one you’d been seeking for.

admin: @unfurlingtwinklingstar

It was one of those macabre mornings when you’d find an oh-so-familiar garland at your doorstep.

The very same kind of flowers that you’d prefer for decorating your little reading nook with, would lay wrapped in a delicate paper foil. The dew on its petals would appear golden as it would kiss the ray of dawn streaming through the porch of your fern-scented cottage.

A feverish shiver would run through your spine at the sight of a caramel-colored envelope right underneath the lavender foil in anticipation of what this letter would say about you.

It would be hard to persist the laden need to find the giver first when the lovely pink petals would almost frown at your resistance.

You cherished calla lilies. There wasn’t a day when they’d not sit on your vase with their trimmed stems soaked in lukewarm water, smiling as they bloom.

Every Friday, this was to be expected. Yet, you weren’t fully comfortable with the handwritten cursive that’d make your fingers slack at its message.

The meander cursive masked the obscene descriptions of your curves, the filth in the mind of the writer was impeccably reflected in the flow of the dark ink.

The first time you had gotten such a letter, you had a recurred session reading it with obscure scrutiny, only to find the title ‘Third youngest of the Rouge’ in the sender name column.

The letters had chanted your name like a prayer, it’d beckon for you to have a taste of the kind of pleasure that you were trying to celibate yourself from, the kind that’d be a sin to indulge in.

It made your body thrice warmer, your body blazed into a pretty rouge like the robes you wore during service hours in the church.

Eroticism and romance were taboo subjects to conventuals and canonesses at the convent of Volterra. Being a novice in service to the almighty, you were taught to be a holy carmelite, a slender benedictine, devoted especially to scholarship and liturgical worship.

But the intimate descriptions highlighted the black traces of sin in the depths of your soul as if the devil awaited his chance to stand erect and applaud in sheer satisfaction at the sight of your crumbling control.

Sucking in shaky breaths, you grab hold of the stirrer and kindle the crackling flames dancing in your fireplace.

Without a second thought, you toss the expensive pieces of poetry into the topaz flames and watch as the fire comes to life and blazes the parchment to ashes.

You were considered too much of a vestal to submit to this admirer of yours.

The choirs at the convent church were different compared to other choirs that didn’t sing hymns. Their voices were almost like the angels’, high notes soaring over the clouds, graceful notes dancing on the staves, they sang for the almighty only.

This was halloween at the monestery. Whilst the town wore spooky robes and went around sharing treats in exchange of spared tricks, you sang along with your fellow sisters, honouring the almighty and paying tribute to saint Marcus.

You sang along, keeping a low voice and swaying to the gentlest harmony in devotion. The stanzas are clutched to your heart and you cherish this moment when you feel the string between you and your god. You cannot fathom how satiated you feel. Your mind strays to your past, when you were under foster care.

You were a doting, little child despite how the other girls prayed for a future where they can possess expensive goods and glittery jewelry. You only kept away from their notions of want and sinful desires for pleasure even as you became an adult.

You chose to bake cookies, share blankets, study the Bible, smile and croon at the praises the church would give you, rather than read obscene novels and join the young woman of your age in subjects that were atrocious in the eyes of the holy.

Sister Siena walked you to your dwelling at the convent’s residence while she chattered about her moss garden and herbs that could treat flu. You listened quietly, letting out little nonchalant hums. Gardening wasn’t a subject of your interest and you were much more fatigued to feign enthusiasm.

“The halloween rituals might probably need an addition of prune juice, don’t you think?” she asks while you unlock the latch and walk into your home.

You let out a small smile and usher her in whilst nodding to everything in your surroundings. A little envelope peeks out from the gap between the floor and the hallway door, making your chest tighten at the realisation.

A letter from your mystery admirer was unforeseen and definitely unwelcome, especially in the presence of a fellow nun in your dwelling.

The attention of sister Siena is brought back at the sight of a cream-coloured envelope with a rather unfamiliar stamp on its surface.

Her olive eyes narrow to two slits and makes perspiration bead out and down your clavicle in fear. In the blink of an eye, the envelope’s seal is torn and the letter is perused by the chestnut haired female at once.

Her response however, gives you a cursory shock. Her lips turn into a smile and she stares up at you, eyes in awe as if she had witnessed the grand work of Caravaggio.

“You have an admirer”, she infers and you scour her face for signs of offense only, to find nil. She seems rather, glad.

“I— I usually burn them there” you point to your fireplace and her shoulders buckle in a brief fit of giggles, as if you had shared an anecdote.

“Who would pray to have a vestal nun? It is like counting the stars.” she mumbles into her mug of tea, eyes flickering from your face to the letter, absent-mindedly.

You shrug and get seated opposite to her, straining your eyes on the flickering flames that warms your numb, cold toes. You sigh in bliss at the tranquil frame of your nook and almost the next minute, your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the lulled sounds of the crackling fire.

Unbeknownst to you, the young nun seated at your opposite has her nerves ossified at the glimpse of the sender’s title. Comprehension of ‘third youngest of the rouge’ sends her mind into frenzy. Dismay sinks into her heart and makes it thud and toll like church bells at the realisation of the plight that you have been pulled into and she shudders.

Without so as to even a noise, the letter is slid into her crimson tunic and the envelope is thrown into the fire.

The coolness of the midnight is deceptive; the sun has barely risen and this altitude is always cooler. Siena’s destination is low down and deep into the interior, well away from the onshore winds. When she reaches, the heat of that region makes her compare the temperature to her kitchen’s, on a baking day— like a friendly warmth instead of the inferno it always is.

Her footsteps are ushered as the heels of her moccasins rap against the laid out cream carpet in dull thuds, her breathing is in a frenzy too for, hundreds of thoughts swarm in her head at once.

Siena is cold to the bone despite striding across the blazing heat of the deep, dim chambers of the three elderly canonesses, at the convent. The canonesses— head nuns are rather reserved and hostile about their roles in the society.

Before the 17th century, such chambers were often considered clandestine— precisely, before the battle of Tuscany. The battle held a significant place in history, for how saint Marcus and his veterans fought and impeded entire Tuscany off of sanguinarians— a term used to describe vampires.

The rise and fall of the most fabled coven of vampires was inscribed in the olden scriptures and was forgotten to tell tales about wizards and curses as of the present. Siena had studied about them at school.

The mere image of the counts brings shivers down the woman’s spine and she shudders as she holds onto the letter and walks, toward the canonesses’ chambers.

It is dark when she arrives; gnarled trees hung low over the baronial church, creaking ominously in the howling winds. The heavy oak doors broke open, echoing around the empty church.

The moonlight shone through the heavily cracked stained-glass windows, casting an eerie glow onto the dusty alter. Thick cobwebs hung on every surface and her footsteps sounded deafening on the cold stone floor.

Two elder ladies sit perched on their carpeted thrones with their veils over their heads and backs turned toward Siena. They hold hands in a circle and mutter chants to themselves.

Siena’s eyes capture the silent movements of their fingers and the incessant nods of their heads. She gently walks— almost stalks, until one of the elder canonesses perk at her arrival and seek her to sit with them.

The chamber walls radiate off its warmth and the conversation is lulled as Siena breathes out her concerns with utter respect, her expression remains composed despite her rapid breathing.

The canonesses nod with eyes widened at the size of fire lanterns, their fingers tremble slightly in comprehension of the magnitude of issue that the young nun had brought to them.

In the next hour, right on the death of halloween, nuns and monks are summoned from the monastery and a ceremony is held right in their place to seek peace once again.

The seven Rouge sanguinarians, the fabled coven of vampires have returned to Volterra.

The four canonesses sit in a circle and one of them draws a circled figure at their center. The symbol seems ominous to Siena, it seems almost like a satanic pentagram. A silver crucifix is fixed right at the junction of the chalked lines and the series of chants begin.

For almost a quarter of a hour, Siena sits— rooted and in the careful look-out for queer changes in the surroundings. The next minute, one of the canonesses jerk as if she had felt a foreign presence and collapses on the canoness next to her.

The chamber queerly begins getting chilled as the chants get more louder in unison. Whooshing noises of the wind soon fills the chamber and an eerie figure settles through the open window, making Siena freeze, petrified.

At the end of the hallway stands a slender yet, robust, almost surreal, young-looking man sheathed in a heavy, scarlet cloak. His eyes are shut, as if he is in deep thought, and once they open, they make Siena jump out of her seat in fear.

Skin almost translucent, a bloodless hue, reminiscent of cave dwelling creatures that never saw the light of day, as pale as the living dead, as pale as a corpse. His bleached skin was as white as a sheet of paper next to the sleeve of the black woolen sweater, his orbs seemed bloodshot, yet, they held a life of their own like the burning rouge of a ruby.

“Third youngest of the Rouge”, Siena hears a canoness announce, the latter’s voice seems both startled and in disbelief.

“Ann. Fancy seeing you there, you seem older than in our last meeting, don’t you agree?”, the young count seethes and takes steps toward the eldest of all the canonesses.

Siena stares at the duo, perplexed. The two seem to know each other like old acquaintances yet, their eyes hold an unexpressed rage that she does not fathom.

“I am afraid greetings will have to wait, Park. You and your brothers must be well aware of the treaty you have broken.” Ann almost hisses, stepping in front of the rest as if she is unafraid to emphasize her point.

The ethereal man quirks an eyebrow at Ann’s actions in disapproval yet, curls one side of his mouth in a smirk, eyes reflecting a certain devilish glint.

“Ah. You accursed humans never seem to learn, do you? Fifty years ago, we made a pact. For our coven to never be disturbed by you humans, in exchange for us to move our grounds”, he accentuates the words and sets his eyes on Siena, making the latter freeze.

“Twenty years ago, there was a lovely young woman with round orbs and curves more enrapturing than the meanders of Tuscany’s hills”,

At the mention, something turns in the face of Ann as it hardens like wilted musk. Park further continues walking and retracing his steps, eyes glued shut and jaws clenched in raw rage.

“She was bonded to one of the youngest counts and the war—” he pauses in his steps with his sculpted back turned toward the canonesses, as he stares blankly ahead, grieved.

“The war, it killed her. She lost her life, she died in vain. She was destroyed by her own race. The pact was shattered broken at that moment, that moment when the light left her bewitching eyes.” he croaks a bit, shoulders slacking as if the memory was his venom.

“She was innocent yet, she was killed. By your people.”

There’s a shadow casted in the slender man’s eyes and it was quite clear. The rage for revenge that was cloaked in it.

Even whilst his back was turned, his head seemed calculative of the canonesses’ immediate response. Ofcourse, humans never seemed to learn.

Ann’s eyes reflect death and almost the next second, she strides forward with the silver crucifix in her hand and tosses it at the empty black space where Park stood, moments before.

The next second, a heavy, red, mushy liquid is splattered onto Siena’s face as she screams and crawls toward the exit, horrified for her life.

The canonesses’ throats had been cut and they lay like butchered animals in a waste of blood. One corpse had slipped from the low throne to the right of the door and lay staring up at her, the mouth open, the head almost cleft from the body. She saw again the severed vessels, sticking like corrugated pipes through the clotted blood. The second was propped, ungainly as a rag doll, against the far wall. Her head had drooped forward and over her chest a great mat of blood had spread like a bib.

Tuscany’s most esteemed dignitaries of the church society lay like ghoulish mannequins, the esophagus and arteries sticking out like so much corrugated and rubber tubing. The smell that vapoured from their bodies could only come from slaughtered animals.

Thick, warm blood crawled into Siena’s throat and clawed at her air sacs like muck. Spewing with every glance at the mass slaughter, she struggled to wipe away the splutters of blood stuck to her skin and crawled on her limbs not any different from a five-sensed mutt, heaving and croaking for mercy.

Her pleadings for mercy fell upon deaf ears. When the bone of her ankle was seized to pull her toward the ghoulish young count, Siena thought the night would take away the last of her breath.

Her jaws were clasped in the count’s fingers and her eyes were a hair away from the orbs of death. The young count was sheathed by the moonlight in a silvery halo.

Without the traces of blood on his mouth, skin resembling the late winter and rage on his sculpted visage as red as his name, anyone could mistake the monster to be an angel.

His temper was on a hair-trigger and his eyes were lethal.

“You will run to the town’s mayor. If you want your soul to be spared, you will run there and shout to those mucks that the Rouge have returned”, the count spewed venom with each word.

“You will throw this parchment on their faces and demand that they comply to every syllable that’s scribed in the sheet!” he speaks, spelling out thunder claps and boulders at the poor nun.

“If not, Tuscany will have every breathing and crawling creature slaughtered like its canonesses”. He warns and whooshes away like smoke— ungraspable by bare hands.

Even in the wintry morning when town folks discussed the daily’s headlines with an uneasy settlement in their guts, you pursued boiling tea and folding your blankets neatly, unmindful of their great fear.

The afternoon too was eerily quiet and folks everywhere preferred to speak in a whisper and contain themselves in their abode. It seemed rather dubious and as heedless as you were, you never perceived that your innocence would lead to your downfall.

The sun sank lower in the sky, draining away the golden hue of the warm and gave path to a velvety dark night. The same moment when the crickets came out to chirp, dusky colours subdued in the fading light as shrieks and collective roars were heard at the heart of the town.

You, along with some of your fellow nuns peaked at the commotion and threaded through the crowd that swarmed in front of the Mayor’s office. On the board was a derogatory notice. Although, the crumples and rusty stains gave away the fact that the notice wasn’t pinned by the authorities. Its calligraphy looked eerily familiar to you.

“Tunic as red as our coven’s name, skin shining like beacon, tresses sheeny and burnished, eyes like the forest floor and gentle flowers with mirth, feminine curves softer and untouched like a laden bush of peony,”

The fear is a weight on the Mayor’s ribs and there exists a dull ache in his eyes, an unwillingness for his mouth to lift past neutral, to charge against but, words are lost in the hollow of his throat. Fear stills his lips as he pursues it to read out the rest.

“—The young vestal nun with a name that echoes across valleys of Tuscany, the one who dwells in the only fern-coated cottage near the gates of the lush forest.

Bring her to the place where human ritual pyres blaze, those who dare do otherwise, prepare to meet death as painful as a swine’s.

Against you rise, prepare to pay a deathly price.” he ends and mutters hurriedly in the commissioner’s ear and you notice the skeleton of his wrinkled fingers tremble at the slightest.

There’s a hushed eruption of conversations that bubbles ever so slowly amongst the townfolk at the astonishing notice and you freeze, petrified when eyes stray toward you, almost accusingly. You realise, with horror, they’ve recognised the vestal nun in the description.

You breathe heavily and your gut begins to twist into an uneasy coil when the commissioner’s fingers point directly at you.

Your desire to evaporate heedily rushes into your mind and something akin to being a criminal overwhelms you. When you step away to sprint far, you are seized by heavy men as they haul you off the earth by your limbs.

The thousand pair of ears at the town’s center fall deaf to your scattered pleadings— screams. Heartlessly, they drag you to the threads of your last few breaths and you helplessly submit, falling prey to your fatigue from the endless stream of tears that races down your rosy cheeks.

Your wails are unheard as the elder women of your town shield you from the public view, sit you in a warm creek and wash you in the clear stream, no different from a creature to be sacrificed for their religious rituals.

You croak out the last of your pleadings before the sun sets, and the women only watch you with nothing more than pity in their eyes.

Their hands are hurried as they strip you and dress you in the most rouge of all cloaks in the town, steam your hair dry, stain your lips with sliced beet, trace the lines where your lashes lie with charcoal.

Other than the sizzling charcoal that dries your tresses and your dull sobs, the creek is silent even as the herd of women stand together.

When you are sat and tied to the sacrifice stone, you shriek with more violence than gales. The ties that bound your limbs to the stone would not come loose at the desolate way you cried.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until your throat closed on itself and you felt the heaviness on your eyelids. Fatigue beckoned you and you obeyed, submitting to it unconsciously.

The stillness of the air seemed to suck even the sound of the chain’s clanks when you moved your limbs into the nothingness of the cave. Even the trees seemed not to rustle as if they were tense with nerves for what was to come.

You jostled awake when the trees rustled and a strong wind blew from nowhere, chains rattling at your limbs’ sudden motion.

Trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain.

The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for autumn, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow.

The wind was just as bitter as before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning.

The fire that kept you warm flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the tunnel, causing shivers to ripple across your body. You drag your legs across the surface of the sacrifice stone, gathering yourself into a ball.

Wind streams through the tunnel, waking the bats in the cave, twirling them in the air, only to drop them off into the void. All signs of life vanish from the tunnels that were once so full of warmth and the fire becomes extinguished.

You peer as you stare at the mangled stone beneath you.

A heinous laugh echoes throughout the tunnel, rebounding off the crumpled walls, and you crawl closer to the wall in sorrow. Like the cave, your soul is too abandoned and then all fades to black.

You shut your eyes and sit, quivering in fright as footsteps echoed menacingly. There was a hoarse breathing heard dully and you began to hear your own whimpers.

At an unexpected chime of the hour, through the empty night, a gentle voice calls out your name.

Your arms tighten around your body and the curtain of your hair falls around your face, shielding your view of the silhouette growing in front of you.

“Tuscany’s most loveliest lily”, the voice shallows into a soothing whisper and a woody fragrance tickles your nostrils. Your mind ticks at the familiar syllables uttered out and something blossoms in you besides fear, your features contour into slight puzzlement.

“I climb so high, lost in the sensation, I succumb to the scent of the stream that runs in your veins”, you listen more closely.

“I cry out in pleasure, my body on fire, I cling to your scent, hunger feeding my desire”, by then, you are sure of the stanza. It was what licked your insides, it was what beckoned you to sin. The lines were your admirer’s.

Then, it pauses.

The voice is gone, so is the scent. You push your tresses off your eyes and cautiously look in the dead of the night that seemed alive a few moments prior.

Something creeks and rustles at the faintest— right behind your neck, causing its hair to stand. There’s something behind you. Or rather, someone.

Your eyes shut at the feeling of a cold breath tickling the locks of your hair. When a thick strand is pulled and a deep inhale is heard, you whip to find only emptiness.

There’s a few moments of listening to only your anxious breath and thuds of your breathing heart before a fine piece of silk is wrapped around your eyes.

You let out a startled scream at the sudden hindrance of your sight and the feeling of a glacial pair of brawny arms sheathing around your waist. A set of black dots disperse in your vision and your mind is lulled by a hushed, smooth voice into your ear.

“Found you, my little fawn”.

You regain consciousness in a dimly lit room, on a lush, oak-coloured duvet. With the movement of one leg the tell-tale clink of wine bottles rouses you and one blink of the eye tells you that your head is just as bad. You squint, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva and your legs are immediately pulled to your chest at the queer recognition of the place.

You feel as though you have lived a very long time in this colossal manor.

The Manor grew out of the manicured lawn like an infant castle. It’s nascent stone walls were a pale grey and were barren of the moss or ivy that clung to the walls of the older homes in the village. Its large oak door was double wide and was sheltered under a wide porch supported by stone pillars. The entry way was grandiose, sweeping into a wide circle in front of the dwelling with an ornate fountain in the center.

As seconds advance, your mind harks back to unfamiliar images in the same space— a young woman in an elegant frock chortling as she gets chased by a burly yet, slender man who looked youthful as well.

His laboriously chiseled face, cheekbones that had near pierced his flesh had led to sunken eyes, puddles of avarice set about them.

Dark hair covering his head, long and fragrant with rose thorns.His chin, one such extremity which sought to put his cheekbones to shame, it succeeded in its purchase to pierce its own flesh. A small scab could be seen about it’s exit, to which his hand tended to itch.

A thick, velvety cape traces his sturdy steps— chasing after the woman and you gasp when her face comes into your sight.

It is you.

Only, more alluring in the gown that hugs your— her curves. Her laugh is unceasing and sultry mostly, seductive.

Your eyes dilate when you see her unhitch the ties holding her robe to her curves and like a vixen, she steps out of it, lying back on the duvet, beckoning for the ethereal man to her.

He seemed ravenous, his irises iridescent as they turn from raven to crimson at the sight of the slick between her legs.

She seemed brazen, like a cur in heat, in need of flesh when she crawled upon the alluring man, rolling her hips into the air provocatively, she caused the balls of the man to get filled, none similar to your dainty facet.

She takes his girth into her lips, making the count seethe in pleasure, her tongue wrapping around its head, she makes him bellow like a buzzard when she takes him deep into her throat and teases his balls.

He looks feasted, satiated beyond syllables when she licks every inch of his hard wood and takes him to a state of druken stupor.

Your breathing comes out in strained huffs as you watch him take her— you as he presses his lips against her skin and utters words that make her keen and bawl in pleasure.

You watch as their naked flesh twist gracefully into one and something else begins to unravel in your memories.

Where there should be blank space is blank memories, like a soft beige wall bereft of photographs. It brushes through the subconscious, recalling memories that bring out the deepest spark of nostalgia of the soul.

You recall every single one of it, your eyes shut intuitively and you sink into a rather familiar abyss of lost memories. In it, you hold hands with the same man who appeared moments prior. Only now, you know his name.

The one who loved you past all the years that went like streams to the sea, in all your lives as a mortal.

“Soft. Your hands. Soft and warm - on my face, on my chest, in my dreams, in the umbrella of dawn, under the first streams of morning light. Your hands in the pitch black of night, muscles and tendons dancing between each other in a lover’s dance. Fingertips like matches grazing my skin with flame, our scars being the measure of our love. I bare my scars, because I remember the time when your flame danced on me forever, before your hands turned to ice.”

All of your admirer’s words make sense to you. The lost passion, the lost memories, the lost life of yours as the light left your eyes when humans attacked the manor you had peacefully lived in.

There was a deep cut in the skin of your neck from the shattered pieces of glass and a heavy cry escapes the throat of the man at the dreadful sight— you, on the Jimin’s thighs, in his arms as he cried for you to not leave him.

You had smiled and reached your hand to his cheeks, engulfed his lips in one last passionate kiss before your eyes shut on its own, soul departing your frail body.

You see him, your past lover begging for you to return, you see his brothers lifting you into your grave.

Shudders rack your body and your cheeks are wet when you open your eyes to the present, to find the shadowy, familiar presence sitting right across you, his arms prop his chin upright and his eyes drink you in.

Jimin steps from the shadows, stealing your breath and the heat from your skin. Suddenly your defences are just paper, paper that is being soaked by the rapidly falling briny drops.

Before you can draw in the air your body needs, you have melted into his form. You feel his firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands fold around your back, drawing you in closer.

You feel your body shake, crying for the missed time the two of you will never make again, crying to release the woe of long years in separation.

He caresses your cheeks and wipes the tears with a calloused finger, even this roughness brings more relief than your heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he cannot quite fathom you are not part of an almost forgotten dream.

When he kisses you, it is sweet, gentle, and it tastes of your tears. You want to speak but all you can do is croak,

“Jimin”.

His mouth paints a soft smile and he kissed you once before folding you in his arms again.

“My beautiful peony, my little fawn, my love, my heart, my entire world. It was never your fault”, he mutters and you keen closer to him, pulling his mouth to yours once again. You close your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue twisting with yours and your knees lose strength, sending you spiralling into his arms.

“Oh, how I missed having you close to me, seeing yet, not being able to ravish is a curse” he whispers and you feel the heat pooling in your core when he noses at your jugular and inhales your scent.

“The scent of your blood remains heavenly through the ages” he sings, arms digging further into the curve of your waist.

“And this musky arousal—”

You gasp when you feel the tips of his nimble fingers brush the crotch of your undergarment, relishing in the heat of your wetness.

“This time, I’ll have you breathing for eternity, little fawn. I’ll turn you into what I am”. He declares with a stern voice, consuming the breaths that escape your lungs.

When you stare into his crimson irises, you pray for his touch, beg for what he promises. “Claim me, my lord. I’ll spend an eternity in your arms. Touch me, make me yours”.

Surely, it would be yes. The count was a notorious rake and libertine. He was called a thorough and absolute rouge, true to his name. How could he possibly turn down the chance to debauch the most delicious little fawn tempting him to revel in her taste?

With one kiss, Jimin swooped you off the floor and completely into his arms, transporting back to the cave you were sacrificed in.

He had planned for the entire town to hear your wails of pleasure. When you felt and heard the rattling of chains around your limbs, you shrieked, startled.

“No need to be afraid, my lovely fawn. I only wish to show these mongrels who you belong to”. Jimin expounds, making your core clench in need.

“Touch me, my lord” you scrounged like a fox, coaxing the ravished count with the tantalizing motions of your hips.

“Disrobe for me, little fawn. Take that sheer robe off, I want your naked flesh”, Jimin snarls and his mouth waters when your dainty fingers scramble to untie your gown. You sputter, your cheeks flush a vivid red at his grimy words.

Fear. Nerves. And illicit, forbidden, wrong physical desire. You felt it all at once.

Jimin bent to you and pressed his lips to your neck. The oddest jolt of fire leapt from there. It rushed through your veins like flames licking at the sky.

His hair tickled the bones of your cheek as he stroked and hollowed his mouth along your throat and reached the rim of your ear. He brushed back your hair. Surprisingly, his breath was cool. Almost icy. You had heard women speak of men blowing their breath by their ears—something that hadn’t sounded at all enticing—but the maids had described warm breath. Jimin’s breath was cold.

Still, the brush of it did feel surprisingly … good.

He nibbled your ear, making shivers tumble down your spine. He stroked the exposed skin at your collarbones. Goodness, how could it feel so hot—like a candle’s flame flickering close to your skin?

He tugged your cowering hands away to expose the swell of your breasts. His body tightened with arousal at the sight of your full, generous curves, erection bucking against his stomach.

Pushing you on the boulder, he ravaged your mouth, letting his hands venture down to the cleft of your arse. You bucked at the foreign feeling, gasping at the feeling of his tongue suckling the soft flesh of your lips into his mouth. His tongue curls around yours and he suckles it too, making you melt into a puddle in his full hold.

His mouth traces your throat and when it ghosts over the curve of your breasts, you shudder and your skin breaks into goosebumps.

He suckled. God, you were delicious. And you were moving beneath him. You arched to press your breast to his mouth.

Your scent reached his nose. And, he was lost. Lost in want. He rolled over you, coaxed your legs apart with his, and settled between, caressing your sweet cunny all the while. You gasped at the feeling of his thumb rolling your pearl and whimpered when his middle finger found your entrance, dipping to revel in your slick insides.

Oh goodness, he had flicked that most sensitive place—the little bump that lay between your nether lips, and you almost rolled her eyes back into your head at the pleasure.

Your hips arched up. He stroked you a little harder, as if he had known the rocking of your hips was a wordless signal that meant: I am begging you for more.

Then he slid his finger inside you. Between your nether lips, parting them gently. Goodness, he was inside you. You were doing the most intimate thing possible. With the man who remained an enigmatic admirer in your mind until the touch of his fingers tainted your soul, with the man who held your heart for eternity.

“Open your eyes.”

The first things you saw were thick, velvet-soft black lashes and gorgeous crimson eyes. Eyes that glittered at you in the firelight. “I want your eyes on me” he ordered huskily.

Then his finger slid deep inside, and you gasped at the sudden sensation—an intense quiver that rushed through you. You heard a shocking wet, sucking sound as his finger thrust in and out. It was the sound of your arousal.

“Let your moans out, little fawn. I wish to hear your sweet voice” he coaxed.

Biting your lower lip, you whimpered. You didn’t want to speak. The pleasure his wizardry brought was fervent, it felt foreign yet, acutely compelling and delicious. It made you drool, you needed him, flesh, bone, heart, soul.

His hand moved and he stopped stroking the little nub that vibrated with such intense feeling. You gasped in frustration.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft of his erection—you could feel the brush of his fingers against your stomach as he took hold of himself. Then, with his hand tight around it, he stroked the head of his erection against your nether lips. They had stuck together, resisting him, but he gently eased them apart.

Your arms were splayed on the mangled boulder beneath you and your eyes appeared to have gotten a taste of heaven, hands clenched in tight fists, toes curled and digging into Jimin’s hips at his ease into you.

Deeper he went, and his manhood stroked a place inside you that made explosions of light in front of your eyes. Then a twinge of pain rushed through you and you gasped in shock.

His fingers traced the curve of your cheek. “Shh, my fawn” he whispered. “Easy. It will hurt when I go past your little maidenhead. But after that it will be very, very good.”

“Jimin—”

He thrust. You squealed. You clenched. You tightened. You wanted to back away. But you couldn’t vanish into the boulder. Nor could you push him off. There was a searing pain that burned the walls of your insides yet, the delicious stretch of his girth brushed the softest tissue that made your mouth open wide, soundlessly and expose your luscious throat for his mouth to marr.

Jimin’s lips suckled every inch the clammy flesh of your shoulders and breasts— until lilac bruises respired in its wake. The perked peaks of your breasts were soft and toothsome in his mouth. And the tiny heels of your palms digging into his chest felt euphoric, he wished for it to caress his veiny member instead.

His nose nudged into your sternum, imbibed the scent of rushing blood to your breasts. His eyes shut as he sniffed deeply, his fangs grew in length and a gravelly groan rumbled from his chest at the redolent aroma of your blood.

“You feel warm and soft, my delicious little fawn. I could forever inhale this toothsome stream running through your veins”.

Without stalling, Jimin enveloped the teat of your breast into his mouth and laved, before piercing his honed fangs into the soft flesh, guzzling at the divine, rouge liquid that leaked onto his pearly teeth and sharp tongue, making you hiss at the feeling.

The feeling was gut-wrenching at the onset, it made you scream into Jimin’s shoulders.

He pressed against you, seating himself all the way inside, and he didn’t move. He stayed motionless, and he rained kisses on your forehead, cheeks, lips. It was hard to feel pain with such glorious kisses stealing your breath. And little by little, the stinging sensation ebbed.

A few moments of incessant suckling and your strained huffs at the strokes of his tongue on your tormented peak unfolded a queer pleasure, obscure to be produced by human males.

Soon, each suckle and lave from Jimin’s mouth pulled you to the white, hazed edge of pleasure and you cried out in ecstasy. Your cheeks were riddled hot, body spasmodic, in graceful waves as you began to roll your hips.

You whispered, “More”, Then you saw his sculpted visage.

He looked starved, ravenous. He looked raw, ravaged, tormented. His eyes were wild. His mouth was a slash, bracketed by harsh lines. He looked as though his control could snap in a heartbeat.

“My lord?” you called for him.

“You are tight, sweet, and perfect, my fawn. So no, I am no longer all right.”

You let your arms slip from his neck, but your legs were still wrapped around him, and his groin, hot and hard, was pressed tight into you. Then came the gratifying wave of pleasure as Jimin rolled his hips into yours, his girth slipping in and out of you, wholly, fulfillingly.

Gods, he was huge. The thick, hot, pulsing hard muscle of his legs throbbed against your thigh. His big manhood twitched inside you— feeling as thick as your arm. He groaned, kissing you fiercely as he moved his hips and nudged his swollen head further inside, almost into your cervix. You cried out, feeling it pulsing into your drooling slit.

With a moan into his lips, you strained your thighs and allowed him to pound in and out of you, the thick, slick shaft of his cock sliding wetly out from between your lips as you groaned throatily.

“Have a screaming orgasm, little fawn.”

He circled his hips as he said it, stroking his long shaft within you. He planted one sweet, sensual kiss after another on your lips, and kept your gaze locked with his.

You watched a smile touch Jimin’s full, handsome mouth. Then groans deepened the lines framing his lips. His eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and his deep, throaty moans … You drink all of them.

You were weak with pleasure, yet driven to rock with him. You clung to him, arching your hips, panting. Your nipples had hardened, and each thrust brushed them against his chest. Lips tingling from kisses, breasts throbbing from swift brushes, your quim pulsed … and fire raged in you, hotter than fire and you screamed as you came, body spasmodic.

He held you as his lips slurped at the slop of blood from the punctured marks on the peaks of your breasts.

It is when he pulls out of your body, he turns. This time, his eyes travel below your navel and licks at your core. There’s a thin stream of his release that flows from within you and there is a whit of warmth that seeps along with it, making his stomach clench with carnal hunger.

Carnal lechery for your blood and the musk of your release, it blows like a breeze over him.

Your fragrance consisted of a scent that represented freshly cut timber, like the damp forest after a rainy day; you smelt heavenly, like fresh-scented pine and honey, he wanted to indulge in the depths of the hint of cinnamon-like musk it produced.

It is the blood that reflected your lost virginity, your lost innocence. You are no more vestal, he has made you sin.

In the depths of night, your eyes were dew, scattering the nascent rays, ever illuminating the dark in his soul and he lusted vigorously for the taste of you, to let him be consumed by everything you offer to give him.

And so, he chains your limbs again, and blinds your vision for the nonce, for your senses to get heightened, for your slick to stream like nectar from ambrosia.

You gasp quietly at the impairment of your vision.

His fingers pluck a pair of pampas grass fluttering in the wind and when you feel it caress the tiny puncture holes at your sensitive nipples, you whimper, your slick caressing Jimin’s chest.

His lips find purchase at your inner thighs, fangs shallowly sinking into the soft flesh. The feeling makes your toes curl and you croak his name out in pure bliss.

“How delicious, your scent is divine, my fawn” he growls and pulls your core to his nose with vigour while you attempt to slither away, shyly.

“Trying to escape my grasp is useless, little fawn” he warns, making you cry out at the feeling of his arctic breaths blowing over your sensitive core.

“I’ll catch you faster than the wind could sheath around you” he gutturally breathes and spreads you beneath him, holding your soft thighs in his metal hold.

He moved lower, his breath teasing over your thigh. And then, you felt it, and the moan of pure ecstasy tore from your lips.

Jimin’s hot, wet tongue delved between your lips, dragging slowly and wetly up every bit of you until it flicked across your aching clit. You moaned in pleasure, crying out as his powerful hands pushed your legs wide apart and his wicked tongue pushed deep between them.

With a moan, your eyes flew open to see his face hovering above your delicate and exposed core. His eyes glinted wickedly at you, and you watched, panting in pleasure as he slowly licked his lips clean.

“Like nectar,” he growled. “Lie back, little fawn. Lie back and let me taste you.”

He moved back in, and suddenly, you moaned loudly. The feeling was like nothing else you had ever felt — this perfect, electric feeling of his icy tongue teased over your lips and clit. His wide, strong tongue dragged up and down your pussy, making your whole body arch and tremble for him. You balled your fists and cried out into the flickering firelight of the cave.

He slid his tongue deep inside, spreading your lips with his fingers, dragging your sticky wetness up from your opening to slide electrically across your aching clit. You arched my back and cried out as his tongue made contact there. It curled at your bud, bringing whimpering mewling sounds to your lips before sliding down through your folds again. You stiffened, and then moaned as you felt that hot, wet tongue slide wickedly against the opening of your arse, making you gasp as it slid over the sensitive ring there.

You couldn’t believe the sensations flooding your body at the touch of this rough, powerful, demanding, gorgeous man — from the rouge who was gentle to a creature with hound-like lust for your dripping arousal and blood.

His tongue pushed against your opening, pushing in to curl sensually inside of you. His thumb moved to your clit, his growl rumbling through me as he teased your little bud and tongue-fucked your slippery core, making you clench and arch your back off the stone under you.

You screamed as the orgasm exploded through you, hips bucking against Jimin’s perfect mouth. Your core clenched at the invading tongue, spasming around its thick wetness while the orgasm ripped through me. The famished count hungrily growled and pushed his tongue deep inside, tasting all of your virginal blood as the aftershocks exploded through you.

Slowly, he pulled away, his lips trailing over the little seam of your inner thigh as your whole world spun under you.

The feathery leaves of the pampas grass caressed the seams following his mouth and you felt his arms lifting you onto his lap, straddling him. He gently entered you again, mouth tracing the prominent vein at your jugular, tongue teasing it.

You shook and rippled around his thick wood, chains rattling loudly as you bite at every inch of his skin that your mouth could reach.

“I am going to turn you, my sweet fawn. Tonight is perfect, the moon is hidden and the branches sing for us. Let it all out, scream my name” they are incessant breaths against your jugular and you clench around him, hearing him cry out his devotion for you.

“I am ready, my lord. Turn me, I— I belong to you!” you cry out as the tip of his girth brushes your most sensitive spot.

Then the whooshing wind caresses your bare bodies, you feel the chains loosen and fall to the ground while Jimin embraces your shaking body entirely, increasing the pace of his inhuman thrusts.

His mouth takes yours and swallows your pleasured pants, yours tongue mulls his own when he feels your fingers thread through his soft locks and dig into his scalp. His hold on your hips are deathly and when he feels you clench and pant harder, he bites into the inside of his cheeks, closing his eyes as his blood trickles from his mouth, into yours.

Your throat closes at the repulsive, metallic taste and you gag, making Jimin tighten his hold on you. He twists your tongues together and urges you on, making you swallow down the thick drops of his blood.

When you feel his member caressing that sensitive spot of your insides once again, you gulp faster and Jimin smiles blissfully into your mouth as his tongue traces the sharp lines of your protruding canines, they course rapidly into pointy knives and he relishes in the sharpness of your fangs, tongue drinking your breaths in.

There’s an ethereal glow of light sheathing around the two of you. For a nonce, the bright, golden-silvery stratum panelling over you in particular makes the deep, dark abyss of the night seem like day. The round curves of your orbs sparkle an aurish dust and makes you look more beguiling than any other supernatural power to ever exist.

Jimin feels the illuminance and shuts his eyes in ecstasy for the warm streams of your blood chills into familiar ice, the same temperature as his. Your thrusts are gentled and you cry out in a new found lust for Jimin’s blood.

He can feel the urgency in your gulps as you grow more hungry for blood, his blood. He shudders when you sink onto him again, tilting his head to pierce your fangs into his throat.

He groans at the pleasurable feeling of your mouth gulping his blood hungrily and he forces you to pause, for his eyes to drink in the birth of your vampiric form.

The moment you open your eyes and stare into his, his breath catches.

Your orbs are a beautiful, fierce topaz-crimson and there is a bleached tone added to the luscious sheen of your skin, when you lick the drops of his blood from your lips, exposing the knives of your fangs, he feels the carnal lechery for you boil in his heart and stir at his manhood.

You are fully turned, looking like the goddess of death herself, veiled in an ethereal halo in the deep, dark, inked night.

His eyes drink your appearance ravenously and he concludes. Carnal lechery for you, that’s what possessed him all those years ago, that’s what drives him to sink his fangs into your flesh and drink your sweet blood over and over.

You are turned and you are eternally bonded to him, there’ll be no mongrel mortal in this universe to take you away from him.

Autumn days wane toward the inevitable colder weather ahead, each nightfall coming sooner that the one before.

Seven days were gone ever since you were welcomed and brought to the Rouge’s dwelling, the rocky fort miles away from your grim, little mossy town.

Topaz leaves dangled from the shadowy skeletons of trees, each one like as ominous sword of Damocles. The river was almost ice, showing reflections of the heavy, ashy sky so thick. The chill breeze rattling at the closed windows of the fort seemed to cry autumn, the roads were moist with stealthy dew as the season deepens their graceful boughs will be the prettiest of charcoal sketches, drawing themselves tall, reflecting the light of a wintry sun.

You are huddled in the silky red sheets of Jimin’s large duvety mattress, the lines of your naked legs traced by the sheets. You lie fatigued after a thorough session of lovemaking with your mate while he wordlessly caresses your hair, eyeing your curves, breathing the essence of your hair as he licks the remains of your dried blood from your breasts.

The sudden slam of the door came like a punctuation. There were panicked calls all around in the veranda and one of the maids peek their head through the door to the master chamber, her chest rising and falling in urgency.

“Forgive me for barging in, master and mistress”, she breathlessly bows, making you both rise, startled. You scatter to cover your body with the sheets while Jimin groans and ties his night robes to shield his body.

“Master, we seem to have an intruder. The other masters summoned you to the court immediately”, she keeps her eyes low and Jimin barks at her.

“How would we have an intruder? This fort is well protected!” he grunts and turns to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips as you eye the maid scurrying away, bowed.

“I’ll be right back, my love. You might as well get dressed".

You smile and pull on your silky night robes to your body, mindlessly staring at the creaking trees in the wind while Jimin marches to the veranda, his booming commands slowly ebbing away.

For a few ticks of chime, you hear nothing but the rustling leaves, sparrows chirping at a distance and the echoes of voices downstairs. When the door to the chamber you lie in opens on the spur of the serene moment, you fall back and onto your elbows, on the cottony patchwork of the carpeted floor.

A loud gasp knocks your lungs at the sight of the familiar fern-eyed, thick woman looming over you, offering her hand.

Siena. She is puffing out harsh breaths and her legs tremble, hasten. She seems too afraid as her eyes cavort to the door in trepidation and you realise, she is the intruder.

“Y/N! Y/N. You should listen to me, you should run away, the one you are with is a monster!” she hastily whispers, gripping at your arm.

You yawp at her gnawing grip and attempt to pull your arm to yourself and grit your teeth. At the sight of your crimson eyes, Siena’s hold gets loosened.

“H—he turned you, didn’t he?” she utters in shock, something in her eyes clutches at her back again and she pleads you again. You sigh and move to the chamber’s doors, pulling the latch to lock and you turn to face her.

“I am sorry sister Siena, but I must ask you to leave. History does not tell the truth. The Rouge were innocent, it was the people who broke the treaty”.

You eye her pitifully. She had come all the way for vain.

“Jimin is by nature of laws, my soulmate. I cannot live apart from him, I am no longer one of the mortals”. You proclaim, clasping your fingers together.

“Now, please leave—”

“I am afraid you do not know everything” mumbles Siena quietly, her olive eyes swimming in a stream of exigency, her limbs still tremble.

“Who has Park claimed to have murdered you in the past, Y/N?”

The will to not let her affect your resolution faintly faltered at the sight of her tenacity, she shakes similar to a leaf jostled by storm gales yet, her eyes remain adamant.

“Tell me, please”, she begs to the extremity of crumbling, her orbs trembling just as much as her limbs do.

You release the air from your lungs and mutter softly— “Humans. The ancestors of our town. I saw it, the evocation of my past self, I was killed by the town folks”.

Siena shook her head, her face contouring into a brew of disdain as well as pity, you were almost uncertain if it was aimed towards you.

The whooshing gales and Siena’s voice seem the same when she mutters out what earth had not devised itself ready to hear.

“No, my dear. It was not the town folks who had killed you, it was the very man you share this bed with, the most conniving, astute count amongst his brothers— Park Jimin of the Rouge!”

And in that light the carpet of leaves became crooked, and all aurish colours vanished, the wind tumbling around the empty space. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest and your face morphed into one of disdain, you were abhorred yet, shattered to the ground like the dry twigs stepped on by passing carts.

You knew nuns took an oath to preserve and authentic despite the unembellished life they lead because you were one too. Siena was not lying, every single word of hers proves to be true only by the contours of concern etched on her face.

“H-how? I—” you flounder like a fish taken out of the pond.

Siena sighs dismally. “When I went to the elder canonesses on halloween night, the eldest of them apprised a hidden tale of a young town girl and her lover— Hyun woo whose throats were silt by the third youngest of the Rouge”,

“Only sister Ann knew the story behind it”. You listened carefully, feeling prostrated mercilessly.

“Park Jimin had found his consort and by the scent of her blood, he knew she was destined to be bonded to him by nature’s law. But, she was irrevocably in love with another mortal to whom she had been having love affairs with, even as she was taken against her will to the Rouge fort”,

“An infuriated Park had butchered the young woman’s lover in front of her whilst the woman pleaded and cried for the man’s life. As days passed, Jimin’s consort became coldly vacant in grief",

You were turned into stone at her words.

“She had ultimately repudiated to consummate their bond. The same night when Jimin had killed her to erase the memories of her lover, the town folks declared a war to avenge Hyun woo and rescue the young woman. Park Jimin had promulgated to his brothers that the woman was killed by humans, he must have recast your past self’s memories, Y/N! He is not the gentle lover you loyally surmise him to be!”

One time when you were blind in a tree, waiting motionless for wind to wander by, you dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on your back. It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from your lungs, and you lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

That was how you felt at the moment, your ribs felt crushed into a mere refuse, fear and disgust of your past killer’s touch burned everywhere, the faded puncture marks on the peaks of your breasts, thighs, neck, shoulders felt as if touched by the flicks of flame, you felt abhorred.

Even the loud rap of knocks and thuds on the door to the chambers were heard, you were frozen into ice. Eyes teary, vision blurred, you fell to the ground, crestfallen.

Siena shakes you harder in panic at the sight of the door’s latch rattling violently, the sundry of voices with Jimin’s voice rack unpleasant shudders through her spine as she attempts to resuscitate you to the present.

A single squawk like a squall causes the doors to shatter as if hurled to the ground by a tempest. Park Jimin stands sited at the other side. There is not a sliver of a plinth to hold his rage in place, he looks irked to the brim of extremes.

“Seize her!” he barks and by the tick of a second, Siena is hefted into the air by a couple guards, their grasps cause her to bawl in pain.

“Y/N! My dear, what did she do to you?“ Jimin’s voice is mellowy as he gathers you into his arms, perusing your form thoroughly.

Like the mountain river under sunlight, like snow melting under the beaming sunlight, like the gentle song of the topaz leaves swaying in the autumn breeze, his voice was pleasant as beautiful as his perfectly sculpted face.

You shake away weakly from his grasp and his face withers, twinging a deep cut into your heart.

“You cold-blooded murderer, let her free”. You mutter, abhorred and stare at him, as empty as the ocean at night.

Jimin peruses Siena and you wordlessly, taken aback by your sudden disgust. When you see his head lift and lips curl to one side, you see the once loving mate of yours turn into the callous, blood-thirsty hound of a creature that slaughtered so many lives for its own illiberal gain.

“I see my little fawn has discovered the truth”, he heinously chuckles, making you swallow down in utter disgust.

“It was worth the effort, was it not?” he perches himself on his lush seater loftily, a wicked grin stretches his lips at Siena’s struggles.

“Now that I have the maiden of my dreams to myself”, he wickedly whispers, his sharp eyes travel down your body as he slips his lower lip into his mouth.

“I can debauch her to my heart’s content” his eyes are demanding as they meet yours, his slender fingers tipping against the mahogany handle of his seater.

“What causes you to think I would submit to you?” you spew the words like venom as the haughty count feigns hurt, crumbling to the ground.

In a blink of an eye, Jimin whooshes at an inhuman pace across the chamber to you, gripping your jaws tight from the behind as he has his own clenched. Your wrists are pressed together at your back and he presses his chest to your back.

You attempt to wriggle away at the bulge pressing into the cleft of your arse and you screech at his hold.

“What can be done by a little fawn like you, against me? There is a reason why I did not wait even for an hour to turn you that night”. He lilts mockingly, lips brushing the lobe of your ear.

“Oh, little fawn. I had become the master of your body, soul and mind duly after turning you. Every single thought that runs in this little head, I can hear it”. He declares, arms slithering around your body in a vice-like grip.

“After decades of longing, I finally had you. Would I not have prepared for the same mistake to never occur again?” he presses his nose to your jugular, breathing your scent. It makes him roll his eyes in pleasure as the heavenly scent tickles his lungs.

Your fighting limbs fall limp as his fangs pierces the skin of your jugular, taking little gulps of your sweet blood.

Siena screams as she realises the actions performed on you by the count. She seethes and cusses, fighting against the guards’ hold on her.

“Forget everything that makes me bad in your eyes, little fawn”, Jimin whispers pleasantly, making you fall into a lull of sleep with a soft hum.

“Only I am your love, only I am your lord, no other mongrel of a mortal owns you, forget it all, my one and only little fawn”, he sings soothingly, lifting you in his arms more delicate than a priceless treasure, cooing in adoration at the sight of your angelic face in peace and parted lips, memories flitting you away from him washed away profoundly.

In the course of a mo, Siena’s head is snapped and the poor nun’s body is embedded into the fertile earth heedlessly.

A famished count with an endless carnal lechery presses a soft kiss to your lips and envelopes you in a lover’s embrace, waiting for your eyes to open and say his name sweetly, oblivious to events that have unfolded a very few chimes ago.

Carnal lechery, it was what possessed him to possess you.

#bts yandere #bts yandere smut #yandere bts smut #bts yandere au #yandere jimin x reader #yandere jimin smuts #jimin smuts #bts smut #bts jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x reader

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dovechim · 6 years ago

Text

sowing a sapling [2/2] (m)

❀ COWRITTEN WITH @jimlingss please send her some nice messages!!!! she deserves the world (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

❀ Summary: What no one told you about ‘Happily Ever After’s: the next day, you’ll still have to wake up and go about your life as per normal, because life isn’t a fairytale. You thought you had the rest of your life figured out: settling down happily with Jimin, ruling over all of Hogwarts with an iron fist as the Potions Master, and maybe, in the very distant future, starting a family of your own. But life, as usual, decides to throw a wrench in your plans. With a baby on the way and your husband insistently refusing all attempts at initiating sex, the arrival of a gorgeous new student teacher spells disaster for your marriage.

If getting married to Park Jimin was the happiest day of your life, what does it say about the rest of your life?

❀ Warnings: Pregnancy, thigh riding, dry humping, male/female oral sex, fingering, pregnancy sex, mentions of pregnancy related symptoms, lactation, heavy mentions of cheating/infidelity, usage of produce in masturbation, intense jealousy and insecurity.

❀ 23.2k

❀ please read part 1 first! this is a sequel to: A Serpent’s Flower 01| 02

In ten weeks, you’ll be birthing out your precious fungus, aka Jimin’s beautiful sapling, into this horrible world. But in five weeks, you’ll officially be on maternity leave. It’s not exactly ideal to be in labour at Hogwarts, as much as Jeongguk would absolutely love to have you birth the ‘inter-house harmony’ child here.

Luckily, a lot of your anxieties on your career has been eased. The Headmaster has ensured that you and Jimin will have your jobs whenever you chose to return considering you’re valuable assets to Hogwarts. It’s a relief to hear and he already mentioned that he found Jimin’s replacement with Hoseok taking up the helm of Head of Hufflepuff, and an experienced professor will be hired for Herbology. For you, Yuri will become the temporary Head of Slytherin, but Jeongguk has hired someone brand new for potions, a complete outsider without any experience.

In the past, before you were hired, there have apparently been many incidences in regards to potions, things that include having to evacuate the entire castle, accidentally blowing up the classroom, setting students’ hair on fire. You’ll attest that the Hogwarts records aren’t so pretty when it comes to potions, so it’s understandable Jeongguk wants to hire someone brand-spanking new with a fresh approach and who’s not stubborn in their traditional methods.

You’ll admit after two years, he’s starting to get the hang of this whole Headmaster thing.

Everything is perfectly set for you to go on maternity leave and enjoy the rest of your pregnancy before welcoming your baby to the world. But Jeongguk has made one special request (more like he dramatically dropped on his knees to beg you) — to prevent any mishaps, he’s asked you to take the new-hire under your wing as a student-teacher for a month before you leave, just to get her used to things and show her the ropes.

While you’ve never trained someone to do your job before, Jeongguk’s request is reasonable, so it doesn’t take much for you to agree.

And here you are, summoned by Jeongguk during your free-period. When you step inside his office, you immediately notice that there is already someone seated in one of the guest chairs.

Headmaster Jeon rises to greet you, and the newcomer follows suit. She stands, twirling around on her toes, causing her blue skirt and white blouse to ruffle. A blazing smile spreads into her cheeks, rosy lipstick-stained lips tugging.

Time stops. Your breath is stolen away. You’ve been star-struck.

This wasn’t even the reaction you had when you met Jimin. Frankly, you thought nothing of him. Maybe you’ve been so sexually deprived lately, but you swear as you look at her, you wet yourself a little. She is absolutely gorgeous. Even then it’s an understatement.

She is a petite, young woman with delicate features, reminding you of a doll. Her shoulder length chestnut coloured hair is glossy in the candlelight. Her rounded eyes glistening, eyes crinkled slightly. Her skin is so bright and luminous, and her smile absolutely charming as she grins at the sight of you, stepping forward to offer her hand in a handshake.

“Professor _____, this is Ms Ryujin. She graduated from the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and she is currently pursuing further studies in Potions.”

Beauxbatons. Of course. That’s why she is so utterly beautiful. Next to her you feel like a troll.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Professor ______,” her voice is a light tinkle that dances on the wind, all too soft-spoken. “I am such a fan of yours. I’ve read all your papers and all the books you published! I especially used your dissertation on the things that can go wrong with Amortentia in my own research paper. It’s such an honour to finally meet you! And to be asked to substitute for you…it’s an absolute honour! I don’t know how I’ll ever fill your shoes.”

Her enthusiasm is a stark contrast to your gloominess. You muster up a smile for her as you shake her hand. “Um, wow, thank you…I guess.”

“And congratulations on the pregnancy! You look absolutely gorgeous. I hope I’ll look half as beautiful as you do if I ever decide to have children!”

Now you know she’s lying through her teeth. There’s no way you are beautiful right now. You have dark circles from tossing and turning in bed all night because of your back ache, a few spots on your face here and there due to your overactive hormone levels, and you are as big as a whale. Your bump is visible even from a mile away in these robes, so you just look like a big fat lump waddling around.

But the worst part is that you can’t even sense her disingenuity from her voice. She seems all too sincere and it’s overwhelming. Your smile is tense as you glance at Headmaster Jeon for any input he might have. And he’s smiling, eyes slightly glazed over, looking prouder than ever.

Of course. If you were starstruck, then everyone else is sure to be bewitched by her beauty. “I think you’ll fit right into Hogwarts.”

“I hope so.” She fiddles with her fingers, aura too powerful in femininity. She is fragile, graceful, and you feel less like a woman standing in front of her. “I’m a bit nervous.”

“Don’t be.” Jeongguk is grinning from ear to ear; this is the happiest you’ve seen him since he became Headmaster. Usually he’s always walking around with a stressed out frown or looking as if he’s about to burst into tears. “Professor ______ will help you get used to things. You’ll do great.”

Ryujin shifts to you with sparkling irises. “I’ll be in your care then, Professor ______.”

You take a deep breath. It’s not like you to be envious of someone else and she’s innocent. She hasn’t done anything wrong, but be more than warm towards you. “You’ll do fine. It’s not that bad, trust me, and you don’t have to call me by professor since we’re colleagues now.”

She excitedly nods. “Then….thank you, ______.”

You return her meek smile. “Have you gotten a look around the castle yet?”

“Only a brief glance while I was making my way here.”

“I’ll show you then.” Your lips pull and she nods, picking up her suitcase.

“You’ll be staying in a room near the Potions classroom for easy access,” Jeongguk says. “You’ll probably find it while you’re on your tour. Most of the paperwork is done here as well, but if there’s anything you need then feel free to drop by.”

“Okay, thank you.”

You show her around, to the Great Hall down to the dungeons. The corridors are twisting and easy to get lost in, the maps not that much help either, but you try your best to show her which classroom is which and how the towers connect to different places. She drops off her suitcase in her room too, eager to get settled down later. But as you do your tour, she attracts a parade of students from afar.

You’re no longer the exhibit for people to gawk at. Now everyone’s attention is directed elsewhere as well as a sea of murmurs that ripple on how beautiful she is.

As you waddle through the halls as quickly as your swollen feet can allow, you’re eventually stopped by a first year student. “Um, excuse me.” The red on her robes show she’s a Gryffindor, paired with the way she’s brave enough to come up to you. But she’s not looking at you at all. Her eyes are pinpointed onto the woman beside you. “Are you the new Potions professor?”

Ryujin grins, leaning down and meeting the child at eye-level. “Yes, I am. Are you one of my students?”

“Yes!” The child grins, hopping up and down.

“Nice to meet you then.” Your student-teacher shakes the first year’s hands, both exchanging soft smiles.

“Joy, don’t you have somewhere to be?” you interrupt their little exchange with your hands on your hips and your eyes narrowed. “Why are you loitering the halls? Are you skipping class?”

“I’m heading to the library, Professor ______,” she answers in a curt tone.

But before you can discipline her for speaking to you in that way, Ryuji teases the child, “well, you better be on your way before you get into trouble. I’m looking forward to teaching you.”

The Gryffindor dips her head, smiling, and scampers back to her friends, probably confirming that the gorgeous woman is indeed the new Potions teacher. You catch them celebrating, high-fiving each other and glancing over, and it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“It’s good to be stricter with the students,” you mention in passing. “If you’re too nice, they’ll take advantage of it.”

Ryujin nods, following you. Her eyes are wide, mouth parted slightly in awe as she takes in the infrastructure of the castle, the large glass windows to the pillars supporting the high ceilings. “Honestly, I love Hogwarts so much. There’s such a sense of family here. Even if you’re divided into houses, it just feels so...warm and cozy. I would’ve loved this place as a student.”

She’s speaking her thoughts aloud and fantasizing. “What house do you think I would’ve been sorted into?”

“Hufflepuff,” you reply after a beat. You don’t know Ryujin that well, but it’s a feeling and your observations so far tells you she would be wonderful in that yellow house. “I think you would’ve done well there. But was it not like that at Beauxbatons?”

The school is prestigious and the faculty is as gorgeous as the students are. You’ve heard nothing, but praises about that school and all the alumni you know are elegant individuals.

“They were a lot stricter with their rules. It wasn’t really as relaxed.”

You hum a note. “I didn’t know that. But you must’ve done well, considering Headmaster Jeon hired you to become a potions teacher.”

“Oh, I just really love potions, so I did well. Out of all the subjects, I was the most passionate about it. It’s like an….art form.” Merlin, she is getting harder and harder to hate as the seconds go by. Maybe you should just cut your losses and part ways now before you fall in love with her or something. “You can’t experiment with spells or charms the way you can with potions. There’s just something about the way the colours change right in front of your eyes as you add ingredients that it’s so….”

“Captivating.”

Your steps are slow, the syllables leaving your mouth in a breathless manner, and you nearly want to slap yourself for sounding this emotional in front of a near stranger. She seems to understand your love for Potions right down to the most intricate details. Maybe the two of you are more alike than you thought. But still, a certain part of you envies her to the point where it almost borders on dislike, even annoyance. The emotions inside you are conflicting, but you chalk it down to hormones.

“Yes, that’s the word.” She smiles, fluttering her lashes and you blink hard, wondering if she is a deity who descended from some otherworldly place. She is soft, sweet, and appears like she’s been crafted out of marble, a masterpiece created by a skillful genius. “But of course, I’m nowhere as good as you are.”

You scoff, tearing your eyes away before you’re caught ogling. “Oh please, you don’t need to be humble. If Jeongguk hired you right away, then you must be good.”

The corners of her lips quirk and she sweeps the area with her eyes as you turn the corner. The glass windows are open, letting in fresh air and there’s vivid greenery outside. “What is this place?”

“It’s the greenhouses. They teach Herbology here. Would you like to take a look?”

Her curiosity is piqued. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

You exit the castle, walking over to the greenhouses to find Jimin weaving between the benches, monitoring the students and letting them do their own observations as he sits back and encourages them. It’s just like him to let them have a more hands-on approach and you smile.

Your husband catches you toddling over from his peripheral vision and he turns, face lighting up like a bulb flickered on. His strides are quick. “What are you doing here?” He reaches in, planting a kiss on your cheek at your lovely surprise. Jimin makes your heart swell and you feel better already.

Ever since the talk, things have been steadily improving. He’s given you more room to breathe and your mood has generally improved after getting full meals again, even if sometimes they’re greasier foods. “I’m just showing the new-hire around. This is Ryujin.”

You don’t know if your eyes are mistaken, but you swear her cheeks become rosier. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

“Hello.” Jimin rapidly peels off his gloves and shakes her hand. You stare at the way their hands are tightly held, skin to skin. Why couldn’t he have done it with his glove on? “Thank you for helping my wife and I out. We’re very grateful.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I don’t know if I can ever fully replace her.” She lets go of his hand, swallowing and glancing at you. “Congratulations on the baby, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He shifts to face the class, hand gesturing to explain what they’re doing. “We’re just pruning flutterby bushes right now.”

“I see. So these students are...fourth year kids?”

Jimin is pleasantly surprised and his lips lift into a smile. “How did you know?”

Ryujin is bashful and shy. “I made sure to go over all the Hogwarts curriculum just to be sure.”

“You’re very prepared then,” he praises.

“My mother was actually a herbologist too.”

That seems to ignite Jimin’s interest and his brows shoot up. “Really now?”

“She loved plants and flowers and our entire house was full of them,” Ryujin admits with a sheepish smile while inhale the fresh air surrounding her.

“Then you must know what this is.” He picks up a pair of shears from the table and walks over to a bush, crouching down to snip the stem of a flower. She takes it when he hands it to her and brings it to her nose for a delicate sniff. The flower is a bright pastel pink, abundant in petals, scent so overpowering that you can smell it from where you are.

Your jaw drops. Is this actually happening right in front of your eyes right now? Park Jimin is practically pulling the same fucking moves on her as he did on you.

The intelligent young woman knows after taking a moment to deliberate. “It’s a muggle flower. A...carnation. Used for decoration and aesthetic purposes.”

“You’re right.” Jimin gives a cheesy grin, happy to find someone who appreciates plants like he does. “Now I know you’re not a fraud.”

She giggles in response and you’re appalled. They act like you’re not even here. You could fade into the background, disappear, transfigure yourself into a bird and no one would even notice. Your wish to be invisible has finally been granted and you hate it.

But Jimin isn’t the only one who shows her more than a warm welcome. By lunchtime, the entire faculty of staff and students are out of control. There are seventh year students who run out of their classrooms just to catch a glimpse of her walking past, second years sticking their heads out of windows, fifth years who ran half across the castle to join the crowd. The children look on with admiration and wonderment.

There are insistent murmurs amongst the other professors as well and several seats at the Grand Hall are saved for her, practically fighting for her to sit next to them.

Ye Eun mumbles, jealous at the attention, and you can’t believe there would be a day you two could bond over the exasperation you feel. You get it. Really. She’s not only easy on the eyes, but lovely to be around too. But is it really necessary to act like she’s a celebrity? And it’s so entirely unprofessional of the faculty members to be salivating over her. You just—

“Is that really your replacement?”

You’re startled out of your trance by Taehyung sliding next to you. His eyes are pinpointed ahead to where Ryujin is laughing, accepting chocolates from a second year female student. You nearly open your mouth to warn her about how dangerous it is to accept food from students, based on personal experience, but then you decide that your quality of life might just improve a tad bit if she just happened to be turned into a toad.

“Yeah, why?”

“She’s gorgeous,” he says, drooling already, and you roll your eyes. “Tell me, what are her likes and dislikes?”

“If I tell you, what are you going to do with that information?”

“Obviously talk to her.” Taehyung finally looks at you and he adds on quickly, “and maybe use it to smash her later.”

“You are so disgusting.”

“What? Any man or woman with two eyes are thinking the exact same thing as I am. Haven’t you thought that she’s ridiculously attractive?”

“Can you treat her with more respect?” You evade his question and cross your arms. “She’s not a piece of meat.”

“I know.” He sighs, downcasting his head and ashamed at his blatant rudeness to a future colleague. “You’re right.”

For once, someone agrees with you and you take a second to bask in it. “Of course, I’m righ— Hey! Where are you going?”

The idiotic Head of Gryffindor approaches her with blind confidence in every stride. His hand extends and he flashes his boxy smile towards the female. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Kim Taehyung. I am the Divination professor here at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, hello, Taehyung.” She shakes his hand, offering a kind smile as she stares up at him.

“I love your blouse,” he points out after he lets go.

“T-thank you.” The student-teacher is slightly caught off guard, used to people asking her if she’s the new teacher, where she came from, where she’s staying, how long she’ll be here for, or she’s showered in superficial comments. “I got it on sale.”

“Really?” Taehyung is genuinely interested and his brows shoot up. “Where?”

You’re not sure if you’re impressed or not. On one hand, Taehyung sounds like he wants to buy the white blouse for himself. But on the other hand, you have to admit he’s smoother than the others and much less creepy, intrusive and more courteous.

For the rest of the day, Ryujin follows you. It’s a bit unfamiliar for you to have someone shadowing you, but you don’t mind showing her the ropes and having a person help you out in the classroom, even if she is a cause for distraction. You go over protocol for accidents and emergencies, show her where you keep your books, where the potions closet is, how to get ingredients for potions needed, and what your lessons plans look like. Luckily, she is a fast learner and writes down everything on her little notepad.

Aside from your own personal biases, you really can’t find anything to complain about her.

She is a joy to work with. She is pleasant. She’ll make a great replacement. But something about her just bothers you to no end, and it keeps you awake longer than usual that night in bed.

“Jimin…” You shuffle a bit and he hums softly as an answer, breath on the back of your neck.

At this stage of your pregnancy, you feel stuffy quickly, but you always let Jimin have his five minutes of cuddling in bed. He spoons you from behind as you lay on your left side, his hands around your torso and sprawled on your stomach, your hands on top of his while you both feel the baby move occasionally. It’s intimate, cozy, and you feel safe in his embrace like this.

“What do you think of Ryujin?” you ask him, murmuring in the quietness of the night.

“Seems nice,” he whispers sleepily.

“Just nice?” Your lashes flutter open and you wonder if he’s acting apathetic to spare your feelings. “She’s really gorgeous.”

“I guess.” Jimin holds you closer, your legs tangling together with his. You’ve found the sweet spot, pillow positioned in the right place, husband supporting you as well. It’s comfortable, something you don’t experience so much anymore, but you know in a few hours, the position will be lost when you have to get up for another bathroom break. “I was surprised when she said her mother was a herbologist.”

“Mhm. She’s young, intelligent, optimistic, lovely to be around…”

“Are you jealous?” he asks, feeling more awake than before. You can feel the curve of Jimin’s smile on the back of your neck. He presses a gentle kiss to your skin and you hold back a shudder as goosebumps raise on your arms.

“I’m not,” you mutter with a pout he can’t see. “Honestly, you should be on edge because I might leave you for her. She has a passion for potions, y’know, and that really gets me going.”

Your husband giggles quietly and he nuzzles into your hair. “Guess I have competition then.”

“But be honest, what do you think of her?” You’re not sure why you’re probing so much. You don’t know what kind of answer you’re looking for. But you want to know what he’s truly thinking. “I just want to know your opinion,” you add on, “since she’s going to be my substitute and all. It matters to me what you think. And…T-Taehyung said he’d smash her.”

“Taehyung is a horndog. He’d smash anything that walks on two legs.” Jimin has his lips against your neck as he hums, so that you can feel the pleasant vibrations throughout your body. “I think…I think she’ll be a great replacement. She’ll do a great job because you’ll teach her well. Hogwarts won’t even notice we’re gone.”

The last part of his sentence stings a little. Granted, it definitely wasn’t Jimin’s intention to make you feel replaceable, but face it, everyone likes to be needed. And especially during such a vulnerable time in your life, feeling overly bloated and entirely insecure, this is the kind of thing that slowly eats away at you when it normally wouldn’t affect you otherwise.

But you let it go without a word. You have to choose your battles, after all.

Feeling his firm warmth against your back makes you crave for more of his touch. A part of you is hesitant to do anything for fear of getting rejected again, but the more carnal part of you decides that you have nothing to lose anyway. You can feel his crotch right up against your ass where you want it, and ignoring the fact that it isn’t even close to being hard yet, you nestle back against him slightly. Your ass rubs against his cock as you sandwich it between your cheeks, and you can feel a brief stirring in his length before Jimin shuts you down again with a platonic kiss on your cheek.

“Baby, I’m tired. Let’s just go to sleep, hmmm?”

Your heart sinks in your chest, and tears well up in your eyes, although from this position, Jimin can’t see a single thing. Nodding briefly, you turn to hide your face in the crook of your arm, hide your tears from your husband even though you can feel his half hard cock against you. But it soon subsides, however, as Jimin drifts off to sleep behind you, and you are left lying awake with a tearstained pillow.

That night you dream of your dear husband and a petite, young woman with rosy cheeks.

*//*

Today is the first day of official classes where you’ll be sitting off to the side and observing Ryujin take over your class on her own. Most of the fourth year students in this class have been well trained by your no nonsense methods, but the moment they step into class and see Ryujin at the front instead of you, they whisper excitedly amongst themselves.

Once everyone is settled down, you move to the front of the class again, standing beside Ryujin’s petite figure as you address the class. Today she is wearing a standard black cloak, almost the same as the one you are wearing, but somehow she makes it look more fashionable than you could ever dream of.

“Good morning, fourth years. Today we’ll be learning how to make a Wit Sharpening Potion… which I suspect might come in handy for some of you here,” you narrow your eyes as you make your customary scan across the classroom, pleased when students avoid your gaze in terror. “Before I hand the class over to Professor Ryujin, I’d like to remind you once again that just because I am sitting off to the side, that does not mean I won’t punish any transgressions. There shall be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Professor _____,” the class answers like a well oiled machine.

“Good,” you smile, and turn to your textbook, flipping to the appropriate page…except you can’t remember what your lesson plan is today. Damn it, you just said it moments ago…what potion was it? This is a fourth year class, so it’s either Girding or Wit Sharpening…

Ryujin seemingly senses your struggle and smiles prettily at you as she stops your page at the Wit Sharpening Potion. “Professor_____, are you feeling alright? Maybe you should go sit down. I think I got it from here.”

Inwardly seething more from embarrassment and annoyance at yourself than anything else, you quietly leave her at the blackboard and take a seat at the back of the class, magicking a cushion onto the hard chair so that you can be more comfortable. As you observe the student teacher from here, it’s painfully obvious that she has a way with the students, they like her so much that they are paying 110% attention, and it looks as if she really enjoys teaching Potions as well. Every flick of her hair, wave of her wand and gracious movements as she prepares the ingredients perfectly has you and the students mesmerized.

Your job as Potions Master might very well be in danger.

In the middle of class, one Ravenclaw girl suddenly shoots her hand up. “Professor Ryujin!”

She comes over instantly, a concerned look on her face as she smiles at the student. “Ah, Yeri, what’s wrong?”

“I think my ginger root has mould on it…would it still be alright to use?”

Ryujin picks up the root and examines it for a moment, her pretty forehead creasing a little. Finally, she glances at you, a little unsure, and you jump at the opportunity. This is the fastest you’ve ever moved since you got pregnant.

The root seems far too mouldy to be included in the potion, and doing so would only result in disastrous consequences.

“Does anyone else have a mouldy root? Please check your ingredients carefully before tossing them into your cauldron and killing us all,” you say to the rest of the class, setting aside the ginger root in your hand and turning to Ryujin. “I’ll have to go down to the greenhouse and get more ginger root. While I do that, could you occupy them with something else?”

Ryujin is quick to object. “Oh no, Professor ______, I’ll go instead! You shouldn’t be walking too much in your condition — I imagine it would be tiring for you. Who should I speak to at the greenhouse? Would Professor Park be in now by any chance?”

You hesitate a beat at the mention of your husband’s name. That is precisely why you wanted to go to the greenhouse by yourself in the first place — you know that seeing your husband’s face always improves your mood. And especially considering he has his free period right now, you could even sneak in a quickie in the greenhouse — no one would be the wiser.

“Um…” But with all the students’ attention on you, you are hard pressed to turn her kind intentions down. “Yes, he’ll be in now. Just…ask him for some ginger root. It shouldn’t take long, he probably already has them harvested.”

Your last sentence was meant as a subtle warning for her not to attempt anything foolish alone in the greenhouse with your husband, but Ryujin doesn’t seem to be able to read between the lines as she grins brightly, telling you to take a seat before turning on her heel and heading for the door. You stare after her longingly, wishing to have that kind of mobility once more as she disappears.

The next few moments of class seem to pass by painfully slowly. You’ve assigned the students to write an essay on the benefits and side effects of Wit Sharpening Potion and how they can be remedied, so you are currently almost dozing off in your seat. Blame the stupid pregnancy for tiring you out so much. It’s entirely irrational to believe that Jimin would ever do anything to hurt you or that Ryujin would do anything that isn’t professional, but your mind can’t seem to stop flashing images beneath your eyelids.

You glance at the clock every now and then to document the minutes going by, but it only makes waiting even more torturous as your traitorous brain cooks up all kinds of scenarios as to what Ryujin and Jimin might be doing together in that greenhouse at that very moment.

The greenhouse is known to be humid and steamy. A perfect place for two extremely good looking people to get close and intimate, sweating their passion for each other in a place no one really bothers to check.

Merlin, all this is driving you absolutely nuts. You snap at a boy who asks if he can be excused to use the restroom, making him almost pee his pants.

After what seems like ages, you hear a light, airy voice coming from outside the classroom, accompanied by a deeper chuckle that you recognise immediately. You push yourself off your seat and waddle to the door, only to find Ryujin and Jimin talking and laughing intimately with each other as they approach your classroom.

Jimin is holding a sack of ginger root, his dress shirt pushed up to above his elbows to reveal his wiry forearms, and the sight alone makes your mouth water. His purple hair is pushed off his forehead, slightly damp, and his skin looks to be a little sweaty. Instantly, your suspicion is triggered, but before you can think any further, the two of them have entered your classroom.

“Here you are, this should be enough to last you a week!” Jimin grins as he sets down the heavy sack on the floor, grinning at Ryujin.

“Thank you so much, Professor Park,” she is overly enthusiastic in her gratefulness, touching Jimin’s arm lightly to express her thanks. Your throat immediately dries up when you see how casually she touches your husband.

You clear your throat to remind the two lovebirds that you are in fact standing right in front of them.

Jimin turns to you with the smile still on his face, as if seeing you for the first time since he stepped into your classroom. “Oh, hi, baby! I was just helping Ryujin here with this. It’s a little heavy, and the walk from the greenhouse to the dungeons is pretty far, so…”

“I forgot the way I came from, so he had to show me,” she says sheepishly, “I couldn’t have done it without him. Thank you, Professor Park. You’re very kind.” Ryujin is practically gushing over your husband at this point, and it takes every bit of willpower you have in you not to roll your eyes.

Jimin, as usual, is a sucker for praise, and he laps it all up like a hungry kitten. He beams at her compliments, the smile reaching all the way to his eyes as he runs a hand through his hair in embarrassment. This won’t do. The longer you have to stand here and witness their little love affair, the more stress you’re putting on the baby. The baby in this situation being you.

“Jimin, don’t you have class too in a bit?” You prompt him.

“Oh, well yeah I do, but there’s still some time,” he glances at the clock before looking at you. Then, he turns to Ryujin. “How is your first day of class going? Do you need any help with anything else?”

“I think I’m fine for now.” She nods and gives a pretty smile, timidly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’ll definitely ask you if I need anything.”

His eyes lock into hers. “Alright.”

“Don’t forget to water that malloweed,” Ryujin adds on in a teasing tone, arms behind her back and leaning to the side slightly with a secretive smile on her face.

“I won’t forget.” Your husband laughs heartily, looking all too happy. “I owe you that extra-sweet butterbeer, right?”

Before he can slip out, you interject with narrowed eyes. “Malloweed?”

“Don’t worry about it.” The smile is still lingering on Jimin’s face and he pats your head once before passing by. “I’ll see you later.”

He exits and you swear there’s a skip in his step. Ryujin glances at his retreating figure before walking away, handing out the ginger root to the students who need them. In the meantime, you’re stuck in your spot, bones and muscles unable to move. But your left eye twitches and there’s a tap on your arm.

Your neck cranes downwards. “Professor, how do we know if the Wit Sharpening Potion is a success?”

The student who is asking this stupid question that gets on your already infuriated nerves fidgets on the spot in front of you. You close your eyes in exasperation, wishing you could tell him to just pour the entire cauldron down his throat and see if it has really worked or not.

You send him a scathing look, and it’s enough to send him scurrying away.

It’s absurd to question Jimin’s loyalties. He is your husband for goodness sakes and you know as well as anyone that he only has eyes for you. But as unreasonable as you know your suspicions are, you begin to question if they are irrational or not. Maybe you’re the one who’s been blinded by his love. Is it really so aberrant to believe there could be something going on?

“Is there something that you need help with, Professor ______?”

Ryujin stops, noticing that you’re struggling to get the brass scale from the bottom cabinet with your enormous belly in the way. Before your lips can part and tell her you’re fine, she moves downwards and grabs it. You sigh, but then the collar of her robes flutter and your eyes latch onto the skin of her neck.

“Merlin! Are you alright?!” Your hand latches onto her shoulder in alarm as she rises. There are students who turn around, but when you cast a sharp glance, they all turn around to mind their own business. Your voice lowers, frantically whispering to the confused girl, “did you get attacked?”

Her brows furrow. “Pardon?”

“You have bruises on your neck,” you murmur.

But immediately, her hand comes up to cover them and her face blooms into a shade of scarlet. Still, she can’t completely cover the splotches of blue and purple made across her flesh, down to her collarbone, like a vine of flowers made and by the soft petals of someone’s lips…..lips...

The corners of your lips fall. Your eyes glaze over. The realization slams into you.

They’re not just bruises.

They’re hickies.

Ryujin downcasts her head and quickly fixes her collar, hiding her neck from plain view. She swallows hard, avoiding eye contact with you. “Oh, I—….uh….I think I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” your voice is deadpanning, zero emotions leaking into your blank expression. But your jaw ticks and you feel your patience being tested. It’s the calm beneath the storm. “You didn’t have them before.” At least, you didn’t notice them before she headed to the greenhouse. Were they there before? In your mind’s eye, her skin was pure and pristine, which only means one thing...

“I...umm….I might head to the infirmary after class then. I think it’s just a bug bite.”

“Yup. You should get that checked out. Wouldn’t want to be bitten by something and die.”

Your last word is punctuated with a stiff, glassy smile hiding a thinly veiled threat. But before she can say anything more, a student raises their hand to ask a question and Ryujin saunters over. As you grip the brass scale on the table, you nearly bend the entire metal apparatus in half.

There is no way. No way. You can’t believe it. You won’t.

But you would have to be a complete idiot to be in denial.

*//*

You’re actually going insane.

For the sake of you and your child, as well as not bursting a blood vessel at your forehead, you take deep breaths to lower your high blood pressure. You try your best to remain positive, but optimism has never been your strong point. It’s intrinsic for you to jump to the worst conclusions, to rely on your rationale and prepare for the worst. While these traits have helped you all your life, they’re making you go crazy now.

When dinner rolls around, you pick at the food in your plate. The seat beside you is empty, saved for your dear husband, but he never shows up. You wait and wait, hopes high, but crushed every time you catch someone entering the Great Hall, only for it to be a student. The amount you exhale in disappointment would be enough to fill an entire room. It’s not like you can eat either and take your mind off of it. You’re unable to swallow your food, having no appetite, finding it too difficult to swallow. Everything that you were once craving has become unappetizing.

“______!” Taehyung interrupts your deep trance with a shout, startling you. “I was calling you ten times! What’s wrong with you? You’re never so out of it.”

“Nothing.” You put your fork down. “What do you want?”

The Divination Professor scratches the back of his neck. “Do you know where Ryujin is?”

“What?” You sit straighter, eyes sweeping around the table. You didn’t even notice. “She’s not here?”

Taehyung shrugs, plopping down on the empty seat you had been saving. “I thought you would know since she’s suppose to shadow you, right?”

Immediately, you abandon your dinner, tottering off and disregarding the way Taehyung calls your name. You don’t turn back. Your steps are quicker than they’ve ever been. You hold your stomach, supporting the weight, and when students greet you as they pass, you only hum, never slowing down. You’ve become the Hogwarts Express, soldiering on full speed ahead without stopping for anyone.

Wobbling through the twisting hallways, down two sets of moving staircases, you make it all the way to the greenhouses, moving towards Jimin’s office. As you get closer, you catch the light underneath the door, telling you he’s inside and you breathe a sigh of relief.

You really thought there was something going on.

Your hand wraps around the doorknob and as you hear shuffling inside, you part it, deciding to surprise him. But before you can call his name, you’re interrupted by a soft, feminine gasp.

“I’m so sorry!”

The door shoves open, thundering against the wall. You are met with a scandalous sight. “What the hell?!”

The two of them turn to face your rage, the way your features are twisted up hideously, your brows furrowed deep enough to crease permanently. Jimin’s sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair, hair swept back with a long day’s of sweat built as his hairline. His lips are plush, parted slightly, hands placed on Ryujin’s hips to support her. And she is sitting right in his lap, on his thick thighs, her legs together on the side, palms placed delicately on his shoulders.

Their eyes are large and rounded, like deers in headlights. Instantly, Ryujin stands to her feet, posture straight, as if she can undo what you’ve just witnessed. Her cheeks are tinged pink and she brushes a strand of hair away from her face behind her ear. But you don’t buy her shy act anymore. She’s sly, more so than you are. “I-uh….accidentally tripped and fell over.”

Your arms cross, foot tapping, teeth gritting down and doing everything you can not to march over and grab a fistful of her glossy hair, rip those long strands from her scalp as you scream at her audacity to attempt to seduce your husband. “Uh-huh.”

“What are you doing here, baby?” Jimin smiles like nothing just happened. You can’t believe this. Your husband just got caught with another woman practically gyrating on his lap, and he doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. His eyes light up and he gets to his feet, the corners of his mouth lifting as his eyes crinkle into half moons.

“I could ask you the same thing,” your voice is sharp, glare hard enough to kill, but it has no effect on him. “You weren’t at dinner.”

Your husband grins wolfishly, brighter than the sun. He is mischievous, joking around without being aware of the dire situation. “Did you miss me?”

When he touches your arm, you shrug it off, stepping back. “What were you doing?”

Jimin’s expression falls at your coldness. Ryujin quickly steps in, coming to stand beside Jimin and trying to help. She doesn’t know that it’s making it worse to see them side by side, so close together. “It’s not his fault. I actually asked Jimin for a Hufflepuff robe. I wanted to try it on and see what it would be like since you told me I would probably be sorted in the Hufflepuff house.”

“You, see?” Jimin smiles again, stepping aside and lifting his hand to hold your arm. His eyes sweep the expanse of Ryujin, the way robe drapes her body and the bright yellow seems to make her eyes glimmer more. “It looks good on her, right?”

“Perfect.” The syllables are bitter and passive aggressive. It sickens you to see the two Hufflepuffs next to each other. Indeed, they are perfect together. You don’t even ask if Ryujin is wearing Jimin’s own personal robes — the way they look loose on her frame is enough of an answer.

You were wrong before. She shouldn’t be in Hufflepuff. She’s a Slytherin through and through, though the thought of having this sly little witch tarnish your beloved House’s hallowed reputation almost makes you throw up. You underestimated her right from the beginning. She was clearly out to seduce Jimin all this time.

It’s awkward. Stiff. You’re glaring at Jimin and he blinks a few times before returning your glare, made less of anger and more in a scolding manner. He frowns at you and you’re flipping through the numerous hexes in your mind, wondering if you can curse him without moving.

The both of you are waging a silent war with each other through your heated gazes while Ryujin is breaking into a cold sweat at the atmosphere. The air is suffocating and she clears her throat to excuse herself. “I...I should go. Umm...I’ll return this to you tomorrow, Jimin. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” He’s the first to tear his eyes away from you, smiling and nodding towards the younger witch. She opens her mouth to bid you farewell, but then smartly shuts it when you don’t cast her a glimpse. Her footsteps scatter away until there’s silence in the room.

The silence extends until your frozen heart beats ten times.

“Are you upset?”

“What do you think?”

Jimin grimaces. “Why are you so upset? I was only helping her since she asked me. If it’s because I didn’t show up to dinner on time then next time I’ll make sure that—”

“Why was she in your lap, Jimin?”

His mouth opens and then it closes. “It was an accident.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the back of your skull. “Yeah, right.”

When you were caught straddling Jimin late at night in the classroom and Hoseok walked in, you both brushed it off as an accident too; only Hoseok left the two of you with a knowing smile on his lips. Did he really think you were such an idiot? It’s insulting. Even if it was an accident, you saw the look on his fucking face. He loved every second of it. Was it such a coincidence that Ryujin has been flirting with him? That she suddenly had hickies all over herself after going to the greenhouse?

“What—” He’s made speechless, but you don’t give him any more time of day. “W-where are you going?!”

“None of your business,” you sass him.

It’s easier to breathe when you’re alone in the corridors. You don’t have to be around frustrating people, people whom you love but disappoint you. Everyone is just disappointing, and it feels better to be alone. But of course, there’s a stirring feeling in your stomach and you look down, patting your swollen tummy as the baby shifts around.

You’re not so alone after all. “You wouldn’t betray me, right?”

The fungus inside you kicks you straight in the gut and you cower over, choking on the air, breath lost in your lungs. “Fuck, dammit!” The rule of not swearing anymore since the baby can hear you is thrown out the window. “Child and father, all the fucking same!”

If there are ghosts wandering the hallways, then they steer clear of in your path of wrath.

That night, you end up going to bed a lot earlier than usual. You can’t focus on marking, can’t eat much, and you most definitely don’t want to wait around for Park Jimin to show his stupid face around here.

He enters a few hours later and you don’t know where he’s been or what he’s been doing. Or who. But he tiptoes and stays quiet, crawling into bed and he curls up behind you. His arms come around carefully to embrace your frame, hands sprawled onto your stomach where the baby’s foot is. Your legs tangle ever so slightly and you feel his breath against the back of his neck.

Your own breath is held and you finally open your eyes in the darkness. You’re not asleep like he thinks you are.

He smells like florals, but not in the same way as when he works in the garden.

The scent is sweeter. It’s perfume.

*//*

It never gets better. In fact, it gets worse.

You wake up smiling at Jimin and he smiles back, never mentioning the previous night again. He falls into your trap, thinking that everything is good and that there’s no misunderstanding after you got time to cool off. Little does he know when he turns around and goes about his day, you’re seething.

“You’re smiling a lot lately.” The corners of your lips pull, nearly cracking at the stiffness. “Did something good happen?”

“No, not really.” Jimin secures his dark, plaid blazer. He fixes his sleeves, pushing up the round spectacles he’s decided to wear today and at your prolonged staring, he grins a cheesy smile and walks over, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your lips. It’s sweet and all too brief. “I’m just happy that you’re happy too.”

“What?” You quirk your head, poking his shoulder once. “You didn’t like my mood swings?”

Your husband is sheepish and he admits, “they were a bit out of hand. I felt like I was walking on eggshells all the time. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Hahahahaha…” The moment he turns around, your mouth falls into a straight line and your exaggerated laughter ceases. “As well as a human beach ball would. It was a little stuffy.” You notice the way the purple strands of his hair are slicked back, showing his forehead and brows. “You did your hair today?”

“Yeah.” Jimin seems to ponder over your words for a second as he glances at your figure, before adjusting his bangs a little. His fingers dance along the spines of the bookshelf by the sofa, picking up a new pregnancy book to read for the day. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice. You ironed your robes too?”

“Gotta look good if I want the day to be good.” Jimin beams at you.

Liar. He just wants to look good for a certain young female teacher who’s obedient and submissive in personality, every man’s wet dream.

But you don’t call him out on it. Oh no. Your tactics have changed. No more tears. No more angry tantrums. No more arguments. You are on observation mode, a hawk in the sky who watches in the shadows. You’re not a brainless Gryffindor, an emotional Hufflepuff, or an aloof Ravenclaw. You are a Slytherin. Head of Slytherin, in fact. The emerald colours on your robes remind you that you have always been a snake.

You are ambitious. Cunning. Resourceful. And you’re going to catch him red-handed so there’s no more denying, so that he can’t make any more excuses.

Only then will all of this be laid to rest.

Today, Jimin has graciously blessed you with his presence in your classroom once more, even though he has to cut short his lunchtime in order to make it for his own class. You suspect it’s more to do with a certain witch with a petite frame and melodious voice than you needing extra help.

From your position outside the classroom, you observe the two lovers. It physically sickens you to go any closer to them, so you settle with watching them from afar, on the pretense of needing the restroom. All the better to find the concrete evidence you need, anyway.

Ryujin is blushing, her pretty cheeks tinted a rose pink as she glances at Jimin. “Jimin, you’re such a patient man…I can’t imagine how you deal with Taehyung’s antics every single day. Did you know, the other day he tried to trip me? I almost fell into his lap!!”

Jimin laughs, a sound that travels across the room and makes your stomach flip at the familiarity of it. “Did he? He can be quite the prankster sometimes. Did you get hurt? If his pranks become too much, I can speak to him and tell him to dial it down.”

“Oh, Jimin, you’re so nice!” Ryujin giggles in response, and you roll your eyes. What’s so funny about what he just said? This entire conversation is duller than the fifth annex of your favourite Potions textbook.

Jimin grins back at her, utterly infatuated with her angelic smile. “Oh- here, let me get that for you!”

“T-thank you.”

You slink from the corner, glancing through the gap of the door. You watch how your husband is reaching up to the top shelf to grab a tray of phials. He’s standing behind her as his arm extends and you scrutinize the way her round ass is practically rubbing all over his front as she giggles.

But before you can bust down the door with an ‘ah-ha!’, he’s moved back and Seokjin’s wandered into the room, excitedly telling Jimin about how he’s helping the Prefects catch whoever’s been breaking into Professors’ offices at night.

The pair of them are laughing all the time together. When Ryujin isn’t complimenting Jimin and they’re not flirting, then they’re making eye contact across the room, eye fucking each other. In the span of a week, they have their own inside jokes, and they’re touching each other all the time. Whether it’s a brush on the arm, on a hand on the shoulder. It mocks you considering how you’ve been physically starved for months now.

“What’s this?”

You’re holding the bouquet of marigolds that Jimin just handed to you, pretty flowers tied together with a red ribbon.

“What does it look like?” Jimin teases. After two years, he’s honed his own special flowers just for you. You no longer need to touch the stem for the petals to ripple into your favourite shade. Being in mere proximity of it has changed the colour of the flowers and when Jimin’s in the same room as you, they turn into a swirl of sunny yellow and emerald.

“Why?”

“Why not?” He shuffles his papers on the table into neat piles. His irises twinkle when they glance up at you. “Can’t I give my beautiful wife flowers sometimes?”

You hate it — not the flowers or the bisque shade that reminds you of blazing fires on Hogsmeade trips. You hate that the gesture that would’ve once made your heart melt is now ridden with suspicion. It’s unbearable to look at the florals when all you can think of is that it’s a tactic to sway you and make you think otherwise.

You put them down; resisting the urge to light them on fire with your wand. “I should go wash the dishes—”

“Already done them.” Your husband smiles. “You can just sit back and relax. I have a few errands to run before I can join you.”

Your voice is weak. You feel your resolve wavering. “Where are you going?”

“I extended my office hours for sixth and seventh years.” As Jimin takes his briefcase and passes, he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. His gaze is full of endearment….or pity, you’re not sure anymore. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it since Ryujin’s helping me.”

“R-Ryujin?”

“She knows more about herbology than I thought and it’s nice to get fresh insight. At this rate, she might take both our jobs.”

You stop him before he walks out the door. Your facade begins to crumble, hand on his arm shaking, lips trembling. “D-Don’t you think you’re getting too close to her?”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Jimin smiles automatically like the two years you’ve been together has trained him to do so. His arm lifts and he pats your head once and as his hands fall, he strokes your stomach gently.

“....no reason.”

“I’m just being friendly. We should welcome new staff to Hogwarts, right? I just keep thinking that it must be hard for her since she’s so young and she’s joining by herself. At least when I joined, you also joined, so we were the newbies together.”

“Yeah, but maybe you should cool it,” you plead, looking up at your husband.

He takes a second of consideration and the corners of his mouth lifts. “Are you jealous?”

Once again, he’s evaded your request. He’s evaded all insinuations of him and the young woman being something more. And he doesn’t know how much it breaks you inside, how you’ve been trying to convince yourself you’ll just catch him and end this, how you could even possibly…...possibly end this.

It takes all of your composure, all of your inner strength to smile at him, even if it’s strained. “Why would I be?”

“That’s right. That’s my girl.” Jimin kisses your lips briefly, smacking his mouth on yours, smiling against your skin as he pulls away. “Love you.”

The door slams as he leaves. Gone. You’re by yourself, holding onto your stomach as your baby stirs inside. “Love you too….”

You don’t buy it.

Not one bit.

And you never thought the day would arrive when Jimin is tormenting you more than you are tormenting him. You’ve always worried that you were the one who would eventually wear down his spirit, that he would become broken by you, that one day he would look at himself in the mirror and hate himself, hate the life that he’s led. But you were mistaken.

It’s not like that at all.

You’re the one who’s being worn down.

*//*

“Yeah, she’s totally fucking someone.” Ye Eun is spiteful, loitering at the back of the Great Hall as you join her, crossing your arms.

“How do you know?”

“Just look at her. She’s smiling so much and her skin is glowing. Her cheeks are always rosy for a reason. She keeps batting her lashes back and forth too. It’s so obvious,” the Magical Creature Professor spits out. You take deep breaths, stroking your stomach, trying to not get an aneurysm. “It’s so unfair.”

“What are we talking about?” Taehyung joins with a rectangular grin, huddling up back with you like you’re in your sixth year sharing secrets and immaturely gossiping.

“Ryujin is sleeping with someone.”

“Oh?” Taehyung’s interest is piqued and his brow lifts. “Who?”

Ye Eun shrugs. “I don’t know.”

The Head of Gryffindor laughs heartily. “Well, if you don’t know then you shouldn’t spread rumours around.” He arrogantly walks off before shouting at a first year to be careful, right before they’re about to slip in the puddle of pumpkin juice they didn’t notice on the floor.

Ye Eun huffs out in annoyance. “Why is everyone taking her side?!”

You don’t know. But you do know one thing. You can’t just sit back and watch Jimin being stolen right from under your nose like this. You have to do something.

Slytherins are cunning and sneaky. You have come from a long lineage of Slytherins — you are surer than sure that it runs in your blood. You won’t be upstaged by some cutesy little witch who thinks she can come into Hogwarts and play dress up in someone else’s husband’s robes. This adrenaline and rush of confidence is all that fuels you as you casually take a seat opposite her, with Ye Eun filling in beside you.

“Ryujin, you have to let me know your skincare routine. You’re just glowing lately, even more so than I am, and I’m the one who’s pregnant!” You laugh a little louder than necessary, looking at Ye Eun. “Wouldn’t you say so, Ye Eun?”

“Oh, definitely,” Ye Eun nods as she takes a sip of her pumpkin juice.

The petite student teacher seems a little taken aback by your sudden compliment as she touches her cheek self-consciously, blushing a little as she does so. “Ah, really? You’re too kind, Professor _____.”

“Oh, no…just giving credit where credit is due,” you beam at her, reaching for your utensils to start digging into your food ravenously. “By the way, did you get those…bug bites on your neck cleared up at the infirmary the other day? They looked pretty serious…I hope you’re alright?”

Ye Eun immediately perks up at the mention of suspicious looking bites on Ryujin’s neck. Ryujin also seems to freeze on the spot, eyes darting back and forth between you and Ye Eun in a panic as she touches her neck.

“Bug bites? What kind of bug was it? I am in charge of Care of Magical Creatures, you know… maybe I can be of some help!” Ye Eun reaches for Ryujin’s collar and pulls it aside before the younger witch can flinch away.

Once Ye Eun catches a glimpse of the slightly faded bruises on her neck, she gasps, and you can barely keep your smirk at bay.

“Merlin! These are…these aren’t bug bites!” Ye Eun covers her mouth in shock before lowering her voice to a hiss. “These are hickies! Have you been…having relations with the other professors?”

“Re-really?” You pretend to be taken aback as well, and all this while Ryujin seems slightly uncomfortable. “Relations with colleagues? Ryujin, I don’t want to nag…but you know that’s inappropriate right? You just got here after all, and you wouldn’t want Headmaster Jeon finding out about this…would you?”

You’ve got that seductress right where you want her. You can see the panic in her eyes as she fumbles for a response, her knife and fork shaking in her grip as she sets it down.

“I… I’m…I wasn’t aware that it was inappropriate. I apologise,” she shifts her gaze to her plate in front of her, and you have to bring your goblet of pumpkin juice to your mouth for a sip to keep yourself from throwing it all over her face.

Unaware that it is inappropriate to flirt with someone else’s husband, sit in his lap, grind her ass against his dick? The nerve of this bitch.

But you can’t let her know she’s under your skin. Your Slytherin pride won’t allow it. So you smile at her politely. “You’re working so well at Hogwarts, it’ll be a shame if you had to leave early.”

Letting your unspoken threat hang in the air between you for a moment more, you take a final sip of your pumpkin juice and set your goblet down. “I forgot something in my room — I’ll see you in class, Ryujin!”

And then you walk away feeling as though you are on top of the world — having faced up to your problems instead of running away from them for once.

*//*

Ideally, things would improve from then on. Ryujin would get the message and back off. You and Jimin would enjoy the last few weeks you have here before going on maternity leave. Once you recover from the birthing process, you’ll have glorious sex again and also a chubby baby to love and coo over. But of course, nothing in life is perfect….or even remotely close to it.

Ryujin acts uncomfortable around you, the atmosphere between the two of you is awkward and stiff. Even after your threat to practically kick her out of Hogwarts if she continues seducing your husband, Ryujin doesn’t seem to get the message at all. It was like cotton was stuck in her ears and her mind is empty because she has the audacity to get even closer to your husband. Not only does it not stop, but it escalates.

Every chance that vixen gets, she puts on her shy and coy act, and she begins to call Jimin affectionately by his first name. They’re always giggling and laughing with each other, and she’s always staring at him from across the room. Her audacity leaves you dumbfounded, at a loss of what to do next.

Your glares and threats have no effect on her whatsoever.

And when you ask Jimin about it or try to bring it up, he always brushes you off.

The stress is beginning to drive you to the brink of insanity.

“The Draught of Peace is supposed to relieve anxiety and anxiousness. It is one of the most difficult potions to brew, so much so that three quarters of the class failed last year.” You pace between the desks and a Gryffindor in the back folds a note, ready to pass it to his friend. The tip of your wand pokes through your sleeve and one simple wave, the note has disintegrated into ash.

The giggles die down at your glare. “It is an advanced potion and requires more than just memorization and skill, but talent. Making one single mistake will have drastic consequences. For instance, adding too much ingredients will put the drinker into a permanent sleeping state that is irreversible. You will know if you brewed it correctly if there is a silvery vapour.”

“Now onto the ingredients.” You twist on your heel, facing all the students. “Pay attention because I’m only going to go over it once—”

You just can’t wrap your mind around how this happened. Since when did your communication with Jimin slip so far? What’s the real reason he won’t touch you anymore? Is he really having an affair with Ryujin? What exactly is he hiding from you?

“Professor?” Yoongi raises his hand with a lifted eyebrow.

“Uh-...yes?”

“You were saying something?” the Slytherin questions and the rest of the kids look up at you, waiting. There are tens of eyes pinpointed on your face and you stand completely still.

What were you saying?

A palm pressed to your forehead, you attempt to maintain a calm facade, but it’s quickly slipping. In the middle of lecture, your mind races and don’t have a shred of recollection on what you were just discussing. If Yoongi’s here then this is a fifth-year class. That means you were either discussing the Calming Draught or the Invigorating Draught. Unless it was the Strengthening Solution….

You’re losing it. And you can feel it — you’re on the verge of a mental breakdown…

“What Professor _____ is waiting for, is for you all to flip to the correct textbook page.” Ryujin steps in with a flawless smile. She glances at you and nods, striding forward while the students open their textbooks hastily. “You will need powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, and powdered unicorn horn as well as powdered porcupine quills. As usual, all of these materials will be provided to you, but if you need more to make it again, there is a limit of one hundred grams per person as these are very expensive ingredients. Please use them with care.”

“Earlier in the semester, all of you have written twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone. I am aware that the lovely Professor Park has also had a few lessons on Hellebore and its poisonous effects. This is the time we are finally going to use that information.” She smiles towards every student. “See? Everything we teach ends up connecting together.”

All of the students smile back at her. You hate this. You detest losing control of yourself, you despise how your brain cannot organize itself and you loathe the way you’re being replaced right in front of your eyes in all aspects of your life — from your marriage to your career.

You can see it right in front of your eyes. Like a vision flashing itself beneath your lids. It’s her and not you. It’s her that became Potions Master all those years ago, her that became acquainted with Jimin, that dated him for a year and half before becoming engaged.

If you weren’t in the picture, Jimin would’ve married her. Not you.

“Umm…..Professor?”

Your trance is snapped and you turn. “Yes?”

But the student isn’t talking to you. It’s Ryujin that everyone looks at. “How can I help you?”

“In the textbook, it says that it needs to be stirred seven times. Both clockwise and then counter-clockwise. Does that mean a total of fourteen times or in that seven we alternate between both directions?”

“That’s a very good question,” she praises and makes the girl gleam. “Let me address the entire class.”

*//*

“There you are.” The door creaks open, your husband entering with a smile. His visage is illuminated by the few candles surrounding the table you’re working out with the books sprawled all out. “I was looking for you everywhere.”

“Oh so you’re suddenly so concerned about me?” You sass him, but without any malice in your voice.

Jimin scoffs and comes over to hug you. His arms wrap around your torso, hands sprawled on your swollen stomach and he plants a kiss on your shoulder. “Why are you so sulky?”

You sigh, melting into his embrace. “I don’t know.”

“Is Sapling bothering you?” Jimin matches your pout when you turn around to face him. “If they keep kicking you, I’ll threaten to tickle them.”

As annoyed as you’ve been with him, you can’t resist the smile that spreads across your face. You’ve been missing him. “But then you’re tickling me.”

“It’s a win-win situation.”

“No, it’s not!” you laugh, feeling better already. “I was just finishing some stuff.”

“Don’t work too hard. You have a good excuse to take it easy.”

You hum a low note, staring at him with the flicker of the candles casting their warm light. The rest of the classroom is quiet and dark. The moment is intimate and you reach over, hugging your husband. There’s a space between your bodies, the watermelon size of your belly preventing you getting too close, but you try your best, eyes shut, grasping onto him tightly.

“What’s wrong?” His hands slowly wrap around your shoulders.

“Nothing.”

No matter how firmly you hold onto him, it feels like he’s still slipping away from you, and you are growing more and more desperate.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” You can feel Jimin’s smile and he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before brushing away a few strands of your hair from your face. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Jimin…” You lock your gaze into his. “Let me suck you off.”

“Wait...what?!” He watches how you get onto your knees. It’s a bit of a struggle when your center of balance has changed, but you manage, despite Jimin trying to pull you up. “Baby—”

You tug the zipper of his pants, palming his front boldly. It’s miraculous that he’s already slightly hard and you look up at him past your lashes. Jimin swallows hard and his adam’s apple bobs.

“I’ll make you feel really good, I promise. I just really want to taste you again, Jimin. You already got your kid in me, now let me swallow some more.” It’s pathetic how desperate you are. A year ago, there had to be a lot of persuasion to get you on your knees. Now, you’d even drop down onto the cold forbidden forest floor if it means you can get one suck of his thick cock. “Please?”

“I—” He’s at a loss for words and you don’t wait, tugging his pants down. You palm him harder, practically salivating and drooling as you imagine the heavy weight on your tongue, the saltiness of his precum on your tastebuds. But Jimin holds the waistband of his underwear, not letting you pull it down. He grabs the scrap of fabric in his fist, holding it on for dear life. “T-this is inappropriate, _____.”

“No, it’s not,” you sputter. “We’ve done it before and no one’s around right now.”

“Doesn’t change that it’s wrong.” Jimin pulls up his pants again and tries to support you onto your feet again, but you struggle against his hands, staying down on your knees.

“Why won’t you let me suck you off?!” The harsh whispers leaves you in a fury. The last thing you want is prefects to wander and investigate the noises, but it’s difficult to keep your voice down.

“Why are you so insistent on it?”

“Because we haven’t had sex for nearly six months, Jimin!” you spit out the cold facts at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Is it so wrong that I just don’t feel like it?” Jimin spits back, his usually amiable features twisted in what seems like…anger?

“Yes! For you it is. You usually can’t keep your hands off of me!”

Jimin is frustrated and he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “Just get up!”

“Fine, I’ll stop!” You’re annoyed, sad, but most of all humiliated that you have to rely on him to help you onto your feet. Jimin has a prolonged stare at your swollen stomach, swallowing hard again, and you burn in embarrassment. If he hates you and your child so much, then he shouldn’t have impregnated you in the first place. “If I’m so disgusting and unattractive that you won’t even let me anywhere near your dick — I’ll just go and leave you in peace then.”

You struggle to your feet — completely ignoring Jimin’s attempts to help as you shove him away, half in tears, half in anger. With one hand on your belly, you swipe at your cheeks impatiently as you exit the classroom amidst your husband’s panicked pleas for you to stay. With your wand, you cast a temporary locking spell on the door that will allow you to get down the hallway without him following you.

Your shared room feels bigger, emptier without Jimin. The bed is colder no matter how many warming spells you cast, and without the weight of his familiar body beside you, you can’t fall asleep. Tears have stained your cheeks for the past few hours already, it is now well into the night, but Jimin hasn’t come back to your room. With every second that passes, it feels as if you are being suffocated even as the vast emptiness of the room mocks your loneliness.

Even the baby inside you has gone to sleep, so you are completely, utterly alone.

*//*

Jimin feels like his knees are going to give out at any moment. This is not how he envisioned married life — things should have been perfect. With a baby on the way to celebrate your love, the relationship between the two of you should be stronger than ever. Instead, it’s in shambles; somehow he managed to hurt the very person he was trying so hard to protect all this while.

He lets himself sink down onto the cold floor of the classroom. Watching you struggle with the pregnancy the past few months has taken a toll on him too — not only does it hurt his heart to see the love of his life in pain or uncomfortable, it also pains him that he can’t take care of your needs properly. Every time you ask him to have sex, he has to physically restrain himself from giving in for fear that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he gives in to his urges.

Fuck, even thinking about you now has his dick half-hard again; Jimin thinks he must be a monster. A disgusting piece of dragon dung, a poor, sorry excuse for a husband who can’t keep his sexual urges at bay, a husband who looks at his wife and baby with a lustful gaze. Merlin, he doesn’t deserve to have you.

He pushes himself off the floor, willing his erection to go away as he tries to unlock the door once more. You must have put some kind of temporary locking spell on it, for now it opens easily and he steps out into the hallway, utterly at a loss of what to do. The past few nights, you’ve been sleeping less and less, and Jimin feels even worse when he thinks about how he can fall asleep so easily as compared to you. All the more reason why he shouldn’t go back to your shared room tonight, right? The sight of him would most likely enrage you further, and that isn’t good for the baby. He should find somewhere else to sleep tonight.

Walking with his half hard erection between his legs, Jimin sighs. He’ll have to take care of his urges in some other manner.

*//*

A whimper leaves the back of her throat and Ryujin pushes him away, hands on his firm chest. Heaving breaths leave her swollen lips and she shakes her head. “T-T-This is so wrong. I-it’s so wrong. You have a wife!”

His office is dark, only a few candles on the shelves casting their warm glow. The door is locked and she’s leaning back on his desk as his front presses against hers. “You didn’t think it was wrong when you rubbed your ass all over my cock,” Jimin mutters, catching her lips one more time.

He kisses her harshly, with teeth and passion as if trying to rid of his lustful urges and use her as his cum rag. Jimin’s arms snake around her frame, hands coming to palm her round ass and he feels up against her sides. He’s a dog in heat and Ryujin gives in, palms on his shoulders, moaning into the kiss and allowing him to rut against her. His hot tongue slips into the seams of her mouth, saliva making a mess.

Ryujin is moaning as she throws her head back to give him more access to her neck. On the corner of her lips is tiny little smirk, for she has achieved what she was out to get all along. She’s sick and tired of playing the innocent act.

Jimin pushes her further and things start to fall off the desk. Books, parchment, and quills tumble to the floor, but he has no regard. When he parts from her, his pupils are blown out in lust.

“Jimin….”

He hates the way she calls his name. He hates looking at her. So, he spins her around, pinning her against his wooden desk, bending her over. Jimin presses his covered cock against the crevice of her ass and hastily, he pushes her skirt up over her waist. Her white panties have a wet patch and he doesn’t waste time, tugging his trousers down.

Jimin’s hands find purchase on her hips, his cock still covered by his own underwear, but it doesn’t stop him from rubbing himself onto her, up and down, side to side, between the cheeks of her ass. Hot breaths leave his mouth and she moans at the feeling, pushing herself back onto him.

“You think I wouldn’t notice, slut?” He slaps her ass with his palm, the strike reddening her flesh and causing her to yelp. “Staring at me across the room….touching me all the time…” Jimin spanks her again, harder, and he watches the flesh jiggle before rubbing the spot and soothing it with his touch. “You even dare sit on my lap and rub your ass all over me in front of my wife.”

He spits it out, angered. Jimin’s hands skim up Ryujin’s body to her blouse and he tugs the buttons, pulling the fabric roughly. His hands snake past her bra, strap falling, and he squeezes her breast. Jimin rubs her nipple before it pebbles and he pinches, listening to her gasp and watching the pretty way she arches her back into him. He groans, pressing his cock closer to her ass and covered pussy. Her cotton panties are completely drenched like she pathetically wet herself.

“Fuck,” he groans, shutting his eyes. “An accident? Yeah, right.”

“I...I’m sorry…” Ryujin moans, pushing herself back onto him. He pinches her nipple again, squeezing and playing with it while pushing his entire body against her. Jimin’s warm breath skims against the back of Ryujin’s neck and he sucks the supple flesh, tainting pristine skin with a purple hickey.

“Do you know how much shit she’s been giving me because of you?”

The fox smirks, pushing herself against him again, her core clenching. She lets him rub his cock all over her ass and she cranes her head around to stare at him. Jimin’s jaw clenches when their eyes lock and he spanks her again. Ryujin grips the edge of the desk, whimpering at the pain that feels too good. She arches her ass for his viewing pleasure, letting his lustful eyes run over every inch of her delicate, petite body and fully enjoying it.

“Bet you want her to walk in on us right now, huh? You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Trying to destroy my marriage, slut?” Everything was perfect before she came along. It only took a flutter of her lashes and a few sly touches until he couldn’t resist anymore. She had been out from the start to be a homewrecker. And it only pisses him off when she gives a hum of agreement.

“Doesn’t my body look so beautiful, Professor Park? Aren’t I just perfect? Sometimes, I feel sorry for you, you know,” Ryujin sighs in mock pity. “Having to stare at your whale of a wife. How do you satisfy your urges when she asks you to? Do you fuck her and think of me instead?”

Jimin can’t take it and he pulls down the last remaining piece of clothing on him. His red cock springs free, precum leaking at the tip, and he pulls her underwear to the side. The young student teacher sighs, finally getting what she wants, eager to feel his cock, but instead, he plunges her fingers into her leaking pussy.

Ryujin cries out, pushing back on him and Jimin curls up his knuckles.

“Tell me what you want, slut,” he demands, feeling how tight and wet she is, practically sucking his fingers up.

“I...I want your cum, please, Jimin.” She becomes even more desperate when he begins to rub the head of his thick cock all over her slit while his fingers scissor her as if working to make room for him. “Please!”

Jimin swallows hard, unable to fight back his animalistic urges. “W-what makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

Ryujin is crying out, tears beginning to leak from her eyes. Her hair is in a disarray, no longer in a neat bun, strands falling in front of her face. Her blouse is wrinkled, bra shoved up, skirt around her waist. It’s obscene, dirty, and so entirely wrong, but she’ll do anything. “I...I’ll be g-good from now on….promise.”

He pulls his fingers out. She cries from the loss. But Jimin has his hand in her hair, yanking her to stand straight, flush against him. He mutters in spite, “I don’t think you’re capable.”

Ryujin is silent for a moment, which takes Jimin by surprise as he shoves his fingers deeper into her tight cunt. Then finally, she turns her head toward him, a demure yet sly smile on her lips. “You’ll give it to me because I’m the only one who can satisfy your nasty, animalistic needs. You think your wife’s loose, stuffed pussy can hug your cock the way mine can? Go ahead. Try it for yourself, and then you can tell me whether my pussy is better than your wife’s.”

Jimin shoves her against his desk, hitching one leg up on the surface. And he plunges his red cock into her weeping pussy. She holds her breath before whimpering at the stretch and he groans, slowly sinking in to savour the feeling. Once he’s balls deep, his hands hold her hips and he begins to fuck into her, deep and leisurely strokes. He shuts his eyes, immersing himself into the clench and his hand lifts, pushing back his hair out of his face.

“Please…” Broken words fall from the pretty girl’s delicate lips. Her toes curl, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, hands gripping the farthest edge of the desk. “Jimin. Want you to cum inside me.”

As she begs, he begins to pick up the pace. “So you can become pregnant too?”

“You’d like that right, baby?” Ryujin is moaning and panting, breasts bouncing obscenely from his thrusts. “I can promise you I’ll let you fuck me as hard as you want even when I’m pregnant. I’ll be so much better than your wife.”

He scoffs. “We’ll see about that.”

Jimin loves it, the way he’s absolutely defiling this pretty girl. No one would ever suspect it. In the morning, when everyone gathers around the Great Hall and she soaks up the praise of the other professors, seventh year students who chase after her skirt, but only he will have the pleasure of knowing that he was the one to fuck her. She always flashes the same smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear innocently. They all think she’s some shy virgin who’s never even been kissed or even held.

But Ryujin is a dirty whore.

She’s a temptress and Jimin’s just putting her in her place. If you knew, you’d be sympathetic. You’d understand. After all, how could you resist? And you’re pregnant with his child. He couldn’t possibly fuck you like this, or at least the way he wants to — hard and rough.

Just because he fucks someone on the side doesn’t mean he loves you any less.

“J-Jimin…” The vixen can feel him all the way to her throat. It’s a deeper angle than the times before when he spread and tied her up on her bed, when he tackled her on the floor of the greenhouse. She’s never felt him so raw and intimately like this before. “I-it’s t-too much.”

“Take it, bitch.” His fingers dig into the meat of her thighs, leaving their marks as he hikes her higher on his desk. “You asked for it.”

Jimin fucks her raw and harshly. She’s just a toy. It means nothing to him.

“Louder! You want everyone to know, don’t you?!”

Sobs of his name befall her pretty lips. She pushes back onto him, meeting his strokes. Her ass bounces every time he shoves himself back inside her. Ryujin begins to lose strength in her legs, but Jimin shoves her thighs apart again. “Spread your legs, doll. It’s the only thing you’re good at doing.”

Any guilt he feels, he shoves it down, fucking it into her. He expels his pent-up emotions, the fear of being a father, of commitment, of giving up his career for a family. Jimin’s sick and tired of wearing the same Hufflepuff smile, of pushing down his lust for the past six months. He finally releases it all, vigorously pounding into the temptress who trembles beneath him.

It’s dirty and disgusting. This is where students sit down with him, asking about homework or inquiring about class. Now he’s sure when he sees his desk again, he’ll see the girl spread out for him, her cunt leaking all over his cock and balls.

“I’ll shove my thick cock down your throat the next time you try to flirt with me, dirty whore.”

“Can’t help it,” she moans, hoping he’ll go faster and even harder, that he’ll mark her all up in fingerprint bruises and hickies, that he’ll cum deep into her womb. “Y-you’re mine.”

“What makes you think I’ll be yours, huh?” Jimin puts his hand into her hair, tugging on strands again, causing her to moan, ruining her dainty, little voice.

Ryujin has her cheek against the desk, wincing at the pain as Jimin fucks her hard enough to bruise her cervix. But the delicious stretch of feeling his cock ram into her pussy makes it all worth it. And the thought that Jimin has chosen her over his wife sends triumph soaring through her veins. “Because you’ll come back again and again for this tight little pussy. And you’ll come inside it every time too. It won’t be long till you fuck a baby into me. I got you now, Park Jimin. You’re mine.”

Jimin grunts hard as he ignores the truth in her words, instead focusing his energy into perfecting every thrust so that he bottoms out as deep as possible. “Next time you piss my wife off,” the low whisper rumbles between the four walls of his office, “I’ll break you. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a month.”

Jimin spits into his hand. He rubs it on her ass and dips his hands into his own saliva, drenching the pad of his fingers to come around and rub her clit hard and quick. He flicks his wrist and there are cries and sobs of his name that echo out for the whole castle to hear. Ryujin finally cums, clenching around him, and Jimin gives three more strokes, milking her orgasm until he cums deep into her pussy.

He falls over her, cum leaking out onto his cock again and he makes sure to give a few shallow strokes, stuffing it deep inside her to keep until the next time they mess around again.

You scream.

Your body jolts. In a cold sweat, clothes sticking to your drenched skin, you wake up in the darkness. You haul yourself up to the best of your abilities, hyperventilating, hand on your chest where your heartbeat thunders in mortification and fear. It didn’t happen. It didn’t happen. It didn’t happen.

It was a nightmare. You were just dreaming again. Your mind and subconscious are making things up because of your stress and deepest fears. It was a nightmare.

You repeat it over and over again, murmuring under your breath, arms holding yourself. You rock back and forth until your breathing steadies. But when you look beside you, the bed is empty. Your husband isn’t here.

You end up crying yourself to sleep again.

*//*

When you wake, Jimin still hasn’t come back.

Everything aches. Although it’s not new to you at this stage in your pregnancy, you are more tired than ever. You practically slept less than an hour last night, nightmare after nightmare plaguing you, and everything is starting to take its toll.

You get dressed, feeling an urge to escape from the dark, empty bedroom to somewhere else that doesn’t remind you of your husband. It’s way too early for anyone else to be awake, but luckily a kind house elf from the kitchens brings you your latest craving of fried chicken and nonalcoholic butterbeer that you decide to bring to your office and stuff your face with.

When all else fails, food is the one and only consolation you have.

The warm paper bag emanates a deliciously tempting smell as you waddle toward your office, taking solace in the quiet and peaceful hallways. Even the ghosts aren’t out and about yet, so you feel no shame in stuffing a huge bite of chicken into your mouth as you approach your office. On the way, you have to pass by Jimin’s office, and you have to physically restrain yourself from bursting through the door to see if he really slept inside, or...

You can’t help but pause at his door, pressing your ear to the wood to try and discern whether he’s in or not. But then, a loud slam nearly makes you choke on your warm mouthful, but what you hear next makes you want to throw everything up.

“Oh M-merlin, harder! Give it to me harder!!” It is a familiar voice. It is light and tinkling, and it could only belong to one person.

Your dream flashes across your mind once more. Visions of naked sweaty bodies, Jimin’s vivid purple hair. You remember the way Ryujin was sitting on his lap that time you walked in on them — are they in the same position now? Or is Jimin taking her from behind, pounding into her pert ass as he bends her over his table? Would he paint her face with his cum like he used to do with you, or would he opt to cum all over her pretty pussy instead? You know Jimin likes seeing his cum on your body. Is he marking Ryujin’s slender, petite body with his cum this very instant?

Or maybe he’s giving her a baby too?

The thought makes you want to throw up, and you are physically unable to throw open the door and confront them. You are weak. The gruff moans continue to leak from the bottom crack of the door. The sound of whimpers, gasps, and obscene noise of wet skin slapping on skin echos into your ears. You’re frozen in your spot, feet rooted in the ground. And as your hand wraps around the brass doorknob—

“Professor _____?

You’re interrupted, body whipping around to Seokjin walking towards you with rounded eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“I….I’m fine.” You walk away from Jimin’s office and the Hufflepuff third year stops, turning to follow you. You quickly cast a wandless Muffliato Charm on Seokjin to distract him from the obscene sounds that are coming from Jimin’s office. “What are you doing awake so early? D-did you finish your essay yet?”

“No, oops.” Seokjin gives a sheepish grin and shrugs. You keep your eyes trained forward, stumble towards your own office. Before you can shut the door, you look down to the student. “I was investigating. You know that there has been several break-ins into all the offices lately?”

“Oh. Really? I… I didn’t know that,” you answer weakly as you begin to stride toward your office, feeling the eager young boy’s eyes on you. “Look, Seokjin, if there’s nothing you need, I need to finish my lesson plans.”

“Okay.” He smiles, bidding farewell and you close the door behind you and sink down onto your chair, bursting into tears almost immediately.

*//*

All through class, you can’t concentrate. Whether it’s the looming due date of your baby or the thought that you might as well be a single mother now, it distracts you so much that you have to take a break in the middle of class and excuse yourself so that you don’t break down in front of the students.

It’s one of your last few classes before you go on maternity leave. Earlier on you made a list of things to address with them before you hand them over to Ryujin, but it all seems meaningless now. The students seem to sense that you are in a worse mood than usual, so they are on their best behaviour, not a single toe out of line.

Taehyung stops you as you’re walking to the Great Hall for lunch. He seems to be in a good mood these days as he falls into step beside you, a wide square grin on his face, and there is a skip in his step.

“Stop showing off, would you? How nice it must be to have all that mobility,” you grumble at him, not in the mood to talk to anyone at all. But then going back to your shared room with Jimin would only make things worse, so you decide that you need to surround yourself with people right now.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who decided to get knocked up,” Taehyung shrugs happily. “Blame your husband.”

“This isn’t the only thing he needs to be blamed for,” you mumble under your breath as Taehyung opens the doors for you and you head straight for the Professors’ table. Upset or not, grieving or not, the baby inside you doesn’t seem to care as it demands its daily sustenance. Your stomach is growling as you sit down and get ready to tuck into your meal.

Taehyung sits beside you and stuffs a large bread roll into his mouth before he speaks. “Hey, d’you wanna know something interesting? I did a reading on your baby. And from the looks of that, I think you’re going to need this.”

With a wave of his wand, a Gryffindor scarf appears around your neck, and you yank it off as if its diseased, tossing it to the floor in irritation. “A scarf? Why would I need that?”

“Not just any scarf, it’s a Gryffindor scarf,” Taehyung emphasises with a toothy grin on his face as he butters another roll. “I have this strong hunch that your baby is a Gryffindor.”

You only scoff in disgust at him as you match him with another bread roll stuffed into your mouth. “Why tell me something as useless as that? If you have that much time to be doing extra work, why don’t you tell me the gender of my baby instead?”

Taehyung starts to cut into the grilled salmon on his plate. “Oh…um, I haven’t learned how to do that yet.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at him as you take a sip of your pumpkin juice. But then, you realised who just entered the Great Hall — it’s a purple haired wizard and a young female professor. They are walking down the aisle, strides matching each other perfectly, looking like a blissful picture perfect couple as they beam at each other.

Nausea immediately slams into your gut, and you put your knife and fork down, pushing yourself up from your seat as Taehyung glances at you. “I think- I think I’m done with my food.”

“Great, then can I have the rest—”

But just as you’re about to leave the table, Jimin rushes up to you and stops you with a hand on your arm, gently leading you back to your seat. There is a sorrowful look on his face as he glances at your worn out expression, and guilt overwhelms him at the sight of you being so visibly upset because of him.

“_____… stay here and finish your food. I’ll leave instead, so just…eat up. You and the baby need it.” Jimin gently helps you back into your seat, and you reluctantly let him, glancing behind him at Ryujin who hesitates for a second before she moves to the other end of the table instead.

Back in your seat, Jimin places your knife and fork into your hand before he smiles sadly and turns to leave. Although your appetite is almost gone now, the baby still demands more food, and you can only watch your husband’s departing back as you put another forkful of food into your mouth, but it might as well be sawdust.

*//*

The nightmares don’t stop coming. In fact, they get more and more sordid with every night that your husband doesn’t return to your shared quarters. One night, Jimin is punishing Ryujin for her slutty, whorish behaviour. Another, he is deeply in love with her, begging her to have his baby instead and plotting to run away from Hogwarts.

The baby inside you shifts, as if sensing your depressed mood, and you smooth a hand over your belly. This is a moment that you and Jimin should be witnessing together. He should be in bed with you right now, pressing his ear to your belly and listening to the baby, singing songs to lull it to sleep when it kicks one too many times.

“I only have you now, right?” You whisper to the child inside you.

Taehyung has caught on to the icy atmosphere between you and Jimin lately, after what happened at lunch. But you refused to divulge any of the details to him for fear of breaking down in front of him, Merlin forbid. For now, you tell yourself, you just have to focus on the baby. Just get through these last torturous weeks by yourself, birth the baby, and then maybe you can go back to your parents and spend a few months there or something.

Just one step at a time. You calm yourself down with deep breaths, picking up your wand to cast a simple spell to conjure up a flock of birds that surround you with their cheerful song, flitting around back and forth. The background noise sets you at ease, and the room doesn’t feel so quiet anymore.

You have an established routine now. Go to bed alone, try to fall asleep for a few hours, end up getting at most two hours of shut-eye, wake at dawn, and go to your office to prepare for class. Throwing yourself into your work has been one of the more effective strategies of distracting yourself, your first love of Potions has always comforted you and reminded you of how capable you are as an individual. You can do this. You don’t need some cheating scumbag of a husband.

This morning as you walk to your office, the castle feels colder than usual, and you wrap your cloak around yourself tighter. Jimin’s office is, thankfully, quiet this morning and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. Not that it gives you any concrete reason to be relieved, as he could just as easily be fucking her in her bed, of all places, but you push the nauseating thought aside.

But as you approach your office, your stomach sinks and your heart nearly stops in your chest. The haunting, now familiar sounds of moaning and skin slapping against skin assault you once more, and this time you can’t tell if you’re dreaming, or if this is actually reality.

“Oh, harder, fuck, please, that’s so good,” Ryujin’s voice rings out loud and clear as she screams in pleasure. Accompanying male grunts follow, and she moans again. “Shit, yes, I— I want your cum, please cum inside me! I’ll- I’ll keep it all in my pussy like a good girl. Please—”

This has gone on for far too long. You have tolerated their shameless adulterous ways all this while. If Jimin wants to satisfy his urges with a younger, prettier and sexier witch, you can’t stop him. If he values your marriage so little that he’s willing to throw away both your baby and your future together, then you can’t stop him from making that choice, it’s all on Jimin. But what you won’t tolerate is this blatant disrespect for your personal, private space.

“Oh Merlin, fuck, you’re so good, so— fucking good, ahhh I’m gonna cum, gonna cum!”

A muscle in your cheek twitches. Your fist clenches.

Using your wand, you blast open the door with a Repelling Charm, hoping that the splinters get lodged in a very painful and unfortunate place for the both of them. The smoke from your spell clears up and enough is enough. Without a second to waste, you begin to scream “Jimin! What the fuc—!”

There’s a high-pitched shriek that comes from her. There’s a deep yell that comes from him.

Ryujin is bent over your desk, getting her brains fucked out and being pounded into, naked from her waist down.

But it’s not Jimin at all.

“_____?” At the sound of the familiar voice, your head turns, frozen in your spot.

Your husband is striding down the hall with Namjoon in tow, the two men quickening their pace to see what’s going on. His eyes are rounded with surprise and you whip your head back. What the hell?

The smoke has cleared. The air is crisp. “Stop staring!”

Kim Taehyung is still balls deep in the pretty young witch.

He panics, a deer in headlights, and he pulls out of Ryujin immediately, but his dick remains hard. Ryujin finally regains her senses and realises what’s going on in front of her fucked out face. The sweaty, younger witch still looks like a million Galleons even with strands of hair all over the place, her lipstick smeared on her lips and mascara running down her cheeks. Her eyes are widened with terror as she stares at you and her jaw drops to the ground.

“P-Professor _____! I— I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say…” she stumbles over her words as she pushes herself into a standing position, forcing Taehyung to take a step back as he tucks his slowly wilting dick back into his pants. “It was—”

“What’s going on here?” Namjoon finally makes it to the doorway and when he looks inside, his eyes become owlish and he quickly looks away. “Merlin’s beard, what the fuck, Taehyung!”

The ache in your temples is growing more and more pronounced as your brain struggles to comprehend all this information. You press a hand to your forehead and blow out a sigh. “For Merlin’s sake, fucking get dressed, both of you.”

The couple scrambles to get all their articles of clothing in order— Ryujin has to summon her bra and panties from a faraway bookshelf, and you make a personal note to yourself to replace every book on that shelf, together with the shelf as well.

Jimin catches up, not bothering to see what’s going on. He automatically looks at you with his hand on your arm. “Are you alright?! Did you get hit by any splinters?”

“I-I’m fine.” You lean into your husband for support, barely able to get your words out.

Ryujin is mortified to death, apologizing every step of the way despite Taehyung insists that it’s not her fault. Namjoon is prepared to blast his eyeballs with an Aguamenti Spell to cleanse them and Jimin is as horrified as you are. It’s only until they’re finally fully clothed again that Taehyung becomes tired of the overdramatic reaction.

He rolls his eyes and reaches to grab Ryujin’s hand, making a bold proclamation of love despite her flushing from her chin to her hairline, “C’mon, we’re all adults here. Is it that difficult to believe we’ve been fucking ever since she got here?!”

*//*

It’s a private emergency meeting.

Everyone involved in the mess is gathered around the table inside the Headmaster’s office, seated in uncomfortable chairs. Jeongguk is in front while you’re beside Jimin. Across from you is Ryujin and Taehyung, respectively, and Namjoon has reluctantly taken a seat beside your husband.

It’s dead silent. The clock on the wall ticking back and forth is excruciatingly slow.

The student teacher witch is mortified and embarrassed, unable to look at anyone in the eye. Beside her Taehyung wears a blank expression, looking around the office, and Jimin is amused with his friend, a slight smile gracing his features. Jeongguk and Namjoon are unimpressed while your own mind is boggling.

There is silence….

Until the young Headmaster breaks it, a strained voice that’s all too stressed emitting from his throat, “since when did this start?”

“The night she first got here.”

Everyone except for the two on trial are surprised. Namjoon’s brown raises. “That early?”

“What can I say? I make my moves fast.” Taehyung smirks until Ryujin sends him a pouty glare that begs him to have mercy on her.

Wait a minute…..

Your mind flashes to the bruises you had seen on her neck. While you had assumed she got them at the greenhouse after paying a visit to Jimin, it’s entirely possible that she had them before that and you simply didn’t notice. “Then those hickies...?”

The witch turns to you with wide eyes and she swallows hard. On the other hand, Taehyung grins proudly, happy that someone noticed he made his mark. “You saw those?”

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk warns in a lower voice that this isn’t a joking manner.

The Divinations master mumbles a half-hearted— “sorry.”

In the meanwhile, your childish husband is holding back amused giggles and he’s reminded of an incident a few weeks ago. He turns towards Ryujin, all too curious. “Is this why you asked me for Hufflepuff robes? I was wondering why you returned them freshly washed.”

She doesn’t answer, flushing even more, and Taehyung clears his throat. “That might be my fault. I may or may not have missed my aim…..several times.”

“Oh for fuck’s sakes.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking control of the interrogation and inquiring what you’ve been itching to know. “Why my office?”

“We, uh….well...that...” Taehyung laughs awkwardly. “That might be my fault too. I wanted us to fuck in every Professor’s office before her temporary teaching stint was over. Yours was the last one.”

“Wait.” Your hands raise, palms out, asking him to slow down. “So the other day, what I heard from Jimin’s office was you two?!”

Ryujin has her eyes shut tight. “I’m sorry!”

“You fucked in my office?” Jimin has his mouth drawn open and you don’t know if he’s disgusted or genuinely impressed. Taehyung smirks at his friend.

Namjoon groans. “No wonder my stuff was rearranged so weirdly. And there was a horrid smell…Headmaster Jeon, can I have a new office please?”

“You two are the ones who have been breaking into professor’s offices?!” Jeongguk is leaning back, staring at the ceiling, in a state of disbelief and you wonder if he’s going to pass out.

“Mystery solved,” Taehyung responds with a smile.

“What would’ve happened if instead of _____, a student walked in on you?!” The Headmaster rubs his temples, thrown in absolute hysterics. You haven’t seen him this stressed out since he was put into this position at Hogwarts. Or maybe since your body switch fiasco with Jimin. “Oh Merlin. What about the rumours?! What if a ghost or someone in a painting witnessed it?! What would happen to our reputation if it was posted in The Daily Prophet?! How would I deal with the outcry of the parents?! Couldn’t you have at least done it in your private quarters?!”

“I’m sorry,” Ryujin apologizes again and lifts her head. “I know I just got here and I’m already causing trouble for you.”

“It’s not her fault,” Taehyung quickly intervenes. “It was me who insisted on it and planned the entire thing. It was just a stupid thing on my bucket list. If you need to punish anyone, then punish me, not her.”

Jeongguk gives up.

It’s goes eerily quiet again.

He laces his fingers together and inhales a deep breath. “Did you mess around in my office?”

It’s silent. The silence stretches on. And on.

Jeongguk lifts himself up. He looks at Ryujin who has diverted her gaze elsewhere. Then, he looks at Taehyung who is bold, staring. The two males lock their eyes together, simply glaring into each other’s pupils as if they are sharing a telepathic message. The Headmaster swallows hard and a weak voice spills from his mouth, “Taehyung….”

He delivers the news solemnly, “I’m sorry.”

“Merlin!” His arms are up in the air. “No wonder my phoenix burst into ashes a week ago!”

“Why is this such a big deal?” Taehyung finally explodes himself and his hand extends across the table towards you. “These two messed around in my office before! Ever since they got married, they’ve been going at it like rabbits! That’s why she’s like that now!”

Taehyung gestures vaguely at you, his hand in an up and down motion that you suppose indicates your pregnant state. Your hackles start to rise in indignation.

“Th-that…” For once you’re left sputtering. Beside you, Jimin snorts, muttering something about how he’s not wrong there but shuts up when you send him a deathly glare.

Namjoon sighs for the hundredth time. Jeongguk pounds the table with his fist. “We have private quarters for a reason, people! I’m going to have to give a seminar on relationships, aren’t I? I thought this was all common sense!” Taehyung smirks again and it blows a gasket in Jeongguk’s head. “Don’t you have any shame?!”

“Why should I?” Taehyung catches her hand into his, lacing his fingers with her’s, and lifting their tightly held hands. “I’m in love with her!”

Ryujin’s eyes nearly fall out of her sockets at the bold proclamation. “Y-you’re in love with me?”

Taehyung moves fast indeed. It’s only been three weeks since she’s gotten here. Leaning back in your seat with a slight roll of your eyes, you are content to watch the drama unfold right in front of you.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats in proud confidence, albeit his voice is quieter. They gaze into each other’s eyes, an intimate moment despite the predicament that they’re in. “From the moment I saw you. Most people think you’re just pretty, but to me you’re more than that. You’re sweet, funny, charming...I think you’re so passionate about what you do and that’s attractive to me. And I love you.”

It’s obvious how smitten she is as well, and the two of them gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes, completely in their own world. “Taehyung…”

While the rest of you are just gawking at the two of them. You are completely unimpressed, Jimin looks as if he is almost proud of his best friend, Namjoon looks like he has a splitting headache, and Jeongguk… well, he’s about to follow in his Phoenix’s footsteps. A part of you doesn’t actually believe that Taehyung can love someone long enough to be in an actual relationship, but if that’s a risk Ryujin is willing to take, you can’t say anything about it.

You turn your head, facing the Headmaster and you clear your throat to catch his attention, deciding to finally give your review of her. “Ryujin has demonstrated stellar performance. I believe she will make an excellent Potions Master here at Hogwarts. As long as she keeps her private matters private, I find no reason to extradite or punish her in any way.”

If you were frank with yourself, you felt a bit guilty.

It’s understandable that Ryujin would have never told you about her relationship with Taehyung. By the second day, you were already cold to her and distant. You told her off too, warning her not to have any relations with professors here. You would’ve saved yourself a lot of heartache if you didn’t have so many assumptions and biases or jumped to so many conclusions.

At the end of the day, Ryujin hasn’t done anything horribly wrong.

A grateful smile spreads across the young girl’s face, tearing up from your praise.

“I agree,” Jimin pipes up beside you, glancing at his best friend. “It’s easy to get caught up when you start a new relationship.”

Your husband gives you a knowing smile that makes your heart feel fuzzy.

“As irresponsible as you were….” Namjoon pushes up his spectacles, giving his own opinion as the Head of Ravenclaw, “no students had caught them. No one was harmed either. As long as they take appropriate precautions from here on out and are more aware of their surroundings, there’s no need to give them an unusually cruel punishment.”

All Jeongguk manages is a sigh.

*//*

At the end of the day, the pair of you are still baffled and in disbelief.

“Who knew…” Jimin’s arm is around your waist, supporting your weight as you waddle down the hallway. He hums after some consideration. “But now that I think about it, it does make sense. Every time she talked to me, it was always related to Taehyung one way or another. I think she was trying to squeeze information out of me. And here I thought I made a friend.”

He laughs and the two of you enter your quarters. You don’t say anything and he stands by the foyer after shutting the door. He calls your name. “Are you still upset with me? Do...you want me to go?”

You turn around, cradling your stomach in your hands. “Where have you been going at night?”

“I…” Jimin scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve been staying with Namjoon.”

You frown, not understanding. “Why?”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me. I felt bad that you were having a hard time and there was nothing I could do to help you. I thought it was better if I was gone.”

“So you’ve been staying with him?” You take a good look at Jimin and you wonder why you hadn’t noticed how exhausted he appears.

“Yeah and I’ve been talking to him a lot. Namjoon gives me a lot of insight.” He swallows hard. “I know this is pathetic, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you. But...I’ve been nervous about having the baby and the whole fatherhood thing. I know I don’t deserve to be as scared as you are and that I should be strong enough to support you but—”

You shake your head. “You’re an idiot.”

“What?”

“I thought you were cheating on me!” you shout at him in wrath, but you’re not angry at him.

You’re angry at yourself.

Jimin stands there, shocked at how you burst into tears. He follows after you when you waddle towards the bedroom and onto the bed, taking a seat and crying into your hands. “What?” He approaches you slowly and kneels in front of you. “How could I?”

“I don’t know! I thought you were sleeping with Ryujin and I’ve been getting these nightmares and then I wake up and you’re not there—”

“I’m sorry.” He comes to sit beside you, reaching over to hug you and you bury your face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I-....I didn’t know that’s how you felt.”

“You idiot.” You hit him again, deciding your fists are better than the numerous hexes you have swirling in the forefront of your mind. “I thought our relationship was over!”

“I’m sorry.”

You’re crying, the hormones taking over, the tsunami landing on your shoulders. All of your pent-up emotions come crashing down and your calm facade breaks. “It didn’t help that I heard noises from your office and I thought it was you and her. And it doesn’t help that you haven’t had sex with me for the past six and a half months either.”

Jimin grimaces and pulls away. He cradles your face, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb, placating you. A tiny smile appears on his face. “Do you think I could run off with someone else when I have you and your gorgeousness? Hate to break it to you, but you’re already a handful for me. I love you and our baby too much to even think about anyone else.”

You huff out. “Then why haven’t you been touching me?”

Jimin sighs and decides to be honest. There’s no point in hiding things anymore when it’s all being out and the open now. It’s better to be ashamed than to create misunderstandings and stress you out. “Because I feel disgusted with myself.”

“What?”

“I feel gross,” he admits. “When I look at you...a normal person would want to take care of you. I know I should be soft and gentle and attentive…..but during your entire pregnancy, I really just wanted to fuck you all the time.”

He pulls himself away, downcasting his head and looking at his hands like he worries he’s a monster. “You are the mother of my child, and yet all I could think about was bending you over the nearest surface and fucking you senseless. So I had to stay away from you. I’m…..I’m an animal. I’m sorry.”

Jimin’s confession floors you, and you feel your heart skip a beat. “You mean…you mean you wanted to have sex with me the entire time? You weren’t disgusted with…with whatever this is?”

As you say this, you gesture to your large, inflated body, belly so swollen that it comes in between both of you, and you can’t even reach to kiss him.

It’s Jimin’s turn to be taken aback, and his eyes widen in realisation as he takes your hands into his, bringing it to his lips and kissing them repeatedly. “What? Baby, no, I would never! It’s been the exact opposite. You’re becoming more and more attractive and sexy to me each day, I could barely keep my hands off you, didn’t you notice? And my dick gets hard every time I see your swollen stomach, and that time when you woke up with your breasts leaking milk all over your shirt, I had to run to my garden and jack off all over my plants.”

Your husband is humiliated and he groans at the thought, repeating it in shame, “My plants!”

“But you said—” your breath hitches as Jimin runs his hand over your swollen stomach tenderly. “You wouldn’t even let me suck you off. I just…I just wanted to make you feel good, and I know how much you like getting your dick sucked. Before we got married you had to beg me for it. Remember?”

Jimin chuckles against your skin, his cheeks rounding out in the most adorable way ever. You hope your baby has the same chubby cheeks. “I remember. That night in the classroom you said you wanted to suck me off, I could barely control myself and I ended up coming all over a bush of roses. Fuck’s sake, I was worried I couldn't control myself. It took me so much willpower. If I had let your pretty little lips get anywhere near my dick, you would have been bent over the teacher’s desk and stuffed with cock the next moment.”

“I want it,” you cuddle closer to him, raising a thigh and sliding it over his hip so that he can feel your heated core. “I want to be stuffed with your cock.”

You can see the reluctance on his face once more, but things are different now that you know it’s because he’s afraid he can’t control himself, rather than not being attracted to you in your current condition. You reach up to cup his rounded cheek, comforting him with a gentle kiss against his lips.

“Baby, I trust you. You’re Park Jimin, my husband, the love of my life. You could never hurt me or the baby,” you pull away from him and kiss his nose instead, smiling at him. All this time, you thought you were the only one ridded with worries when it turns out Jimin might have been more anxious. You reassure him, “you’re not gross or disgusting or an animal. And I’m not putting up with it it for you either. You’re not forcing me. I’m not doing it to satisfy you either.”

You say it loud and clear for his two brain cells to understand, exasperated that you’ve missed out on six months of good sex just because Jimin was too sweet to ask you for anything. “I want it. You trust me, right? I’ll tell you if anything doesn’t feel good. I promise.”

Jimin strokes his thumb over your belly as he kisses your forehead. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m a Slytherin, you know.”

He grins, worries finally put more at ease. “You know that doesn’t mean anything to me. Just because you’re sorted into that house doesn’t make you any tougher. You’re still my soft and sweet wife. Need me to remind you how you cried at our wedding?”

Your mouth draws open. “I thought we weren’t going to ever talk about that again!”

Jimin laughs, leaning in to plant a chaste kiss on your lips. He seems eager as he gets onto his knees. “And you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. On your back, baby. It’s long overdue, but I want to worship you like the goddess you are.”

He helps you flip onto your back and in a position where you’re comfortable. Jimin starts by kissing you deeply, his tongue stroking against yours in the most erotic manner that has you already moaning and writhing under him. You want to feel his tongue elsewhere. Jimin smirks at your impatience, letting his lips trail down to your neck as he seeks out your covered breasts.

You help him to pull down the low cut neck of your camisole so that he can suck a swollen, puffy nipple into his mouth, massaging the other breast gently with his hands. Jimin feasts on the sight of your soft, sensitive breasts, sucking the nipple in his mouth and flicking his tongue to tease you even more, feeling sweet liquid burst onto his tongue once more.

“Just as sweet as I remembered from last time,” Jimin grins cheekily at you as he licks his lips sinfully, moving to the other breast to give it the same treatment. When the sweet milk fills his taste buds once more, he closes his eyes to savour the sweetness of it, moaning around your nipple as he drinks from your breast greedily.

“Jimin, ahhh-” you gasp and moan at the feeling of him eagerly suckling at you. “Th-that’s for our baby, you jerk. He won’t have enough if you’re being this greedy.”

He pouts at you, but draws away from your breast to scatter kisses all over your swollen belly instead. His lips are soft and they feel good on your skin.

“You know, I heard semen helps with stretch marks,” Jimin raises his eyebrows in a perverted manner as he palms his cock boldly. “Would you want to test out that hypothesis with me? I gotta say, the thought of cumming all over your round belly has been a fantasy of mine for some time. I jerked off to it that night in the greenhouse.”

Trust your horndog of a husband to manage to be both romantic and greasy at the same time. But two can play at that game. You smile an equally cheesy smile at him as you spread your thighs for him, showing off the wet patch on your panties. “That can wait, baby. I’d rather you cum in my pussy instead.”

That’s all the invitation Jimin needs as he helps you to pull your panties down, witnessing how your sticky juices cling to the crotch of your underwear in strings. He brings the saturated crotch to his nose, inhaling deeply. “You smell different from before.”

Your face heats like a furnace. “I-is it bad?”

“It’s better.” Jimin describes it as a thicker scent that’s concentrated and more like you. He swears under his breath before he tosses the fabric aside in favour of the source itself. He placates you with a few kisses to your inner thighs before giving your clit a flat lick, spreading your lips apart and getting his first good taste of you in months.

“Jimin- oh Merlin, fuck,” your back arches and your hips grind against his face, but you are impatient. “St-stop teasing. Want your cock, now.”

Jimin indulges himself in a few more licks, noting the way you taste even sweeter while pregnant before he shifts to lie against your side, figuring that this would be the least tiring position for you if he’s doing all the work. He kisses your neck, sucking deep bruises into your tender skin as he reaches between your legs to tease your clit with his fingers.

You reach back to seek out his cock, pushing his pants down impatiently and finding him hard and ready for you. Your mouth salivates as you grip his firm length in your hand, his warmth already spilling into your palm as you jerk him off with several test strokes.

Jimin slides a hand under your knee to lift your thigh for him. “This okay? Feeling alright?”

“More than okay,” you reassure him as he supports your thigh to open you up for him, using his other hand to guide his cock to your swollen and drenched entrance.

“I-I’ve been wet almost everyday, thinking about your cock,” you confess as he brings the head of his cock to your slit, teasing you with a few tiny little movements of his hips behind you.

“Have you?” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he finally allows his swollen, dripping head to breach your entrance. The first stretch has you crying out against him, your pussy clenching around his cock immediately. Having been deprived of sex all these months, your pussy feels like it’s being stretched wide open by Jimin’s girth, and you relish the burn of it as Jimin works his hips to sink into your cunt even deeper. “Can’t let my good girl go hungry without my cock, can I?”

Jimin sinks in all the way, and you let out a satisfied sigh when he is fully embedded inside you, right where he belongs. This feels right. It feels good.

“Ji-Jimin, you’re so thick, oh Merlin, fuck,” your mouth runs loose as he gently works his hips to withdraw from your pussy.

His slow and gentle pace hits you right where you need him. Jimin’s cock satisfies you so well that you feel as if you’re about to cum right away, even without much attention to your clit.

“Feel good, baby?” Jimin checks in with you as he lowers your thigh to rest on top of his. “Am I too deep? Should I pull out?”

“N-no, you’re perfect. You feel so, so good, pl-ease, don’t stop,” your mouth is wide open as you gasp for breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as your husband fucks into you with slow, deep strokes of his cock, one hand coming to rest on your pregnant belly to hold you closer to him. “Ri-right there. Pl-please, I’m gonna cum.”

“That fast?” Jimin chuckles against your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine. “I barely even started and you’re cumming all over my cock already? My baby must have missed me.”

“You have no fucking idea,” you pant as your hips push back onto his cock. You take his hand on your belly in yours and press it against your skin. “This baby missed you too.”

Jimin sinks his cock into your depths and remains there, tilting your chin back so that he can kiss your lips. “Daddy missed you too, little one. I missed you and your mother so much.”

Lying like this, his chest against your back with his cock buried balls deep inside you, and both of your hands wrapped around your swollen belly, you can’t help but feel as if sex has reached a whole new level of intimacy. You feel him so deep inside you that you’re not quite sure where you end and he begins, and as he begins to thrust slowly again, you reach down to fondle your clit.

“Need help?” Jimin presses a kiss onto your shoulder before he gently pushes your hand away. “I’ll do it. Let me.”

He pinches and flicks at your clit expertly, till he feels your walls start to clamp down around his cock as he keeps up his slow but deep thrusts. Every slap of skin against skin resounds in the room, Jimin can feel your arousal soaking his balls as he works to bring you to your climax. Your little moans and whines are music to his ears, pleas of his name fall from your lips as his cock presses against your filled womb, and you collapse around him.

Your orgasm washes over you as you cry out his name, thighs trembling and pussy quivering around his cock. The pleasure that you had been seeking for months now overrides all your senses, and you are on cloud nine as your husband helps you to ride out your orgasm, pulling out now and giving you shallow thrusts to prolong your ecstasy.

Jimin kisses your shoulder as you lie boneless in his arms, sweat dampening your body as you come down from your high. Just as he makes to pull out, you clench around him with your kegel muscles, taking Jimin absolutely by surprise.

“I’ve been practicing these, you know,” you grin at him. “It’s an exercise for pregnant women.”

“Fuck, you absolute minx,” Jimin can’t help but flash you a greasy smile as he reaches down to kiss you again. “That’s why I love you.”

“I love you too,” you mumble against his lips before pushing your ass back against him. “Now go ahead and finish. Don’t give me any crap about not wanting to hurt me. I want you to finish inside me.”

“How can I say no to that? You love it when I cum inside you, don’t you? It’s what got you into this state in the first place, my good girl,” Jimin’s hips surge forward once again as your walls clench around his cock. With you consciously tightening your walls, he’s brought to the edge in no time, desperate little whines leaving his plush lips as he thrusts into you slightly harder as his cock erupts, and he paints your walls white with his semen.

Jimin groans into your neck as his hips twitch, and you can feel his cock spilling more and more of his cum into your pussy. The feeling is warm and wet, and you reach back to play with his balls absently, feeling them twitch in your grasp as he unloads into your depths.

“You came so much,” you say to him, counting about ten spurts in total.

Jimin grunts again as his cock begins to soften inside you, sighing with pleasure as his blue balls from the previous months are finally relieved. He is already starting to leak out of your pussy as his dick slips out, and he pushes himself into a sitting position, helping you onto your back with your thighs spread so he can admire the view.

“So fucking beautiful.” Watching your pregnant pussy leak with his cum and seeing your rounded belly fills Jimin with the most joy he’s ever felt in his entire life. When you tighten your kegel muscles to squeeze out even more cum, Jimin groans under his breath.

“That’s so fucking hot,” he bends down to catch a glob of his cum on his tongue, swiping through your creamy folds to clean you up. His soft and wet tongue against your lips relaxes you, and you sigh against his touch, feeling more than seeing Jimin eat you out to another orgasm since your belly blocks most of the action.

When he’s done, his head of purple hair pops up from between your legs again, and he wears a cum smeared grin on his face. “You okay? Does anything hurt?”

“Come here, wanna cuddle,” you demand, and Jimin obliges immediately, spooning your frame with his as your eyes flutter shut. “Give me a second before we go again. I want a second and third and fourth round. To make up for all those months.”

A soft giggle bubbles out of his mouth onto your shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”

For a moment you lie there, completely content in your husband’s arms as he traces meaningless patterns onto your belly. Then, suddenly you feel a foreign pressure on your lower abdomen.

It can only be one thing.

Your husband is almost slumbering behind you, completely unaware of this as you turn to him calmly, shaking him to wake him up.

“Jimin, I’m getting contractions.”

[Epilogue]

“There’s mail!” He announces, shutting the door and escaping from the snowy weather outside. Jimin removes his jacket and then his emerald scarf, hanging it on the coat rack beside your own yellow scarf. “Jeongguk wants us to bring the baby to visit. This is the fifth time he’s sent us a letter. He might send us a Howler next time.”

“Not a chance!” You shout from the living room. “He’s going to kidnap our child and make him the literal poster child for Hogwarts. We wouldn’t get him back until he’s eighteen.”

Jimin walks to the kitchen island and sets the newspaper aside, ripping open the envelopes. “That’s fine by me.”

“I heard that.”

In one of the envelopes, a moving picture falls out. It’s an image of Ryujin and Taehyung together, gathering the first years potion class to stand in a crowd outside the castle as each of the students hold a vial of what he recognizes as a Cure for Boils. There are drawings in the mail too, messages from the students at Hogwarts and how both you and him are dearly missed.

In the past few months, Ryujin has sent numerous letters asking questions regarding lesson plans and where certain ingredients are. A lot of the times, her questions come with baby gifts, like onesies or toys. Apparently the Slytherins, one of them being Yoongi, have been running amok in the castle too, giving Yuri a hard time. Jimin can only imagine the kids’ fear the day you return to whip them back into shape.

“Ryujin sent another picture!”

“Oh really?” Usually, you’d come running to take a look, but today you stay where you are. “Put it in the empty frame we have.”

“Will do,” he chimes out.

In the past year, you’ve settled down happily. Your cottage in Hogsmeade is cozy and quaint, the perfect home the pair of you could’ve asked for. To the point where you’re scared Jimin might not want to return to teaching since he’s so entirely content with everything.

It wasn’t all butterflies and rainbows. There were definitely hard times nights where the newborn wouldn’t catch a wink of sleep and only wanted to suck you dry of your milk. Your overbearing family came to help out, Jimin’s parents coming to assist. Sometimes you have students visiting when they visit Hogsmeade as well, though they always run for the hills after your kid pukes all over them. The only person who hasn’t been deterred is Seokjin who’s visited a handful of times. Though you haven’t opened the door for him the last two times since he’s always coming to talk about being Head Boy and giving you headaches.

Nevertheless, now that the baby was a bit older, ten months to be exact, things were a bit less chaotic.

Maybe you could call it peaceful — except your son isn’t calm at all.

From the time of conception to now, his existence is best described as a tornado. He’s always causing trouble for you no matter where he is or what he’s doing.

At ten months, his personality was beginning to show. He was stubborn and picky like you, but worse. If he was dissatisfied with the flavour of yogurt at breakfast, he would pick it up by the fistful and hurl it straight at your face as if he was an angry customer at a restaurant and you were his slave server. Like Jimin, your son would chuck books away when it had too many words and he absolutely hated storytime. But he was cunning, playful and flirtatious, leaving older ladies swooning when he flashes a smile that crinkles his eyes into half-moons. He was always smiling, knowing how to get people dancing in the palm of his chubby, tiny hand.

And your son has started to crawl everywhere at astronomical speeds. You can barely keep up with him. Once he starts walking, you don’t know what to do. But you can never get too mad when he wrecks havoc. The fact that your son is a spitting image of your pouty and loving husband is both a curse and a blessing.

“How’s our Sapling—?” Jimin enters the living room and then stops. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, nothing.” But it doesn’t look like nothing. The baby is sitting up and there are four different cars in front of him — blue, yellow, green, and red. Jimin swears the green is closest to the baby’s hand. “Shh...don’t say anything, he’s deciding. It’s a very important choice. You can’t influence him.”

You say that even as you not-so-subtly nudge the green car closer to your son.

“He’s deciding?” Your husband plops down on the floor beside you.

“Which one?” you coo at your boy.

The child leans over, nearly toppling with the weight of his chubby cheeks. But he manages and both your breaths hitch together. Your eyes watch. And your son….he extends his hand...reaching…...for the car that’s….re—

You take the red car, swiping it before your son can and you chuck it across the room. It hits against the wall, making a small dent in the white paint and smashing to pieces. You grin, holding up the green car.

“GREEN! What a good choice! Green, right?! I knew it!”

The two of you laugh — you in hysteria and Jimin in amusement.

It doesn’t help that your son’s favourite stuffed toy is a lion.

Jimin leans over, planting a gentle kiss on your cheek. Your son crawls towards him, not interested in the green car, and Jimin lifts him up into his arms. He smiles, kissing his cheek too while standing up. As Jimin walks into the kitchen, he gazes at his son and whispers underneath his breath, “yellow, right?”

“I heard that!” you shout and your husband grins, a cheesy smile that’s not guilty at all.

“I love you!”

#bts #btssmutclub #bts jimin #bts smut #bangtan bookclub #bts jimin smut #bts hogwarts au #bangtanwriters-net

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desperationandgin · 5 years ago

Text

Deep as the Road is Long (Part III, Chapter 23)

Rating: Lightly smutty toward the end.

Also Read On: AO3

Previous Chapter

July 2017

He’s been uncharacteristically quiet for days, and it worries her.

Claire’s tried to pull things from him, she’s tried to get him to speak to her, but he always seems so lost in thought; never upset, never sad, just in his own head. She’s slightly concerned, but trying to follow his lead and not smother or push too hard, trusting that when he says he’s fine, he is. Still, she’s surprised when he suggests they go to dinner at Rocpool in the near future.

“Isn’t that--well. Isn’t it expensive?” she asks hesitantly.

Her reward is a broad smile, his first one in days, as though some sort of weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “How often do we go out? One dinner date ye have to dress up for. ‘Tis all I’m asking.”

Dress up, for a restaurant that’s reservations only. She should suspect, but she’s so relieved to see him smiling and happy that it doesn’t even register. Two nights later, while she sits across from Jamie looking over a menu of very expensive dinner items, Claire lets out a breath. “If we’re spending this sort of money, I feel as though I should get something different,” she says, squinting in the low lighting. “Christ, I can’t see anything.”

Jamie hasn’t looked at his menu once; he’s too busy watching her lean in and try to make out the small text in the dim room. It makes him smile to himself, the simple idea that he can take his time to memorize the way her eyebrows knit together when she’s focused, the way her lips part and her head tilts to one side as she thinks.

“Jamie?”

Blinking, his gaze focuses on her again, sitting up a bit straighter and grabbing his menu.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Aye, ye forgot your glasses and canna see a thing. Dinna worry, I’ll take care of it,” he decides. “Might I order for ye?”

Claire puts down her menu and looks at him in amusement. “You know me so well, do you?” she asks with a teasing smile.

Reaching over the table, Jamie shrugs a bit as he captures her hand, though the confidence is written on his face. “I like to think so. Do ye trust me?”

Running her thumb over the back of his hand, she nods, sitting back in her chair. “I do. With more than just food, I hope you know.”

That means more to him than she might realize, especially after everything they’ve gone through--things that he put her through. She may see it as an innocent and one-off exchange; for him it’s a privilege he’s earned. “I ken it, but I reckon I’ll keep proving I’m worthy of it for the rest of my life.”

It’s another hint, but one that she doesn’t have time to dwell on before the waiter comes to ask if they’re ready to order. With no hesitation, Jamie orders a braised pork belly dish with chilies, ginger and orange for her, for himself a Scottish beef sirloin steak. He also requests a bottle of wine, something red and full of body that’s brought to the table, uncorked and poured for them.

Once they’re alone again, Claire can’t help but wonder what has him like this, unable to fathom what’s warranted a night out with such a hefty price tag. “Is the shop doing alright?” she asks curiously. Maybe sales are going so well he wants to spoil her a bit with a good meal. She can’t say it bothers her much, whatever his reason.

“The shop? Aye, ‘tis fine. Ian did a braw job when I couldn’t, and I should do something for him, though I’m no’ sure what.” What do you give to the person who kept your business afloat when you couldn’t get out of bed? It’s a distracting train of thought that gets his mind off of the true reason for dinner. “Do ye think it would be enough to offer to watch all of the bairns for a long weekend? Let him go away somewhere wi’ Jenny?”

For the past two years, his family has done nothing but support him, and it’s time to give something back in return. He paid Ian, but it isn’t about money, not to Jamie. There were days he would have rather sold the bookshop than think about running it, so for his brother-in-law, he’s grateful.

Claire’s face softens as she holds onto Jamie’s hand again across the table, squeezing gently. “I think that’s lovely. I could even help, perhaps we could go there and stay for a Friday evening through Monday afternoon? I’m sure I could take a day off to do it, and I could even keep the children so you could be at the shop on Monday.”

“Ye’d really do that, Sassenach?” Jamie asks, touched.

Thinking about it for a moment, she nods before reaching for her wine, taking a sip to gather her thoughts. “I would, Jamie. For family.” For a family that has treated her with amazing kindness and nothing less. “It’s a good idea, and you should offer it to Ian. Tell him to take Jenny somewhere with no alarm clocks and a comfortable bed.”

“They’ll need the long weekend for all the actual sleeping they’ll do the first day,” he figures with a fond smile. It is a good idea, one he shared and she broadened, and Jamie files it away. Soon; after other important things he needs to do. The weight in his pocket comes to the forefront of his mind now, thoughts wandering yet again.

He’d torn up the house looking for a box, antique wood with flowers carved into it that he remembered tracing with one small finger as a wee lad.

“Where is it, Jenny, do ye ken?”

“We’ll find it, brother, dinna fash or panic yet.”

“I’m no’ sure where mam’s things wound up, especially wi’ Da grieving as he was,” Jamie’d worried, but just as he’d been ready to try the attic he spotted the edge of a box in the far upper corner of the closet. Reaching blindly, he’d pulled it down and let out a breath. “Found it.”

Their mother’s jewelry box.

“Why do ye think Da didna bury Mam wi’ them?”

Jamie shook his head, then opened the box to find exactly what he was looking for. “Because of this moment, I reckon. Ye’re sure ye dinna want to wear them?”

Jenny’d shaken her head as she stood next to him, reaching in and pulling out a wedding ring and band. “Ian’s given me plenty. They’re yours, brother. And these.” A strand of pearls were pulled next. “She should wear them on the day.”

“Sir?”

“Jamie?”

Once again, Jamie finds himself blinking and clears his throat, nodding at the waiter to put the plate with steak in front of him. “Well, Sassenach? Does it look as though I chose well for ye?”

Claire eyes him curiously. “I’ll tell you when I taste it. Where did you go, just then?” she asks quietly.

Not wanting to make something up too far from the truth, Jamie clears his throat, scooting closer to the table. “I was thinking about my mother. Dinna ken why.” There’s the lie, but one he hopes he’ll be forgiven for once it’s clear why. They eat, trading forkfuls of food across the table to share.

“Admittedly, I wasn’t sure about the pork, but it’s delicious, Jamie. You picked perfectly,” Claire promises with a soft smile. She isn’t ignoring the comment about his mother, but it’s something she decides to bring up again when she’s holding him, when she can soothe.

“I told ye. I know ye well, even if ye dinna ken your own palate,” he teases, though his mind is working through every possible moment there is to ask her to marry him. He still hasn’t figured it out by the time their dinner plates are cleared away, instead talking with her about getting a better leash for Skye, possibly spending some time going to antique stores on Saturday morning; they talk through dessert and when the check arrives he has a moment of internal panic. He still hasn’t asked and he isn’t sure why. He wants to, wants it to be a perfect proposal, but for some reason, the restaurant doesn’t feel quite right.

They walk home, hand in hand, the moonlight making her look as though she’s glowing. It’s the perfect time to ask, he should do it, but before he can they’re at the front door and he’s pulled the keys from his pocket instead, letting them in. The evening, while nice, hasn’t entailed all he thought he would, and he realizes--as he hears himself offer to walk Skye while she changes--no moment will ever be perfect. He’s tried to make up for months of being so much less than perfect, but he should listen to her, stop trying to apologize in ways that aren’t verbally saying the words. They’re here now, they’re fine. It’s a revelation that comes as he and Skye round a corner; she doesn’t need something so grand he can’t even imagine. She just needs him.

He’s never rushed a dog to do its business so quickly in his life.

Back at the apartment in record time, Jamie doesn’t hesitate now, making his way to the bedroom and pausing in the doorway. Dress off, she’s standing in front of her vanity and leaning over a bit in just a bra and underwear so small he’s not even sure why she wore it to begin with. Smiling at him in the mirror, she slides an earring out of place. He hears her say something about the walk not taking long but he stops her, tugging her hand and turning her around to kiss her deeply, one hand cradling the side of her face. It’s a deep kiss, one that leaves him breathless and wanting, but finally, he reaches into his pocket, hand closing around the slight weight.

“Claire, I need to ask ye something,” he begins, pulling back just enough to see her face.

If it gets her answers about whatever’s been going through his mind, she’ll listen to anything he has to say, and one of her hands reaches up to rest lightly against his wrist. “What is it, Jamie?”

That hint of concern is back in her voice, and he looks down, swallowing hard and then forgoing the entire idea to get on one knee. Instead, he holds her close and presses his forehead to hers. “Do ye remember that night at the apartment when we danced?”

Closing her eyes, Claire lets herself think about life in Boston, a small hint of a smile gracing her features. “Janis Joplin.”

His lips press to the tip of her nose. “Aye. That was the first time I kent how well ye fit in my arms. I held onto the feel of ye there, head pressing to my chest. I was afraid I’d never feel it again.” The comforting weight of her nestled right there, close to his heart.

“And now? Are you still afraid?”

Opening his eyes to look at her, Jamie steps back and takes her left hand in his, kissing her knuckles. “No. I’m no’ afraid, Sassenach.” Wedding band first, Jamie slides the rings onto her finger. “I dinna think I’ll ever let ye go again if ye say yes.”

There’s a beat where she doesn’t understand what just happened before the ring on her finger registers and her breath catches. He’s asking her to marry him, even if an actual question never graced his lips. “Jamie--”

“I want to take care of ye. And Christ, I’m terrified. Terrified to love ye, terrified to lose ye, but since I’ve kent you, Claire, ye’ve brought me nothing but peace. I want to call you my wife,” he explains quietly, feeling as though he’s barely breathing.

“Yes,” she hears herself whispering, unable to take her eyes off of the rings on her finger.

“Yes?” Jamie whispers in return, thumb moving in slow circles over her temple, voice husky with emotion.

“Marry me,” Claire breathes out, just before her lips claim his as her own. As they kiss, one hand cradles his face before finally pulling back to look at the rings again. “Jamie, these are beautiful,” she murmurs.

“I know ye’re only supposed to wear the part wi’ the stone now, and I’ll give the band to ye at our wedding, but they were my mother’s,” he says quietly. “I couldna wait to see them on ye, both at the same time.”

“Oh, Jamie.” Swallowing a sudden swell of emotion, Claire blinks back fresh tears, pulling him into a tight hug and burying her face against his neck. For a few moments (longer than she means to) she stays just like that, breathing him in until pulling back to see his eyes. “This is why you wanted to go to dinner? Is it why you’ve been so distracted lately?”

He smiles softly. “Now ye ken why. I’d thought to propose at the restaurant, but it didna ever feel as though the timing was right. It probably isna right now, either, considering ye may as well be naked in my arms.”

The laugh that bubbles up from her is sudden, and she can’t help but nuzzle against his cheek. “I’m glad you did it this way. Any other way wouldn’t be us, Jamie.”

Raking his fingers through her hair, Jamie bends just enough to kiss her softly, sweetly, but it quickly turns into more as his hands move from her hair down her back, around her backside, and then he hoists. As soon as her legs are around his hips he moves to their bed, carefully lowering her to the mattress. Gaze drifting, he lands on those flimsy undergarments again and his fingers skirt the lace at her pelvis. “These dinna seem to serve a purpose, Sassenach.”

Regarding him for a moment, Claire sits up and reaches out, cupping his very obvious arousal in her hand. “I believe they’ve done their intended duty quite nicely, really.”

Barking out a laugh, Jamie reaches to move her hand, kissing her palm tenderly before gently pushing her back down. “Ye dinna need frilly things that cost ye half a salary to give me a cockstand, Sassenach.”

“You might have told me that before I bought them,” she teases, raising her hips as questing fingers tug at lace and push it out of the way. He makes quick work of her bra too, and when she’s completely bared to him, he steps back to undress with lightning speed. As he does, he watches her reposition herself until she’s against the headboard, sitting in such a way that no single part of her is left to the imagination.

If she was trying to make him useless, she’s succeeded. For a second he thinks he might speak, parts his lips, and then closes his mouth again. Relying on actions being stronger than words while he gathers himself, Jamie moves to the bed once more, tugging her until she’s flat on her back and he’s planted over her, kissing her until his body demands more oxygen. “Give me a thousand kisses,” he murmurs, kissing her neck. “Then a hundred and another thousand,” Jamie recites, kissing the hollow of her throat. “Then another thousand, then a second hundred.”

She knows the poem; over Christmas, she’d found a book in the library at Lallybroch and they’d curled together by the fire, reading. This one had struck her, stayed with her, and she’d found herself gravitating toward it over and over again. It was even saved as a note on her phone. So, as Jamie kisses and she arches, she manages to speak. “Then, when we--when we have performed many--ah--thousands, we shall shake them into confusion.”

Jamie’s lips move around the curve of a breast, kiss the peak of her nipple. “In order for us to lose the count--” He’s interrupted by a loud moan from her and so gives her more, trusting her with the next line.

Eyes closed and one hand planted in his hair, Claire thinks through the haze of budding arousal. “And--and in order to--in order not to let any evil person envy us,” she begins to finish, but then gasps as he presses kisses in a warm path down her stomach. For a moment she can’t think as his mouth blazes a trail across one inner thigh. “As no one will be aware of--Christ, Jamie,” she gasps as his tongue glides home between her thighs.

Raising his head briefly, one eyebrow arches. “I dinna remember my name in this poem, Sassenach. Finish it,” he murmurs as he ducks back down, nose grazing soft curls, giving her a chance.

Slowly, Claire’s hands drag up and down his back, memorizing the map of his scars as she begins from the last line.

“As no one will be aware of how many kisses there have been.”

Next Chapter

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #datril #deep as the road is long

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treatian · 4 years ago

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 140: Making Trades and Staying Patient

Keeping himself away from Belle was the key. That day, in front of the mirror, things had gone a lot farther than they should have, he'd let himself touch her and therefore allowed himself to be intoxicated, something that never should have happened in the first place. Not to mention that after his mind had cleared of her scent and skin, he realized that she'd asked him a question about something she shouldn't have known. His family. Not a wife or a child. A family. How she'd known or figured it out was a great mystery. And a greater mystery was why he'd answered her question as honestly as he had. He hadn't given an entire truth, he hadn't fallen into her arms and given her his entire life's story. But what terrified him after that encounter was that he'd wanted to. He'd wanted so badly to tell her, to watch the look on her face as he confessed all his secrets, he wanted to see how she'd handle them. Would she use them against him as Zelena had? Store them away for a rainy day, as he often suspected Cora was? Or would she give that smile she so often did with others, put a hand on his arm and…

It was a close call, without a doubt. One that he couldn't afford. So, his plan was to stay busy, to not touch her as he had that day ever again, and to keep his mind occupied on other matters, matters that were important to the future, not the present.

Fortunately for him, it proved easier than he'd expected. He'd felt a stirring lately, just in the last few days, one that had nothing to do with his maid. The Seer was anxious, excited almost. He felt almost like she was whispering in his ear every moment of every day. The problem was that the whispering was so rapid and low he couldn't make out words. It was a buzzing. No, he couldn't make out the words, but it left him with a feeling that he could read all too easily, loud and clear.

Get ready.

Something was about to happen.

At first, it had frightened him. He'd felt anxious right along with the Seer and panicked; he wasn't ready for the Curse to hit yet. There were things to be done he hadn't prepared, contacts he hadn't made, potions he hadn't concocted. It took him six hours one night at the wheel to calm himself down, to remind himself that the Curse wasn't going to be cast tomorrow. There were multiple phases in this plan of his. Perhaps one of those phases was simply going to come to pass. He would do what he could. For him, that meant restocking his potions; making sure he had all his ingredients, brewing extras of the common ones he used all the time, and finding a black bag which he marked with his blood to put others in so that they might find him in the new world. He'd done well. Still, one thing remained missing, which was how he found himself in the middle of the night with a cloak drawn up against his face making back alley deal with his fastest connection to squid ink.

Clopin was a gypsy, not unlike the one he'd taken his original fairy wands from. However, Clopin's talents were not in singing or dancing as so many did, he was trafficker who disguised himself as a peddler. By day Clopin could be found anywhere around the Kingdom pushing a cart that held simple wares, by night, the cloth came off of that cart, secret compartments opened, and the lowest of the low knew to find him for anything they wanted to sell or buy. For the right price, Clopin had it all. Potions, squid ink, precious and rare flowers, books, weapons, foreign currency, a book from another realm, and, perhaps most notable of all, flesh.

It took him three days to locate the gypsy. Clopin moved about every day, he could be a tricky man to find. He had a special kind of magic that helped him keep his position hidden and for good reason. Somehow he always found him pushing his cart amongst large groups of people; sometimes half a dozen, other times three dozen. They were always ragged and sickly looking. Since he always met with Clopin at night, he always found them a fair distance from him, by a campfire, surrounded by makeshift tents, and dressed in gypsy clothes that did not fit. Clopin was a master of words, and he always told any authorities they were gypsies too, but he knew it wasn't true. They were often refugees from other realms. He wasn't sure of Clopin's connection, the man was too tight-lipped in that area and too valuable an ally to threaten, but sensing no magic on the man, he knew that someone brought them into this realm and it was Clopin's job to take them to a safe place, to settle them in their realm…for a price, as always.

"Where's this lot going?" he questioned, looking over the selection he had in the back of his cart tonight. Squid ink was among the many items he had, and the man was just now preparing it, pouring two vials for him from the large flask that he had. He was taking his time, a habit that he'd often noted Clopin had, he suspected, so that his customers would have time to look over his other products. It usually didn't work for him, but on this occasion, he couldn't help but notice that he had a fine selection of books. It wasn't surprising. It was Clopin who had once traded him for the book from the Land Without Magic that Belle had loved so much. He had promised her he'd look for more by that author, but none of the books in his cart revealed had the last name Lewis. Still, she'd always be happy with a new story to indulge in.

"Destined for King George's Kingdom."

"King George's Kingdom?" he blanched. "Hardly a profitable destination for them. Where are they from?"

"Oh…a realm not unlike ours, I'm told…just as I'm told that soon King George's Kingdom won't be 'hardly profitable'," he smiled as he handed over the vials.

He knew smiles like that, he used them all the time. It was a smile that demanded he ask "what have you heard?"

But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the gypsy sighed and turned his attention back to his cart, sealing the flask the ink was in and hiding it away as if he hadn't heard him. Rumple rolled his eyes, and after safely pocketing the vials, he pulled out a small coin purse and put two coins on the cart right under the man's nose. Everything was expensive with him…

"What have you heard?" he pressed again as Clopin safely put the coins away.

"I've heard King Midas has a dragon in his Kingdom."

"And how does a Dragon in a foreign Kingdom help our good King George?"

"Because the Golden King's wealth is his greatest asset. And gold isn't strength or braun, gold can't slay a dragon, just ask his daughter's former fiancé. Truth be told, the gold only draws the beast more to that Kingdom. But King George's son-"

"Prince James."

"The one and only. The boy is a strong fighter, handy with a sword. I've heard that Midas seeks to use the boy in order to slay the fearsome beast, and in return, Midas will shower the boy with something a bit softer than mere gold."

He let out a small giggle. First, because Clopin had no idea that James was not a "one and only" as he'd suggested, but second because his hint was loud and clear to him, especially since he recently had an experience of his own with a forbidden prize that was softer than gold.

"Softer than gold…a woman?"

Clopin nodded. "His only daughter, the Princess Abigail."

"Now that would be an interesting turn of events indeed…"

"Indeed, it would benefit these people greatly. Land worth nothing now will be rolling in gold after a royal wedding."

That might be what the Seer was so anxious about. Was it possible something was about to happen? Finally? After all these years? Clopin was referencing a royal wedding for Abigail and Charming, but he knew that I would never come to pass. His future was tied to Snow White. He wasn't sure just how long it would take from their initial meeting to marriage, conception, then birth, with James and Snow, but he did know that if something was going to start soon, then it meant that could stop thinking about seeing Baelfire in decades, and begin to think about years. And that was the best news he'd had in a long time. It filled him with a joy he hadn't felt since his boy had left him.

"Anything else I can do for you?" Clopin asked. No. Not a thing. But with the joyous news, he was suddenly feeling generous.

"You've been very helpful…but perhaps I can offer you something, a piece of vital information in exchange for this…" he waved the book he'd picked up with Belle in mind. He probably shouldn't be thinking of getting her gifts, but if it would make her half as happy as he suddenly was…

Clopin glanced at the book, then crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "'Tis not but a trinket, taking up space on my cart, I'd have given it away for free if you only asked."

"Oh!" he smiled. He doubted if Clopin had ever given anything away for free in all his life. "Well then, in that case…"

"If you only asked!" Clopin called after him as he turned to leave with it. He turned back to see him standing there with a look of terror on his face at the very thought that he might have lost something expensive. "But, since you did ask, I'll take your offer. What have you heard?"

"Oh, it's not what I've heard, but rather what I've seen. King George's Kingdom will be profitable one day. It'll be a good place, ruled by a benevolent Queen and her Prince Charming, but before this day comes, war will strike." He turned to look at the people through the trees who were gathered around the fire, settling into spare blankets or under jackets, men, women, and even children. In another life, he might have been them. "Take these people, put them in the farthest corners of the Kingdom where they'll be safe from the bloodshed and the call of the draft."

"War…war with who?" Clopin questioned skeptically.

Now there was a sight…or rather a vision. With the question came a clear image in his head, one that was put there just as clearly as the image of the dark-haired man that knew Baelfire.

A line in the sand, on one side, Snow White and James and a thousand people dressed in rags and homemade armor. On the other side, a hundred people dressed in mail, Regina, and most shocking of all...

"The King himself," he answered with a smile.

He watched as the lines of confusion disappeared from his face and stretched into one of dead shock. His eyes widened, and his gaze drifted over to the people by the fire. "That is…some valuable information…"

"Especially for your trade routes."

"Indeed. Here, take this…" From a place in his wagon, he pulled out a round object, with string and feathers. If he was honest, it looked like a craft project done by a toddler, but the moment Clopin put it in his hand he could feel magic in it. "A dreamcatcher…or memory-catcher if you prefer. I believe you would be able to work magic like that."

He nodded. He didn't, not at the moment, but if there was one thing he was best at, it was learning how to work magic he didn't know. He may not know how to use it now, but he would. "How much?"

"After the information you just gave…take it! And the book. I'm in debt to you."

"I'll remember that…"

There was no good-bye; there never was. They merely nodded at each other, then he took his ink, and catcher, and book, and sauntered into the forest. He never liked to disappear entirely from the sight of the strangers, for fear of association with Clopin. Not that the strangers ever knew who he was, new to this world as they were. He had yet to ever meet one that-

As he passed close to the fire, he heard the gasp of a small child. Automatically he turned toward the noise, half expecting to see a tearful toddler, but what he saw was a small boy of about six standing by the fire, looking him dead in the eye. The child seemed frozen in fear. All around him adults were hunkered down under anything they could call a blanket, but the boy stared at him with his jaw hanging open.

"Problem," the Seer whispered in his head.

"The Dark One…"

Now it was his turn to be shocked, to go wide-eyed. No one ever knew him…how did a small boy know who he was?

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity that forced time to push forward. "Mommy!" the child cried, turning away from him. "Mommy! Mommy!" As the boy shrieked, he pulled his cloak quickly over his face and went into the dark of the forest where the fire wouldn't unveil him. "The Dark One! Mommy, it's the Dark One! I saw him!"

"What's going on?"

"What's happening?"

"What's the boy crying for?"

"It's nothing," he heard someone explain as he ducked behind a tree and pressed his back against the bark to be sure that he wouldn't be seen. "I'm sorry," a woman said, "he has this book he reads from our world, it's just stories."

A book? A book from their world? About him?

"It's not just stories!" he heard the boy cry. "The book says he lives here!"

A book from their world that mentioned him? That said he lived there?

"Jacob Horner-"

"It's true, Mommy! Look! It says right here! He lives here! He'll steal your eyes and eat you!"

"Jack…I think maybe I ought to take it. I'm sorry everyone…I think we might be taking our reading a bit too seriously."

"No! No! No, Mommy! No!" the boy cried. "Mommy, it has the story in it! It tells how he becomes not the Dark One anymore! Mommy, I have to keep it.

From behind, he heard a low rumble of laughter. They didn't believe the child, not yet anyway. They hadn't been here long enough to know that he had told them the truth. They were dismissing his claim, but he was practically salivating. A book from another world that mentioned him. Worse, a book that mentioned how he wouldn't be the Dark One anymore? From within his boot, he could feel his dagger pressing close against his leg. He wanted to see that book. He wanted to read that book. He needed it.

His heart was racing when he turned around and observed the scene by the fire. At a distance once more, it was difficult to see what was happening. Half the camp was settling back into sleep and ignoring the cries of the small boy. The other half was watching as the boy who had seen him struggle with his mother. It was a game of tug-of-war, and at the center of it was a thick green book.

He wanted to cry out, to scream. It would be easy, so incredibly easy to freeze the scene he saw before him, swoop in, and simply take the book from their hands…but nothing was ever as simple as all that. The book was the star, at the center of everyone's attention. Taking it right out from under their noses would look suspicious. When they came around after being frozen and realized the book had disappeared, he would be the first suspect. And if what the book said was true and the boy knew and told them, taking it now would be a problem. It could be a very real problem. But to ignore it and let the child go out into the world with it without knowing what was inside its pages…he couldn't let that stand.

He couldn't take it from the child now, but fortunately, he knew where they were heading. And it was clear from the way the boy clung to his novel that where he was, so would be that book.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Belle #Clopin #ouat #ouat fanfic #Fanfic

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marcothehobbit · 4 years ago

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OC Facts feat. Hadrian Trevelyan

Thank you so much to @merrybandofmurderers for tagging me in this! And I’m sorry it took so long for me to complete; I just finished moving across country so I had to work on it here and there when I wasn’t packing boxes.

Here’s my lovely Hadrian, including a second shot where you can see his broken nose better (and somehow both of these screenshots are him talking to Dorian?? idk man):

I’m gonna put this under a cut because it’s v e r y long! Enjoy :)

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

Hadrian comes from House Trevelyan, and though he is the youngest child in his family and therefore not the heir, he certainly does not want for anything. He frequently donates to Chantry efforts to help the poor and disadvantaged members of society, but other than this, he’s never been a big spender like others in his family.

✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged

At the Siege of Haven, Hadrian suffered a concussion, a few broken ribs, and an overextended right knee in his altercation with Corypheus. These injuries took a while to heal, and Hadrian tried to patiently wait to get better, but his sense of duty to lead the people of the Inquisition to safety led him to push himself a bit too far at times, and though he tried to hide it, some of his followers spied him hunched over in pain. After some time and rest, Hadrian is back to peak physical health, though he still suffers some difficulty sleeping and sensitivity to loud noises as a result of the concussion.The only indication of past injury anyone can see on his person now is a broken nose he received many years ago that didn’t quite heal straight.

✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / unsure

Overall, Hadrian is definitely a member of the upper class in society. He was destined, as many younger Trevelyan family members are, for the Chantry; Hadrian had welcomed this as an opportunity regardless of its cost and even if he’d have to reject wealth and status. However, what with being sent to the Conclave and subsequently becoming Inquisitor, he once again found himself assuming his previous role, using his noble status as leverage for the Inquisition as needed.

✖ EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying

Hadrian’s family places a big importance on giving a good education to all Trevelyan children, so he received a full set of courses from private tutors in every relevant subject from rhetoric to mathematics, including special lessons on the Chantry since he was originally destined to take vows there. Hadrian’s favorite subject to learn was history, especially about past heroes and battles. When he was younger, Hadrian looked up to many of the figures he read about in old stories, and he also enjoys listening to Solas’s accounts of the battlefields and conflicts the latter has witnessed in the Fade.

FAMILY

✖ MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged / partnered / divorced / widow or widower / separated / single / it’s complicated

Hadrian and Cassandra got engaged a few months after the Exalted Council, and his proposal was a very romantic event. One day, the advisors summoned Cassandra to an impromptu meeting in the Skyhold armory on the pretense of touching base with her before she left to go find some of the missing Seekers. When she left the armory about an hour later at sunset, she found a path of flower petals lined with candles, and every 10 feet or so was a basket with a piece of paper inside detailing one thing Hadrian loves about her or a happy memory from their relationship. Cassandra followed the path, which led up the steps into the great hall and out to the garden. Here, she found Hadrian by himself dressed in his best ceremonial armor flanked on both sides by flowers, and from the trees were hung over a hundred glass baubles, each one containing a brightly burning candle. Once Cassandra was close, Hadrian took her by the hands and recited a romantic poem that he’d been writing for her, and then got down on one knee before asking her to marry him. With tears in her eyes, Cassandra accepted, and as they kissed cheers erupted from above. The couple looked up in surprise to see the ramparts filled with as many Inquisition members as would fit (plus the advisors, obviously), and Hadrian shouted up amusedly at them that he’d told them not to watch. Leliana shouted back that “They couldn’t help themselves,” and Hadrian and Cassandra laughed and kissed again.

The two have talked a bit about their future wedding, the main sentiment being that they’d like it to be as small as possible. They both come from big noble families and know that a) they don’t necessarily get along with a lot of their relatives, and b) once you start inviting people it can get out of hand very quickly.

✖ CHILDREN – has children / no children / wants children / adopted children

Hadrian has always known that he wants children, but he and Cassandra have agreed that now is not the time. What with her efforts to rebuild the Seekers to be more just (especially towards mages) and his continued efforts on behalf of the Inquisition, the two are simply too busy working and traveling for the time being.

✖ FAMILY – close with siblings / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated

Hadrian is the youngest of 5 siblings, and he has three older brothers and one older sister: Lawrence is the oldest, Arianna is the second child (and only girl), Wilmar is the third, and Rayner is the fourth. He is only regularly in touch with his sister, Arianna, as she is the only one of his siblings that he is still close with. Hadrian has never particularly gotten along with Rayner as the latter is overly competitive and resentful of his lot in life as the fourth child, and he’s always been jealous when his siblings get more attention and recognition than he does. Wilmar and Hadrian were close as children, but after the former began showing signs of magic, he was taken to live in the Ostwick circle; Wilmar stayed in regular contact with his family, but they haven’t heard from him since that circle rose up. Hadrian thinks of his mage brother frequently nowdays, his brow creasing with worry as he wonders what has become of his sibling. Lastly, like with Wilmar, Hadrian and Lawrence got along when they were young, but the latter has become quite shrewd in adulthood and concentrated almost entirely in managing the family’s finances. Hadrian and Varric bonded when they first met over having boring, overly business-focused older brothers.

On the other hand, Arianna and Hadrian remain close despite their distance (Arianna still lives in Ostwick), and they regularly exchange letters to update each other on their respective lives. Arianna is happily married to her wife Antonia, who is originally from Antiva, and they have an adopted daughter named Amelie, whom Hadrian has only met once due to his duties with the Inquisition. Hadrian actually got his broken nose by defending Arianna from a distant Trevelyan relative--a very bigoted one--and getting smacked hard across the face with a full wine bottle as a result. His nose has never been the same, but Arianna has always been grateful to her little brother for standing up for her.

✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / it’s complicated

Hadrian has a pretty average relationship with his parents, Cadencia and Rowan Trevelyan. When he was a child, they certainly doted on him since he was the youngest, and as he got older they tried to make sure that he was prepared for life in the Chantry. Hadrian’s parents were certainly surprised when their youngest son became Inquisitor and commanded an army seemingly out of the blue, but they are proud of what he has achieved, and they try to stay in touch with him often to make sure that he is getting enough vegetables.

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

✖ disorganized / organised / in between

Hadrian is definitely more on the organized side of things. One of the first things he did when he got access to his new quarters at Skyhold was to alphabetize all the books on his shelves; it always baffles him that though Dorian’s bookshelves always seem to be chaotically unorganized, the latter can always find what he’s looking for. Hadrian may not be the biggest perfectionist when it comes to organizing, but his quarters are certainly always tidy when he has visitors (and especially when Cassandra drops by).

✖ close-minded / open-minded / in between

In most situations, Hadrian is ready and willing to listen to and entertain new ideas unless they’re coming from someone he really doesn’t like and/or trust. The main exception to this concerns the Chantry. Hadrian comes from a devoutly Andrastian family, and there are so many members of the Trevelyan family that have taken holy vows that he is on first-name basis with most of the Ostwick Chantry. Moreover, Hadrian himself had not only supported the institution’s efforts to help the poor and needy for years but also looked forward to taking vows himself. Because of this, he respected the Chantry a lot, and after joining the Inquisition and learning of things like the abuse of mages and longstanding oppression of nonhuman races, he had a hard time letting go of the perfect image of the Chantry he had in his mind. With time and considerable thought, not to mention conversations with other faithful Andrastians like Leliana, Hadrian’s view has changed considerably, and he now not only acknowledges that serious changes need to be made but also tries to advocate for the historically ignored and oppressed members of society.

✖ cautious / reckless / in between

The best example of Hadrian’s cautiousness comes from early in his relationship with Cassandra. Both of them agreed that they didn’t want others to know that they were together at first since they’re both quite reserved when it comes to talking about romantic relationships. When Cassandra would go to Hadrian’s quarters to spend time with him in private, she’d knock on his door at the end of the great hall and, once he opened it, say something about wanting to talk through tactics (rather loudly and awkwardly, I might add, since we all know Cassandra isn’t the best liar) before following him inside. The couple waited a few months before telling people or showing any PDA, but Hadrian suspected that Varric had known after Cassandra’s second or third visit due to the dwarf’s asking suggestively in passing how Hadrian and Cassandra’s “tactical meetings” were going.

✖ patient / impatient / in between

Hadrian is generally very patient. He’s usually the last person to (stifle a) yawn during long, tedious war room meetings, and Josephine often goes to him to vent about nobles that are distressing her since he’s a good listener.

✖ outspoken / reserved / in between

Hadrian is definitely a mix of outspoken and reserved. He typically doesn’t mince words, but when he’s drunk (which doesn’t happen often), he can get quite loud and talkative, sometimes saying things out loud that he’d otherwise keep to himself. If someone is speaking negatively about him, he won’t react, but if they attack someone he cares about, he will speak out decisively in support of his friend/loved one.

✖ leader / follower / in between

Most people that knew Hadrian before the Conclave--including perhaps Hadrian himself--were taken aback when he wholeheartedly accepted a leadership role as significant as Inquisitor is. Everyone close to him and his family in Ostwick knew that he’d been destined and prepared for a life of service with the Chantry, so his subsequent unflinching acceptance of his new role surprised many people from his old life. But Hadrian has proven to be a patient, fair, and merciful leader who uses his faith and the words of his advisors to guide him. And despite his usually more taciturn nature, he’s a surprisingly rousing public speaker as well.

✖ sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between

Unless he’s dealing with a complete trash fire of a person like Erimond, Hadrian is willing to listen to just about anyone to try to understand them. Hadrian is a very good listener, and he’s more than willing to listen to anyone close to him that has a problem they need to get off their chest. He’d probably be willing to do this for any fellow Inquisition member at Skyhold to be honest, but most of them would likely be too scared to take him up on it merely because of his being The Inquisitor™.

✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between

Hadrian is more on the optimistic side, but this is definitely tested at times. His companions tend to reach out to him when they’re feeling down about life because he can frequently offer a different (and brighter) take on their situation.

✖ hardworking / lazy / in between

Hadrian is hardworking almost to a fault. He is no stranger to late, candlelit nights, poring over letters to important noble allies or old tomes he is using to help Dorian research. It certainly doesn’t help that he tends to have trouble sleeping anyway, and if he wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, his first instinct is to be productive with his time. Hadrian can have trouble shutting off and relaxing, and Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana have actually had to order him to rest on multiple occasions.

✖ cultured / uncultured / in between

Part of Hadrian’s education when he was growing up was learning about other cultures. Hadrian can remember sitting wide-eyed as his tutor taught him about Orlesian fashion, Nevarran dragon hunting, Dalish deities, dwarven provings, Ferelden mabari, Tevinter architecture, Antivan trade, Rivaini seafaring, Avvar hold beasts, and Qunari vitaar. But reading about a culture is very different from meeting people to whom that culture belongs, and before going to the Conclave, Hadrian never had much occasion to interact with many other cultures, especially the nonhuman ones, aside from some traders, refugees, or city elves that he knew casually from Ostwick’s alienage. Hadrian always felt nervous before meeting someone new from a culture that he’d only read about, mainly afraid of being unintentionally offensive. Since joining the Inquisition he’s gotten a lot more experienced and has met at least a few people from each of the above cultures. He’s also gained friends like Dorian, Iron Bull, and Varric that he can exchange cultural knowledge with, so he’s learned a lot and become more culturally aware, but he’s definitely still learning.

✖ loyal / disloyal / in between

Hadrian is fiercely loyal. Once someone gains his trust, he will stay by their side through anything. This isn’t to say that he won’t question friends’ problematic decisions, but he doesn’t like to even gossip, and if someone is saying something negative about someone close to him, whether it’s behind their backs or to their faces, he will absolutely stand up for them.

✖ faithful / unfaithful / in between

Hadrian is absolutely faithful, and he would never dream of cheating on someone that he was in a relationship with. This has never happened to him, but if he were in a relationship and met someone else that he wanted to pursue, he would be sure to break things off with whomever he was seeing first so as to remain faithful.

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual / queer

Based on his past crushes, romantic interests, and partners, Hadrian would consider himself (at least in modern terms) pansexual. Though he is currently engaged to Cassandra, he doesn’t particularly have a preference in terms of gender.

✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable

Hadrian definitely enjoys sex, but for him it’s reserved for committed relationships that he’s in. He of course doesn’t think any less of other people who do have casual sex, but it’s just not for him. His first time with Cassandra was actually the first time he’d even had sex on a first date, but he’d also never been so sure of his feelings for another person before her.

✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable

Hadrian is a bit of a hopeless romantic. He loves the practices of giving flowers, reading poetry, and other romantic gestures, and he enjoys both giving and receiving these. Hadrian was very happy to find someone like Cassandra who has a similar interest in being swept off their feet, so to speak, and the couple has had a lot of very cute, very romantic dates over the course of their relationship.

✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

Hadrian is sexually inexperienced because of several factors. The main one is that because he was supposed to take holy vows, he was preparing himself for celibacy by refraining more from romantic relationships in the few years before he was supposed to join the Chantry. As a result, he was only in two relationships, both with other guys. And combined with his preference to only have sex with those he is committed to, he hasn’t had many opportunities for learning, but he’s certainly eager to try new things.

ABILITIES

✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Hadrian is an excellent marksman and very skilled with a bow. While wooing Cassandra, he participated in the archery contest thrown at Skyhold and won handily; he probably wouldn’t have participated otherwise as he’s not much of an attention lover or showoff, but he definitely wanted to impress her. Also, if he’s had a bit to drink, he and Sera try to do trick shots. This little practice of theirs arose originally out of Sera tipsily saying something along the lines of “Hey Trevelyan, bet you can’t shoot one of those banners outside the great hall while doing a backflip off a barrell.” These bets of theirs have gotten more outrageous over time, resulting in a few that seem near-impossible, like trying to shoot an arrow onto Hadrian’s balcony from the sparring area during heavy winds. But aside from these, Hadrian practices every day to make sure his skills are as sharp as his arrows.

✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Hadrian isn’t too voracious a reader, but he has great reading and writing skills due to the customary education he received as a noble child. When he has some quiet time, which isn’t very often since he spends most of his time working or training, he enjoys reading about history. He’s also read some of Varric’s romance serial after catching Cassandra reading it just to see why she likes it so much, and he secretly quite enjoyed it.

✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Hadrian has never been very artistic; even as a child he never had much of an interest in learning an instrument or drawing or anything like that. But one thing he does enjoy is writing poetry for Cassandra; he’s not the best at it, but he knows that she loves it, so he enjoys trying his hand at it on special occasions.

✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

The same aptitude that made Hadrian good with a bow and arrow also makes him pretty good with his hands. He asked Blackwall to teach him woodworking when he saw the latter working on a little gryphon rocking horse. Since then he’s learned and created a lot, including a few bottle racks for all of the bottles of Thedas and Grey Warden ritewine that he’s found and some sliding bookshelf organizers.

Please let me know if you read this and have any comments/questions/feedback! I’m very new to all this so I’d appreciate anything you have to say!

#my ocs #dragon age #dai #I feel like some of these are kinda bad and in others I rambled or got carried away but here we are #this was a lot of fun :)#but omg I'm so nervous to post this cause I'm so new at this

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everyday-effing-therapy · 5 years ago

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31/12/2019

Hello,

The end of the year is approaching and, well...

I didn’t know what to do, I still don’t, but I wanted to write something, anything, during the winter break. Not to explain why I was gone, cause I think we all know, I was busy, school is hectic and my life can really have a go on me at times, but I just really wanted to write how I have been and summarize this year.

It’s a sort of every year thing that I do. You see, I am kinda stuck on dwelling on the past. It is a bad habit, but I am trying to change it into something good, trying to see the good things and be grateful for them.

I like summarizing my year, because I remind myself of so many amazing things that happened and it keeps me going.

Starting off where I left off, the last time I wrote was somewhere in the very beginning of October. From then on, a few things happened and some changed.

I finished my driver’s course and passed the exam for the license, which I have right now. I also own a car and have been driving it regularly every day for the last two weeks. That is one of the things I am the proudest of this year and I am eternally grateful that I managed to pass, cause that day will probably be one of the best of my life.

School work is going surprisingly nicely, I have the best grades since the moment I started it, actually, I have a quite pleasant situation especially in those “problematic” subjects for me, like Chemistry or Maths.

I also participated in the English competition and passed the first stage, the second one is on 10th of January. I am really proud of myself and really want to go further and further.

My prom partner and me have had a bit of a weird situation. He complimented me a lot and I wondered whether he would ask me out on a proper date, but then I remembered that I thought he had a girlfriend. I asked him about it and he admitted to having said girlfriend. I asked him to tone down the compliments and he eventually did so, which I am grateful for.

I don’t want his girlfriend to hate me and, truth being told, I had enough boy drama this year.

Black and Marigold are almost dating at this point, she looks at him like I used to and he never dances with me anymore, unless he’s very drunk and even then it’s very rare. Our song stopped being our song and she probably loves him. Marigold is his prom partner, they talk a lot, he changed his style a bit to fit hers, she bought him a present for Christmas, he bought her a flower and she drove him somewhere after the Christmas Eve that I organized for my classmates.

It’s shit, to be honest, cause I wasn’t able to enjoy myself, cause well, I care about him and he’s the first to make me regret things, although I did them, cause I believed in said things.

I am jealous of them, but I know I can’t stand in their way, I have to find my own path and he is not a man for me (but I still dream about him, his smell always finds me and I can’t fall asleep not imagining being in his arms)

Christmas were fine for me, I didn’t study much during the break, which will probably be bad for me later on, but whatever. I rested, drove a lot, watched YouTube and some movies, even started reading a book and played a shit ton of phone games.

The Christmas Eve was fine as well, our family dinner being small as always, cause it’s just me, my parents, my grandmothers, my uncle and my brother. It was nice, though, I got some presents; a book, some money, lingerie and crockery.

Today, I am going to party in my friend’s house and I hope it will be a nice end of the year (and a great beginning of a new one!)

I thought of great moments this year and well, January started a bit shit, as on New Year’s I got so shitfaced that my parents had to take me home and I cried the entire night from the pain. Later, it was better, I got a haircut, we organized a surprise birthday party for one of my closest friends, the students from the exchange programme came, I met my exchange partner and that was it. February was okay, a winter break in sight and a Valentine’s day, as it always is.

In March there started to be a few birthday parties, there was one where I went completely drunk again, but I had so much fun, I let loose, ate a bit, danced a lot and I remember it as one of the best nights this year. There was my nameday and then we went on the exchange. I met the exchange partner’s parents, the nicest people on Earth and I loved every second of the exchange. The weather was beautiful, albeit cold, we did a lot of sightseeing, interesting stuff and every night I was falling asleep exhausted, although happy.

April was still the exchange month, some birthday parties including my dad’s and a lot of school work. Really a lot.

In May I learnt that I won’t be going for an exchange program to the US for the following school year and I cried a lot, cause those were the finals and I wasn't even shortlisted. They searched for someone different and stripped me of the chance. I wondered where I would be right now, mentally and physically, if I went to the USA. Had I got in.

May was okay except that. There was SIlver’s birthday party that I really enjoyed and on that party I believed that he would date Marigold and I accepted that. Then, I started my driving course and later, I went on a school trip to the seaside. It was a nice trip, I enjoyed it and I will keep it in my mind as a good memory, although it did make me tired, mentally and physically.

In June the school year ended, I started this blog, fell for Black, attended a heckton of birthday parties, danced to the same song with Black, flirted with Silver and was very high and very low at the same time.

July was missing Black and wanting to see him again. July was the sleepover at my friend’s and inviting Black to prom, and also, Silver holding me close in the middle of the night. It was the month of me and my friends’ trip to the seaside and making memories, becoming friends, rather than lovers.

August was my birthday, one of the best days of my life and the trip to the Maldives that I wanted so much. And missing Black more.

September, the start of school again, a lot of stress, a lot of new classes and additional ones, big changes in the methods of studying, talking with Black, the entire drama with him cheating, falling for him even more, the failed conversation and the moment, when it started going down. Good grades, I had my birthday party for my friends too and it will be a very bittersweet memory, probably forever, although if anything, sweeter than bitter. In September I also found a prom partner, found out that Black invited Marigold, I befriended my prom partner and tried finding myself.

In October I applied for the university abroad. Cause life’s worth living and my demons won’t have it easy drowning me. I also befriended Black’s ex girlfriend, Lily, and we had a rather deep talk. A really important one.

In November I went on a sushi night with my friends from French. It was like taking a deep breath after a long diving. In November, I passed the exam for my driver’s license.

December was the month of realization. That the year has passed. That I lived more in my head than outside and that still so many things have happened. That I am sad, but maybe in the future I will not remember that, cause I see the greatness of things and I am grateful for them. In December there were Christmas and dancing waltz with my prom partner, Marigold with Black and me trying to be a better person. With the hopes of better tomorrow.

This year was so full of tears and so full of laughter, full of love and bearing a grudge, trying to forgive somebody and not being able to forgive yourself, full of rest and tiredness, both good and bad. It was the year of pride and proving myself. It was the year of being really human.

I don’t have any resolutions, I’ll try to be a better friend, a more honest human and do a January yoga challenge.

I’d wish to be happy one day and until then, I live off the short moments of joy that life grants me.

I am still eternally grateful.

Have a great New Year’s eve and an amazing New Year.

Take care,

#31/12 #01:05 #night post #diary #journal #Journal Entry #C Posts #c cries #end of the year #c is so frickin' lost #finally a new post #new year

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okitodorokidoki · 5 years ago

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[1]I’m gonna be fine (maybe not tonight)

ao3 | 1533 words | female reader next

warning: character injury [pairing tbd]

Far longer than you could remember, all you wanted to do was play baseball. Your father had been a catcher through college, while your mother pitched softball until graduation, so it felt like you just had the diamond in your bones. Some of your earliest memories were learning to play. Your first bats (aluminum and wooden, to see which you preferred) and a pair of purple batting gloves were still in the attic to this day. Up until the end of middle school, baseball was all you knew; and you were damn good at it. And under your catcher's gear, you didn't have to worry about how the other team felt playing against a girl. You were just half of the battery, the number two sewn on your jersey. Until you weren't.

You could barely recall the incident as it happened. You could remember the sound of your mother screaming, the feeling of an iron grip on your wrist turning into perfect bruises of your father's fingers, but before that was just a runner coming around third base.

Your pitcher, your partner, your best friend, took days to visit you in the hospital. Even then, he barely looked at you. You could easily say that was what broke what was left of your heart, but it was undoubtedly shattered by your parents.

"You can't play anymore." Your mother looked more tired than you'd ever seen her. "If you ever step on that field again, my heart won't be able to take it."

You wanted to jump up and scream. The doctor had just updated you, told you that you were recovering well. She'd played before, so had your father- they both knew that injuries were a possibility, especially as a catcher.

"We should've never let you play on a team like that in the first place." Your father's words made it feel like the breathing tube was being shoved back down your throat. "Those boys were too big compared to you, you should've never come off that damn bench."

You could barely manage a quiet "Why are you doing this?"

"Maybe you'll understand when you're a little older." Your mother said. "But if you love us, you'll listen. We already spoke to your coach, and he's agreed to let you finish off this season in the dugout."

"But you're not playing again."

A year ago, going to Seidou High School was your ultimate goal. You'd walk up to their coach, with all due respect, and ask that he hear your request to try out for the team. No crutches, no special treatment. If you didn't make the cut, you'd be eternally grateful for the opportunity and continue to support the team and try again next year. You had the confidence that you'd make it- and had inherited some of your parents' best physical traits. You could smoke your teammates during practice drills, and your throwing arm definitely wasn't what had you picking catcher over pitcher.

Watching some of their games, you were left in awe of one particular player- their starting catcher. You couldn't understand his name over the speaker, but the loud man you found yourself sitting near referred to him as "Yuu." Your curiosity won over your anxiety after your mother went to get you a bottle of water. Leaning over between innings, you tapped him on the shoulder just firm enough to get his attention. You couldn't gauge his expression well behind his shades, so you tried to make your smile as polite as possible.

"Sorry to bother you, but do you know Seidou's catcher?" It sounded odd coming out, but there was no stopping it now.

He laughed before leaning back slightly to have an easier conversation. By the time your mother returned, you learned the boy, Takigawa Chris Yuu, was his son, and he was very proud of him. Not much else, but it was heartwarming and made you feel mushy. Your mother was understandably shocked when she saw the company you were making, and ended up introducing herself to get a read on this adult man talking to her child. They ended up talking more as you returned your focus to the game, watching Seidou's offense.

By the end of the game, your mother seemed like she'd made a friend, and even exchanged emails with him. You sent her a look, but she just shrugged in response with a rather 'why not' expression on her face.

"Good luck getting into Seidou, you crazy kid. Try to give my son a run for his money," Mr. Animal laughed and ruffled your hair as your mother brought you to her side.

On second thought, maybe you misheard his name. But at this point you were too scared to ask.

A few days later, your mother knocked on your bedroom door.

"Yeah, ma?"

Opening the door slowly, she peeked her head in. "So guess what, kiddo."

"We won the lotto and we're moving to LA?" You looked up from your sketchbook.

"No, but close! Chris, the catcher boy from Seidou, apparently wants your email." She slid into the room to sit on the edge of your bed.

You sent her a very skeptical look. "Mom, are you trying to set me up or get rid of me?"

"Either one will do. I already gave it to him."

"Mother!"

You and Chris didn't start off with too much to discuss, and you found yourself hoping he wasn't being forced to talk to you.

It took you getting wiped out to see otherwise.

Ironically enough, Chris had come to see you in the hospital before your own pitcher had. He brought you some flowers and a small teddy bear, safe gifts for whatever the two of you were. Friends? Pen-Pals?

"Is it as soft as it looks?" You asked with a smile, reaching out for it with your good arm.

"I tried to find the softest one on the shelf that wouldn't drain my wallet." he said, voice oddly quiet.

It struck you that you'd never actually met in person, and a wave of self-consciousness washed over you.

"Sorry I look like hell." You tried joking at your own suspense to lighten the mood.

"You look like you got off easier than I thought you would." His expression fell as he set the flowers on your bedside table. "The coaches are still talking to the runner that hit you."

"That was a person? Jesus Christ, I thought I was thrown into the damn road!" You relished in his conflicted yet amused expression before a sharp 'Language!' told you your mother could hear you.

You apologized, not exactly sincerely, before resting the small bear in the crook of your sling. "A perfect fit."

"How long are you going to be out for?" Chris sat in the chair closest to you, looking a little less stiff and proper.

"Doctor said I might need to do some Physical Therapy after I recover, so there's no telling right now." You shrugged with your good shoulder, smiling in hopes that you wouldn't bum him out.

There was a bit of a permanent shroud over him that thickened a bit. Apparently your smile hadn't helped.

"I'll just have some extra down time to read up on other teams. No reason why being off the field means I'm not in the game." You tugged at the blue bow tied around the teddy bear. "Besides, I've got to be at the top of my game if I'm gonna take on Seidou's tryouts."

He seemed confused for a moment. "Seidou doesn't have a girls' team."

"Nope. I just have to try out for the boys' team." The bow was becoming a good excuse not to look at him.

You really didn't need to be told to get your head out of your ass and think about your future. Although that was definitely a parent thing to say, and not a Chris thing.

"Then I look forward to it." His expression was a little softer than before as you peeked over at him, shocked.

"You're not gonna tell me I'm crazy?" You were almost disappointed.

"I've seen you play." His words almost triggered your heart monitor. "I hope you make the team. Maybe you'll even take my place."

After he and his father had left, your mother rearranged the flowers he brought you with a sad look. "Apparently he was injured not too long ago. That damn school pushed him too hard and it broke him."

You didn't think he meant you'd literally take his place. Sure he'd seen you play, but you've seen him play, too.

"Do you think we could go to Seidou together?" You mused. "It'd be nice to know someone on the team."

Your mother turned her head to you without looking at you. "His father's trying to get him off the team, sweetie. He needs to focus on recovering."

You shook your head. "He doesn't want to leave the team, mom."

"It's not about what he wants, it's about what's best for him." The upset tone your mother spoke in had you shocked. "Your father and I need to talk to you when he gets off work."

#daiya #takigawa chris yuu #ace of diamond imagine #reader-insert #female reader #my work

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imagine-hamilfluff · 6 years ago

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If I Had My Choice: Part 17

Alexander x Female Reader

Part One

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Masterlist

A/N: This chapter's a little shorter than usual, but mostly because I can only fit so much angst into one chapter before y'all riot. Things won't start looking up for... awhile, so I guess enjoy this as much as possible!

Tags:@yehummno @robotic-space @isntthisenoughwhatwouldbeenough @unprofessional-inhumanbeing@sorryimacrapwriter @a-meme-you-cant-sweat-out@justanotherhamiltrash@marquiis-de-la-baguette@akarihamada@voldecrux@whowrotetheother51@bruuuhhhh-here-i-am @spideyboipete

The air was thick in the room in the wake of Alexander’s outburst, and you studied the floor pointedly, ignoring the heated gaze you could feel from Philip and Theodosia’s direction.

Finally, feeling as if you were suffocating in that room, you took a wobbly breath, and announced, “I should probably go-”

Before you had even taken your first step out of the room, Philip cried out.

“Y/N, are you serious!” he yelled, his voice an equal mixture of angry and upset. You cringed and hesitated to move towards the door, almost afraid you would bite through your cheek with how tightly your teeth were clench around it to keep you from crying.

You had stopped, accepting your fate, but still refused to look either of them in the eye.

“How could you?” Philip asked, and from the waver in his voice, you could tell he had begun crying. You felt his presence nearing to your side and stiffened your body to remain rigid to any words he might inflict upon you. “How could you not tell us Aremine was the one who kidnapped you?” His voice pleaded with you as he now stood directly in front of you.

Finally risking a glance, your eyes flicked up to his, and immediately you regretted it. The pain and betrayal hurt deeper than you expected. Philip had stood with you through everything the past years, and now he believed (correctly) you had been lying to him for most of it. Against your better judgement, however, you held his eye contact.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you answered honestly, and Philip looked as if he would break down then and there.

“We are always worried about you, Y/N. You are your mother’s number one target in you live in her house, for god’s sake!” he spat back, and you clench your jaw even tighter. “The one thing--the only thing--that keeps me sane despite that worry is the knowledge that you allow us to protect you in the best ways we can.”

Your expression turned guilty as you stared at Philip sadly, tears escaping from your eyes.

“And I can’t protect you, if you don’t tell us when your in danger,” he finished. You knew he was trying to restrain his tone and make you feel like he wasn’t yelling at you, but you knew he was.

With a shaky sob, you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, it’s just- It’s always been common knowledge to me, before CP began, before we were even friends, that one day Aremine would kill me. I was trying to protect you from that truth; I was trying to do as much good as possible before she won. That’s what all this has been for; that’s why I’ve been fighting all these years,” you managed to explain through the sobs, and Philip took a step back from you, looking at you horrified, as if he didn’t recognize you anymore.

“Well we were not fighting so you could die,” Theodosia declared with venom in her voice, and you turned to face her guiltily. She too had tears streaming down her face as she glared at you angrily. “That might have been the terms you were working under, but we never were. We did not risk our lives to settle this deal with Dmere just so you could throw your life away.”

“A sacrifice had to be made,” you explained weakly. “What we’re trying to do is end a war; sacrifices always have to be made.”

“Then sacrifice your mother!” Theodosia screamed, and you jumped back a little, a sob raking through your body. “She is a monster and you are good, Y/N. I know how much of a pacifist you are, but surely exchanging your life for hers is a clear line of unimpeded morality!”

You sighed frustrated, tired of having this argument, though it was usually just one that happened in your head.

“But then where does the line lie for me!” you exclaimed, and both of your friends gritted their teeth a bit. “Where do I stop being a good person and start becoming a bad one? You are asking me to kill my own mother; regardless of circumstance, that will change me. That will change my morality. Can you honestly promise me I won’t begin to slip after she’s dead? That I will definitely be on the good side for the rest of my life after I kill the Lady of this Sector--my mother--for power?”

“Y/N I understand why you’re worried, but you’re not your mother,” a soft voice came from your side now, and you turned back to Philip. “Your mother is just a despicable human being. She is nowhere near that line of good versus evil. She is just plain evil, you don’t have to-”

“No you aren’t getting it!” you cried out again, and Philip stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence as you looked at him helplessly. “My mother was good,” you stated quietly, but with force. “She was regarded as the wisest, most kind Lady this Sector has ever seen. She played dolls with me. She took me to pick flowers in the garden. She read me bedtime stories. She loved me unconditionally. And then one day, it was almost unnoticeable, but a small darkness took hold of her heart. And she just-” Your voice trailed off, knowing your friends knew what happened from there.

Your mother became paranoid. Sought help from more and more corrupt people. Let the happiness seep out of her form. Locked your father away in an unvisited corner of the estate. Forbid the use of magic in the kingdom. Sired a child with her chief advisor. Declared war against every other Sector.

Your mother just slipped. And you would die before you would ever do the same.

Clenching your jaw, you let out a long breath, and then looked up at your friends once again.

“I will not kill my mother. And I will not entertain any more discussion on the subject,” you announced steadily, before you turned and swiftly exited the room.

You were grateful that they let you go without a word.

Philip and Theodosia left later that day without another word to you. You watched from you window as their carriage left down the path from your house and tried to reason out any sting of their silent goodbye. You would see them next week for the wedding anyways, you told yourself. It didn’t matter if they were still angry at you for the revelations from earlier in the day.

You pushed down any fears you had that they would never forgive you. You had hurt them, but you hoped they understood where you were coming from. You didn’t want to end things with them on a bad note. They had been your longest friends and most trusted confidants for most of your life.

Deciding to no longer dwell on the what ifs of your future, you pushed yourself up from your window seat, and sighed heavily. You needed to clear your head and distract yourself for awhile. And considering everyone in your life at the moment was angry with and avoiding you, that left pretty much one option for a distraction.

Softly, you padded through the hallways, your feet automatically knowing the path for you to take. As you pushed in the door to the library, you sighed at the sight of it. It looked exactly as it had the day before, but today that was more of a comfort. At least you knew no one would accidentally bother you in here, as no one seemed to step foot in here ever.

You drifted through the stacks of books slowly. At the convent, there was no use for books on politics or science or history. The Charter--the book of your holy gods--was the only book in use, and you had broke eventually, reading the whole thing a total of four times in the past year, for complete lack of anything else to stimulate your mind. Your mentors had been impressed, taking it as a sign of your dedication to your vocation rather than a sign of your utter boredom.

But here, among the shelves you had grown up with, there was a tight familiarity pulling at your chest as your fingers graced over the spines as you walked by. Finally, you settled on a book you had always had the intention to read, but never had gotten around to it, describing the life and accomplishments of Lady Eleanor the Great. You already knew a great deal on the woman from your lessons growing up, but you knew the author of this particular biography was rather progressive, more so than your studies would have been. You had been hoping to gain more knowledge on her achievements, or at least learn her tale in a different light.

Settling into the chair by the great window overlooking the orchard, you quieted your mind and let yourself have this moment of peace.

Yet a mere twenty minutes into reading, your thoughts were coming back full force. There was so much you still had to prepare for before you returned to the orphanage. So much to be done before Bethany’s wedding. CP, you were convinced, would be in good hands, especially seeing now how capable Bethany was at its helm, though the thought of her being involved in such an organization unsettled you a bit.

You were torn on whether or not you wanted to come clean to Bethany before you-

You cut off the thought and tried to refocus on the biography in your hands, but after rereading the same page four times, you shut it frustrated.

It was still unknown to you what you had to even come clean to Bethany for. You and Alexander, obviously. But did she know about her father? Your father? Your powers?

You decided the last one would be the deciding factor. If she didn’t know you had powers, there would be no reason she would know your father also possessed powers and that she was bastard child for that reason. But how were you ever supposed to figure out if she knew though?

A movement outside the window drew your attention. As if it were a sign from the world, you watched as Alexander walked towards the estate. Letting out long sigh, you dropped the book on the windowsill and ran without thinking it over much more. If you hurried, you could corner Alexander in the foyer.

Even if he was understandably upset at you right now, you were sure he could answer one simple question for you. You would use your final question on it if you had to.

As you raced down the stairs and stumbled into the foyer, you let out a sigh of relief seeing Alexander walking unassumingly through. Noticing the movement at the other end of the room, he glanced up unperturbed, but froze when he saw you standing there, out of breath from your run.

He considered you for a second, and then turned on his heel and began to angrily stalk out of the room without a word.

“Wait, Alexander!” you called out to him, running after him a little desperately. “I’m not trying to-” You cut yourself off to give yourself a little boost of speed and sprint in front of him and block his access to the doorway. You glared at him and he matched your look as your chest heaved, catching your breath. “I just need to know what Bethany knows.”

“She doesn’t know about us!” he yelled out incredulously, as if he were angry you would even ask him about that.

“I know that!” you shot back, getting annoyed with his demeanor. “I meant about CP,” you finally confessed, your voice hushed. “What does she know?”

Alexander stared at you for a moment, his jaw clenched tightly before he finally sighed, looked you in the eye, and responded confidently, “She knows what she needs to know.”

This shot of burst of anger through your body, and he fought not to respond to the fire that now glared at him through your eyes. “She didn’t need to know anything; that’s why I kept her out of it!” you accused, pushing your finger into his chest, and his eyes darkened as he swatted your hand away.

“See this is what you always do!” he exclaimed, taking an intimidating step towards you, forcing to take an unsteady one backwards. “You always underestimate her and try to keep her down.”

You scoffed at his words. “God is that what you think?” you inquired, your eyebrows furrowing into an intense frustration mixed with a bit of disbelief. How could he not see you were trying to protect her? You had always been trying to protect her.

“Yes,” he answered easily. “She is brave and strong and loyal and-”

“You sound like you’re actually in love with her.” The words slipped out and you cut him off before you could think it through. The response was immediate. If you thought Alexander looked angry before, you were very mistaken.

Every inch of his body clenched stiffly and a dark shadow passed over his face. You had the good sense to look a little ashamed of what you had said, but it didn’t help to soften the glowering face in front of you. The face that up until this past week you had only associated with kindness, understanding, and love for the past two years. You swallowed thickly.

“I am actually in love with her,” he responded with finalty. And forcibly pushing past you, he began to walk away.

You felt something shift within you. You had seen him interact with Bethany; you had heard what Philip had told you. And yet, there was something characteristically different about hearing the words from his lips himself.

He was in love with her.

He had moved on.

“No, wait Alexander!” you called out, your voice softer and more desperate, pushing your spilling emotions down further than you had ever pushed them before. You couldn’t let the overwhelming wave of heartbreak that was about to hit you be for nought.

He paused, and after a moment it was clear he was waiting for you to speak again.

“I- I still need to know,” you finally continued after a moment, your voice almost a whisper at this point. “Does Bethany know about my powers?”

You held your breath as you waited for a response, wondering whether he would give you one at all or just walk away.

“No.”

Relief swept through your body, both at the fact that Bethany still was kept safe away from some secrets and that Alexander had at least given her the answer to that question. Before you could comprehend it, however, Alexander pivoted and came marching back up to you, anger ablaze on his face. You cowarded a bit, taking in a shaky breath.

“Your jealousy is ridiculous and insulting,” he began, venom coursing through his voice, and you immediately averted your eyes from his. “You left. You forfeited any claim you have over my heart. You do not get to be hurt.” You clenched your jaw at his words and fought unsuccessfully against the tears building in your eyes. “Do not approach me again,” he continued. “Do not speak to me again. And do not ever insinuate that you still know where my heart lies again. I will tolerate you for the next two weeks on Bethany’s behalf, but after that I will watch gladly as you ride away to your little hiding place again.”

With his final word, he turned and began to walk away again. You watched as he crossed the room, the distance between the two of you growing, and you couldn’t stop the next words desperately falling from your lips.

“What was I supposed to do?”

He turned alarmingly fast at this, his face in a look of rage and disbelief.

“What were you- Not running away was a good start!” he yelled, and it was first time he let you see the tiniest silver of the pain you had inflicted on him when you left. Just a hint in his eyes, you could tell there was a sadness lurking there he had learned to hide for months now. Your heart physically ached at the sight.

Biting your cheek you sighed and called out, “I didn’t run away. I did what had to be done.”

“And the slipping out while I was still sleeping and then lying to me about where you were going was just what? Necessary additions to your plan?” he asked, not even trying to mask the pain in his voice. You swallowed thickly.

“I couldn’t have told you, and you know it,” you reasoned, though at this point, it sounded weak even to you.

“Oh I know it, but not for the reason you think,” he responded, anger seeping back into his voice, and you looked back up at him confused. “So why’d you do it? Why’d you never tell me what your master plan was?”

You consider him for a moment, tears running freely down your face, before you took a shuddering breath. “You would’ve tried to convince me out of it, tell me there was another way,” you explained quietly.

“There was another way.”

“No there wasn’t!” you called back, and his expression hardened a bit at the outburst.

“Yes there was,” he repeated, firmer this time, “and you didn’t tell me about the plan because you knew I would be right. You knew that if you told me, I would convince you out of it.”

“Which would put lives in danger,” you argued back.

“Which would take away your get out of jail for free card,” he responded simply, and you once again furrowed your eyebrows.

“My what-”

“Let us come to an understanding,” he cut you off with a kind of furious calm. “You did not settle on this plan and only this plan because you wanted to end the war and see your mother go down. You wanted to end the war, see your mother go down, and get away with having an affair with your sister’s Choice without ever confronting her about it. And this was the only plan that offered you all three.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded and taken aback. It took you several minutes to even gather your thoughts, let alone comprehend everything he was accusing you of.

He thought you did this just so you could “get away” with hurting Bethany. Thought you just didn’t want to own up to your wrongs and took the easy way out. Gave up your title, your people’s trust, your loved ones, because life got a little bumpy. Because you made a morally questionable mistake and couldn’t take the heat from it.

He thought you did this because of him, when he was the only reason you almost didn’t do it at all.

You were silent for a long while, taking this all in and composing yourself before you spoke.

“Then let us come to this understanding as well,” you finally responded cooly, your eyes flicking up to his with a leveled glare. “I have cared for Bethany far longer than you have, and I will always and have always done anything and everything in my power to protect her. You were the one who flirted with her to gain status, not me. You were the one who was in a Chosen bond with her when you fell in love with another, not me. You were the one who brought her into CP, not me. I have my faults, and I have made mistakes. But the moment I believe it would protect her in any way shape or form to own up to them, I have and will do just that. So don’t you dare insinuate that you care more about her than I do or that my decision making one year ago had anything to do with you.”

When you finished, the two of you were at a standoff, and Alexander was doing a remarkable job at not showing that your words affected him. But you knew him too well, you had memorized him not one year ago. And you could tell.

You crushed him.

And you knew he could see that that hurt you as well. One year apart and the two of you still couldn’t get anything past each other.

“Alexander?” you heard Bethany’s voice call out from the hallway behind him, and immediately the two of your fixed your expressions into those of just pure anger, not wanting Bethany to read into anything. “There you are!” she called out cheerfully. “I was beginning to wonder when I saw you walking up to the state but you never arrived back at the room-”

Her voice cut off when she followed his gaze to you across the room. Her expression immediately hardened and you flinched at the reaction.

Without looking back at Alexander, Bethany waved him off, unperturbed of any standing unfinished between you and him, mumbling, “I need a moment alone with her please, Alexander.”

He hesitated for a second, glancing briefly over to Bethany and then back to you. You offered him a subtle nod, an understanding that they were both still in this for her, before he relented, kissed her on the forehead, and left the room quietly.

When you were left alone in the room with your sister, you had the good sense to know not to speak until she got what was haunting her off her chest.

It came sooner than you thought it would, and much more aggressive as well.

“You lied to me, again,” she gritted out. “And you kept the circumstance of your kidnapping a secret, making Alexander keep it a secret from me in the process!”

You remain silent, knowing nothing you said would comfort your sister at this point.

“God, I just keep trying to get closer to you and all I keep finding are these secrets and lies,” she accused, tears forming in her eyes, and you couldn’t even come up with an argument against that. She was right. And there worse secrets and lies waiting to be uncovered that she couldn’t even fathom.

When you didn’t respond, she continued. “You made a Bond with Mother and expect her to kill you?” she asked, her hurt seeping through her voice, and you shakily swallowed, knowing you deserved whatever she threw at you. “You knew you were kidnapped by Mother and just tried to die? What else are you hiding from me, Y/N? Do I ever get to know who my sister really is?”

You stared at her, unable to answer her question. If you said yes, it would be a blatant lie Bethany could add to her list. If you said no… well the truth might just hurt her too much in this instance.

She watched you carefully and when she realized you weren’t going to respond, she nodded sadly, as if she knew that would be your answer.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” she answered herself sadly, tears streaking down her cheeks as she turned to leave.

“Bethany,” you called out, not wanting to leave the conversation like this. Not wanting to be such a disappointment to your sister.

“No, just,” Bethany sighed and trailed off. Finally she looked back up at you, and you could see how tired she was in her eyes. “Not right now,” she pleaded quietly, and you acquiesced and allowed her to leave the room without protest.

You returned to your room numbly and curled up in your bed, wishing to fall asleep right there and then despite not having eaten a bite of food that day. Somehow the knowledge that every single person you cared about actively hated you killed your appetite.

You dreamed you were back in the hard, cold orphanage bed and were relieved to finally be in a place you weren’t constantly hurting someone.

#iihmc #if i had my choice #alexander x reader #alex x reader #alexander hamilton x reader

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redantsunderneath · 5 years ago

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Marlene Dietrich/Josef von Sternberg marathon: The Blue Angel, Morocco (1930), Dishonored, and Shanghai Express (1931)

I watched all of these films, the Blue Angel in German (which surprisingly didn’t hurt, though I might have missed some puns), so I could be prepped for the great movie podcast “There’s Sometimes a Buggy” that is covering the collaboration that made Marlene Deitrich as we know her. I don’t have a lot of exposure (more on my movie history later) to the early talkie years so these movies were a bit surprising to me on a lot of fronts, not the least reason for which was that I wasn’t brought up in rape culture, I guess (is this what people mean when they say that? cause, jeesh! every movie, the threat is just there). Funny enough, I felt that The Blue Angel was the only one that was really political to me along axes that felt vital, which is peculiar as the other three were about political conflict of factions/nations and make statements about war, nationalism, and the other, but I guess they don’t seem political in a sense that fits with current discourse. I didn’t see the CPC officer in Shanghai Express as pro communist but as a tentative stab at ambivalent nuance of the other’s perspective, a tipping of the hand that there’s a western-centracism in his absurd rape code (this is a common feature through the films of a “first claim” that a certain type of man has on a woman that has nothing to do with what she wants), and as ultimately an example of the brutality of violent conflict (more pointed because he’s been fleshed out). But I admit, by the films' equalizing the other side (the Russians, the CPC and even the Tunisian rebels if only by making the French Foreign Legion look so terrible) that is in itself a statement. Kubrick’s Paths of Glory seems to pick up where this leaves off.

The Blue Angel is the film I have the most to say about, and was the most interesting conceptually, but was hard to sync with for technical reasons (me not speaking German maybe being one of them). Through the films, we watch Dietrich get better at being a talkie actress and the Blue Angel doesn’t push her that hard, but this may be more a function of the camerawork and editing than anything else. Jannings somehow works better with her as a leading man than anyone but Dishonored’s McLaglen because he can fill the space created by her silent movie style of encapsulated performative moments then stasis/posing, though the let it breathe editing doesn’t help (I almost think her hand on ribcage pose starts as a need for her to have something to do when reacting that seems like a reaction). Morocco’s Gary Cooper sometimes seems like he’s in a different space than her and Shanghai’s Brook is super clipped (though she’s better adapted by then).

In Blue Angel, the effort to create composite Mise-en-scène with the ominous foreground frames is terrific (those anchors hanging down! the professor’s approach to the club!) and we have some of that German expressionist inner state stuff going on, especially at the end (the shadow of the chandelier!) but the cameraman doesn’t seem to know where to be and maybe that explains the ostensibly crappy blocking. The cinematography on the others is much better – the superimposed tracking shots in Morocco are phenomenal – and have just as many knockout myth buildingly shot scenes (too many to mention but her in a tux in Morocco, the final escape in Dishonored, the prayer in Shanghai Express). All the movies have enough differences in approach that you could think they were done by a different team (were the external shots in Morocco the ones shot by Peckinpah’s eventual AD, Lucien Ballard?).

There are all sorts of motifs running through the films: clocks (and calendars), racially insensitive dolls, men’s hats on women, skein-like drapes sometimes burned by irons vs drawn opaque shades, a man eavesdropping to get mood altering information from behind a louvered door, clowns/harlequins, throwing stuff that will need to be cleaned up on the floor/wall, makeup application in a number of functions (e.g. highlighting her performative nature, emasculation of men), sitting/sprawling on things as an act of feminine claiming of the space, guttural and animal noises as announcement we’re in a libidinal space positive or negative, the stockings, the kept animals, and all sorts of recurring human archetypes. But it’s The Blue Angel, with its full bore usage of these things plus more (eggs, nautical detritus, clock figurines, etc, that the subliminal story is the most present (though Dishonored is pretty potent).

The reason why I say Blue Angel is the most socio-political is that as a 2019 person on the internet who sees the culture war, is aware of the history of Weimar imagery as handled post Nazi, and knows what’s coming (spoilers for Hitler), the statement being made looks really complicated with a first pass of: the intelligencia’s embrace of the subaltern as primarily an instrument-possession both losses them cultural power and leaves them outside of the outgroup too, which is how, maybe, regressive populism (the students as rabble) wins. Granted this is an Iser-type hermeneutical hot take and it is complicated by the possibility that Jannings codes as pre-Hitler German populace’s growing conflation of left wing and Jewish as “dark other” (problematic, hard to bring the 1930 and 2019 horizons together on this, mileage may vary, but a case can be made) which would almost make this an anti-radical (on both sides) statement that meshes with the other movies’ anti-violence, anti group/idea allegiance, pro-people take. This is just the "bad decision" version. As for Jannings, the lumpen here is fine with him as long as he performs correctly. Maybe this is an artifact of Dietrich not being the protagonist by a director who wants her to be. The thing that really overlays this from a now standpoint, though, is the rhyming with a kind of 4chan framing where he has lost his “rightful” power, is “cucked,” and has an entitled-male rage tm (i.e. this can be read as an anti incel-ideology movie). The other movies don’t have this kind of congruence for the most part.

But the way the symbols work is pretty neat. His descent from prominent social capital to internationally renowned cock-a-doodle-do jester is marked by the change in the relationship with eggs as sexual enticement vs humiliation (and the humiliation was there from the beginning to be sure). The clown is there as a warning/future self. The special clocks that eerily suggests his/society’s demons are coming and no one can stop the forward mechanism of time. The caged bird is as you would expect. The dolls are a sort of self possession that she does test runs giving away. There’s too much to talk about.

Morocco has Cooper’s charisma going for it (which works best with Dietrich’s when they cut back and forth), the best non-closeup camerawork (the exteriors are great), large scale staging, and that cool woman in a tux mythmaking performance piece. It contains Cooper’s great non-verbal performance in the scene where he eventually writes “changed my mind” on the mirror (you can see him decide). The last scene of her trudging across the desert and throwing away her heals is great, and there is so much motion in the frame so often – the superimposition of movement that turns a dissolve into a long transitional double shot, the scene where she looks for him in the marching parade, etc. The relief map was hinky, though.

Dishonored was my favorite of the four. I liked all these films but, broken down, it had a couple of “bests” in it, but was #2 for everything else. It had the best-functioning male lead (the always in a mask non-naturalistic thing was perfect as that how she is and it balanced the space well) and a greater share of my very favorite scenes: the final escape scene, the party, the firing squad, and any any fucking piano playing (the first shot of her playing piano is my favorite shot of all the films). It’s the second best as a subliminal story (after Blue Angel), was the only one other than Shanghai Express that seemed like it had a screenplay - a story story rather than a loose idea, the idea of certain shots, the actors types, and dialogue. It had the most convincing sweep other than Morocco. The cat was a nice setting free of agency, progressing the doll as totem of self/other possession but with a mind of its own, with the power to ruin everything. This movie really vibed with me perfectly.

For Shanghai Express, see above, but I have to say I love the Disney villainess (before there were Disney villainesses) dress. The multi note secondary characters with actual performances and arcs was unique... the pastor who changes his mind on what is morally good is terrific, as are the exchanges between two fully fleshed out prostitutes and an old prude. My list is close, but If I had to order it would be Dishonored, Blue Angel, Shanghai, then Morocco, but it’s tough because the great things about each vary so much (I kept dithering on the bottom three more than #1, I considered putting Morocco 2nd).

It’s odd I’ve written this much and I haven’t broached the gender archetype pushing and pulling here, mainly because this seems pretty well mined territory. I’m under-read on this and feel like my take would be super cold -- cross dressing, Gary Cooper with a flower behind his ear, the unflinching depiction of how tough a time women have it while still depicting a kind of unique female cruelty to men, and the constant sexist statements undermined by the POV and what actually happened. Hopefully my naive viewpoint, coming at this fresh eyes will be valuable. So, like, are all these movies from this time period about class? It kind of reminds me of Impro, the Keith Johnstone book, which basically boils all theatrical character interaction to being about status.

Anyway, I’ve ignored my exegesis of Taylor Swift’s Lover to write this, so I must be back to work.

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ybarrcs · 5 years ago

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hello , what’s good ! my name’s lina & i’m super excited to be here ! i’m 21 , am currently chilling in the gmt timezone & my pronouns are she / her ! i’m literally a trash bag in human form & spend way too much time thinking stefan salvatore deserved better & hoping that bazzi will someday release another album ! anyway , that’s all boring nonsense ashfkjk but i can’t wait to get to write with u guys & introduce u to this little messy b*tch ! i’m too lazy to rewrite for things so below is just a section ( with his secret removed bc 😏 ) of his app bc i’d never put y’all through reading ALL of that so i hope u enjoy ! if u’d like to plot then smash that lil heart & i’ll come running to u !

oh my gosh, am i crazy or did i just see XAVIER SERRANO jamming out to CHANGED by BAZZI ? wait nevermind, i think that’s just AVERY YBARRA . pretty sure i heard they’re known around hollywood as THE CONNARD. while that is a broad term, it makes sense because they’re known around hollywood for being HEDONISTIC but can also be CALLOUS. which makes total sense after seeing everything prominence insider has posted on their site about them. + missed calls at 2am, tangled knots of headphones, burnt matchsticks, well worn leather jackets, there are pasts inside they, do it out of spite. ◜ lina. 21. gmt. she/her. ◞

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : avery ybarra , previously matías castillo

𝐚𝐠𝐞 : twenty - four .

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 : male .

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 : he / him .

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 : september 2nd .

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 : virgo .

𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 : 6ft 1in .

𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 : 80kg .

𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 : light brown .

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 : green .

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : chef / social media influencer / youtuber .

𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 : heterosexual .

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 : victoria castillo ( mother , deceased ) & alejandro castillo ( father , 46 ) .

𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : alisa castillo ( sister , 21 ) & amalia castillo ( sister , 18 ) .

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 : barcelona , spain .

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 : los angeles , california .

𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 : spanish .

𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 : hispanic .

𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 : spanish ( first ) , english ( second ) , french , italian , portuguese.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 : 10 million .

𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐬 : the connard , the hacker , the runaway .

+ 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 : analytical , intelligent , meticulous , modest , practical , reliable .

- 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 : conservative , fastidious , fussy , harsh , judgemental , overcritical .

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 .

TRIGGERS ; leukemia , death , drugs & alcohol .

in a quaint yet suburban town located on outskirts of barcelona , spain lived alejandro castillo , a recent high school graduate & current owner of the castillo residence . he’d call it a home , but he wouldn’t label a 100 square meter foundation a home . the castillos never had an easy life , & as the only child of his late parents he was left with the entirety of their his family’s fortune . or so , how little of the fortune they had left . alejandro was a level headed young man who had worked hard in school & had a weekend job to pay off the bills , & with little family he was left alone in the big city to find a stable future & work through his grief . he had three , very important steps to follow : get drunk ; it wouldn’t cost too much for a pint of flaherty’s finest bitter , right ? buy a car ; although he had little money to play around with , his inherited money was enough for him to buy an beaten down toyota 4runner . then , get a girl ; it was a common necessity back then , but who would want a struggling mechanic who was left to live his lonely life ?

in a more upstate area in barcelona , victoria de la rosa resided with her parents & three siblings . now , the de la rosa’s were not by any means considerably wealthy , but they were comfortable . their children were educated in some of the best schools in barcelona & had full scholarships for college . in conclusion , victoria had a good life , but she wasn’t spoiled about it . a modest & kind young lady , she accepted everyone no matter their status & lived somewhat an idealistic life . everyone expected her to do well in life , to marry someone who could treat her the way she deserved to be treated . her parents , who had even higher expectations would cast her off to have meals with already successful young men , but victoria didn’t care about success . success , to her , was three notches short of happiness & if you’re not happy , then what are you doing ? her whole life , she told herself that happiness comes first & success comes later , so she would quickly send who her parents considered to be eligible candidates on their way with that delicate smile of hers .

the day that victoria met alejandro castillo , her whole world changed . he was everything he parents didn’t want her to be with . he didn’t have a lot money , a flashy car or an expensive house . but what he was brave & determined , thoughtful & fair . it was these traits , rather than the little fortune he had behind him that made victoria fall in love so easily & undeniably . within a year , the pair were married , but the wedding wasn’t exactly what would be called ‘ traditional ’ . in fact , it was just the two of them & two witnesses in barcelona’s registration office . it wasn’t decorated with pretty flowers & silk sheets draped over chairs , with hundreds of guests holding back the tears as vows were exchanged , but it was everything they could hope for . on the contrary , victoria’s parents were not happy at all . not just in her choice of the wedding venue but the man she chose to dedicate the rest of her life to . so , as some form of punishment , they cut off her funding & left her to her own devices . but victoria was happy regardless .

the happy couple lived in the castillo home for a couple of years , & after victoria had caught on a stable job & they had a good influx of money to keep them on their feet , they decided to invest in a bigger home . it wasn’t much bigger , but it was a house a lot more fitting for their growing family . after all , victoria was pregnant with their first child , & with that comes a responsibility & the need for a lot more room . the pregnancy was tumultuous & complicated at times , but when it was good , it was incredible . the problems became defeated by the pure happiness that came with feeling their baby kick in victoria’s belly for the first time , or feeling it have hiccup after hiccup . it was a long nine months of waiting for the day to finally come , & after they had both agreed not to find out the gender of their first born , the day their baby was born was the happiest date of their life . it was at 02:51 AM on september the 2nd , 1994 , that matías castillo was born .

as a child , he was vibrant & playful . always curious about his next adventure & finding new ways to entertain himself . he was close to his father ; attached to his hip & striving to be more like him , a man who had recently succeeded in his mechanic’s degree after years of trying & only just catching a stable job . but no matter how close he was to his father , matías would forever be his mother’s son . she was his angel , or so he saw her . she was kind & she would teach him to be so . she would easily talk to strangers & he’d follow suit , wanting people to look at him the same way they looked at her . even with his sisters , he was kind . when they were born , he assumed the role of the protective older brother , & despite the odd few debacles that every single sibling has , he still adored them . the family were as what people would say , like a pack of wolves . everything they did , they did it together & even though they didn’t have a lot , they had each other & that was all they needed .

in school , matías excelled in everything he did . he was one of the top pupils in all his classes & was a good , respectable student . especially in food technology . when he was young , he used to stand at the kitchen counter , peering over the top to see what his mother was cooking & over time , it became his passion . most boys his age were into sports & computer games , but all matías cared about was the smell of bread baking in the oven or the satisfied smiles on his family’s faces as he created yet another delicious meal . he became quite good at it , & despite how proud he was of his skills he felt alone in school . nobody understood what it was about cooking that made him feel so fulfilled , & despite his mother’s constant reassurance that it didn’t matter as long as he was happy , he distanced himself from the oven & focused on computer science instead . it didn’t provide the same form of contentment as cooking did , but it was enough to occupy his mind & make him fit in .

but it wasn’t all plain sailing , especially for the castillos . not long after matías’s fourteenth birthday , victoria was rushed in to hospital due to unexplained nose bleeds & weight loss , which both led to an incredibly low blood pressure & a worrying amount of dizziness . after hours worth of blood tests & different types of medical examinations , the family were faced with the distressing news that their beloved mother & wife was showing symptoms of acute leukemia . after more tests & scans were ran , the diagnosis was confirmed & the severity of the condition rattled the family as a whole , no more than matías . he spent hours locked away in his room , trying to come to terms with the the news while his mother received failing treatment . the leukemia had spread too far , reaching to her vital organs & they knew then that it was too late . on august the 21st , victoria castillo passed away with one final request to her son : take care of the family .

the castillos were overcome with grief , which each of them handled in their own way . the girls delved into their school work as a form of distraction . matías kept his promise & took care of the family . he cooked them meals , made sure his sisters were getting to school on time & made sure his father didn’t drown himself in the amount of alcohol he’d been consuming since the funeral . in little to no time at all , he became the man of the family despite only being a young teen in high school , but he tried his best however hard it was . their mother had managed to save up quite a collection of money for them throughout the years , but it didn’t take long for their father to make that disappear on what he would call ‘ necessities ’ that he’d hide from his children too quickly for them to have a good look . as suspicious as he was , matías knew he couldn’t spend too much time pondering over it because his father had quit his job , & they had no other form of income to see them through .

for a little while , the family were slowly sinking towards the way of poverty , & matías was struggling to find ways to provide for them . he tried cleaning windows , washing neighbours cars , but none of the money he earned could provide enough for a house of four . but he was a smart & determined kid , with knowledge way beyond his years & after trying & trying & trying , he found a solution . or more so , the solution found him . the solution being one of his classmates wanting unwarranted access to a friend’s phone . matías wasn’t a computer expert , but he knew his way around programs & after learning of his mother’s condition , he lashed out a little in school & managed to unlock certain websites that were previously banned from the school network . although the school board were quick to notice & shut down the sites again , they never found the culprit , but that didn’t mean the students had no idea who did it .

at first , matías declined . he had so much to worry about already that he did not need someone wanting to find out their friend’s personal information being on his shoulders . but once a good lump sum of money was brought to the table , he had no choice but to agree . after all , it was only one person , right ? if only that were true . after succeeding in gaining the information his classmate asked for , word got out & suddenly he had a whole list of people wanting him to access someone’s system for one reason or another . over time , he became quite good at it & earned a lot of money . money which his father used to pay for the debt his children didn’t know about . no matter how much he earned , through what he’d call his extra curricular activity , it would go in alejandro’s back pocket until he was waist height in debt that he had no choice but to admit where the money was really going . after all , matías had already spotted the bags of powder & pills his father had attempted to stash away , which he had skilfully ignored .

uncovering their father’s drug addiction caused a further rift between the family & matías decided he had had enough . after graduating high school , he had good enough grades to further his education & achieve his bachillerato certificate in food technology , pursuing his dream career & fulfilling his mother’s expectations of him . he even got a part time job working as waiter in the a nearby restaurant , telling himself that if he could keep this up for another couple of years , he’d be able to leave spain & his estranged family behind . he didn’t tell his father about his job , however . he used enough money to provide for the family but the rest was stored away somewhere safe for later use , & after he had earned his certificate , matías booked a flight & earned a place in an american university majoring in food tech & left his old life behind him without so much as a good bye .

for months , he had to swallow his guilt for leaving his family . after all , he made a promise to his mother & broke it by leaving his family in the thousands of euros of debt his father had landed them in . but he wasn’t happy ; matías wasn’t happy being branded as a castillo . he didn’t want to have any ties to his family so after a few months of living in the US , he decided to change his name . it took a lot of back & forth throwing of different names but after a while of deciding , he settled on avery ybarra . nobody would ever suspect he was a castillo with that name , or so , that’s what he was hoping for . living in a different country was refreshing ; he was free to do what he wanted to do & what he wanted to do was cook . but he needed to work up to the position he wanted . he already had experience as a waiter , so getting a job in that department was easy , but it was soon noticed that he was more than just taking orders & bringing out dishes . he’d often critique the food that was being sent out , which at first his boss found annoying until he realised that the customers were complaining of the same thing , & promoted avery to chef de partie as a roundsman .

his newly accounted role in the restaurant boosted sales , & his talent was noticed by many . so much so that his colleagues , well aware of his passion for food persuaded him to apply for hell’s kitchen’s 14th season . as reluctant as he was , he eventually applied & was accepted as one of the contestants . the competition was tough , but he battled through each challenge like a champion & gained a mass following on his instagram , if not for his youthful looks then it was his attitude in the kitchen . but eventually , on june the 9th 2015 , he was crowned the youngest winner of hell’s kitchen . after that , he worked closely with joël robuchon , a world renowned french chef who’s dishes avery was in awe of but he was also awarded a grand total of $250,000 to do with what he pleased . he planned to buy a nice home , a decent car & put some money to one side so he could eventually purchase his own restaurant . but his father had other words .

after his victorious win , avery ybarra was a name everyone knew . young , promising , & strikingly handsome , he was popular among many . but back home , his family still knew him as matías . so , in return for his family to not expose who he actually was , his father proposed a deal : pay off his debt , give them a comfortable amount of money to live with , & then they’d have nothing to do with him again . avery did not think it through too much . after all , how much debt could his father had gotten them into within such a short space of time ? his first mistake was underestimating his father’s addiction , & after paying off the debt & giving them a lump sum to spend in their bank accounts , he was left with next to nothing . avery felt sad , manipulated & above all betrayed . he never trusted his father to begin with , & there was a good reason why .

* here’s where his secret goes but let’s say he got a lot of money *

at first , avery didn’t know what to do with the money . he just needed enough to get him off his feet . but after time , he did everything he had planned before . he had his nice apartment , his luxurious car , started constructing own restraurant , & a pile of designer clothes that eventually were given to him by brands over time . his following on social media kept growing & brands kept coming to him to promote their products , & suddenly avery didn’t need to do what he used to to gain money any more . he started a youtube channel where he would teach people how to cook , a channel that soon hit off & earned him more money over time . eventually , he settled into his new profit & his new life as avery ybarra . he wasn’t matías castillo any more , & it about time the world knew about it .

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 .

due to the course his life took , avery has altered a lot through the years . when he was a child , he had a simplistic outlook on life & didn’t really take notice of a lot of things , mostly because he didn’t need to . now , avery is thoughtful . every decision he makes has to be well thought out before he can even consider carrying it out , mostly due to the fact that he doesn’t want to embarrass himself or come across as somebody who’s relatively useless . avery is also very critical of other people’s actions . he has this mindset where he believes he is superior to other people , & that often shines through in consistent eye rolling & only listening to half of what someone says before occupying his mind with something else . if he sees someone as being dull & boring , he’ll immediately shut off & act like they don’t exist because to him , they’re just wasting their time talking to him .

despite all this , however , avery is very humble about his career . he knows he’s a good cook ( after all , he won hell’s kitchen ! ) but he doesn’t let it get to his head . he knows he can be better & excel in it , so until he’s the best of the best , he’s not satisfied . he’s very ambitious & is not afraid to speak his mind if it means it’ll benefit him in some way . a lot of the time , he speaks his mind anyway . avery is a very outspoken individual , not afraid to voice his opinion no matter who agrees or disagrees . the fact of the matter is , he simply doesn’t care enough . people are generally irrelevant to him , especially if they serve no purpose in his life so it’s not uncommon for him to be rude & brash whenever he wants to be , even if it’s uncalled for . he doesn’t care about hurting other’s feelings , no matter the cost of it .

avery is also , despite popular belief , incredibly loyal . he’s not opposed to sleeping with strangers , but when he’s committed to something , he’s in it wholeheartedly until he loses interest or for whatever reason he can’t anymore . but , getting close to avery is very difficult . with him being a secretive individual , he tends to hide his thoughts & feelings so as a result , can come across as being quite fickle . he’s a man who knows what he wants in terms of his career & lifestyle , but in terms of everything else , he’s still not sure what exactly he’s searching for . he’s an aimless wanderer , meaning he travels a lot in order to gain more knowledge . be it in food or culture in general , avery is always keen to learn something new & bring it home to share with everyone else ( or those who he feels are deserving , that is ) .

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 .

𝖎 . 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 : avery isn’t the best at making friends but this person is the one avery is closest to . honestly , i imagine them to have the same dynamic as nick & schmidt from new girl ?? this person has probably seen a side to avery that very little people have seen before & is one of the only people he can relax around !

𝖎𝖎 . 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 / 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫 : listen ! these are my favourite sort of plots because i feel like they can be go in so many different directions & i just love them so much ?? i feel like with avery being such a difficult person to get along with , it’d be interesting to see how he’d live with / next to someone else ! brownie points if they just moved in & it’s all awks .

𝖎𝖎𝖎 . 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬 : ok hear me out ... avery can be quite insufferable & more often than not finds a way to bicker about anything & everything . anyway , these two pick fights about almost everything & as the tension builds up everything gets foggier the more angry they get then ... u Know how the story ends . ‘ this is the last time ’ they say ten million times .

𝖎𝖛 . 𝐩𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 : i don’t mean like justin & hailey ‘ let’s pretend we’re married ’ sorta vibes . imagine them going out on fake dates , been spotted out in public holding hands , whoever set them out to do this thought it was a brilliant idea but they might have different thoughts . brownie points if they hate each other . extra brownie points if they can’t tell anyone about it .

𝖛 . 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 : god i literally love this connection so SO much . avery p much lost his siblings so give him SOMEONE to be protective over & care for ok i would DIE my heart is soft . let them be confiding watching comedy movies all day & fighting over who gets the remote . how sweet :’)

𝖛𝖎 . 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 : an iconic connection that Never gets old . these two do not get on , for whatever reason they go together like chalk & cheese & are always fighting about something . their interactions consist of them constantly wanting to one - up each other & it’s like a battle of who can win this time .

#promintro.#leukemia tw #death tw #drugs tw #alcohol tw #◟ 𝓪.𝔂. ┈ ´ › 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒑. ╱ ooc.#i was gonna do an extra ass graph but i am ..... Lazy #anyway here we Are !! agdjgj #if u click where it says ‘excited’ there’s a surpris :)

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seashellrosekitty · 6 years ago

Text

Three Words | Teen Wolf Imagine AU

Pairing: Derek Hale x Female Reader

Plot: Derek Hale is getting married to you. ;)

Wordcount: 1,930 (7-minute read)

Warnings: This is oozing with Fluff! The story is narrated from Derek’s POV. Welcome to Derek Hale’s mind! Enjoy!

A/N: I’m experimenting with my narration. Hope y’all lemme know what you think!

(Photos aren’t mine! They belong to their rightful owners!)

I never thought this day would ever come. I’ve been on the run for half of my life. From hunters, then from the FBI. For some time, I’ve looked at the world as a hostile place. It’s never safe anywhere for supernatural beings like me. But now, as I fix my tie, I’m convinced that all of that has changed. I’m getting married to the most beautiful woman in the world today. A smile draws up on the corners of my mouth as I think of that.

I’m facing the window, overlooking the garden where I’ll soon be exchanging vows with Y/N. Scott comes in appearing a little flustered.

“Dude, sorry I’m late. I had to pick up Allison,” Scott says to me.

“Hey, no problem,” I said, as I grab his hand and give him a brotherly bump on the chest. “I’m just glad you could make it, Scott.”

“I still can’t get over the fact that you didn’t make me, your beloved uncle, your best man,” Peter suddenly appears on the doorstep. His expression is pretentiously bothered.

“Call yourself lucky ‘cause I cared enough to invite you to my wedding,” I say to Peter. He then rolls his eyes at me. I shake my head at him then ignore him.

“Looks like I don’t even have so much to do here. You’re all dressed up, and the rings are where they’re supposed to be, and almost everyone’s here,” Scott says to me. I smile at him then look at myself in the mirror while adjusting my tie.

“Just help me make sure I don’t make a fool out of myself today, Scott.”

“Dude! Who knew you’d look fucking handsome in a tux?” Stiles comes to the room rushing in. I can tell he’s pretty excited for me too. I exhale in his humor. That kid hasn’t changed one bit even after college.

“Thanks for coming, Stiles. You better not mess up my wedding day,” I say to him.

“Oh, come on, Derek. The only person who’d probably wanna mess up your wedding day is Kate Argent...” He trails off. “And Miss Blake, probably. And Braeden,” His eyes darting around as he enumerates. “All of your exes, pretty much,” Stiles says, nodding in certainty.

“Hey, no one’s coming to ruin your wedding, man. Don’t worry about it. Argent’s got Kate covered already. Miss Blake won’t be back for you. And Braeden...you know it didn’t work out with you guys,” Scott says to me encouragingly.

“Besides,” Stiles interrupts. “We’ve got the whole pack surrounding us. And if trouble comes, Peter will be the first one to take care of it. Right, Peter?” Stiles looks at where Peter was standing but didn’t find him there or anywhere in the room. “Dude, wasn’t he just here a minute ago?”

“Forget him,” I say to them. “Damn it, I’m so nervous. I wish liquor still had an effect on us.” I rub my palms together in anxiousness.

“It’s that bad, huh?” Scott asks me, grinning amusedly. I think about it.

“I guess so,” I rub my nape as I look at the window again. “Why do I feel like this is scarier than all the chances we had of getting killed?” I turn my back to the window and look at them, expecting an answer. Scott and Stiles look at each other, both still smiling.

“Maybe because you don’t wanna mess it up?” Scott says.

“Yeah,” Stiles adds. “Not just the wedding, dude.” He pats my shoulder.

“The marriage,” Scott finishes. “This is good. It means you’re not gonna hurt her.”

“I’d kill anyone who would,” I say to them, and they both pat my shoulders to release the tension that suddenly elated at the thought.

Finally, the time for the ceremony comes, and my palms are sweating like hell. I stand at the altar beside Scott, anticipating for when my bride, Y/N, finally marches the aisle. Y/N always wanted a rustic garden wedding, and I always wanted to be wed with her. After I had rebuilt my family’s house, we paid tribute to them and decided we get married inside the Beacon Hills Preserve. Y/N said it would be nice to make a new and positive memory to my family’s home. She really thinks of everything.

It’s a perfect day to get married to Y/N. The start of October Fall has brought a good tone to our wedding. Beacon Hills isn’t as dark as it usually is. I quietly glance at everyone we’ve invited. On the right side of the audience are Y/N’s small family and an intimate number of friends. On the left side sit mine: Peter, Cora and her husband carrying their 2-month old baby, Malia, Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa, and Argent. At the back seated are Deaton, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd.

The wedding march begins. The acoustic quartet starts to play a song. And I can’t wait to see Y/N’s figure to emerge from the back of the whole entourage.

Liam happens to be the ring bearer and he marches first. Scott and Stiles decided on it. The flower girl, Cora’s 5-year-old daughter, follows. Then Stiles and Lydia, being the bridesmaid and groomsman. Allison is Y/N’s Maid of Honor and walks alone. The acoustic quartet starts to play ‘Canon in D Major’.

Finally, there she is.

I’ve never seen her look so beautiful. Look at my princess. She looks so perfect in her lace dress. Her little head crowned with flowers. Her mere presence always made me forget of my vicious side. She’s always been the only good thing in my life when things weren’t; when things were hopeless. The pack calls me ‘sour wolf’ but she always calls me ‘sweetie,” always so endearing. Her tone, always so warm when she says my name.

I’m getting married to her but I still wonder how she manages to be so pure, and goofy, and hot all at the same time. I shake my head at that the thought because that’s when she takes a glance at me while she walks the aisle gracefully with her father. God, look at her. Look at the woman I’m about to be married to.

Her father shakes my hand and eyes me the statement, “Take care of my daughter or you know what’ll happen to you.” I finally grab Y/N’s hands. To my surprise, they’re cold too. Her smile is so big and refreshing, and I could hear her heartbeat pounding in her chest. I wish she could hear mine, too. It’s pounding too. It’s pounding strongly just for her. This feeling is beyond my understanding.

“Hey,” Y/N says to me. I say the same thing to her. “You ready?” Her rosy lips draw a grin at me.

“Ever since I met you, babe,” I say to her.

God, I must’ve done something right in this life to be in this moment right now. Here she is, standing in front of me. Those Y/E/C eyes gazing at me, sparkling with excitement and nervousness. The wedding officiant now tells us to exchange vows. I start with mine.

“My dear Y/N, my love for you will always be whole and will never wither, will never doubt you, and will never love another. I’ve loved you since the day you learned my name; especially when you said it repeatedly for the first time because I froze on the fact that you knew my name.

I promise to listen to you. To laugh at your silly, but mostly funny jokes; to listen to your dreams and wishes; to your problems, and worries. I promise to keep you away from insecurities as possible for you have no reason to be insecure. I promise to be there on days you need me. To protect you from harm. I promise to hold you only with gentle hands. I promise to compromise with you in a disagreement. To massage your neck when you need me to. And give you the whole tub of ice cream on a bad day.

Y/N, your eyes make me weak every time they set their gaze on me, but your love makes me strong. I only want to see your smile when I wake up in the morning because it always tells me that everything will be all right. I will always love the way you say my name because it always sounds tender to my ears. I will always love holding your hands because they’re the perfect fit for mine.

You are my anchor, Y/N L/N.

I promise to be with you in your darkest hour. I will hold your hand and embrace you when you feel defeated. I’ll cry with you and binge-watch anything with you. I will always be your best friend, and I will leverage on being your husband from there. I will always respect you, and honor you as my wife, my love, my Y/N,”

Y/N starts with her vows.

“My dear Derek, I still couldn’t believe my eyes that you’re here, exchanging vows with me. It’s almost the same way when I first heard your friends call you ‘sour wolf,’ because you’ve been nothing but sweet and gentle to me. Derek, I love everything that your handsome face does, I even love it when you look annoyed. I love the way you look at me because you look at me with your kind eyes.

Derek, I promise to coax you when you need me to, even if you tell me you don’t. To care for you when you’re hurt or bruised. I promise I won’t pry on things you don’t want to talk about. But if I know that it bothers you, I promise to convince you that we’ll go through it together. I promise to massage your temples on a hard day and be kinder to you during the full moon. I promise not to nag at you when I’m stressed or frustrated.

I promise to listen to your pack stories, your plans, your goals, and dreams. Your thoughts will always matter to me. I promise to stand beside you in times of troubles and impossible things. I promise to trust you when you tell me to. And I promise to put back the toothpaste cap on and squeeze it from the bottom of the tube.

I love seeing you get excited about the things you love and enjoy. I don’t care how different we are, because, to me, we are one.

I’m excited to share so many things with you. Breakfasts, naps, movies, silences, sunrises and sunsets, and the future ahead of us. I’ve loved you with all my heart, Derek Hale, and I always will. The love in my heart will always renew every day, just as the day does with the sun. I promise to cherish you and honor you as my partner in crime and in life; as my husband and soulmate, my dearest Derek.”

I’ve never felt my face so wet with tears since I lost my family. But here she is, Y/N L/N, now taking my name, finally being my new family. Y/N and I both take sharp breaths as we smile at each other, slowly taking in our vows to each other. For a long moment, I forgot that our families and friends are with us at this very moment.

Y/N and I keep our hands holding each other’s as we exchange rings and take each other as husband and wife. Our voices shake as we talk, awaiting the life we’ll live after we say those three words that will change our lives forever.

What do you guys think?? Did I do Derek some justice?? Hope y’all like it! Tell me if you wanna be tagged!

P.S. I have a Scott x Reader imagine coming up!

Tag list:

@spxderbarnes @bojabee @jurrasicpork

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf au #teen wolf fluff #derek hale imagine #derek hale x reader #derek hale wedding

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letterfromtrenwith · 6 years ago

Text

Crowned With Consolation

1806: George & Elizabeth receive some devastating news, tearing their contented life apart.

A future fic which is AU for both the series and the books, although it is inspired by some events from the later books.

Prologue

“Oh, Kitty, would you please open the window?”

“Of course, Ma’am.” George and Elizabeth shared a small smile when the young housemaid could not resist pausing to take a breath of the warm summer air. As the girl departed, the faint sounds of birdsong floated into the great hall.

“Can you hear the birds? They’re very happy today!” Elizabeth smiled down at their youngest child, Nicholas, who sat contentedly on her lap, playing with the embroidered hem of her shawl. The other children had been sent back to the nursery for their lessons so he was able to spend some time alone with his parents as they lingered over the end of their breakfast.

“Because it’s summer,” he replied, quite seriously, and George could not help but laugh as Elizabeth gave him a look of astonished delight.

“Why, yes! How clever of you to know that!” Nicholas beamed at his mother’s praise, cuddling closer to her. Although just three years old, he was a bright boy, taking after his elder siblings in their tendency to precociousness. His sisters read to him from their books, while his brother took him for walks in the gardens, pointing out flowers and insects, and showing him birds’ nests in the trees. At twelve, Valentine would be off to school soon and so they were making the most of his time at home. They would miss him terribly they knew, although school was the best thing for him.

“Are you at the Bank today?” Elizabeth asked, handing the last piece of her scone to Nicholas, who ate it eagerly, smearing a spot of jam on his chubby cheek. She wiped it gently away.

“Yes, I must go this afternoon. There are some papers that need sent to Gloucester by tonight.” The Warleggan Bank had expanded greatly over the years, with offices all over the South West, and even a small one in London. Once upon a time, George had travelled often between them, but now he preferred to remain close to home as much as possible. Close to the warmth and comfort of his family. It was his age, he supposed – he was getting startlingly close to fifty, although he felt as fit as he ever had – or perhaps it was simply the years teaching him that no matter how successful his business, it could never give him the same happiness as his wife and children. “What do you have planned for today?”

“Oh, not a great deal. I was going to ride over to see Ruth, but she sent a note saying Agneta has a fever. Nothing serious, I understand, but I will visit another day.”

“That poor child is often ill. She seems prone to it.” Agneta Treneglos was one of Ruth and John Teague’s four daughters and was of an age with George and Elizabeth’s eldest daughter, Ursula, and her cousin, Loveday Carne. Malicious gossip had it that there was something wrong with her, some infirmity of mind, but on the occasions Ruth had visited with her children, the girl had seemed quite ordinary, playing with the others and joining them in pestering Cook for sweets. She was perhaps not quite so quick and lively as Ursula and Loveday, but she was only eight years old and they were both clever for their age, not to mention fortunate enough to have parents who were happy to educate girls the same as boys. A lack of sons was a great disappointment to John Treneglos, something both he and his father were not exactly shy about making known. It was very unbecoming behaviour in George’s mind; his own daughters were the light of his life, and brought him more joy than he could describe. Besides, if it was a matter of inheritance, John had a nephew to whom he could will what little of the family fortune he had not already frittered away. Then again, considering George had two much adored sons of his own and had acquired another by marriage, perhaps it was easy for him to take such an attitude.

“I think I will take the girls out into the garden this afternoon, if the weather stays fine.” Elizabeth glanced out at the clear blue skies. “The flowers are blooming beautifully now, and it is time we had some spring colour in the house.”

“I am sure they will be delighted, my dear.” All of their children had inherited their mother’s love of nature, but the girls especially so. The twins, Clare and Susannah, recently turned six, were already prone to clattering in splattered with mud and leaves, much to the despair of the housekeeper, Sarah, who complained only partly in jest that they were half-wild.

Sarah – or Mrs Ewer, more properly – entered now. Irish by birth, she had served the Warleggan family since George’s father was alive, and had been one of a handful of servants who had followed George to Trenwith upon his marriage, somewhat understandably not wishing to remain at Cardew with only Cary as master. Competent and loyal, she had been an invaluable servant over the years, and was now housekeeper. She had asked if they would keep her on even after her marriage – to a respectable coachman – and they had readily agreed. Today, her pleasant face wore a grave expression and George noticed that she was gripping her hands rather tightly together.

“Sir, there are two gentlemen here who wish to speak with you, on a matter of some importance.”

“Well, show them in.”

“Forgive me, Sir, but I think it would be better if you would step outside.” He exchanged a questioning glance with Elizabeth. This was highly irregular, but Sarah was not one for silliness or flights of fancy. If she thought this was for the best, then she would have good reason.

“Very well.” He rose, feeling a twinge in his left shoulder. He had dislocated it in a riding accident over a decade ago and now age occasionally niggled at it. Out in the stone-flagged entrance hall stood not merely two gentlemen, but two soldiers, their uniforms almost glaringly bright in dark-walled space.

“Sire, you are Mr George Warleggan, are you not?” asked the taller of the two. George looked between them, confused as to what their purpose could be.

“I am, but – “

“Stepfather of Lieutenant Geoffrey Charles Poldark, of the 81st Regiment of Foot?”

“Yes…” The solider continued to speak but George did not hear him. His voice faded away, along with everything else that had been in George’s mind that morning, because the other officer was holding out a letter. A letter edged in black.

Elizabeth’s grief was almost harder to bear than this own. Her misery was total and all-consuming. As he’d stepped back into the hall that day, feeling as if he was suddenly in another world than he had been when he’d left it, it hadn’t been the matter-of-fact way in which he’d just been told that his son was dead which truly agonised him, but the knowledge that he must now tell Elizabeth. She’d been playing some sort of game with Nicholas, making him laugh, sheer happiness on her face. He’d watched them for just a moment, wanting to draw out the time before he had to shatter her heart completely. She knew him too well not to see that something was dreadfully wrong as soon as she saw him. He’d watched her beautiful, beloved face fall and her soft eyes fill with tears, and he’d felt an icy hand take hold of him inside and squeeze as if it were trying to crush the very life out of him.

Such was the depths of her despair that when, about three weeks after that day, he had not been able to find her, a terrible possibility had occurred to him. A truly dreadful thought which had almost paralysed him with horror, until he realised that there was one last place he had not looked. He had not thought to look there, because he himself could not bear to go there.

Geoffrey Charles’ bedroom was exactly as he had left it on his last visit home. His books piled on his writing desk and the bedside table, the mantelpiece littered with childhood keepsakes – shells, old coins, some of his toy soldiers, now faded and worn. The sight of their painted red coats made George look away quickly.

Elizabeth lay on the bed, her mourning dress flowing inky-black across the coverlet. Her face was wan, her eyes red and she was clutching what it took George a moment to recognise as Geoffrey Charles’ school coat. He had not realised that the boy had kept it, but then again, by all accounts, his stepson had fonder memories of his schooldays than George.

“Here you are, my dear. I have been looking for you.” He was careful not to let any of the panic he had briefly felt into his voice.

“I thought there might be something of him left in here, but there’s nothing.” Her voice was so soft George had to take a step closer to hear her. “It just all reminds me that he’ll never come back here – never read his books or wear his clothes, never look out of his window or sleep in his bead.”

Her voice broke into a quiet sob and George felt her words keenly. The shock of Geoffrey Charles’ loss had been so brutal, so sudden, with no time to prepare or say goodbye. Yes, they had known he was going off to war, to face terrible danger at every moment. They had seen their friends and neighbours experience the loss and suffering of their husbands, brothers and sons; and yet, somehow, George knew that some part of them both had always believed that Geoffrey Charles would come out all right, that somehow not even a war was enough to take him from them. But they had been wrong, so very wrong. That spirited, clever young man, with his love of riding and cards and sensational novels, his ready smile and dandyish air, was gone. Snatched away, leaving behind only a great hole ripped in the lives of those who loved him.

Not knowing what to say – he hardly knew what to say to anyone at the moment – George came to sit beside her on the bed. She shifted slightly, laying her head on his lap.

“We cannot even bury him,” she whispered. Pain poured through her every word. Elizabeth was a wonderful, loving, devoted mother to all of her children, but Geoffrey Charles was her first born, their special bond strengthened by the time after Francis’ death when they had only had each other. George knew that nothing he said could make it better, so he simply sat and stroked her hair in silence. After a while, although he did not know how long, he heard her breathing slow and felt her relax against him. He dared not move for fear of disturbing her, so he leant back against the headboard and closed his eyes. It would be an uncomfortable night, but it was worth it to bring Elizabeth even a moment of comfort.

The old Poldark family church was cool even in the height of summer. There was a faint hint of damp, in fact, and George absently thought that he must have word with the estate manager about seeing to it. Perhaps he would speak to the stonemason when he came about Geoffrey Charles’ memorial. There may be no body for them to bury, lost on the battlefields of Europe, but his passing would not go unmarked. His stone would go next to the one commemorating his father. The letters of Francis’ name were looking a touch worn, George noticed; that would have to be fixed as well.

George had never been a man of any particular piety. He attended church as often as was thought proper, but was not especially interested in religion. The clergy spent their time lecturing their flocks on temperance and Christian charity, but were almost inevitably a feckless, grasping bunch themselves. However, he had found this place oddly comforting these past weeks. It was quiet and peaceful. Here, he could be alone with his grief. At home, he spent all his time worrying about Elizabeth and the children. He did not come often, and when he did he asked Sarah and Kitty to take care of Elizabeth as best they could, without pestering her of course.

Originally, he had told only Valentine what had happened. He was too old, and too intelligent to be deceived, and George had not wanted him to find out any other way. He at first tried to be stoic, with the typical twelve year old boy’s idea that he must be very grown up about everything, but his resolve had quickly crumbled and he had cried properly for the first time since he was a little boy. It pained George deeply to see him so upset. He himself had been barely older than Valentine when his father died; there was no right age to have death first intrude on one’s life.

“I – I never wrote to him,” he’s stuttered between sobs.

“Yes, you did, I sent your letters myself.”

“No, I – I mean, the last time. His last letter, I kept putting off writing back, and I never did, and now he’s…”

“Shhhh, my boy. Geoffrey Charles did not need letters to know that you were thinking of him.” Despite their age difference, the two boys had always got along well, Geoffrey Charles patiently reading to him from Mrs Barbauld, and playing hide and seek with him in the maze of old attic rooms upstairs then, as Valentine grew, taking him riding and showing him how to play chess.

George had extracted a promise that he would not tell any of the other children, nor any of his cousins. However, Ursula, as usual, could not be fooled. One day, as he sat alone in the parlour, Morwenna having managed to cajole Elizabeth into at least sitting outside with her, if not taking a walk, Ursula had burst in quite suddenly, a determined look on her little face.

“Papa, is Geoffrey Charles dead?” The blunt, direct question was typical of her. “I asked Valentine but he won’t tell me.”

“Ursula…” It had been on the tip of George’s tongue to lie, but he had seen that there was no point. “Yes, my love, he is. I am so very sorry.”

He could see from her face that a small part of her young mind had hoped that her Papa would tell her she was being silly, that it was all a terrible mistake, but he had not. In the end, she had cried into his coat for an hour, every sob like knife in his chest.

The younger children could sense the terrible cloud of pain that hovered over their once idyllic home, but George absolutely could not bring himself to tell them its cause. Nicholas was certainly far too little. Perhaps the twins were not, but he could at least try to preserve their innocence a little longer.

He was startled out of his reverie by the church door opening behind him, and the soft brush of a woman’s shoes upon the floor. The woman did not hesitate to approach, but he did not look up, not until she stood over him.

“May I sit?”

“Of course, my dear.” Morwenna Carne was a married woman with children now, and almost thirty years old at that, but George still often thought of her as the sweet young girl who had come to them as Geoffrey Charles’ governess. Although she had stopped being that girl when she absconded from her home and her engagement to the odious Osborne Whitworth to marry Drake Carne, a decision which may have caused a great upheaval, but which she had blessedly never had reason to regret.

“How is Elizabeth?…But that is a foolish question, of course.” She shook her head, looking down at hands clasped on her lap. It may have been warm outside, but she was dressed quite sombrely, her long coat a pale grey. In deference to the church, perhaps, or her own way of mourning. The special connection which had formed between her and her charge had never lessened over the years, and although she had endeavoured to bear up for the sake of Elizabeth and the children, George knew she must feel her own sense of loss just as deeply as they did. “I will visit again this week, if she would like.”

“I am sure that she would.” Morwenna had been the only visitor Elizabeth would see. George had turned away several in the first weeks, from the genuinely well-meaning likes of Caroline Enys, to the morbidly nosy Mrs Teague. By now, they had stopped coming. He did not miss them.

“I – I have something I must tell you. Drake says I should not, but I believe it would be wrong of me to keep it to myself.” George looked at her curiously. She sounded regretful, almost guilty, but he could not imagine why. “You will remember when Geoffrey Charles first announced he wished to join the Army? You were both so set against it, but he would not listen to you. Elizabeth begged me to persuade him not to go, and I told her that I would but –“

“But?”

“I did tell him that I did not want him to go, but I also told him that I could not tell him what to do, and that he must trust his own judgement. I encouraged him to go to his death.” Her voice wavered at the last word, and she looked away, her hat covering her face. It would be easy to be angry with her, but he was not. She had not fired the rifle or the canon which had killed Geoffrey Charles – it was not her fault.

“You knew him as well as any of us, Morwenna. Even if you had told him unequivocally that you would never approve of his going, do you think he would have listened?”

“No, I do not suppose that he would,” she conceded after a moment.

“If he had been considering any other decision, I might well have told him the same thing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod, although she kept her eyes down.

“I just – I wish there was something I could do. To – to make it better.”

“We all wish that, my dear.”

All of the pain and misery gathering at the house had to boil over eventually, and it did so one day in early October. The summer had passed in a sort of grey blur, each day much like the next. George continued with his work purely out of necessity – he could take no pleasure in it at all now. Almost one penny in three which passed through his hands had something to do with the war. It had tripled their income, but at a terrible cost. The thought of it had made him somewhat uneasy right from the beginning, but since the loss of Geoffrey Charles he loathed it. He would gladly throw every coin into the sea if he could.

Sometimes, he would forget for moment, and for that all-too-brief second it was as if their world had never been destroyed. As if his dear wife were not consumed by her agony, his children’s young lives falling in the shadow of death. As if he had not lost his son. George had been Geoffrey Charles’ godfather before he became his stepfather; he had held the boy at his christening, encouraged by a smiling Elizabeth, her pure adoration for her child written all over her face. In the first months of George’s marriage to Elizabeth, his relationship with Geoffrey Charles had not been the easiest, but over the years they had become much closer, and George loved him as he loved all of his children. He had never hesitated to tell anyone who asked that he had three sons, and Geoffrey Charles had quite happily introduced his friends to ‘my parents’.

If George was laid low by his grief, it was naturally taking a much greater toll on Elizabeth. She had lost weight, rarely eating, and he knew she was not sleeping properly. Partly because he was not either, but he often woke during the night to find her sitting at the window seat, simply staring out into the darkness, or frequently gone altogether. The servants had told him that she had taken to wandering the house at night, like some melancholy spirit. She would rarely speak unless spoken to, and then very little. The children tiptoed around her, not wishing to upset her further, although she tried her best to hide her sadness from them. It hurt the youngest children the most, because they did not know the reason for their mother’s melancholy.

The time was rapidly approaching for Valentine to go to school. George had considered putting it off, and asked Valentine if he wished to stay at home a while longer. To his surprise, Valentine had said not.

“It is only proper that I go….I do not think Geoffrey Charles would approve if I did not.” That had brought the first genuine smile to George’s face in a long time. Valentine was probably right. Geoffrey Charles had done very well at school, and often spoken of it to his siblings. Upon reflection, George thought that going away might in fact be good for Valentine – he could make new friends his own age, and find something else to think about other than the absence of his brother.

When George had attempted to broach the subject with Elizabeth, she merely nodded her understanding, but commented no further. He had seen her watching sadly as Valentine’s boxes were piled up in the hall, ready to be loaded into the carriage, but she’d turned away as soon as she saw him watching her.

That night, she barely touched her dinner yet again, disappearing into the parlour. George sent Valentine to bed, and looked in on the others, sitting with Ursula until she fell asleep, and watching Nicholas dream his innocent dreams. He found Elizabeth staring into the fireplace, sewing sitting long untouched on the table beside her.

“My dear,” she turned her head slightly towards him. At first, she had clung to him for comfort, but every day he felt her drawing further away, further into herself. He could stand it no longer. “I beg you, you must eat, and I know you have not been sleeping. I cannot bear to see you this way. Geoffrey Charles would not wish you to suffer like this.”

“How would you know?” He was so surprised by her question that he did not answer, and she turned entirely in her chair to face him. “How would you know what he would wish?! You were not his father! If you were any sort of father to him you would have stopped from going! He could still be here, at home, with me, but you let him go! You let him go and now he’s dead!”

George could not reply; her words had cut him deeply, to the point he felt tears prick at the back of his eyelids. After she had finished her tirade, her sudden burst of energy seemed to drain out of her and sat heavily back down, looking away once more. He did the only thing that he could think of – he turned and walked away from her.

He sat up the rest of the night in his study, not wishing to go to bed alone. There was a chamber upstairs set aside for his use, but he and Elizabeth had spent barely more than a handful of nights apart since their wedding. He had no desire to lie alone in a cold bed that smelled of nothing but laundered sheets.

After a while, he opened one of the desk drawers and took out two letters, one well-read, the creases deep from being opened and refolded so many times. The other was almost pristine, despite being several months old. George had read the first letter Geoffrey Charles had sent him after his departure many times over. Despite Elizabeth’s assertions, George had in fact had a furious row with Geoffrey Charles over his decision to enlist – George demanding that he think of his mother and siblings, of his responsibilities to his estate, but Geoffrey Charles had been defiant and in the end George threw up his hands in defeat.

“Very well! Go if you wish!” They had barely spoken thereafter, and George had regretted that their last words had been cross long before Geoffrey Charles was lost. This letter had arrived a few weeks after he left home/

My dear Uncle

I write to you from Plymouth; we depart tomorrow at last. I wish that my departure from home had been a more harmonious one, but I want you to know that I am not upset with you. I understand entirely why both you and Mama feel as you do, and I cannot blame you for it, but I must do what I believe is right. Please be assured that I am happy with my choice, even if it pains me dreadfully to leave you all.

You asked me to think of Mama, and of the children, and of my estate. I could not say it then, but the truth is that I feel able to go because I know they will all be in your excellent care, Uncle. Knowing that you are all waiting for me at home gives me the strength to go forth, and I believe will help me come back safely.

I will write as often as I can, and I ask that you do the same. Tell me all – what new words has Nicholas learned? What little games have the twins devised? Which of the horses has foaled? What gossip is old Mrs Teague spreading now? It will help me to miss you all less.

Please do not be angry with me, Uncle. I could not bear that.

Your affectionate son,

Geoffrey Charles

George could almost recite the words from memory now, and they remained as simultaneously comforting and saddening as ever. Some part of George agreed with Elizabeth – he should have forbidden Geoffrey Charles from going. Or at least tried. He had always indulged Geoffrey Charles, partly out of affection and partly to please Elizabeth, but perhaps he should have been sterner. George glanced at the portrait of Francis on the wall. Its glaze was yellowing now, but his long gone friend’s gaze was as direct as ever. Would Francis have been able to keep Geoffrey Charles at home? With a sigh, George turned to the second letter. It had never been opened, its ominous black seal still in place. The letter the young officer had given George that fateful day; it contained the report of Geoffrey Charles’ death. Nobody had especially wanted to read it, and George had locked it in his drawer. He had taken it out and turned it over in his hands once or twice, but still it remained sealed.

I must read it, he thought. It is only right that I should know the fate I allowed him to go to.

After so long, the wax parted easily from the paper, and George steeled himself for a moment before reading the small, neat hand.

Dear Mr & Mrs Warleggan

It is with regret that I must inform you that your son, Lieutenant Geoffrey Charles Poldark, of the 81st Regiment of Foot, has been killed in action. He fought and died bravely at the Battle of Maida, where the French troops were beaten back by his battalion. I am told that he sustained his fatal wounds while rescuing his fellow men who were pinned down by enemy fire. He served his country with great honour, and his heroism will not be forgotten.

Your &c.

Major Edward Darnley.

So that was it. A single, formal paragraph detailing the end of a young man’s life. George might as well have burned it as read it, it made no difference. He felt neither better nor worse. Geoffrey Charles was still dead; the fact that he was hailed a hero did not change that. Dropping the letter back into his drawer, George closed it with a click and sat back in his chair.

Sometime after midnight, he was disturbed by the door opening, and realised that he must have been dozing. Elizabeth stood there in her night-clothes, her light dressing gown giving her a ghostly appearance in the moonlight. He could see that she had been crying.

“Oh, George, I am sorry for what I said, it was so dreadful.” She came and knelt beside his chair, her eyes shining with tears as she looked up at him. “Of course I do not blame you and it was so very wrong of me to say that I did. And you were a father to Geoffrey Charles, he told me so himself many times over. I spoke so cruelly do you, can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh, my love…” He stroked her cheek softly and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“But – “

“No, Elizabeth. I cannot deny that your words cut deep, but only because I have sometimes thought them myself.”

“Oh, George…” She rested her head on the arm of the chair and gently ran his fingers through her hair. After a few quiet moments, she spoke again. “You were right to say that Geoffrey Charles would not want this for us. For me. I believe he would be quite cross with me, in fact.”

“He would never be cross with you, my love, but I know that he would hate to see you so unhappy. No one could ever blame you for feeling so – certainly not I – but it pains me to see it consume you like this. If you continue as you have, you will make yourself ill and…I cannot bear to lose you as well.”

“George, I am so very sorry. You have only tried to care for me and I have given you nothing in return when you too have been hurting. I have been so selfish, and such a poor mother to the other children besides.”

“You did not want them to see your pain. You have done nothing wrong, Elizabeth, not to my mind. Many others would have done the same in your position.”

“But you did not. You have been so very strong where I have been weak.”

“To grieve is not a weakness, Elizabeth. Your love for Geoffrey Charles is not a weakness. And I will say, I have not felt very strong these past weeks.”

“Oh, my love…” Elizabeth took her hand in both of his and kissed the back of it. “Now, I think, we must both try our best to be strong together. Not just for the children, but for ourselves too. That is what Geoffrey Charles would want.

The November air was bitingly cold against his face as George stepped out of the Bank. He had barely been to the offices in months, disliking being away from home, and unable to concentrate. There had been some business he simply could not put off, however, and so he had made the journey into Truro. This time, his reluctance to leave had blessedly little to do with worry. Elizabeth’s release of anger, and their subsequent talk in his study, seemed to have done her some good. She was still grieving, of course; they would all be for some time yet, but he had been pleased to see some of her old warmth return to her. She was eating and sleeping better, and her health was much improved. The children had noticed the uptick in her spirits as well. Until he had been nearly bowled over by Nicholas and the twins barrelling along a corridor after Sarah’s little terrier, he had not realised how quiet they had been of late. Although they had not known the reason for it, their parents’ sadness had subdued them.

Elizabeth still regretted her words to him that night, although he had assured her many times that he was not upset with her. In the heat of the moment he had been stung by hearing his own guilty thoughts from her lips, but he had truly meant it when he told her that she did not need to ask his forgiveness. She had still wished to try to explain herself, turning to him one night in their bed, her brow creased in a small frown.

“For all those weeks, I was so very angry. It built and built inside of me. I was angry at the war, at the generals who order young men to their deaths, at whichever damn Frenchman shot my boy; I was angry at the whole world, even Geoffrey Charles for going in the first place. And then I took my rage out upon you and I realised how foolish I was. It would not bring him back, and all I had accomplished by it was to push you away when I most need you. I know that I have not shown it, but you are my greatest comfort, George. Even long before this, from when we were first married, I have always felt that I could face anything if you are with me.”

“Elizabeth…” Too overwhelmed to say anymore, he had simply gathered her close, kissing her forehead.

It was perhaps remembering this which had him so distracted as he crossed the street towards the confectioner’s that he almost ran into the woman in the green coat. He was halfway through an apology when she looked up from under her hat and he realised it was Demelza Poldark.

Save brief glimpses across a ballroom or a banquet hall, George had barely seen anything of the Nampara Poldarks for he did not know how long. Years. His intense dislike for Ross had never changed, and it was safe to presume it remained mutual, but over time they had both become too preoccupied – and too old – to have a care as to do anything about it. George had sent a note to Nampara to tell them of Geoffrey Charles’ death; they had been his family, after all, and so far as George knew, Geoffrey Charles had still spoken to his aunt and cousins or occasion. For some time afterwards he had half-expected Ross to come barging into Trenwith, demanding they all get out at once. With Geoffrey Charles gone, Ross and his family were the last of the Poldarks, so the family property now surely reverted to them. Not wishing to distress Elizabeth or the children, he had put off broaching the subject of them having to leave Trenwith, but he knew he could not delay much longer.

With a polite nod, he stepped around Demelza and continued on his way, until he was pulled up short by the sound of her voice.

“It’s like a shard of glass in your heart.” Of course he knew exactly to what she referred, for Demelza Poldark had lost a child, too. It was many years ago now, almost eighteen if he was not mistaken, but he was sure such things did not slip easily away into the mists of time. George had thought often these past months of how young Geoffrey Charles had been, how much of his life he had yet to live; Julia Poldark had been barely more than a babe in arms when she died, the question of who and what she would grow up to be left forever unanswered. Behind him, he heard Demelza take a step forward, and he turned his head but did not face her. He did not think that he could. “It pierces your soul, and the agony is so terrible you think it will never end. You think it will kill you. Sometimes, it seems like it’s getting a little better and then something will remind you – a word, a sound – and the pain comes back all over again. One day the wound will heal over, but the scar is always there. It will never stop hurting, but it does get a little better.”

“….” He wanted to say something, but could not. With a short, sharp nod of acknowledgement, he strode away. In her desire to be kind – even after everything that had passed between their families over the years – Demelza had inadvertently re-opened the very wound to which she referred. After he was sure he was out of her sight, he had to spend ten minutes standing in the shadow of the alley next to the shop until he was able to master himself.

III

The answer to the mystery as to why Ross had not come to claim his family property was answered one day early in December when an officious little man appeared at the house, announcing that he was Mr Silas Pettyfer Esq, Geoffrey Charles’ attorney, and he was here to read them his will.

“I would have come earlier, but it seems that the Army neglected to inform me of Mr Poldark’s passing,” he complained in his nasal voice, giving George a look of mild disapproval. “Among others.”

George frowned. He did not especially care to be chastised by complete strangers in his own home, let alone over such a distressing matter.

“I might have informed you, Sir, had I not been entirely unaware of your existence until this moment.” That took the wind out of Mr Pettyfer’s sails somewhat and he coughed awkwardly, fishing in his little folio for some papers.

“Mr Poldark had not informed you he had made a will?”

“Lieutenant Poldark, and no he had not, although I cannot imagine why.”

“Perhaps he did not wish to upset us,” Elizabeth said quietly. George covered her hand with his and she gave him a small, sad smile.

“Shall I begin?” Pettyfer looked between them.

“Forgive me, Mr Pettyfer, but I believe we know its contents, the Nampara Poldarks…”

“Ah, no, Mr Warleggan. That is just it. Mr – Lieutenant Poldark expressly made the will to avoid the automatic passing of the family property.”

“He did?” Elizabeth was frowning, and George knew his expression would match hers.

“Yes, Ma’am. Aside from some small bequests to his cousins – that is, Mr Jeremy and Misses Clowance and Isabella-Rose Poldark – and some personal items willed to, ah, Mr & Mrs Drake Carne, Mr Poldark has left the entirety of his estate to you both, to divide as you wish amongst your remaining children. I have the will here, if you should wish to see it.” George took it, a combination of incredulity at its contents, and years of business teaching him never to agree to a document without reading it. It did indeed reflect what Mr Pettyfer had said, and was, so far as George could see, properly signed and witnessed. He passed the paper to Elizabeth and, out of the corner of his eye, saw her trace the loops and whirls of Geoffrey Charles’ signature with her fingertips.

“Was that everything?” If Mr Pettyfer was displeased at being treated so abruptly, he endeavoured not to show it.

“Not quite. There is also this.” He produced a folded letter. George immediately recognised Geoffrey Charles’ seal. “I was to give it to you if…”

“I see. Thank you.”

“Now, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss I must visit…Nampara?…to discuss those bequests.”

“Does Ross Poldark know that he is no longer to inherit Trenwith?” George did not really know why he asked.

“Yes, I believe Mr Poldark informed him before he made the will.”

“Thank you. If there are any items for them to collect, please tell the Poldark children they may come for them whenever they wish.” George might have once felt some sense of satisfaction at Ross being deprived of the property, but now he felt nothing. It was not the value of Trenwith that would have been the greatest loss. Elizabeth had lived here for most of her life, since she was barely twenty years old and all of the children had been born here; for George, it was the place he had been happiest in his life. It was where all of their memories were. To leave it all behind forever would have been deeply saddening.

After Pettyfer had departed with an obsequious sketch of a bow, George and Elizabeth sat quietly for a while. Eventually, George picked up the letter which had been left on the tea table. He held it out to her, but she shook her head.

“Read it to me? Please?”

“Of course, my love.” They sat close together on the sofa and, as he opened the letter, Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, George prepared to read their son’s final words to them.

My dear Mama, Uncle George, Valentine, Ursula, Susannah, Clare and little Nicholas,

As you are reading this letter, it seems that the worst has come to pass. Before I sat down to write, I thought that it would easy to decide what to say to you all, but now I put pen to paper I find it almost impossible.

There is not enough parchment and ink in the land to capture how much you mean to me, and how deeply I will miss you all. You will be always in my thoughts while I am away from home, and I am sorry if we shall never see each other again. I wish only to come home safely to you all, but of course that must not be the case.

As this is so inadequate a way to express what I wish to say, perhaps I can discuss some everyday matters instead. If Mr Pettyfer has shown you my will, you may be wondering as to its contents. The Poldarks may be my family in name, but you are my family in my heart. If I cannot be there for them in life, I wish to do something for the children in death, even if that is simply to make sure they will always have a home here. I know, Uncle, that you are more than capable of providing for their futures, but let me help you also.

Oh! There is so much in my heart I wish to say, but I cannot make come out of the end of this pen.it is my fervent hope that I have made it all plain to you over the years. Please do not weep too sorely for my memory, but remember the happy times we have all had together.

If I allow myself, I will continue this letter forever, as if by doing do I could put off the event it is designed for. I think I shall have to be content to sign myself…

Your ever loving

Geoffrey Charles

There was nothing but a sheet of pure white outside of the windows, wind swirling the flake madly. Snow had been expected all over Christmas but the sky had remained quite clear – much to the disappointment of the children – until almost the very end of January. Now, it seemed quite relentless. Thankfully, Valentine would have arrived safely back at school before it began. He had returned for the Christmas holidays filled with confidence and good cheer, much to his parents’ delight. They had hoped school would be good for him, and so it had proved.

It had been a lovely Christmas in the end, although Geoffrey Charles’ absence had hung heavily over them all. About two weeks before the festive day, George had almost bought him a Christmas present, forgetting for a moment that Geoffrey Charles would not be coming home for the season, or ever again. George looked up now at the fine portrait of him on the wall – a Christmas gift from Morwenna; she had come to George a week before to show it to him.

“It is a larger version of the miniature I painted for his twenty-first birthday. I wanted to ask you if you thought it would be….I am worried it would upset Elizabeth, or the children.”

“No, my dear, quite to the contrary. I believe it would please them very much indeed.” And so it had. Elizabeth had wept a little over it, but not in misery. She had become much more able to remember Geoffrey Charles with happiness. Now, the portrait hung in pride of place over the fire, above another piece of Morwenna’s work – matching silhouettes of George and Elizabeth. She had a truly find hand.

Wet flakes spattered against the windows, obscuring the view even further. George had been writing letters in the parlour – although it would be days before they could go anywhere – and was now resting his eyes; he had been fighting a losing battle against the need for spectacles for several years now, and it was only a matter of time before he was forced to surrender.

With a soft click, the door swung open and Elizabeth entered. The first thing George noticed about her was her dress. Although her spirits had gradually improved these past few months, she had remained in her mourning clothes – her previous array of blues and pinks and greens replaced by grey and black. George had said nothing to her about it; if that was how Elizabeth wished to mourn her child, he would not stop her.

Today, however, the black was gone. Her dress was not quite so bright as some of those she used to wear, but it was a warm brown, almost the exact colour of drinking chocolate. It suited her eyes, and her simple gold necklace.

“Elizabeth….” She glanced down at herself with a soft smile.

“Do you like it?”

“Very much so, my love. But…if I may ask, what has brought this on?” Elizabeth came to sit next to him at the table. There was something different about her, something else besides the dress, but George could not put his finger on what. She was smiling, but she had been doing that more often recently, some of the light returning to her eyes. Of course, their loss would never leave them, but it pleased George to see her able to be happy again.

“The time just seemed right. Although, perhaps there is a particular reason why I feel I must put away my mourning garb.”

“There is?”

“Yes.” She took his hands. “For, although we have suffered a great loss, we have now received a great blessing.”

“What – “ He frowned, and Elizabeth gave him an affectionate look.

“I am with child, George.” He had to confess to being entirely astonished. Such wondrous news…and so unexpected. Elizabeth would be forty-three this year, and as time had passed since Nicholas’ birth, they had come to accept he would be their last child. But now….

“Are you quite certain?”

“Yes!” She frowned a little. “You are pleased, are you not?”

“Of course! Forgive me, my dear, I am simply surprised. Wonderfully surprised.”

Epilogue

The street was busy today, filled with people – servants hurrying about on errands, gentlemen striding along with importance, ladies twirling their parasols as they strolled. A few carriages trundled by, sunlight glancing off their livery. Two young officers passed by, laughing at some jest, and George felt a pull in his chest.

It was just over a year now since Geoffrey Charles’ death at the Battle of Maida. They missed him as much as ever, but Demelza Poldark had been right – the pain was still there, but it was not quite so sharp as it once was.

Glorious sunshine filled his office at the Bank, making it almost glow. Recently, he had been able to pay more proper attention to his work again. Geoffrey Charles’ desire to provide what he could for the children even if he himself was no longer here had motivated something in George. He could not neglect the businesses he had devoted years of his life to building up, for the sake not only of Valentine, who would one day inherit them, or his other children whose futures depended upon their success, but to all those whose livelihoods were connected to them.

He still preferred to be at home with his family, especially now. Valentine was home from school for the summer, and the children had spent the long, sunny days playing in the gardens. Last summer had been a cold, dark time for them all, and for no reason to do with the weather. Valentine and Ursula still talked of their elder brother, but it was with happy remembrance as much as sadness. The twins had to be told in the end, asking too many questions about when Geoffrey Charles would be coming home. Like their siblings, they had been terribly upset, but had borne their sorrow with impressive maturity for their young age. Nicholas would find out when he was old enough; being so small when Geoffrey Charles left, he had not known his brother the way the others had. Perhaps that would lessen the sting a touch.

After a sip of tea, George stifled a yawn. The reason for his tiredness was their greatest joy – their youngest child, a beautiful baby girl, arrived only a week ago. They had named her Flora, and to them she was a true blessing, a sign of brighter times to come after a truly dark time in their lives. Of course, the fact that she had had a sibling she would never know was always with them, and she would be told all about her brave brother, who had lost his life fighting for what he believed was right.

Returning to his desk, George scanned the shelves behind it for a particular ledger he needed. Behind him the door opened, and a secretary gave a discreet cough.

“Sir, there is a young man here to see you.”

“Show him in, Preston.” George dropped the ledger onto his desk as Preston’s light tread was replaced with a heavier, bolder one. He looked up to greet his visitor and paused. He felt the teacup slip from his hand, heard it crash upon the floor, but he did nothing, frozen in place.

“Good Heavens, Uncle! Am I such a shocking sight?”

Title part of a quote from Shakespeare’s Anthony & Cleopatra: “For grief is crowned with consolation.”

#poldark #george warleggan #elizabeth warleggan #geoffrey charles poldark #morwenna chynoweth #demelza poldark #george x elizabeth #fic #au #m: fic

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