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bellshells · 4 years

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Nobody Can Know Part Four

It’s here! The finale of Nobody Can Know! This was actually really emotional for me, 52, 540 words later and this fic has come to an end. I have had the absolute best time writing this and I must send a massive shout out to @hinagiku0 for requesting this in the first place. I do have a bonus chapter in the works set in between parts two and three, but no time frame as to when that will be finished. Thank you to everyone who has come on this journey with me, and thank you to everybody who has liked, reblogged and taken the time to send me your kind words. You’ve made this aspiring writer very happy indeed. Thank you.

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Slytherin Reader Warnings: Language, Angst, Blood, Smoking, Alcohol, Smut Summary: Christmas has come faster than anyone could have anticipated, but with everything so up in the air; it’s impossible to celebrate. The promise of a break away may give everyone the clarity they need. Word Count: 17.4k+

“No, you can’t. That’s- no. I won’t let you.”

George looked at you with a look of utter desperation, it made you ache. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract from the pain in your heart, it didn’t work. He shook his head and wiped at his face as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“I’m sorry, George. I just need to think.” You whispered, you longed to reach for him, to comfort him; but your mind was made up. “I need some time away.”

“Why? Love listen, please just talk to me. Tell me what to do.” George begged, he grasped your hand across the table and squeezed tightly. “I’ll do anything.”

You smiled sadly; you knew he would; he would do anything in that moment to keep you there. But was that enough?

“I know George, I just feel…honestly I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. I just need to get away from everything so I can sort myself out.” “From me?” “From you, from the shop, everything!” You answered tersely, you didn’t mean to be blunt with him, you were uncomfortable seeing George distressed. But he needed to understand that you wouldn’t be swayed. “Do you still love me?” He asked, his face twisted in agony as you pulled your hand away and placed it in your lap. “That’s never in question.” You stood and walked around the table to where George sat, he looked at you expectantly as you bent down. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll send you an owl when I’m settled, so you know how to reach me if anything happens.” “Where will you go?” “A friends.”

************

Cokeworth was probably the most depressing place you had ever set foot in. The industrial town was still dirty from the smoke that the chimney of the old mill had puffed out. While in recent years it had ceased in its emission, the last century’s worth of grime had remained strong. It was a bleak, often sad reminder of the proletariat forefathers of the current upper working-class families who had purchased the many two-bed terraced houses for good rail links to Birmingham and Wolverhampton. You could never have imagined that Professor Snape lived somewhere like that, but really, you couldn’t imagine Professor Snape living anywhere other than Hogwarts. You had seen his office on many occasions, it was to be expected really; full of dusty books and rolled up pieces of parchment. It always smelled distinctly of cedarwood and myrrh, a scent you had almost absolutely convinced yourself that it was Professor Snape himself who smelled of such. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t dwell much on the last few days, instead you would take this time for yourself. You wanted to be kind to yourself for once, to just be you. You weren’t looking forward to the quiet though, your life had never been quiet.

You walked for what felt like miles, all the streets looked the same, each house identical. It was disorientating, the numbers screwed on to each door seemed to ascend and descend in whichever way they liked. You were about to give up and go back the way you came until a little white sign on the side of a house on the corner of the street caught your eye; it had an arrow pointing in the opposite direction with SPINNERS END written across it. You breathed a sigh of relief and started off in the direction dictated by the sign. 69, 67, 65- it was 65 wasn’t it? You pulled the crumpled bit of paper Professor Snape left you from your pocket and looked from the words there, to the grey wooden door in front of you.

If you are in need, you need only knock

You knocked once on the door, you heard a click of a lock from the inside and it swung open slowly. There it was again, that smell. It was almost overpowering as you took a hesitant step into the house. From what you could see, it was immaculately clean. You dropped your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and removed your heavy cloak from around your shoulders, hanging it over the bannister. The walls of the hallway were a dark green, but this didn’t surprise you. You would have been incredibly shocked it you had entered Professor Snape’s house and the walls had been painted magenta and mustard. You smirked at the idea and followed the hallway round to a room on the right, it looked like it should be a lounge. The walls were lined with books, every surface was littered with them too. There was a well-worn leather armchair in one corner with a drink’s cabinet close by. A table sat in the middle of the room and on the opposite side, a two-seat sofa. The leather of the sofa looked intact, like not a soul had ever sat on it. Whilst you knew that was near impossible, your heart ached for the lonely man who owned this house. Nobody should lead as solitary a life as this.

You looked for a moment, long the lines and lines of books. Some looked to be incredibly old indeed, some without a dent in the hard spines. There were books in languages you didn’t know and some you recognised as classics in the muggle world. You ran your finger across the spines and sighed, you could imagine clearly that Professor Snape had read each and every one of them. You could see him in his chair, one leg crossed over the other- book in one hand and cigarette in the other. You smiled at the image you had created, you hoped he was happy here. You made your way out of the sitting room and back into the dark hallway, the stairs had a cupboard underneath them, the door painted the same green as the walls. You noticed a glimpse of the kitchen through a door which sat ajar, you pushed it open and stepped through. There were more books, many sat on the small dining table that sat in the corner. It was old, it reminded you pews at Hogwarts in its shape. The kitchen itself was cramped, although it had all the amenities one might expect, the claustrophobic closeness of the cupboards did nothing but remind you of the tiny kitchen in your flat. You walked over to the cupboards and opened them one by one, mugs and glasses, plates and bowls (four of each) and then one full of non-perishables. You laughed slightly at the tins of baked beans and scotch broth, a tin of rice pudding sat further forward on the shelf, as if picked out and then placed back.

You opened up a low cupboard next to the fridge and exhaled in relief at the sight of instant coffee, you pulled it out and unscrewed the lid. Giving the coffee a big sniff, you decided it was good enough to drink and sought to put the kettle on. After you had found the sugar and cutlery, you poured the contents of a tin of tomato soup into a pan and lit the cooker. Satisfied with your level of domesticity achieved, you placed your coffee and soup onto a tray and levitated it behind you into the sitting room. You scoured the books for something to read, and finally settled on a dusty black jacketed book called Dracula. The image of the author; a gentleman named Bram Stoker was still and aged, you could but assume this was a muggle book and you secretly relished in the simplicity of it. You settled into Professor Snape’s well-loved armchair and ate your soup quickly, quietly cursing when you burnt your tongue. You devoured the novel, your coffee forgotten until you squealed at the un-dead return of Lucy Westenra. You heart raced and you laughed, having fully immersed yourself in this novel. It was exhilarating. Your coffee was now cold as you brought it to your lips, and you yawned. It was dark outside now, but, in the deep December that could mean it was about five o’clock. Looking over your shoulders as if someone could catch you at any moment, you reached for the handle of the drink’s cabinet and marvelled at the assortment of alcohol stored within. You reached greedily for a bottle of port and padded into the kitchen for a glass, it was then you noticed a scrap of parchment next to the sink.

(Y/N), it read in Professor Snape’s neat script,

Welcome, if you have decided to stay. I have left some muggle money on my desk in the second bedroom upstairs, along with an almanac of the values of it. There is some food in the cupboards, please feel free to help yourself to it. I am not expecting anybody to arrive, so please do not let anybody inside the house. I would be very much appreciative of that. You may write to me if you wish, I would like to know if you are there. Have a Merry Christmas.

Best,

Severus

You raced up the narrow stairs of Professor Snape’s house, port and glass forgotten. The landing was small and had three doors that lead from there. One you assumed was the bathroom, you hoped it was as clean as the rest of the house. You continued to the next door along and opened it, Professor Snape’s personal study before you. You walked into the body of the room, absolutely in awe. He had enchanted the ceiling to reflect the night sky, the moon high above and stars twinkled through the heavy clouds. You stood for a moment and appreciated the craftmanship of this, it was silent in this room and the serenity of the night sky filled you with a sense of calm you hadn’t felt for the longest while. By the only window in the room sat his desk, it was surprisingly non-cluttered with minimal books. True to his note, there was an envelope marked Money. It was a curious thing, you peeked inside and found coins but also paper money too. What would muggles do if the paper money floated away? From the cursory glance you gave Professor Snape’s deconstruction of the value of each piece it seemed the paper money, or ‘notes’ as he called them were of greater value than the coins. But the coins together equalled the sum of notes. It was all very confusing, so you popped the envelope back on the desk and opened up the small drawer on top, thankful to find some parchment.

The feel of Professor Snape’s quill in your hand was foreign and took some getting used to. You wrote two letters in total, one to Professor Snape to let him know you had arrived and to thank him again for his hospitality. He really had gone over and above what you had dared hope, and you sunk further into his debt. The other letter, was to George. Could it really only be a few hours since you had last seen him? You ignored the glassy state of your eyes as you sealed the letter and opened the window. A small silver whistle hung on a chain attached the inside of the sill, it had an owl in flight intricately engraved on the side. It was really quite beautiful, it glistened in the moonlight of the room and felt heavy in your hand. You brought the cold metal to your lips and blew once, but no sound came from the whistle. You looked desperately into the blackness of the street, the only light was the flickering streetlamp; only one was working and that one looked ready to be condemned. You noticed a speck in the distance, it grew bigger as it flew toward you. Your heart leapt at the sight of the black owl that fluttered its wings as it settled on the windowsill. “This one first.” You instructed the owl as you offered the letter addressed to Professor Snape to it, it presented its leg and you fumbled in the drawers of Professor Snape’s desk for some string. “Fucking fuck fuck, where’s the fucking string?” You cursed, the owl gave an indignant hoot, and you made a face to it. Upon finding the string, you attached both letters to the owl’s legs and watched as it flew into the night.

You trapsed back down the stairs and collected you dirty dishes and washed them in the sink. You yawned, fuck, you didn’t realise how tired you were until you caught your eyes closing of their own accord as you stood aimlessly in the kitchen. You collected your bag and made your way back up the stairs to the bathroom. You hadn’t expected a bachelor to take such good care of his home; the bathroom smelled strongly of bleach and the toilet was so clean you could’ve eaten your dinner off of it. No shower, you thought. Not a bit of wonder really, especially when you considered how old these houses were. You were thankful though, that Professor Snape must have charmed the brick somehow to keep the heat in, you wouldn’t even know where to start switching a radiator on. You decided against having a bath, it was far too late, and you didn’t fancy accidentally drowning to death as you inevitably fell asleep. You changed and popped your dirty clothes into the empty washing basket in the bathroom, making a mental note to write to Professor Snape and ask for instructions on how to use the washing machine. You felt a pang of loneliness as you walked across the empty landing, you and George never went to bed alone and you had missed his usual night-time burst of energy as you would get under the covers. It usually resulted in you making love for a few hours until you both passed out from exhaustion. No- you wouldn’t think about that.

You pondered what to do. There was one bed. You hadn’t spared a second thought to the idea that Professor Snape had turned his second bedroom into a study, you cursed yourself as you stood in your knickers and stared at his wide bed. The bedding was black, of course and looked inviting in your sleepy state. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t appropriate for you to sleep in his bed, certainly not. You imagined how enraged he would be if he found out you had slept in his bed. But, he had let you stay here. Surely, he knew you would need to sleep? Maybe he thought you would have a sleeping bag, or even a blanket and you could sleep on the sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. You shook your head and chuckled, what a nightmare. Resigned, you pulled back the covers of Severus Snape’s bed and climbed in. You decided you would find your way to the town centre tomorrow and buy a pillow and a blanket and sleep on the sofa. But tonight, well one night wouldn’t hurt. You had imagined Professor Snape would sleep in a coffin, or perhaps a bed of nails in your youth. You hadn’t considered a large spongy bed, with brushed cotton sheets and pillows so soft your head could sink through them. The sheets smelled of freshly washed linen and you wondered if he had cleaned his house for you coming, you were grateful if he had and impressed if he hadn’t. Your eyes were heavy and closed almost instantly, you pulled the covers tight to your chest and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

********

You were awoken by the sound of scratching. You opened your eyes and were confused for a moment why there wasn’t a sleeping redhead next to you. It had been three days since you had arrived in Spinner’s End and you felt almost at home now. You had a routine, you would wake up and have a bath, have some breakfast and read. You had managed to find the muggle supermarket and filled the cupboards full to burst. You often found yourself falling asleep in Professor Snape’s armchair. The evening would breach the windows of the living room, and you would drift away. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t particularly exciting either. You felt the same pang of loneliness you’d felt the night before as you sat slowly and sighed. The black owl tapped its beak impatiently on the bedroom window, you rose unsteadily and pulled a t-shirt out of your open bag. The owl didn’t wait for you to let it in as you opened the window, it swooped into the room and landed on the bed, kicking it’s legs, like you hadn’t already noticed the letters tied to it. “I haven’t got any treats for you, sorry.” You said as you attempted to untie the letters, at least, if the owl stayed still for a second. You finally prised the letters away and the owl flew out the way it had come. The morning air was freezing, more snow had fallen in the night and the whole street was bathed in an eerily white blanket. There were a few children already out in the street, their parents scraping ice from the windows of their cars. People still need to work, you supposed, regardless of how close it was to Christmas. You closed the window and climbed back into bed, it was still warm under the covers and you settled in to read your letters.

(Y/N), the first one read.

Glad to hear you have settled in. Yes, you may help yourself to some of the drinks in the cabinet, but if you touch my Lagavulin with your grubby little hands, I shall know.

You snorted as you read that. You inched deeper into the bed, craving more warmth.

I’ll be in London for New Year, believe me, it’s as much an inconvenience to you as it is to me. So, whilst you are more than welcome to stay in my house, be prepared for my arrival on 31st December. If you wish to stay until then, I will require you to buy food. Please let me know what you decide to do well ahead of time.

Best,

Severus

That was the third time he had signed off by using Severus and not Professor Snape or Professor S. Snape, Head of Slytherin House Hogwarts, Potions Master, Surprisingly Nice Person as you had almost expected him to. So, he was coming back for New Year? Blanket and pillows were definitely on your agenda for the day. You picked up the other letter. You knew it was from George and you felt a sinking feeling in your gut as you fingered the envelope. You weren’t really expecting a reply, you told him you had arrived safe and you’d write him again soon. You weren’t sure what in the letter you sent actually required a response.

My darling, George wrote.

I’m chuffed to hear you’ve settled in wherever you are. I’d like to think you’re being looked after, but I know you don’t need anyone to look after you. I really miss you, gorgeous. I know there’s not much I can say that I didn’t already say yesterday, but I would have felt like an absolute git if I didn’t tell you again. I’m not going to ask you to come home if you’re not ready, but I wanted to let you know that me and Fred are heading to mum’s for Christmas. Couldn’t quite face it in the flat without you. So, if you decide you want to come home for Christmas, you know where we are. I love you, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to show you that.

All my love forever, George xxx

P.S. I noticed you didn’t take any of your tampons with you, just say the word and I’ll send them to you. Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, love x

You shot out of bed like a rocket. Your tampons? Oh fuck. You raced across the landing to the loo and as you sat down, you saw the same sight that had been staring you in the face for weeks.

Nothing. Nothing in your knickers.

You were late. More than late, it had been far more than a week ago since you were due on and yet, with all the stress of the last few days you had forgotten all about it. You sank onto the bathroom floor and cried. Big, mournful tears and sobs that wracked your whole chest. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t to be your life. With a sniff of resolution, you stood from the floor and looked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t realised how haggard you looked. There were dark circled under your eyes and your face was pale and gaunt. You ran a finger across your cheek and felt the hardness of your cheekbone that jutted out further than it ever had before. Merlin, you were far too young for any of this. In the year that you had spent being George’s girlfriend you had had more strife than you could have possibly imagined. Quite frankly, you thought, you had taken it like a champ. But this just seemed one ordeal too far. You were alone, alone and hiding in Severus fucking Snape’s house from your boyfriend. No family, no friends, nothing. No, no more.

******

You hadn’t been to this part of London before. You were quite shocked when she suggested meeting you here, you hadn’t anticipated she was one for the theatre. As you stared up at Her Majesty’s Theatre, the bright still photographs of the show stared back at you. A woman, with long curly hair in a pink dress seemed frightened as a masked man with dark hair loomed behind her. What utter drivel you thought, who would pay money to see this? You rubbed your hands together, now significantly warmer with your new gloves you had bought on your way into London; and scoured the busy street for her. You were starting to think she wasn’t coming when you saw an emerald green cape swish in your periphery. “There you are! Merlin, I was beginning it think you were taking the piss out of me.” You said as you wrapped her into a warm hug. “Never,” Pansy smirked, she pulled away from you and gazed intently at your face. “You look terrible mate.” “Thank you dear, you are nothing if not horrendously honest.” You looked at Pansy with a sly smirk. It felt so wonderful to see her again, her arm entwined easily with yours as you started back toward Leicester Square. “Why did you want to meet in front of that theatre?” You asked. “Oh, I saw the show last week with my parents and it’s an easy location, tucked out the way a bit yet still in central London.” Pansy seemed to have blossomed in the time since you had last seen her. her hair had grown long and glossy, and she was pretty, very pretty. “You? You saw a musical?” You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed you playfully. “Don’t judge unless you’ve seen one yourself. The music is to die for.” She smirked and lead you up a busy street. “Do you want to look at the Christmas Markets?” Pansy asked as she picked up a bauble from a nearby stall and inspected it. You wondered if it was a mistake to meet in such a crowded place so close to Christmas but, as she had reminded you, less chance of bumping into somebody you know. “Actually Pans, I need to talk to you.” You replied, she nodded and lead you across the square to a café, all of the tables were either taken or dirty. You both looked over your shoulders as you pointed your wand at a table in the corner and the dirty mugs and plates stacked and ended up on the next table over. “What do you want? I have muggle money.” You said as you reached into your purse and pulled out one of the paper notes; you remembered they were worth more than the coins. Pansy looked from the paper note in your hand and to your face and burst out laughing. “What?!” You demanded. Onlookers from other tables began to stare in your direction as Pansy doubled over laughing. “Oh, fucking hell, (Y/N). You are so clueless.” She managed through her giggles. “You’re going to pay for two coffees with a fifty-pound note?” “Is that wrong?” You asked bewildered, surely it was right to take the biggest one? “Merlin, just put that back in your purse before someone steals it out of your hand and I’ll get the coffees.” Pansy replied, you could see her shoulders still bobbing up and down with laughter even as she queued for your drinks. You couldn’t help but smile too, it had been so long since you had seen her last, too long.

Pansy ended up taking longer than you anticipated ordering drinks. Your stomach began to rumble, and you felt sick. You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, you needed to speak to Pansy about the situation. You had nobody else to turn to. You stared aimlessly out of the window at the last- minute Christmas shoppers frantically move from shop to shop. You wondered if George would have taken the things you had bought for his family back to the shops, or if he would have wrapped them terribly and dished them out. You cringed at the idea of Molly seeing George’s wrapping and thinking it was yours. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of gold and a suitcase whizz pass the window. Your heart raced as you made eye contact with him, Mundungus Fletcher. Behind him he pulled a trolley you saw old ladies carry their shopping in full of tat. He raised a ringed hand up and waved at you through the glass, a sneer fixed on his stupid face. You reached for your wand, but he was too fast, he weaved through the crowd and was gone. You searched for him wildly with your eyes, you craned your neck to try and see further, but it was no use. He had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. You tried to quell the hatred that bubbled under your skin and took a deep breath. “Who was that?” Pansy asked as she set a tray on the table. She passed you your coffee and a slice of cake and put the tray on the floor. “Nobody.” You muttered. You thanked her and took a sip, you grimaced as you swallowed it. Muggle coffee was terrible, watery and bland. It made you long for home, the kitchen staff at your parent’s house were always at the top of their game. It had spoiled you really, you had made such an effort to learn how to do everything yourself. You wouldn’t be one of them. You refused. “What did you want to talk about?” Pansy said as she shovelled a forkful of cake into her mouth. You bit your lip; you didn’t know how to say it. “Oi, you haven’t dragged me all the way to London just for a coffee so talk.” “I’m late.” “What do you mean?” “My period’s late.”

Pansy’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth; her eyes wide with shock. You tapped on the table nervously and glanced over your shoulder. You would be mortified if you found yourself in another situation like the one of the last few days. “How long?” “Nearly two weeks now that I think about it.” “Shit.” “What do I do, Pansy?” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you watched your friends face flit between emotions. Pansy’s usually stern face softened, she ran a hand over her beautifully quaffed hair and sighed. “Have you been to St. Mungo’s?” She asked, you shook your head. “I didn’t know I had to. I only realised this morning and that’s when I wrote you straight away.” “Right, okay. So, first thing you need to do is go to St. Mungo’s, you’ll see a mediwitch and they’ll make you drink a potion to see if you’re…pregnant or not.” She whispered, you nodded tearfully. “Is that it? I just need to go to St. Mungo’s?” “Well, you need to make an appointment first. Only-” She stopped short, she frowned, and her brow furrowed. “Only?” You prompted. “Only, it’s the day before Christmas Eve (Y/N). They’ll be no appointments until after the New Year, I’m sure.” “Is it the 23rd already?” You asked, “Fuck me, I didn’t realise.” You paused. “So I have to wait?” Pansy nodded and swallowed another mouthful of cake. She pondered for a second before she sat up straight in her chair. “Unless…” “Unless?” You asked, you were growing impatient. “There is the old-fashioned way of finding out. The muggle way, it’s just as effective. My sister had to do it before she was of age and she had it off with one of the Black cousins.” “Which is?”

******

You shifted your weight uneasily from foot to foot. You were in Piccadilly Circus waiting outside of a, you think Pansy called it a chemist? She didn’t trust you to not have a breakdown in the middle of a muggle pharmacy so left you to wait outside. It was bitterly cold and the snow had begun to fall harder than before. You watched as muggle pedestrians tried to weather their way through the flurry. How had it gotten to be the 23rd of December without you noticing? How had you let yourself not notice that your period was late? Very, very late, you cursed. You couldn’t help but be slightly angry at Fred and George, you had worked your fingers to the bone over the last few weeks to make sure the sop was stocked to the brim ready for Christmas. You had been exhausted, and still found time to cook and clean for the boys too. No, stop that, you thought. You were just irritable and nervous. You weren’t angry at the boys; you loved the boys; and were so proud of everything they had achieved in such a small space of time. Its natural to have bumps in the road, you just hoped there wouldn’t be a bump of another kind making an appearance.

You shook your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts. It was no use to anyone to berate yourself, you placed a hesitant hand on your stomach. You prayed silently to Merlin, to anybody that could possibly hear you. You whispered the words over and over again in your mind, please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be- “Got it!” Pansy thrust a plastic bag in your direction, followed by a handful of coins. You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Your change,” she announced and placed the money in your hand. “Merlin, you know absolutely nothing do you.” You offered her a tight-lipped smile as she linked her arm with yours and you hurried away from the pulsing crowd. “Right, let’s go to your flat and get this over with.” Pansy stated, she pointed to the designated apparation point and looked at you expectantly. The thought of going into an empty flat filled you with a dread that quickly turned to sickness, a bile that rose in your throat. You shook your head and slumped against the wall behind you. “I can’t Pans, I can’t go back there now. Not today, I’m not ready.” You muttered, your hair fell into your face and shielded it from Pansy’s view. You felt Pansy put an arm around her shoulders. She pulled you close to her and enveloped you in a hug. The tears you had been holding in since you left Severus’ (could you even call him that now?) house fell from your heavy eyes as you clutched to your friend for dear life. She rubbed your back and swayed you from side to side. “That’s okay, we don’t have to go there. Let’s just go to where you’re staying.” “I can’t take you there either!” You laughed through your tears, Pansy laughed too and brushed her thumb across your cheek. “Fucking hell, you truly are off grid, aren’t you? Don’t do break-ups by half.” “We haven’t broken up, Pansy. I just needed some time away. I haven’t been on my own since…since-” “Shh. I know, I know. I was just winding you up.” She pushed you back gently and held you at arm’s length. “Now stop crying please, you’re making me uncomfortable.” You laughed again and smiled weakly at her. You exhaled deeply and nodded. You needed to pull up your big girl pants and be an adult. “I’ll owl you as soon as I know.” You said, Pansy’s face fell into a look of concern as you took a step back from her. “Have I not shown you, you can trust me, (Y/N)?” She replied, she looked hurt and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes, of course you have, Pansy. I just- I need to do this alone.” Pansy sniffed in indifference and crossed her arms over her chest. You felt instantly guilty, you loathed to upset your friend, especially when she had gone above and beyond for you; but you needed to do this by yourself. “Fine. But you should let George know, it’s as much his concern as it is yours.” Pansy said stiffly before she turned away from you and disapparated with a small pop!

You were still for a moment. The snow had turned to sleet and it seemed to soak you through to your very bones as you stood. How had everything turned into such a mess in such a small space of time? Of course, Pansy was right, you needed to tell George. He had a right to know what was going on as anybody else and another feeling of guilt flooded over your already aching chest.

******

Desdemona was waiting patiently on a streetlamp as you approached Severus’ house. She let out an almighty hoot as you spotted her in the encroaching darkness, she flew quicky from her porch and nearly into your face. “Bloody stupid bird,” You muttered as you extended an arm. Desdemona landed roughly; her talons pinched your skin under your winter coat as she offered the letter in her beak. Your heart sank as you took it, it could only be from your parents. “I don’t have anything for you. Go home.” You ordered her, if you didn’t know any better you could have sworn she rolled her eyes before she took off into the sky. You watched her fly for as far as you could see her, her tawny features hard to make out after a while. With a groan, you let yourself in to the house.

You settled in Severus’ armchair and kicked your shoes off. The letter from your parents held tightly in your hand, it felt heavy and you were anxious yet reluctant to find out what it said. You sank lower into the comfortable leather and brought your knees to your chest and teased open the envelope. It wasn’t a howler, that was for certain. A smaller envelope dropped out of the initial one, and a folded piece of parchment landed on your lap. Ignoring the small envelope, you picked up the note and noticed immediately it was written in your father’s hand.

Daughter,

I understand you have moved to Diagon Alley with your partner; congratulations, I’m pleased you have found happiness. I must admit, this is to be a strange Christmas without you here with us. I will leave your stocking above the fireplace like always. I wish for you to understand that you are always welcome here, this is your home. I am your father. You will always be my little girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

Enclosed you will find your Christmas present; your mother gave her blessing for me to send it to you.

Merry Christmas, my darling.

You clutched the letter to your chest as you sobbed. You traced your finger over your father’s words, as if you could touch him through the parchment. You missed him more than words could say, you hadn’t anticipated how much so. In the time that had elapsed since you had last seen him, it was easy to forget the good things, the best things about your father; instead remembering him as the distant man who told you to run instead of protecting you. But he had, from the coldness of your mother, from the sneering remarks of the other noble families as a child and finally from your torment as you sat alone at Christmas.

You padded solemnly into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of port and the glass tumbler you had set out the night before. You poured yourself a healthy measure and as you brought the glass to your lips, you stopped. You remembered the white plastic bag you had flung on the floor at the bottom of the stairs when you arrived back, your stomach gurgled, and you bit your lip. What were you to do? Well, you knew exactly what you should do. You should write to George immediately, or better yet, go straight to The Burrow and you could do this together but- there was a part of you that felt that if you were to go to him now, you would be conceding. You would be letting yourself down. You hadn’t run straight into George’s arms the minute Mundungus’ plot was uncovered, if you were to go back now after two nights away from him would make you look weak. You demanded space, you demanded time to think and get away; you deserved it! George had to understand that he had hurt you immeasurably and not everything could be solved by a kiss and a cuddle.

Regardless, if it turned out you weren’t pregnant then what would have been the need? You would have gone back to him at the first sign of trouble like always, and you weren’t prepared to it this time. If you were pregnant then yes, you would go to him. You would sit down and have an adult conversation over what to do next; but if you weren’t? You could perhaps enjoy this time to yourself before you returned to him. Before you decided what it was exactly you were to say to him. The layers of guilt that had so far weighed heavy on your chest eased slightly, your affirmations to yourself that this was the right thing to do, seemed to have assuaged you some. It was time, you knew it was. It was now or never, and it was most certainly, now.

You read and re-read the instructions on the side of the box as you sat on the toilet. Your hand trembled as it held the little white stick, you parted your legs and pushed your hand between them; no idea if the stick was in the right position. When you were satisfied that you had done what you needed to, you pulled the stick away and popped the little blue cap on the used end. The box said it would take two minutes to give you a result, so with that, after thoroughly washing your hands, you returned to the living room. You placed the ‘test’ (it was most unlike any test you had ever taken in your life thus far) on the table face down, so you couldn’t see the little window and picked Dracula up from its perch on the nearby shelf. It was then that you noticed the small envelope your father had sent on the arm of the chair. You opened it gently, unsure of what it could be. Onto your lap fell an incredibly delicate silver choker encrusted with brilliant emeralds and littered with small diamonds, given to your mother when your grandmother died. You lifted it to the light and watched how the jewels caught the light. This piece of jewellery had been in your family for generations, You had admired it since you were a little girl, it had sat pride of place around your mother’s neck for special occasions, and you had tried it on- once or twice. Your mother would have been furious if she had found out. Your heart swelled with pride as you traced your fingers lovingly across it, that your mother wanted you to have it. Progress perhaps?

A thunderous banging on the front door caused you to yelp in fear. You reached into the pocket of your jeans and produced your wand, you waved it frantically across the room and with a puff, all the candles were extinguished. You were plunged into darkness. Your heart pounded in your chest as you inched slowly out of the living room; wand raised- you weren’t sure what use it would be in the dark, but you refused to cast a Lumos. Severus had said he wasn’t expecting anyone at the house, and to not let anybody inside. You swallowed your fear and allowed yourself a second to think. The only people who would know what this house was, would either be one of two kinds. Muggles, probably drunk, banging on the wrong door or the darker alternative. The one you hoped to Merlin it wasn’t. The banging recommenced as you entered the hallway, you flinched at the sound but continued in your progress toward the front door. The early evening had well given way to night, and the only thing you could make out through the panes of glass in the door, was the shadowy figure that once again brought its hand up to bang against the wood. You crept silently along the hallway, with each step your pulse quickened as with trembling hand, you slowly reached for the catch. You felt a trickle of sweat run down your neck as you clasped the metal knob and turned it ever so slightly, you aimed to open the catch and fling the door open to the surprise of the intruder. You hoped to catch them off guard. As soon as you heard the click of the door, you flung it open. “Stupefy!” You exclaimed, but he was faster. “Expelliarmus.” Your wand flew from your hand and landed in his, bloodied and shaking. You blinked, unmoving as he reached for you. His other hand grasped onto your shirt as he tried to stand up straight. You recoiled backwards; it was instinctual. You noticed the hand which held fast onto the front of your shirt was also drenched in blood. “Don’t scream.” He breathed, “Don’t scream, just…help…me inside.” You managed to nod and grasp him under his arm, as with the other he left bloody handprints along the wall. He kicked the door closed behind him as you helped him into the lounge, and with a big heave, assisted him to the sofa. “Why…is it so…dark?”

In a second, every candle was lit, and you were able to get a good look at his face. “What happened to you, Severus?” You asked horrified, he had a large gash on his cheek that bled freely. He clutched his side, and you noticed a flash of skin underneath his hands, he was wounded, badly. Bleeding profusely, what the fuck do you do? “Tell me what to do.” “Dittany.” Severus whispered, “Cupboard in…bathroom.” You raced from the lounge up the stairs as fast as your feet could carry you, you wrenched open the bathroom cupboard and frantically searched for Essence of Dittany. You noticed that your hands were also covered in blood, his blood as you twisted and turned every bottle until you clasped your hand around the brown bottle. “Give it to me.” Severus said weakly, he reached for the bottle, but you shook your head. “No, you can’t-” “I didn’t ask for…your opinion witch, give…me the…bottle.” He wheezed through gritted teeth, his face was a mass of blood now, like he had somehow tried to quell the bleeding but had somehow made it worse. You hesitated for a moment before you handed the bottle to him. He reached forward with a surprisingly steady hand and applied three drops to his cheek, his face contorted in pain as a small puff of green smoke rose around him. He winced as he tried to sit up, “Help me,” was all he said. Again, you supported his arm and helped right him. “My coat, I can’t reach-” You reached for his buttons and swiftly tried to undo them, he writhed beneath you, obviously in a copious amount of pain. “Sorry!” You breathed as you reached his midsection, you could see clearly now the wound on his side. It looked as if he had been sliced, the blood was thick and dark as it oozed out of him. Tears stung your eyes as you panicked, you felt so very overwhelmed and with no idea how to help him. You tried to gently manoeuvre his arms through his sleeves, his jaw clenched and with two tugs, you managed it. He pulled his shirt up to his chest and granted you a look at how thin he was. You almost cringed at the sight of every rib in the poor man’s body, his stomach and what you could see of his chest were absolutely littered with scars; some old, some new. “You will have to help…with this one.” Severus said, he looked better, if that was possible. The wound on his cheek shone purple, as if it had been there all along. The only tell-tale sign was the blood beginning to dry there. You rolled him onto his side and took the bottle from his hands, opening it quickly. You placed a gentle hand above his wound, just to the side of where his ribs jutted out. Severus flinched one and then relaxed as you tenderly brushed your fingers against his skin. “Ready?” You asked, he gave a curt nod and you applied four drops of the Dittany across his wound. Severus, to his credit, let out a groan of pain whilst his whole body shook under the strain of new skin closing the wound. The puff of smoke was larger this time, you held your breath as it passed over your face. You held him in place until his breathing slowed, he looked at you askance and motioned to be helped up. “Do you want some water?” You asked as you pulled his shirt back down, covering him up. Severus shook his head. “Whisky.” You rolled your eyes but knew better than to argue with him. You stood and brushed your hands against your jeans, you were sticky with his blood and felt uncomfortable. You hurried over to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of the amber liquid. Severus held his hand open and you passed him the bottle, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and brought it to his lips.

You watched him as he took sip after sip of the whisky, the colour eventually returned to his cheeks and you felt satisfied to leave him for a moment. You wandered into the kitchen and doused your hands with soap, scrubbing them hard to remove the blood. You fought back tears as the image of Severus writhing in pain engrained itself into your mind. You had never seen so much blood in your life and shuddered as you remembered the smell of the smoke as his skin knit together. You found him asleep on the sofa as you entered, bottle tipped to the side and his face peaceful. Carefully, you slipped his shoes from his feet and propped his legs up onto the sofa. Your wands lay together on the floor, you retrieved yours and Accio’d his duvet and a pillow, laying the latter under his head as you covered him in the blanket.

You retrieved your cloak and settled into the armchair, you pulled it up to your chin and hooked your legs over one of the arms. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest, but you couldn’t justify leaving him in his state. Your hand closed around your wand and pressed it against your chest, ready, just in case. For what- you didn’t know.

******

“Sleep well?”

You awoke with a start. Severus sat across the room from you, he was upright on the sofa. He still looked weak, but his eyes sparkled with humour. “Like the dead.” You offered feebly; you arched your back; oh, fuck it was agony. You winced and Severus chuckled, your neck was stiff as you craned it to look at him. “Nice choice of words.” You grimaced as you swung your legs onto the floor and ran your hands through your hair. You were surprised to feel the ends were dried red. Oh, of course. You shuddered as a fleeting image of the previous night’s bloody work crossed your thoughts. Brushing it off, you stood. “Coffee?” “Please.” He answered, he looked more tired than you had ever seen as he watched you lazily. You returned a few moments later with two mugs of coffee, his black obviously, Severus nodded in thanks. You drank in silence, neither of you looking at the other. After a while, you stood without speaking. You felt disgusting, you were covered almost head to toe in Severus’ blood, although you had scrubbed at your hands- you hadn’t realised how messy it had been.

You allowed yourself to cry in the bath. The water was hot and as you sank beneath the surface, you felt pathetic. You sobbed, more than you had in days. Your throat hurt and your eyes were swollen. Your heart hurt, why? Were you scared? Scared that someone might come after Severus and you would be caught in the crossfire? Or guilty that the man who had shown you so much kindness had been so dreadfully hurt and you hesitated in answering the door.

He was sat in the same position that he had been in when you left him. He didn’t look like he had moved a muscle. “Are you in pain?” You asked quietly, you felt stupid asking him stood in your Christmas pyjamas, but you were quickly running out of clean clothes. “Immensely,” Severus answered wryly, he pointed at the coffee table. “What’s that?” Your gaze followed the direction of his pointed finger and your stomach fell. “Nothing. Don’t worry.” You replied quickly, you snatched the pregnancy test and thrust it into the pocket of your pyjama bottoms. How the fuck had you forgotten about that? Your heart raced; you could know. You could know now, all you had to was look at the little window and it would tell you all you needed to know. “Is that a pregnancy test?” Severus asked, the whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as you blushed. “No.” You lied, why would he know what a pregnancy test looked like anyway? Especially a muggle one. Severus shook his head. “If you say so.” He paused and watched you, your hair dripped big, wet droplets onto your shoulders. “Bring me some parchment and a quill, I need to write a letter.” “Do you not think you should rest?” His face was aghast as you questioned him, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze. “I promise not to exert myself too much moving my wrist.” You gave him a look of annoyance as he made a gesture as if he were writing. You rolled your eyes again, he chuckled once and then grasped his side in pain. Good, that serves him right for being a dick. You smirked to yourself as you retrieved parchment and a quill along with the silver whistle and thrust them into his hands. “Would you like something to eat?” You watched him as, even with the sheer amount of pain he was in, his hand was steady as he wrote fluidly across the page. Severus ignored you as he continued to write. You sat in the armchair and watched him for several minutes, you noticed he brought the feathery tip of his quill to his lips every once in a while, in thought. It was almost hypnotic, watching his hand glide across the parchment, the only sound the scratching of his quill.

The test in your pocket burned with anticipation. You reached for it deftly, careful not to make any sudden movements so as not to disturb Severus. Your fingers grasped it and pulled it out slowly, you shot a glance in his direction, satisfied that his attention was firmly placed upon his writing. You turned it over and…nothing. You panicked and turned it over, upside down and back to front. The little window that displayed the result was empty- no lines. “Did you not read the instructions?” Severus called from the other side of the room. You gave him an uneasy look. “It quite clearly states that results disappear after twelve hours.” He hadn’t even looked up from his parchment, or so it seemed. You raced from the living room to the bathroom and plunged your hands into the wastebin in search for the box. He was right, of course he was right. Why wouldn’t he be right? You felt the blood drain from your cheeks as you slowly made your way back down the stairs. “Idiot.” Severus mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear as you paced the length of the room. What were you to do now? It was Christmas Eve; you couldn’t face going back into the crowds. “I need you to take this to The Leaky Cauldron.” Severus’ deep baritone distracted you from your thoughts as he passed the parchment he had been writing on in your direction. You rose from your chair to take it from him, he had closed it in on itself over and over again until it appeared miniscule in your hand. Some kind of enchantment to dissuade the prying eyes of those unintended to read it, you supposed. “What is it?” You enquired, turning it over in your fingers. Severus motioned you forward and held his arms out to you. “You don’t need to know. Help me up.” Severus muttered and as you placed your arms around his back, your chests flush together; you blushed at the close proximity. He placed his hands onto your shoulders and supported himself to a standing position. “I need to go to the toilet.” He took two steps and swayed, he grasped hold of your arm to steady yourself. “I can apparate us upstairs, Severus.” You stated, he grimaced and placed your arm under his. “No, I’ll be sick. Help me and I might be able to help you with your problem.” He gave you a strained smirk and you nodded. You wondered what he could mean as you slowly supported him up the narrow staircase. You waited awkwardly outside of the door for a moment while he relieved himself, you accio’d his duvet and pillow and returned them to his bedroom, taking care to clear up the clothes you had scattered around the floor. When he emerged from the bathroom, you noticed his face was wet. He had attempted to wash his face rather unsuccessfully and you suppressed a laugh. You helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him, he seemed to relax under your care; letting you wipe a warm flannel across his face to remove the stains of his blood and hummed contentedly. “You can do the rest yourself,” you announced. He opened his eyes and regarded you, “You can piss off if you think I’m going to give you a bath.” He laughed at this, a real smile appeared on his face and you smiled back, it was nice to see. “Agreed. I can manage for now.” He sighed, “How late are your courses?” “My courses?” You looked at him quizzically, Severus grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your period, (Y/N). How late?” You blushed again and fiddled with the hem of your shirt, he looked at you expectantly as if he had asked you a question about the ingredients of a potion. “Two weeks.” You answered, Severus nodded slowly and looked to the ceiling as if in thought. “Yes, I think I shall be able to help you. Let me sleep for a while, deliver that letter for me and when you come back, we can eat, and we shall get to the bottom of this.” You sighed; you really didn’t want to go back to The Leaky Cauldron. “Who shall I give it to?” “Give it to Tom, he’ll see it gets where it needs to go.” Severus replied, his eyes closed again. “Am I to say who it’s from?” Severus opened one eye and gave you a dark look, he wet his lips and frowned. “Obviously.”

*******

You hesitated before pushing open the door to The Leaky Cauldron, it was midday, and the pub was filled yet again with people making merry. You fought your way to the bar and waited to catch the attention of the young witch behind it, your neck craned in each direction to catch a glimpse of her. She appeared finally, two large trays of glasses hovering behind her as she began to rearrange the glassware behind the bar. “Excuse me!” You said as you waved your hand, she noticed you and gave you a smile. “Oh, hiya!” She said warmly, “Can I get you a drink?” “No thank you,” You replied, “Is Tom available?” “He certainly is,” A voice behind you said, you whirled round to be met with Tom’s smiling face. “Can I help you, miss?” “Yes actually, I was told to give you this.” You showed him the tiny piece of folded parchment, Tom’s eyes flashed from it to yours and gave you a concerned look. “Is this from…” “Severus Snape, yes. He told me you’d know what to do with it.” You levelled, he took it from your hand and placed it into the pocket of his shirt. “I assume there must be a reason why he sent you and not delivered it himself.” Tom replied with a raised eyebrow, you refused to let your mind wander to the events from the night before. “Yes, but it’s not for me to say so- can I leave it with you?” “Of course, I’ll see to it that everything is in order, tell him.” Tom replied, “Merry Christmas, miss.” “Merry Christmas, Tom.” You watched as he withdrew into the crowd, you turned to the witch behind the bar. “Merry Christmas.” You smiled, she offered you a grin in return and waved her hand. “Merry Christmas.” She replied cheerfully.

You didn’t want to go into Diagon Alley, but your feet carried you over the cobbled stones to the dismay of your heart. Despite the growing tensions in the wizarding world, the wonky street was abuzz with people; not unlike the shoppers you had seen in Piccadilly Circus with Pansy. There was a long queue outside of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and you smiled sadly as you approached the window. The display you had spent so long working on looked magnificent, snow fell from behind the glass and tiny enchanted swans swam in a small lake, surrounded by miniature fur trees and families of deer. “Penny for your thoughts?” You noticed Fred’s reflection in the glass appear next to you. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tightly. “I thought you’d still be at The Burrow!” You exclaimed, he laughed and hugged you back. You pulled away and looked into his face, he looked well and cheerful. You had learned the differences between him and George over time, subtle though they were. “Well somebody’s got to be here to run the shop,” Fred said as he gestured to the busy building, “I’m going back tonight.” You nodded in understanding and he placed your hand in the crook of his arm. “Fancy a walk?”

Fred led you passed the bustle of the shops and back towards the apparation point. “You okay, Freddie?” “Yeah yeah,” He answered quietly, it must be difficult for him to see you- to know what had transpired between you and George. “Look, I don’t want to bombard you with questions or anything, (Y/N). But I need to know; is that you and George done? You left things so up in the air with him, and he’s putting on a brave face don’t get me wrong but…he’s my brother, and I can tell he’s hurting.” You bit your bottom lip, you hated to think about George in pain; but you just weren’t ready to talk about things. “No, Fred. We’re not done…but he really hurt me, he said some awful things to me; accused me of terrible things and it’s going to take some time for me to be ready to have a conversation about it. Let alone forgive him.” You paused and wiped away a tear that fell onto your cheek. “I suppose I just never expected he could be like that. It surprised me.” “Bloody surprised us all mate. When George came flying down to the shop floor after you left, ranting and raving- I’d never seen that side of him before. And Merlin, when Snape arrived at mum’s with Mundungus Fletcher, I thought he would wind up with a wand suspension the way he was trying to hex Mundungus.” Fred exhaled with a small laugh, you matched it with a smile. “He’s a good bloke, (Y/N). You mean everything to him. Believe me, I’ve had to share a room with him for the best part of two decades. If you’re not ready to talk about anything, can I at least tell him I saw you today and what you said? I’m sure it’ll make him feel loads better if he knew you hadn’t, you know, broken up with him without him realising.” You considered it for a moment, if Fred told George he had seen you today; it might make him want to find you. He had really respected your space so far and you were grateful for it, but the thought of making Fred keep something like this from his brother was too big of an ask. Plus, you were also keeping a huge secret from him, but you couldn’t tell Fred before you told George- it wasn’t right. “Yeah, of course, Freddie. Tell him, you can also tell him Merry Christmas and that…I love him.” Fred made a gagging noise and you smacked him on the arm. “I need to go.” You pulled Fred in for one last hug and squeezed enough for him and George. He chuckled as you walked to the apparation point and gave him a big wave goodbye.

*******

Severus stayed upstairs all afternoon and well into the evening. You couldn’t blame him though, it looked as though he had been through a massive ordeal and he needed time to recover, you couldn’t begrudge him that. You found a magical cooking book in one of the cupboards and coupled with some of the food you had bought at the supermarket, you managed to cook a reasonably tasty meal. Severus made comments about the quality of the steak, but you expected nothing less. You suspected it was only to save face though, as twice when he thought you weren’t looking, you saw him close his eyes and savour the taste of the food. You had served him in his meal in bed, he had managed to prop himself up on the pillows and you sat at the foot of the bed. It seemed quite personal really, but you found yourself savouring the intimate moments you shared with him. It made you feel like he did actually care for you, as more than an ex pupil, as a friend. He asked you about The Leaky Cauldron, who you spoke to, how you got home. After a moment, you felt brave. “Who did this to you, Severus?” Severus sighed and passed his empty plate over to you. “Nobody.” “I find that extremely hard to believe. I need to know if I’m in danger.” You asked him earnestly, he met your gaze with a softness you seldom saw from the man. “You’re in no more danger now than you have been in the last three days. Please don’t concern yourself with my welfare.” He answered, you suspected he intended to seem sterner than he came across. You wondered if he couldn’t muster the energy to chastise you. “It’s a bit difficult to do that when I have to take you to the loo every time you want a piss.” “You’re vile.” “Pot, kettle, black. I found your blood in my ear this morning. That’s vile.” You laughed and he managed a laugh too. “I’m just glad I was here when you arrived last night.” “Whether you were here or not, I would have gotten inside one way or another.” He levelled nonchalantly. “Would it really be so horrendous to just say ‘thank you’?” You let out an exasperated sigh and flopped backwards on the bed. He eyed you with annoyance, but you could tell it was fleeting. “Yes, actually. For me anyway.” “Well I’m not surprised. You’re just annoyed I’m working off my debt to you.” You winked and rolled from the bed, you picked up your used plates and took them downstairs.

You returned when he called for you. You held two glasses of port in your hands and found him in his study. “When did you get in here?” You asked with a smile, pleased to see him on his feet, if not slightly unsteady. “I am an enigma of a man, (Y/N). I wouldn’t expect your tiny brain to even begin to comprehend me.” Severus answered with a smirk, you passed him the glass and he raised it to his lips and drank deeply. “Delicious.” It was then you noticed the cauldron bubbling contentedly on his desk. You wandered over to it and inspected the shimmering, iridescent silver liquid, it smelled foul; like rotten eggs and you recoiled. “What the fuck is that?” You demanded as you covered your nose. Severus had his back to you; he ran a finger along one of the shelves which held bottles of all shapes and sizes and plucked a large green bottle with a jade lid. You watched as he carefully unscrewed the top and dropped a tiny drop of the liquid onto a sprig of lavender. The flowers wilted instantly, and he dropped the whole thing into the cauldron. A great lilac cloud erupted from the cauldron and dissipated as Severus waved his hand. “This, (Y/N) is a pregnancy test.” Severus replied with a satisfied smile. He beckoned you over to the desk and you sighed as the smell had gotten progressively worse with the addition of the lavender. The liquid had changed from its silver to a dark burgundy, it still held its iridescence as it bubbled. “Is this what they use in St. Mungo’s?” “Merlin no, they use a potion so convoluted there you could have had the baby by the time you receive an answer.” Severus sniffed, “This is Enfantin Inventim, it’s old. Really, very old. They stopped using this in everyday practise about three hundred years ago. It’s notoriously difficult to prepare and can often lead to an incorrect result.” “Should we use it then? If it can give an incorrect result?” You asked anxiously, the last thing you needed was to wait another day. You needed to get on with your life, one way or the other. “Do you think I would prepare something that would achieve anything other than one-hundred-percent accuracy?” Severus snapped. He had a point; he was a potions master for a reason. “Okay, what do I do?” “It isn’t pleasant, (Y/N). Do you trust me?” You considered it for a moment and then nodded, he offered his hand to you, you took it and he pulled you towards him forcefully. Severus winced with the effort and forced your hand open. He quickly drew a pearl-encrusted dagger across the length of your palm, easily opening the flesh. You howled in pain and tried to pull your hand back, Severus clasped it into a fist and squeezed tightly. Blood began to fall from you hand and he brought it over the cauldron, the potion drank your blood hungrily and after you parted with ten drops, the potion began to cloud over.

“Stand back.” He commanded, he gave you a scrap of cloth and you pressed it hard into the palm of your hand. “If the liquid turns white, you’re pregnant. If it turns black, you’re in the clear.” “How long do we have to wait?” You whispered and closed your eyes. “Not long.” In that moment, you wished George were by your side. He would know exactly what to say, and even if he didn’t, he would make you laugh. You imagined his hand around your waist and his lips pressed to your head in a gentle kiss. “Severus. If I am…you know. What do I do?” “I imagine what women have done for a millennia-” “No, what I mean is-” You paused, unsure of how he would react. “Do I have a- do I have a choice?” “Of course you have a choice. I can put you in contact with some discreet mediwitches. They’re friendly and would have you sorted in no time.” “Okay.”

You waited for what seemed an age. You tended to your wounded hand and shot a scowl in Severus’ direction when he likened it to a scratch compared to his. The cauldron continued to bubble, it produced green smoke and spat out occasionally. You couldn’t take it anymore. Severus stirred it dutifully and you told him you’d be back in a moment, trapsing your way to the bathroom. You paced back and forth frantically. You couldn’t stand the waiting idly by, you had fashioned a bandage for your hand out of the cloth and some rolled up toilet paper when you caught your reflection in the mirror. You moved towards it and placed your hands gently on the sink underneath it. “You need to sort your fucking life out, (Y/N).” You said to your reflection, you stared deeply into your own face. Hardly even recognising the person reflected back to you. “(Y/N)!” You heard Severus shout from the study. “It’s done.” You supressed the bile that rose in your throat and took a deep breath. You stepped uneasily back into the room to see Severus’ neutral face waiting for you. He stood with his hands behind his back. “Have you looked?” “Yes.” “What is it?” “For fucks sake, have a look.” He snapped; he shook his head with a scowl as you inched toward the cauldron. Your hands trembled as you peered down into the now still liquid. It was black. The liquid was black. “It’s-” “Black.” He answered with a smile. “I’m-” “Not. Pregnant.”

You cried out a tremendous cry of relief. Big tears rolled down your cheeks as you moved to Severus in two swift movements and threw your arms around his shoulders. He swayed with surprise. “Ow. Careful.” He murmured before he patted you awkwardly on the back. When you pulled away, you beamed triumphantly up at him and he returned your smile. “You can thank me by releasing me.” You complied with a laugh, a genuine laugh. You felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, you breathed easier than you had done in weeks. “Thank you, Severus. I suggest you stop being nice to me or I’ll forever feel indebted to you.” You laughed, you noticed Severus’ expression alter slightly. “What? What did I say?” “I feel like I haven’t been quite honest with you.” Severus said quietly, “Don’t interrupt me, just let me finish, yes?” You nodded and took a step back. You waited patiently for Severus to speak, he seemed to mull the words over before he was satisfied. “You asked me a while ago whether I’m this involved with all of my old student’s lives, and I think we both know the answer to that. When I returned to Malfoy Manor after I took you to The Burrow, your father took me to one side.” You eyed him suspiciously as he wet his lips before continuing, “He knew what I had done and asked for a favour.” “Of course he did.” “Shut up, I’m not finished. He asked me if would be able to keep an eye on you, he knew I had connections almost everywhere, and he wanted reports of your whereabouts. And I agreed.” You stared unblinking at Severus. “He offered monthly payments if I could tell him where you were going, what you were doing, who you were seeing etcetera.” Severus squared his shoulders and took a sip of his port. “He just wanted to know you were safe.” “So he paid you to spy on me?” “In essence, yes. I never accepted the money though.” Severus levelled, you covered your eyes with your good hand and sighed. “That’s why you let me stay in your house.” Severus nodded grimly and gestured for you to sit. You did so and chewed on your lip. You felt a multitude of emotions, not one of them good. “There is one more thing, (Y/N). That night in The Leaky Cauldron where Mundungus saw you and I for the first time. He was there on my orders.” Your mouth fell agape. No, no absolutely not, that couldn’t be. Severus couldn’t possibly have ordered the hurt that Mundungus inflicted. You stared at him again, stony faced as tears began to trickle down your cheek. “I heard you though, I followed you into the alleyway when you confronted him.” You said feebly, your lip quivered. “I know, I made sure you would hear so not to suspect me. I was annoyed at him though, that was never part of the plan. He went rogue, so to speak.”

A heavy silence descended between the pair of you. Severus, his usual staidness reduced to slumped shoulders and a guilty expression. There was a plethora of things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask him, but you couldn’t find the words. He finished his port and hobbled out of the room, your heard him enter the bathroom. You sat still, positively unable to process everything he had told you. Was there anything in your life that you held control over? When he appeared in the doorway, his face was ashen with pain and a thin layer of sweat appeared on his brow. “Do you have any cigarettes?” You asked him slowly. He nodded and pointed downstairs, you pushed passed him and retrieved them from his discarded coat. You carried the remainder of the bottle of port back with you and sat on the floor. Severus moved slowly passed you and collapsed into the chair, the evidence of his exertion etched into his face. You filled his glass with the ruby liquid and then pressed the bottle to your lips and took three deep swigs. He raised an eyebrow as if to complain but thought better of it. “Did you ever care about me, Severus? Because if it isn’t already clear, I care about you.” You pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, you threw the packet into Severus’ lap, a little harder than you intended. He winced and lit his own cigarette. “Of course I care.” You scoffed and took another swig from the bottle. “And are you going to tell him about this? My father?” You pointed to the cauldron full of Enfantin Inventim. Severus shook his head and took a sip. “No, I did this for you.” “Why should I believe you?” “You don’t have to, I suppose. I can’t force you.”

You were silent again after that, you took long drags of your cigarette until the heat became too much as it reached the filter and burned your lip. You finished off the port and dropped the stub into the now empty bottle. Severus didn’t remove his eyes from your face, as if he were waiting for you to explode. You had every right to, you could go and punch walls and kick holes in doors, but what would that achieve? “I’m trying really hard to be angry at you.” You whispered. Severus’ look of surprise almost took you off guard. “And?” “I can’t.” Severus sighed and slipped further into the chair, he finished his cigarette and beckoned for the empty bottle. He dropped the stub in slowly, his face contorted with pain as he stretched. You watched as he did his usual action of wetting his lips, his tell-tale sign that he was about to speak. “I do care about you, (Y/N). There’s a goodness in you that one doesn’t always see when they’re brought up in the circles we frequent. I’m satisfied knowing I played my part in ensuring you got out of it all. You remind me very much of somebody I knew a long time ago, someone I wished I could have done more to help, but it wasn’t within my power. This, on the other hand, was very much within my capabilities. I’m not sorry.” His face settled into a frown and you sighed with exasperation. “Fucks sake.” You muttered, you rose from your spot on the floor and made your way to Severus. You dipped your head and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You’re an arsehole.” “Believe me, (Y/N). That is one of the tamer names I have been called in my time.” He smiled ruefully and found your hand and gave it a squeeze. “If I ask you a question, will you promise to answer it honestly?” You asked, you saw the faintest hint of humour flash across his eyes. “I shall try.” “Was it the Dark Lord who hurt you last night?” He looked at you thoughtfully, a smile tugged at his lips. Severus lifted his chin and placed a finger on it and brushed it over his lips. “Yes.” You didn’t quite know what to do with the information, you weren’t quite sure why you asked the question. You simply nodded and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Please don’t worry about me, (Y/N). I know what I’m doing.” “Still.” Severus shrugged, he looked to the clock on the wall and then out of the window into the night. “If you leave now, you could make it to The Burrow by midnight. Bring in Christmas with your loved ones.” He said quietly, you wondered if you saw the slightest twinge of remorse on his face. You cocked your head to the side. “You want me to go?” “I think we both know it’s time for you to, what’s the expression, ‘get your shit together.’” You snorted and threw your head back as you laughed. “You could come with me, if you like; to The Burrow?” Severus shook his head, his hands outstretched in front of him. “No thank you, I prefer my own company.” “What will you do? Will you be okay if I go?” “I have weathered much more serious casualties than this one by myself. I shall be fine. I will travel back to Hogwarts in the morning ready for my Christmas Dinner.” “Are you sure?” “Go,” Severus stated with a small smile, “Get out of my house.”

******

It was five to midnight when you knocked on the door to The Burrow. You didn’t want to just burst in, just in case they were asleep or busy with family time. Your fingers flew to your neck where the intricate choker your father had sent you sat at the base of your throat; it was a special occasion after all. You knocked again and stood back to take a look at the house. There were a few lights still on even at this late hour, you strained to hear any noises on the other side of the wood and were about to knock for a third time when the door flew open. Ginny stood in fluffy red pyjamas, wand raised and a look of shock on her face. You launched yourself at her and she you, you engulfed each other in a vice like hug. “I knew you’d come.” She whispered, “George is going to wet himself.” She led you through the house where only Molly, Ginny and Ron sat by the fireplace in the living room. Molly clasped her hands to her mouth as she struggled to get out of her chair quickly. “Oh! My dear!” She said as she tottered toward you, she pulled you close to her chest and rocked you back and forth. “I am so happy you’re here; we can finally celebrate now.” “Please don’t, you’re going to make me cry.” You said as Molly pulled away and placed a warm hand to your cheek. “Welcome home.” She whispered. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

The sound of feet thundering down the rickety staircase made you jump, Ginny arrived breathlessly at the bottom and George immediately behind her dressed in his pyjamas. Your eyes met across the expanse and you opened your arms to him. He crossed to you in a flash and placed two hands on your face and pressed his lips hungrily to yours. You tossed your arms around his neck, and his arms moved down your body and hugged your waist. You pressed your forehead to his and sighed. “Merry Christmas.” You breathed; a whisper of a smile played at George’s lips. “Merry Christmas.” He replied, he laced his fingers with yours and beamed at you. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Most of the snow had melted in the fields surrounding The Burrow, and you were grateful for it as George almost dragged you along a beaten path to a wooden bench under a tree, a good quarter of a mile away from the house. He pressed a hand to the seat and shrugged; “It’s not wet, just cold.” “I can handle cold.” You sat close to him on the bench, his arm around your shoulders as you both gazed up into the crisp night sky. There was something about the way the stars looked from here, like you could reach out and touch them. Lonely clouds like tiny whisps of smoke littered the sky occasionally, and you took turns in those moments where the stars weren’t visible in giving the other a kiss. “Merlin, I missed you.” George said into your hair, he stroked the side of your face with a gloved finger and you melted into his touch. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it, George, but I need to tell you something.” You replied, his gaze softened as he placed another tender kiss to your lips. You sighed contentedly at the feeling of warmth that spread through you, you were home. He squared his shoulders and shifted slightly on the bench, so to face you more.

He listened intently whilst you told him of everything since you had last seen him. He nodded and occasionally asked the odd question like; “Was the inside of Snape’s house full of bodies?” and “God, I can’t believe you slept in his bed. Was it a coffin?” The only thing you neglected to tell him was of Severus’ attack, you didn’t know how deep the waters were that surrounded his area of his life and you didn’t feel like it was your place to share that information. When you told him of your pregnancy scare, his eyes widened, and his jaw clenched. “(Y/N),” He said sternly, “You should have told me straight away. That’s not fair.” “I know love, I feel awful about it. That’s one thing I’m truly sorry for, George. I promise not do anything like it again.” He nodded, seemingly content with that and kissed the tip of your nose. You began to tell him of the plot your father had embroiled Severus in, and George’s hands clenched into fists. “That fucking snake.” George muttered, “How are you not furious?” “Believe me, I tried to be,” You answered, “We talked about it and I decided there’s more important things to be worried about. I don’t blame him for what he did and neither should you, okay?” “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” “I’ll take it.”

When you climbed into bed that night, it was nearly two in the morning. The rest of the house was sound asleep as you and George became reacquainted. His hands found themselves tangled in your hair and you moaned quietly as he pulled softly, his mouth lathering your neck in kisses. “Fuck, I’ve missed the sounds you make.” George breathed into your ear, you tipped your head back and found his mouth with yours. His hands travelled from your hair down to your hips, he pulled you close, and you felt his already hard member as it pushed against his boxers. You brought a hand down and cupped it, he hissed at the contact and bucked his hips forward. “Please let me fuck you, (Y/N). It’s been too long.” “Yes, oh, fuck yes. Do it, George.”

He wasted no time in pushing your knickers over your bum, and you wiggled frantically in an attempt to free yourself from them. He pulled his boxers down and climbed between your legs, he rubbed his cock against your folds and spat into his hand, rubbing it along his shaft for extra lubrication. When he pushed into you, you moaned together. It was like for one split second, the earth stopped. Everything stopped. You could hear your heartbeat in your eyes as you pulled George’s head down to kiss his lips. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip, and he shuddered. He rolled his hips against yours, and you grasped onto his shoulders tightly. George pulled out almost completely, before he pushed into you again; fully sheathed inside you. He did this three more times before you cried out; “Please! I can’t take it anymore!” With a growl, George thrusted hard. His hips snapped backwards and forwards at intense pace, he lifted your legs above his shoulders, allowing him to bury himself deeper within you. You gasped at the sensation of being utterly filled by him, your brow furrowed as you struggled to keep your moans quiet. He continued this pace, his cock now slick with your juices as you bit down hard on the back of your hand. He pushed back slightly and reached a hand in between your legs, parting them slightly as he began to furiously rub your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as overwhelming pulses of pleasure coursed through your veins, you moved your hips with his, suddenly desperate for release. George let your legs fall from his shoulders as he grasped your hips, moving you with ease along his throbbing cock. You groaned, as George pressed harder against your mound, drawing from you a string of curses as you trundled towards your orgasm. “Fuck, I’m going to come, George.” The surprise in your voice was palpable, the swiftness in which George was going to make you come was incredible. You panted hard against his shoulder as with a grunt, his nimble fingers rubbed you to completion, his cock hitting the delicious spot inside you. As you reached the peak of your high, George followed. He groaned as your walls tightened around him and he spilled his seed deep into your quim. “Sorry,” George breathed, “I couldn’t hold on any longer.” You smiled and kissed him, it was tender and held every ounce of love you had for him. He deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue around with yours as his hand cupped your breast. “I’m going to fuck you so hard as soon as we get to the flat, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Georgie.” You smirked, he tweaked your nipple between his fingers and brought his mouth close to your ear, his voice deathly low. “I’m going to make you come, over and over again. You’re going to beg me to stop. Then I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you the way you ought to be fucked. Rough and hard because naughty girls don’t get fucked nicely.”

Your skin flushed with heat as he nibbled at your earlobe, desire already building between your legs. You cast a look to George, who looked about two seconds away from falling asleep and giggled. “Do you want to be the little spoon?” You asked, he didn’t answer, instead he rolled his body away from you and faced the wall. He pushed his bum out and you gave it a playful slap. “Don’t get any ideas.” He muttered and you grinned as you wrapped your arm around his middle. He laced his fingers with yours and hummed contentedly as the room gave way to the quiet of the house. “I’m so happy you came back.” George whispered; his voice heavy with tiredness. “Me too. I love you.” You replied with a yawn. “Love you too.”

George complained the entire way back to the flat. He had insisted on carrying your bags plus gifts you had received over Christmas, including but limited to; a lovely scarf Molly had painstakingly kitted for you and a hilariously ruffled gilet for George. You couldn’t help but grin consistently as you walked ahead of him up the back stairs to the entrance of the flat, his hat had slipped over his eyes and he lost his footing. Your suitcase lurched backwards, it manged to bump comically every step before it lay still at the bottom of the stairs. “Right!” George announced, he dropped the rest of the bags and grabbed hold of your hips. You yelped in surprise as George hoisted you over his shoulder, fireman style and proceeded up the rest of the stairs. He near enough kicked the front door open and moved swiftly through the flat and into your shared bedroom, he ignored your giggled protestations and flung you down onto the bed. He was on top of you in an instant, his knee pushed your legs apart and his mouth descended onto your throat. He sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin and began undoing the buttons of your coat. “Off.” He ordered as he opened your coat and tugged at the bottom of your jumper. Dutifully, you sat up and removed the offending items of clothing. His gaze was ravenous as he watched as you tucked your hair behind your ears and waited for further instructions. George’s gaze flashed down to your breasts. “Off.” He repeated. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as George removed his own coat and shirt, his hands moved to his belt and he slipped both his jeans and boxers from his body, his already hard cock sprung against his stomach as you followed suit. You threw your jeans across the room and your knickers next.

“So beautiful,” George commented as he ran a featherlight touch across your cheek. “Such a good girl.” You melted into George’s ghost like touch and shuddered. You kept your eyes on him as he brought a hand down to his cock and rubbed along the length slowly. “Touch yourself, (Y/N) I want to see you make yourself come.” Your eyes widened with shock for a moment before a smile crept across your mouth and you brought your hands to your breasts. Was it a show he was after? Then a show he would get. You placed your fingers on each of your hardened nipples and tugged slightly, your lips parted slightly at the sensation. You heard George as he took a sharp intake of breath as he gripped the head of his cock. You trailed one hand slowly down your body and shuffled down the bed as you lay your shoulders back onto the covers. You reached your throbbing cunt and spread your legs wide for George to see, he moaned as you brought your fingers over your clit and rubbed a sweeping circle of it. “That’s it,” George moaned, “Let me see you- oh! Good girl.” You watched as George began to pump himself faster, your name fell from his lips as you plunged two fingers between your slick folds. You matched George’s pace as you fucked yourself with your fingers, you closed your eyes and fisted the sheets with your free hand. Pleasure built within you as with each pulse of your fingers, you found your sweet spot. “Come quickly, (Y/N). I want to see how fast you can come.”

You took your fingers out of your entrance and brought them now coated in your juices and recommenced the rubbing of your clit. You moaned as you rubbed tantalisingly quick circles on the electrified pearl between your legs. Your toes curled as you felt your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach, you moaned, and George answered it with a moan of his own. Your hips bucked from the bed as you pressed harder with each swipe of your fingers until you came, it was fantastically intense and your voice, thick with desire called out for George. “Come here.” He demanded once you had recovered. His cock was impossibly hard and almost screamed for attention as you crawled slowly over to where he sat. George placed a hand on your head as you took him in your mouth, you placed a tender kiss to the tip and licked the little drops of precum that had gathered there. He sighed as you pushed your lips down the length of hi and relaxed your throat, allowing him a small thrust. His gentle hand became a fist in your hair as he pulled you back, almost pulling you away from his cock; but your hand reached around the base of him and began to pump him. Your tongue swirled around his tip and George’s head rolled back as you wrapped your lips around him and swallowed. You found a rhythm and George’s hand on your head helped you keep time; you could see the muscles in his thighs tense as you hummed around him. “Fuck. That feels good. Such a good girl.”

At George’s praise, you sucked him faster, hollowing your cheeks and your grip around his shaft tightened. George’s hips began to lift off the bed as he thrust into your mouth. There was nothing you loved more in this world than to feel this man come undone under your hand, you moaned against him and he slid further into your throat. That was enough for George, who parted with four thick spurts with a cry of pleasure. You swallowed it up and wiped your mouth, you pulled away and gently massaged your aching jaw. You watched the rise and fall of George’s chest as he recovered from his orgasm, arm slung over his eyes. “I love you.” You whispered, you felt tears sting your eyes and you sniffed. George sat up and looked at you, his face etched with concern. “I love you too, what’s the matter?” He asked, he pulled you close and bundled you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you nuzzled your face against his neck. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just so happy.” George chuckled and hugged you tighter, you popped a leg over his and hummed as happy tears fell from your eyes. “Me too.”

**********

“No, those need to go to the stockroom, Fred. I’m not having them cluttering up the flat. There’s already zero room in here as it is.” You gestured around you to the boxes of stock that stood tall in your tiny living room. “Right, and I’m telling you there’s nowhere to put them. We need more space.” Fred sighed and placed the box full of love potions on the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Angelina appeared from behind a tower of boxes, her face aghast as Fred opened his arms to her. He placed a kiss on her shoulder. “We’re drowning in all this.” She said, you shook her head at you; a silent communication that the boys had finally lost the plot. “What do we need to do?” George called from the doorway, he levitated three coffee’s behind him as he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. You grinned as he rushed to you, he presented the flowers to you and you sniffed them gratefully. Roses, lily’s and daisies. Your favourite. “They’re beautiful, George! Thank you!” You placed a loving kiss to his cheek and traced a lily petal delicately with your finger as George put the champagne in the fridge. “Congratulations my love! And happy second anniversary.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a hug. “This mine?” Angelina asked, she pointed at one of the three coffees suspended behind George’s shoulder. “Oh yeah sorry, Ange. This one’s yours love.” George smiled and dished the coffees out; Angelina gave George a warm smile of thanks as you sipped happily. “Where’s mine?” Fred demanded; George patted his pockets sarcastically. “You weren’t here, mate.” He shrugged, Fred huffed and turned his attention to you. “Congratulations I suppose, (Y/N). Still think you’re wasting your time being a Healer.” Fred said, Angelina wasted no time smacking his stomach. “You think I’m wasting my time being a Healer…as we’re about to go into war?” You said, despite the seriousness of your words, a smile tugged at your lips as you knew Fred was just sorry to lose you from the shop. You had spent the last year and a half revising your arse off to be fast-tracked through the training programme. It was the only way you could think of to give back an inch of the kindness you had received. You had received your lime green robes this morning, an immensely proud moment indeed. “All I’m saying is, you could have been junior assistant manager. I had the badge made for you and everything.” “Ignore him, (Y/N).” Angelina said as she rolled her eyes, “We’re all really proud of you. Well done, babe.” You handed George the flowers and tossed your arms around Angelina’s neck for a hug. “Thank you, Ange. What did I ever do without you to help reign dear Freddie in?” You laughed and she laughed with you. “Think there’s anyway we can back out, Georgie?” Fred whispered dramatically to George who just grinned ruefully. “Not a chance.” “Too fucking right. You’re stuck with us now.” Angelina replied, an arm slung round your shoulders. “We still need to work out what to do with these boxes.” “There’s no room for them in here.” George offered, he waved his wand over your flowers and they arranged themselves beautifully in a vase. “No,” Angelina agreed, “I think we all know this flat isn’t big enough for four people, couples or not.” You nodded and made your way back to George, he hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter and you settled between his legs. “What are you thinking?” Fred asked his girlfriend; Angelina shrugged and sipped her coffee. “We were thinking,” You replied, “Turning this upstairs flat into a staff room and overflow stockroom. You’re selling so much, so obviously have to have the stock to sell. There just isn’t room for us in here anymore. Plus, I’m pretty sure the staff would love to be able to come up here and have an actual cup of tea on their breaks.” “We think we should move.” Angelia said, “Separately.” She added softly. George’s hand stiffened around your waist. You wished that Angelina had waited a day or two before dropping the bombshell, but the pair you had spent the last month speaking of little else. You and George needed your own space, and Fred and Angelina needed theirs as much. “You want us to move away from each other?” Fred asked incredulously, you offered him a small smile. “Not exactly.”

**********

The portkey dropped you in the middle of a field. You were on your lunch break and only had half an hour before you needed to be back at St. Mungo’s. George looked stressed as he straightened his tie, you could tell he was nervous. You took his clammy hand in yours and gave it a squeeze. “You okay?” “Yeah,” He replied in a strained voice. “It’s just a lot of money to part with.” You sighed and dragged him in the direction of Fred and Angelina who stood waving at you. You approached them with hello’s and hugs and waited. “What time’s he meant to be coming?” Fred asked as he checked his watch, you followed suit and checked the upturned watch pinned to your robes. Only twenty minutes left. “Any minute now.” Angelina asked. You all looked in opposite directions, scouring the grassy horizons for any sight of the man in question. What you didn’t expect, was for him to surprise you from behind. “You can never expect a group of Gryffindor’s to be on time.” You felt a grin widen across your face as you saw Severus fold his arms across his chest. “Excuse me, I’m one of yours.” You replied, he shook your hand rather formally but gave you a brief wink as he dropped two sets of keys into George’s hand. “Is it all sorted?” George asked the potions master, Severus nodded. “Yes, I watched them as they signed the paperwork this morning. All in your names now, though I don’t see why you had to have me do it. I’m very busy.” “Because I don’t trust anybody else.” You countered, “I needed to be one-hundred-percent sure my parents wouldn’t try any funny business.” “They were quite happy to get rid of these cottages if you ask me. They have no need for them anymore, especially given that they’ve sold the house in Rouen.” Severus said, he looked up at the old stone walls of the two cottages. “The price of war, I suppose.” Fred quipped; Severus cocked an eyebrow but ultimately smirked in agreement. You broke away from George and the others and placed your arm through Severus’, wandering a few steps. “Thank you again, I really appreciate that.” You whispered; your heads close together. Severus placed a hand on top of yours and patted it softly. “Are you still coming for lunch on Sunday? It’s my only day off this week.” “Are you cooking?” “No, George is.” “Yes, I shall arrive at twelve.”

You waved as Severus made off into the distance, when there was no longer any sight of him. Angelina turned to you, and then back out to the cottages. A pair of great stone cottages with an adjoining garden stood before you. That had been built hundreds of years ago by twin farmers who tended the surrounding fields. They were acquired by your parents in the sixties; and now were to make new homes for you and George, Fred and Angelina. It was fitting really that another pair of twins would live in them all those years later, making new memories. “How long have you got before you need to be back at the hospital?” George whispered into your ear. You glanced down at your watch. “Fifteen minutes.” “Plenty of time.” He breathed, George grabbed your hand and dragged you laughing towards the front door of your cottage. The door slammed behind you as he placed a hungry kiss to your lips. His hands where everywhere at once, slipping your robes over your head and grunting in your ear. “This is our house, (Y/N). I want to hear how loud you can be.”

Of course, you complied; you wanted everybody to know that you were his, forever.

#george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley x reader #severus snape #Pansy Parkinson #Ginny Weasley #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter reader insert #nobody can know #godrics-swallow #fred weasley

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itsmypeach13 · 4 years

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[Please welcome my first ever fanfic series chapter 1🤭The story contains of f/f relationships, centres around Asassins Creed Valhalla women female Eivor, Soma Jarlskona(the Bear Heart is my own nickname I gave her will be often used 😁), Randvi, Valka and other fictional characters. It is for +18 readership as it may contain explicit language, drinking, sexual intercourses, fighting in battles. Please bare these in mind before reading.]

TALES OF THE BEAR-HEART:SOMA

CHAPTER I.

A Letter from the Wolf-Kissed

Soma's POV:

I opened my eyes swiftly , my head was heavy with the thoughts swirling inside after a sleepless night. A warming beam of light brightened my room as the sun was rising slowly outside. I turned to my side and looked at the empty side of the bed. I ran my fingers slowly on the cold pillow and let out a sigh. It doesn't matter how many girls of Gratenbridgeshire offered themselves to me , this place belongs to Eivor. Well, only in my dreams..she haunts me like a she-wolf hunrgry to taste meat and blood. And I would always face this wolf, giving in and letting my walls down for her, but this world was apart from reality.

I had a jarldom to rule and protect my people, today was no different either. Just when I finished dressing up I heard knocking on the door like a bear would rant at me from outside.

'Splendid morning Soma, I know you had fun with that blonde amazon last night, I came to make sure we arrive on time , so get your ass out here.'- Revna greeted me with her raspy voice. She was my right hand in ruling the town , my finest warrior and my best friend in one tall, brunette woman. She was even taller then Eivor and always carried two hammers on her sides. Her weapons put many fine men in the grave , Revna was a beast on the battlefield, but a big hearted puppy to her loved ones. She and I grew closer after Birna left us, I needed somebody to trust.

'You think yourself a seeress of all.I haven't slept a bit, even without any ladies invited in my bed-I stepped out of the door grinning, and placed my hand on her shoulder.' Don't worry my friend, Cheolbert must be still sleeping like a baby.

We both headed to the longhouse as Cheolbert arrived late at night and asked an assemby in the morning. I didn't know what was it about, so I felt curious to know. I peaked towards the main entrance seeing jarls arriving on horseback from the neighbouring jarldoms. It must be either a wedding or war ahead of us, I thought to myself.

'What is on your mind Soma? You seem a bit worn-out this morning.-Revna questioned me by gently pushing my right arm. I didn't want to tell her the truth , that Eivor was the cause of my insomnia.

'Everything is fine Revna , it was full moon yesterday and you know well I can't sleep when it comes'-I assured my shield maiden. 'We have a long day ahead of us, I count on you if we have to fight side by side again.'

Revna silently nodded and hurried to the front of the assembly. The longhouse was filled with people, curious eyes were glued to Cheolbert who stepped in , wearing a glorious red and white cloak and black learher tunic. Our eyes met and he signalled me he wanted to speak in private at the side first.

We both went to the map room, his blue eyes were narrow and mysterious. I gave him a welcoming hug.

'Cheolbert my dear friend, I swear you've grown a feet since we last met.'-I teased.

' Soma, good to meet again, I wish the circumstances were different.'

'What happened? '-I grew impatient and started walking up and down.

'Eivor told me to hand over this letter to you first'.-he held out a letter with a raven seal. I turned my back so that he can't see my face, and I felt the world around me spin. Is she in trouble? Is she alright?

Dear Soma,

I write you in haste now, as your rotten friend Brina , whom you kept so close to your heart as a pet has betrayed all of us. She is a serpent who slyly earned your trust. She got married to Ivarr the Boneless and they sworn revenge on both Ravensthorpe and Gratenbridgeshire. Ivarr wants to be king of this continent...son is like farher. Their fleet is now close to us, we must unite our men and act swiftly. Please come as fast as you can to Ravensthorpe. I already informed your neighbours, I sent Cheolbert to gather all the men at Gratenbridgeshire.

When we win there will be a cause of celebration I sware to you dear. With all my thanks.

Eivor the Wolf-Kissed

My heart grew heavy with disappointment and sadness over hearing what Birna brought for our people. After all I had two friends betray me, I will cut the throat of this traitor too I swore to myself.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks as the word 'dear' was ringing like a bell in my head. The wolf could play mind games with me even if she wasn't here.

The assemby was quick, I told my people to gather every man to fight for the woman who made this place a safe home for us. I climbed up to my black mare after putting on my silver and blue gear and dictated a rushed tempo for our horses on the way to Ravensthorpe, so our army arrived the same afternoon. I held my back tightly and confident in my straddle to show people a firm leader. As we rode closer to the gates a flood of excitement gripped my stomach. It was funny because I feared not the bloodshed of war or heavy strikes of axes, but seeing the deep blue eyes of Eivor again. Too afraid what I would see in the reflection of her endless iris. Just when I was confident enough to let the idea of the two of us together go , I knew it well the depth of her eyes will eat me alive again. Somehow Freya threads our paths in the same direction? Why does she condemned me to suffering?

***

As I got off my mare at the entrance of the longhouse Valka humbly walked up to me and greeted with a tusk of her best mead. It was a secret recipe I was obsessed with so Eivor sometimes sent a few barrells to me. Valka made the sweet liquid with a hint of star anise and petals of orange jasmine.

'Now that you are finally here the universe is balanced'- she winked handing over the mead. I had no idea what she mean by that, but I gratefully accepted and took a long shot.

'Thanks Valka, I am happy to see my favourite seeress. -I winked at her and slightly raised my tusk.' May this give me strength and fortune on the battlefield.

'Freya will have her hand on your shoulder , she has plans with you.'

This conversation made me suspicious Valka had a vision of the future and it seems I am the part of it. Anyhow, I was sure of one thing, my duty is to be here and help.

'I can't wait to fulfill my destiny, my friend. Whatever the future holds I am ready to take it in.'

In that moment Eivor rushed out of the longhouse seeming quite annoyed with something her rough hands forming into fists. She looked astonishing, deadly in her black and gold armor, the axe of her father as a token swagged on her side. Even if it was a brief moment, I saw her eyes widened at the sight of me, her look pierced into my soul when she smirked at me. She was saying without words that she was grateful that I came and trusted me, this filled my heart with warmth and my chest swelled.

'Dear Soma' -she spoke with her deep, raspy voice that was stealing my sanity every time I heard her close.'I knew you would come and aid us in the moment of need.'-she took my right hand for a moment then let it fall back.

'You know I'll always be there like a true friend. It's my pleasure.-Eivor's smile ended at the word friend, but people around us were staring and we weren't more than that behind their backs either.

To cut off our slightly awkward meeting, Randvi stormed out of the wooden bulding her cheeks burning, and arms folded. She looked like a child who didn't get the piece of cake. I wondered what happened between those two in there. In the second she caught a glipse of me and Eivor standing quite close , Randvi joined between us and politely thanked me to bring a huge force here. She was a perfect diplomat and an impeccable service around me after that.She arranged a dinner for only the leaders and jarls to lay out the plan for tomorrow's battle. We decided to surprise Birna and Ivarr and hide our best archers in the woods until they ride towards the gates. I must admit I can see now why Eivor loves Randvi. The copper-haired woman was not only beautiful with soft features, but intelligent in a way that humiliated the man leaders here.

It felt extremely hard to look at Randvi and listen to the details as I felt my helpless jealousy hit me like a wave. It angered me how Eivor drunk every word she uttered her eyes sometimes wandered lover than Randvi's lips.

After dinner I wanted to retreat to my tent as soon as possible , the sight of Eivor and Randvi in the same room sickened me. Before I could do that Randvi came to me with a letter.

'Soma, wait. Let me give this letter to you.' she instructed quickly.

'Who is it from?'-I enquired furrowing my brows with second guessing.

'It's uh..from me actually...-she hesitated then blurted out' there are certain things you better read than hear me say it out loud.'

This fucking woman had guts to speak to me like that..I knew it was intently personal. She must have heard rumors of Eivor's visits to me sometimes, but hardly knew the wolf was only hers not mine for a single bit.

'How thoughtful of you. The rumors are true , you really have balls in spite of being a shieldmaid. I will read your bedtime story later, now if you excuse me.' Randvi 0-Soma 1. Every inch of me wanted to tear off she seal and read it right away but I waited until I was left alone in the provacy of my tent.

Jarl Soma,

Please let me be honest and plain with you. Eivor's invite here was merely political. I know more than anyone how she behaves around women to get what she wants. I have firsthand experience in that. But you have to know Eivor doesn't look at you like a woman, she told me she sees a long lost older sister in you. If I were you, I would think twice what I let people gossip about and make a fool of myself.

Randvi

In the second I finished reading I crumpled the piece of paper and thowed behind my back. Her words were agressive and protective just like a female wolf and I could feel Randvi's bite marks on my neck.

I decided not to believe anything until I asked Eivor.. oh but how could I do that? The wolf would realise I cared about her in a different way, and I couldn't let that happen until she gives me something. A flickering sign in the hollowing darkness I am living in.

I decided to visit Valka and have drinks together, I desperately needed somebody to keep my mind of this mess I became part of.

***

The little hut stood with watchful eyes on the slight hill close to the village. There were died flowers hanged outside and a sweet smoky and flowery scent filled my nostrils. As I get close I recognized Valka now wearing a red gown with hood on her head. She looked like Freya preparing a love potion as she was pouring something in a tusk and put some petals on the top.

'Good Evening Valka.. I hope you don't mind my late night visit. I just needed some of your special mead I guess and my feet brought me here' I stared to her fiery reddish brow eyes. She had neat tattos on her face forming dots and gentle marks on her smooth skin.

'I knew you would come tonight, so I prepared this mead with some herbs that will rock you in a pleasant slumber.'she handed over the tusk , the liquid looked like shiny rubies.

'How is that you always know better what I need than myself?-I smirked at her and found comforting in her eyes.

'A gift from the gods my lady-her eyes had a mysterious spark in them, a little dimple formed on her face from smiling.

'Come sit with me inside, it is getting cold out here.'

I nodded and followed the seeress into the firm hut, theought the entrance ornamented with animal bones and more dried flowers.

There was a freshly lit fire inside warming up my limbs and cheeks. It also colored the space with wrath orange that played on our faces like the sunset.

'Now tell me, what makes your heart heavy?'-she asked with care.

'I think I feel a bond to Eivor that is irrational and grows between us every time we meet. It is like an invisible string pulls me towards her maybe it's the wish of the Gods.-I sipped bitterly in the mead , a slight soothing feeling ran through my body.

'We both know our fate is inevitable, so you have to show what's inside your heart first.' -Valka looked deeply in my eyes. -You are Soma, our fearless Bear warrior sent by Freya to our aid and to fight on Eivor's side.

'Randvi told me Eivor loves me with a sisterly care.. I image she is right., look at her, she could have anybody.

'Don't listen to Randvi , she is hurt and trapped in her own feeling of helplessness. If she can't have Eivor accepted by the public, then nobody can'-Valka nodded and squuezed my hand.

'I just can't trust people anymore Valka. My love towards people turned into a bitter storm inside me.-Except for Revna, I couldn't trust a soul, not even Eivor. She didn't reveal her hidden side to me.

'Just talk to her in the morning, it will ease your turmoil Soma.-she winked and headed to bed. To my utter surprise she started to undress in front of my sleepy eyes, they popped in surprise no matter the mead.

Valka's toned back was shining under the wrath orange fireligt, she revealed her impeccably and naked body.

'Good night Valka, I have to get some sleep now. Thank...you...for uh.. everything!' I mumbled to her and hurried to my hut until I was able to stand still. Before sleep my head was filled with Eivor's piercing eyes and... I was a bit surprised but Valka's slender back flashed through as well. Damn, this woman was also fine. Like all women!

My eyelids felt to heavy , soon enough I was fast asleep like a newborn baby.

#fanfiction #eivor #ac eivor #eivor wolfkissed #female eivor #ac valhalla #lady eivor #assassin's creed valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #ac soma #somabearheart #soma jarlskona #eivor x soma #ac valhalla fanfic

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thatoneerin · 3 years

Text

"The Wrath of Lady Death"

Word Count: 3,742

Credit to my friend Moss for helping me edit <3

"Please make sure to tell my angel I miss him, alright?"

The deity talks to a small crow cupped in her hands, stroking its dark wing with her thumb.

She took one of her hands out from underneath the crow, scratching its head lightly. The crow cooed at her touch, closing its eyes. Kristin smiled then held the crow away from her.

The crow spread its wings, flying into the dense thicket surrounding her garden

Kristin watches the crow disappear into the thick brush until all she heard were distant caws. She looks to the sky and closes her eyes, inhaling fresh air. She stands there for a time, feeling the softened grass on her feet and the sunlight beaming on her face.

She inhales and opens her eyes to the azure sky. Not a single cloud was in the sky, making the beautiful hues of blue in the sky visible

Yet, her own mind felt muddied with thoughts of her angel and what information he had been relaying to her recently through the letters he'd sent through her crows. It almost seemed... half hearted. She senses he and his companion are planning something, and yet she knows naught of what the plan could entail

She sighed and shook her head lightly, clearing the thunderstorm brewing in her psyche.

“I swear, one of these days, I’m gonna worry myself to,,, I guess, myself” She chuckled at her own joke before groaning, “Oh wow, I need someone to talk to besides my crows”

She looked over to the hedges surrounding her flower garden, where two crows were looking at her, their heads tilted. She chuckles again and strolls over to them, stroking the smaller crow on the head. It leans into her touch, cooing softly while her other feathered friend looks at her just a bit annoyed

“I know, I know. I do enjoy talking to my flock, but I’d actually like someone to talk to that could actually, you know, respond with something other than coos, caws, and bewildered looks”. She takes her hand off of the crow and intertwines her fingers, placing her hands in front of her

“Ah, but that's just the wish of a god. As powerful as we may be, we often can’t do the things we most want to. Like DreamXD with his little plaything. What’s the boy’s name, George?” She looks to her crows for assurance, the bigger crow giving her a small caw in agreeance

"I thought as much. Anyway, isn't he almost always asleep? I remember XD complaining to me about it once. I think the boy has some sort of disorder, the poor thing". She clicks her tongue, then fixes her posture.

"Oh well! He’s XD's problem till he's mine. Just how it is, I suppose"

She looks to her crows, who seem to be listening to her intently. She smiles at them, when a bright blue patch of cornflowers behind the crows catches her eye

Her smile fell slowly, remembering the day those flowers had bloomed. It was a cold, cold day on the overworld

Manberg’s dictator had been cornered and overthrown when he had a heart attack, which was probably caused by his alcoholism, but what could Kristin say? She was a god, not a doctor

She leaned over the hedge to look at the bed of flowers when she noticed the bed of yellow right next to it. The flower bed of wilted dahlias and the cornflowers had started growing intermingled with each other, the yellow and blue contrasting one another perfectly before most of the dahlias had wilted away to a dark brown

She remembered when the dahlias had first bloomed as well. It was the last time she was allowed to see her angel on the mortal plain. It wasn't exactly in the best of circumstances, though. Afterall, the only reason she was on the mortal plain was because her angel had stabbed his own son.

The night the flower beds had merged together was another interesting one. The moment she noticed the flower beds had merged, she sent a message to her angel. He then had to send one back explaining that he had tried to revive his son when he accidentally merged the souls of the duo's ghosts. She put her head in her hand and laughed, shaking her head

“Those two couldn't stay away from each other, even in death. You could even say they're,,, soulmates” She looked at the two crows still sitting on the hedge, a shit eating grin on her face. The smaller crow started making a croaking sound that sounded like a laugh, while the other crow looked at her with an annoyed expression yet again

“Well, at least someone appreciates my jokes”. She held out a hand in front of the smaller crow. It hopped on and she brought her hand up to her shoulder. It stepped off and settled on her shoulder, rubbing up against the side of her face. She laughed at the feeling of the feathers tickling her face. She held out her forearm for the other crow to step on as well. It stepped on, begrudgingly, and settled as well, huffing as it sat on her arm.

“I know, I know, I'm the worst” She chuckled and rubbed the crow on top of the head, then started walking down the isle of flowerbeds.

She stopped at the only other flower bed that had actually bloomed. When it first bloomed, it was a gorgeous patch of red and yellow marigolds. Her face fell at the sight of them. She didn't like remembering how poor Theseus died at the hands of that monster of a brother she had

“That poor kid. He didn't deserve having to put up with Dream”. She grimaced at the thought of her brother and all the suffering he put poor Theseus through even before he murdered him

“How bored do you have to be to put a kid through hell and back just because you think it’s entertaining?” She raised her arm, looking at the crow sitting on it with a quizzical look “That, and he’s the weakest of the gods, and yet he can bring people back to life with that stupid book? I bet it was Drista who wrote the damn thing as well, that little shit”

She exhaled aggressively “I swear, at this point, I think he’s trying to anger me specifically. I wouldn't doubt it either, that little weasel”.

The crow on her arm cawed in agreeance, causing her to look back at it. She closed her eyes, exhaling all the built up air in her chest. “Well, it’s not like I could do anything about it. Besides, Dream’s in the mortal prison and Theseus is revived. Hopefully that one bloke, Sam I think, can keep him in there. He’s been doing a pretty good job so far, besides getting two other innocents stuck in there with him" She snarled the last line, turning up her nose. "So, let’s just see how it turns out”

She stops suddenly, replaying what she just said back in her head.

“Did I really just say ‘bloke’? Wow, I was really so caught up in my anger I didn’t realize I just turned into my angel for a split second”. She laughed at her own antics, looking at the feathered friend on her forearm “Ah, I crack myself up. I mean, I guess I kinda have to, since no one else is here to”. The crow nodded slightly in understanding

Then it hit her. Like a ton of bricks hitting her right in the chest, that damned feeling. A chill went down her spine, following her stomach as it felt like it dropped all the way down to her feet. She clamped her eyes shut, hissing as she tensed her whole body. The crows startled, flying off of her and landing on the nearest hedge

She opened her eyes. They had turned and deep shade of purple, almost black

It was like she was watching from someone else's perspective. She saw a hilly plain, with multiple people running around in dark, glittering armor. She sees a humanoid creeper and an almost nine foot tall black entity step right into her field of vision, then she hears him. Her Angel's hoglin companion.

She heard him calling, “Don’t kill him!” "You've got the wrong hostage!”

Then, it all went black

After a moment, her eyes closed involuntarily. Her muscles relaxed. She swallowed, slowing down her breathing a bit. She put a hand on her chest and took a few deep breaths, slowing down her metaphorical heart beat

“It was.. Ranboo. Protesilaus was there as well, I heard him. And.. the prison warden? What the hell happened?”. She put a hand on her head, rubbing her temple and groaned. “Last lifes are the worst to experience, for both them and me”

She regained her posture, taking a few more breaths. The crows tilted their heads looking at her, bewildered and worried. She looked over to the crows and a small smile grew on her face.

“First time seeing me do that? Yup, it’s sure a bitch, especially witnessing it’’ She walked up to the hedge, holding her hand out. The crows were still unsure, hesitant to touch her

“It’s alright, I’m not gonna spaz out again, I promise”. The bigger crow was the first to trot up to her hand, rubbing on it. Kristin smiled “See? I’m alright”.

She sighed, her face falling. “There is some work I need to get done, though”. She turned, walking to the end of her flower garden, making long strides. She was clearly on a mission.

At the end of the garden, there was a large oval mirror, rimmed with gold. The intricate design in the gold portrayed a beautiful rose vine, wrapping around the outside of the mirror. A coal black sun hat with a dark veil was hanging on one of the roses protruding from the mirror

Kristin walked up to the mirror, gazing at her figure. Her long dark hair flowed in the gentle breeze, her round face as somber as could be. She sighed, grabbing her sun hat and gently placing it on her head. “Alright, let’s get this done”

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. She opens them again, revealing the same deep purple they were previously. Her aura became visible, displaying a mauve cloud.

She held her hand out in front of her, and chanted,

“O’ mirror of mine, show me the poor soul that will soon be in my grasp” Her voice echoed throughout the garden. The wind picked up as she continued chanting, her cloak and hair becoming weightless. “And I will guide their spirit to the purgatory they belong”.

As the wind died down, an image slowly faded into the mirror. It was much like the vision Kristin had seen not even an hour ago.

A grassy plain with hills and buildings in the distance. There was a noticeable difference, though. A tall figure wearing a suit was splayed out near the edge of a lake, a red and green puddle underneath him.

Kristin took a deep breath, her chest feeling tight.

This was going to be harder on her than she thought.

After a quick breath, she took a step into the mirror.

The grass on the Overworld felt different than in her domain. It was coarse, dry, and had occasional dead spots from where people had dug from or set on fire.

She frowned at the sorry state of her surrounding area, tsking. How could XD let it get this bad when it was his world to be taking care of?

Well, it wasn't like he deserved it anyway. He had never shown he could handle being the god of a world, yet he was granted the opportunity to it anyway.

She shook her head of her thoughts. She was already getting off track.

She started walking to the bank of the lake where Ranboo’s body lay, her hair and cloak flowing behind her. That always seemed to happen while she was on the Overworld, making her look as if she were almost floating.

“Stop! Who’s there?!”

A sudden voice calls out behind her.

She stops in her tracks. She turns her head behind her slightly, smiling sarcastically

“Ah, I see the cause of my visit to the mortal realm has arrived” She says in faux excitement. She turns her body, looking down at the sudden interruption. She grins a fake grin, her eyebrows raising. “Hello, little warden. Long time no see, hm?”

Sam slowly lowers his weapon and shield, realizing who he was talking to

“I apologize, Lady Death. I thought you might have been a hostile lifeform-”

“Oh, do not start being polite with me. You do realize you are the reason I’m here, do you not, warden?” Her mood turned sour at the drop of a pen. Or, in this case, the sound of the warden’s voice

She stepped closer to him, towering over the almost eight foot tall humanoid.

“You are the reason the boy is dead, are you not?” She sneered

The warden didn't falter under her gaze. His facial expression never changed from being stone cold

“Well, I believe the ‘boy’ you’re talking about is dead because a certain piglin broke a tyrant out of my prison”. His voice was monotone, unfaltering. This only angered the deity more

"And I believe the only reason Protesilaus had the opportunity to break him out, was because you allowed him to be locked up with said tyrant, allowing the two to come up with a plan for escape!”

Her voice remained leveled, but the intensity of her tone grew more as she spoke.

The warden sighed quietly.

“I had my reasons, my lady” He looked up at her veiled face. "I never suspected that they would actually be able to come up with a plan that would work. I really thought my prison was impenetrable, my lady"

The fact he was being so polite and formal only angered her more. She exhaled through her nostrils, her mood still irate

“Well. You thought wrong then, warden”. She snarled the last word, her face contorting into a disgusted look.

She turned away from the humanoid, striding back to the bank of the lake

The warden watched as she walked away from him, her hair and cloak flowing behind her.

He deserved it. He knew he deserved it. He's made so many mistakes, but, he went too far with this one. This, was unforgivable

She reached the body not a minute later.

She only realized now how deep the gash in his chest was, and how much he’s bled out.

She bent down, sitting on her knees right next to the enderman’s head. She grabbed the underside of his upper body gently, laying his head on her lap

His long bangs were covering his eyes. She brushed the hair out of the way, to see that his eyes were still open, a shocked expression frozen on his face. The deity frowned and shook her head, closing his eyes herself.

No one cared enough to even do this for him?

She placed her hand on his forehead and right above his still heart, closing her eyes.

She opened them again, finding herself in a small room of obsidian. Wooden signs were nailed on the walls, and a jukebox was in the floor in the middle of the room, quietly playing a slow, sad song.

Ranboo was sitting in a back corner of the room, hugging his knees with his head in his legs.

Kristin sighed sadly at the sight of him. She took a few steps until she was in front of him, then sat down on her knees. She noticed now that he was shaking slightly

She sighed quietly, then put on a soft smile.

"Hello Ranboo”

The hybrid raised his head at the sound of her voice. Tears were streaming down his face, yet he looked more confused than anything

“W-why- Why isn’t it hurting me? M-my tears, why aren't they…”

He inhaled a shaky breath, tears continuing to fall from his puffy eyes

It’s like a switch flipped in her. As soon as he started talking, she wanted to hug him for all eternity, and tell him that it was all going to be okay.

But she knew that wasn't the case

She reached out to hybrid’s face, wiping a tear off of it with her thumb

“You’re not in your body anymore. This is just a place in your memories your soul went to right after you died”.

“Oh yeah. I’m dead, aren’t I?” He chuckled sadly while asking his rhetorical question. His face fell again.

“I just.. I just wanted to protect him..” He looked to the side, burying his face in his knees again to where you could only see his eyes

“Protect who, dear?”

“My son, Micheal. Sam said he had him, and would make sure he was safe if I surrendered. And, well, I’m sure you know how that turned out, since, y’know, you’re here” He rose his head again, placing it on his knees

“Yes, I actually had a little chat with the warden before I came here. And I guarantee it’s not going to be the last if he keeps this up” She crosses her arms, looking annoyed

He chuckled softly at her antics, tears still streaming on his face. She smiled crookedly, knowing she at least cheered him up even a little bit

“So, uh, you’re the goddess I’ve heard so much about, huh?” He wiped his face of tears, starting to feel like they won't be immediately replaced with more

“Heard of? Human’s talk about me?” She looked at him quizzically, trying to recall if her warlock ever mentioned telling anyone about her. She wouldn’t doubt it if he at least mentioned it to one of his... what did he call them, fiances? Now that she thought about it, her warlock hadn't contacted her for quite some time now. Maybe she should send a message to him once she got back to her domain-

Ranboo's sudden voice made her snap out of her thoughts

"Oh yeah, I’ve heard plenty of you from Phil, and sometimes even Techno too” His eyes seem to almost sparkle when talking of the two. He relaxed his legs, turning them into a criss-cross shape

“Oh yes, my angel and his companion!” She clapped her hands together, smiling. "I haven't seen them in forever. Why, last time I saw my angel was when I had to collect his son's soul"

"You mean Wilbur?". His eyebrows furrowed in worry. "You- You do know that-"

She sighed, already sensing his question. "Yes, I'm aware of his revival. Kind of hard to not when your job is to keep track of souls"

Her annoyed expression came back. She then inhaled, relaxing her face

"Well then, what's your son like? I'd love to hear about him" She smiled softly at the hybrid. His face lit up at the mention of his child, his long tail starting to wag back and forth

"Well, he's a baby zombie pigman that me and Tubbo, that's my husband, by the way, adopted back in, I think, February? He has a pet chicken, and lives in SnowChester with me and Tubbo!"

The longer he rambled on, the bigger the goddess' smile grew. She was very obviously just trying to get Ranboo's to feel better before she took him to his forever resting place. But, he either didn't notice or didn't seem to care. He felt so comfortable talking to her, he felt like he could talk for hours on end about, really, anything.

And you know what? That's exactly what they did. They talked about anything and everything.

Kristin and Phil's relationship, Ranboo and Tubbo's, Tommy, Techno, L'manburg, even Doomsday. They talked about everything

As their last conversation was dying down, Kristin knew it was time

She stands up and dusts off the bottom of her dress. "Well then, I think it's about time we take you home". She holds out her hand in front of the hybrid

"Oh yeah, I guess.. I guess you're right". He grabs her hand, then gets hoisted up by her. She towers over the tall hybrid, making Ranboo have to look up at her veiled face

His eyes look down, frowning " I.. want to ask something of you first though, if I may"

Kristin's eyebrow raises in interest "Of course you can, my child"

"Could you.. watch over Micheal? And Tubbo? Since, y'know, I really won't be able to anymore". He looks back up at her, a sad smile on his face

Her eyebrows furrow, a solemn look on her face. This boy cares about his family so deeply. She knows all too well what that's like

She grabs both of his hands in hers, his long hands dwarfing hers. "I will do everything in my power to make sure they will be safe. It's a god's-". She pauses. "No. It's a mother's promise". She smiles softly at the hybrid.

Ranboo smiles back at her. "Thank you so much. I appreciate it a lot. And, thank you, for letting me ramble to you before I, y'know, officially die, I guess"

"Of course, it was my pleasure. Now, let's get you to where you belong, little hero"

Kristin opens her eyes to the body of water in front of her reflecting the bright, full moon in the night sky

A small, red and green glowing orb floats in her cupped hands. She holds it to her chest, closing her eyes. This boy has gone through so much.

She wishes she could control purgatories. She wished so much that she could give him a good afterlife. One he deserves

But alas, it was not in her power. Once again.

So, she brings his soul back to her garden, and plants it in his designated flowerbed. As she pats the soil down, a tear falls on the dirt.

She's.. crying? She reaches a hand to her cheek, feeling the tears streaming down her face. Oh yeah, she is

It's only ever happened once before, a long while ago. She looks to the bed of wilted dahlias, with only a few still bright yellow

Well. Only good things could come of this, then… right?

#mumza #ranboo #awesamdude #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #trixtin #death!mumza #mumza as goddess of death #y'all #imma be honest this took me way longer than any other story has ever #and honestly i think thats a good thing #that and i was writing it in class seeing that i was writing it in docs on my school account-

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rebelheartsmustbefree · 3 years

Text

Take me to Church

*I was the last person that should be walking into a church, mind full of sacrilege, heart full of anger with the lies I was fed. But here I was. Taking a seat in the back of this old dilapidated church. The once vibrant colors of the stained glass now faded from the century of sun having bled through them. Yet this was the exact place I wanted to be. I had been deceived, led astray and left lost in thoughts that swarm around my mind that I couldn't make sense with. I felt as if I was forcefully untethered from this world and useless to everyone and everything except what my sole purpose for existing was. Creating more Angels.

More for them to brainwash and serve their self-righteousness, carry out their own selfish agenda. I thought my lot in life was to try and do good things and try and restore the heavens fate in humanity. But apparently that was nothing but a fools errand. Something to keep me busy while they plotted about me. I snatched one of the Bibles out of its little shelf on the back of the bench, having to stop and consciously choose to put it down before I ripped the pages out in anger.

I glance up at the images frozen in the stained glass, scoffing at the Archangel they chose to place their faith in. The almighty Michael. My father. The scene playing out was of him using his sword to fight Lucifer. Was my uncle really as bad as they said? Or was he just the perfect patsy to place the villain crown upon? The more and more I learn about those assholes upstairs, the more I believe the latter to be completely plausible.

Just then, a priest comes out from the one side of the confessional, hurrying off probably to use the little popes room or something. An idea hits me and I head on over to be his next sinner to listen to. Of course I'd have to give him the broad strokes of the situation, but I was curious what his advice would be. I closed the door and sat there awaiting his return. The questions swirling in my mind, the technique to which I'd have to carefully word things to be more of general philosophical curiosity rather than drawing from my own life. If a priest had knowledge of the existence of Angels, it would turn the world on its head so to speak.

I heard him slip back into the confessional and I cleared my throat, letting him know I was here. An Angel and a Priest walk into a confessional.. It was painfully ironic.*

Forgive me Father for I have sinned.. it's been… this is my first confessional. *I was filthy with sin. Besides being the virtuous bartender who pulls sexy strangers in the back for a quick fuck or to use their mouth, I was desperately trying to be good to my very core. My soul felt darkened by this recent development from my Father.*

Your first, son? Have you sins you need to confess?

*Oh. That was a loaded fucking question. My head lowers into my hands, scrubbing over my face.*

I feel my life is in disarray, Father. Everything I thought I knew is a lie. I thought I was doing my best to be good and now I find my father has been lying to me this whole time. I have such hate in my heart for him. I feel like I'm going to do something bad if I don't release some of this anger.

*My hands wrung together, bouncing one knee in anticipation of the Priests' response made me nervous. He was thinking about how to put things or trying to decipher what it was that I just said. Don't dig too much into this, Padre.*

Son… it sounds like you're having a bit of an identity crisis. You're lost. Wondering what you're supposed to be doing with your life. Just because your father has you believing one thing, doesn't mean you should allow it to dictate your path. The anger you feel is you spinning out. You need to center yourself again. Find what makes you happy and grounded, keep to that path and you'll never get lost.

*I feel like I was the one needing to decipher shit now. I sat there quietly, trying to think about his words. I couldn't remember a time where I didn't feel like I was spinning out. Everything had always been chaos and anxiousness hiding around every corner. Hell. I couldn't even be myself day to day. An Angel trying to blend into the crowd. To be one of the humans. No one knew about me except Jason and .. wait..

I thanked the priest and he sent me on my way with some Our Fathers and Hail Marys as I headed out of the confessional. I stopped off at the bathroom to take a quick piss, knowing what my next stop needed to be. Zipping back up, I notice a young priest watching me from out of the corner of my eye. I flushed the urinal and washed up my hands, glancing at him through the mirror with a smirk on my lips. Grabbing a couple paper towels, I dried my hands off and turned to drop my towels in the trash bin. He was still staring.*

There's not enough Hail Marys in the world for you to wash the kind of sin off you that I'd leave.. and I'm not trying to corrupt a man of the cloth. Not today. Sorry.

*I gave the man a wink as I headed out of the bathroom and made my way out of the church. With the destination in mind, I blip my ass right back home. Well close to home. There was this gorgeous land I'd been to before. Woods, rivers, ridges and a Wolf who was the owner. I'd seen him in my bar, we'd struck up a friendship and we knew about one another. I was an Angel, he was the Wolf. He was one person I could truly be myself around. And he wasn't bad to look at.

The sun was beginning it's departure, lowering down towards that horizon. He would still be inside, hoping to catch him before he goes out for the night. The side was open as always, walking up on his deck, I called out for him. He always said I was welcome to come here and let my wings out. And now more than ever, I needed that.*

#TBC

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toogoodmusic · 3 years

Audio

THE TOO GOOD TEN with MADS LANGER

Growing up in the countryside near the small town of Skive, singer, songwriter and musician Mads Langer grew up always knowing he’d be in music. From singing songs at the age of 18 months in his own language to his latest release, “Lightning,” the new dad has been pursuing the dream for a long time now. Through honest, original and disruptive music the Danish singer has been able to be reborn time and time again through his music and continues that creativity as he looks to the release of his upcoming EP, Where Oceans Meet. The boundary pushing message of love is love in “Lightning” serves as a taste of the upcoming EP and contributes to the already 38 million streams and 506k monthly listeners he’s amassed across his career. He takes a break from his world domination to take on the latest Too Good Ten. Check out the full interview below to learn more about the latest release, “Lightning,” how becoming a dad has changed his perspective on life, how he rebounded from getting dropped by his girlfriend and label around the same time and much more.

The Too Good Ten. Ten Questions. One Artist. Too Good.

1. Looking at the beginning of your career – what was it about music that inspired you to pursue a career in it?

MADS LANGER: Expressing myself through music has been a fundamental part of my language for as long as I remember. My parents have recordings of me singing my own songs in my own language when I was 18 months old. I always knew that music was going to be my path in life. It wasn't a decision that I made at a certain time. It was more a realization that I was not gonna be able to pursue any other career even though I’ve always had plenty of other interests. I could have been in politics, in sports, in science and many other things. I could have been a teacher as my parents, my grandparents and my great grandparents were. And then again, none of these career paths were ever up for grabs. Music was and always will be my thing.

2. You got signed and had an album that you ended up describing as “flopped” and had to start over and spent time busking all over Europe. How did you come to the decision to busk in the wake of “starting over?” What did you do to keep your internal mental conversation strong through the hardships that I assume came with traveling around?

ML: I got signed when I had just turned 18. I went straight from living in my parents house, in the countryside of Denmark, to living a life full of pressure and expectations in New York City. That was quite a shocking change of scenery to be honest. Looking back, I was definitely too young at that time. When a major label first wants you it’s the end of the innocence. I had to grow up overnight and try to keep up with that big machine that started dictating how I was gonna live my life. When my first record didn't succeed commercially and I got dropped I think I saw it as an opportunity to do some of the stuff that most of my friends had done after finishing high school. But most of all that whole 6 months of busking in my old van all over Europe was an escape from heartbreak. My first girlfriend had dropped me around the same time that my label dropped me. She fell in love with a really cool guy in Paris who was older than me and he could grow a very impressive beard, hahaha…

As far as keeping my internal mental conversation strong, that's has never been problem at all and as you can imagine I had plenty of stuff to think about, write about and then finally sing about in the streets of all of these beautiful cities that I got to visit on that trip.

3. “Lightning” is the latest release and gives fans the first taste of your upcoming album Where Oceans Meet which is due out October 1st. How did you decide to release this one as the lead single? What was the inspiration behind it?

ML: In many ways, I think “Lightning” is a song that represents that certain place where the oceans meet on my album. “Lightning” is a song about recognition. When I wrote this song, I thought about all those moments in my life where I really felt recognized on a deeper level. When I met my wife. When I looked my newborn daughter in the eyes for the first time. In concerts when my music meets the audience and it feels like we're all getting struck by the same lightning. Those kinds of moments.

CHECK OUT THE FAUSTIX REMIX OF “LIGHTNING” HERE.

4. Speaking of the upcoming album – what’s the meaning behind the album title? How many songs? Any collabs? Is there a song on the album you’re nervous about releasing out to the world?

ML: Where Oceans Meet is a metaphor. The entire album circles around the different contrasts that we all face in our lives. The light, the dark. The head, the heart. Hopes and fears. It’s about loving and longing at the same time. Where Oceans Meet represents the idea of the place where all these contrasts meet and embrace each other.

5. “Lightning” follows up “Hanging With You” which peaked at #1 in Denmark radio. What’s the story behind when you first heard one of your songs on the radio? Does it ever get old?

ML: It never gets old. Every time I listen to the radio, I must admit that I hope that they will play my song. It's the best feeling ever. This might be a little far-fetched, but it's kind of like when you give someone you really care for a present for their birthday. And it's not just any kind of present. It’s a present that you put all your time, thoughts and heart into. And then one day you randomly turn on the TV. Look who's there. Is that special person that you gave the present to. She’s actually wearing that sweater that you spent five years learning how to knit. After endless attempts, you finally managed to knit a sweater that you would give her without being scared that she would think it was a joke. She’s not wearing it because she feels like she has to, because you’re on a date with her. She’s wearing it because she likes it. And she just put it on that day that she randomly got stopped by the tv-station and interviewed in the streets of your hometown. That is close to the feeling I get when I hear my songs on the radio. And no, I have no clue how to knit a sweater, but I like the image.

6. The past year in the pandemic had a lot of its own challenges but it also had some beautiful moments like the drive-in concert you organized in Denmark last May. Why did you feel it necessary to put something like this together during that time? Being the first one to do so, how did you figure out logistics, etc. for the entire event? Anything you would’ve changed about it looking back?

ML: I had just started touring when the pandemic hit us all. I had spent months preparing the show and I was extremely disappointed when I had to turn around the tour bus and go back home after only playing 10 out of 100 shows. I had a couple of weeks where I was feeling really depressed. But then I decided to see if I could turn this whole thing into some sort of an adventure. I made a list of stuff I wanted to do. On that list I had drive-in concerts for some reason. I know a couple guys who are really good at putting together big events that include live music, so we talked about how we could make this happen. All credit to them for putting logistics together. I just played the shows. I had no idea that I would be the first one in the world to do a drive in concert. But it was really fun and I would not change a thing. In my shows, everyone was on the same video conference call. I loved that because I could talk to the people in the cars in between the songs. The people in their cars requested what songs of mine that they wanted to hear. And often they had really personal stories to the songs that I never heard before. So that was something that I will never forget.

7. The past year also brought about a new baby for you – congrats! What’s been the most surprising thing about having a baby that you might not have known before?

ML: Thank you so much. Yeah, that's truly a life changing event. My little daughter is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm so grateful that I got to receive a little soul with my wife. Even though it has happened billions and billions of times already it still feels like a miracle. I think the biggest surprise is the fact that your whole perspective changes in the blink of an eye. She is now the single most important thing in my life. I thought that would be something that would happen gradually, but for me it really happened at the moment that she was born.

8. What do you hope to accomplish with your music in the future that you may feel you have not done already? Have any of those goals or aspirations shifted with the new addition to the family?

ML: I really hope that people will recognize themselves in my songs. Obviously, the goal is that my songs will travel and become part of people's lives in new territories. I have spent so much time in the US since I moved away from home. I lived in New York City and in Los Angeles and I spend at least three or four months a year in the US working with all the talented people that I have met over the years. Building an audience in the US is a huge dream of mine. Hopefully this album will help introducing me to people all over America.

9. If you could only listen to (5) artists for the rest of your life, who would they be?

ML:

The Beatles

Pink Floyd

Keith Jarrett

Mozart

Radiohead

10. What’s the rest of 2021 and beyond look like for Mads Langer?

ML: My album comes out in October. That is obviously a huge event in my life, and it looks like I'm going to be very busy talking about the album and singing the songs from it in many different places all over the world. Apart from that I will be changing diapers on my newborn daughter. Kissing my wife. Learning Chinese and writing my first score for a movie that comes out in 2022.

A HUGE shout-out to the talented Mads Langer for hanging for this latest Too Good Ten interview. Keep up to date with everything he has going on by following the links below and be sure to be on the look out for his latest EP, Where Oceans Meet due out October 1st.

SOCIAL LINKS:

Facebook

Instagram

Twitter

YouTube

MUSIC:

Apple Music

Spotify

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Dragon Dancer IV: The Wife of Chu Zihang

The moon shined bright, surrounding each of the pink blossoms of Chizuru in a bright halo. I leaned against the bark, sitting against one of the hundred year old trees, gazing upwards, letting my mind relax, while little Ru’Yi satisfied her hunger, pulling greedily at my breast, curling her fingers against my skin, gulping milk like a little pig.

I should be grateful. If she didn’t wake up to eat, it got painful to move around. She was too much of a good thing however. Even though I was reluctant to pull her off early, she had no self control. If I didn’t stop her, she would eat too much, burp and spit up everywhere. Right now, I had nowhere to bathe.

So I pulled her away, wiped myself with my shirt and flipped my bra up.

At least the night wasn’t as cold.

The Cherry Blossom park was already getting ready to open the Hanami Matsuri later this month, the same one Chu Zihang and I had visited. It was a moment that existed only in our memory. According to official record, I had been in Paris on assignment with the principal. They didn’t know about my teleporting.

I climbed to my feet, rocking and patting Ru’Yi. I’d appeared just at this spot. This was the picture Johann had sent me as a reference point. A wide cobblestone path lined on both sides with the oldest trees in the park. I’d appeared there and he saw me.

I closed my eyes picturing the bright spring scene. I remembered how wide his eyes were behind his glasses. He didn’t believe what he was seeing. He ran to me, hugged me tight.

I squeezed Ru’Yi to myself in recollection. His hand slipped under my chin. He kissed me. My body grew hot like a furnace. I gasped for breath.

I opened my eyes and the tears slipped down my face. “Johann... I miss you.”

The tears continued to fall as I made my way through the memory. We didn’t hold hands. He stayed close at my side, and only our pinky fingers hooked together. We listened to the traditional music and listened to people recite haikus. Girls took selfies in their yukatas with their friends.

At the end of the path was the large mirror pond that reflected the glory of the flowers, doubling their brilliance against the sky. Johann said that the water reflected on my face, that I had cherry petals in my hair. I reached up and pulled down a flower. I crushed it in my palm and sprinkled it on my head. Then I looked up at someone who wasn’t there.

I froze. Adrenaline coursed like lightning through me. Someone was there.

I lowered one hand to Spider Fang and settled Ru’Yi into the soft grass. I gripped the hilt, unlocking it from its sheath. I’d broken out into a cold sweat, trembling. I shuddered, just like when Chisei had released his Soul Skill earlier that day. There was a powerful enemy very nearby.

Even though there was no one around, my body reacted like there was a knife to my throat.

The tall ancient cherry trees cast shifting shadows and my eyes darted to every movement. I knew there were Soul Skills that used shadows and made someone invisible, but those were relatively rare.

Johann occasionally had me train with him blindfolded to help me hone my other senses. It wasn’t about necessarily having super hearing or being able to smell your opponent’s breath. But more about process of elimination and spotting the anomaly in the surroundings.

My eyes slowly shifted to the pond. It reflected light from the moon in the water and the water was still like a mirror. It reflected the shadow of a person crouched low, his face turned not to me... but to Ru’Yi.

I rotated out from behind the tree, drawing the sword in an upward arc while my fist swung close behind it. Another blade met mine. We exchanged blows four times in quick succession before I consciously realized who this person was.

I recognized him first by the blade he carried, the hunter’s blade, Dictator. My murderous intent receded like a tide and we broke away from each other.

“What were you thinking, trying to snatch Ru’Yi?” I was breathing hard, more out of an angry fear than exhaustion.

“Because I knew if I had her you would have no choice but to come peacefully.” He was smiling at me, but without malice or arrogance. He was dressed in a fine button down shirt, black vest and slacks, like he was going to a dinner party. “Unfortunately, your instincts were a little too good.”

“You were careless.” I shot back.

His smile faded. “I came all the way here for you... for a reason. Things are going to get very bad for Lu Mingfei and I’d rather not have the Academy targeting you.”

“Tell the Academy that my only aim is to find the one who disappeared Chu Zihang! I don’t have the skeleton, I don’t know where Mingfei is, and I don’t know who harmed the principal. Leave me alone!”

“We can’t leave a mentally unstable hybrid just wandering around, Carli.”

I immediately brought my guard up. Caesar came running, extremely fast. While my technique matched his, I couldn’t equal his raw physical strength. He smashed Spider fang to the ground and stepped on it with this foot. I staggered back, stumbling over a tree root.

It was a chance Caesar couldn’t resist. His shadow descended on me.

Tongzi’s edge tore through the fabric of his shirt, knicking his skin in a long curving line. Dictator came up in a belated attempt to block a strike I’d already made.

For a moment, his side was left open. If I wanted, I could have drilled Tongzi straight into his heart with an Alchemy blade that negated a Hybrid’s healing factor and scrambled Dragon blood. Instead, I cut him again and fled, hurrying to retrieve Spider Fang.

But there was no need to hurry.

Caesar stood, raising one hand to his chest, his fingers coming away red.

Caesar had graduated from Cassell College shortly after my marriage to Johann. He was sent to man the helm at the Executive Department in Italy. He’d married Nono and settled down easily into the job. Everyone respected him as a dragonslayer, the killer of Dragon King Norton. Since the Student Union members were so numerous, he had influence over commissioners who were members and stationed in areas all over the world. One could honestly say that he was an Emperor out of Cassell.

And yet, this emperor had been cut twice in quick succession by a junior student 6 years younger.

I swallowed hard, wondering if he was going easy on me the way Mingfei did when we were playing Street Thug together. So I didn’t gloat over this accomplishment. Caesar was Chu Zihang’s greatest rival for a reason.

His expression had grown quite a bit more serious. The amusement in his eyes became mixed with irritation. “I wouldn’t be doing this, if Lu Mingfei hadn’t gotten Nono involved.”

“By running with an accused traitor, she risks her own future. I would rather get this over with as soon as possible.”

I took a deep breath. “Then you understand why I have to stay free. Chu Zihang is to me like Nono is to you. Every day he’s missing is painful!”

“Chu Zihang is not real.” He said this slowly, firmly.

“If he’s not real, then how come I can cut you?” Caesar was Chu Zihang’s greatest rival, but what was Caesar without Chu Zihang? While Caesar was in a coma, Johann lamented to me how his skills had gone down without Caesar to push him to greater heights. This Caesar with out Chu Zihang was slower, because the one advantages he had over Caesar was speed!

I shot out like an arrow, bringing the sword down and up, dancing around him, one maneuver seamlessly followed by another.

It was how Johann and I always practiced, a long series of strikes that were like a dance to us. It helped us maintain a sense of an attack range while at the same time, maintaining a sense of staying just out of range of the opponent, looking for a single opening that would land a hit.

A sword master might go seven strikes or ten strikes in a row with much practice. But before I was too pregnant to move, Johann and I had gotten up to twenty five without a break or a breather.

The Caesar I knew was the only one who could stand up to such an aggressive, unrelenting series of attacks. But this wasn’t the Caesar I knew. This was a weak Caesar, a fake Caesar! That’s why Spider Fang stung his knuckles, cut along his wrist, bit his shoulder. He grew increasingly confounded while I settled into the rhythm. My eyes grew colder, more contemptuous.

I’d backed him against the edge of the mirror pond, panting from the effort. “You’re nothing without Chu Zihang to challenge you. No one can challenge you like he did.”

“Except for you. Because you’re his wife?” Caesar smiled, tilting his head. He used Dictator to cut a length from the vest that probably cost a thousand dollars but had been ruined in the fight. He tied it, putting pressure on where I’d cut his wrist.

Did I go too far? I didn’t want to seriously hurt him. “Do you believe me now?” I asked.

“You make a good point. But that doesn’t change your current predicament. The Academy grows increasingly impatient with Mingfei. They’re going to go all out on him. I’d hate for you and your daughter to get caught in the crossfire. If you want to continue your investigation, you can do so from the Gattuso residence.”

“No thank you.”

“You’re out of strength, Carli. Your heart is beating to its maximum capacity. Don’t try and attack me again.”

I suddenly realized that the Soul Skill was sensing was Wind Devil. He knew where I was because he could hear my heartbeat and my breathing. “How long were you watching me?”

“While you wandered the park like a mad woman you mean? Talking to an invisible person?” The mocking light had left his eyes.

My face grew hot. He wasn’t supposed to see that. When I acted that way, I knew I looked crazy. “It’s the only way I can keep his memory alive in a world that has forgotten him. Okay? This place has special meaning to us.”

“If everyone forgot about Nono, would you willingly date someone else? Or be married to someone else, even if no one else believed you? Or would you try to find her no matter what anyone else said?” I asked.

The words seemed to have an effect, but not the one I intended. It was only because I was already keyed up that I saw his hand to his holster, where Desert Eagle rested and I dove to one side rolling behind a tree to escape. But he’d already followed me, kicking out my legs from under me and following me down to the ground. I landed hard on my back, winded.

He pinned me under his weight and pressed his forearm against my throat so hard I thought my windpipe would collapse. His blond hair rested against my forehead and his blue eyes gazed sadly into mine as my lungs heaved but failed to draw in any air.

I had to escape, but without oxygen my muscles and mind grew heavy. I reached for the last resort.

Caesar would have seen my eyes blaze and shine with a yellow light. My pupils would constrict into sharp vertical sickles. My skin itched as scales feathered down my arms.

My hands went from scratching, to clawing with nails sharp as knives.

Power surged through my muscles and I tossed him off me. He went sailing through the air and landing hard, scrambling to his feet. I rushed toward him, howling like a storm wind. His form came at me in my vision. I collided with him, with both hands and feet like an animal bringing him down again.

I heard him scream. My claws had hooked around his ribs.

Blood rage increased dragon blood purity, which also intensified the desire to kill the object of that fury. Shocked, and wondering if I had pierced his heart, I pulled my fingers from his body.

His hands wrapped my neck and he slammed his head into mine so hard my vision exploded into stars. He grabbed my neck again and punched me hard, pummeling me in an effort to bring me down.

I lifted my hand and caught his fist, my claws digging in. I smashed my other hand into the wound I’d created in his chest, funneling all my strength into it. HIs ribs collapsed under the blow and he fell, unable to rise again.

I blinked, dizzy with one too many blows to the head. But I heard him ask, grunting with the pain. “Blood Rage.... where did you learn it? That’s a forbidden technique!”

I leaned against the trunk of a tree, staggering to make my way back to Ru’Yi.

“Chu Zihang taught me.”

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing

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paperficwriter · 5 years

Text

To the Radio Demon on His Birthday

And now for something completely different! This was a request from @tallslimbabydoll, whose fantastic art inspired quite a few scenes for this fic. I sort of fell down the rabbit hole of this series. I'm pretty into it, and I had an absolute blast writing this. It's a really fun setting, and the characters are colorful.

I sort of read this as a future AU in the show, with a pinup Charlie who does burlesque and a certain demon overlord who is very into her.

Cut is for length AND for content!

“And now...the weather.”

A pause, and then, a short barking laugh.

“Oh, can you imagine a segue like that? Here, in fair Pentagram City, where the temperature only ever changes from mildly suffocating to infernal to cataclysmic? And that last one is just the very late season…recent indeed, my fair listener.”

Alastor gazed forward out the window of his radio station at the literal hellscape below. From this high up, he made out all manner of sinner souls making their way through the streets -- stalking, hawking, talking, some even just walking -- as they arose from their hideaways, the most recent purge only a few days before.

The studio wasn’t actually much, but it looked the part, which was the most important thing in Alastor’s eyes: all black and red and wired. Always wired. None of this wireless nonsense that Vox and Velvet seemed so keen on. No, no, that wouldn’t do. He sat at his wooden table that shined black as onyx, in his ebony leather chair with the crimson oak accents, and even as he held his own microphone, the one that was as a part of him as the crescent moon smile on his face, he leaned forward into another one that glowed with an infernal red energy. There were only a few other things on the desk other than the long snakes of wires coming from the mic and the switchboard: a red phone that only rang when he wanted it to, a pad of paper that never ran out, a blood ink pen, and two photos.

One of his mother, and the other...

Screech. Below, a car swerved and went through a small crowd of miniature demons, the maniac behind the wheel laughing through the opened window...but not for long. Alastor smiled as the ‘victims’ grew into huge forms, massive and rippling with muscle, and peeled the top of the car open like a sardine can, pulling the driver out and tearing him apart like an old doll.

He wouldn’t be dead for long, but his body was swept into one of the piles with the Exterminated demons nevertheless.

“Ah, yes, the days following a visit from halo bombers, the masked assassins, our winged adversaries...the red dawn is all the more bright in our eyes, is it not? I’m sure that I do not need to tell you where I will be spending my evening by week’s end, do I?”

Frankly, he’d rather not, truth be told. He’d much rather keep these events to himself, stow them away like trinkets and baubles, just for himself. But, well, and risk what, then? The chase, the challenge, it all keeps things so entertaining.

And he would never risk getting bored when it comes to her.

“Returning to her weekly toe tapping and tasteful twirling, our very own Princess Charlie Magne will grace Mimzy’s club. I know that I’ll certainly be in attendance, though, as always, only the friendliest reminders that…”

Alastor’s voice took on a staticky, growling consistency. Anyone listening - everyone listening - would get that feeling down their backs, the one that accompanies nails on chalkboard and knives sharpening against one another. They would see the gathering of sigils and the crispy edges of something like erasure at the corners of their eyes. And they would know Alastor was smiling still, smiling wide, smiling at their discomfort and their expense.

“The polite rules of the show dictate one looks with their eyes and not with their hands.”

And just like that, the miniature nightmare would be adjourned, and in his bright vibrant accent, Alastor gave his send-off. “Thank you for joining us, all you damned here and there! From Pentagram City, the Radio Demon wishes you a fond goodnight, and remember…”

He leaned forward into the microphone he held and the one on his desktop both. Alastor stared into the eyes in the other photograph, the one of Charlie herself in all her demonic splendor. The huge body of her hair decorated just so with black lilies and strings of diamonds, wearing a corset with stockings and dangerously high heels, the kind that added miles to her already endless legs.

Her nose crinkled just so, and in pretty handwriting to her right: To Al, my biggest fan! With love, Charlie. P.S. Don’t forget!...

He read the last line aloud.

“Keep smiling.”

---

When Alastor was out for a night on the town, he always wanted to walk wherever he was going. Certainly, he could be there as simple as picturing the place in his mind, then riding the shadows and whisking himself effortlessly through an eldritch underground. The very same power that he harnessed to broadcast his voice, his acts, through the Nine Circles of Hell, even that would be sufficient to do something as simple as move him from one place in Pentagram City to the other.

But no. The simple locomotion of walking, putting one foot in front of the other, aware of the people and creatures and things around him, it was like New Orleans again. Not in scenery - nothing beat the French Quarter on a night in July, when you wore the heat like a second suit - but in action and energy.

So many bodies. The very pulse of life in Hell worked itself like a torn artery gushing rather than a heart beating. Even dead, it was alive, in a realm where there should be nothing there were jobs and money and drugs and somehow even the emotions that should have extinguished with humanity’s mortal coil. After all, the people themselves didn’t look like “people,” really; their demonic countenances were of their own making, redesigned and reflecting the way they saw themselves. And yes, perhaps, some looked more humane than others. Alastor himself kept some semblance of himself from when he was Alastor Alive instead of Alastor, Radio Demon.

Though given the almost cartoonish apparitions around him, screaming for shots and blow jobs and booze...some were more creative than others with how they chose to show themselves off.

And then he came to the front of Mimzy’s, where saloon-style doors had been painted a too-bright pink (“How can you say they’re too bright, Al?! They’re the shade of your eyes!” “One of many shades, old friend, and I don’t have to look on them myself, now do I?”) and Vaggie stood as bouncer, brandishing that Exterminator’s spear like it was equal parts protection and comfort.

She was leaning on it, and he took his microphone and gave it a tap, nearly sending her sprawling. Vaggie snarled as she righted herself, about to brandish the blade in his direction before she recognized who he was. “The first rule of good customer care, my dear!” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Service with a smile!”

“Qué te den por culo,” she growled venomously, pulling at a piece of her hair in aggravation, her one eye narrowed and the ‘x’ on the other side of her face pulsing in rage.

“Oh no, thank you!” He didn’t give her a backwards glance as he headed in, waving his hand to magically part the crowd that had, as always, so rudely positioned themselves in the way of the club proper. “I’m quite taken!”

Or he would be, Satan willing. If Charlie would just say yes.

Mimzy had made a few renovations to the place over the last fifty years or so, to match the culture of the world above...or at least to try. What resulted was frankly a bit of a mishmash, but the chaos of it, the unpredictability, how it was always just a little different each time he came in...that’s what kept Alastor returning.

There were these thick poles with shapes cut into them to make them look like the Copacabana in the fifties...and over time there were pieces missing from them, or phone numbers scratched into their porcelain facade. Then there was the black and white checkerboard floor, splashed with dark stains that had long since burned themselves into the varnish, the disco ball above with the jagged edges that reflected menacing glints like knife blades when it caught you at the wrong moment.

And there was the stage...that glorious stage, its red velvet curtains disappearing into shadows high above everyone’s heads, the band beside it as well as all kinds of sound equipment that was much too modern for a man of Alastor’s taste.

And sometimes, if he would stare long enough at stage left, he would see just the flick of a feathered boa, or, if he was lucky, a half of Charlie’s gorgeous face, smiling and blushing as she couldn’t help but sneak a peek at everyone who had come to see her show, her burlesque, gift to Hell that no one but Alastor really deserved.

Certainly not the hoarde on the floor. Definitely not the whores he had to share his special accomodations with.

At the VIP table, there were far too many of the Overlords in attendance: Vox, of course, Valentino, Velvet and there was the owl one too, tonight...that one was royalty from some other area of this world, but Alastor wasn’t entirely sure from where. Stolas, that was his name. He had tried to forget because the way he spoke so softly to Charlie made him want to choke him and turn those long legs of him into a knot until--

“Well, look who decided to drop by.”

Alastor snapped out of his homicidal daze, his smile fresher, eyes bright and full and attentive. “Vox, you are as astute as you are asinine. How are you, old sport?”

The face on the screen rolled its eyes as the Radio Demon took his seat on the outside of their crescent moon booth. A haze of smoke that smelled like both tobacco and something far more herbal already hung like gray clouds above their heads. Everyone already had empty glasses in front of them, in all forms for wine, liquor...even a coconut? Complete with a little umbrella. How tropical.

Alastor snapped his fingers, and from near the door, he could hear a scuttling of tiny feet, and an impish voice. “Excuse me! Pardon me! Move, move, move, mo-- oh, hello, sailor! I’ll be back in a minute, get out of my way!”

When Niffty appeared at his side, blinking up at him with her one huge eye, her arms were full of three mixed drinks, a silver and bakelite cigarette holder and a tin box of Lucky Strikes. “Great job, Niff! You always know exactly what I like.”

“Anything for you, Mr. A!”

Velvet sneered as she took yet another picture of the stage to add to her online photo album, an act that Alastor never really understood. How was she supposed to be in the moment when she was so occupied with giving people proof she was there? “We all know you could literally do all that yourself, Alastor. Why do you always have to bring your help everywhere you go?”

“Why, mixing drinks like this is one of Niffty’s many talents,” he said as he watched her disappear back into the crowd. He pulled out one of the Lucky Strikes and affixed it to the accessory, lighting it with a flick of his thumb. It burned sweetly as he took a drag and followed it with a sip of the drink. He would use his magic to make sure the ice didn’t melt. He wasn’t a monster, after all, drinking watered-down old fashioneds. “And she likes to come to the club to oggle the real men, although she certainly won’t find any in this vicinity.” His eyes shifted quickly between the three Overlords.

Perhaps he would have given them a hard time for a little longer - it was a fun pastime after all - but just then a tinkle of piano keys carried itself across the assembled, signifying the start of the show. For the most part, everyone in the area facing the stage quieted down, but there were a few lesser demons who decided they could continue childishly shrieking laughter unrelated to the class act that was coming.

And if portals opened beneath them to send them ten miles away from the show, Alastor is sure he wouldn’t know anything about that…

The music changed then, the piano accompanied by a lightly static-touched brass introduction. The giant curtain drew itself back to reveal a backdrop reminiscent of the classic circus of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. It made Alastor recall his mother taking him by one Sunday afternoon, near Congo Square, against his father’s wishes, though she cared about as much for the bastard’s opinions as he did. Prints of red and white tents faded with a sepia overtone to show their age, and signs welcomed people to view the freak shows and animal acts.

One placard had also been made in the same aesthetic, telling one and all to come to the Happy Hotel. Alastor’s smile somehow widened a bit. The sweet lass was going to continue to hold onto that name as long as she could, wasn’t she?

In the middle, a circular platform had been placed with a candy-striped pole in the center, and just as the jazzy swing came in full force, there she was. Princess Charlotte Magne, Charlie, his Charlie, the Devil willing, tapped her way across the stage wearing something that was a play on a ringmaster’s suit, though certainly not one that any mustachioed man would wear. Her legs were bare but for fishnet stockings and shiny heels outfitted with metal taps, and the black overcoat was cut long in such a way that when she got to the pole and rode it around, the tails swirled around her like a cape.

At first, Alastor was concerned, because above the slightly frilly panties she wore that had been styled to look like black pinstripe pants, above the very form fitting blouse and bowtie, her signature flowing hair was missing. The only thing that sat atop her beautiful head - long lashes, red cheeks, shining black lips - was a fairly standard top hat.

But then, as an electric current carried through the music, she reached up with one gloved hand and took it off, the cascades of thick tresses, the full body of gorgeous blonde hair, opened up and floated into perfect place on her shoulders and down her back.

The onlookers roared and only then did Alastor realize that he had burned down an entire cigarette without even enjoying a puff from it. He got another going as she tossed the hat into the crowd, and Alastor forced himself not to leap into the small mob and take it for himself. He had an image to uphold, after all.

Next, she spun, turning herself around to show how the coat, when removed, fell in a rippling cascade to the floor, kicked away in time with the music’s percussion crashing. And for a moment, she just danced, on the pole, off the pole, her smile dazzling and her eyes sparkling. Charlie loved this, and that was something that truly pulled Alastor in. Certainly it was entertainment, but it wasn’t plastic and glass. It was a real passion, one that showed through every spin on the stage.

Then, it was time for one of Alastor’s favorite parts: the peeling of the gloves. He crosses and uncrosses his legs as he notices her using a new technique. Bending down to stroke her hands over her stockings, she barely lifted one heel before putting the tip of her index finger under it. When she rose, it slid off to reveal her bare arm, her painted nails.

The other, she pulled off behind her back as she cheekily grinned over her shoulder.

Demons and demonesses both were alternating between swooning and catcalling at the stage, all other conversation and company ignored for the gorgeous Charlie, and the volume only grew as she hopped up on the pole, nimble as a cat, holding it between her thighs as her hands became occupied unbuttoning her shirt.

The music was swelling. It was coming into the bridge and beyond, even the jazz of it picking up a more urgent pace. She had timed it so well, timed it to where she could get right there, to where she tears off the shirt and bow tie both, and when Alastor thought he would finally see her breasts, albeit covered in the tassels or diamonds or whatever she chose to wear on them, there was a black and white corset. She couldn’t leave it like that, could she? He gulped down a whole other drink as she climbed up the pole and began to spin downward, fast and then faster, a whirling dervish of mesmerizing sexuality, her momentum (and probably some well-placed fasteners ready to be released) taking the corset off and sending it over the stage.

As the last notes of the piano carried out the song, so too did gravity carry her to the floor, into the splits, each breast covered with a striped cone, not unlike the pole itself. The thong panty was the only thing keeping what lay between her legs up to the imagination...and even then, not particularly well.

The curtain fell as the assembled rose and cheered, clapping and drooling on the ground. Alastor too...well, the applauding anyway. The girl deserved it for that, yes, yes, she did! Very entertaining indeed!

Always something new! She was brilliant!

He finished his last old fashioned and lit another Lucky Strike, and after only a few minutes, the shrieks of delight returned, because Charlie appeared from the left of the stage, Razzle and Dazzle at each side. She was wearing the top hat again, this time on top of her beautiful hair, and the black and white corset was on. Even over the hum of the masses clamoring for her attention, her heels made their distinct tapping as she walked among them.

Ah, but she was everything he wasn't, wasn't she? Where the crowd parted for him, eyes averted, none keen to get the attention of the Radio Demon, every face was focused on hers, leaning in, wanting for her attention.

"Charlie, over here! Let me buy you a drink, baby!"

"Princess! Lemme give you a show, huh?!"

"Oh baby, what happened?! I liked what you were wearing at the end!"

Even in spite of the less savory comments, the wolf howls and whistles, the catcalls… Her sweet smile never faded. She took their tokens of affection - flowers, roses, boxes of chocolates, hotel cards, napkins with phone numbers - and each one she passed to either Razzle or Dazzle, the little goat demons quickly becoming now like miniature pack mules.

A few she did offer her hand to, and those ones… Those were the ones that made Alastor's lip rise a bit, the cut sigils in his hands begin to burn like his blood would spill and they would go up in flames on the spot, the horrible little wretched--

"Hello there!"

The honeyed sound of her voice was what pulled him away from the brink of homicidal fracturing. It was like a warm wash over his whole body, because there she was, right in front of them.

"I'm so glad you see all of you! The first show after the yearly cleanse is really important to me, for morale. And I think it's good for everyone to see the important figures of Hell here, you know?" She gave a little bow. “So it means a lot that you came. To me.”

"We are delighted, of course, my dear." Stolas stood on his long elegant legs before her, towering even as he bowed. “Your mother is so proud of you, I’m sure.”

Charlie laughed a little. Lilith was always on tour, and Alastor hadn’t seen her in years at this point, which wasn’t as long a time in Hell as on Earth, but...Charlie was still so young, one would think she would try to be there for a few of these wonderful numbers of hers.

“Cholly,” Valentino drawled in the way only he could, a thick blunt in one of his many hands. “Come on, sweetheart. This dog and pony show is cute, but you could be living the dream if you came to my studio...I’ll make sure you get only the best, baby girl.”

“That’s so sweet, Valentino. But as always, I have to gracefully decline. I--”

“Indeed, Val,” Vox interrupted, leaning forward over the table top, his massive screen reflecting on the surface. “She’s literally the Princess of Hell, what are you going to offer? Blow? Stiff shag carpeting?” He turned on the charm quite literally, his face seeming to change channels to one full of charm and bravado. “Now, Charlotte, what I could offer you is something worth its weight in gold. A business deal. We could air your talent all across the Nine Circles and give a whole new meaning to the boob tube.”

Charlie took her hand back from where Vox had been cradling it like a valuable object. “Thank you for the offer, Vox, but you know my rule: no making deals. Not with any demon. I’m sure you understand.”

Vox sulked while Valentino laughed in his direction, the acrid smoke from his weed-laced stogie blowing across Vox’s massive face.

As Charlie finally approached him, Alastor waved his hand across the tabletop, summoning two long flutes and the most expensive champagne currently in existence in the world above. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the cork popped off, and the bottle floated through the air and filled up each glass. It was their little ritual, after the show. She was always there to enjoy a glass or two with him, depending on how busy she was.

And doing it like this also left his hands available to pull Charlie into his lap, and of course she giggled, letting him. “Hi, Al,” she said, with a familiarity that none of the other Overlords received.

“Darling Charlie,” he said, offering her a glass. She took it.

“So what are you going to offer me? Riches? All of Pentagram City?”

“Ha ha! Oh no,” he said, “no deals from me. You set that tone the day we met, my dear. Remember? No handshakes, no...how did you put it? Voodoo strings attached?”

She drank from the glass, nearly choking on it. “How could I forget?”

"But I suppose I could try… Just for fun."

She raised an eyebrow, the glass at her lips. Try me, her expression challenged.

Alastor's hand moved just a fraction at her waist, squeezing without pulling her too tight. "Perhaps I'll give you the most valuable thing I own. Something that I would never offer to anyone else, even those dearest to me."

"And what would that be?"

With her sitting on his lap, he spoke directly to her and only to her. He would not have a single one of those loathsome busy-bodies hear him, lest he erase them all just for being present. "Me, my dear. This nobody radio spokesman, his monocle and his microphone, all yours, now and forever.”

“But what would you get, Alastor?”

“How could you ask me such a thing, dearest? You, of course, and that on top of an end to my eternal torment of having to watch you from afar every week. I’m sure there would be some other perks too…”

Charlie laughed, but not in a way that seemed to be mocking him. Never like that. Never in a way that made him feel any ill will toward her. Indeed, all he could really feel was an even deeper fondness, a delight in continuing the chase, even though it probably would have made his heart explode if she had indeed said ‘yes.’ “Oh, Al,” she said, giving his shoulder a small smack. “I’m so glad you always come to my shows. You’re so funny, it always makes me smile.”

She leaned in and gave him the softest peck on the cheek before finishing her drink and rising.

“See you later, Al.”

Alastor just barely held it in before she walked away, until he and his microphone, and frankly the seat that he was in, burst into flames.

---

June 6. Only a handful of weeks later, and it was Alastor’s birthday. One would think that it wouldn’t mean much to one such as the Radio Demon, but...Alastor loved his birthday. He had fond memories of being treated well on his birthday, and his mother would take him on outings his father wasn’t allowed to go on, and she made him a huge cake.

That’s when he got his first radio. What had she done to get it? He didn’t know.

After that, it was all history.

Now, he made his way back to Mimzy’s, where the whole place had been opened up for him, for everyone. Electroswing played over several record players in all corners of the club, and although there were probably a few stereos set up, they were out of sight.

“Alastor!” The curvaceous Mimzy pushed several demons bodily away so she could take his hands in hers, giggling while her feather swayed along with her flapper dress. “Happy birthday, love.”

“Mimzy, my gal, you really do know how to throw this old dog a bone, don’t you? Did you invite all my friends?”

“Pssh!” She bumped him in the side. “Honey, you know if it was just your friends this place would be deader than a nail in a coffin!”

They laughed together, just as they always did. And always would, Alastor imagined. No one else had the same kind of twisted sense of humor as he did, after all, or that same certain chemistry, except for maybe--

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the birthday boy himself!”

"Rosie!” Alastor strode up to the black-eyed demon, kissing the air on either side of her cheeks while she did the same. “A pleasure to see you as always, beautiful. So glad to have you show tonight.”

“Why, or chance missing out on my dearest friend’s special day?” She reached up to straighten his suit coat and tie. “Not for all the world! Here, my dear. For you.” Presenting a wrapped box with a bow, she placed it into his free hand.

“What could this be? It’s small, so I do hope you didn’t take anything off Vox he’ll miss too much…”

“Oh, you. So nasty, Alastor.” She still laughed behind her hand.

Alastor slipped his microphone cane under his arm so he could tear past the wrapping paper, open the box and-- “A new monocle! Oh, Rosie, you know me so well.” It was identical to the old one, but it was one of their many birthday traditions. Normally he would have thrown out the old one, but instead he put it in his pocket.

“So that you will never miss sight of the important things, in front of you as plain as the nose on your face.”

There were other gifts too - a free blowjob certificate from Angel Dust, a casino chip from Husker that said ‘UP’ on one side and ‘YOURS’ on the other, a promise for a fanfiction commission from Niffty (he didn’t exactly understand that one) - but then, an hour into the night, he saw her, and even just her presence was enough to make every birthday but this one mean nothing.

Charlie wore a champagne dress in the fashion of the twenties, not as short as the flapper skirts but with a long slip up the side. Her heels looked like they were made of glass, and there were sparkling jewels in a band across the top of her hair, pushed back in all its splendor from her face. Her long gloves were gold, as was the glitter atop her beautiful eyes, which caught his with a smile.

Someone was talking to him. He immediately walked away in mid-sentence.

No one could be as important.

“Good evening, Miss Charlie,” he greeted, the static in his words evening out to the soft velvet tone of his natural speaking voice. “Gosh, you sure do look pretty tonight.”

“Happy birthday, Al,” she said, tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear. “It seemed like the type of occasion I would like to be presentable for.”

She offered him her hand. He took it. And when he pressed his lips to it, she didn’t pull away.

“I didn’t think I’d see you,” he said, though he didn’t seem serious, which made her smile.

“Oh no?”

“I thought you would be hiding in a cake until midnight.”

There it was, her laugh again, bright and vibrant and slightly musical, like windchimes in a hurricane. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Not especially.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to a quiet corner where there was a high-top table he could lean on, a window overlooking the city behind: the clocktower, the red landscape, and above, a hint of Heaven, the silverish orb cut by clouds. Though he didn’t like gazing at it for too long; when one looked at Heaven, it would end up feeling like Heaven was looking back. “Because then everyone else would get to watch you too, and it truly is hard on a man, already having to share every week…”

“Well,” she said, reaching out to tug the cuff of his sleeve. “I’m not always doing it for all of them, you know. Sometimes I just have one or two people in mind, who could be out in the crowd…”

“If only you tell me who the other person is, I could casually introduce them to massive bodily harm. By complete coincidence, of course. An unfortunate accident! Ha ha!”

“Alastor!” There was a smile she hid, even though she did playfully slap his shoulder. “Promise me you’ll never hurt someone over me. I’m not going to stand to lose sleep over the thought that you would do something untoward and damn yourself even more, in light of what I’ve been trying to do with the hotel.”

Alastor tipped his head at a rather sharp angle, his smile never even faltering. “Well, dearest, I’ll consider it, but...I guess that all depends on one thing…”

“And what’s that?”

His red eyes grew heavier, and he gazed at her from top to bottom. When he spoke, the words came out a dark tease. “What did you get me for my birthday, Princess?”

Charlie’s mouth opened and then closed, and Alastor really did intend to laugh and tell her that he was only teasing, that her presence, that the time that he could spend with her was gift enough. But then, she was grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the stage. “I have just the thing,” she said, her eyes and face lit up with excitement. “Come with me, Al, I know just the thing.”

Beneath the surface, Alastor’s heart beat fast, a snare drum facing a repetitive beating while a whole line of dancers Lindy-Hopping across it. But he wasn’t about to show how thrilled he was.

“That is, if I’m not stealing you away,” she said, pausing.

“My dear girl, by all means, it would be my pleasure to be stolen by you.”

She giggled, and they were off. Through the silent dark behind the curtain, down a small hall to the currently locked-up VIP lounges.

“Are you going to give me a dance?” he guessed.

“Not just any dance,” she said as she closed and locked the door behind him. Turning on the light, the room glowed with a soft yellowish burn, not blinding but creating a shimmer across a black couch and a table so clean that the ceiling above - glittering with pieces of glass that had been embedded into the surface like stones under a river - reflected off of it.

And then she moved a black velvet cloth, and underneath...the biggest martini glass that Alastor had ever seen.

“It’s a dance no one has ever seen,” she murmured, crawling across the table into his lap. She reached behind him - oh, the smell of her, honey dust and a little gingery, across her skin, lips so close - and pulled out a bottle of champagne, a glass and his favorite Lucky Strikes. “I was going to debut it next week...and I was thinking you would get a preview.”

The corners of Alastor’s mouth went softer, and he lit up one of the cigarettes, blowing the plume of smoke into a heart over her head. “That, darling, would be an honor.”

With a little trill of delight, Charlie hopped off the couch, much to Alastor’s disappointment. She went over to a stand that held a music device of some kind, a stereo, and she picked at the settings.

“I certainly hope I haven’t taken someone’s spot,” he commented, glancing at how conspicuously clean the space was.

“I use this area as rehearsal space. Sometimes Vaggie will come hang out with me and give me some notes, but...Angel Dust doesn’t get to know. I don’t trust him not to use it.”

“Very wise.” He popped the cork off the champagne bottle, and it tickled his nose as he smelled it. Pink, and strawberries, and bubbles. Very Charlie. He poured a glass and drank it, setting the bottle on the table. “Ready when you are, vixen.”

She blushed over her shoulder as she straightened, and just like that, the room filled with the sound of trombones, horns and great orchestral instruments, like there wasn’t one but several big bands playing in the corners of the room.

Charlie spun around, her gown following her as she pointed a finger at the glass. It filled with champagne, like it was pouring from a giant bottle in the ceiling.

And then the dance began. Alastor stared up at her adoringly as she kicked her long legs in time to the music, twisting with her hips and raising her hands like she was dancing with an invisible partner. She brought up her hands like she was putting them on someone’s shoulders, and when she stepped back, her gloves magically slid off.

When she looked up at the glass, she did a little twirl before she removed her jewels: the necklace at her neck, the bracelet she wore...even that seemed lurid in a way, even though she was probably just being practical so they wouldn’t be lost in the liquid. Then, the band of dazzling jewels came out of her hair and it flowed all the bigger, full of volume, an entirely separate beast on her head.

Now that no one was here, to see him, to see her, Alastor allowed himself a whistle. She winked. Such a coy, vampy thing…

Although they weren’t the tap shoes like she had at the circus show, she did a little stepping across the stage with such casual skill that he didn’t realize she had stepped out of the glassy heels until she was flipping herself upside down on the pole-like stem of the martini glass. Then, she expertly bent, grabbing the edge and swinging herself up.

Alastor had figured that would be it, that she would be in the basin of champagne, soaked to the bone. But no; as her toes touched the other side of the glass, she lifted herself above it, not even the hem of her beautiful gown skimming the surface.

The gown that was quickly kicked off as she did a handstand on the edge of the glass’s lip.

“Oh my,” Alastor sighed to himself, trying to be as covert as possible as he reached down the rearrange himself. How could this be happening? He was usually so aware of himself, able to control his animal nature , as it were, but...there was something about being here, like this, alone with her…

Alone with her, in a shimmering corset, those legs - sweet Lucifer, those legs - adorned with garters and stockings that went from her thighs to her toes as they spun around like a ballerina doll in a music box around the glass.

Then, she bowed, her back to him, and leaned down low to trail her fingers up from ankles to the clasps, unsnapping them and allowing the stockings to loosen. Her hands went to the corset binding at her back and made quick work of pulling the strings out of their knot, though it was clearly some magic in how they disbanded after that…

When she glanced over her shoulder at him, the curve of her back and waist coming into view, he could still only see just what she wanted him to see; none of her breasts, not even her ass.

Not until she did a little pirouette and took her frilly white panties off, tossing them in his general direction.

He launched himself from his seat, then. The champagne in his glass had been drunk but the bottle fell with a crash as he grabbed them, burying his face in them, eyes rolling in his head. They went into his jacket pocket.

Finally, once the stockings had been peeled off her legs while she held them at a straight angle above her head, the music reaching its crashing conclusion, Charlie finally met the water with a delighted laugh, her bare body covered in the bubbles as she kicked her feet, hair spilling over the edge.

When the room became silent again, she gazed at him and breathily asked, “How was that?” She didn’t make a move to get out. Only batted her long lashes at him.

Now, Alastor was a man of principle. His moral compass, though broken and put back together with glue, kept him on a straight path. Not a proper one, or one that most people would find right or kind, let alone good...but he would certainly never take advantage of someone in the situation that Charlie had created for herself.

That said...he also knew an invitation when he saw one.

So off went his jacket, at least, because that was the only thing he had the energy or concentration to deal with. One nimble hop later and the champagne splashed in the martini glass as he got inside, immediately soaked through and between Charlie’s legs.

No pasties this time. Not even a thong. Only her creamy skin, pert pink little nipples, a happy little shriek and a smile. Sweet. Devoid of any ignorance as to what she wanted. Which was obviously him.

Their first kiss was like an entire lifetime without kissing that had led to this moment. She was grabbing his hair and pulling him in, even though it made her slip a little below the surface. He brought her back up, pressed into his front, and licked the champagne from her lips.

“Al…” Before he could interrupt her, she sucked his bottom lip and gasped, “I’ve wanted you to do that forever. What took you so long?”

“Obviously my predilections of coming off as a gentleman, dear girl.” He picked a strand of wet hair from her face, pushing it back. Already, his long body dragged between her legs, and she grabbed his shirt. “A bias I am finding myself stripping away as we speak…”

“Instead of your pants?” Her cheeks glowed pink, and he could tell that even though she was trying to be bold, part of her wondered if this was really happening. Just as well as he was, frankly. A tiny part that he was smothering, but...a part nevertheless.

“Those will come too, in time,” he whispered, mouth finding her neck, so soft, sinful in how easy it was to nip and bite at, although she was eagerly reaching down to hold his small waist tight against her body. The wet clothes should have been more bothersome, and yet he just simply could not be bothered to deal with them as he rutted against her thigh.

“Al...Alastor…”

Beneath the water, he could see the sweet little tuft of blond over her mound, and his long fingers parted her folds easily, pressing two in and using his thumb on her clit. The bud was hard, and it made him wonder what it would be like to do this in a place where they both were not submerged, to feel how wet she could get. After all…

“I could smell your arousal on those undergarments you gave me,” Alastor cooed, dropping his head down to her breast and dragging his teeth. “I think you knew I would, Princess…”

“Don’t say things like that.” She was whining, opening her legs wide until her dainty feet made a skidding noise against the angled sides of the glass. “I can’t handle it…”

“Do all your dances get you wet? Or is that just for me?” She didn’t answer, hiding her face in his shoulder, shaking hands so close to orgasm clawing at his back. He would cherish those scratch marks… “Be mine and I promise there would be more…”

As if on the cue of saying that, he pulled his fingers out, which wrung a frustrated half-groan from her, but the loss was quickly replaced by his cock that had been pulled out of his pants, pushed down only far enough to free it. Grabbing her with one hand and the edge of the glass with the other, he thrust in hard, and she immediately started to fall apart, already hovering on the cliff face of her pleasure, now plummeting down into it…

Until he pulled her back, slowing the roll of his hips, making shudder. “What...nooo...Al…”

“Don’t make me beg.” Maybe it was the exertion of taking her like this, but it came out like a crooning under his breath, like his own song. “Don’t make me wait anymore. You know I can treat you so well, Charlie...I can be so good to you…”

“Good…” She kissed him again, tongue in his mouth, feeling over his sharp teeth. “So good…”

When he urged her legs around him, he fit so perfectly, tight and close, filling her with him as he moved in with rhythmic, repetitive thrusts, his eagerness apparent as he panted around her lips, sucking her jaw as the edges of reality blurred, like the end of a radio station before the knob is turned to static.

“Please, Charlie...please...be mine, or erase me from this afterlife. I would rather be the Overlord of nothing, if you won’t have me…”

“D-don’t...mmm, yes, yes, right there... don’t say that…” When he pulled back from him slightly, meeting his gaze, her eyes were conflicted with desire and emotion. “You mean...more to me than anything. I am so glad that you exist…just...let me…!”

The girl was insatiable, it seemed. Although he was being rather cruel, wasn’t he...withholding her delight. Alastor flipped her over, a new, full moan of delight coming from her lips as he went at her from another angle. He was following her close now in pursuit of his peak, climbing, a hand reaching under her to grope at her chest. “Then...mmm, let us share this existence...please, Charlie...say you’ll be mine, I will show you true ecstasy…I--”

“Yes!! You...mmmmm, you win, Alastor...please, please let me come…!”

Twisting her head to face him, she kissed him as he found the apex of her heat again and rubbed, both of them coming, and he filled her up with him and for a moment, his hearing going to a flatline, a steady tone of nothing, and in his shadow he could see his own demonic smile, his antlers sprout, his body growing to tower above the world. Everything filled with that endless pleasure, that loss of control, and he blacked out from it.

“--tor. --Astor? --Alastor!”

The sound of her voice called him back, and when he awoke, he was collapsed beside her in the martini glass. Now, the sensation of carbonated fluid soaking through his clothes was a little more prevalent, but he smiled. “You took my breath away, my dear!”

She laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. This one lingered, different from the ones she always gave him at the club. “Did you hear me?”

“My ears are still ringing, in fact.”

“Not that,” she said, giving him a little splash. “My answer...I gave you an answer, Alastor. After...well, all that.”

Stroking her wet hair back, Alastor rubbed at the top of her ear between his fingers. “Tell me again…”

---

It is a few weeks later. They are at Mimzy’s together in their own private booth, and the Overlords are glowering from their normal station. Charlie is in a corset with a silky negligee over it, and although she isn’t performing, there’s nothing saying that she’s not going to give Alastor a private show.

After Alastor’s birthday, she had intended on performing the martini glass act, but then she reconsidered.

“I want to tweak it,” she says from Alastor’s lap as they sip yet more champagne. He would have thought she’d be tired of it, but she still wants it. She says she’ll only drink it with him now, but they’ll see. “After how your birthday went, I kind of want it to be special. Just for us.”

“You’re going to make me blush.” Then, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small box. “Speaking of things that are special, I might have gotten something for you, love.”

Charlie opens the box to find the monocle he replaced during his birthday with the one from Rosie. It has been threaded onto a silver chain, and she holds it to her chest. “I love it. Put it on me?”

He does, sneaking a kiss onto the nape of her neck. It sits perfectly between her breasts.

“Perhaps in time I’ll get you something else that’s round...and smaller. And you’ll wear it somewhere else.”

Charlie’s lips curl into a smile, and she picks up her glass, eyebrows raising. He knows exactly what she wants.

“To my dear Princess Charlotte Magne,” he says, voice full and triumphant. “My beautiful lady, my demoness, love of my unlife. My one and only.”

She lets her glass touch his with a soft tink and she tips her head to whisper, “Yours,” before slipping into one of many kisses.

#my paperfics #hazbin hotel #charlastor #charlie magne #alastor #alastor is charliesexual #future au with burlesque!#dirty paper warning #dirty paper

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mollyphoria · 4 years

Text

(off my chest post.)

As soon as I turned the age of 27 last year it was like I've been awaken from a cruel false dream. I opened my eyes then boom I see 27 years of my life laid out in front of me wasted. Yes it took 27 effin years for me to wake up. I wasted all this years and now I'm suffering the consequences of not following my heart, now I'm suffering the repercussions for not realising my dreams sooner as well as pursuing them. I don't believe in myself enough to stand for what I really want so I let society dictate me. I dont love myself enough to believe that I have the capabilities to follow my dreams, luck wasn't on my side too,the odds were never in my favor. So yes I guess I blame both myself and the circumstances given to me on why I failed in life. I failed myself. Society failed me. The system failed me. Oh how I envy people who were able to realise their dreams when they were a kid. these people mostly turns out to be the successful ones in life while I'm left in shambles of not knowing what to do or having such a huge dream I knew I would never reach it. I wanted to become a supermodel but I'm not pretty and tall enough plus I'm from a country not supported by society on having supermodels. Then I wanted to be a rock star. Touring the world, playing the guitar, performing on stage. I can probably make this happen but once again I don't believe in myself and lack of support from family/society was what made this dream seem to get more impossible. I would like to pursue the arts anything from singing, dancing,writing ,painting,drawing etc but I let myself be influenced by what our society drills in my head everyday that there's no money with any of these endeavours so I never got serious to try to achieve greatness from these "useless, juvenile" dreams and plus you need God-given talent to qualify pursuing the arts and I don't have an ounce of it.

So as time goes by I continued to grow older like a dead leaf flailing around in the wind without a specific direction but downwards. But deep-rooted in my soul I knew what I wanted but I chose to stupidly ignore that little voice in my heart that tells me what to do. I to this day continue to beat myself up why I haven't even tried to listen to myself.

So what I did was to completely surrender myself to settle for a lesser,smaller dream that I could possibly reach according to the circumstances I'm handed with

I took up a course in college that I felt at the time would be something I would enjoy and easy,cheap enough to simply graduate and have that diploma just for the sake of it. When I got into the real world and became a full pledge adult for the first time ever I got hit by depression and that's when I first acknowledge that I'm not made for this at all but what I did instead of abandoning it was to try again and aim higher which is to have my own wings and to fly high in the sky and see the world. I held on to that dream. I went to school again. For a moment I had a purpose and for the first time I had direction. I thought I found myself as I try to get those wings. I thought that this will be my redemption. I made myself to believe that I'm meant to do this. I went above and beyond to achieve success. But alas I continued to be the chosen reject and once again odds weren't exactly on my favor and I have given up by the time I'm 27 years old. This is when it all crashed down on me I was chasing a dream gone dead all those years and basically wasted my youth as a result and gained nothing at the end. And I have to admit that i somewhat resent God for putting this dream to flourish in my heart but never gave me a breakthrough to even achieve it. I was left beaten and destroyed. I slaved myself away for nothing, experienced all those sufferings for nothing. I got nothing for all those sacrifices and hardwork I did. Literally all those blood,sweat and tears were for absolutely nothing at the end. I was utterly broken down,my heart was utterly crushed nothing left but broken pieces and a whirlpool of regret. If even this small, mediocre dream I settle myself for is still unattainable for me then my life is no longer worth living. I then proceed to wallow on self pity and resentment and went down to the worst depression I've ever experience in my life. Tears kept on falling like faucets in my eyes. Every streak of effort, energy, motivation ,hope left my body,mind and soul altogether. I turned ultimately dead inside. I don't have anything left in me to even pretend to continue fighting my way into this world. I can't even help myself to help myself. it's like I already died and what was left is just a hollow husk of my former self.

At 27 yrs old i went back to zero. I'm left with nothing to hope for, I didn't gain anything from all the things I went through. After Having the painful knowledge that the journey I made for myself all throughout my teenage to mid twenties is only to become of worthless dust and vomit at the end it made me inevitably bitter about life in general. I started acknowledging thoughts of dying for real. How I realized that it's better to be dead than to be alive, how I wish to have never been born at all. I missed all of these opportunities to win in life and I felt like giving up. Because Life is Suffering nothing more nothing less we will continue to suffer coz that whats life for this is the true meaning of life we are just put here to live so we can suffer and I'm not cut out for it I'm too weak to even restart again.

I realized alot of things. When I was a kid I was always looking forward to the future. I was foolishly, completely convinced that my life will get better as I get older and now that I'm older it turned out to be such a stupid thought coz life didn't get better it only gotten worse and it could only get worst from here on out.

Starting now I shouldn't hope for things to change for the better. It's dangerous to have a false hope and I swear to myself that I wouldn't let myself be fueled by false hope anymore.

And now that it's October I will turn a year older unless I cease to exist first.

I'm honestly scared of the future, now that I can see the true essence of it in its whole entirety.

At 28 I'm running out of time.

I missed the chance to get my life stable.

At 28 I'm entirely clueless on how to get my shit together and I don't even think I have the strength to improve myself. I felt like I just don't care anymore.

At 28 I should have already bought my mother a new house instead I'm stuck and rotting away in a room at her own old house.

At 28 I'm still miserable asf

Still bitter asf

Still dumb asf

Still doubtful asf

Still a loser asf

Let me discuss the thoughts I have about this song 28 of Agust D. This song single handedly describes the anxiety I feel for getting older. The fact that the age he pertained on the title of this song is 28 exactly the age I'm about to turn into soon just solidifies the strong grip it acquired to hold my heart and soul. I felt extremely lucky to turn 28 at the same year with someone as genius as him (tho his 27 international age) nevertheless I'm thankful about this.

Tho there are things that I'm honestly confuse about him having the same fears with someone like me who's a nobody without any single awards, recognitions, accolades or any kind of impact to the world, who's not loved and praised by millions nor have millions of money in my bank account, who doesn't have a big house,big cars nor big rings.

It baffles the living daylights out of me that a person like Min Yoongi who achieved so much in life would feel scared about not knowing his dreams is really about as he gets older. He basically achieved every single one of the dreams I have for myself. His overly set for life that his great great great great great grandchildren will be also set for life. His life wasn't the same like before. His life changed for the better . He earns millions of money by doing what he loves at such a young age. He simply won in life.

We are both 28 but the life I'm bestowed in is the utmost opposite of the life his bestowed in. I'm at the loser end of the spectrum while his in the winner side yet we share somewhat the same fears and anxiety about having to grow older.

This made me question if happiness is really just an illusion. well the genuine authentic euphoric kind of happiness.

Is existence all really just a one big mess with occasional ephemeral pleasure?

If a person who accomplished so much at only 28 still feels depression what's left for me then should I just go kill myself?

Alot of the reasons why I got into this level of depression is because I didn't fulfill anything Yoongi fulfilled.well I'm not really into fame so much but i hope i succeeded on not having to worry about whether I could buy a house or rent an apartment. Yoongi could buy a building for himself while I can't even afford a bedspace of my own

Yoongi could travel the whole world in a whim while I'm mostly stuck in the same place

The stark contrast of our lives is so immense I cant even get my head wrapped around it

My only dillema is that I'm afraid to die but I'm also afraid to live

It's been proven to me now that living in this world is not really living at all it's just purely surviving and I can't deal with this

I'd rather die than to be a slave to the system. And it seems like I don't even have a choice maybe to disappear is the only way out

I'm just not cut out with the cards I've been dealt with

If only I could voluntarily pull my existence out of here then I would do it in a heartbeat

I wish there is a stop button from all of these

#twenty eight #agust d #october #time #sadnees

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imagine-loki · 5 years

Text

Return

TITLE: Return CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Seven AUTHOR: theterrifyingtermite ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that, at the end of Endgame, Loki comes back. Only one problem: this isn’t your Loki. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Trigger warning: there’s a mention of Loki hurting Her in their first meeting during the fourth section. Aside from that, eeenjoy!

Chapter Seven

Considering the way that the majority of their encounters had gone, this one had started off much more smoothly.

Loki had been civil. She had been able to contain her delight, albeit barely. A look from him had cautioned her into a more vibrating calmness.

He had told her of New Asgard, sharing more detail than she had hoped possible. He talked of Thor; of traveling the stars, and then repeatedly being dumped back onto Earth.

She had mentioned the new spell that Wong had discovered to help boost the environment of her womb to better help the child grow. Especially now with only four and a half months to go –

– And then she was cut off.

In hindsight, with time to remember; process what happened, it was clear that magic might be a trigger point for him.

He had swelled with rage that another magician was working to contain the child; going off on a tangent on how his abilities were special; how it was unlike anything this second-rate-low-life-incapable-arrogant-fool could understand.

While he may have suddenly decided to attempt to take control of how she managed the process of growing a child, and dictate whom and who could not help her, well.

Her response had been speechless at first, before she was able to process what he was saying. When it registered that he was insulting the people that had saved her life, then she began to respond with a similar heat.

So, it was not as if she was without fault.

No one lives without the ability to be cruel if so desired.

Yet even with an outburst that nearly seemed to echo in the sudden stillness it brought, there was a step made into progress.

“You are not my child’s father!”

It was as if time stopped.

Loki, frustration draining instantaneously from his face, stood staring at her.

Surprised herself, she was also frozen.

It occurred to her then that this was the truth, no matter how else she had wished it to be.

Her heart, eager to grasp onto anything normal, had allowed fiction to cloud reality for a time.

Maybe that was why she had been so frustrated with him, so heartbroken every time he had turned his back to her. Maybe because of what it symbolized, and because she was so hurt.

But now…

The quiet, repetition of a clock somewhere in the room slowly grounded her.

Tik.

He wasn’t the man who had fathered her child.

Tok.

He couldn’t be what she wanted from him.

Tik.

It was unfair of her to try to force him into that place.

Tok.

The unconscious expectation she held for him needed to end.

Tik.

“I’m sorry,” came out in a rush breath, nearly inaudible.

Tok.

“That wasn’t-“

Tik.

“I shouldn’t have-“

Tok.

Panic was rising, she knew not what else to do.

Spinning on her heel, she dashed away from him as quickly as she could, ignoring the arm raising to reach for her.

___

At one point during their long, overdue conversation only a few days prior, Thor had taken her hand in his again.

Regal bearing notwithstanding, he and his brother were very alike regarding touch.

Even though Loki pretended to hate it, and Thor openly welcomed it, they both found comfort in its anchoring.

A squeeze of her hand brought her attention back to Thor.

His eyes, alight and lively when talking of childhood romps and pranks and carefree days, now held a note of sadness.

“You know…I don’t think I ever really understood Loki. I know now I have as much to blame myself for as he does, but I never really tried. Not hard, anyway.” A sigh, and his gaze resettled onto their hands.

“Even on the rare occasion that something would seem to upset him, he guarded his feelings carefully. Rather than let anyone see, aside from our Mother, perhaps, he kept everything in. He pushed away any care that was offered, even if it was meant honestly…though maybe not well-executed.”

A sheepish look softened his expression, and she had found herself unable to keep from smiling at the idea of Thor’s stumbling, brash attempts at reaching out to a quiet, reserved soul.

“You two are very different,” came her admittance. “From what you’ve both told me, I’m not surprised you couldn’t relate to him.” A smile was added to ease the reality of it.

“I know,” he sighed, a fleeting grin appearing, “But even our Mother, who knew Loki so well – even she struggled at times. He was never good at opening up to anyone. A younger, angrier Loki? He won’t do feelings. He’s more likely to keep himself locked away even longer. Just…”

A shrug.

“…try not to be too disappointed.”

___

Thor’s kindly meant words were very unkindly whirling about her head as she braced a hand against the wall, inhaling; exhaling; inhaling again; working to regulate her breathing back to something more natural.

She was almost there when she heard him say her name, a hesitant question in the tone giving it a gentler lilt.

Her heat began to pound erratically again.

“I need to apologize,” he whispered after, as she listened to him step closer to her, then around to stand in front of her.

Rubbing her stomach and inwardly shushing the squirming baby, she shut her eyes resolutely and tipped her face down, determined not to give way.

Not until he placed his hands on her shoulders, and she could feel herself wilting.

He sighed, long and defeated.

“I don’t like the idea of his magic meddling with the child’s. You don’t know what might happen if they don’t mesh. It’s unique; it shouldn’t even exist, and I-”

A pause.

She waited.

“He should have been the one to help you. Not this wizard. Nor I.”

A hand pressed lightly on her jaw and reluctantly, her gaze lifted to his – green eyes almost pleading in the first real show of vulnerability.

“I know it’s not much, but I will do what I can.”

They were two different men.

They would always be.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize his sincerity.

So, she nodded, determined to take what he was willing to offer.

No more than that.

Swallowing her hurt, “I’m sorry, too,” was what she managed. “You know more about this than I do. I shouldn’t have shouted at you either.”

Lifting up her arm, she tugged her sleeve back to show him the unassuming watch she now always wore. “They rigged this as a monitor somehow. It will tell them immediately if anything goes wrong.”

There was a quiet study, then a nod.

As he shifted back and pulled away one hand, the other stroked down her arm; fingers circling over the middle of her bicep.

“I already told you it’s fine,” she muttered, sliding out of his grasp.

For a heartbeat, one she almost missed, his hand hung in the air before quickly tucking into a pocket to remove his favorite mode of escape. “Well, then…”

The expression on his face was strange; she wasn’t sure what to make of it as he put his back to her.

So, before he could leave, “Loki,” was forced out, and he paused, turning to look at her over his shoulder.

She must be hormonal; must be heart broken, or happy, for her emotions began to overflow in tears, but she couldn’t place the cause.

“I’ll be back soon,” was her answer, as a crooked smile lifted a corner of his mouth.

It was the first he had given her.

Then she was alone, leaning back against the wall to bury her face in her hands.

___

A week before, he had happened upon her in the backyard, sitting underneath the tree she and her Loki had so often frequented.

It was an unusually warmer-than-normal end-of-winter day, so she had been quite contented.

(plus, she wanted to take advantage of her remaining agility before she couldn’t heft herself to her feet without help – it was already getting more difficult.)

Loki had been somewhat agitated.

Well, perhaps more than somewhat.

“Show me your arms,” was demanded, and she had merely blinked in response, setting aside her book.

“Excuse me?” was returned, and he had visibly bristled at her temperate response.

“Here I thought you had a modicum of intelligence,” he had snapped at her, reaching down to lift her–

–only to suddenly back away, hands curling into fists and pressing against his hips as she flinched.

He huffed, turning away, paused, and then immediately faced her again.

“Your arms,” was the statement.

Glancing down, she had rubbed at one of her jacket sleeves. “What about them? It’s not cold out here.”

“When I first saw you, I…”

It was unsettling to see him at such a loss for words, his silver tongue failing.

It was also enough for her to catch on and realize what was upsetting him.

Thor must have told him off, The traitor.

With an eye roll, she flapped both her elbows, stirring up exasperation if the flat look on his face was to be believed.

It was incredibly endearing, and she had to stifle a smile. “You see? All fine here.”

“That doesn’t change what I did,” he had drawled; patiently, if she didn’t know any better.

Definitely annoyed.

With her antics or himself had yet it be seen.

“Look,” came out with a sigh. “It wasn’t right. But I also understand why you acted so irrationally that first time. The second time you were plain rude.”

Her phrasing was too mild for his taste.

It had dissolved into an argument, ending only when she had snapped that if he were sorry, he could just say so.

He had blustered some sort of denial before storming away.

It had left her angry at first, but relief soon followed.

___

“Soon,” she found out, was unquestionably in the realm of “understatement.”

Loki began coming by much more frequently. He never stayed very long in the beginning, but he would pop in and out to chat briefly. Any time of the day.

Or night, as he felt so inclined to do once.

She made it very clear he was never, ever to do that again.

Wisely, he had sworn not to wake her up anymore – a promise he kept with all due diligence.

There were times when she dozed off on the couch and woke up to find her sink cleared of dishes.

They were stuffed into the cabinets, damp and some holding traces of dirt, but put away with a bit of accuracy.

There were times when he sat and waited for her to rouse; only to ask her how she felt before retreating.

It was odd.

She missed him on the days he never showed.

A month trailed by this way.

It came to her one day, that slowly and surely, Loki’s visits were lengthening. He would tell her anecdotes, mention things Thor said; listen to her talk or complain of growing pains.

Not that they never argued, but once tentative footing was discovered effort was made to maintain it.

He came; he left, he came; he stayed, and he talked her through the late bouts of illness – until there were miraculously only two months left.

She was uncomfortable; something in her knew that she should be ready to give birth. And yet, the child remained stubbornly inside, apparently not fully formed.

The good ‘masters of the mystic arts’ appreciated the word apparently.

Apparently, they were right, and she would continue growing a child for a full year.

Apparently, nothing bad was going to happen at this point; everything looked normal as it could be regarding gestation.

Apparently, this; apparently that. Apparently, she was getting the Frost Giant equivalent of morning sickness – if there was such a thing; she wasn’t sure she entirely believed them and their so-called endless source of knowledge – and it would pass; would she like some tea?

Apparently, everything was normal.

As if – for apparently, they were wrong.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Father #Others #Submitted fic #submission #theterrifyingtermite #chapter 7 #return

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everythingoesnk · 5 years

Text

Born To Be

summary; after one call you have the chance to meet your past and embrace him it.

word count; 2 905

disclaimers; none but that’s my gif up there, how cool’s that !!

warnings; I’M SO BAD AT ENDINGS IT’S EMBARRASSING

********

Around ten that night, the unexpected happened.

Your best friend, Jaime, found it tough to read your expressionless face.

Why it transformed into a pale mask was a mystery, since she couldn’t get to hear what the other person was saying.

You just couldn’t believe that this was happening. It couldn’t be real. Your hand was shaking, and a sickening pain in your chest interfered with your gasp for air.

Jaime shook your shoulder to bring you back to the moment.

“Are you still there?” the caller asked.

Every nerve in your body quivered at her voice.

Jaime was chewing on various cuticles as she tried to decipher the look in your eyes.

“I am,” you said in a weak voice, and cringed at your inability to tame your emotions.

Maureen drew in a deep breath.

This was hard for her as well, but she knew you were the only person who could fix things, who could fix him.

“I’m calling on Richard’s behalf, I guess” she sighed, not fully conscious yet that she finally built up the courage to do it.

The jiggling of your leg going up and down stopped.

Three things caught your attention: if Ringo had something to tell you, why was his wife the one to pick up the phone? Also, it was the first time you heard her calling him by his name, by Richard, which really preoccupied you for some reason. And the last and most disturbing one: why was she contacting you? Why now?

You two never exchanged a word before.

“Did something happen?” you asked, sceptical if you wanted to know.

You broke up with Ringo a week before he joined The Beatles, and to this day, many and many years later, you’ve barely seen or talked to him.

August 1962. He was 22 years old, you 19.

The reason why you broke up with him was simple and understandable: after an argument about how he wouldn’t spend any time with you, about how he’d always put Rory Storm and the Hurricanes first, making you feel like an accessory rather than a girlfriend, you didn’t stutter to give him an ultimatum.

It comes without saying he didn’t pass.

Then Maureen happened.

Convinced it was for the best, you split up still being recklessly in love with him: it broke your heart when the news reached your ears, you couldn’t deny it.

Thirteen years later, three children under Ringo’s wing -a five-year-old among them-, The Beatles no longer in the game, it was a whole different scenario.

Maureen held the phone tight.

“I just came home from signing the divorce papers”

“Oh no,” you gasped, and covered your mouth in utter shock.

Jaime narrowed her eyes and asked what was going on. You brushed her off.

“I assume you know nothing” Maureen speculated, because maybe you did.

You used to be very close to Paul after you met him backstage after one of The Quarrymen performances –you knew him, John and George long before Ringo did-, but she wasn’t sure if you kept in contact with each other nowadays.

The relationship wasn’t as tight as it once was, but you did. You phoned him very occasionally, and he sent letters or telegrams every three months to catch up, Ringo never brought up into the conversation.

So no, you didn’t know anything.

Maureen began to explain what caused the marriage to end in such bad terms: her and George having an affair, Pattie finding out and snitching to Ringo the very same day, she managing to persuade him to stay together, and how Ringo couldn’t cope anymore with the thought of his best friend and wife secretly fucking behind his back.

According to Maureen, he started to cheat constantly and become violent, drowning himself into a spiral of darkness and self-destruction, which mainly included critical alcoholism.

Your jaw clenched, and you spoke through gritted teeth.

“This is why you’re calling me for?”

She frowned and picked her words cautiously.

“No” she stopped talking to gather her thoughts. “I just wanted to tell you he needs help”

You shrugged dramatically even though she wasn’t there to see it.

Maureen sighed and closed her eyes, counting to ten silently to keep the tears at bay.

“I fucked up tremendously. I’d offer help myself, but I already did and he ended up like this anyway. You’re the only one he’ll listen to”

“What do you mean by ‘this’?”

Maureen didn’t speak, a knot in her throat preventing her from doing so.

“You expect me to fix things for you to have him back or what? Maureen, this is a waste of time, there’s nothing I can do. You said it yourself: you fucked things up. Don’t go asking people—“ you began, angry that she had to come to you to deal with her problems.

“You don’t understand”

“We haven’t talked in thirteen years! Do you really believe he’s going to—“

“He could be gone any second! He’s probably consumed three bottles already since we started talking. I’d die and revive as many times as needed to be able to go back in time and do things differently, but it’s too late, it’s useless trying to have him back. He…”

Maureen’s voice broke.

“He’s been in love with you the whole time”

You went white.

Your brain shutting down and the adrenaline pumping hysterically through your blood sent you to the very edge of nearly passing out.

“(Y/N), are you okay? Answer me” Jaime insisted, moving to a fetal position right in front of you.

“What… what do you mean?” you asked Maureen, ignoring Jaime.

“I’m a lot of things, but blind’s not of one of them. We went through a lot of things, you know? I never had the opportunity to explain myself, but I cheated because I hit rock bottom. I was tired of Rich not being over you. I gave him time, years that I won’t have back. All of them wasted waiting for something that didn’t come”

Now she called him Rich. Huh.

She was so close to crying, but you were sure she wouldn’t allow herself to. At least not until she hung up.

Maureen then dictated an address.

“Please, (Y/N)” she begged in a very emotional voice. “If he ever meant anything to you, go see him”

House keys tucked in your handbag next to your wallet, a pair of dirty sunglasses, one bottle of hand lotion, a pepper spray and kleenexes, you were confident you weren’t forgetting anything.

After hopping into the car, you pulled out on to the road.

Maureen called on Monday, but due to your work duties, you hadn’t been able to visit Ringo until now.

It was Thursday and you were on your way.

You didn’t tell anyone you were going, not even Maureen. And especially not Ringo.

It took a forty-minute drive to get there.

Climbing out of the car, you felt your legs wobbly. Was it a good idea? You didn’t know, but it wasn’t the right moment to turn around and leave. You had to keep it together.

For a moment, it all seemed unreal. You about to see him again, about to ring the doorbell.

Surprisingly, you didn’t have to.

Ringo swang the door open, carrying in the other hand a heavy garbage bag, which by the recognizable sound that the items inside made by bumping into each other, you knew it contained glass. Probably dozens of bottles of every type of beer and wine imaginable.

A big and remarkable beard was what pretty much stuck out first. The next thing you noticed was that his hair looked nasty: it didn’t reach his shoulders only for a tiny bit, and even though it was obvious he hadn’t brushed it in a while, it wasn’t missing the softness effect. Curls fell down his forehead. Under other circumstances that would’ve been nothing but cute.

Haggard was the only word you could use to describe him.

The cigarette between his teeth fell to the ground.

You looked at it and glanced up at him. His eyes’d grown wide, and he was immobile.

“Hi” you rasped, showing a shy smile.

What a nervous and chaotic mess you were inside.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” his voice sounded incredulous, like if he were still digesting that you were there, not quite believing it.

“I…”

Indeed, it was dumb to think for an excuse you didn’t have. You just shook your head and fastened your eyes on the garbage bag.

“You’ve been busy?”

His cheeks turned crimson violently, and he shoved it away with a kick.

“Can I… hug you?” was all he asked, eyes never leaving yours, scared that if he might look away you’d vanish.

He wasn’t okay, you could just tell. It was heartbreaking.

As soon as he put his arms around you and squeezed, you were regretting your decision. To be more precise, you were regretting not having prepared yourself enough emotionally.

Ringo inclined his head downwards and pressed his nose against your shoulder, inhaling your scent.

“You’re here” he uttered.

You let him take his time, getting a glimmer of empathy.

As Ringo pulled back, you noticed that his hands were twitching. Symptoms, you guessed. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll prepare you a cuppa” he exclaimed to break the tension, and swept into the kitchen after insisting that you got comfortable.

The place was a mess. Overflowed ashtrays everywhere, floor littered with crumpled papers and dirt all over. A lot of disorganization in general.

By the look of it, if his house were the mirror to his soul and health, he was at a very depressing point.

“Sorry about the disorder” he came back and handed you the cup. “I haven’t had time to hire someone or clean meself”

“It’s alright” you nodded, to make him feel better.

You walked over to a bookshelf, examining the silver-framed photographs of his children.

All of them were a huge accurate half and half mix of their parents, so you couldn’t say if they looked more like him or more like their mum.

Blowing into the cup, you turned to the right and saw Ringo sit back upon the sofa with his foot over the thigh of the other leg.

He lit another cigarette and offered you to grab one.

“I quit”

“I should too” he said, taking a very much long desired drag.

You refused to speak first.

Ringo sighed at your sight. You looked breathtaking standing there in those jeans and basic tee in the middle of his living room.

“So, what do I owe this honour” the corner of your mouth quirked up and you looked down to your feet timidly, “of you visiting the grumpy and drunk stupid Starkey this fine morning?”

The smile evaporated in a split second, and you worryingly fixed your gaze on him.

He smirked, but it soon melted away as well.

That sent cold goosebumps up and down your spine.

“C’mon. Thirteen years, only knowing about you because of Paul’s ‘she’s good, really’, and you magically appear on my doorstep the same week Mo and I divorce?”

You took in a keen breath.

Ringo stared at you, wanting to read you, but his brain wasn’t functioning very well.

He leaned in to cast the stub of the cigarette into the ashtray, saying nothing.

You slid on an armchair opposite him.

When you flashed your eyes at him, still easily flustered by his comment, you saw him gazing out the window. He looked beated down, unhappy.

“Richie”

He abruptly stood up and paced furiously, startling you.

“I’m so lost. You… I don’t know what the next step should be”

“Please, calm down. I’m here to help you”

“Help me?” he turned around and eyed you, every inch of your face. “I don’t need help. I need answers”

“What answers? You mean why Maureen and George…” you didn’t want to finish that.

“Why didn’t you reach out to me in all these years?” he stared at you and you became so small. “I thought we were friends, (Y/N). I know I took you for granted, but I’d have never imagined I wouldn’t hear from you in so long”

The pain in his voice made your eyes go shiny. You wouldn’t cry. No.

“Well, I… the last encounter we had… you didn’t say very nice things to me. I thought you didn’t want to hear from me again”

“I was mad because I didn’t want to end things. I don’t… I don’t remember what I said, but if I said something that hurt you, I’m genuinely sorry. I kept asking Paul for your number and your address, and he wouldn’t give it to me”

“I told him not to. I assumed you just wanted to argue, imagined you weren’t happy about me talking to him. You used to be very a jealous guy back then, I didn’t want to deal with it” you softly theorized, lowering your head.

Saying it out loud sounded so dumb.

Ringo drew nearer the big window and leaned against the wall, looking down the street.

“I missed you,” he mumbled, glad he wasn’t facing you so you wouldn’t see him chewing his lip out of anxiousness.

“I missed you too”

Off in the distance, you heard the tintinnabulation noise of the nearby church bells announcing noon.

You rose to your feet and stood behind him. Just when you were about to speak, he did it first.

“Are you staying for lunch?”

“If you want me to”

He looked at you over his shoulder. You inched forward and stopped in front of him.

“Maureen told me…”

You looked up subtly at him but glanced down again when you met that pair of intimidating ocean eyes. Ringo contemplated your features, and concluded that you were only getting prettier as time passed, the hint of a doubt never on his mind.

He, on the other very extreme of the scale, looked homeless.

Reaching out for your hand, he clasped it tightly.

Your heart rate went wild.

“Maureen told me you still loved me,” you said, watching your hands held together. “How crazy”

You dismissed it, because it couldn’t be true.

“Crazy?” he repeated.

“Huh?” you raised your head up.

He jerked his in the window’s direction again and let your hand go.

Would it be that crazy?

“Ringo… do you?”

He rolled his shoulders.

“Hey”

Slowly, he turned to you.

“I’m back now. I’ll help you recover, okay?”

Ringo’s lips were in a thin line. He tightened his jaw and crossed legs and arms, adopting a pose to feel more secure.

“Tell me about your life, how’re you doing?” he asked, genuinely interested.

“Work’s treating me nice, I’m healthy. I cannot complain”

His eyes dropped to your hand. No engagement ring in sight.

You blushed after following where his eyes were standing.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?” you laughed.

“You’re not taken?”

“I could have a boyfriend”

Ringo raised an eyebrow.

“I do not” you answered, biting your lower lip to suppress a smirk.

“How many have you rejected?”

You giggled, and his face lit up, a serene feeling dawning on his chest. It’d been too long since he heard you laugh.

“I’m hungry. Aren’t you?” you hinted after a pause, redirecting the conversation somewhere else.

Ringo didn’t move or speak.

You didn’t have time to think about what could possibly be crossing his mind, but half a second later, he rushed to kiss you, taking you by surprise.

Even so, your mouth was quick to respond, parting lips to let him in. Ringo moved his hand to the back of your neck, and the other trailed down to rest on your waist.

Senses gone, you weren’t sure if this was right or wrong in any level.

He tasted like Bourbon, and touched you so well in all the right places that you agreed you’d worry later.

One lock of your hair got in the way, and Ringo, without undoing the connection of your lips, tucked it back in. You grunted in his mouth at the tender touch, and he pulled you closer passionately, intensifying the kiss.

A wave of stimulation hit you hard, and you attached your hip as much as you physically could to his body, at the same time that you sucked on his lip.

Meanwhile, he deepened his grasp, hands in fists below your back, wrinkling and tugging on your shirt.

Just as you thought it was over, Ringo pinned you against the wall, working with great mastery his luscious puffy lips on yours.

Arms around his neck, you two began to progressively slow down after a gratifying make out session.

The instant his lips were no longer touching yours, you felt angry and pointless. Was there anything in life you wanted to do that didn’t concern kissing him? No bother answering.

“Look what you did to me” he breathed.

Silence settled for a short period of time.

“Did Maureen tell the truth?”

Ringo furrowed an eyebrow.

“What’re you saying?”

“Did she lie when she said you love me?” you implored.

“No”

You nodded, heart full, and cupped his face with your hands.

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, but you’ll have to put up with me for a long time. I ain’t going nowhere”

“You’ll never leave me again?”

“I’d be insane”

#ringo starr #richard starkey #ringo starr x reader #ringo starr fanfic #ringo starr fanfiction #ringo starr imagine #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #the beatles #born to be #tayloredstarr

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thepilgrimofwar · 4 years

Text

Whiskey & Rye

“You’re like an actual fucking ghost,” Zarannis muttered as she appeared behind Lirelle- Who, since she did not sleep, wandered the halls of Emberheart manor endlessly in darkness. “How many House Guards have you already scared half to death?”

“Five, by Judereth’s count,” she replies matter of factly. Though she had shed her traveling cloak, the rest of her attire was still dark, chosen to make use of the shadows and hollows in the southern forests she had stalked for a time. “You reek of alcohol, bad enough that I can smell it.”

“Can you?” The girl said, folding her arms and shrugging. “Well, I’m on the prowl for more. You’re free to join me- Unless you don’t-” Zarannis gestured up and down at the priestess. “Drink, anymore.” The girl from Wintergale had spent the last day with whatever whiskey she managed to ferry away after the funeral that day. Graciously, she had shared some with the Ranger Captain in the guest rooms, and spent the rest of it without a thought to contend with. She was drunk enough that even Stenden hadn’t asked for her help, given she was not in a state to make promises or vows that may get her killed. So, the worries in her heart from the implications of all this… Lordly nonsense, was a problem for tomorrow’s Zarannis. So she thought.

“Do they even know where half their stores of alcohol have gone?” Lirelle shook her head at the offer. “There is no point in me drinking. But if you’re asking for company, I’ll join you.”

Zarannis gestured wildly for her to follow her on her quest to the stores in the back. She pretended to know where she was going. Logic dictated that they were somewhere downstairs, near the kitchen, likely somewhere cold like a cellar- only that the Emberhearts did not have a cellar.

“So. How’s… Death?” She said sheepishly as she wandered her way through the manor by candlelight.

“Unnatural.”

“Of course,” she mumbles. “But seeing that you made it to the other side and then came back… I figured you’d be the best person to ask about what waits for all of us on the other side?”

“That depends on what you believe.”

Zarannis paused in her step. “Right…” she held the end of her word for a second longer than she needed to. “So if I believed that I wanted to be reincarnated and do my life over again, that’d happen?”

“Possibly. There are rules there, Old rules. If that is the path that you wish for, there is some patron or some way to achieve it.”

“Good to know,” she says as she makes it to a dead end filled with crates on the first floor. Cocking her head, she follows the wall. There had to be a door soon that’d take her to the kitchen or the pantry. “Beats getting my soul sucked up to feed some sort of Troll deathgod,” she mumbles dryly as she finally makes it out to the moonlit courtyard.

Passing by House Guards on patrol, she finds her way towards the storerooms, and her eyes light up at the sight of barrels. But frowned again when she smelled variations of olive oil.

“I’m just wondering where the Kestrels all ended up. On the other side I mean. Or the Tal’dorei who followed me. If they all got what they wanted in the end- if they sold their souls to do it- or if they just… Dissipated into the void.”

Lirelle wasn’t sure if she should tell her that there wasn’t some treasure at the end of her hunt, some secret cellar full of alcohol secreted away at some corner of the house. Between her and Vaelrin, they had probably finished most of what was in the estate. “If they wished to, they did.”

Zarannis bowed her head. There was some peace in that at least. “If that’s true, then hopefully it’s all been worth it,” she said as she went deeper into the store rooms into the back where the grain was stacked. “I’m still deciding if it was. I lost everything I cared about in that war and all it did was usher in an uneasy peace and an age of banditry and Warlords.”

Lirelle regarded the drunk woman as she searched. All the decisions she had made in the war were easily made, and she would have made each and every one again a thousand times over. “Peace is peace. Bandits and warlords are easily put to the sword. We won, and that’s all that matters.”

“What good is peace when you’ve no one to share it with?” Zarannis poked through the storeroom and when she was satisfied, headed back out and tried the opposite side of the manor. Her mannerisms darkened. “Do you think Lady Thelryn got what she wanted?”

Lirelle could still remember Azriah’s face, the way the shadows danced in her eyes. It had rolled off her like a current, and she had felt the magic granted to herself stir in the confines of her will. “She got exactly what she wanted, which is why she gave in.”

“Do you think-” Zarannis stopped. “I did the right thing?” The girl looked back at her friend, “I followed orders. We all did. We won the war. Yes, I know. But was any of it right?” The weight of the war seemed to catch up with her now. The hold that whiskey had over her was starting to fade. “I acted without question- Ever the good soldier- Ever the stoic general- But there are things I should’ve put a stop to and didn’t. People I should’ve listened to. And perhaps, just left Everleigh to the whims of our Grand Arcanist, we’d still have her with us.”

“We were always in the right. They brought the war to us, they chose to endanger our civilians. Every action we took to bring an end to it was right. We would have won whether she had taken the Dame or not, such things are irrelevant.”

The ex-ranger shook her head. “I doubt that such things are irrelevant. You speak of winning as if it were the highest order of things, but what would you have sacrificed to win if you had had to? Dawnveil? Your family? Would it still be worth it then?”

Lirelle just stares at the drunk woman. Perhaps she was too far gone to even have this conversation. “You don’t seem to understand. I would have died a thousand times to keep them safe. You win for them. So they never see the things that you do. That is the entire point.”

Zarannis tipped her head downwards in the candle light, and shadows pooled round her eyes. “Everyone I won it for died in that war. You are lucky, that the ones closest to your heart never had to see the same things you had to. I didn’t have that luxury.” She looked up at the ghost before her. “So perhaps it may have been worth it for you. Dawnveil is safe. Your loved ones alive and well. Everything you fought for still stands at the end of the day. But for me- The Kestrels are dead, our lodge is burned- Tal’dorei who followed me are buried- and the Sunguard no longer exists. Everything that I fought for no longer exists.”

“Never bring something you aren’t willing to lose when you go to war.” She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and to her, it was. More than half of her life had been spent on one battlefield or another, this harshest of realities learned early on.

“I didn’t bring them with me. The ones I weren’t willing to lose had come of their own accord- and I cannot make their choices for them.” The girl shook her head, turning back towards the darkness, stepping forward into the unknown in the hopes of finding something to dull her senses once more. “They were beside me, around me- they were the war.”

“Then why ruin yourself over the choices made by others?” Her voice rang out in the quiet.

“I guess,” she said softly, as she finally found herself a crate of unopened whiskey. “That’s something you may never understand.”

“Perhaps I won't, but answer me this. If they meant that much to you, why didn’t you die for them?”

“Because I loved my country, more than I loved myself,” she turns back to Lirelle, then at the crate she now cradled in her arms. She gazed at the way the bottles reflected the candle light. “But now? I’m not so sure.”

@retributionpriest @azriah

#Epilogue #Funerals #Aftermath #Zarannis

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missbugaboo · 4 years

Text

That Other Guy (7)

“Why does it matter so much to you? What’s so terrible about Adrien Agreste that you can’t stand him as your competition – even though it changes absolutely nothing for you? What in magic’s name makes him such a hateful rival?” Or, Chat Noir finally learns who Ladybug’s dream guy is, but somehow, he’s not pleased at all. For more reasons than one.

LadyNoir, Adrienette.

fanfiction.net / AO3

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Chapter 7: The Iceberg

"I think it's going to rain."

Adrien's voice was calm when he uttered the words, his gaze fixed on the still blue sky above his head as he noted the clouds that were slowly starting to take over it. He heard Plagg snicker quietly, undoubtedly in response to his comment, and glanced down at the kwami as the latter munched on a piece of cheese they had – miraculously – found in Adrien's bag right after entering the school grounds.

Think of it, Plagg probably had known about it being there all along.

He sighed and closed his eyes, his brain once again betraying him as the image of a dark-haired girl in ponytails appeared in his mind once more, regardless of his tries to push it away. He had hoped he could do that for a little longer, at least until Plagg finished with his meal – clearly though, it was still too much to ask for.

He shook his head and looked around, deciding to at least organise his tangled thoughts before he was forced to open up before Plagg. He knew there was no escaping it now; so perhaps, the best he could do was to find a way of presenting his reasoning in a way that would leave no room for doubts on his companion's part.

Seeing how Plagg was still happily occupied with his cheese, he still had a few moments to figure things out.

Refraining from yet another sigh, Adrien frowned pensively, trying to come up with a plan for his unwanted (yet necessary) speech. The circumstances seemed favourable for once, with the warm spring breeze coming in place of the sterile, cold air of his own room and the noisiness of the photo shoot set replaced by the quietness that marked their current spot. No Nathalie, no Gorilla, no make-up or photography directors.

This time Adrien couldn't help but smile weakly to himself. Indeed, it would have been a real miracle to have any of them follow him all the way up here.

Maybe there were some perks of being a superhero, after all.

"You know I can still listen to you with my mouth full, right?" he heard Plagg ask mockingly, a note of suppressed laughter clearly audible in his tone. "I don't use my ears for eating."

Adrien raised an eyebrow at him, his own smile unwavering.

"Is that so?" it was his turn to ask. "I've always thought you put your whole body and soul into this particular action. After all, you're the one who keeps reminding me how important it is to savour one's meal. Especially when it's cheese."

"Not just any cheese, kid. We're talking about camembert here," Plagg responded after another big gulp.

"My point exactly, isn't it? And since I'd hate to disturb you during such a life-altering event..."

"As if you hadn't done that on multiple occasions so far..."

"This, as well as the fact that I obviously need your undivided attention during the conversation you insisted upon so relentlessly, are the reasons why I'm waiting for you to finish in your own time. There is no need to rush."

"Okay, okay, that's it," Plagg cut him off decisively, leaving his place and floating up to Adrien's eye level. "I can see what you're doing, trying to put it off so that we don't have enough time to talk it through before your next class starts. Well, let me tell you this, kid: you're not going anywhere until we're done talking."

"Now that was never the deal," Adrien responded firmly, however as of now, there was no trace of annoyance in his voice. "And you know perfectly well that I can't skip any more classes, even though I honestly wish I could. Also... It was not what I was thinking about."

"What was it then?"

"You want answers to your questions. I think the only way that makes sense it if they are throughout, too."

For reasons not entirely fathomable to Adrien, Plagg refrained from his next comment, even though it was obvious that he'd had more than a few words to say. The determined look in his kwami's eyes didn't fade, either, and yet, it was exactly what made Adrien's serenity grow, as he could once again witness the excess of his tiny companion's mindfulness and cool.

He might have been a source of destruction in the magical sense, and still, Adrien couldn't imagine him ever truly hurting him – and not only because he was Plagg's so-called master.

It really was time to show that their loyalty and trust went both ways.

"I need you to promise me that you won't interrupt, no matter how many times I trail off or get stuck," he said in a quiet voice, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. "I don't fully understand all this myself, and even if I did, it would be hard to put all of those feelings into words. So... be patient with me, okay?"

A part of him expected to Plagg to disagree, or to at least treat him with some witty remark about how their time together was limited by Adrien's upcoming class. He was to be surprised again, however, as Plagg simply nodded in confirmation, giving him to understand that he comprehended and accepted the rule bestowed on him.

No, not a rule.

Just a request.

"I know there's only one thing you really want to hear, so I won't dodge the subject by talking about something else. Especially as it really is the only one that matters," he begun with as much calmness as he could summon. "I think so, anyway. So, as difficult as it is for me to bring it up, it's probably best if I just up and do it. I..."

He bit his lip anxiously but refused to close his eyes. Scared as he was, imperfect as he was, he at least wasn't going to act like a coward.

He was Cat Noir, for Fu's sake.

"I told you I was disappointed when I'd found out it was Marinette under Ladybug's mask. That it had always been her. I know it sounds cruel and unjust – that it's something that Felix might have said in my position, but which I had no right to say. And yet, it's true."

He could feel cold sweat break over his neck and go down his back, regardless of how early he was into his story. He swallowed painfully, but refused to give in to the anxiety.

"You probably think it makes no sense, either. She's my friend, a very dear one. I've always wanted to be closer to her, because I realised what a wonderful person she was under all of that stammering and clumsiness she seemed to hide behind. I wished she had acted towards me in the same way she did with Alya or Nino, or any of our classmates, really – the way she acted around Cat Noir, even if she was supposedly in love with him that one time. To learn that all this time, she has also been Ladybug...

"It hurts, Plagg. It just does. Partly because it shows how arrogant I've been, how stupidly naive to think I should recognise her the moment I laid eyes on her – that my heart would know the truth even if my eyes and brain were fooled. To realise that she's been there all this time is like a punch in the guts and one that I've deserved because heck, how could I have been so cocky? I failed to recognise the girl I loved in the one I saw each day; I couldn't see my darling friend in the partner I cared for so much. I literally met Ladybug's civilian self a day after I'd met her superhero one, and still couldn't make the connection between them.

"So there's that part. I am disappointed in myself for not having noticed that earlier. And yet... That's not even the tip of the iceberg."

He shifted slightly, just enough to press his forehead against his knees as he took a deep, shaking breath. It was all so difficult; so horribly terrifying while also entirely unexpected.

He told himself he should be alright talking about it, after so many hours of pondering over the situation he had found himself in. The time distancing him from his discovery wasn't short either: it wasn't a minute, a quarter or three. It had been full twelve hours, ten of which he'd spent torn between denying all his knowledge and tearing it to pieces in search of an explanation he had missed before.

Ten hours of pure hell and more than a dozen resolutions made along the way.

How come it still felt as if he'd only found out?

"Breath, kid," he heard Plagg say, in a voice so completely void of audacity that Adrien couldn't help but look up, surprised. "Just breathe, in and out. It's okay."

So he did just that. Inhale, exhale, with his gaze glued to Plagg as the kwami swung his tiny arm in order to dictate the correct rhythm. Once again, he was taken aback not only by his friend's obvious concern but also the enormous gentleness he displayed – a feature so different from his usual sassiness that Adrien had some trouble wrapping his head around it at first.

"Leave my personality traits be, Adrien, and just focus on your breathing," Plagg muttered grumpily. "We've got enough to deal with without you suffocating on the edge of the school roof, simply because you can't take in your oxygen properly."

"I thought I'd asked you not to listen to my thoughts?" the boy asked automatically, but this time, reproach did not resonate in his voice; if anything, it was cheerful. "I haven't got completely crazy, you know, I can still distinguish the things I say from the ones I've been wondering at. And I know I haven't said anything out loud just now."

"Well, I hate to break it to you but your inner monologues can be as loud as mayor Burgeois' outright speeches," Plagg responded readily. "I really don't have to try to hear any of it, especially if you're thinking about me. And just so you know, today isn't the only instance when that happened."

To that Adrien could only respond with a chuckle. With his face still pressed against his knees and his grip around his legs tightening, his shoulders shook nonetheless. It wasn't a loud, sonorous laughter; it couldn't haven been one. Yet, it was sincere – and that was the most they could count on now.

"Thanks, Plagg," he said after a moment and raised his head just enough to meet his loyal friend with his eyes. "You really have a way of dealing with depression, I must give you that."

"Experience, kid," Plagg responded shortly. "If you'd had to deal with as many Black Cat wielders as I did, you too would've figured it out. You're certainly not the first Chat Noir who's got himself into this kind of mess."

"You mean, I'm not the first one to fall in love with a Ladybug who then fell in love with my civilian self?" Adrien asked almost casually. However, his smile soon grew sorrowful as he recalled some of the words Plagg had thrown at him earlier that day, words that he had chose to push aside at the time but which now came back to him with double force.

He felt like the knowledge of it could make him implode.

"Did it really happen?" he asked quietly, fixing his gaze on the horizon ahead. "Have there really been reveals that ended up in the Miraculous Holders' deaths?"

He did not dare too look down at Plagg, certain that the amount of pain his question must have caused would reflect all over the kwami's little body. He felt bad for provoking such hurt; he wondered if keeping his eyes away from his friend was really a sign of discretion or just the cowardice he'd been trying to avoid all this time.

Something was telling him that he shouldn't have asked and yet, how could he not? The matter was too grieve to just let it slide.

Plus, it was Plagg who'd brought it up in the first place.

Clearly, the kwami wasn't going to back down now, either.

"It did happen," he said calmly, in the same tone he might use for commenting on the weather; taken aback, Adrien couldn't have helped to glance at him, even if he'd wanted to. "It were just a few cases, all of them happening a long time ago. Well, one of them was recent, at least if you look at it holistically. Still, regardless of when it happened, it was always during the toughest of times. Times when your dealings with Hawkmoth would have been considered a child's play at best."

"Well, at least there's that," Adrien whispered, shifting his gaze to the passing clouds once more. "One thing less to worry about. For now, anyway."

"Well, now is the only period you should concern yourself with at the moment," Plagg responded firmly. "Here and now, and only the situation involving you."

"I don't want to just disregard it though, I -"

"Adrien? Just focus on your own iceberg. We can have that history lesson at some less troubling time."

Adrien could not disagree with the suggestion. He knew Plagg was right: he'd had a lot to deal with on his own without the additional burden of the past heroes' struggles and pain, especially as he also realised that no wisdom would come to him by hearing about them now. It would have helped to fight his curiosity when he had still endeavoured to find out who his Lady really was; it might have been a good means to stop him whenever his eagerness had become a threat to both of them. Now however...

It could no longer be of use.

"My own iceberg. Right."

When Plagg had mentioned the other Miraculous Holders that morning, it hadn't been to make him feel miserable or go into mourning after the people he had never even heard of before. The reason for the unexpected trip into the past had been a very simple one: namely, to make him aware of how much better his own situation truly was.

To make him realise that he really had no reasons to complain – no reasons to feel disappointed.

Disappointed.

Dear Heavens, it must have sounded so wrong; and yet, he still couldn't find it in himself to deny that earlier statement of his.

Suppose the only thing he could do now was to explain what he'd really had in mind, even if he himself wasn't entirely sure what it was.

"She's in love with me," he said simply at last, swiftly coming to the conclusion that pouring out his heart was his best shot at the time, as there was no guarantee that his so-called reorganisation would bring any results. "Ladybug is in love with me. The Adrien me. And it's not a shallow celebrity crush, it's not a silly infatuation developed over the few times she's met me outside the Cat Noir suit. She knows me, she cares for me. Not the image. Me."

He paused for a second, puzzled. It wasn't that he didn't know what to say next or what words to use to make it most meaningful – rather, he knew exactly what it was, but because of it, he also perfectly conscious of the fact that it was by far the most difficult thing for him to say.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Speak.

"Ladybug is in love with me," he picked up at long last. "Ladybug is in love with me. And she's Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Which means..."

He allowed himself one last break to summon his strength before finally addressing the issue that had been the real cause of that inner conflict of his, the one idea that lay at the bottom of all this.

"It means that Marinette is in love with me, too."

Suddenly, it was as if a weight had been lifted, leaving him freer and calmer than he had been since he had first found out about Ladybug's feelings last night. He wasn't bold – or stupid – enough to believe that anything was solved or that the crisis had been overcome in any way. More like, he had taken the first step on yet another rocky path which, as challenging as it undoubtedly was, was still a much better option than the comfortable yet stifling prison he'd been locked in so far.

Now all he had to do was to keep going.

And yet, it was still so hard.

"Why didn't she tell me, Plagg?" he asked after a moment, as he hid his face in his knees and gritted his teeth angrily. "Like, I can understand her being shy and all. I probably should have been more observant and picked some of the hints. But still... We've been friends for more than two years now and she has never made any direct comment about it – if anything, she flat out denied it.

"And it wasn't just once, you know," he continued after a short pause. "When Jagged & Co. stormed into her bedroom and made a show of those photographies, I thought for a moment that there really might have been something going on. I didn't really believe in Jagged's suppositions... But it was impossible to just ignore it. That is, until Marinette cleared it up by saying that it was all about her love of fashion which, given the esteem she obviously holds my father in, was really not that unbelievable at the time, whatever some might say.

"But that's just the beginning of it, isn't it? I can still remember when Manon brought the photos up again during our drive to the museum that other day. I thought I knew the reason for it, so I didn't care much – and even her mentions of 'hearts drawn all around the pictures' seemed meaningless, especially with Marinette 'explaining' that right after.

"It was supposed to be such a great day, too, you know. Just the five of us – four and a half, really – hanging out together on a Saturday afternoon. Friends being friends, unlike what we usually were. Unlike what I was usually allowed to be."

Another pause, another deep breath. Another retardation in his ludicrous story, as he tried to find the strength within himself to go on despite the throbbing of his heart and the stinginess in his eyes. The clock was ticking; and he was not even halfway through his speech.

And he absolutely refused to split it and return to it afterwards.

He needed to finish it in one go, or he never would.

"Anyway," he said. "As you probably recall, it wasn't a great day at all, and not because of the akuma attack that had resulted from that meeting. Marinette was tense, I was confused; and then that stupid joke made everything a thousand times worse. And yet... That's not the point."

"What is, then?" Plagg allowed himself to reply at last. "You won't tell me that you think the prank was alright all of the sudden, will you?"

Adrien shook his head.

"The joke was dumb and I shouldn't have made it. However, it doesn't change the fact that it had led to the first bit of honest conversation between us that day. Or at least, it might have done, if only Marinette hadn't made that U-turn the moment I asked her about what she'd really meant when she'd confessed to the statue.

"She... She could have told me the truth then. I didn't expect another heartfelt, flowery confession; in fact, I don't think I expected anything specific at the time. But... Would it have been so very bad for her to admit that it wasn't entirely fake? To say: 'Yes, I was serious' when I asked her about it straightforwardly? A 'yes', Plagg. That was all I needed to hear.

"And yet, she went into straight denial mode. 'It was a prank,' she said. 'I like you a little', 'like an ordinary human being'. Those were her words. How on earth was I supposed to believe she wanted anything other than friendship after a show of this kind?"

It was Plagg's turn to shake his head. "Do you really want an answer to that?"

Adrien looked up, surprised.

"Can you give me one?"

Plagg sighed lingeringly.

"I can," he admitted. "Or at least, I can suggest something that should help you come to the right conclusions. The question is: do you really want that?"

"How could I not?"

"Just this morning you said you wished you hadn't learnt any of the things about Ladybug that you had learnt last night. This might be a similar case; I thought it's better not to risk and make sure you know what you're asking for."

Once again, Adrien's forehead was pressed firmly against his knees.

"I do," he replied. "What's done is done. And I need some answers if I'm to ever make any sense out of all this. And since that's something that I know for sure I want to do -"

"Alright. Then you should probably think of Kagami's place and role in this mayhem."

Adrien's head shot up abruptly, and the rest of his body nearly followed suit. He gazed at his kwami with a frantic, searching gaze; his eyes, wide with surprise skimmed Plagg's, boring into his little face with a look of absolute lack of understanding on his own.

Plagg raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a small, lopsided grin.

"Yes, kid," he said. "Keep those cogs turning. I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough if only you try."

Adrien frowned in response, unamused. "I don't need more time to understand what you mean. But..."

"But: what?"

"But it doesn't make any sense," Adrien explained, turning away, his gaze now fixed on the school courtyard below them. "Marinette was always the first to support me whenever Kagami was concerned. She helped me set up that disastrous skating date. She made sure that Kagami could see her as friend. And when we... When we started dating later on, she never showed any signs of being uncomfortable or disappointed about it. And then there was Luka."

Plagg snickered. "Yeah. After you'd got together with the Tsurugi girl."

"Marinette had advised me about her! She'd agreed to come with us to the rink as soon as I told her about the plan. And she took Luka with her, even though it was months before Kagami and I began dating for real."

"Well, yes," Plagg agreed, though Adrien knew there was a 'but' coming with it; he was not wrong. "Still, it was after you'd mentioned going out with her."

Adrien's voice caught in his throat as dozens of images came rushing through his mind, proving that each and every word of Plagg's interpretations was was not only correct, but also fully and entirely logical.

And it sucked.

He shouldn't have been able to recall any of them, and yet, he did. The change of expression on Marinette's face after he'd told her whom he'd had in mind, going from giddy to confused, to wistful (it was the same shift that he had noticed in her during their ride back home from the museum, actually, even though he hadn't known that at the time); her hasty escape from the rink, when he had followed her to make sure she was okay; the look of uneasiness when he and Kagami had come to visit the Couffaines, right before Desperada stroke.

He remembered hanging out with both of the girls before the whole Miracle Queen nightmare, having the time of his life until all of the sudden, Marinette was no longer there.

And he had hardly even noticed.

"This can't be true," he muttered desperately, rubbing his hands against his face. "She was a friend. The first one I've ever had save for Chloe, but at the same time, the most amazing, most inspiring, most caring friend. A friend, who -"

"I swear, kid, you call her your friend once more and I'll leave you here on this roof."

"No, you don't understand," Adrien opposed Plagg's comment, the unsettling note of terror resonating in his voice and growing more audible by the second. "You've always picked on me for calling her that but that's exactly the way I saw her, because... Because I was so sure that was exactly how she saw me. As her friend."

Once again, his gaze became hollow, and he buried his fingers in his hair, fighting the urge to pull the blond locks out in a quite literal sense. He glanced at Plagg; he turned away again. He closed his eyes, shut them tight as he slouched, no longer caring if his behaviour was or wasn't a cowardly one.

He needed to find a way out of this pit, and he hadn't got the slightest idea were to start.

"A friend or not, you still chose Kagami over her," he heard Plagg say, his voice as muffled and distant as if they'd been separated by a ten inch glass at least.

It was a voice of reason and Adrien knew it; and yet, it provoked nothing but a new wave of anger on his part; and so when Plagg opened his mouth to add something, the boy next to him did the only thing left to do.

He snapped.

"Do you really think I would've chased after Kagami if I'd known Marinette was an option?"

Silence fell over them then, and this time, it lasted. Adrien's hands were still pressed against his scalp, pulling on his hair in a desperate manner, but at the same time feeling too numb to even acknowledge the pain he should have felt. The situation that had seemed so unbelievable from the start now turned out to be straight-up surreal, not to say – absurd.

Not a quarter ago he'd been surprised to see that the few hours of thinking had not been enough for him to comprehend the events he'd witnessed – now he realised that he could spend another month on it, and he still wouldn't have reached even the most basic understanding of it.

It was simply too much for him to deal with.

"So that's what it is about."

He raised his head at Plagg’s words, not even sure what he was expecting to see next. Was Plagg going to pick on him again? Or would he continue to play the part of a consoler, remaining gentle and understanding towards him, just like he had been so many times that day?

Well, teasing or not, Adrien had learnt by now that Plagg had only ever meant well – as long as he was concerned, anyway. And given the emotional state he was in, it was all that mattered right now.

There was one thing he hadn't foreseen, however.

It was a look of pure shock.

"What?" he asked promptly, seeing that very expression reflect all over his kwami’s little face. "Don't you dare act all surprised now. I bet you're dying to treat me with another I told you so, so you may as well say it now. Go on, let's get it over with."

"I'm not acting, Adrien," Plagg replied. "And I'm not going to say that."

"Why not?"

"Because that would mean I'd seen this coming when I can honestly promise you that I didn't. I knew Marinette was Ladybug, yes. I did think that your calling her your friend was always a sort of a defending mechanism of yours, provoked by the fact that you were determined to remain faithful the spotted version of her. Hearing you admit that you were interested in Marinette... Well, that's another pile of cheese."

"You were the one who nagged me about giving her a chance!" Adrien answered angrily. "When she said she was in love with Chat Noir, you were the first to advocate her case. And even though you made fun of that unsigned valentine I got, you still brought it up like some magic talisman to cure me from my love for Ladybug. And -"

"And no matter how hard I tried, it always turned out futile."

"Yes. Because I never had a reason to believe that I actually stood a chance."

Another long sigh escaped his lips, while he prayed internally that Plagg would not contradict this final statement as well. He was so tired, so terribly, terribly run down that he really could fall off the roof he was seated at and not realise what happened until he was halfway through his descent – and yet, he was also acutely aware of how far he was from rest.

How much more there was to be said.

He gritted his teeth and kicked the airs at the realisation, the feeling of utter helplessness taking over him. This conversation was supposed to be beneficial to him, even if not in the direct way. He had not expected it to be comforting, no; but he'd hoped it would at least allow him to cleanse his head at least.

That by answering Plagg's questions, he would also answer some of his own.

However, all it did was hurt and confuse him more. The thought of Marinette having feelings for him has been mind-blowing from the start – and yet, Plagg's suggestion about her hiding them because of Kagami of all people was a turn could not have anticipated.

How would it have played out if he'd known about it before?

"Listen, Plagg," he picked up again after a moment, once more deciding to just lay it all out in the open now and overthink it later. "It's not... It's not like I am in love with her. Or that I was at any other time, for that matter. You know that the main reason why things didn't work with Kagami was because I was still head over heels with Ladybug, so... So it probably would've been just the same with Marinette, as up until last night they had been two different people as far as I'd known. But I can't know for sure, right? I mean, she is important to me, she's always been... She's smart and funny and kind – In fact, she's about the most selfless person I've ever met in my life, which is all the more true if your suspicion about her cheering for Kagami and me despite her own feelings is correct. So maybe... Maybe..."

"Maybe you could've fallen for her after all, too."

Adrien groaned and fell down on his back, his legs still dangling from the edge of the roof. He wanted to punch the air above him or better yet, the hard surface he was lying on; to yell with all his might, so that the frustration in him would finally find a vent.

For a split second he wondered if someone would hear him if he'd done that.

"Perhaps I could," he moaned instead. "Even if she wasn't Ladybug, it still might've happened. You know, just because it didn't really click with Kagami doesn't necessarily mean it wouldn't be different with someone else! And since Marinette is very different from her, it's more probable than not."

"Mhmm. Not to mention that she is Ladybug."

"It's not like she acts like her, though," the boy mused. "I know now that her shyness around me was caused by... very specific reasons, and even before that, I'd suspected that it's not her typical behaviour. I wasn't that blind after all; I saw the way she interacted with other people around her, and not only the ones closest to her. She can be confident and not only with the people she likes, or people she knows or, I don't know, just girls. There were moments when she was like that with me. And still, it wasn't enough for me to recognise Ladybug in her. Because it's still not exactly how Ladybug is."

"You're one too talk," Plagg answered with a grin after landing on his Chosen's chest. "I don't think the differences between your precious Bug and her civilian self are half as significant as the change you go through every time you transform."

"It doesn't change the fact that I still have trouble blending those two girls into one in my mind."

"Look, kid. That list of qualities you've just enumerated? To me, that's Ladybug's character to a t. And from what I remember, you did point out the similarities between the girls at least once."

Adrien raised his head a little to look his kwami in the eye, surprised. "I don't recall doing that."

"You did call her your everyday Ladybug, didn't you?"

His eyes widened a little at the indication; he regarded his companion for a while as the words sunk into his brain, the smug grin on Plagg's face making him feel even more of an idiot now. With another groan, he let his head bump against the roof once more.

There really was something wrong with him.

"I did. Gosh, I did," he whined. "And you heard me say it when you'd already learnt her identity yourself. You've known all along and haven't said a word."

"Hey, I had no right to do that. And as you've already pointed out today, I did all I could to have you realise it on your own."

"Except that time when I nearly did figure it out when Kwamibuster attacked and you made sure I stopped thinking about it before I did for real."

"I didn't mean realising she was Ladybug, you moron. Just that she's the girl you can love and be loved back by her."

Adrien opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of a bell going off on the school corridors. So he sat up and rubbed his eyes, his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to decide on what he should do next.

"I'm not ready for this," he said quietly. "I thought I would be, especially after talking to you, but somehow it only got worse, and now all I want is to transform back and run away, as far as possible from this place. Can I run away from this place?"

"I think you know the answer to that, kid," Plagg responded with a wink as he flew up to rustle the boy's hair. "Though you certainly will have to transform if you want to get down from this rooftop in time. Or any time at all."

Adrien smiled weakly, but his voice trembled when he answered, "I'm a little afraid that I may not be able to fight off the temptation once I'm suited up. I really don't want to see her right now. I don't think I can see her and not flee on the spot."

Plagg shook his head.

"There's no way you can avoid that now. That is, unless she's not at school, due to some terrible events that happened to her last night... But you won't know that until you get down."

"Now that's reassuring," Adrien muttered under his breath. Determined to ignore his kwami's sneers, he stood up and, after making sure he really was out of everyone's sight, he said the only words left to say.

"Plagg, claws out."

Not a minute later he was quietly sneaking into his locker room, transformed back to his very civilian self and pretending that he really had just entered the school grounds.

Meanwhile, his whole soul burned.

He was so going to regret going back.

#my writing #fanfiction #mlb #ladynoir #adrienette #this is so long i'm sorry #but at least you get some answers

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doll-gloss · 5 years

Text

This year is coming to a close,

and, truthfully, I usually don't like to think about it. I usually try not to even acknowledge it. The passage of time is, admittedly, a bit of a daunting thing for me to think about more often than not. But whether I continue to sugar coat it for myself or put on my grown woman pants and look it in the eye for once, the fact of the matter remains.

Time passes. Time is inevitable. And time Changes.

Now, I know I kind of started this off kind of heavy, and yeah, sorry for that lol. But it gets better, I promise. Seriously. Truly. It gets better. Because this isn't me filing a complaint against the end of the year or mourning all of the things that I could've, should've, would've said or done. It's not about looking back mournfully, longingly, or with a sense of loss and melancholy.

It's about looking back at the beginning of this year, of My year of 2019 and breathing a sigh of euphoria and relief because of how much I've changed.

At the beginning of this year, I was a Mess. My clinical depression, anxiety, social anxiety and agoraphobia were all royally kicking my ass. Hell, they were playing hacky sack with it.

I was pessimistic, insecure, and held little to no regard for my overall wellbeing. It seemed impossible, if not even downright unreasonable, for me to set, fortify and uphold my own boundaries. And the company that I kept definitely didn't help.

I surrounded myself with people that I was so desperate for attention, in place of respect, from. I'd fall in and out of this wishy washy state of either trying to force myself into the center of their lives or make myself small and choke on my own voice so that I wouldn't make them hate me, even if it meant just sitting there and letting them curse at and scold me.

And yet somehow?? I let these same people try to lecture me on how I should act, how I should speak, how I should carry myself? Not even for myself. Never for myself. Not really.

But I clung to these people, one of them the most in particular, because I had convinced myself that I wasn't whole, on my own, without them. A belief that was partially instilled within me by my general overall lack of self-esteem, but also by the fact that this "friend" pretty much convinced me to self-diagnose myself with borderline personality disorder, which they claimed that they also had. Yeah. Like I said. A Mess. But it's true, sometimes, that things get worse before they get better.

Towards the end of my toxic relationship, I Finally started getting therapy, again. Financial struggles, along with me honestly just lacking the drive to take the initiative, had prevented me from getting the help I needed at first.

But after coming dangerously close to giving up for good while I was at home alone one day, the one thing saving me being a phone call from my brother (he gets on my nerves, but Bless his heart and soul for that), I finally decided that enough was enough. I was drowning, I was scared, I was tired, and I was tired of drowning and being scared and of being tired.

So I talked to my mom. We both talked to my "father," who, truthfully took a Lot of convincing, but in the end we were able to get him to say yes to me checking into whether or not I could use a counseling program through the company he works for.

One phone call and one transferred call later, and I was finally put on a, thankfully, short waiting list for a therapist. And a week and a half later, I finally got to meet with said therapist. She was, and is, an absolute sweetheart. She's helped me so much, and through her, I was able to be referred to a psychiatrist and continue to get the help and the medication that I needed. And as if all of that wasn't enough? Some time between my third or so appointment with my therapist and my first appointment with my psychiatrist, I met Sai.

I joined a stupid little Sims Series server (that, ironically, neither of us are even still in anymore), dropped a couple of stupid screenshots of my own sims in the Sims 4 channel, received compliments on them from One of the random but very sweet and likeable members of said server, and then we chatted for a little while about kpop and I assumed that that was that.

I was wrong. And I'm so glad that I was.

A couple of days later, that same supposedly random member of that silly little sims discord server sent me a friend request. I accepted. I DM'd him, reintroduced myself, he introduced himself, and before I knew it, he became my friend, my best friend, and soon my Gaurdian Angel.

What began as just casually spamming each other about our sims and our favorite kpop groups and sharing playlists, eventually turned into us opening up to each other, confiding in each other, and realizing Just How Much We Understood And Empathized With Each Other.

When the door to my aforementioned toxic and unhealthy relationship with my former "friends" closed, a new door opened. Sai's door opened. He took me in, comforted me, encouraged me, and patiently began helping me unravel all of the knotted, ugly tangles that had been left over in my heart and mind from my traumas, old and recent, and became my second biggest cheerleader throughout my therapy. The first of course being my mom.

With him, with mom, my therapist, my psychiatrist all gently but firmly behind me, I began to heal. I began to learn. I began to Change. And this time, it was for me.

I began learning how to hold myself accountable for my own actions, both the positive and the negative, but I also learned to stop taking responsibility for other people's actions so that they could no longer dictate my life.

I learned how to truly see myself as my own seperate entity outside of my relationships with others. I learned to be content with my own company. I learned to set boundaries and be honest and open about how I feel and how I wish to be spoken to and treated. I learned that what other people think of me and feel about me only matter as much as I allow them to.

I learned to stop reminiscing over things and people that were left in the past because they belong there. I learned to reclaim certain things that I love that were once tied to those things and people that belonged in my past. I learned to start writing again. I learned to start listening to certain songs again. I learned that, ultimately, even with having a support system behind me, true closure ultimately lies within myself.

And I'm Still learning and re-learning all of this and so many other things every single day. The process is continous, and it isn't always easy, recovery isn't always easy. But it's possible. It's possible every day that I wake up and decide to try. A year ago? I didn't think I even had the strength or will within me to even do that, let alone everything else that I've done.

Knowing me, there will still be times when acknowledging the passage of time and the changes it inevitably brings along with it will Still seem a little daunting to me. And that's okay. But that's why I'm writing all of this and posting it at 6:09 in the morning when I really should be sleeping like I told Sai I would hours ago (sorry! Don't yell at me!).

I wanted to leave myself a reminder, a reason to remember and believe that, as time passes, time changes? Good things, as long as I just keep waking up to greet every day that counts down to a new year, will also be inevitable.

#dear diary #recovery #closure #self love #positivity #new year #new me

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namjuicyy · 5 years

Text

A Father’s Love - Chapter Four

Masterlist | Requests are open.

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut.

Genre of this part: Fluff, smut.

Word Count: 3.5k.

Summary: Single father, Namjoon, struggles to keep his idol life and his private life separate. When he meets you, everything changes.

Warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, studio sex, fluffy sex on his sofa.

Namjoon's life, as you'd come to figure out, was dictated by a small digital screen that would send alerts to him telling him what his plans were for the day. His calendar app, along with his favourite music app, were the only two squares on his phone that hadn't been put into a folder for the neat aesthetic. And the chance for him to put a selca of himself and his son as a wallpaper and be able to see it whenever he unlocked his phone, of course. But, Tuesdays and Fridays were your nights. Nights where, regardless of distance or business, time was set aside for the both of you to hang out. Three of the four days dedicated solely to you, you also shared Namjoon with Haneul. Not that you minded, given that, even when he threw tantrums, he was the sweetest boy alive. A trait he must have inherited from his father.

This Friday, however, it seemed to just be you and Namjoon, favouring a date at the cinema for... a date in his studio.

"___, I'm so sorry." He said frantically over the phone. "I didn't want to cancel on you, I really didn't. It's just we're planning a comeback in the spring and a comeback requires an album and an album needs writing and I'm already so behind as it is."

"Lack of inspiration or lack of time?" You'd asked trying to cheer him up.

"It's certainly not lack of inspiration," he told you, "I seem to have found myself a new muse."

"Oh smooth, Joonie. Smooth." You giggled.

"Yeah, next door's cat is really soft and squishy. I think I'm in love, ___. That calico... man. It really gets me, you know?"

"Sure it does. Just... out of curiosity... what kind of takeout do you prefer? Italian, Indian or Chinese?"

Namjoon chuckled. "Curiosity killed the cat you know."

"If that thing dies, you can't hold me responsible for it! I won't be blamed for the fall of Bangtan Sonyeon-whatever it is you youngsters call yourselves these days."

You'd come to learn, in the past week or so, that Namjoon's band was a lot more successful than you thought it was. Turns out you had seen Namjoon's face around before, and you did know who he was. But for some reason your brain didn't twig that your Namjoon was international pop/rap sensation... Rap Monster... of BTS. You'd even listened to some of his music before, and enjoyed it a lot. Not that you'd be able to call yourself part of Army or anything. When you learnt about this, you simply shrugged your shoulders and just let it skate over your head, something that surprised Namjoon. No one had ever been this indifferent to his career before, yet there you were, snuggling up to him on the couch, playing with his son's hair absent-mindedly as the Korean dubbed version of Disney Pixar's Cars played on the television. Namjoon really tried not to get attached to you. He honestly tried his hardest. He'd seen all the problems his dongsaengs had gone through whenever they'd even breathed in the same direction as a woman, and knew that if the press ever got wind of you, things would change for the worse. Thankfully, his previous relationship and his son were able to remain in the dark. For five years he'd managed to separate his family and his work, and he was proud of himself for that. But times were changing. He wasn't as in the spotlight then as he was now. But despite knowing all of this, he still found his heart swelling every time he looked at you and Haneul playing, or laughing, or just getting along perfectly. It seemed almost too good to be true.

"As long as there's lots and lots of meat, jagi, I'm fine with anything."

Jagi. The Korean term for sweetheart. A term you never thought you'd hear in regards to you, but there it was. The first time he'd called you that and you loved it instantly. You smiled to yourself brightly, thankful that your pathetic appearance wasn't caught by God's best creation so he could tease you about it later on.

You followed his sister's directions to the Big Hit building, where Namjoon's studio was, holding the bags of takeout in your hands. South Korea, Seoul especially, was known for its amazing takeout delivery service, and how, even if you were sat on the banks of the Han River, their drivers would find you and deliver your favourite meal. But there was something about carrying your food back to wherever it was you were eating that reminded you of your childhood, and you'd always prefer suffering the cold noodles, or fries, for the feeling of charging in from the harsh weather and declaring that your bollocks had frozen off from the storm. Which is what you did as soon as you burst through the door of MonStudio and shook the cold off your body, plopping the copious amounts of food down on the tiny, black sofa at the back of the room. Or was it the front? You couldn't tell really.

Namjoon turned around and his expression changed from downright annoyance to shock. Clearly you were the last person he expected to see, despite the fact that you'd flat out asked him what his favourite takeout was. For someone who's IQ was so high, he was so slow in social situations. A trait you found more endearing than annoying. At least for the time being.

"You didn't tell me what you preferred, so I just brought everything." You announced proudly, removing your outerwear and staring at the bags of food. "The light pink bag is Indian, the paper bag is pizza and a bit of pasta, the white bag is our favourites from that BBQ we went to a couple of weeks ago and this," you held up an even larger paper bag with an instantly recognisable, bright yellow logo in the shape of a curvy M, "is filled with nothing but saturated fats and heart disease in a bag but if I'm gonna go, it'll be at the hands of a Big Mac and fries larger than my head."

Namjoon laughed, stood and walked behind you so he could wrap his long arms around your waist. "You are too good to be true." He rested his chin on your shoulder and swayed the both of you gently.

"Wait until you get to know me." You joked. He kissed your shoulder. "Now," you tapped his hands that were linked and resting on your tummy, "are you going to eat this food? Or are you just going to let it sit there and grease your sofa as it gets colder and colder?"

He grabbed hold of some bags. "Come with me, we'll eat in the kitchen."

You watched Namjoon walk out of his studio and down the little corridor. "There's a kitchen?" You asked, following him.

There was, in fact, a kitchen. A big one. Overwhelmingly grey and a mixture of homey and canteen-y. The kitchen units weren't too dissimilar to yours, save for the fact that they were newer and didn't have a weird brown stain on them that was there when you moved in and was stubborn enough to not move. Three of the four walls were basically glass, looking out onto the hustle and bustle of Gangnam's nightlife, and in front of each table was a row of grey, smooth tables that resembled modern picnic benches.

You heard the familiar buzz of a microwave whirring to life and your heart sang. You set the bagged food on one of the counters and stared at Namjoon with a soft look in your eyes. "You have a microwave. You're so domestic."

Namjoon laughed. "Please, using a microwave and a kettle is about the only thing I can do in the kitchen."

"Oh. Well, there goes all my hopes and dreams of marrying you then."

"We've found your deal breaker."

"We have indeed. Enjoy your food, I'm off to marry a chef."

"Who's going to break this news to Haneul?"

You came storming back into the kitchen after your dramatic exit. "No! We're only two weeks into this. You can't start emotionally manipulating me using your child!"

When the food had all been warmed, you chose one of the tables in the middle of the largest window and set up camp there, laying all the food out neatly with the proper utensils so you could grab and munch. The conversation never died. It always seemed to flow so easily with Namjoon. When you weren't joking, you were having serious conversations with each other and just generally enjoying each other's company.

While Namjoon threw away the now, completely empty, takeout packets, you took it upon yourself to wash up the plates and the cutlery you all use. You didn't hear Namjoon return, all you felt was his arms snake and lock around your waist again, this time a little tighter than before. His lips immediately went to your shoulder, peppering light kisses on it before leading up to your ear. You could feel the atmosphere had changed from before. There was something heavy hanging over you, and it wasn't Namjoon.

"Someone's affectionate." You commented.

He just hummed in response to you, continuing to kiss your hair and hold you from behind. As you turned to look at him over your shoulder, his lips caught yours in a gentle kiss that soon turned into more. His tongue was in your mouth, his hands turning you so you were facing him and your arse pressed up against the counter, pinned there by his body. You could feel his cock growing the more heated the kiss got, the tighter his grip on you became. You couldn't catch your breath. You felt like you'd been running a marathon in the hottest of weathers. Every touch of his skin on yours burned into you and melted straight into your soul. Every lick of his tongue sent electricity into your veins, resurrecting anything dead within you and bringing it to the youth of life.

He pushed you further into the counter, forcing you to sit yourself up onto it and spread your legs, allowing him to slot in between them like a puzzle piece. Your clothed centre was now level with his, and it rubbed deliciously against yours until.

BANG.

"Fuck!"

Namjoon doubled over in pain.

"What happened!?"

"Ah shit, I came in too quickly and whacked my knee on the cupboard."

You laughed. "Namjoon!"

"Don't laugh at me. I'm in pain." He came back in closer to you, much slower this time, and started kissing you again. His lips were attached to your neck this time, though.

"Shame you didn't hit your dick. I would have kissed it better for you."

Namjoon stopped kissing you, and lifted his head so he could look into your eyes. His brown ones, hooded and full of lust, were hiding the cogs turning in his brain. He put his hand over his crotch. "Ow! I hit my dick too! Ow it hurts!"

"Well, I'm certainly not doing it now that you're faking it."

Namjoon smirked. "Fine. I had other plans for you, anyway."

You wanted to ask him what those plans were, but his lips stopped you from speaking. His hands travelled up your jeans and made quick work at pulling them halfway down your thighs. He kissed your neck, tongue licking at your skin. You almost forgot where his hands were until you felt them dip into your panties and start rubbing your clit with his thumb, causing you to moan out loud. Much louder than you anticipated, actually, shocking the both of you as your noise bounced off the walls. He added pressure, rubbing a little faster and watching your face as he did, a shit-eating grin on his lips and his pupils blown out. This was the first time you were seeing him like this, this whole other side of him that you didn't even imagine was there. He'd always seemed so soft before. And you certainly didn't expect –

"Fuck! Namjoon." You couldn't control the noises coming out of your mouth as he slipped two of his longest fingers into you're your incredibly wet hole. He tapped up straight away, and began a relentless pace making you squelch beneath him, his palm grazing your clit in a repeated manner, adding that extra layer of euphoria. You watched his face as he continued to pleasure you, you saw how he was almost mimicking your expressions, but in a taunting way. As if he was telling you that it was him making you feel this good. This sudden cockiness was so alluring, and despite how awkward you would have felt with any other man, you couldn't tear your eyes away.

He could feel you getting tighter around his fingers, he could hear how laboured your breathing had become. He knew you were close. "You gonna cum for me, angel?" He asked. You nodded, completely helpless beneath him.

"Namjoon-ah?"

Your head immediately snapped to the wall a few feet away, where, behind it, was the door to the kitchen that you'd forgotten to close when you entered. That voice that shouted Namjoon's name was deep, and certainly wasn't yours. You thought you were alone in the building but apparently not.

"Suga-hyung?" Namjoon replied, completely unphased and unrelenting. You covered your mouth in an attempt to stop your whimpers, but all it did was soften them. You were too close to remain completely quiet, and Namjoon was determined to get you there.

"Where are you?" The voice asked.

"In the kitchen." You could hear the footsteps coming towards you. Your eyes widened. "Cum, angel." Namjoon ordered. You felt his fingers move faster. It was only a matter of time. 'Suga' was only a few meters away at this point and your orgasm was on the brink of tearing you in two.

Coming.

Coming....

Your hands gripped into Namjoon's shoulders as you came, holding your breath and shutting your eyes tightly. You could feel him everywhere, inside you, around you. All you could smell was him, hear was his breathing. Your brain was complete mush, not processing what needed to be done as you were coming back to reality. With his one, dry hand, he was tugging your jeans back up your leg, begging you silently to come to your senses, which you did when you heard Suga's whistling. While Namjoon washed his hands frantically in the sink, you hopped off the counter and pulled your jeans back up, only finishing zipping them as the man walked in the room.

He was short, and stopped moving as soon as he saw you. He was confused. "Hyung, this is ___. ___, this is Min Yoongi, a housemate and member of my band."

"Oh." You replied. "It's nice to meet you!"

"You too." Yoongi answered. "So you're the infamous ___. It's bad enough that Haneul bangs on about you but Namjoon literally doesn't stop talking about you. You seem to have infiltrated the hearts of the Ilsan Kim's." He started to pour himself a coffee.

"I hope he hasn't been getting on your nerves too much." You joked.

"He always does. You'll get used to it." He smiled, flashing you both an adorable gummy smile. His eyes never left Namjoon though, and sparkled with a glint of mischief. "Oh, and uh, next time you two want to fuck, please make sure you don't do it where we all eat. It stinks of sex in here. Have a nice night."

As he left, you could hear him chuckling to himself. Namjoon's face had turned bright red, and when you both locked eyes with one another you burst out into laughter. You were so embarrassed but at the same time you still felt this pull to Namjoon, despite the interruptions. So, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulled him towards you, and whispered, "maybe we should finish this in the studio?"

"You read my mind."

You could barely keep your hands off one another on your way back to Namjoon's studio, your lips meeting every so often and your back pressed up against the wall as his tongue slipped down your throat. By the time you were in his studio, both your shirts were off, and were thrown to one side the minute you stepped inside, and your jeans had been unbuttoned and unzipped and were being tugged off your legs by you as Namjoon shut the door. You both fell on his sofa, his crotch rubbing against your soaked underwear as he kissed you again for the millionth time that night. His hands roamed the entire length of your body, only to pull your panties off you. He stopped and rolled his eyes. "Shit!"

"What?"

"I don't have any condoms in my studio."

"Are you clean?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me too."

"Are you suggesting...?"

"Just get inside me, Joon." You demanded. Your ankles were pushing into his clothed ass, pulling him closer to you. You needed him inside you just as much as he needed to be inside you. He undone his jeans and pulled his cock out. He was too wound up to pull the rest of his clothes off properly, he just wanted to feel you.

"Tell me if you ever feel uncomfortable."

You nodded and waited for that sweet burn. You knew he would stretch you out so good, and you were right. Eye contact remained as he started to push into you, stretching your walls as he intruded, not fast enough to really hurt you, but fast enough for his impatience to be kept at bay. Within seconds, he'd bottomed out, his eyes had rolled back into his head and he'd groaned so loudly, you were grateful for the soundproof room. His voice wasn't the only one filling the room, as you whimpered at the feel of his length really hitting all the best places, despite the fact he'd not even begun to fuck you yet.

He'd wanted this since he met you. Maybe not quite as rushed as this, and way more romantic. In his bed, candles everywhere, R&B in the background as he literally made love to you. But on his sofa in his studio was good enough at the time. His head fell to your chest, still caged in your bra.

"You can move, Joon."

"I can't. I'll cum if I move."

You giggled, scratching at his scalp. He pulled out, then pushed back in gently making you both groan. "Fuck." He cursed. He did it again, his head still buried in his chest. This time, his thrust back inside you was harder, and they kept getting harder until you were practically tearing the couch with your nails trying to grip hold of something, anything, to tether you to reality.

His speed picked up, his moans got louder. He was, somehow, much louder than you, a feat you never thought anyone could achieve but there he was, pounding into you at a merciless rate and letting the whole world know what he was doing. Even when he kissed you, he was still groaning.

"You feel too damn good, f-fuck."

Your nails dug into his back as he made the sofa rock against the carpet. He sat back onto his knees so he could move into you faster. He gripped your waist and watched your hand snake down to your clit. He bit his lip at the sight in front of him, you, sprawled out in his studio, your hand on your pussy and his cock slamming into you. It was almost too much to bear. "That's it, angel." He praised. "Touch yourself for me. Fuck. You look so good right now."

A thin sheen of sweat coated his entire body. His brows furrowed. He looked like a living piece of art. Overwhelmed, you began to shake, tightening around him accidentally, making him lose his mind.

"You... have to cum... first." He said.

It didn't take you long to do as he said, your second orgasm hitting you like a double decker bus. You screamed as your fingers moved faster against your clit in an attempt to keep up with both Namjoon's cock and your own orgasm. And, as you were finishing, Namjoon pulled out, shooting his release all over your tummy with his lip in between his teeth and an animalistic growl erupting from his throat.

Breathing. That was all you could hear in the studio as the two of you recovered. Namjoon collapsed at the opposite end of the sofa, his hands running through his hair and his lips bitten red raw. You felt cold, empty, but so incredibly satisfied.

When his legs had regained at least half of their strength, he walked over to the tissue box on his desk and wiped his cum off your skin. You didn't realise just how much there was of it until you actually sat up to watch him move. "I think you're even further behind with your work now." You commented.

Namjoon chuckled. "Worth every second."

He was so cheesy, even after almost destroying you. You could tell that this was going to be one hell of a relationship.

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