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underthenightskydreamsneverdie · 5 months ago

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Carnal

Summary: Mattheo Riddle meets an unforgettable, mysterious Hufflepuff and spends the school year fighting his feelings.

Warnings: None, just so much sweetness and typical Mattheo behavior.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle X f!OC

Word count: 1, 817

A/N: I'm so excited to post this story that I've been imagining for months. I really hope you guys like my OC, whose name shall not be revealed until the end. Oh, also for this series let’s pretend they start Hogwarts at 12 years old, making them both 15-16 in this chapter.

Divider Credit to @enchanthings

Check out my Mattheo and f!OC mood boards here!

From the day she stopped Mattheo and his Slytherin friends from picking on a first year, he should have hated her. He wanted to. He needed to. But he couldn’t. The way she had protected the young girl, stepped in front of their jinxes, shaken off the pain like it was nothing, and still not said a cruel word in return as she expertly blocked their spells, had sparked a curiosity about her that he had been fighting ever since.

Maybe that’s just what Hufflepuffs do, he thought to himself as he snuck a peek at her across the great hall a few days later. No, his gut told him a different story, that’s just what she does.

Life went on, as it always does, but for Mattheo it was different. His eyes searched every room for her, even as he scolded himself for hoping to find her. Why the hell do you care about this girl, she’s just a stupid muggleborn. Nothing special. His stomach clenched and he broke out in a cold sweat, body physically rejecting the thought. Alright, alright, I get it.

He didn’t even know her name, had never bothered to remember it, but desperation to know her grew in him like an infection with only one cure. Before long he was ditching his friends to snag a seat near her in classes, waiting around in hallways to walk behind her, listening intently to every conversation for her name. His efforts were rewarded, at least partially, when professor McGonagall directed a question to a “Miss Waters”. His breath caught as her head whipped up and she hesitantly, but correctly, answered.

Waters. Mattheo sighed softly as her back straightened with pride for a few seconds and she pushed her long ponytail over her shoulder. The pale blonde strands were like moonbeams against her black robe and it took everything in him to resist the urge to reach out to touch them. Oh for fucks sake. Get yourself together, Mattheo. You’ve got her last name, now let it go.

He tried. He truly did. He spent the next few months forcing himself to ignore her, rolling his eyes every time her sweet voice filled the room, chastising himself whenever his thoughts drifted to her. And it worked. Well enough. Well enough that he could pretend he wasn’t dying to be near her. Well enough that he convinced himself dreaming about a classmate, a very pretty classmate, was a perfectly normal thing for a teenage boy. Well enough that he was no longer scouring his mind to come up with her first name. But the end of the school year was rapidly approaching and he knew if he didn’t discover her name, get to know even that tiny detail about her, she would haunt him all summer long.

The last morning of the year Mattheo woke before dawn. Laying in the dark he contemplated his options, knowing it was now or never. I’ve only got a few hours left, he thought with a yawn, how am I going to get her alone today of all days? It’s always so chaotic, students running about saying goodbyes, the slow shuffle to the train - the train! That’s it, I’ll find her on the train. He clapped his hands together before he realized what he was doing, fighting back his chuckles as startled groans sounded around the room, the other boys unhappy they were so rudely awakened. He got out of bed, heading for the bathroom before one of the other boys could get there first, a small smile on his face.

Having decided he should get to the train platform early so he wouldn’t miss her, Mattheo skipped breakfast, hanging around the Slytherin table saying goodbyes to the few other students he knew, bag over his shoulder, ready to leave this place behind. He searched the Hufflepuff table but didn’t see her. She must still be packing like all the other girls. Almost an hour before everyone else he left the castle.

He ran, as fast as he could, to the train, collapsing as he reached the top step to the platform. His heart pounded in his ears, he was sure he was having a heart attack. Suddenly the very voice he was longing to hear rang through the air, a sweet “are you alright?”. Oh gods, I’m dying. He attempted to stand, leaning against the stone wall, groaning. I’m actually dying and to make it worse I’m hallucinating her voice.

“I said, are you alright, Mattheo?” Her voice again, I really am losing it. A hand gripped his chin, gently lifting it upwards. His eyes followed slowly, his vision blurred with tears as he squinted into the sunlight. “Mattheo?” His eyes opened wide as he looked into clear blue eyes staring back at him. Oh gods, it really is her. He forced his head back down, his lips grazing her palm before she slipped her hand away. He needed a moment. His heart was pounding again, but for a different reason now. It was the first time he had ever seen her out of uniform and he was certain his mind was playing tricks on him. Was she really wearing- did I really just see that?

He lifted his head slowly this time, eyes drinking in every inch of her. Her black vans stood almost toe to toe with his dirty old converse. There were little white flowers on her shoes, what are those called again? I really should know this- The thought vanished in his mind as his eyes moved further up. Are those snakes on her tights?! Holy shit, they are! He groaned again, hoping she would assume the pained sound was related to his run. He tried not to shift around too much as his pants grew tight, body reacting to the sight of her. His eyes widened as they reached the hem of her pleated, red plaid mini skirt, the little chains hanging over her hips almost making him lose control. He had to bite back a growl as his eyes traveled over her torso, the little flashes of pale skin visible through her ripped shirt making his knees weak. He was hopeless to control the low, desire choked laugh that escaped him as he read the words printed on her chest. Witchy Woman. He would gladly drop to his knees and let her perform all kinds of magic over him, half convinced she already had. She wore more makeup than usual, her eyes seductively lined, gods those eyes, as she looked down at him. But her pale pink lips remained bare, begging to be kissed until they were raw and red, a wish his own body was demanding he make come true. Who knew this quiet Hufflepuff would turn out to be my punk princess. What a day.

Rising to full height, ignoring the obvious bulge in his pants, he nodded, knowing full well nothing but rude remarks about her looks and ways to satisfy his desire would come from his mouth right now. He watched her turn back to the wall, only now noticing she didn’t have any bags with her. He was so confused by this he didn’t even try to get a peek under her skirt as she hoisted herself up.

“How come you’re here so early?” He leaned against the wall next to her, looking up at her. “Why haven’t you got any bags?”

“Haven’t got very far to go.” She shrugged, blonde hair falling around her shoulders as she looked down at him.

He was unsatisfied with her answer, but let it go, turning his head to look down at Hogsmead. Nothing about this was going the way he had imagined, but he was determined to at least get one straight answer. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer, instead looking up as though sensing something he hadn’t. Smiling, she turned and jumped off the backside of the wall.

“Hey!” Mattheo called after her, moving to the railing of the stairs he had just climbed to look for her. A soft “oh” left him as he came face to face with her. She smiled, spinning the stem of a small white flower between her fingers, a second one tucked behind her ear. Her hair threatened to overtake the delicate flower and without thinking he reached out, brushing the shell of her ear, tucking her soft hair back into place. Gods she’s beautiful. She reached for his hand, placing the flower on his palm.

“Daisy.”

He smiled down at the tiny flower, in awe of its delicate beauty. “Daisy.” How fitting. When he looked up she was gone, winding her way down the staircase, heading for the village. Mattheo ripped his eyes away from her as the brakes of the train squeaked to life just feet away from him, his hand instinctively closing around the fragile flower. He smiled as the red and black steam engine slowed. How had she known it was coming before I did?

Dropping the small flower into the pocket of his shirt to keep safe, he turned back to catch a final glimpse of her. He spotted her climbing over the large boulders near the embankment of the river on the east side of the village, surprised when she threw her hand into the air and waved at him with excellent accuracy. Did she just guess I was watching her? Can she even see me from down there? Chuckling as she moved out of view, he boarded the train, leaning his head against the open window of a compartment.

He pulled the flower out of his pocket, bringing it to his face. There’s something special about you, Daisy Waters. Gently, he dragged the flower across his lips, closing his eyes. Something very special indeed.

His eyes still closed he sat back in his seat, one hand rifling through his bag for his journal, pausing suddenly. Over the noise of the train and the carriages beginning their journey towards the school, The wind carried a sound Mattheo never expected to hear. Is that a wolf? The heartbreaking sound of the howl pierced his heart, he knew a lonely creature when he heard one. Before he knew what he was doing he cupped his hands around his lips and howled back, one lone wolf to another. The wolf answered him, and for the second time that day, during the few brief moments as they howled together, Mattheo felt as though he belonged.

He sat still for a long time, listening closely for the wolf to call again, but even when it didn’t, he smiled. The wolf was free and wild, something he longed to have in common, something he was determined to make true for himself one day. He pulled his journal out, tucked the little daisy between its pages, smiling as he thought about his Daisy.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo x oc #mattheo riddle series #mattheo riddle x oc #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo fic #mattheo fanfic #mattheo series #carnal #carnal series #carnal fic series #RDNI

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coffeeandmagicaltales · 8 months ago

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The Auror&The Devil part 13

Aesop Sharp x MC (fluff, hints of angst, slice of life) (10K words)

"Again," Aesop muttered, rising from behind the round table, seeing that Morana hadn't quite replicated the movement of the Expecto Patronum spell correctly. Instead of casting a powerful, radiant blow to the mannequin (covered in a black rag, to which Aesop had attached a note saying "DEMENTOR"), it released a sad spark from her wand, which immediately fizzled out. It was fortunate that it ended there, as an hour earlier rows of jars and Mr. Skelebone in the corner of his classroom had suffered.

He limped over to her and stood beside her, observing attentively. Morana brushed her hair from her face and took a deep breath, trying to focus.

"EXPE-!"

"Wrong," Aesop interrupted her, rolling his eyes.

"Arrrrghhh," Morana stomped her foot and glared at him. "I'm trying to focus, here."

"You're not focused," he shrugged. "What's going on?"

She hissed, but the gentle tone of his voice momentarily eased her anger.

"Well, I doubt I'll be able to conjure up any happy thoughts; I keep thinking about home," she confessed, and Sharp nodded understandingly, leaning against one of the workstations for potion making. "I don't know... There's something wrong with me, and the more I think about it, the angrier I get at myself. It doesn't make any sense. We were there just over a month ago, and it feels like ten years have passed. Or like it never happened at all..."

"What do you mean?"

Morana sat on the cold floor and, rotating her wand in her hands, slowly gathered her thoughts.

"I... I didn't feel anything at their grave. Like I was standing at the grave of strangers. Neither sadness, nor joy, nor grief... Just disappointment."

"You have the right to feel that way, Mora, because you didn't know them or that place... You didn't know them at all... Feelings don't magically flow to someone who is a complete stranger to you..."

"I was sure something would change... That suddenly I would have an epiphany and know who I am..." Silver tears flickered in her eyes. She wiped them away with a quick motion of her hand. "Once again, I have more questions than answers. Once again, I know nothing. I don't know who I am, I don't know what happened there, or who caused it! What good is a pile of stones to me..."

"Sometimes you have to put the investigation aside..." Aesop said quietly. "Patiently (hard word for you) wait for a breakthrough, and I'll tell you, we've learned a lot anyway. Just like I told you back then at Sirona's after our return: we know a lot, for example, that it wasn't an accident, that someone wanted to cover something up, most likely murder, that it was a very capable person, because such a powerful spell, which literally wiped the memory of your parents names from entire collective's minds... Merlin, I've never encountered something similar in my life... Hmmm, what I mean is that when such frustrating moments came in my work, we just dealt with current matters. Simple things related to the shady shops, where something was always happening..."

Morana got up and leaned against the countertop, standing next to Aesop.

"As for the Patronus, I don't know if I even have any happy memories..." she confessed. "Everything seems dull to me; I rarely feel real joy, let alone happiness."

"...You don't feel it because perhaps you're afraid you'll lose it quickly, right?" Aesop's eyes gleamed intelligently, immediately making Morana blush. "Well, I must send you to Professor Ronen for joy training; I'm rather bad at it myself," he joked and nudged her shoulder. "Come on, try one last time; I'll help you."

Morana positioned herself defensively, and Aesop approached her, gently taking her hand holding the wand and adjusted her stance with her permission. She could hear his deep breath by her ear, and his scent tickled her nose.

"Keep your wrist loose, Mora, remember."

"Mmmmhmm." She swallowed stiffly.

"Good." He stepped back a pace. "Clear your mind, focus, summon the memory."

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A beam of light emanated from Morana's wand and pushed back the "Dementor," blowing away its rag and the inscription.

"Oh! Very good!" Aesop praised her. "What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about how I saved Highwing with Natty and we escaped from poachers."

Aesop's eyebrows furrowed, and his face contorted into the familiar grimace known to Morana.

"It's still a bit weak, but it's better than 'meeting a dragon with Poppy'... I dread to think what your happiest memory might be and what monster you'll see in it..." he joked and limped back to his desk. He dipped his quill in the ink and continued checking tests. "Memories associated with relationships with loved ones are usually the strongest..." he said, not taking his eyes off his work. "Maybe I'm nosy, but if it helps you, maybe you have some memories with your umm friend... Mr. Gaunt, for example?"

"No... we're not together anymore, if that's what you mean..." Morana confessed, blushing. "We're still friends, but nothing more."

"Hmmm," Aesop uttered, and even he didn't know why it sounded rather cheerful than saddened by the lovers' separation. He quickly changed the subject to avoid awkwardness. "Perhaps my mother will have a small task for you; of course, she'll pay you and probably stuff you with cake and tea."

"What does she need?" Morana asked, pleased with something to occupy her mind and push away thoughts still drifting towards Nitria and Jelenec. She pushed aside Aesop's trinkets and sat at the other end of the round table, sneakily peeking if her paper didn't stick out somewhere in the stack of exams, which she might still have a chance to correct...

"Yours I've checked a long time ago," he grumbled, not looking up from his work. "You did a bit better than last time; you're lucky, but by Merlin's Beard, if someone saw the niffler you drew and captioned it with 'Don't upset the Niffler, give Morana a P.'... ughh..." He looked at her sternly from under dark lashes, shaking his head. Morana made an innocent gesture with her hands, as if she wanted to defend herself without words: "But it worked."

Aesop sighed dramatically, pretending he had no strength left for her. He planned to keep this exam for himself and frame the awkward drawing, which he found incredibly endearing, and keep it somewhere in his workshop.

"... what was I supposed to tell you? Oh! She needs a few ingredients for her tapestry threads. She sews real works of art, repairs those hanging in Hogwarts... It's not simple; they're made with very old, almost woven magic, known to very few wizards, and simple Reparo won't help..."

"Do you also know that magic?" Morana asked, curious.

"When I have time, I help her a bit, but I'm more useful in handing her threads and chasing after the fur of magical animals... Oh, speaking of animals, what about your little idea of becoming an Animagus? Are you still interested in that?"

Before Aesop could elaborate, Morana opened her mouth, showing him the soggy mandrake leaf she held against her cheek. He grimaced and shook himself off in disgust, closing his eyes.

"Firstly: ew. Secondly: I respect your decision; I wouldn't dare."

Morana laughed.

"Interesting what animal you would turn into, a real mystery..." she chuckled sarcastically.

"That's exactly what I fear." Aesop chuckled. "I'd probably enjoy the life of a chubby thief more and would stay that way forever. Nifflers don't have to work or teach anyone Patronus spells, or make sure Mr. Weasley doesn't turn my class into a flock of sheep again, like he did last month... Merlin, I still have nightmares, and when I see sheep before falling asleep, I jump up on my feet. Still, when I go for a walk, I'm afraid one of them might be, for example, poor Mrs. Sweeting... Well, at least she remained herself in the sheep's body and was able to throw herself at poachers... Otherwise, we would have a problem with recognizing her..."

Morana laughed, remembering the headline in the newspaper: "Crazy sheep attacks poachers, do Aurors have competition?". Almost at the same moment, she and Aesop screamed: "POPPY!" and hurried to find her, catching poachers along the way, so they could turn their unconscious bodies (before handing them over to the Aurors) into bait for her... Mora snorted with laughter. Yes, it was a strange, surreal adventure. Before she herself was cured by the potion, it was strange to see the world through the eyes of a sheep, to eat grass that tasted delicious at the time, and after which she had heartburn for a week in her human form.

Aesop tried hard to find a remedy for them all (the unexpectedly strong potion didn't respond to just any antidote, and Sharp had to demonstrate his knowledge of poisons), he took care of the flock, even though he had no clue about shepherding. The worst were the letters to parents that he had to send when everyone was back in their original forms, including the last Poppy, who got a bit lost and an ordinary sheep attended classes instead of her for a while... Morana frowned. From one of her classmates' father, probably Leander's, Aesop received a howler that humiliated him in the corridor in front of students. She didn't understand why the parent had to vent their frustration on him in such, in her opinion, rude manner, considering the potions master was not to blame for anything. He accepted the howler with dignity, not even blinking an eye. However, Morana knew deep down that he took it very hard and felt terribly sorry. Touched by a premonition, as soon as she finished her lessons, she went to find him; he hid in his office, completely shattered, sitting in silence, absent-mindedly staring at a glass of whiskey, in which the ice had already melted... He just tried to fix Gareth's mistake, he wasn't guilty of anything... She talked to him and calmed him down and, knowing that it would improve his mood, took him to the Room of Requirement to show him the newly born Nifflers. All of them, both young and adult, climbed him and Aesop fell asleep covered by a dozen of furry creatures... Everything ended well, but even the memory of the father unjustly shouting insults at the upright, proud man who heroically got everyone out of trouble made her blood boil.

"That's it for today," Aesop summed up and got up from his seat with a quick flick of his wand, making the exams disappear. "I have a few things to attend to, see you tomorrow, Mora." The woman was slightly surprised and looked at her pocket watch. He never finished at this time. She looked at him questioningly, but no answer came. She sensed some mystery, which somehow worried her a bit. He dusted off the dust particles from himself, put on one of his coats that he wore on "occasions," and waited for her at the exit to let her out and lock the classroom. As she passed him in the doorway, she saw him looking at her askance, and although there were no emotions on his face, there was a mysterious spark in his hazel eyes, as if he were waiting for something and was in a bit of a hurry. For a meeting... with someone.

A strange feeling twisted her stomach. Anger caused by the lack of information about who it was, what he would do, swirled in her head. Why did he dress differently than for a whiskey outing with Ronen? Why do his perfumes smell stronger today, and his velvety hair is perfectly arranged, reflecting even the smallest rays of candlelight?

"What's with the face?" he grumbled as they walked alongside each other. "Don't worry, I'm not mad about that drawing..."

"I'm tired," she cut in, staring at the floor. "I'm going to help Poppy, her cabbages escaped today, I promised we'd look for them... See you tomorrow!"

Aesop didn't have time to respond, and Morana turned on her heel, tossing a wave of black curls and she was gone. He didn't know what had bitten her, but apparently something had annoyed her. He shrugged. Morana, queen of Nitra, of the Puffed-up-Goose crest, he made up on the spot, amusing himself, and pulled out a mysterious letter from his pocket, which he had been hiding from her with difficulty. He read it carefully to make sure he remembered the meeting time and wouldn't be late. He wanted to make a good impression - after all, he was meeting a teacher. A teacher didn't want to appear bad in front of another teacher and seem unprofessional. Excited by the opportunity he had accidentally received, he straightened his tie and disappeared with a whoosh of floo flames.

He sat in a cramped bench, much too big for him, constantly adjusting and fidgeting, unable to get comfortable. He glanced with a playful smirk at the letter lying on the desk in front of him.

Seriously?

It started without any polite greeting.

Aesop, what are you up to now? Merlin, of all the languages in the world, why Slovak?... Anyway, I know you won't tell me, it's silly to ask. It's hard to find someone around here who speaks it. I only know one Muggle... She's the governess of my bank colleague's daughter - the girl was born a Squib. The teacher said she could meet you at the parish nursery school (you have a map in the envelope, don't lose it, you idiot) during the break, at 6 in the evening, where she teaches children from poor families for free every Friday... She noted that 'she doesn't teach old people and you'll have to show exceptionally that she's not wasting her time.' She added that if she sees you slacking off, even though she's not doing it for free, she'll quit. What a woman... Anyway, supposedly she teaches quite effectively. Sounds like you'll get along.

I don't feel like looking for someone else, so PLEASE try, since you're already bothering me with this. I love you like a brother, but sometimes I just can't stand you... Damn it, Aesop, now as I think about it I'm sure It's because of a woman, isn't it? ISN'T?... Buy her flowers or do something normal people do. I dunno, take her for a dinner. As I told you before: doing weird things like bringing troll's head is not romantic at all. Hope you at least read her poetry in that twisted language, but knowing you, it's going to be weird anyway and you'll scare her away.

Have fun & respectfully fuck you

Torq

The door slammed, and a small room was entered by a tiny, stooped woman with glasses as thick as jar bottoms. She didn't honor Aesop (who greeted her with a wide smile) with a glance.

"Slovak, belongs to the Slavic group of languages, grammatically complex and difficult to master, so you will have to show intellect and discipline..." she trotted to the board and wrote: I am, you are, he she it is, etc. "Do you know any Slavic languages, Mr. Sharp?"

"Russian..."

"Ugh, if you had said: Serbian, Polish, or Czech, it would have been much easier," she interrupted him, not hiding her disappointment. Aesop felt himself getting increasingly tense, and his hands started to sweat. "And now the rules: you come to my classes punctually, and if you're not prepared, you don't come at all, and we end our cooperation. Understood?..." Sharp felt himself sinking deeper into the collar of his coat, as if trying to hide. He mumbled only, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Each month, I'll test your knowledge in writing, and I'll quiz you on the spot each lesson..." He swallowed saliva obediently, jotting down everything that appeared on the board, when it dawned on him what he had gotten himself into. He had the feeling that Torq deliberately chose her as his teacher so he wouldn't get too bored. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he should really dedicate himself to learning this language and instead of resting, cramming oddly sounding words written with letters he saw for the first time in his life. Why was he actually doing this?

He came up with this idea shortly after returning from Nitra, when he was sitting with Morana at Sirona's table near the fireplace. She looked absent-mindedly at the dancing flames, tears sparkling in her crystal eyes. Sad, disappointed. And very... hmm... lonely. It was then that he realized that despite not hearing any accent in her voice, Great Britain was a foreign place for her. What's more, there wasn't much of a Slovak minority here with whom she could spend some time... if only she could be understood in her own language, express what she feels in her own words... heh... It sounded beautiful in her mouth. Like the language of elves from fairy tales.

Why was he really doing this? Logically, it made no sense at all. He would waste many hours of his time for a young woman who would soon leave Hogwarts and go her own way, and in a few years, she wouldn't even remember that she was taught by some Aesop Sharp... But, in the end, what else did he have to do, especially with his boring life? Maybe at least it would make his Puffed-up-Goose feel a little less lonely for a while... At least that's what he silently hoped for, because he couldn't do anything more for her. He had nothing to give her, no knowledge that could restore her memory... He was a cripple, a loner with an unpleasant character, whose jokes were exceptionally weak. Moreover, he was old, and his body was disfigured.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the words, which he struggled to pronounce, unable to get rid of the Russian accent that Mrs. Hedviga Ostrá commented on with a disgusted "tsk."

Aesop sank into the chair in his art studio.

His brain, overloaded with knowledge, absorbed about 30% of the information, and therefore, as he walked down the corridor with an armful of notes, he almost stumbled over Matilda, who happened to be on curfew. He wasn't tired, but he had to occupy his mind with something else for a while and relax a bit.

For some time now, he had been occupied with a certain project waiting for him on the table. He smiled gently. He reached for the chisel and with a light movement of his hand, he extracted from under the shavings a tiny wooden leg with joints at the knee and ankle. It wasn't just an ordinary wooden leg. He poured onto it a significant piece of his knowledge, some of it he had to read and some come up with himself, and create spells from scratch. A bit like his mother showed him during the creation of tapestries, when every move involved anchoring the spell in the material. Weaving it. So now he sat in place, cleared his mind, recalling only those thoughts he wanted to transfer into a piece of basswood, humming protective spells, rhythmically combining them with tool movements. The process took quite a long time and required patience. He sang softly, shyly, but every word poured his knowledge into the magical object, creating a true masterpiece and artifact at the same time, because the prosthesis slowly became something almost "alive." It didn't feel pain, but it could grow with its future owner, fit perfectly, regardless of weight changes, there was no question that it would even fall off during jumping on a trampoline. Well, it wasn't perfect; it was still a piece of wood, and there was a fear that Sidó would limp.

Madame Niffleur soon, according to his subtle plan, was to temporarily join the ranks of the nuns.

Together with Poppy and Sirona, Mora sat by the lake, enjoying probably the last warm rays of autumn sun. Sirona dipped her legs in the lake, pleased with her long-awaited day off, Poppy was feeding the newly hatched Snigets sitting in her pocket, and Mora was reading the next chapters of Aesop's book, reading stories of the next patients of St. Mungo's.

"Is it definite?" Sirona asked, and both girls turned their heads towards her. "Durmstrang? Won't you get bored there?"

Morana sighed deeply and nodded.

"Damn, so I'm in the decided minority of people who want to keep you."

Morana laughed and looked at her questioningly.

"I talked to Aeso... um... Professor Sharp," Sirona glanced at Morana sideways, mysteriously examining her with her eyes, smiling slightly, as if she knew some secret. "...and even he, the perfidious traitor, thinks that Durmstrang will do you good."

"Hey, I plan to visit quite often." Poppy nudged Morana's shoulder, suddenly her brown eyes sparkled. "Imagine, Scandinavian DRAGONS, oh, how wonderful it will be!"

She jumped up from her place, surrounded by a bunch of Snigets flying over her head, and did a few pirouettes dancing with the wind. Morana smiled broadly, seeing her joy. Sirona splashed water on her, and a fierce battle of water spraying ensued between them, full of squeals and laughter.

Wings flapped in the air. Above Morana, for a moment, an unknown owl circled, which, dropping a letter on her lap, immediately flew off in its direction.

For a moment, Morana didn't know who the parchment was from - the writing looked like Aesop's, but the sentence "Dear Miss Dimm!" completely threw her off. Only when she delved into the content, describing the furs of magical animals, did she remember the task from his mother.

"Why don't they give you a moment's peace?" Poppy joked. "Who's this time? Mr. Moon found another Demguise statue?"

Morana laughed and shook her head.

"Mrs. Sharp asks for help in finding ingredients for tapestries."

"Oooo...." Poppy became interested, and her eyes lit up. "Professor Sharp once let me know that she found injured Puffskeins. I was sure she was just as awful as him and I was afraid to meet her... But she turned out to be really wonderful, so warm and hospitable, we drank tea together. Besides, she's terribly tall! When she hugged me goodbye... she lifted me off the ground!"

"It's not really difficult, little one." Morana suddenly caught Poppy around the waist and lifted her up, then both, laughing, fell on the grass.

"hmm Professor Sharp isn't awful at all." Sirona defended him. "I met him probably at the worst moment of his life, and I understand what he went through. Maybe he seems grumpy, but when he feels comfortable with someone - he opens up and gains a lot... He's a true gentleman, of which unfortunately there are fewer and fewer."

Morana smiled slightly, her cheeks blushed. Yes. Aesop Sharp definitely gained from getting to know him better. She felt Sirona's gaze on her, still smiling slyly, Morana was sure she knew something she didn't.

"I think I prefer Mrs. Sharp..." Poppy muttered shyly. "She made a delicious cake. I wonder how it would be if she taught us potions?"

"You'd probably gain a few kilograms." Sirona burst out laughing. "Still haven't found anyone to replace Professor Fig?"

"No one wants his place, because everyone's afraid to work at Hogwarts now, because of the goblins..." Poppy grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Cowards."

"The only Magical Theory teacher worse than Professor Black could be a cauliflower." Morana mumbled without looking up from the book she had returned to reading, and Sirona and Poppy burst out laughing.

"Oh, I'd argue." Poppy admitted, barely catching her breath from laughing. "Professor Cauliflower would be definitely funnier."

Morana had been to Cragcroftshire only once before, during the search for Demiguise statues, but just like then, she now thought it would be a good place to live, or at least spend her holidays there.

The tree growing in the middle of the village seemed to be something more than just a decoration... it emanated magic, possibly as old as Morana knew, or even older... It watched over this place as an ancient god.

Right behind the stall of the seller, whom Mora greeted with a smile, was Mrs. Sharp's house. Dimm stepped quickly onto the threshold, shook the dust from her favorite outfit and knocked patiently waiting for the invitation, finally, the door opened a crack.

"Aesop?" she asked, not expecting to see him. He smiled broadly, his eyes sparkling, but before he could say anything, a female voice invited Morana inside. Aesop let her in, indicating the way, she lightly brushed against his clothes with her arm, the corridor was definitely too narrow for two people to stand side by side. Suddenly, he moved a bit closer and, smiling indulgently, took a leaf from her head, which must have fallen on her hair from the magical tree. She held her breath, embarrassed, Aesop chuckled. She looked so lovely and cute, like an elf from children's books, dressed in a fancy little hat, and he would prefer not to tell her that she had a leaf on her head, to enjoy the sight longer, but... they weren't alone.

"I won't bother you." he said almost silently.

Morana went ahead, and he for a split second analyzed the beautiful shape of the leaf and carefully tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.

The beautiful red-haired woman sat in a comfortable armchair near the fireplace, spinning threads on a spinning wheel, which squeaked slightly. Opposite her, on a small sofa, an old man was dozing off, a straw hat covered his face, probably so that no ray of sun entering the room through the small windows would wake him up. Passing by him, Aesop first quickly turned some framed photo, as if he were ashamed of it in front of Morana, and then adjusted the blanket covering the old man, and affectionately touched his arm, then limped to the kitchen and started looking for a jar with the right blend of tea, poking his big nose into every jar. Morana smiled, it was adorable.

"Morana Dimm, nice to meet you." Mora introduced herself with a wide smile.

"Juno Sharp, nice to meet you too, love," the woman said softly, so as not to wake her partner (she had a very strong Scottish accent) and shook Morana's hand. It was a firm grip and cold, delicate touch, just like Aesop's. Morana smiled slightly surprised by this discovery, sat opposite her in the armchair, and began to look at her closely, looking for more similarities to Sharp. There were few of them, very subtle. Slightly crooked front teeth, bright, kindly look of dark eyes, well-defined jaw, moles on the hands, the way she slightly tilted her head when she looked at her...

She flicked her wand and in Morana's hands, a plate of cake suddenly materialized.

"Well, I don't even know where to start..." Mrs. Juno hesitated, visibly as excited as she was shy. She nervously rubbed her hands, just like Aesop often did. "I recently miscalculated the amount of ingredients in the pantry, and I received a big order from Professor Black, and I'm afraid I won't be able to complete it on time... I feel a bit embarrassed to ask for your help..."

"It's me who should feel embarrassed, Mummy, that you have to ask someone other than me for help..." Aesop said softly, with a sad voice, as he carefully hobbled over, trying not to spill anything, and handed them cups of freshly brewed tea with a pleasant orange scent.

"Oh!" Mrs. Sharp hissed at him and gave him a sharp look, tenderly touching his hand. "Silly boy! I hold no grudge against you and never have! Ugh..."

"Well..." Morana began uncertainly. "Aeso... um... Professor Sharp, just has a lot of responsibilities... I have significantly more free time and I'm happy to help."

Mrs. Sharp smiled warmly, as if pleased that Morana wanted to defend her son, and looked at him as if to say, "You see, she's right, it's a good idea." He nodded wordlessly in agreement and sat down in the chair next to them, focusing his attention entirely on his slice of cake.

"I have a list of ingredients prepared, of course, I'll pay you for everything... I just need a small amount, you can keep the rest, or sell it to Mr. Pippin. Aesop told me that you work with him, hmm, maybe I'm being nosy, but... I expected someone... much younger than you..."

"Um, no, it's a longer story." Morana laughed lightly and quickly swallowed the chocolate cake before continuing. "I come from Slovakia, I grew up in an orphanage, I don't know my last name or age."

"Oh..." Mrs. Sharp looked concerned, but something caught her attention, her eyes sparkled. "They left you there as a child?"

"Well, not exactly. One day I found myself in the woods, I was found by the forester..." She considered whether to tell her that her son had helped a lot in finding her past, but bit her tongue, unsure if she could talk about it. "Recently, I found out that my family is dead, our house was burned down, and their identity was literally erased, I was hit by a powerful memory charm..." she pointed to her cheek. "Dark magic."

"Oh, and exceptionally powerful, without a doubt..." the old woman mused, still deeply intrigued, she asked another question. "Sad story, extraordinary... You say you don't remember anything?"

"Not entirely." Morana smiled lightly, feeling warmth in her heart. "I still have my name."

"Doesn't that surprise you?"

The question caught Morana off guard and even drew Aesop's attention, who stopped eyeing the cake on the kitchen counter.

"Hmm?" he murmured.

Aesop's mother smiled mysteriously and straightened proudly.

"For me, everything is clear. But let me start from the beginning: hundreds of years ago, magic looked somewhat different than it does now. It was mainly practiced by men, in the sense of treating it like science, while women knew a slightly different kind of magic focusing on their role in society. Raising children, taking care of the home... All the protective spells are the work of our grandmothers, great-grandmothers, and hundreds of their mothers before them. Salvio Hexia is one of them. But that's not all. What I'm involved in also has very deep roots: the enchanting of threads, whose weave creates images living "their own lives"... Unfortunately, it is time-consuming, requires concentration, proper movements of the thread, and this art is slowly dying out. There are other spells. Strong magic related to blood magic..." Morana and Aesop exchanged glances, listening with increasing interest to Mrs. Juno. "Hundreds of years ago, child mortality was high, dangers lurked for them in both the magical and non-magical worlds, so many mothers secretly protected them with ancient protection. Love so great that it became an unbreakable shield. It took on various forms, and often hid in the power carried by the child's name. Children were given two names: one that everyone around them knew, and another that only the mother and her offspring knew..."

In Morana's mind, restless thoughts began to swirl, questions piled up.

"What I want to say is that perhaps such a spell protected you from danger, that's why you survived... Could it be that when the curse hit you, it could have transported you to a completely different place? I don't know, but I don't deny it. Every mother who knows these charms uses them slightly differently... I also protected my child with them..." She smiled tenderly and with a gentle movement of her hand, closed Aesop's gaping mouth.

"Mummy... how... where... how do you know all of... this?"

"Oh, you thought you were so clever, after my ex-husband!? Ha, good one! Besides, you never asked about these things."

Morana's heart beat faster. She organized everything in her head.

"Do you think... do you think my mum protected me? That she knew such magic?"

"No differently, in my opinion everything points to that. History knows many similar cases, now more as legends, although the 'magic of names' centuries ago was a popular practice among the Celts, Slavs, Germans... Even Rome supposedly had its magical name known only to the residents, for fear that someone might attack the city... Returning to the subject: it's possible that the spell that hit you worked, but only on your, hmm let's call it 'external identity'. Your true name remained with you. Morana."

Mora breathed deeply, sinking into the armchair. It didn't dispel all her questions, it was even a small piece of the puzzle, but it meant a lot to her. Even the simple fact that she could finally be sure that her mum loved her.

Silence fell. Mrs. Sharp smiled innocently, Aesop processed her words with disbelief, glancing at her and then at Morana who holded back tears. Suddenly she stood up and threw herself into Mrs. Sharp's arms. The woman, surprised by the sudden closeness, stiffened, just as Aesop did, but Morana didn't mind at all. Aesop looked at his mother with admiration, "Thank you," she whispered. Juno awkwardly patted her arm and twitched trying to free herself from the hug, which eased to her relief, and Morana, regaining composure, returned to her armchair.

"I don't know why you're surprised, Aesop, I always said your mom is a genius," John interjected, waking up from his nap, probably not even knowing what the conversation was about. He stretched and getting up, planted a passionate kiss on his dazzled partner's lips, which made Aesop feel queasy.

"You're not alone..." he mumbled, turning away, seeking refuge in Morana, who felt equally amused and embarrassed. "Alright, alright, enough kissing!" He separated them almost using force. "Just keep you out of sight for just a moment, oi!... Shame on you two!... tsk, tsk, tsk." He eyed the infatuated lovers and changed the subject. "Mummy, maybe you'll show Morana your tapestries before she flees in horror from your depraved behavior, eh?"

While the gentlemen continued to indulge in cake, Morana followed Mrs. Sharp upstairs, where unfinished works hung on strings... Rather, like Aesop, she was a follower of the "artistic disorder" prevailing in the apartment. Threads, scraps, sewing equipment, spinning wheels... Everything scattered around the room was waiting for ingredients to start work. Downstairs, from what Mora noticed, was John's kingdom and his musical instruments. As they descended the stairs, she heard him tuning his violin, telling Aesop about his students, and then about the concert in Hogsmeade.

"Aesop, lad... please agree... You have such beautiful drawings... Just think how nicely an exhibition would complement the concert..."

"No way, John," Aesop cut in, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "It's not a good idea. I... don't feel up to it..."

"Hmm... Think about it again, lad. We would be honored..."

Aesop smiled warmly at the man. "Thank you, but..."

He fell silent, noticing Morana standing on the stairs, and behind her, Mrs. Sharp ducking under the ceiling too low for her. The women joined the conversation, then John played on the magically floating violins, showing Morana how the instruments worked in the magical world. Aesop's mother, meanwhile, used Mora's tiny hands to wind threads, demonstrating how the spell sung by her seemed to take on a material form, similar to the fleeting strands of Ancient Magic, changing the color of the fibers.

This was interesting. John wasn't Aesop's father, yet they got along very well. Morana observed them both furtively, thinking about herself and the Dimms. If not for John's darker complexion and facial features nothing like Sharp's, she would have thought they were family.

Time spent with the Sharps flew by for Morana. She thanked them for their hospitality; the evening practically caught her off guard, and Aesop insisted on escorting her to the dormitory to avoid any trouble with the prefects.

"I love you, I'll come on Wednesday, after classes," Aesop whispered to Juno, kissing her cheek affectionately goodbye. Morana hugged her. Aesop tugged at young woman's sleeve, indicating it was time to go.

For a moment, they walked arm in arm in silence, drowned out by the music and chatter in the house. The sound of distant, ocean waves and the rustle of the wind were incredibly soothing.

"Is John organizing an exhibition?" she asked timidly.

"No, he's not organizing any exhibition," Aesop grumbled.

Morana laughed. She knew deep down that Aesop was torn.

"Well... The author of the works doesn't necessarily have to reveal themselves... They could have a pseudonym, or be completely anonymous..."

"Ugh... Why do you always have good ideas, hm?" he asked rhetorically, squeezing her arm holding his shoulder a little tighter.

Morana chuckled and returned to the matter that had been bothering her since she met the Sharp family. She didn't know that Aesop's relationship with John would leave such a strong impression on her.

"If I didn't know that John isn't your father, I would never have guessed it in my life," she confessed, bringing a smile to Aesop's face. "How long have you known each other?"

"Well... I don't really remember. Long. He's always been close to mummy, as her best friend. Mummy loved my father, but..." He sighed deeply, summoning painful memories. "The more money he gained, the more he distanced himself from us. Work was the only thing that mattered to him, then politics and 'pure blood' nonsense... Any sign of 'disobedience' from my or her side ended with a severe beating. John helped her escape... She wanted to scare my father with divorce and take away most of his custody rights over me... She thought it would open his eyes, make him want to fight for us... He happily signed all the papers, not bothered by the fact that he would see me once a month, which in practice turned out to be even rarer. For over half a year, I only saw him from the headlines of newspapers covering his successes. After the divorce, he quickly found himself a new family, his longtime lover, as it turned out, which broke my mummy's heart completely. John was always there for her, took care of her, and only when I was ten, it turned out that he loved her since they met in the Hogwarts Express, going to his first year. He simply loved always. Hmm..." Morana walked looking at him with tenderness, stroking the sleeve of his arm she held. "At first it was strange, to see a man at home with mummy (even though I knew him), who isn't my dad - I was very frustrated... but over time, when my father gained fame and money... John read me bedtime stories, taught me how to fly on a broom, showed me how to brew Wiggenweld Potion because I came back from almost every walk battered by some wild creature, with at least a scraped knee..." Morana chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder, listening to his story. "Father spent much more time with me when he retired, and I was slowly finishing Hogwarts. I didn't understand then why John was sad when I chose Oxford over the Highlands more often. I was torn, rebellious, full of longing for my real father, who suddenly, because he had no other children, showed interest, realizing he needed an heir. And I was a fertile ground, a small-town boy who suddenly began to experience city life; it just took a decent allowance, a little attention, and... I forgot about all the beatings I received as a child, or my mom's tears... It doesn't mean I completely agreed with his approach to life; I thought I was different, better. I saw that my successes bought his attention... out of ambition, I did a lot of awful things I'm ashamed of, hurt many friends, and I'm not talking about Scarborough... It was the icing on the cake. At least it opened my eyes because after waking up, next to my bed I saw John. He took care of me at st. Mungo with mom, taking turns, while my father disappeared again for a while, ashamed of my disability and my failure..." Aesop stood staring at the view of the silvery sea and the clouds on the horizon from the hill. So beautiful and calm. "The first thing I said then was 'I'm sorry, John,' and he just hugged me. I understood then that although I love and will always love Aristotle Sharp, my father is someone else."

Morana felt a squeeze in her heart, which stirred her deepest desire to have a family, and for a fraction of a second her thoughts wandered towards the Dimms, but after a moment she rejected them, angry with herself for allowing them. Her family was gone, no one could take their place; she felt it would be a betrayal of the love her mother gave her...

She noticed a tear that trickled down Aesop's scarred cheek, she approached him a little closer and tenderly wiped it, lightly touching his scar. The man flinched and held his breath, feeling her delicate fingers on his cheek, which first shyly brushed the skin, and then the whole hand lay on his bony cheek, burning him like a piece of hot coal. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, wanting to discreetly snuggle into her hand; it was so pleasant that he couldn't resist. In her tearful, gazing eyes, stars flickered and the sharp crescent of the moon, black strands of hair brushed her face moved by the cool breeze, and shapely lips parted slightly. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. Never.

He leaned in ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, to hear the soothing sound of her breath, to feel her scent mingling in his senses. He had never felt as good and safe with anyone else. Only she knew the thoughts he had just expressed moments ago, only she had the right to...

Morana smiled gently, discovering that his beard wasn't as unpleasant to the touch as she expected; it pricked a bit, but just a little, and it was quite pleasant. She struggled to resist the urge to follow her hand towards his chin, to see how it felt to touch it entirely. She glanced at Adam's apple on his graceful neck, and following its trail, she noticed through a button undone at the collar of his loosely tied tie, fair clear collarbones covered with tiny, dark hairs. They seemed very soft... She held her breath, feeling warm despite the cool wind.

"Get a grip, Aesop!" a voice resonated in his head, drowning out the thoughts that wanted to get a tiny step closer to her. "She's a young, beautiful woman, you'll scare her off. She probably just wanted to be nice. You're allowing yourself way too much!"

The spark of joy that had lit up his dark eyes just moments ago suddenly extinguished, alarming Morana. She had allowed himself too much. She shouldn't have touched him. She withdrew her hand, blushing with embarrassment. She pretended to brush away a stray lock of hair, thinking that it would somehow pathetically cover up the whole situation, but once her hand got closer to her face, she felt the oils he must have used to care for his beard; their scent made her head spin... Sandalwood, resin, orange blossom, cardamom, cloves... She quickly brushed away all thoughts, as if warding off demons, and changed the subject.

"While you were busy looking for glasses with John, your mum showed me that infamous photo of you after your first investigation, which someone turned upside down... I wonder who that was?"

"Ugh..." Aesop theatrically rolled his eyes, trying to restore his facade at all costs. He joked and, taking Morana by the arm, they started walking towards the Floo flame. He was glad she wasn't angry with him in any way, that she hadn't noticed he had allowed himself a little too much. He breathed out, trying to cool down. "I'll talk to her about it on Wednesday... I'll be firm, won't be swayed by cake, I promise."

Which facade? He was starting to get completely lost in it. Gruffnes once only covered his gentleness and sense of humor, which had now resurfaced... But at the same time, they covered something deeper underneath, something he hadn't been aware of before. What exactly did he feel just now, being so close to Morana? Did he even want to know?

End of part 13, thanks for reading

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy meme #hogwarts legacy oc #aesop sharp x mc #professor aesop sharp #professor sharp #aesop sharp #hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp smut

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transkingcobra · 8 months ago

Text

Okay I got this idea while trying to sleep last night and then proceeded to write most of it until 3am instead of just noting it rip

Finished this scenario and I actually mostly like it for not having written in ages and I never feel like I capture others’ characters correctly

Halsin x m!named!Tav

(x2 but mainly focusing on one in this)

Diex finds himself jealous and then proceeds to panic about it. Halsin snaps him out of it and talks him through it.

Mainly angst I guess, ‘tis sfw, moment of jealousy not aimed at other current partner if that matters to anyone, anxiety/panic attack, going nonverbal for a bit, I think that is everything?

A little background/explanation before the lil fic because I know I’ve shared not a damn thing about these two but it should be completely skippable, just know that Diex is a changeling in his tiefling persona to start this. If you’re confused you can always go back to read it after and/or send asks, was trying to keep it short I’m already rambling

Background info:

First and foremost, Nix and Diex are changeling brothers who both fell for Halsin. I want to emphasize there is nothing between the brothers other than being brothers, no incest, they do not share Halsin in those moments.

Nix (ranger) is mute and solely communicates via signs or writing (I think I wrote it understandably but the quotes that are italicized are signed). Diex (druid) is with him 99% of the time so he’ll translate signing to spoken language for ease/speed of communication to others.

They’re technically not “Tavs” as in neither of them is the leader and they’re not worm-wielders, another bean is in the “Tav position” but I didn’t even mention him in this. They were hanging out to help out with the tieflings in the grove (as their tiefling personas) before joining the group.

Context for slight mention of their past, Diex was on the run for 10 years where both brothers were completely alone before finally finding each other again.

The brothers usually use their tiefling personas to travel with the group since that is the one the party knows and met them in, and drop it at camp since they prefer to just be themselves.

I think that is all but let me know if something feels missing?

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Today was a prep day, everybody gathering potions and ammunitions, sharpening weapons, preparing spells. Halsin and Diex wandered vendor stalls together in the city, looking for anything the others had need of. The two became lost in their own worlds and drifted a few stalls apart before the changeling started to notice a woman’s obnoxious flirting.

“I’ll bet those strong hands of yours can do far more than that.” The woman’s advances earned an amused hum from the man she had her sights on. Wait. Diex lifted his gaze and turned to where the voices had come from and, sure enough, there she was standing and staring at Halsin. He didn’t hear anything else that was said; his feet took him over to his bear immediately. Arms wrapped around Halsin’s waist, Diex flashed the woman a dirty look, made worse by his morphing face but angled so the much taller druid couldn’t see.

“Well, I should uh, be getting home!” The woman grew visibly uncomfortable at his show and left in a hurry. He didn’t move, just watched her leave as his tiefling tail swayed behind him.

“Diex?” Halsin’s voice is all it takes to snap the clingy changeling out of it. He’s suddenly out of his head and in the market again, clung to his large elf. Embarrassment and shame hit him like a tidal wave. Halsin isn’t only his.

His arms fell away from the other druid and he took a step back, not sure he wanted to look Halsin in the face.

“I- I am so sorry- …Halsin I-“

“Calm, my heart. I am not angry.” A gentle hand found Diex’s chin and lifted his gaze. Halsin’s face was that of gentle concern, not anger, although Diex wasn’t sure if that was better at the moment. “Are you alright?”

“I…” He couldn’t hold the eye contact anymore, couldn’t form words, and suddenly he realized his heart felt like it was ready to escape his chest. He wanted to run, but he knew he couldn’t. Or well, shouldn’t. Not this time. He wasn’t doing that again. Not again…

The caress on his chin left only to take his hand with a gentle squeeze.

“Let us go back to the tavern.”

Diex nodded silently in response, letting Halsin guide him through the city. His mind spun like a hurricane only to crash and fall completely blank, then spin again.

Halsin was being calm, gentle, concerned even. Yet, Diex had just gone against what he had agreed to, to let the bear roam. He acted a clingy, possessive teen to their first love. Well… Halsin was his first, but he’s no kid. He should’ve known better. Been better. Halsin didn’t deserve to deal with this. Diex should’ve just said no before. Let Nix lie with Halsin in camp alone. The quiet brother was more level-headed. Mature. He thought before he acted, didn’t make stupid mistakes. Some days Diex still wasn’t quite used to living around so many people, but Nix adapted well. He lived the way he hunted, patiently with no missteps. Yes, he should’ve just said no. The minor ache of losing a crush would’ve been far more manageable than what was going to happen when they made it back to the tavern.

The Elfsong… Diex’s stomach twisted as they entered the establishment. The noise of the tavern’s crowd barely felt like it reached his ears. The stairs felt like far too many to climb yet not nearly enough to keep him away from what was to come. The common area around the main fireplace and hallway felt like he had only taken two steps before they made it to the room Halsin was using. The one he usually shared with one or both of the changelings. Diex heard the door close and felt it in his heart. He dropped his tiefling persona and stood feeling bare in front of Halsin.

The room felt suffocating. The first moments felt like hours. Every fiber of his being wanted to run again. To leave the room, the tavern, the city, the people behind. Instead, two strong hands found his shoulders, gentle but steady, and a low voice brought him back to himself.

“My love, you’re shaking…”

Halsin was right; Diex had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts he didn’t notice how unsteady he was. Did the others see? Was anybody even there as they passed the common area to get to the room? Was Nix there? Although the shaking wouldn’t have made a difference for Nix, the two knew each other far too well. The elder brother would have known something was wrong anyway.

Halsin gently sat them both down, holding Diex close but gently enough he could pull away easily. They had fought countless foes on this journey and had more than a few terrifying encounters. Diex had never flinched at those dangers yet here he was a near mess and panicked.

“My love, speak to me…” Hands left Diex as Halsin signed a broken “Please, what are you thinking?”

Bless Halsin, the man had taken up learning as many signs as he could during their travels and the brokenness pulled Diex a little more out of his own head.

“I’m stupid.” Diex couldn’t remember teaching that sign, Halsin is far too kind to need use of it, but maybe Nix did for whatever reason. The larger druid wiped a newly fallen tear from the changeling’s cheek before signing a request for Diex to spell the word he signed. “…stupid.” His voice cracked and was barely a whisper.

“I disagree.” A warm kiss graced the pale man’s head. “But you do have yourself worked up terribly, so when you are able I hope we can talk about where your mind is right now.”

By the gods, how can a man be so gentle? Diex leaned into Halsin’s chest, letting himself be held once more.

“I just… sorry I chased her off.” A low hum rumbled in Halsin’s chest.

“I am not angry, my heart. And I was not returning her advances.” A chuckle lightly shook them. “You and Nix keep me very occupied in that regard.” Diex couldn’t help the faintest hint of a smile start to form on his lips, but it quickly faded.

“…but if you did? Want to…return them? And I ruined it…” As much as he was certain it was over, Halsin felt safe. He curled himself into the bear, wrapping his arms around Halsin’s waist.

“I would still not be angry.” Halsin’s answer was soft, steady. Patient.

“But I-! We agreed that-“ Calloused fingertips hushed Diex’s onslaught of worry. He finally lifted his gaze to meet Halsin’s, those hazel eyes obviously choosing his next words.

“Nix told me I was his first in every way, and that I was more than likely yours as well. I do not expect either of you to know exactly how you are going to feel and react to a new lover. Nor do I expect you to hold yourself to that agreement should you discover it doesn’t work for you. But, I do, however, expect and ask you to be honest with yourself and with me.” Halsin’s hand lowered to caress the changeling’s cheek. “I do not wish to see you so worried. I would not want to lose you as a partner, but I would hate to see you go against your nature for me. If you ever find this does not work for you, please say so.”

“I…” For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Diex’s mind was calm. Halsin’s words comforted him but those eyes soothed his very soul. He was allowed the space to just be. Love and learn, wherever that took him. “Thank you.” He realized he’d honestly not put much thought into sharing Halsin beyond his brother, or even beyond the tadpole party just outside the door. Gods know they’d each bed him in the right situation. Though, now he’d really need to consider Halsin with a complete stranger, however odd a thought that felt to him at the moment. But he didn’t have to figure it all out immediately.

Diex stared into those gorgeous eyes a moment longer before pressing his lips to Halsin’s, soft and knowing, a promise he’d keep. Halsin gently rubbed a thumb over the pale cheek.

“Your eyes are beautiful.” Halsin spoke with a sense of gentle awe, and the comment caught Diex so off guard that he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. His eyes were beautiful? They were but a blank slate; Halsin’s eyes were beautiful. The way they glimmered as he chuckled only proved the point even more.

“What?” Diex huffed half a laugh, not seeing what his bear found funny now.

“Your eyes turned hazel. Mine, I presume?” Oh. Well, if he wasn’t visibly blushing before, his face was red now, quickly turning away and actively dismissing his unintended eye color.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” It’s been a long time since he’s morphed unintentionally, and never had he mimicked someone, even purposefully.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, my heart.”

“Gods… that’s twice today I’ve felt like a child.”

“Perhaps I could read you a bedtime story and tuck you in tonight?” Halsin chuckled as he teased, although something in Diex said the bear would do so if he genuinely asked.

“No! If you must read someone to sleep with bedtime stories, I’ll sleep alone and let Nix have you to himself tonight.”

They laughed and held each other close. Halsin was content Diex had settled back into himself, reassured in his arms.

There was a knock at the door, a pattern familiar only to Diex. He returned it tapping on the wooden floor, loud enough for Nix to hear outside. The ranger walked in, closing the door behind him before sitting next to the druid pretzel.

“I didn’t interrupt, did I? Are you alright? The expressions the two of you had got Karlach pacing.” Ah, so they did see. Diex habitually released Halsin to sign his response.

“Yeah, I’m good now. Do I have to let Karlach squeeze me so she doesn’t burn down the Elfsong?” The younger changeling’s smile and soft chuckle at the thought seemed to relieve Nix of some concern.

“It wouldn’t hurt. Well, maybe a little for you. Maybe wildshape first.” The two druids laughed at Nix’s idea, who let out his own amused breath.

The three of them eventually joined the rest of the party for dinner. Karlach got her hug, of course, after much assurance that Diex was fine. Most of them were confused about what she was even concerned over, much to his relief. He knew Shadowheart and Astarion could be nosy, but even they let it drop when he said it was between him and Halsin. Although, Nix’s blank stare from behind his younger brother may have pushed them to stay quiet.

The three would talk more later, if not just the brothers. Nix might have advice for how he’s been navigating the relationship. Then again, he may not know what he’s doing either. But that was for later. Right now, he had good food to enjoy and even better company to enjoy it with.

————

I hope Halsin felt like Halsin, I never feel like I write characters correctly anyway and trying to write about a relationship where one of them literally says that word is “unfamiliar to [his] lips” feels weird, but also a friendship is a relationship so 🤷‍♂️ and some shit just felt weird using any words, fanfic wiggle room I guess. Hope I did him justice in any case lol.

I do wanna write/draw more about these guys, funny enough I have more ideas about Nix with Halsin than Diex, but the writing demons possessed me for this specific idea last night lmao. Their dynamics are fun in my head plus the idea of exploring the brothers running into another changeling who is very not nice and everything they avoid being is something I wanna do as well cough even if orin has bs abilities for a changeling cough Nix was my first dnd character I made without help and a few years later played his brother, while now bringing them into bg3 has been living in my head rent free lol

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officialleehadan · 3 months ago

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From the Reaches

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Clown! Darling, thank you so much for all your support!

Prompt: Death’s Disciple

+++

Although Lux Abiit was without question a miracle worker, he was still seventeen, and that meant, given his rank, he sometimes needed minding. Most often, that task fell to His Grace. Cruor’s record for being able to chase their young Master of Engines out of the engine rooms long enough to do anything else was better than anyone's. Today, however, the boy was in the ship hangers, and seemed to be eagerly dismantling one of the smaller fighters.

“Dare I ask what you’re doing to that fighter?” Chian asked, mostly amused by the boy who had quickly become not just a favorite of the grand Templar, but also of himself, and Orrig. It was nearly impossible not to like the boy, especially when he started working his miracles. Chian didn’t have the first idea what Abiit was doing to the fighter, but he trusted Abiit to do it correctly. “It seems to be in rather a large number of pieces.”

“There’s a problem with the shield generator,” Abiit said, head-and-shoulders deep into the fighter’s shell. He muttered a curse and stuck a hand out of the fighter. His fingers twisted into a complicated sign, and a tool Chian couldn’t possibly name flew into his hand. Newly armed, he wiggled further into the fighter. There was a horrible sound of metal rending, the whole fighter glowed with magic, and then it fell into several pieces. Abiit, grease-stained but triumphant, sat up from the rubble, holding what Chian presumed was the shield generator. “The power flow to it isn’t steady, and it should be. I have to rebuild this little girl before she’ll be ready for action again.”

“Are they all like that?”

“Probably, but once I fix her, I’ll get the other mechanics trained and we’ll get the rest fixed up.”

“So easily?”

“I mean, they don’t talk like the Shrine does, but you can hear them if you listen,” Abiit said with a very fond pat for the fighter’s broken shell around him. “Don’t worry, little girl. We’ll get you flying again. Captain, were you looking for me?”

“I was,” Chian said and offered a hand up to Abiit, who let him pull him to his feet. He wasn’t a tall young man, although Chian suspected he was still growing. The nutrition of several solid meals a day would help him catch up after years of scarce food on Tertrain. “I was checking on our intake paperwork, and I realized I have next to nothing of your history in our records.”

“Oh, it’s just because I don’t know much,” Abiit said, and reluctantly set the shield generator aside to give Chian his full attention. “My parents died in Tertrain’s last civil war. I’d tell you their names if I could, but I was four. I don’t remember them. I was in an orphanage for a little while, then I was on the streets until I learned magic. Then I became a spell-mechanic. Nothing special, really.”

Nothing special. The words that always seemed to linger around Abiit whenever he did anything particularly remarkable.

In some ways, the explanation that Abiit had no family, and grew up on the streets, explained a great deal about how he faced the world. Chian remembered meeting the boy, dusty and tousled, and so astonishingly capable. He didn’t have a single notion of how to behave on the ship though, which now made sense. Tertrain wasn’t known for having a strong Temple presence, and Charos was a small, wild city.

“We need to do a full medical workup for you as well,” Chian told him, which made Abiit wrinkle his nose in protest. “Don’t bother arguing. You can come with me, or I’ll tell His Grace about it.”

“He won’t make me go,” Abiit said, convincing absolutely nobody. They both knew how seriously His Grace took Abiit’s health. “Fine, fine, you don’t have to drag me.”

“For the best,” Chian said amiably as he led the way to the in-ship transport. The entered the small waiting room and Chian pressed the button to call the transport. He opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but Abiit paused suddenly, still all over, and studiously causal at the same time. “Problem?”

“Someone is stalking us,” Abiit said, quiet and still smiling, but now with an air of immediate violence about him that should surprise Chian, and somehow didn’t. “You, actually. They spotted you in the hanger and have been getting closer since.”

“Interesting,” Chian said and considered his options. It was not unusual for Templars to challenge for rank and promotion by murder was very traditional. If someone challenged him properly, and killed him, they would take his position and rank. Of course, knowing what he knew about the Shrine and about His Grace, they might not hold the position for long. “Hostile?”

“Imagine so. Want me to handle it?”

The casual offer was one that should terrify Chian. He knew what Abiit could do when the mood took him. Instead, he patted the boy’s shoulder fondly.

“No,” he said, and allowed just a little of his own dangerous nature show. He might not enjoy bloodshed the way His Grace, or even Orrig did, but he was more than able to hold his own. “When you fought in the officer’s meeting, His Grace told us that some lessons must be taught by a specific person.”

“I didn’t hear that.”

“You were occupied,” Chian said amiably, but alerted now, he was on guard, and he caught a glimpse of the person, a man he thought, who was moving in on them. “Should they be brave enough to challenge me for captaincy, you must not interfere.”

“And if they try to shoot you in the back?” Abiit asked, apparently willing to accept Chian’s ability to protect himself. “What then?”

“That,” Chian said and allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. “is harder than it may seem. I’ve been in the Temple and the captain of this ship for ten years. There have been many attempts on my life.”

“And here you stand,” Abiit said and allowed his predatory air fade under his usual sunny cheer, but Chian could still see it, just a little. The young spell-mechanic was nowhere near off-guard. “I’ll leave it to you then, but we’re ready to help if you want us.”

“We?” Chian had a sudden feeling he knew who we might be, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it out loud. “Who is we?”

“Have you forgotten so quickly?” Abiit asked with a smile that hid more danger than Chian really wanted to consider too closely. He brushed his hand over the wall’s polished surface as if he patted the shoulder of a friend. Chian found himself smiling and mirrored the gesture. The wall warmed under his fingers, too fast to be heat from his own skin. “She’s always looking out for you, but she’ll let you fight your own battles if you don’t want her to interfere.”

“We’ll see what happens,” Chian said, and patted the wall fondly. The Shrine hummed in soft harmony with the approaching transport. “You aren’t the only one this ship from the Reaches.”

+++

Death's Disciple (FULL COLLECTION)

Destiny Wakes

Crafter’s Hands (Subscriber Only!)

Signs of Magic

Captain Conundrum (Subscriber Only!)

Engine Song

Interlude of Kin

Family Introduction (Subscriber Only!)

Political Play

Over Peppers

Like a Bell

To Bed

Proper Intake

Two Spies

First Example

Mandatory Social Time

Second Example (Subscriber Only!)

True Intelligence

Velvet Darkness (Subscriber Only!)

Through Death

The Storm

Out of her Depth

Off Ship (Subscriber Only!)

Careful Education

Hunting Ranks

From the Reaches

Captain Competence

Reglazed Reshifted (Subscriber Only!) (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

#Writing #Lee Hadan #fantasy #scifi #spilled ink #writing prompts

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dixidin · 2 years ago

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"I love you, but can we please go to bed?"

Synopsis: Capitano misses his lover who's working his ass off. So he takes matters into his own hands

Note: OKAY, this is my first time posting something, so please be nice to me🙏 also I'm really sorry if I misspelled something in here, I'm a fucking idiot and can't spell correctly. Also also, I don't know that much stuff with the fatui harbingers since we've barely gotten anything about them, so I'll just be using their code names. OKAY SORRY FOR MAKING THIS SO LONG AND THANK U FOR READING<3 (BTW CAPITANO HAS A HUGE ASS SCAR ON HIS EYE AND PANTALONE LIKES TO WEAR MAKEUP YOU CAN'T CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE)

Info: Fluff but kinda suggestive? It never gets to NSFW tho (bc I hc Capitano as asexual, yes you can fight me on this/hj). Mainly focuses on Capitano, small use of pet names and curse words, OOC? Mentions of them being married because yes

Capitano didn't need this. He really didn't need this tonight. After a long day of working at the Zapolyarny Palace and making sure no one died today, he just wanted to snuggle up to his lover and fall asleep in his arms. But it looks like his husband said otherwise.

Pantalone was in the office he has in their mansion, working his hands off till they crumbled into dust. So, Capitano had to lay in bed all by himself, the icy weather of Snezhnaya biting at the large man laying in the cold sheets of the mattress. Capitano sighed after feeling a small shiver run down his spine. He was worried for the banker, his eyebags were getting more noticeable, and only a certain amount of concealer will be able to cover up his darkening eyebags.

The tall man sat up in the bed that barely fit him, creaking as he sat on the side of the bed. He rubbed his face before looking at the bedside table, it was very clean and had a fancy lamp sitting on the side of it. Capitano turned the lamp on to see better, but it illuminated the beautiful wedding ring under the lamp when turned on. He smiled slightly when seeing the ring shining under the light, remembering when he and Pantalone got married, barely anyone showed up since they were fatui harbingers after all.

Capitano sat up from the silky sheets and left the ring sitting under the lamp, opening the door and ducking his head before walking out. Capitano walked the hallways of their mansion, looking at all the different paintings hung up that Pantalone had bought with his mora. Eventually, he made it to the office and slowly opened the door, trying not to make any noise. The office wasn't that big compared to the other rooms they had in their mansion, but it was comforting.

The office had shelves with rows of trinkets, textbooks, books, and extra ink glasses placed carefully on top of the shelves. Of course, Pantalone was there sitting at the desk with his hands working on writing a paper. The desk was filled with papers, pens, trinkets, and books everywhere. It was surprising that nothing had fallen off yet.

Capitano silently walked over to the desk, peeking over the tall seat to see if Pantalone had passed out. Sadly, he was still awake. His closed eyes were focused on writing, and his glasses looked like they were about to slip off his face at any moment. Pantalone noticed Capitano's presence as soon as he entered but made no attempt to speak, Capitano silently hugged the side of the tired Pantalone, looking down to see what he was writing.

They stayed like that for a few moments before Capitano moved his head towards the clock, "Pantalone..are you nearly finished dear?" Capitano said after looking away from the clock and kissing Pantalone's temple, his deep voice raspy when first talking. Pantalone didn't want to answer Capitano's question, but he gave in quickly. "Just...give me a few moments," Pantalone spoke, voice wavering slightly. Capitano sighed at his lover, he knew that it was an empty promise due to the last time Pantalone promised to head to bed.

Capitano's patience was starting to run thin, and the knight cared for his lover greatly, so if Pantalone wasn't okay, Capitano wasn't okay. He slowly slid his hand down Pantalone's arm to his non-dominant hand, intertwining his much larger hand in between the males smaller hand. "You said that last time," Capitano said, voice laced with passive aggressiveness. Or was it more of a teasing tone?

Either way, Capitano didn't let Pantalone speak before he brought his head down and started to kiss Pantalone's neck. Soft but cold kisses making contact with the smaller males warm skin. Pantalone relaxed in Capitano's grasp, a shiver making its way down Pantalone's back when he felt the sudden icy feeling making contact with his skin. Pantalone bit the inside of his cheek softly, he knew that he needed to work, but he was so tired..all those books he needed to open and those papers that needed to be written gave him a headache just thinking about it..and he did miss his lover sincerely.

The two just sat there in silence as Capitano kissed Pantalone's neck softly. One hand intertwined with Pantalone's hand, and the other one wrapped around his waist, now rubbing slow circles onto the males side. Capitano stopped kissing Pantalone's neck before stealing a glance at him. He looked lost in thought, and Capitano knew that this wouldn't help him get back to bed, so he had to do something. Capitano pulled his head away from Pantalone's neck and looked towards his back.

Pantalone was wearing a poets shirt with a zipper at the back, It was all the way down, showing his naked back. Capitano took this opportunity to try and make him more tired. He let go of Pantalone's hand and grabbed the other side of his waist. Capitano brought his lips and pressed a soft kiss to Pantalone's back, waiting for Pantalone's reaction.

Pantalone's let out a silent gasp, his grip on the pen tightened before letting go and letting it drop onto the table. Capitano let go of his waist for a second to move some of his hair off of the back of his neck, Capitano smirked at seeing some blush appear on Pantalone's neck. Despite Pantalone being the one who normally makes him blush, Capitano had some moments where he left the banker a flustered mess. Capitano moved his hand to rest on Pantalone's waist and started to prep some more kisses upon Pantalone's back, never speeding them up, just taking his time.

One kiss after another made Pantalone relax into Capitano's hold. He felt so safe whenever the intimidating harbinger would do something soft and intimate with him. Pantalone knew that Capitano had a rough history of betrayal and blood, so with him trusting Pantalone always made his heart warm. Capitano continued pressing faint kisses on Pantalone's smooth back before abruptly stopping.

"Would you like to head to bed, dear?" Capitano whispered directly into Pantalone's ear, waiting for a response out of the quiet male. Pantalone sighed before moving his chair away from the desk and turning to Capitano. Pantalone smiled when he saw his husband with a curious look on his face, Pantalone brought his hand up to rub the taller males face, where the large scar decorated his face, lightly rubbing the battle scar. Capitano eyes softened at the sudden contact before leaning into the bankers touch.

Capitano pulled his hand on top of Pantalone's. Despite his hand feeling extremely rough, his grip was gentle with Pantalone. Capitano pulled Pantalone toward his chest more and kissed his palm softly. "That would be nice," Pantalone said, voice breaking the silence between them.

A smile grew across Capitano at the success of finally getting his lover to snuggle into the cold bed with him. Pantalone stood up and slowly stretched, but Capitano had other plans. The taller male scooped up the banker into his arms, Pantalone let out a soft gasp before chuckling, placing his head on Capitano warm chest. Capitano's smile grew upon seeing Pantalone get the relaxation he desperately needed.

Capitano turned off the light that illuminated the room and walked out of the messy office, ducking his head near the door frame so his forehead wouldn't get hit. Sooner or later, Capitano finally made it to the bedroom the two males shared, Capitano carefully placed Pantalone onto the silky sheets and started to help him take off his accessories. First, his glasses, then his glasses chains, and lastly, the wedding ring. Pantalone smiled upon seeing Capitano kneeling down in front of him and taking care of him.

Eventually, Capitano got the wedding ring off of Pantalone's hand. When he turned to place it with the rest of the accessories on the bedside table, he felt a hand grab his chin and a pair of lips connected to his forehead, "thank you, sweetheart." Pantalone's soft voice spoke as he moved his hand from Capitano's chin to his cheek, thumb making small circles against the skin. Capitano put his hand on top of Pantalone's hand and closed his eyes, "anything for you, my love," Capitano's deep voice stated.

"Charmer," Pantalone teasingly said to Capitano, who responded with a low chuckle. Capitano placed the wedding ring on the table, turned off the lamp, and got in bed with Pantalone. The smaller male curled up on top of Capitano's chest, taking in all the warmth that radiated off of the knight. Capitano grabbed the warmth blanket and pulled it upon the two, "..I'm sorry for...everything" Pantalone voice spoke in the quiet room.

Capitano smiled at the banker's apology, "it's alright, but if you don't come to bed earlier, I won't hesitate to pick you up and bring your ass to bed" Capitano lectured, placing his hands around Pantalone and pulling him towards his chest more. Pantalone chuckled lightly at Capitano's words, "message received." Pantalone addressed, giving the intimidating male a soft kiss to his chin before snuggling back into Capitano's chest. Capitano layed back into the bed, happy that his husband was in his arms again.

It did not take long for the two males to fall asleep in each other's warm embrace

If you repost this on another website, please give credit. Any like or repost is greatly appreciated -dixidin

Tags:

#capitano #pantalone #il capitano #capilone #genshin impact #fatui harbingers #dixidin writes

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ksqwildwest · 1 year ago

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The Messenger Raven

Warning: discussion of minor character death/sickness, implied homophobia, please let me know if I should add anything here

--------

Karl's heart nearly beat out of his chest as he skid past the door to his room. The few seconds it took to get the door open felt like an eternity. His breath was ragged. His eyes blurred. Telling himself that this all had to be a dream did nothing. He'd hit his hip on a table in his rush to get away and the very real pain made denial an impossible venture.

He'd been free. He had been so free but now they had found him. How did they find him? They couldn't have- shouldn't have been able to find him in the middle of nowhere.

He wracked his brain for any mistakes or slip ups he'd made. His mind brought up a blank. It was impossible to tell if that meant he didn't make a mistake or if he just couldn't think over the never ending chant in his brain of "It's over".

Knock knock

Karl stared. It could be John. It could be Mason or Jack.

But it could also be Him.

When Thompson had announced that his dad had arrived in town for an unexpected visit, Karl had been excited to meet the man. He'd met more than a few people with the last name Thompson over the years and all had been fairly pleasant company. Anyone related to the dear sheriff was sure to be interesting. He hadn't been expecting to recognize them.

His parents had hired a variety of people to do some less than legal jobs over the years but only one had consistently delivered results. A favorite of his parents. They had even housed his family for a short time. He'd been afraid of the so called "Angle of Death" but had warmed up after they had taught him how to befriend the local crows. Specialized in finding and hunting down a variety of people. Business men, socialites, critics. The distinctive green shawl, painted leather hat, and sleek black wings couldn't belong to anyone else.

"This is my dad, Philza Thompson."

"Please," he'd said while shaking John's hand, "just call me Phil."

Knock knock knock

"Hello," Karl choked out weakly. More of a question than an invitation.

Phil opened the door softly yet the creek seemed to echo through the room like a gun shot.

"Hello Jacobson," he greeted softly. The name felt like a punch to the gut to hear after so long. "You ran off before I could say that downstairs."

Karl shakily lowered himself into his chair while his legs started to feel like jello. Everything felt like it was happening too fast and too slow all at once.

"Don't-" a wobbly breath to compose himself "Don't call me that."

"Oh, okay then. You're still called Carl though right? That's what-"

"It's Karl- I spell it with a K now. Not a C."

"That's great to hear."

Silence hangs heavy in the air for what feels like hours. Maybe it is hours. It's hard to tell through the tears.

"How-" Karl can barely find the courage to ask but he has to know, "How did they find me?"

Phil smiles weakly and shuts the door behind himself. Probably to keep other people out. It feels too much like being trapped in.

"You sent Wilbur a letter." he explains gently, like he's trying to sooth a distressed child, "A new staff member was in charge of delivering mail and got confused. He gave it to the head of staff who informed your parents. The return address was written in a different handwriting. It was likely added by your post office attendant."

"Micheal. Our mail carrier is named Micheal." Karl mutters. "He's married to a chicken."

He remembers that day. In such a panic to get to work on time. He should have stayed. Should have made sure to tell him not to add the address. Should have said anything.

"Your parents read the letter." Phil continues after the silence takes over again. "They were- They said they were worried by the lack of women in town."

Karl has a sinking feeling he knows where this is going.

"They, um," Phil stumbles over his words here, trying to phrase something correctly. He settles on, "Congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you," he replies numbly while the years of etiquette classes come back all at once. Hollow script rolls off his tongue while a blank brilliant smile slides onto his face. "I'm sure she's nice."

"I don't know who you're engaged to but I'm supposed to bring you back for the wedding on Wednesday."

"It's-" it takes a moment for him to remember anything other than the swarming thoughts in his brain, "It's Saturday."

Phil nods.

"Why?"

Karl knows there are a lot of questions that he could ask that start with that but to pick any direction would require a calmer mind.

Phil wilts at the question. It's as if he ages ten years in a matter of moments. His eyes are sunken and tired. His wings are far messier than Karl can ever remember them being. Little cuts and loose thread are visible along the edges of his clothes.

"Kristen, you remember my wife, right? Well, she's very sick. I've been wanting to move away from this line of work for a while now but I couldn't. Not with the medical bills that high."

"But, I've been saving up and with the boys old enough to work, I would have just needed to finish a handful more jobs to be free. Then, your letter showed up and-"

Karl can't tell if a laugh or sob spills out of his throat. He can remember from the little he overheard over the years, what his parents would pay Phil. He knows what the value of money is to people now. Just a handful can make a difference to some people.

He should be fighting back. It occurs to him. He should be yelling and pushing and telling Phil that he promised himself that he would never return to that household for the rest of his life and he's going to keep it. He should say that. He should really say that.

"When do we leave?"

Funny, his parents aren't even here and yet the moment they snap their fingers, he's back to their side like an obedient dog.

"I figure we could leave Sunday night. So you have time to get everything in order."

"Oh."

"Karl, you-"

Knock Knock Knock

"Hey Karl," John calls through the door, "Have you seen Phil? The bandits just showed up and they want to meet him."

Phil is over in the blink of an eye and stretching his wings out to block the view to the room. He waves John off easily, claiming to have been giving Karl advice on writing winged characters.

"I'll leave you two to it then," John replies and Karl can hear the fond smile in his voice as he calls out, "as long as he remembers to come down and eat sometime tonight."

"In a bit," he calls back. He doesn't even have to try and sound distant.

John and Phil chatter quietly, about what Karl can't even tell, and soon John is trotting back to the bar. The room returns to silence once again. The silence seems louder this time, somehow.

"So-"

"Get out."

"... okay."

"And say hi to Mason and Jack for me."

"Of course. See you tomorrow."

The door closes softly and the silence is deafeningly loud. Karl sits and watches the light from his window slide across the wall and shrink as the sun sets. It's not until the light finally disappears from the wall that he finally convinces himself to move. He has to settle some things. Who's going to take care of Biscuit and Mitten, what things would his parents immediately throw out on sight, what he can hide or pass off as valuable. He needs to write a general letter to explain to everyone where he's gone. He needs to write individual letters about how much he's going to miss everyone.

He's going home. He does not want to go. But he prepares for the trip anyway. He'd prefer to meet his- his bride before they got married anyhow.

"I'm going home," he croaks into the empty air. A single tear rolls down his cheek as he sobs out as quietly as he can. "I'm going home."

------

:D Welcome to the Plot! I've been waiting to start off this part of the story since I created this AU. Very excited to keep writing! Sorry for going dark for so long. Between finishing the freshman year of college and coming home to a house under renovation, life has been hectic. I hope you enjoy these next couple stories. Once I write them. I have a lot of free time right now so hopefully I can get through a couple of these before break is over.

So, who's ready to leave Lazarus? :)

#tales from the smp #tftsmp #tftsmp wild west #karl jacobs #tftsmp john john #tftsmp Philza #writings from lazarus

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minervavasa · 3 months ago

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TW/CW: Idk what to put here; I just feel like it should come with a warning of some kind because I am not well

I always fill my pill case on Saturdays.

I look at all the bottles lined up and I wonder why. Why do I bother? All of this effort just to stay alive?

What the hell good has that ever done me?

Everything is so harsh, and I wonder if I would even recognize softness if I came across it.

"Maybe a dose of childhood nostalgia that I don't have will help" I tell myself as I watch an episode of The Muppets. It doesn't.

I'm trying to clean because it needs to be done, even while the alarm bells are going off in my head telling me that I'm overdoing it. I'll just pay for that later. Everything comes to collect later. I do my best to stave off the debt with coffee and Xanax, but eventually it will all add up.

There's so much harping about trauma survivors needing to heal. Yes. But fucking gods. My therapist says he doesn't think I have an inner child because the bullshit started *that* early for me. And last week he said he has zero suggestions for me to cope. His actual sentence was "There's no way to cope with this." So then what am I supposed to be healing? And how? Why do I bother?

Missing Limbs comes on in my earbuds and I'm folded in half on the kitchen floor, sobbing. I hate this fucking tile. It feels like the hardest substance known to man. No softness there.

I wish I could do what he's done. The Lion.

Built something beautiful from my pain. But I don't see anything beautiful here to build with. Only ashes. Twisted, rusty metal. A sea of dull grey. Destruction.

I am a sculpture made out of razor blades.

The bottom shelf of the cabinet over the kitchen sink is nothing but pill bottles. That awful shade of brown, all printed with a name I hate. Six letters no one ever spells or pronounces correctly. Including my family. If they can't make you a real person, no one else ever will.

But I keep the name anyway.

It's also the name printed on my degree.

The pill case is full for another week.

But damn if I know why.

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pluppsauthor · 6 months ago

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534 ft. (Western WIP)

Been a bit since I last posted some writing... I think, I dunno. Today I'm going to post the first chapter of my western WIP. I also finally thought of a name for it! It's subject to change, but I like it a lot.

The name is 534 ft.. The name comes from Jesse's backstory, and is a bit grim, but it's named after the the act of digging 89, six-foot deep, graves.

Anyway, the first chapter is a bit long and I didn't want to shorten it, so I'm going to split it up into four parts over the next three days.

(I'll edit in links to the next/previous part at the top of the post when they get posted. Also, if you want me to add a trigger warning, go ahead and tell me. I'll put in ones I think of, but I might forget, not being insensitive, I'm just not the greatest at labelling thing correctly since I overthink things a lot)

---------------------------------------------------

[TW: Swears, guns, alcohol]

“COWARD!”

“You fiend...”

“BASTARD!”

“Traitor!”

“MONSTER!”

In a bed, a man awoke suddenly. He brought a hand to his head, then down to his chest. He slowly rolled over and sat on the side of the bed. He saw the light streaming through the shutters and sighed.

“You alright there hon? Got a case of the ‘ol sandlung?”

“...I’m all good, just a nightmare.”

He shied away from the kind woman.

“Could be the work of the witches, make sure you’re alright.”

“I will, thanks for letting me stay the night.”

“It’s no big deal.”

He put on his clothes and hat before leaving the house. On his hip was a silver revolver that reflected the bright light of the two suns rising for dawn. On his back was a sturdy backpack used by travellers and nomads alike. He went around the side of the small farmhouse to find his horse.

“You alright there, Biscuit?”

The horse gently nuzzled against the man’s chin. His horse was a beautiful grey with dotted white spots like stars in the night sky.

“Don’t worry, the suns won’t be as bad today. We only have to go for a few hours ‘till we reach Bitterbranch. We can rest there, alright?”

The woman came outside for a moment and saw the man fixing up his horse’s bridle and saddle.

“You don’t happen to know any magic yourself there sir?”

The man turned back to the woman and shook his head.

“I don’t meddle with the stuff. What is it you need?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. My field was producing a little less than usual this time of year. I was just curious if you knew a spell or two for that.”

“Sorry ma’am, I don’t.”

“Oh, alright. You have safe travels alright?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me ma’am, I ain’t dying anytime soon and neither is my horse.”

She rolled her eyes and walked back inside. The man double-checked everything and got to riding out again. Some said the man’s horse could ride for miles on end without needing a single break. Some said the man was a living shade, rolling across the dunes and canyons searching for something that did not exist.

But these stories did not exist yet when he rode into the town of Bitterbranch in the mid-morning. He quickly found a stable and left Biscuit with the young stablehand before he went to fetch himself a drink in the local bar.

The inside was empty except for the barkeep sitting idly by with his feet up on the counter. At the sight of the lone man walking in, he stood back up and cleaned off the counter where his feet were.

“Howdy stranger! I don’t think I’ve seen you before, what brings you here?”

The man tipped his hat to the barkeep and took a seat in front of him.

“Just passin’ through.”

“Thought so, a couple dozen more people like you and this town will dry up in the sand. We need more people to stay here, ever crossed your mind?”

“Not yet, still got something I need to do.”

“So what’ll it be?”

“Just some water.”

“Ah, I’m ‘fraid the well is dry right now and our priest is sick with the ‘ol sandlung. Her apprentice ain’t skilled enough so we’re a bit dry right now.”

The man sighed.

“Just a mug of beer then I suppose.”

“Coming right up!”

The barkeep poured him out a glass from a keg behind him.

“Say, stranger, what’s your name? Mine’s Tim Banks.”

“...Jesse Graves.”

“Jesse? Are you from the east? That’s not the most common name out here.”

Jesse shook his head before finishing his drink. The barkeep quickly took his glass and began to clean it out. Jesse pulled out a stack of papers from his bag as the barkeep put the glass back on the shelf.

“Say, Tim, anyone pass through here lately?”

“Not particularly, why you ask-”

Tim turned around to see an array of papers scattered across the counter in front of him. They were all bounties of various bandits and outlaws. There seemed to be no correlation between them, and no consistency of age, gender, bounty, notoriety, or any other identifier.

“Ah, I see, you a bounty hunter or something?”

Tim took a long look at the scattering of papers.

“...Nope, don’t know of these people. I think I’ve heard a few of their names, like Cook James there, I heard a rumour ‘bout him a year or two back. But none of them came through here, no.”

Jesse tsked and put the papers away.

“That’s a shame.”

“Sorry, Jesse, I wish I could help you out. But, if I may, can I ask why you are looking for those people? Are you just a bounty hunter? I haven’t heard of most of these people and plenty of them have bounties lower than 100 Mire. Sorry if I’m overstepping here, but this doesn’t really seem like a good way to keep afloat if that’s what you’re after.”

“It ain’t for no silver or gold. I’ve got my reasons.”

#writeblr #writing #my writing #original writing #writblr #fantasy #534 ft.#western #western aesthetic #western fantasy

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1-800-sope · 3 years ago

Text

Alphabet Boy (m) part 1.

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Rating: T

Genre: Yandere

Warnings: none

Summary: He was good at everything and wasn’t afraid to remind you of it.

BTS Masterlist

BTS Melaine Martinez series

Kim Namjoon

oh, how you loathe that name and that face. He always thinks he’s so perfect. Ever since you two were little he always thought he was better and smarter, always. But in reality Kim Namjoon was nothing but a spoiled empty minded prince.

Oh, how you wanted to smack that cocky smirk off of his unfairly handsome face. God not only did he pass you up in brains but also looks.

“You’re always aiming paper airplanes at me when you’re around.”

“Good morning Y/n” Namjoon smiled as you entered the classroom, You mumbled a good morning while avoiding eye contact, Namjoon taking note of this smirked.

“Y/n? are you still upset about our little bet?” he asked as he moved from the front of the classroom to your desk.

You made a bet with Namjoon that you could surpass him with the math exam. The loser had to enter a spelling bee and the winner can do whatever they want with the loser for a week.

You scored a beautiful 98 while Namjoon scored a solid 100.

Rolling your eyes ignoring Namjoon’s comment and placed your books on your desk getting ready for class.

Namjoon’s hand gently grabbed your jaw turning your face towards him. “Darling I hope you didn’t forget about our little arrangement? If I were you I wouldn't act so bratty. You lost remember, you have to do what I say.”

“You build me up like building blocks just so you can bring me down.”

“Perfect Miss. Y/l/n.” Your teacher complimented you as you stepped away from the board showing your work.

As you looked over your classmates you made eye contact with Namjoon. His eyes focused on the math equation you did. A proud smirk painted your face as you walked back to your desk.

Namjoon spoke up as he raised his hand. “Yes, Namjoon?” The teacher paused in the middle of his speech giving the young boy his undivided attention. You sucked in a breath knowing what's about to come.

“I have some things to say about Y/n’s equation if you don’t mind.” Namjoon smiled at the teacher not looking your way. The teacher nodded at him to continue as he stepped aside.

“Y/n’s equation is good all the steps are done correctly.” A proud feeling rushed over you as you bite back a smile. “But.. It’s not perfect.” And just like that, your smile fell, what did you expect this was Kim Namjoon, if he’s giving you a compliment it’s always backhanded.

“Honestly what she did is what my little sister can do and she’s only in middle school.” Laughs filled the classroom.

“You can crush my Candy Cane but you'll never catch me cry.”

“Somebody's upset.” Jin your best friend and only friend cooed as he took a seat next to you in the cafeteria. “Let me guess was it Namjoon?” He whispered with an amused look on his face.

you looked up at him and scoffed “Yes it’s Namjoon. It’s always Namjoon, He’s just ruining my life and I hate him and I hate how everyone likes him and can’t see his evil sinister ways because He brainwashed all of them.” you spoke as you stabbed the food on your plate multiple tinges expressing your anger and hatred for the devil.

Jin slowly moved away from you and gulped. “I’m so happy to be your friend.” the nervous chuckle caught your attention snapping you out of your rampage. “Jin.” you whined tossing your fork to the side and placing both hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Why is my life so mislabel? What unfortunate thing did I do in the past to deserve this.”

“Oh, look does little y/n have a friend.” A voice spoke up and the seat on the other side of you was moved. Jin looked over your shoulder a nervous smile on his face. “Speak of the devil.”

Not wanting to be around whatever is about to unfold he quickly got up grabbing his books and adjusting his glasses. “Bye y/n see you after class.” and with that, your savior left you.

“Did you tell him?” Namjoon whispered in your ear leaning too close for comfort. “Tell him what?” you snapped your head in his direction glaring, he rose his eyebrow amused.

You two were close, so close you could feel his breath on his face. You glanced down at his lips before clearing your throat and moving away.

“Of course you didn’t tell him.” He smirked grabbing out one of his books and opening the page. “Tell..him..what!” you hissed as you stood up from your chair leaning over Namjoon to appear more threatening. To say you were getting fed up would be an understatement.

“That you like him.” He spoke nonchalantly. and with that, your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. “How do you know?” you whispered eyes softening as you watched Namjoon turn the page.

“Wouldn't any girl like the only guy that gives her the time of day, such a shame he’s not interested.” He hummed

“Y-You don’t know that.” You stuttered rolling your hands in a tight fist. Namjoon closed his book and looked up at you, he stared for a few seconds then shook his head pulling out his phone and unlocking it he brought it up so you could look at whatever he was about to show you.

and when you looked it felt like your world stopped.

there he was, Jin. kissing a girl but not just any girl it was Nessa, Jenessa Park the girl that made you oh so insecure but nobody could blame you, she was the definition of perfect. she was pretty, smart, and everybody liked her even Namjoon liked her and jin liked her.

Ignoring the burning feeling in your eyes and the pained feeling in your chest you scoffed and shoved the phone out of your face, Namjoon was smiling.

“Oh come on y/n, You should know by now to focus on school and not on boys you don’t want to repeat what happened last year.” If you could you would have punched that annoying smirk off his face.

no, if you were in a better mindset and not suffering from a heartbreak you definitely would have thrown him over the cafeteria table.

Taking in a deep breath you quickly blinked the tears away Putting on a fake sweet smile you looked over at Namjoon. “Fuck You.”

Grabbing your bag and books you got up and walked out of the room if you would have turned around you would have seen Namjoon’s smirk fall and a conflicted look replacing it.

“If you dangle that diploma and I deck you, don't be surprised”

This was it, graduation day you were so happy that you made it and extra happy that you made it with a beautiful 3.0 GPA.

“Oh isn’t this a surprise, You graduated?” Namjoon said as he walked up to with confidence his diploma in one hand and the other in his pocket. The taller male landed forth to be at your height level. “You didn’t cheat did you?”

You see the good thing about your last day of high school is that you can take risks because number one you can’t get into trouble and number two you won’t see any of these people again. so that’s what you did you took the risk more like opportunity and punched Kim Namjoon in the face.

The room went silent as everyone stopped and watch eyes wide, did Kim Namjoon the Kim Namjoon just get decked in the face by y/n? Yes he did and this moment will go down in history.

“That felt good.” You smiled as Namjoon touched his left cheek his eyes wide and jaw clenched.

“I hope I never see you ever again Kim Namjoon.” and with that you walked out with a big smile on your face and a little skip in your step.

Part 2

Tag list: @mwitsmejk @earthtoness

A/N: let me know if you wanna be apart of the Melanie Martinez tag list series!!!

#namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #kim namjoon fic #namjoon fic #yandere au #yandere namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic

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retvenkos · 4 years ago

Text

within these lines | t.l.

Little Women - Theodore “Laurie” Laurence x Reader, fluff requested by @mywinterbucky - sorry for the wait!

tw: none

word count: 1.6k

prompt: “you still have that?”

A/N: sorry timothee chalamet fans, but the gif is of christian bale’s laurie because sometimes you gotta switch it up, y’know? after all, variety is the spice of life.

Summary: The world had come in between Laurie and (Y/n) five years ago, but neither time nor distance could keep them apart for long.

There’s something elusively romantic about the teenage years. Despite any tragedy that reaches the hearts of the young, there is something infinite in youth that takes such melancholy and spins it into something beautiful beyond recognition.

It was in their teenage years that (Y/n) was torn from Laurie’s embrace - two friends on the cusp of being something more. A “perhaps” that ended in ellipses, each dot like the thousands of miles that separated them. All through their childhood, they had been together, and up until the moment (Y/n) was whisked away to England, they had constantly been at each other’s side. To have known someone so fully and to lose them so completely was a tragedy that often left the soul barren. But they were teenagers at the time, standing at the precipice of adulthood, and their minds preserved a beauty that existed in their youth - something unique and not likely to happen again; gold-spun.

When (Y/n) was plucked out of Laurie’s pocket and ripped from his heart, there wasn’t much else to do than wander. Laurie passed the days on his own and when he wasn’t lost amongst the memories of his youth, he was writing letters to (Y/n) when he ought to have been studying and fashioning poetry when he should have been sleeping. There is something elusively romantic about writing to someone you don’t have the address for - something that lies in the yearning of one’s being and the void that is left behind.

As the years wore on, Laurie grew out of those rose-colored teenage years, but his heart still beat to the rhythm of a sonnet. Across the ocean, (Y/n) was much the same. Although less of a poet, (Y/n) was a dreamer, and when they closed their eyes, they were there in the gardens of their youth, with a boy they had once thought of loving at their side.

It was a muddy, April day when Laurie felt a particular kind of ache settle in his heart. (Y/n) had told him, once, when they were hiding in the study of his grandfather’s house rather than practicing the piano, that muddy, grey mornings were their favorite. He had laughed at them back then, even after (Y/n) insisted that grey mornings had a comforting sort of calm about them - something that made sense to Laurie, despite it all. (Y/n) had insisted on the beauty of drab mornings, and when he told them that loving dull skies was like loving the taste of over-boiled tea, (Y/n) told him that they loved that, too. “After all,” they had said, “that’s how you make it when your grandfather is away, and there’s no one here but us.”

“But it’s not any good.”

“To me it is.” At their statement, Laurie made a face, and (Y/n) laughed like a spring breeze. “As is anything that is made with love.”

Laurie’s cheeks bloomed with a soft red at the mention of something so sacred as love, and he hid his flustered feelings by fiddling with the papers on the study desk. On a few pages, Laurie saw his own messy scrawl, and on a couple of others, he saw (Y/n)’s curled handwriting.

“Why don’t you make a list, then?” Laurie searched for a blank piece of parchment and set one down in front of (Y/n), giving them a quill and inkpot. “Make a list of everything you can think of that’s made with love.”

“Why?” And the curiosity in (Y/n)’s voice was gentle.

“So that I may make a list of my own, and we can learn to love the list of the other.”

(Y/n) smiled.

That had been many years ago, but Laurie could still remember the soft, subdued smile that (Y/n) had given him that day - an expression of contented awe. He had associated that look with muddy, April days a long time ago, and there was something particularly melancholic about a memory so beautiful and so full of love.

And a long time after, Laurie was still in the study, now in his early twenties. Sitting in a newly upholstered seat, he pulled out of a small tin box a stack of old papers filled with curled handwriting. At the bottom of the stack lay the list from so long ago, well-loved and well revised, with additions like “poorly done sketches from the neighbor children,” and “broken seashells from the beach,” written in minuscule letters.

Laurie was reading number twenty-six (“the singing of birds on Sunday mornings”) when a voice spoke from the stillness.

“You still have that?”

Transcending time and distance, Laurie would have known that voice anywhere.

“(Y/n)?”

Laurie's old friend, leaning against the door of the study, giggled from delight, and not a moment later, Laurie had them wrapped in a hug, his years of loneliness only tightening his grip - warm, enveloping, and ferocious, like he would do anything to never lose them again.

“Laurie, you’re going to crush me!”

“Wasn’t that on your list, though?” Laurie pulled away, holding (Y/n) at arm's length, looking into eyes he hadn’t seen in years - bright and strong; beautiful beyond belief. “Number thirty-one: ‘hugs you think will crack your spine.’”

(Y/n) hummed fondly. “And if I remember correctly, your number thirty-one was hiding in the closet during parties, whispering stories by candlelight.”

“You remember?”

“Of course, I do,” (Y/n) said earnestly, their brow creasing slightly, as though they were surprised at his question. “I have it right… here.” (Y/n) reached into the inside pocket of their coat, pulling out an old and fading envelope. They gingerly pulled out a piece of old parchment, reading the first sentence on the page. "Number one: 'the too-small gloves that you made me.' You really should have written my name - had anyone else found the list, they would have been terribly confused."

“You still have it.”

(Y/n) smiled, and the expression was there - that contented sort of awe that never failed to make Laurie feel seen and, perhaps most of all, loved. For a moment, the two just stood there, within arm's length, holding onto each other and marveling at all the other had become. There was something elusively romantic about the moment; something heavenly that had been captured in every poem Laurie had ever written and every dream (Y/n) had ever fathomed.

“I missed you, Laurie.” And those four whispered words held a fragile sort of intimacy that could be shattered with a voice much louder than a sigh.

“And I missed you more than you could ever know.”

(Y/n)’s breath hitched.

Laurie stepped away suddenly as though a spell broke. He turned his back to (Y/n), his cheeks already starting to flare, and scanning the study for another chair - something for (Y/n) to sit in, close to him, at last.

“Ah, here.” Laurie pulled a chair closer to the study desk. “You can sit there and tell me all about your adventures in England. Would you like any tea?”

He turned to face (Y/n) once again, and they had a mischievous smile on their face. “Over-boiled, I’m guessing?”

Laurie chuckled, looking downward to hide the embarrassment that crept up onto his cheeks. “I think you’ll find I’m much improved. I’ve had five years of practice since you were last here.”

“Five years,” (Y/n) mused, walking over to their seat and sitting gently. “It’s funny, it feels like it’s been an eternity since I’ve been in Massachusetts, but it’s only been five years.”

“Five years is a long time,” Laurie supplied. “A lot can change.”

“But a lot can stay the same. Or, at least I hope.”

The two friends looked at each other. For a moment, it felt like the world slowed around them, and they were nothing more than the teenagers they had been five years prior when they were writing silly lists of things that were made with love.

“Well,” (Y/n) started, “I suppose I have stories I could tell, but I want to know about you."

"Well, I want to know about you!"

(Y/n) scoffed and shook their head, an expression that was beautiful, akin to the breaking of a new day.

"Well, this town has been like it's always been." Laurie relented, relaxing in his chair. “The March sisters have been less willing to spend time with me lately, since my mood has gone sour. but you’ll be glad to know that I have plans for getting back in their good graces, soon.”

(Y/n) leaned forward, putting their elbows on the desk and steepling their fingers, as though whatever they were talking about was of great importance. On instinct, Laurie leaned in as well, two conspirators in an empty house. "Well, now we're getting somewhere, Mr. Laurence."

Laurie stifled a chuckle, (Y/n) clearly struggling to do the same. "Indeed we are, (Y/n) (L/n)."

They both broke, and laughter filled the room, the sound echoing through the floorboards, unearthing the past where they had done just the same when they were years younger, but much the same.

Laurie sighed. "How is it that after five years of being apart, nothing has changed?"

"Well, I know you, Teddy, nothing can change that." (Y/n) smiled, gentle but full. Laurie felt a tugging on his heart - something almost painful if it weren't for the care in (Y/n)'s eyes, wrapping him in the most comforting sincerity - a gravity more divine than existing. "Even when we were far from each other, I had your list and my memories; you were the most full thing I ever had."

"I didn't know if you'd remember."

"I always remembered you."

Laurie breathed.

“Well,” (Y/n) began, something in their voice a little unsure, endearing Laurie already, “Now that we know we both remembered and kept the list of the other, I have to ask: did you learn to love my list?”

“I did.”

(Y/n) seemed pleased. “Even muddy, April mornings?”

Laurie chuckled, the feeling warm and pleasant in his chest - like a thunderstorm in June. “They were the first I learned to cherish.”

They smiled at each other once more.

-- taglist: @locke-writes, @brokenandheadoverheels, @coffee--writes, @swanimagines, @amortensie // message me if you want to be added!

#little women #laurie laurence #theodore laurence x reader #theodore laurence #laurie x reader #laurie laurence x reader #laurie imagine #laurie laurence imagine #theodore laurence imagine #x reader #gender neutral reader #imagine #reader insert #fluff #one shot #fic #fanfiction #fanfic

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greenygreenland · 4 years ago

Text

Dream A Little Dream Of Me: Norman x Reader

-MANGA SPOILERS! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

-NOTE: YOU’RE BOTH AGED UP SO DON’T START TELLING ME FBI’S GONNA COME TO MY DOOR 😂😂

-THE TIMELINE IS A BIT MESSED UP SO JUST IGNORE IT COMPLETELY AND DON'T ASK ME LOL

-also, is it just me or do thick eyebrows look really cute??? Norman has pretty thick brows compared everyone else and I think they're cute

WARNINGS: Kissing lol

Summary: You finally see Norman again.

Life had to be the scariest thing you'd ever faced. It threw the bad, the good, the everything your way until you could barely stand. Until you were left broken and mangled and shattered. Life was scary. It was cruel. Yet somehow, today was different.

You thought it was a dream. After all, how could it be reality when the boy in front of you died a year and some months ago? He had been shipped out, left for dead because it was a part of his stupid escape plan.

So how was it he stood before you? Breathing? Smiling? Living?

The office door closed behind you with a soft click. It bathed the room in silence, as if for a moment, the world decided to give you a second to breathe. A second to take in the wonderous sight before you.

The boy's name stuck in your throat. He had changed, not only in height, but stature and appearance. Norman was older, and he grew up to be more handsome than any runway model could ever be.

"(Y/n)," he gently said. "I'm glad you're well."

That was all it took. One sentence and you tackled him in the tightest hug your trembling arms could muster. "Norman...!" To have his arms around you, to hear the beating of his heart--it was a relief. A miracle sent by the gods. "You’re so stupid!"

No, he was more than stupid. He had to be the dumbest boy alive to think that it was okay to sacrifice himself for the sake of your family. You all were supposed to escape together just like Emma said. No one was supposed to be left behind, yet Norman--bless his heart--acted on his own.

You hugged him as if he would disappear if you let go. "We were all supposed to leave together. But you--I thought you--shipped out--and then--!" You chocked on your words. What more could you say anyway?

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. The muffled sob that ripped through your throat was more than Norman could handle. His knees went weak and you both slowly sunk to the floor in a heap.

"I'm here." he gently said. "I'm not going anywhere (Y/n)."

Despite the steadiness in Norman's voice, his shoulders hitched, and he sniffled. "I'm here." he repeated. "I-I'm here." It sounded like he were reassuring himself that he wouldn't leave you so soon, as if he were scared too. Not for the way you sobbed and sobbed, but for the ache in his heart that seemed to beat in sync with yours.

Slowly, your sobs turned to quiet sniffles, which then silenced into nothing but tiny hiccups. You basked in Norman's warm embrace. He didn't hold you too tightly, as if he were afraid it would shatter you to pieces. Instead, he pulled you close to his side and leaned on his desk behind.

You rested your head on his chest, taking the time to memorise his scent. Parchment, the woods, and old books. You liked that, it was comforting to know he still smelled the same. On the other hand, his voice wasn’t as smooth or rounded as it once was. It was icy. No one seemed to notice that tiny sharpness that hit the end of each note he spoke. You wondered what could've made his kind heart harden.

Sure, Norman was still the same Norman you remembered, but something about the way he acted seemed off. He was clingy, much more than he ever was. Maybe he just missed you? No, that couldn't be right. Norman acted as if he were running out of time. He held you close and gently, as if these would be the last moments you'd see each other again. As if there wouldn't be a tomorrow.

You slowly pulled away to get a good look at Norman's face. His chin was slightly pointier, his cheeks less chubby and full. His lips twitched upwards into a comforting smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes because he looked so overwhelmingly tired. Your poor boy probably worked day and night to keep the hideout on its feet. It must be hard on him, you thought. Especially since he was revered as a god.

Norman's brows raised. "What's wrong?"

You took his thin hands in your own and gave them a good squeeze. "It's nothing. What about you?"

Ah yes, small talk. The perfect way to avoid any question thrown your way. Norman knew you well, sometimes even more than himself. When you asked simple questions such as these, that meant your mind laid elsewhere in a land he could never reach. Norman took that as a hint to drop the subject.

For now.

He wondered what invisible weight laid on your shoulders. Was it something as heavy as his? Perhaps your weight was worse and it ate away at you. Norman wished he could take that weight away and relieve you of that pain. He'd carry it all if he could, and it didn't matter to him if he'd die trying. This was you he was thinking about. He'd do anything for you.

"I've been okay," Norman vaguely responded. "But I have been busy, so I find it difficult to sleep sometimes.”

Norman liked to be honest, but you knew it was because that helped him figure out what was wrong with you. It was a game of tag. In this case being 'it' meant figuring out each others' worries through a back-and-forth match.

"You haven't been sleeping enough?" Your voice came out rather quiet as you traced invisible circles over the back of his hands. "Is that because you have so much work? Or do you refuse to get help?" Norman sat in a still silence and you sighed.

Of course.

This was your Norman after all. He always shouldered a burden too big for his shoulders to carry. It was always something so heavy, so terribly hard to balance by himself. If that burden grew any bigger, it would collapse, and that would be his downfall. But you wouldn't let that happen to your Norman. No, no, no. You'd take that burden from him, steal it if you had to, and be his crutch.

"What have you been doing here?" you quickly added. "As 'William Minerva', I mean?"

Norman looked unbearably uncomfortable. That little frown tugging at the edge of his lips was a tell-tale sign. “I’ve been getting a lot done." he carefully said. "In fact, I’ve figured out a way to end this. Once and for all.”

Norman began by explaining the first phase of his plan. The first phase had long been in motion. It started with the indiscriminate burning of cattle facilities, then the gathering of information, and continued on to pave the way for all the other phases you didn’t care to hear about.

The first few steps weren't too bad, but the final act in Norman's plan made your skin crawl. You half-wished you hadn’t asked him anything to begin with. Maybe it would have spared your appetite. Your grip on his thin hands loosened and loosened until your hands rested on your lap.

Norman wasn't so little anymore. He had grown up just a bit, but not in the way you wished to see. How could he think of something so cold-hearted and cruel? The extermination of all demons in Neverland was an act of genocide. If you re-called correctly, it was also considered a war crime.

Norman was smarter than that. He understood the consequence he'd have to face if that were the path he walked right? He understood that there were still other options right? Maybe you heard him wrong.

No.

You had to have heard him wrong. Norman wasn't ruthless like that. He was a ball of sunshine that made you smile whenever you were together.

"I see..." You tightly smiled. "So that's your plan on freeing everyone?" Norman nodded with a seriousness that took you back to the time he left everything to you and Ray and Emma.

You weren't mistaken then. Norman truly meant everything he said.

"Yes, that is my plan. It's been taking me a little longer than expected to set it in motion. I've decided to officially start tomorrow."

Tomorrow?

Your breath hitched. "Don't you think that's a bit hasty? What if...what if something goes wrong?" Norman smiled. It was hollow and wry and everything that he wasn't. "Don't worry. Fortunately, I've always been pretty good at getting what I want." You didn't return the smile, and you didn't want to say why.

Norman was quick to catch on. But of course he would catch on so quickly, this was Norman. Your Norman.

"Do you have a problem with my plan?" he inquired. You shook your head. "No, it's...it's not that." Yes, it was that. Your plan is dangerous even if it is good, you thought. Innocent lives wouldn't be spared, and that would spell an unfair fate for the demons who ate to survive.

You wanted to tell Norman why his plan was wrong, and why he didn't have to be so unforgiving about it. But then what? Why would he listen when you didn't have any better ideas? He seemed to have his mind set anyway, so no half-baked ideas would make a difference. And besides, he was the smartest person you knew. Maybe that was the only way out of the terrible fate all you cattle children faced.

"If you're okay with my plan," Norman said, "then what's bothering you (Y/n)?"

"It's still a lot for me to take in," you admitted with a plastic smile. "I guess I'm just shocked that you're, well, here." Norman smiled, this time with a genuine warmth. "I understand." He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "I'll see you at dinner."

Your cheeks burned. How bold of him. "Y-yeah, I'll see you at dinner." Norman let out a cute little chuckle that made your heart beat a little louder than it was supposed to. You hauled yourself off the floor and made your way to the door. Norman followed.

You flashed him a nervous smile, one that mixed in with your muddled worry and anxiousness. You glanced at his bright eyes. For a moment, they seemed to dim like the setting sun. It reminded you of Mama. When no one looked at her, she didn’t smile. She always looked so sad when she sat by herself, and maybe that was because she was.

"(Y/n)?"

Your fingers brushed against the doorknob. “Hm?”

"I want nothing more than to protect you and our family. I know you don't fully agree with me," his expression darkened. "But this is the way--the only way we can save everyone without spilling a single drop of blood."

For a moment, you forgot who you were speaking to. This wasn't the same boy you begged to run away with before he got shipped out. This wasn't the same boy who gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sweetly complimented you. This boy--did you truly still know him? Was he still the Norman you grew up with and fell head-over-heels for?

You blinked and that dark look washed itself off his face. He strode up to you and placed a hand on your cheek--just like the day he was supposed to be harvested. Norman’s eyes were soft, softer than any blanket, and his lips pursed into a gentle frown. With his thumb, he wiped a stray tear away.

Why were you crying?

"Norman..." You couldn’t find the right words. There were none that could explain the suffering you endured in silence. You worried, not only for Norman, but your family and all those other people in the world you didn’t know about. Norman’s plan--oh how stupid it was--had it changed him? Had it forced him to guard his heart to keep a still mind?

You wondered what he endured while you went on your crazy adventures. At least you had your family, and Yuugo, Lucas, and all your friends. But Norman? He didn’t have anyone but himself. He carried the whole world. Alone. Had he been scared? Worried? Angry that no one came for him? Your heart clenched at the thought.

"Smile,” Norman said. “It’s okay, I promise. I'm here." He gathered you in his arms and you didn’t have the heart to protest. “How?” you whispered. “How were you able to do all this on your own?” Norman helplessly shrugged. “You could say I have connections, either that or I’m just lucky.”

“What will you do after this is all over?”

Norman went still again, as if he couldn’t answer your question. You heaved in a shaky breath. If Norman wasn’t going to give you a straight answer, then you’d squeeze it out of him. “Did anything else happen to you? I’m sure there’s a catch, isn’t there?”

It was like someone flipped a switch. One moment, you were a mess of tears, sorrow, and anguish. Now, something menacing laid in your voice. It was almost threatening, as if you were indirectly telling Norman to dare avoid the question. “I don’t want you dying trying to be everything at once,” you said. “Here you’re revered as a god, and if I know you, then it’s plain that you set yourself up like that. Don’t tell me you plan to die on us again.”

He stiffened.

“I know you Norman, don’t forget that. And because I love you, I don’t want to see you destroy yourself. I admit, I don’t know why you act like you’re going to leave again, but I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.” You pulled away and took his hands in yours. A small smile of reassurance made its way up your lips, but Norman didn’t return it.

No, he couldn’t. And despite all he did, he couldn’t lie straight to your face. Not like this.

Dinner cheered you up. The smiles and laughter that your family shared with Norman made you feel just a little bit better. But how long would it last? And how long would those smiles stay present? All the questions swarming in your mind made you feel sick to your stomach. There was too much to think about, and too little time to answer them.

You forced down the last of your food with a sigh and brought the plate to its respectful place. Everyone was too busy chatting and catching up to notice, but that was fine. It was better that way.

You made your way to a secluded walkway. It was in one of the calmer areas of the hideout that overlooked the lower levels. It was quiet, save for the distant chatter of Hayato and his friends. He let out a bright laugh that echoed through the vacant walkways. What a shame it would be to hear that disappear.

“So this is where you went.”

“I told you she’d be here.”

You whipped around in alarm. “Ray, Emma!”

Ray sharply looked you up and down. He raised a brow and you squirmed under his gaze. He gently bumped shoulders with you. “What’s wrong with you?”

You absentmindedly shrugged. “Nothing.”

“That’s what someone who’s not okay would say.” Emma noted. She settled by your side on the railing and flashed a bright smile. “You were so quiet at dinner today.”

You shook your head. Que another absentminded shrug and plastic smile. “I guess I just wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”

Ray sighed. “Everyone but you?” He leaned against the railing next to you. “Did you and Norman talk at all?”

You froze. ‘Yes’, was what you wanted to say, but no sound came out. The image of Norman’s matured face, the way his his soft lips hit your own, and his stupidly tall build crossed your mind.

Emma let out a gasp and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Ah!” she cried. “You’re all red!” You covered your hands with your face, ignoring Ray’s curious stare.

“What did you two talk about in his office anyway? Or should I say, do?” The glint in Ray’s eyes had subtext you didn’t want to recite out loud. “Rayyyyy,” you grumbled, “shut up.” He sent you a teasing grin as Emma frowned in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Yeah, it’s grown up stuff.”

You ignored the warmth spreading to your cheeks and elbowed Ray. “Don’t say it like ‘that’! Now you make it sound like something else!”

He daringly raised a brow. “Like what?” You ran a hand over your scorching face. It was a miracle you weren’t on fire. “No, no, I’m not answering you!”

You shared a good laugh and a comfortable silence began to settle, blanketing your shoulders in a lightness that you hadn’t felt in a while.

Emma softly smiled. “I’m glad we found you.” she admitted. “You looked really sad all by yourself out here.” Ray nodded with a small snort. “Yeah, talk about depressing. But seriously though, did something..?”

Of course these two would see through your façade. Of course they’d understand something was wrong. They were your family, and they didn’t deserve your silence. Your smile shattered. “I don’t know if Norman told you about his plan yet, but it’s...it’s bad. Sure, the demons have done some terrible things to us, but that doesn’t mean all of them are guilty. I want to stop him, but I don’t know how.”

Emma nodded in agreement. “He told us earlier and I don’t like it either.” she firmly said. “Ray and I talked it over and we have a plan, but it’s risky. Like, really risky. It has to do with the Seven Walls and...”

You held on to every word Emma and Ray spoke. Risky was your middle name. Well, not actually, but it was something that became your friend. You and your family looked death in the face too many times to count. What would be another?

By the end of it, you were sure this new plan would change Norman’s mind, or at least convince him to give up the whole ‘genocide’ thing. It was decided by Ray that tomorrow, you’d all talk to Norman. Things seemed to be looking up. No, they had to be.

------------

The halls were empty and you were alone. How was it you got lost in the first place? You made sure to have every twist and turn memorised, so why did you end up in the wrong corridor twice? Ray would surely tease you for getting lost. What an absolute--

You slammed into someone’s chest. A yelp escaped your throat as the person in question lost his footing. He sucked in a sharp breath and went tumbling straight into you. Your back hit the ground as the boy threw out his arms on either side of your head to brace himself. You didn’t need a name to know who you had tumbled into. Light hair, soft eyes, fancy waistcoat and suit.

“Norman?”

He hovered over you with wide eyes. His lips were inches from yours and he was just so, so close.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was so gosh dang loud. Could he hear it? Could he see the way your face burned red?

“Uhm--I--I--uh--”

Why wasn’t he moving? Why weren’t you moving? Why was it so hard to look him in the eyes? A nervous smile broke out across Norman’s lips. He pushed himself off of you and offered out a hand. You gingerly took it.

“Sorry.” Norman said, helping you to your feet. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?” Your gaze darted from his lips to his dazzling eyes and then to his cheeks dusted in red. Your heart wouldn’t stop slamming against your chest. It kept going, and going until you felt like you were about to burst.

“Sh-shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you retorted. “I’m not the one who--you know...gets sick all the time.” You weren’t sure why you said it like that, or why that made Norman smile so cutely, but he was smiling. That made your heart flutter. You glanced around the corridor a few times, and somehow, you kept finding focus on his lips.

What was wrong with you?

Norman caught on fast--like he always did. “Oh I see,” he said with a low chuckle. You swallowed. His voice really did deepen (but you kind of liked it). For a moment, you thought he caught onto your staring, but instead of commenting on it, he intertwined his hand with yours and led you through the winding halls.

“Don’t tell Ray I got lost.” you muttered. Norman laughed and it was like the sound of happiness itself. “I won’t.”

The halls all looked the exact same: cream coloured paint, nature-like decorations, and numbered wooden doors. You forgot what number your room was, so that was probably why you got lost. Norman took a sharp left where you recalled should be a right instead. “Wait isn’t it that way?”

“I have something to give you, so we’re going to make a quick detour.” Norman’s cheeks dusted pink and he looked the slightest bit nervous. “What is it you want to show me?” He flashed you a contagious smile. “It’s a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said with a chuckle, “that’s why it’s called a surprise.”

When you got to his office, you were nervous. Surprises were fun, yes, but in a world where nearly getting eaten by wild demons fell into the category of ‘surprise’, you learned not to like them very much.

Norman closed the door behind you and it softly clicked shut. Okay, you thought. So he was locking the door and making his way over to his desk. Okay, that’s fine. Norman shuffled through a cabinet, that nervous look still on his face. Okay, okay, nothing wrong here. He gently shut the drawer, and as he walked out from behind his desk, you took note of the small little box he fiddled with.

Okay. Okay. Box. Nervous. Locked door. Did he not want anyone to interrupt whatever he was about to do?

Norman heaved in a deep breath. A really, really, really deep breath. “(Y/n), I have never met anyone else like you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and you’re beautiful and kind.” He sunk to one knee and opened the little box. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

---------

You jolted awake with a start.

“Sorry,” Norman said. He scribbled a few words down in his notebook. “Did I wake you?”

Ah, that’s right. After you talked with Emma and Ray, you all met up with Norman and hung out for a bit. But when had you gotten to his office? Much less, fallen asleep? You rubbed your eyes with a shake of your head. Judging by the tired look on Norman’s face, it was way past bedtime.

The heavy cloak around your shoulders offered a welcoming warmth. It smelled like books. It smelled like parchment and ink. It smelled like Norman and it was comforting.

He glanced up from his notebook and curiously met your gaze. “What are you smiling at?” The dream popped up in your mind and your smile grew. “I had a good dream.”

“What was it about?” he inquired without looking up.

“You.”

The scratch of the pencil froze and he met your gaze. “You had a dream about me?” Your cheeks flushed. “Yeah, and you proposed.” Norman’s back went rigid and he turned as red as an apple. “I-I pro--proposed to you?” he stammered. You snickered, a smug smile tugging on your lips. “It was really sweet. And if you’re wondering, I said yes. I was going to kiss you, but then I woke up.” You stood up with a sigh. “It was disappointing, but that’s okay.”

You let out a small laugh and neatly folded Norman’s cloak. You left it on the couch and made your way across the room. “That’s a nice notebook.” you said. “What’re you writing about?”

Norman stilled and closed the book with a smile. “It’s nothing special.” He put the pencil down ever so quietly and stood. “Do you seek my affections?” he inquired. You settled on the wall. “Don’t you have work to do?” Norman looked down at you. His fringe brushed across his eyelashes, and he loosened his tie. Slowly.

Your heart steadily drummed against your chest. “What are you doing?” The false innocence in your voice caused Norman to chuckle lowly. He caressed your cheek with a feather-light touch. “Well, you did say you were disappointed right? Why don’t I make it up to you?”

He rested an arm on the wall with a sly smirk. Your lips connected and it made your stomach flip-flop. The kiss was slow, it was sweet. You found yourself pulling him closer, running your hands through his hair and yanking him over. "Norman?" He met your gaze with half-lidded eyes. "Yes (N/n)?"

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

He smirked and it was hot. The fact that he kept his arm braced against the wall didn’t help either. "Why?" he lowly inquired. "Do you like it?" Your breath caught in your throat and you found yourself wanting more.

Knock, knock!

Norman didn't look too happy about that. He ran a hand over your cheek and gently tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, that half-lidded look of his melting into warmth and love. He made his way to the door, tightening his tie and smoothing out his hair with a quick touch.

"Hello--?" Norman fell short mid-sentence. As soon as your gaze locked with the person on the other side, you understood why. Ray stood in the threshold, just as red-faced as you and Norman, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll come back later.” he muttered.

Oh great. Had he been eavesdropping? You glanced at Norman and he glanced at you, then Ray, and back to you. Ray sucked his teeth and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Don’t have too much fun.” he said, a smirk twitching onto his lips.

You made your way to the threshold with a groan. “Rayyyy!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” he coolly replied. “Do whatever, I didn’t see anything.”

PART 2 <--- READ PART 2

NOTE: I spent a WHOLE WEEK writing this. Please reblog so I know you guys like it :)

TIP JAR

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witchyweasley · 4 years ago

Text

Disobeying Orders - George Weasley

Pairing: soft dom!George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Going against orders can get you in the best kind of trouble.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: smut, 18+ themes, exhibition (?), daddy kink, praise kink, degradation (?), toys, oral (female receiving), edging, unprotected sex

A/N: I combined some requests for this one! It’s a combo between 3 of the prompts and then a general request for soft dom George (ft. Praise and daddy kinks)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh shit, what time is it?” George said, pulling away from me as he caught sight of the clock.

“Georgie…” I whined, having been denied of another orgasm this morning.

“I’m so sorry baby, I promised Fred I wouldn’t be late again,” he said apologetically, quickly dressing himself.

“Fine, I’ll just do it myself,” I sighed, fumbling the drawer open to grab my vibrator.

“Ah ah ah, hold it right there. You’re not cumming until I get back from work,” he said, closing the drawer.

“That’s hours from now,” I whined.

“Just think about the mind blowing orgasm you’ll have later then,” George winked, kissing my forehead before heading to the shop.

I huffed and got up to take a shower, hoping it would calm some of my nerves down. It did help, but my mind kept going back to the sight of George’s face between my legs and I was getting worked up again. I could feel myself throbbing as I tightly closed my legs, trying to relieve the tension without disobeying his orders.

‘Oh fuck it, he won’t be home for a few hours, he won’t know,’ I thought as I finally gave in. Sprawling back onto the bed, I took off everything but the shirt I had stolen from George and got the vibrator out.

The soft hum from the toy filled the room as I slowly dragged it over my pussy, focusing on my clit as I let my head fall back in pleasure. I kicked it up a few notches, grinding against the toy as soft moans left my lips.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” George said, scaring the absolute shit out of me. He was leaned in the doorway, arms crossed as he watched the show I was unknowingly giving him.

“I-I thought you wouldn’t be home yet,” I said, clicking the vibrator off and closing my legs in shame.

“So you decided to go against daddy’s orders? Such a shame, I thought you would be a good girl for me tonight,” George tisked, shaking his head as he came over next to the bed.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” I said.

“You know what, go ahead and continue what you started,” he said, sitting in the chair across from the bed, spreading his legs and leaning back.

“What?” I asked, not sure if I heard him correctly. I was fully expecting a punishment, and this seemed more like a reward.

“Show me how you liked to be touched,” he said. I slowly nodded and picked the vibrator back up, clicking it on as I spread my legs for him. He watched intently as my lips fell open and my breathing deepened while the toy worked against my already swollen clit.

“Good girl, does that feel good baby,” he asked, watching my hips buck against the toy.

“Yes daddy,” I moaned, my head falling back as I rutted against the toy.

“Turn it up, I know it’s a lot stronger than that,” he said. I heard him stand and start removing his belt. When I looked up he had removed most of his clothing, and was working on unbuttoning his shirt.

The humming intensified as I turned the vibrator up to its maximum speed. Soft moans escaped my lips as it worked against my swollen pussy.

“Look at you, getting yourself off like a little slut for daddy. Bucking your hips against that little toy and dripping all over the bed. Are you gonna be a good girl and tell daddy when you’re about to cum? Or are you going to be a little whore and keep it to yourself?” George said, leaning back in the chair as he slowly pumped his erection.

“I want to be a good girl for you daddy,” I moaned out, pinching my nipples as I moved the vibrator where I wanted it.

“Do you? It didn’t seem like that when I came home and you were playing with MY pussy,” he sassed.

“I’m sorry daddy, I-I… oh daddy I’m gonna cum,” I moaned out, my legs starting to twitch as I grinded against the toy. Right as I was about to cum, the toy suddenly turned off and four silk ribbons shot out from the four corners of the bed, holding in a starfish position. I cried out at the loss of yet another orgasm, fighting against the ties to try and finish myself off.

“You really thought I was going to let you cum after that little stunt you pulled today? You’re not getting off that easy,” George smirked, putting his wand down once he realized the spell had worked. He stood next to the bed and lightly traced his finger tips up my body, starting at my ankles, up to my hips, lightly slapping my tits before placing his hand around my neck. He didn’t squeeze, but it was enough to ensure that he was in charge here.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me, or a little slut?” George asked, his face looming over mine.

“I’ll be a good girl for you daddy, I promise,” I said, biting my lip in anticipation of what was about to happen. He smiled and pressed a kiss to my lips, trailing his hand down from my neck to my swollen clit, gathering some of the juices on his fingers.

“Open up baby, I want you to taste yourself,” he said, placing his fingers in my mouth and smirking as he felt my tongue smooth over them, sucking them gently.

“My turn to taste that pretty little pussy,” he said, settling between my thighs. Instead of diving in like he normally does, he pressed soft kisses to my pussy, his tongue only darting out for a second.

“Georgie, please…” I begged, trying to lift my hips up, only to be met with his large hands pressing my hip bones down into the mattress.

“That’s not my name,” he said, leaning his head against my thigh as his hand ghosted over where I wanted him most. Nothing more than the tips of his fingers touching me.

“I’m sorry daddy, touch me please,” I whined. He laughed in response, tracing his fingers over my abdomen as he looked up at me.

“I am touching you baby girl, or is this not what you want? You’ll have to be specific,” he smirked.

“Please eat my pussy daddy,” I moaned out, trying to find any source of friction.

“Okay kitten, but only because you asked so nicely and your pussy looks so delicious,” he said, slowly moving his head back between my legs. He looked up at me as he dragged his flat tongue against my pussy, sucking my clit into his mouth when he reached it. My moans filled the room as he finally gave me the pleasure that I wanted. My back arched against the bed as his tongue flicked over my swollen clit repeatedly before sucking it back into his mouth and moaning at the taste of me.

I’m honestly surprised I didn’t come right then and there from that wonderful sight.

“Daddy, fuck, can I please cum? Please can I cum for you…” I moaned out, barely able to get the words out past my heavy breathing.

“Cum for me baby, cum on daddy’s face,” he said before diving back in, collecting my juices and sucking my clit as he held my hips down while they tried to buck.

“Thank you daddy, oh thank you so much daddy,” I cried out, my legs shaking from the intensity of the orgasm.

“Don’t think that just because you’ve cum that we’re done here. Daddy still needs to cum baby girl,” George said, licking his lips as he sat up on his knees.

Before I had any chance to respond, he was slowly pushing his hard dick into me, bottoming out as his pubic bone reached my sensitive clit. The first thrusts were long and deep, watching himself disappear completely inside of me and moaning as my sensitive pussy clenched around him.

His hands gripped my hips as he started to plow into me, his thrusts getting quicker and shorter as he continued bottoming out, filling me completely. I cried out as he thumbed over my clit, overly sensitive from the last orgasm.

“Such a good girl for daddy. You’re taking my dick so well baby girl,” he praised, panting as he fucked me. It wasn’t long before I felt myself coming close to another orgasm.

“Can I cum again daddy?” I asked, not sure I could stop myself if he said no.

“Not yet baby girl,” he said, pulling out when he felt me tighten around him, preventing my orgasm. I whined at the loss of an orgasm for what felt like the millionth time today. He stroked himself as he waited for me to calm down a bit, smirking at the annoyed face I was making.

Soon he was deep in my pussy again, fucking me hard and fast.

“Oh my god yes daddy, you feel so good,” I moaned out, fighting against the restraints to try and hold onto something. He smirked as his hand returned to my clit, causing me to scream out at the overstimulation.

“Where do you want daddy to cum pretty girl?” He asked, his thrusts going from rhythmic to sloppy.

“Anywhere, fuck,” I moaned out, barely able to think about anything other than his dick that was currently pounding against my g spot.

“Gonna cum in that pretty pussy baby girl, I’m gonna fill you up,” he groaned, one hand now on my throat as his thrusts got sloppier and sloppier.

“Can I cum, please daddy can I cum too?” I begged.

“Be a good little slut and cum on my cock baby girl,” he groaned, watching as my eyes rolled and my back arched, having a more intense orgasm than earlier.

“Good girl, that’s right, cum on daddy’s cock. Fuck I’m gonna cum pretty girl, I’m gonna fill your tight little pussy up,” he moaned out as he reached his own orgasm. His warm cum painting my walls as he bottomed out and held it there before slowly pulling out. Watching as his seed slowly dripped out of my swollen pussy.

He grabbed his wand and undid the spell for the silk ribbons, letting my body fully relax as my breathing slowly tried to regulate itself.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He asked, sitting on the bed next to me as he brushed my hair out of my face. Not ready to talk yet, I nodded my head, stretching my limbs once I was finally released from the restraints.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, baby girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist- @a-malfoy @amityyyjade @amourtentiaa @dracos-apple01 @georgeswh0re e @lim-bus @partr1dge @weasleywhore07 @willowestelle

If you want to be added to the taglist, shoot me a message!

#harry potter smut #smut #hp smut #weasley smut #weasley twin #george weasley x reader #george weasley smut #george weasley x reader smut

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