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astr0-philia · 3 months

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟞: 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕠𝕞 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕁𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤?

Prolouge 1 2 3 4 5 6 7(ongoing)

[Third Person]:

'This is not good'

Hurried footsteps resounded in the halls and were increasing by the moment. Our protagonist was sprinting around in the hallway trying to find her class 1D. It was 10:30 am in the morning and it was not good. [Y/n] was beyond pissed that she missed not one but two of her first classes of the day. She absolutely hated being tardy to any of her classes. (She had tutors at the palace that taught her.)

'I just need to go to gym class and check in to my class.....now where the hell is it.....'

This wouldn't have happened if Ace DIDN'T piss off Grim, and she DIDN'T wake up late. Partially it was her fault but she chose to ignore it due to her panic and anger.

As she ran without a care ignoring her surroundings she rushed to find a door labeled 1D.

Yes, that was the name of her class.

What was supposed to be a 5 minute search turned in to a 20 minute scavenger hunt, she was getting tired by the second and her pace was slowing down.

She was giving up .

Dragging her feet across the floor, she sulked at her own misery.

'Why is this happening! I didn't do anything wrong, I was just trying to find my class. Why did I have too meet those idiots anyway?! I could have just ignored them and I could have gotten to class earlier. I even got in trouble......I hate this......I HATE THIS.'

Tears welled up in her eyes as she was lost in her thoughts. Just as she reached the end of the hallway [Y/n] wiped her tears turning to the next corner to check.

Wait what-

Huh....HUH?????

'Oh thank the heavens!'

The door labeled 1D. [Y/n] couldn't be even happier in her life. Not even waiting for a second she starts to speed-walk towards the door with accelerating speeds finding it hard to stop due to her adrenaline.

'I PRAISE THE GREATER LORD WHO HELPED ME FIND THIS DOOR. Thank you, thank you, thank you-'

Then she bumped into something hard-

"Oof-"

"UuAugh-" an unknown voice grumbled.

"Dammit what's with me and bumping into things nowadays…." [Y/n] mumbled as she rubbed her head as it slightly throbbed in pain.

[Y/n] looked up at the man she had bumped in to.

'Damn he hot-'

The guy [Y/n] had bumped in to had light green hair which was slicked back making a clean look. He had fair and pale skin. His eyes were also a beautiful yellow-green with vertical-slit pupils and pointed eyelashes. (Thank Twisted wonderland wiki for this description 😭)

He wore a green armband contrasting her own. The color defining him as a student from the dorm of Diasomania. The boy had his head down, causing a shadow to cover his face and making it hard for her to see his facial expression.

As soon as she started to apologize. "Excuse me sir I am very sor-"

"YOU DARE BUMP INTO ME FOOLISH MORTAL" bellowed the green haired man interrupting her in the middle of her sentence. He drew closer to [Y/n]'s face with every word.

[Y/n] stepped back at the sudden proximity between them and, physically tensed at his insult.

"Well I'm sorry! I was just trying to get to my class!" retorted back [y/n] in rising anger. "I was ALSO trying to apologize to you idiot!" Jabbing his chest at every word she had spoken.

'To THINK I thought this guy was HOT'

"WELL I AM PRETTY SURE YOU WERE NOT TRYING TO" said the green haired man flinging her hand away from his chest in great momentum. The guy was fuming and so was she.

"I WAS"

"YOU WEREN'T"

"I WAS"

"YOU WERE-"

"Ehhm......" A voice interrupted the angry green haired boy.

Both the teens snapped their heads towards the man with fury.

The man was nonetheless shocked at the amount of fury the duo had in their but choose to ignore that.

"Stop this nonsense at once!" The man commanded in a demanding tone, causing both of them to back away from each other and face him.

The man looked quite unique at first sight. He had hair which was partitioned with 2 colors: black and white. He wore a suit and tie also partitioned with black and white matching his hair. He also wore a very fluffy looking black and white overcoat.

'Bro is the obsessed with black and white I see'

"What are you children doing here at this time, shouldn't you both be in classes?" Asked the man, as he looked at them suspiciously. He looked at them with the eyes of a predator, staring them down and examining them cautiously.

Then his eyes widened.

"You aren't doing any funny business are you?" Questioned the man looking even more suspicious and concerned than before.

'Funny business 😨, I can't imagine doing anything with this bastard!' [Y/n] grimaced at thought

"SIR I AM SORRY BUT I WOULD NEVER DO ANY FUNNY BUSINESS WITH THIS CREATURE" Shouted the green haired boy with displeasure at the thought of [Y/n]

'I can feel all the spit coming out of his mouth right now.'

"Hey! That's not nice" [Y/n] screamed as she slapped his arm as hard as she could in retaliation to his statement.

"Well children-" interrupting the chaos they were creating again the man said. "-I am Divius Crewel teacher of potionology in this school-" towering over them as he stated "-once again I must ask why are you two out right now and not in your classes?" ending his statement, looking at us judgmentally waiting for our answer.

"SIR I AM FROM CLASS 1D AND I WAS GOING TO THE FIELD FOR PHYSICAL EDUCATION BEFORE I BUMPED IN TO THIS CREATURE" answered the green haired boy screaming in the teachers face.

'HE'S IN MY CLASS????? Can't my luck get even worse.....'

Crewel then wiped his face looking disgusted, looked at the green haired boy again and asked another question.

"What is your name boy"

"MY NAME IS SEBEK ZIGVOLT SIR" The green haired boy now known as Sebek replied.

"Boy, will you stop with the SCREAMING?" bellowed Crewel angrily.

Sebek, startled by the scolding, just huffed and nodded at Mr.Crewel.

*Huff*

"Well now young lady......what class might you be from and where are you planning to go?"

'I was so not ready for this'

"Well sir......I am also from class 1D and I am also searching for the field for physical education....."

*Cue Sebek with the offended gasp*

"I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M IN THE SAME CLASS AS YOU-"

"WELL ME NEITHER NIT-WIT"

"This is why I will never have children..." mumbled Crewel.

"NOW NOW CHILDREN-" raising his voice as he spoke.

"-I will not tolerate this behavior anymore-" If looks could kill [Y/n] and Sebek would have been in their graves right now.

"-now follow me quickly, I will lead you to your classes." He swiftly turned around as if signaling them to follow him.

[Y/n] mockingly pushing Sebek to the side quickly started to follow Crewel Leaving the poor boy in the dust.

"This bit**" mumbled Sebek as he ran towards them quickly to reach them.

They were walking through the same halls [Y/n] had been running through a while ago. It felt like she was backtracking back the way she had ran away from.

'How could I be so stupid?'

The halls looked like the halls [Y/n] had walked through in the beginning of her time here. Green flames spewing out of fire holders. The same wooden carved doors, and the same bricks that towered over them creating walls. Though this experience was not as pleasant as the previous.

She could already feel the dread piling up inside of herself. Not only had she gotten in trouble with the headmaster but she had also gotten in trouble with another teacher that would possibly teach her.

Oh lets not forget about the brat.

[Y/n] could feel Sebek's furious gaze on her as they walked down the hall in silence. It showed how much he resented her right now. He's probably mad because they got in trouble. She was getting kind of annoyed by his stare, so she turned around to acknowledge Sebek's stare.

To say the least, he was quite surprised at the fact that [Y/n] had turned around to look at him, but nonetheless his anger returned and he once again started to look at me angrily.

'Heh lets see who wins this staring contest.'

As they continued to stare at each other the tension grew between them. If a bystander had looked at them they would have thought they were in love, but nonetheless the contest went on.

As the duo kept on staring at each other, Sebek couldn't help but notice how beautiful [Y/n] looked at the moment. Her [e/c] eyes were glowing in the sunlight from the window with confidence he had never seen before. The strands of her [h/c] hair framed her face. Her face looked like a sculpture sculpted by Michelangelo. Her face was alluring, and Sebek couldn't deny it at all.

Sebek stuck in a trance couldn't help but blink in reflex looking at [Y/n].

'Hah! I knew I would win.' thought [y/n] as she smirked unknowing of the boy's thoughts.

[Y/n] came closer to Sebek. Snapping him out his trance, and confusing him at the action. At the moment they were so close that if either one of them had moved an inch would kiss immediately.

As [Y/n] drew closer she turned her head a little left reaching his ear and whispering "I won~"

Sebek quickly drew back as quickly as he could, flustered by the girl's action. Turned his head toward the side as he blushed like crazy. [Y/n] being as oblivious as she is giggled in glee not noticing him blush.

Crewel just walked in front of them oblivious of the fact that they were both having a staring contest at the back. Not that he cared enough to notice.

As they walked further down the hall. Some doors ahead there was a ray of light passing through an opened door at the front. When they reached the door, Professor Crewel opened the door with great force, causing a slam to be heard throughout the hallway.

The sound shocked both Sebek and [Y/n] to the core.

As they went out into the field, their eyes stung as the sun contrasted the dark and gloomy nature of the hallways inside the building.

'My eyes.....'

The sounds of students chattering and running throughout the fields could be heard.

"Well pups, here's your class."

"Thank you so much Professor Crewel" replied [Y/n] with utmost gratefulness.

"THANK YOU SIR"

"Now now, your welcome pups, and I should see no more fights between you pups." he stated pointing at both of them individually before turning to leave to go back into the building. Leaving both Sebek and [Y/n] in the sun.

"Well brat you ready to go face P.E.?"

"YOU'RE LUCKY YOU'RE A GIRL OR I WOULD I PUNCH YOU RIGHT HERE AND NOW."

'Heh....but ya can't'

Sebek kept on spewing threats to [Y/n] as they walked to the instructor.

The teacher looked basically like a knock-off version of hulk. He had bulking muscles, and he ALSO wore a tight shirt making it look like he wanted to emphasize muscles. He also wore TIGHT pants, she swore to god that she would not specify what she just saw..... (R.I.P. [Y/n] 💀)

The teacher then noticed the duo walking to him and grinned like a maniac.

"Hello children. I am Ashton Vargas, the teacher for P.E. what may I help you with today?" asked in an enthusiastic tone.

"Well Professor Vargas we were supposed to come to this class, but somehow got lost and reached now! What are we supposed to do for the class.....?"

"YES PROFESSOR VARGAS WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?"

Professor Vargas sweatdropped as he replied "Well children you have come at the wrong time. Since the class-"

*Ring, Ring*

"-has ended"

Shocked at the revelation both Sebek and [Y/n] stood there mouth wide open and confused.

"Well now I need to go and dismiss my class. Now run along to lunch now."

[Y/n] snapping out of her daze looked at Sebek and asked "Do you know where the cafeteria is?" Feeling embarrassed that she did not know where the cafeteria was.

Scoffing, Sebek smirked at [Y/n] raising his eyebrow trying to tease the poor girl.

'Why the fuck is this guy so annoying 😭'

"WELL I GUESS I COULD HELP. Though you have to repay the favor when I do need help." replied to [Y/n]in a normal tone for the first time.

"WOAH? Sebek talking in a classroom voice, that's so rare!"

"SHUT UP!"

So basically what happened next was that Sebek being a nice brat helped [Y/n] get to the cafeteria with no issues. Then ditched her to go sit with his friends on the Diasomania dorm table at the farthest end of the cafeteria.

'Then again I thought we were friends for a sec'

As she went to the line to get her lunch. She remembered something.

'Oh shit I forgot to take my purse from my box didn't I......'

Welp, I guess that meant no lunch for her. So she went towards the hallway to walk around and explore. It was quite interesting I must say all the paintings and every-

'OH SHIT I FORGOT I HAVE TO GO HELP CLEAN WINDOWS WITH YUU TODAY!'

As if she was sonic she turned around and ran as fast she could to the place where she was supposed to meet Yuu. As she reached the empty area of the hallway she noticed two people in the distance. A human and a small pet looking thing- that was probably Grim. So she ran to them to meet them.

"Hi Yuu!"

Startled by her sudden appearance the poor boy stuttered his response "O-oh Hi [Y-[Y/n]"

"Gah! Took you long enough to come! We were waiting for ages." complained Grim as he was tired of staying in one spot the whole time.

"How about I carry you so you don't have to feel tired, Grim?" [Y/n] asked Grim with a big smile on her face.

Grim stunned by the innocent gesture and smile couldn't help but feel giddy. "W-well I mean sure..."

So [Y/n] picked him up and in to her arms. As if on instinct Grim snuggled up in to [Y/n]'s arms like a baby would do in a mothers. Grim had never felt so happy in his life.

"Well then [Y/n] now that you are here we are just waiting for Ace." Yuu exclaimed.

"Well then we just wait then."

"What's buggin' me is, Ace ain't even here yet! To make us wait, after what he did... Grrr!"

*15 minutes later*

".........."

"..............And now he's super late! I bet he up and bailed on us!" Grim exclaimed in anger while punching the air in anger.

"I didn't actually think he would bail out of it...." [Y/n] mumbled as she thought of the boy's behavior. "At second thought he probably would" She said once again, sweat dropping.

"We should look for him." said Yuu calmly as he gestured to us to follow him around the hall.

As we walked around. Once again plenty of paintings were hung on the wall but there was a specific painting that caught [Y/n]’s eye. It was a picture of a beautiful soldier on top of a snow white horse in a meadow. It looked beautiful.

As she went closer to the painting-

"Hey! Ace! Get over here! Try to hide from me, will ya! Huh... Maybe there's really no one here?" Grim shouted out trying to catch the attention of the redhead who was nowhere to be seen. Startling the girl.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, I'm here." Another voice rang out from somewhere. It came from the painting [Y/n] was looking at.

The three of them looked quite confused from where it came. Then [Y/n] spoke up announcing something.

"Guys.....I think the painting I was looking at just talked....."

"Yes girl, indeed it was me who talked." Once again the same painting on the wall spoke in a confident voice.

"Bwaaah! That painting just talked!" Grim exclaimed in fear as he dropped out of [Y/n]'s arms to hide behind Yuu's legs.

"Yes, and...? (Slay arianna grande) Is a talking painting really such an oddity at this school?"

"Well I mean......" Yuu muttered in awe.

"The lady in the portrait on that wall talks too. As does the gentleman in the portrait on this one."

"But we haven't heard a single one of them talk!" exclaimed [Y/n] in disbelief

'Are all these paintings able to talk too 😨'

"As long as a painting has a mouth, why wouldn't it be able to talk? Is that really so strange?"

"Of course it's so strange! You don't see paintings talkin' around here man!" Grim said to the painting on the wall.

"In fact, yes. Paintings don't usually talk." Yuu also stated backing up Grim's statement.

"Well, your "usual" and my "usual" clearly differ. Shall we agree to disagree on the matter?"

"Sure.....?" [Y/n] said unsure of the answer she had said.

'Can this end already we need to find Ace!' [Y/n] thought while getting impatient.

"Now, you seem to be searching for someone." Finally asked the painting to them.

"So we're looking for a guy-" As Yuu started to explain the situation and tell who we were searching for.

"We're lookin' for this guy called Ace. He's got messy hair and a heart drawn on his face." Grim interrupted Yuu clearly annoyed of how slow this conversation was going on.

"Ah, I know the one. A new student, I believe? Today was his first day at school. I think he went back to his dorm a while ago." Sated the painting making Grim even more fidgety and impatient than before.

"Myaaah! So it's true! He's tryin' to ditch us! Do you know which way he went?"

"Well then let's go quick before we miss the guy totally!" exclaimed [Y/n] as she started to walk towards the mirror hall gesturing for the duo to follow her.

"The door to the dorms is in the eastern building." stated the painting.

"Let's chase after him, [Y/n], Yuu!"

"Let's go! Let's go!" said Yuu, pushing both [Y/n] and Grim forward. To increase their speed.

"Yeah right, like I'm gonna have a hundred windows. I'm just gonna go back and—" Said Ace gleefully skipping towards his dorms, happy he got out of cleaning the windows, unknowing of the danger following him.

"AHA! GOTCHA, PUNK!" Exclaimed Grim catching the redhead's attention.

"Oh no! They saw me!"

"Stop right there, pal! No fair gettin' a head start! Wait!" Grim exclaimed trying to make Ace stop.

"Stop ditching your responsibilities and actually do something good for once!" said Yuu, getting annoyed at the boy's antiques.

"Who in their right mind would ever wait?! See ya!" Ace shouted at the trio before running away at full speed.

Then of course they had to run after him.

'How many fu**ing times do I have to actually run today....'

They ran and ran and ran. Ace however did not stop. It seemed very determined to get them off his tail and get out of cleaning the windows.

"Eh..?" Suddenly an unfamiliar voice resounded in the halls as they ran.

"Outta my way!" Ace screeched out pushing the poor boy to the side with great force as he continued to run foward with speeds she didn't think he could run.

"Hey! What gives?!" said the stranger.

The boy that she saw had blue hair and shining blue eyes. He wore the same dorm band and uniform as Ace signifying that he was from the same dorm as him. He also had shining blue eyes the matched his hair. On his face was drawn a spade, just like how Ace had a heart drawn under his eye.

"Help us!"

"Please, stop him!"

"Myah! Get him now"

All three of them screamed at the poor boy startling him.

"You want me to cast a spell to stop him?" asked the blue haired boy curiously as he also started running with the trio following after Ace.

"YES! PLEASE DO IT QUICK!" exclaimed [Y/n] as she was starting to huff and puff from the exhaustion of running too much.

"Like, freeze his legs? Or bind them with a rope? Or maybe I could... Hmm... No..."

"I don't care how! Just do something! Anything!" Grim screamed at him in annoyance.

'Just do it quickly-'

"Anything?! Anything, huh... Alright! Here goes anything! I summon thee... something heavy!"

*Poof*

There was a black object falling from the sky and was falling towards Ace as he ran ahead confidently. The black thing fell on Ace with great force falling on his back causing him to fall on to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Bwaaah?! Wha?! A pot?!" Ace shrieked in pain as he glanced at the object that had fallen on him.

As the four of them reached Ace. [Y/n] couldn't help but wince at the sight of the object that had fallen on Ace.

'Wtf bro is that a fucking cauldron.....?'

One question rang through each of their heads.....how did this guy not break his back?

"Ah ha ha ha ha! Look, [Y/n], look!-" Grim cackled as he pointed to Ace on the floor. "That Ace guy got crushed beneath a giant cauldron! It squashed him flat! Aha ha ha! That's what you get!" He stated completely unconcerned that, it could have broken his back.

'Never back down, never what.....'

"A cauldron?! I wasn't expecting that. I may have overdone it this time..." The stranger was clearly shocked at what he had manifested with his magic at the moment of panic.

"Well, we weren't either." mumbled Yuu under his breath.

As Ace sat up with great pain, his face grimaced and he shouted out in pain. "Owwww! What are you bothering me for? You guys coulda just banged out the work yourself!"

"You did this to yourself, you must face the consequences." [Y/n] said sternly ignoring any whines of pain Ace made.

"There's no "banging out" a hundred windows!" Yuu exclaimed, backing up her statement.

"So why do you have to wash a hundred windows as punishment? What the heck did you do?!? asked Deuce in a concerned voice.

"So basically-"

"I was just screwing with that furball a little." Side-eyeing Grim meticulously. "...Okay, and the statue of the Queen of Hearts got a teeny bit charred. Sue me." Ace stated cutting of Yuu once again.

'How many times is the poor boy going to get interrupted....'

Yuu, disheartened at the interruption, had sadness etched on his face. [Y/n] being a nice person she patted his shoulders to make him feel better.

"You charred and set fire on one of the statues of the great seven!??" exclaimed the boy in pure horror. " No wonder he flew off the handle at you!"

"Oh, shut up." yelled Ace angriliy and really annoyed with the boy. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Deuce. Deuce Spade." Said the boy glancing at Ace with a questioning gaze. "Don't you remember your own classmate?"

"You don't remember my name either, do you?" Ace started smirking at the fact that even Deuce did not know his name.

"That's not the point!" Deuce yelled at Ace, flustered at his question. "You shouldn't try to shirk an order from the headmage!"

"Okay- So since we're all introducing ourselves-" Yuu said smiling at Deuce. "-my name's Enma Yuuken, but you can call me Yuu."

"Ah! I'm [Y/n], by the way!"

"Yeah, yeah, message received... Fine, let's bang out the windows already. Huh...?" Ace scoffed as he turned around to look at us.

'Uh, oh......where the hell is Grim????'

"The furball! He's gone!"

"Ah ha ha ha! I'll let you three handle the rest! See ya, suckers!" exclaimed Grim before running again.

"Didn't we just get Ace to listen!" exclaimed Yuu in annoyance. "Grim, come back here now!"

'What in the fucking tom and jerry is this....'

"You caught me so YOU could run away yourself?!" Ace said clearly annoyed at the running Grim. "Hey uh- Juice!"

"It's Deuce! With a D!" yelled ast Ace. "It's not Juice!"

"This is partially your responsibility, you know!" he screamed at Deuce while running. "So help me catch that little furball!"

"Why is it my responsibility!??"

"Oh just run Deuce!" Yuu exclaimed, clearly irritated.

"Grim's useless janitor friend can't use magic-"

"Oh but you haven't seen me run-" exclaimed [Y/n] before speeding up and running faster than she ever could leaving the three in the dust.

Yuu, Deuce, and Ace, shocked at the girl's speed, tried to follow her matching her speed but failed at their attempts.

Grim was up ahead running to get out of trouble but as he started to slow down he heard increasing footsteps behind him. He was not prepared for what he saw next.

A furious [Y/n] sprinting across the hallway towards him at great speeds. He then once again turned around and ran. He was totally not ready for this. Behind both of the trio were also running, trying to gain enough momentum and speed to reach them.

As they reached the cafeteria, Grim somehow climbed up the chandelier above the cafeteria to find solace from the 4 humans.

As all of them gathered around the bottom , [Y/n] couldn't help but scream in annoyance at the arrogance Grim was showing.

"GRIM ENOUGH WITH THIS NONSENSE!" Shrieked [y/n] shocking the people around her. "GET DOWN HERE AT ONCE!"

"How about we think of some ideas to get him down from there." Yuu said trying to calm the situation down.

"What could I summon to hold onto him...?" pondered Deuce as he put his hands below his chin. "Hmmm... Oh! That's it!"

"Did you come up with somethi- Oh, hey!" Squeaked Ace in surprise as he saw what Deuce was doing. "Stop! What are you doing?! Why are you pointing your pen at me?!" Yelled in panic.

"Hey Deuce let's calm down and not do something reckless- '' [Y/n] said, getting in between the pen and Ace.

"I'm going to launch you." stated Deuce calmly as he pushed [Y/n] aside with a small shove, aiming once again at Ace.

"Bwaaah! Put me down!" screeched Ace as he started to float mid-air as Deuce got ready to launch him. "Deuce plan Abort! ABORT!"

"I've got him in my sights, and... Go!" completely ignoring Ace's pleas he launched him towards the chandelier at great speeds.

"BWAAAAAAAH!"

*BOOM*

The three below the chandelier watched in horror as the magnificent chandelier fell from the top of the roof towards them. In panic they spread out quickly away from its landing spot and hid behind anything they could find. As they looked back they saw the chandelier fall down in front of them with fear reflecting in their eyes.

'I can't believe that just happened.....'

"ACE, GRIM!" Both [Y/n] and Yuu ran forwards in to the wreckage to get the two out of the debris. Leaving Deuce to flounder at the scene like a fish.

"Deuce! How could you be so stupid!" exclaimed Yuu trying to pull Ace out of the Debris.

"I cannot believe you just did that!" grumbled Ace as he got pulled out by Yuu. "You could have killed us!"

"Myaaah..." Grim mumbled as [Y/n] pulled Grim from the debris and in to her arms. Then he fainted.

" I probably should have come up with a way to soften your landing" stated Deuce uncaringly.

Ace suddenly got up and dash toward Deuce grabbing Deuce's collar. "You complete and total moron!" Ace screamed in Deuce's face. "We got Grim, but we broke the chandelier! If the headmage finds out about this-"

Suddenly Crowley out of nowhere appeared in the room. "If I find out about... what, dear Ace?"

"Gah! Headmaster Crowley!" Gasped Yuu in disbelief.

"You children again!" Crowley exclaimed as he saw the wreckage created by the group of students. "What did you do?"

"So uhh basically-" Yuu started to speak but was shut down by [Y/n]

"We broke the chandelier"

'I am so sorry Yuu-'

"I can see that but how???" exclaimed Crowley in displeasure. "I can't believe you did this! Burning a statue wasn't enough for you? Now you've destroyed a chandelier?!"

They all synchronized their voices as they said. "We are so sorry-"

Then Crowley dropped the bomb. "You all are expelled."

"EXPELLED?!!!" Both Ace and Deuce screeched in disbelief.

"Headmage, please!" pleaded Deuce as Crowley looked at him with pity. "Give me a second chance! I can't get expelled from this school!"

'I kinda feel sorry for him...' thought [y/n] as she saw the scene displayed before her.

"Then blame yourself for your own foolish behavior." Crowley replied unsympathetically.

"Sir! We'll try to pay for the expenses sir pls!"

"This chandelier is made of magic, created by a legendary artificer." stated crowley in a stern voice. "Its candles are powered by a magical energy source, enchanted so that they will burn for eternity."

“How much would it cost then?” Yuu asked with curiosity and impatience.

“A Billion Thaumarks.” stated Crowley

“A BILLION THAUMARKS?!” screamed Deuce. He looked as if someone showed him his worst nightmare…….you know what? This probably is his worst nightmare.

“Sir, will you not be able to fix it, sir?” Asked Ace with hope in his tone.

"I'm afraid I can't do that young man.." said Crowley. "Even magic has its limits."

‘This world is so freaky af.’

"A magestone cannot easily be replaced. I fear the candles of this majestic chandelier will never burn again."

"This is bad...." Ace mumbled under his breath, but it was loud enough for everyone else to hear.

"No Ace this is really bad!" Yuu exclaimed.

"What am I going to do?! How am I going to tell my mother...?" Deuce looked like he was punched in the gut by an elephant. His expression looked so grave, it looked like he just came from a funeral. Bro is not having a good day.

"Ah...! But there may be on way."

"Really!" exclaimed the group of students altogether.

"The magestone that powered this chandelier was mined from the Dwarfs' Mine," said Crowley. "If you get the stone with the same properties, we might be able to fix it."

"Sir if I with your permission, can go to the dwarf's mine?" Deuce asked sincerely ready to face the consequences.

"Me too sir!" Ace followed Deuces lead.

"Me three" So did Yuu.

"I guess me too....." Then grudgingly so did [Y/n].

"I must warn you it is highly likely that the magestones have already been mined a long time ago." stated the headmage waiting for their reactions.

"I will do anything to avoid expulsion, sir!" Deuce exclaimed, as everyone nodded at his statement.

"Hmmm... Very well, then. I will suspend your expulsion for a single night."

"Thank you very much sir!" said the group in synchronization.

As the Headmage heard their 'Thank you's' he left the cafeteria in a hurry. Before leaving fully he screamed to them "You should be able to reach the Dwarfs' Mine instantly by using one of the gates in the Mirror Chamber." and slammed the doors behind him as he left with flare.

"Yes sir!"

Then grim woke up from his little nap due to the loud noise made by the door. "Myah! Wh-? Where am I?!"

"Hah.....let's go guys we don't want to get expelled....." Yuu commanded in a tired tone.

Ace rubbed his head in annoyance. "Maaan... How did I end up in this mess? I swear, I have the worst luck."

"Dude look at my luck....I just wanted to get to class." mumbled [Y/n].

"We don't have time to complain. Let's go. Dark Mirror! Take us to the Dwarfs' Mine!" Deuce exclaimed with enthusiasm getting ready to walk out the door.

'I choose the worst time to come to this school....'

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

Author's Note:

Hi guys! Sorry for the delay I had like 30 writers blocks on Thursday and had no idea what to write.

Hope you guys like this chapter! Have a nice day or night.

#twst #twisted wonderland #ace trappola #deuce spade #enma yuuken #sebek zigvolt #divius crewel #ashton vargas #twisted wonderland x reader #various x reader #x reader #twst x reader #twst grim

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uyuartik · 5 months

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bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part ii

tags: same as before except more unhinged, (slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT), idiots in love, friends with benefits though it is more than that, oral sex (fem and male receiving), fingering, piv sex, overstimulation, thigh riding, dom!obi?, ANGST AT SOME POINT(S), tension so high that they should be on medication, me shortening every uncle-in-law phrase to uncle bcs english sucks in family terms, overuse of commas because editing 42 pages is hard

a/n: HELLO AGAIN, thank you all so much for all the love you've shown, i couldn't be more grateful. sorry for the *long* wait, i just thought the story needed a little longer than a week to do its trick, and frankly i am a busy person so 7 day gap wouldn't work for me. but i hope you can forgive me with this beast of a chapter, it is my first time writing such a long one. hope you enjoy it, and see you all again soon!

also not so fun fact: i totally misunderstood the "season", thinking it should be around summer- early autumn but it was the other way around, sorry, all the historical babes (i can no longer call myself that) for the frustration. but this timetable suits this story much better, does it not?

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

chapter two: it's a bad idea, right?

The morning or to be exact, the noon, is when you finally feel refreshed, ready for the challenges of the day. Lucky, because your relatives are more than understanding, has always been. They would scold you for going about your day as a ghost rather than miss breakfast or join only halfway to their other activities. You always try to honor their kindness, not to take advantage of the privileges as a guest, and do your best to spend time with your cousin Carolina, (The young girl has all the benefits of her young age, full of energy and excitement, fascinated by the stories she hears (from you, mostly)), and also avoid bringing a man into your room under their roof and absolutely ravaging each other-

The last one is an exception, which you are not proud of, yet not a single drop of guilt muddies your soul. None, considering the enjoyment or strengthened bonds.

Speaking of it, something tells you that you'd have been late anyways if you woke up early, thanks to him. There's indeed a mark on the side of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. Also, your thighs share the same fate, though lightly, a few small bruises and red, irritated areas thanks to his neat beard. Thankfully, they're quite hidden except the one that's not that has you cursing at him. For how good it felt, and for his daredevil nature.

You're scared to admit your fear for your future with him, not in the romantic expectations aspect, you would never, but for the simpler stuff like how are you going to look at his face and not be reminded of its presence between your legs. Or the unending tease he’ll become, even more so than usual, rightfully so. Make no mistake, you had pretty high expectations, and an overall picture of your relationships past it. Yet, last night was its own entity, reducing you to a mess in the most beautiful way, plucking every thought from your mind, yet dropping seeds of doubt like this.

Still, there’s a foolish smile on your face, and some soreness in between your legs, a welcomed ache.

Nonetheless, you’re not sure how to react when you descend the stairs, and he’s there, sharing tea with your aunt and uncle.

Obi Wan stands up in a blink, even before your aunt has the chance to react to your entry.

“Oh, here you are, sweetie! Just in time to join us in the gardens, and look, who’s here!”

“Hello, auntie. Uncle.” For what’s worth, you like being here, with them, and nothing changes that. You can feel the adamantine warm cloud of love in your chest. The reason you never doubted coming here.

“Lord Kenobi.” You greet him as well, though not with that big smile and sincerity you’ve just shown.

“My Lady.” His indifferent tone is interesting. Indifferent, yet indifferent as any other time, respectful and overly sympathetic. Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you think? Yet, he’s here, isn’t he? His very presence is questionable enough.

“How good of the young man to join us, don’t you think? Though I fear it’s only due to work issues, and not out of courtesy.”

Yes, how good! And definitely not out of courtesy.

“You hurt me, Madam.” He objects, frowning his brows. “I must say this house, with its amiable hosts, has always had a great place in my heart. Last night once again proved it right, it was the best ball I’ve ever been to all summer. In fact, I was thinking of learning your contacts for the band and the cook, you inspired me to throw my own.”

You really, really try to not roll your eyes, and drop the tea that’s being offered to you now.

“Oh, no problem at all! I’ll write them down when we finish the paperwork in my study.” Your uncle says, and the absolute charmed look and excitation in his eyes have your stomach sinking. “And how are you, my dear? Haven’t you shaken out the morning chill yet?” He points to your shawl, wrapped tightly around your neck. You powdered the marks, and put on a big necklace, but then decided you couldn’t be too careful, and put on the fabric too.

“Yes, I think the weather change wasn’t quite easy on me this time.” You reach for the honey, making a show of it so they don’t put you in the center of attention.

“Did you sleep well last night?”So, it doesn’t work. And that’s about the one question you hoped to avoid.

“Despite the exertion taking place-“ Kenobi’s eyes widen, exaggerated by the teacup basically covering other parts of his face, and for a second you think he may choke on his tea. “downstairs, I say it was the best sleep I could’ve ever had.”

You hope your acting inspires the same in him too. He suppresses that little cough well, and the blush settling in his cheeks is faint, easily blamed on the warmth of the drink.

Strike one.

Irritation grows in you, rather than anxiety. Does he really think you’re that crude? That dumb? You make a point of not looking his way after that, an attitude clearly noticed by him in no time. It’s not like he has any chance of talking about it, but the alarm bell in his head rings continuously, busying his mind ‘til the opportune moment comes to talk about it.

Then, a gleeful screech of your name fills the room. In a blink, your cousin is right next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulder that you can’t properly stand up and hug her back in a normal way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all day long!” She says, hands reaching to hold yours, almost causing you to lose control of the fabric covering your neck. “We’ve got so much to do! And you were going to tell me all about Naboo! Did you really get to see the lions?”

“Sweetie-“ Despite the wildness of the affection you are given, there’s a huge smile on your face, and you almost make her sit on your lap- an old habit from her younger years.

“Come now- you promised to go riding with me. I want to show you how much I improved.”

“Well-“ your poor, poor legs are in no condition for that kind of activity. “I think it’s best if we do that tomorrow. You see, I had enough of it yesterday, I’ve been in a carriage all day.”

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

Your furious gaze kills that gleam quickly though. The faint smirk disappears, and he straightens his back, clearing his throat.

“Carolina, can’t you see we have a guest? Where are your manners? And give your poor cousin some space, for God’s sake!” Your aunt exaggerates like any mother of her generation, that high pitched voice screeching every ear in the room.

You should be glad to see the subject changed, but the condition of it is bitter. She bows her head down, taking a few steps away from you, but you hold onto her hand, keeping her near.

“Hello, young lady. I am Obi Wan Kenobi.” He sounds- sympathetic, though not overly. It is this sweet balance between respecting their being without the prejudices of age, but compassionate enough not to crush them under expectations they are yet to achieve. Interpreting this from just a couple of words seems a bit of a stretch, you know, still, his whole attitude screams he’s got some experience talking to kids, or considerable knowledge about the human psyche.

“He’s a friend of mine.” You explain further, trying to ease her.

“Welcome, Lord Kenobi.” She curtsies, yeah, she’s perfected that, you observe with proud eyes.

“I didn’t see you at the ball last night, I’m afraid.” Like he was there longer than an hour.

“It was past my bedtime.” The look she gives her parents tells him all he needs to know about her character, or precisely who influences her. He wonders if it was any similar to yours. “I hope you had a wonderful time. You must’ve, because she’s an excellent dancer.” She turns at you, smiling so innocently that you can’t blame her for complicating things. “She taught me all about it, even better than my tutors.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t-“ The sentence synchronically rolls from both of your tongues, but you stop as you realize. There’s an abrupt silence in the room for a few seconds, causing anger to bubble up in you once more, and forcing you to make up an excuse to break free from this atmosphere.

“Hey,” You tug on her arm, “I’ve brought candy.” And just like that, she’s jumping all over you, bouncing with joy, “Sshh,” You warn. “First we need to go somewhere unseen.”

===

You see him again, days after, when he’s clearly learned his lesson, and gave you a window to breathe, calm your fury. The worst thing? It works. You can imagine (or in other words daydream) the next time you two see each other, which you desperately wish for it to be soon, and picture keeping yourself from stepping onto his feet, or shoving your finger into his chest. It all could not be forgotten but worked out through little warnings and explanations. Communication, basically.

And it turns out, you don't have to imagine any longer, and have the perfect opportunity to test your temper.

In a cafe. Where you sit alone. Blissfully ignorant of the couples (or to-be-couples) surrounding you. But most importantly, unchaperoned. (You had your tongue to defy any unwanted presence, and it's not like people came here alone like yourself. They came here for dates. And if anything, your presence was a litmus paper. What was to happen in marriage, if one couldn’t even keep their eyes from others in those little flirtatious rendezvous?)

(Though you knew some didn’t see it that way. A temptress, their choice of word to describe you.)

Obi Wan walks up to your table in quick, big steps that somehow don’t capture the attention of anyone but you. A further proof of that magic dust he sprinkles. He’s dressed in browns today. It is a welcomed change. The smile on his face is unbeatably prominent, even as he follows the guide of manners, bowing his head and removing his hat before he sits in front of you. There’s no indication of his previous whereabouts in his looks and you wonder how he found you. Was he simply passing by the establishment before noticing your presence, or did he inquire about your engagements today, asking around?

"You shouldn't be here." It’s that sweet tone of yours, an alarm said in the softest of inclinations. “I have no company.” While it is redundant to both of your mindsets, the need of a chaperone for every conversation you have with strangers, you like to be cautious.

Then let me be it, he would’ve said, if it wasn’t literally the first time after your distasteful encounter. He’s not going to throw away that lesson for a shot of comedy. Or the fact that it’s hardly a request, but again- It’s not worth it. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the last time. It was- unadvisable to say the least.”

That- feels so good to hear, somehow. Far better than expected. You lean back in your chair, a sly smile on your face that you can’t help, and a subtle blush, a total contrast to your attitude.

“What can I say though? I don’t know if it’s still possible to be unsatisfied, but I sure felt like that if I didn’t see you again.”

Your fingers grasp the fork far too tightly, considering you have no appetite left for the desert in front of you. It’s the flashbacks from that night, and the undeniable effects it had on both of you.

“Well, apology accepted.”

He releases a breath after your words, visibly relaxed, amusing you further. You focus your gaze on the plate, in hopes of blending this conversation into the atmosphere around.

You add. “Then again, don’t take my forgiveness for granted. None of my partners were this careless, and I seriously expected better from you.”

(You're quite aware this is not the sort of conversation fit here.)

The interruption of “Oh, that will never even cross my mind.”, turns into “Partners?”, thankfully in a whisper, but sharp enough that it holds the same value as a shriek. He plays it off like it’s a frivolous question, a part of your ongoing banter, a mere thread to spin the conversation.

As if you gave the perfect impression of a blushing virgin that night. You flutter your lashes, as you take a bite. The silence is absolutely deafening, before you can continue. “There’s a reason I like traveling that much. Naboo. Correlia. Alderaan. God, even Hoth.” The discomfort in his face grows, and you fight it with an explanation, hoping that’s the reason. “Never at the same time, though, if it wasn’t obvious. It was just about having good company if I was to spend months in a city.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He shakes his head, an act of his nonjudgemental nature. “So, am I the Coruscant part of your little play?”

“No. You're the exception.” You laugh. “I haven’t- not here. I wouldn’t dare. Too little privacy. No trust. Above all, not a single soul that felt like a match of my own. Til I met you.” He deserves to hear that, right? “However I must say, the rules would be a little different here. Requires more caution. Fine work. For example, you couldn’t come and see me like this whenever you desire."

"Fair enough." He agrees, though makes little effort to follow the lesson. Actually, not even little, none. He just sits there, moulding into his chair further, a pleasant grin as he takes the world in, entertaining himself with the surrounding people. And you, of course. His piercing gaze travels back to you, every time.

Well, right. Not like you wanted him off of your table. "What do you want, Lord Kenobi?" And how did you know I would be here anyway?

"Are you coming to the picnic on Saturday, in the Perlemian Park?"

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

"I'm only going if you are joining too." He wets his lips, an action you don't miss, and you continue to watch it long after he's done and see the next words coming out, before your brain can comprehend their meaning. "So, I'll need a better answer."

The same lips that mapped out your entire body, whispered all those dirty things, tasted your hidden corners, drinking in the pleasure it provided…

He clears his throat, and you break out of the trance. He looks at you with a brow lifted, but the twinkles behind his blue eyes tell you it's not out of boredom. More like the exact opposite.

"I'll be there."

This is his cue to leave, with excitement for the said event, and a tinge of sadness for this interaction ending. You mirror his manners as he bids you a good day.

Then, you're left alone, exactly as merely half an hour ago. Yet, the dessert in front of you is unsavory, nowhere near enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.

It is still completely the same.

===

Comes Saturday, and does it come slower than possible… The weather seems like it's making one last show before the summer ends and scorches the earth, leaving everyone a sweating mess, little to no words coming out of their mouth, sprawled on the nearest surface. You seriously debate whether calling the offer off, the choice of fanning yourself to a lazy nap sounding better and better. It is in these extensive relaxations that you uncover the horrid truth- your fingers fell short in bringing you pleasure now, making you an even more sweaty, frustrated mess rather than the relaxed, drowsy mess you want to be. It is an awful revelation, bringing along many questions that haunt your every waking hour. You fear it's got something to do with him- and the best prescription for you is to stay away.

Alas, you keep true to your promise and show up.

Thankfully the air has calmed down on said day, and sorbets are refreshing, making it more than a bearable experience. Bearable is actually an insult in this case, for it is more than that. These people are some of your oldest friends, close to your age, and share your opinions. It is hard not having fun when you are allowed to be free (just a little more than normal, though it is enough). None cares about the obscene gossip, or juices of fruit staining faces, dripping onto the expensive fabrics you all are adorned in. Laughs are loud and constant, never letting three minutes go without them. Hands are all flying around, hitting each other as a joke, reaching for the last piece of cake, taking the very dangerous road back without spilling a drop of the drink (which is, once again, a target of pranks).

Obi Wan enjoys it as much as you do, despite the fact that he doesn’t know them like you do. His life doesn’t allow much leisure time, and his choice of friends is mostly unfitting to these kinds of events, but he doesn’t have a problem finding joy in these kinds of events. Maybe it is mostly due to you, watching you in your nature, admiring the way you handle yourself among the crossfire of jokes, or what foods you prefer the most, making silly expressions as the taste of them hits just right. With every little thing he learns about you, he’s drawn closer to you. Once, he would name you a mystery, yet that would indicate the thrill was all in revelation. Now, it is the exact opposite. He gets more excited with each new question, like what is the actual story behind the “donkey joke” you are hinting at, or why do you pick some of the seemingly perfectly looking strawberries aside and pick others- or why you blush when you catch him looking at you, only to do the same yourself?

It is only in the afternoon that the buzz leaves its place for something serene. Conversations diminish, replies take longer, bodies sag and lean on the nearest surface, be the tree trunks or picnic baskets or their loved ones.

C’mon then, let’s take a walk. One proposes, and others follow, albeit slowly and with protests. You are among the latter, every cell in your body refusing to produce or use energy.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you end up at the very back of the group with Lord Kenobi, and while you manage to stick with him unlike your friends, the distance between you and them grows and now, you can safely say that you’ve lost the sight of them. Twenty minutes ago.

So yes, you’ve been walking alongside him in silence. Far away that you don’t brush hands, yet so close that it would raise questions if someone were to see.

“I don’t think this is doing much for my somnolence.” He basically yawns.

"Should I take that as an insult, my Lord?"

"Why would you- what did I say to make you think so?" He shakes his head, as stubborn as he's apologetic, ready to accept the accusation if your reasons are firm. Still, his heart is already pacing up, distressed. That must be the wine taking over.

"Well, am I not the only reason for your presence? And I must be boring you, if you are still feeling drowsy."

"No- Absolutely untrue- “ He stutters, a panic to find the right words, not to be buried under your claims, he is not going to lose his chance to be by your side- only to realize the grin on your face too late.

"You little minx." He breathes out, and is rewarded by the sound of your tempting giggle.

"Seems like I successfully rid you of your problem." You take pride. "And now, I suggest walking by the lake, to ensure its permeance."

"You mean to dip my feet in the water?" Again, he shakes his head, already rejecting the proposition.

"If you don't do it I shall." You skip, prancing like a nymph before he grabs you by the arm.

“I don’t think that is safe.”

“It perfectly is.” You state, bewildered by his anxious urge. One look into his hand, and he remembers to let you go. The said hand flies to his hair, with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, but – let me be by your side. And make it quick.”

The fact that he thinks you need his approval is downright funny, though you’d take issue with it any other time. Now, you are amused by his good intended worries and don’t have it in your conscience to break his heart over it, or bring up a quarrel.

So, you start undressing. Only your socks and shoes.

Still, the blush settles on his cheeks, and the light behind his eyes burns brighter as he sees the skin just above your knees naked. Not for the first time- still, he feels like turning his back on you, but does no such thing. And that is not because it defeats the purpose of his presence.

God, how could you even make you believe he wasn’t planning on having these impure thoughts?

You feel your temperature rising, and it has nothing to do with the sun. You meet his hypnotized eyes, and can still feel it focused on you. After days of dissatisfaction, its effect is multiplied by ten, making your heart race. You pray none of it is visible on your face. the last thing you need is for him to know.

He laughs when you lay the white fabric in the old woods of the docks, like the spoiled child you are. It is more than likely to stain, but more importantly, it is definitely old, creacking under every step, hence his aversion to sit beside you with a head shake. You shrug in return, and pull your skirt slightly above your knees, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Oh, this is lovely!” You say, sprawling your toes in the water. “Truly, you are missing out.”

“I believe you, my Lady.” His tone is joyful, just the right combination of trust and mockery.

You turn to look at him, a big mistake. The excess part of your dress brushes the surface, wetting the fabric, though it is the last thing you care. He is looking at you, with that charming grin, and subtle hunger etched into his gaze, screaming worship, in complete awe of the scene he's beholding, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, holding his hand, her dress bunched up like in those ancient paintings of fairies, and endless passion for the leading role of it. It swirls the emotions deep inside your belly, the only reaction you want to avoid. Yet, you’re not immune to it. your heart skips a beat, the tingles overtaking your skin.

“Look- I see fishes!” You whip your head, the one thing you can do in hopes of breaking the tension. You lean forward, trying to get a clear view, or try to do so because you are stopped by his grip.

“That’s enough.” The command sends a shiver down your spine. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

“Fine.” You huff, the simplest protest you can manage. His touch softens as he realizes you’re going to follow his words, though takes long to let go.

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

“How long are you going to stand like this?” You ask, exasperated that this isn’t going anything like you imagined.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m also standing, this is hardly fun.”

“That is only the result of your own choice.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huff and climb back on your feet, disregarding the objections of the offended dock. Then, you push past him-

He suddenly pulls you back, promptly disrupting your balance, a tactic he uses to pick you up into his arms. You scream as your feet meet the air, hands grabbing anything they can reach which ends up being his clothes.

“What are you doing?!” You yell, burying your fingers into him. With how strong your grip is, you can feel every muscle tensing under your touch.

“I’m not gonna let you walk in that mud, after all.” He explains like it was the problem you were referring to.”

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

He leans his back on the tree, and you rest your arms on your knees, propped up.

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

“If you name it so.” His smile is borderline insulting, ear to ear. With one look, he points at the reason- your wet feet. There’s literally no choice but to wait for them to dry up. But by proposing the only solution, he infuriates you further.

“Very interesting.” You snark. “I would’ve just stood back if I knew this was what we would be doing.”

“And now it is I who might take those words as an insult. Have I somehow proven my companionship to be loathsome in the times we spent together?”

Times you spent together… The flashbacks are, as implied in their name, flash before your eyes at such great speed that by the time you realize it is not something you should ponder upon now, your heart rate is already up, the flame deep in your belly ignited once again, and even the sounds of the past are echoing in your ears. You turn your head away from him, cursing at the color blooming on your cheeks.

Oh, but the action is enough to let him know exactly what you are feeling, a song of “I thought so” on his tongue- yet he doesn’t sing it yet, realizing the underestimation of his own emotions. He brings it upon himself- a glance at you, taking in your red face (as much as possible) and bare legs, let out to the sun to dry up.

“Well, I’ll think that’s the case if you don’t say anything.” He opts to say this instead, loving to taunt you further.

“It’s not.” You mumble, still turned to the other side, fingernails digging at your palm.

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

The moment you move your head, you are met with his face, so close to yours, a distance he promptly closes by placing a hand at your neck, and tugging at it, ‘til your lips crash. You lose your balance once more, gripping his collars to not fully crush him with your weight. You gasp, the only protest you have in yourself, because for all your resolve to stay away, here you are, falling right into his arms. And it feels so damn good.

You gasp, pushing him. He laughs as his back hits the tree, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You whisper-scream, suddenly aware of the fact that while you are all alone on this field, your friends are still very much around.

“Oh, what am I doing? It is you, darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were looking at me.”

You direct your gaze to the ground, embarrassment getting the better of you.

“What is it?” He questions your lack of defiance. “You had no problem before. Don’t tell me you’re scared of being seen. They should at least be like, a mile away.”

Yeah. That’s absolutely correct. Besides, you’re shielded from any unwanted visitors by the thick line of trees, and the sheer distance between there and the path. It is a secluded corner of the lakeside.

“Or is there something else that’s bothering you?” This, is said in a more suggestive tone, and its effect is only amplified by the way he holds your chin to refocus your attention. You burn under his grasp and insistent watch.

Say farewell to your pride.

You let yourself fall over him once more, kissing him with a whimper you can’t quite suppress. You feel his smirk at that, but neither of you dwells on it, for he too lets out a sound of desperation, panting as he pulls you close, placing you on his thigh. (You hear your dress positively rubbing against the grass, and dare not to imagine the green blotch that may appear.) You don’t know whether to celebrate your newfound closeness or chastise your weak will, for it creates a new wave of desire in you as you delve your fingers into his beard. Your skin lights up against his coarse hair, so familiar yet so unyielding under your touch, and to be holding his face in your hands like this only blinds you more. So blind that you only realize the movement of your hips, seeking pleasure, when he holds them.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” A kiss right on the left corner of your lips. “Are you haunted by that night so deeply that you are unable to satisfy your needs on your own, like me? Or hell, with another?” Even in the midst of haze, you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the mention of a third party.

“No- only you.” You whisper, too afraid of things ending.

“Fuck.” He can’t help but burst at your surrender. “That’s my girl. Lift your hips a little for me, darling.”

You oblige without question, raising yourself on your trembling thighs. Holding your breath, imagining all the things he can do to you… He is bewitched by your neediness, the way you moan at the first contact his hand makes with your skin after lifting your skirt just above your knees so you have more freedom to move, and can directly sit on his thigh.

Speaking of it, why? Your eyebrows scrunch as he pushes you down like that, though the actual questioning part comes a second after your clit rubs against the fabric, not his cock, the first jolt of true ecstasy you experienced in a while, but that can’t be the case for him, right? “What are you-?”

“Trust me.” He takes his sweet time to relish the expense of your neck, so close for his taking, partly to ease your nerves, and frankly it is too much fun for his own good to feel you twitch in anticipation, and your breath getting stolen away at his open-mouthed kisses, panting when he lingers on a spot for too long at the fear of him leaving a bruise. “No marks, I perfectly remember.” He has to confess after a point, and only after that point, you begin to truly relax, and have your heart beating so fast at the same time, noticing your wetness is positively seeping into his clothes.

Your jaw hangs open with a silent pant as he decides it’s enough, and guides your body, rocking onto his. It’s not something you haven’t done before, but there’s something so unique about now, maybe the scandalous location, or your depraved state, or simply everything regarding him, that you are convinced it looks like your first time. Shit, it may even be your first time, considering the previous examples are nowhere close to this, the stakes, the desperation, the payoff… You’re holding onto his shoulders like a fucking virgin, pressed so close to receive every bit of affection he's giving. It’s the damn heat, the greatest excuse on your lips for the last couple of weeks, invalidated by the nonexistence of space between you and him. It only causes sweat to pour out of both of you, like the constant drip out of your cunt, sabotaging all your attempts to gain control, and create the slightest of frustration.

“Obi Wan.” You chant his name, unable to form any other word, and he drinks it all in, valiantly ignoring the ache in his cock. It is a hard task, a growing challenge as your knee brushes against it from time to time, especially when you try to take initiative and escape the rhythm he’s trying to create.

“Ah-ah-ah- Let me take over. You know we’re short on time, darling.”

Then, he does justice to his words as he bounces his leg, the added pressure claiming a gasp from you.

“Do that again.” What your efforts can't get you, maybe your pleads can. After all, you're just as stubborn as him, giving up easily is not on your book.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

You roll your eyes, though it is totally due to annoyance, and let out a moan, throwing your head back. The fresh air does nothing for your lungs anymore, just an outlet for your scandalous noises. Which, he has no complaints too, your erratic breaths warmed his neck enough, and blessed him with those sweet sounds, right under his ear. Oh, but in any other case, this was anywhere else, and he had to silence you, also which he has no complaints too. Perhaps the sole problem is missing the blissed out expressions of your pretty face, and the light in your eyes, burning for him.

“Are you close?” Like he even needs to ask, like he’s not aware of your moans turned whimpers.

“Hmmh.” Is all the answer he gets, and that’s enough for him, laughing quietly, as you feel the vibrations of his chest.

When you cum, it is indeed an earth-shattering moment, and an end to your misery, the first drop of water after thirst- so much so that you don’t care about it happening in such a short time. Your legs squeeze his firm thigh, shaking over them like the rest of you. His one hand travels to your waist, holding you steady and pressed against him. You swear you can feel every aspect of his hand over three layers of fabric, yet he’s not actually exerting that much power, treating you like a delicate flower, afraid to crush the silky petals.

You sigh as the trembles die down, your senses coming back to you one by one- the first and foremost the tension in the body beneath you. Your fingers loosen from his collars, and travel the expanse of his torso slowly, a kiss to his throat in the meantime.

“Don’t you worry about me.” His voice is slightly shaky, though it may very well be due to his exertion.

“I think I should.” Its trueness is further proven when you palm him, and he groans. Though he is insistent.

“Look at you, you sweet thing, concerned with me walking around with a hard-on.”

That has you rolling your eyes, and removing your hand. Removing your entire body, even. You settle on the grass, leaning on your elbows. Your dress is already ruined, so you’re past the point of worrying.

“On the other hand, you may want to think about this.” He points to his wet trousers, the dark stain visible even though the fabric is black.

Uh oh. That is indeed a problem, if you are to return soon. Unfortunately, your brain can’t grasp the danger, coming up with solutions like soaking him entirely in the lake…

So, it’s no wonder that your next words are a joke.“You marked me, I marked you. We're even.”

To your surprise, it works. His laughter fills the entire forest, yours a whisper in comparison. The idea that maybe, just maybe this can be repeated every now and then, that it wouldn't harm anyone fills your chest with a different kind of cheer, a hopeful sensation that suits the summer. He's proven his carefulness, making the best of the situation without risking either of you. The rising hope in you should scare you, but it doesn't. It only makes you sprawl under the sun like a cat enjoying the heat, and join his laughter with a big grin.

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

The next time you see each other again, things seem to cool down a bit. It is entirely a civil dinner, always at a respectable distance, the number of times you lock eyes are countable on one hand (though some border the edge of being a little too long), and it is all not so surprisingly, plain. Maybe it is about both of you trying to contain one’s self, so much so that the other core aspect of both of you, the humorous side is buried that night and no other person can live up to its ghost. Perhaps it is due to the upcoming end of summer, bringing out a tinge of melancholy, already mourning the past, thus your impulses dwindle down, the sparkles absent.

That is, ‘til, you are the only occupants in the saloon, after the other guests have left, and your aunts retreated to their rooms. You are reading a book, barely aware of the fact when he, sitting next to you in that single armchair drops whatever pen he’s holding, just by your feet. You’re pulled out of your trance by the sound it creates, raising your gaze from the page just in time to see him bending over to retrieve it or- ending up completely kneeling in front of your legs.

He raises his head, and you watch the way his face softly being illuminated by the candlelight, a smile you can’t decide whether charming or devilish, long abandoning his mission.

That’s the moment the air shifts, and the room feels hotter like the cheminee is lit, the heat wave has returned, and taken both of you to that lakeside, and the week before it, the frustration and despair that came with being unable to take care of yourself. You haven’t felt such a thing after, perhaps, it’s due to your fulfilled state and therefore lack of trial, but now, the need returns, like adding more to an already full cup, realization only hitting after the drops spill from the sides. The cup demands to be emptied, - translation: your soul demands whatever pleasure you can get your hands on- and the image of him causing it is certainly a preference.

(Again, it is your soul that’s demanding it- your brain would very much like to lock you away in the furthest corner of this house, or kick him, if that’s all you can manage.)

“Excuse me?”

“I just remembered how I failed to say how beautiful you look tonight.”

“Thank you.” Your mouth speaks before you can protest the improperness of your situation. Color settles on your cheeks for accepting his compliment first. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting my pen.” He shrugs, and demonstratively takes it to his hand, yet it is once more left to the ground instead of the nearest table, with the rest of his papers. He adds, “I admire how you are an expert in navigating every social situation, whether it's a boring dinner like this, or a ball.

Your eyebrows raise at the boring part, after all, it's hosted by your relatives, and it wasn't exactly boring, maybe a little uneventful. “Not every occasion has to be full of adventure, Lord Kenobi. Slow nights like this are beneficial for the soul. Gives the mind some rest.”

He purses his lips, like he’s been told on his bluff, the one part he emphasized to sound strong. Because, he is. He had fun tonight, the type that fills one’s heart with sweet lethargy. “I suppose you’re correct. But you’re missing out on an important detail.”

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

You’re glad that your hands were pressing against the book, holding the page, because if they weren’t, they would be visibly shaking.

“I have underestimated how much I missed you, that much is clear to me now.” Barely speaking, or barely speaking anything important with you throughout the evening, yet he feels rejuvenated, the ache in his chest becoming prominent as it starts the heal. He doesn’t say the last part, but the sentiment is reflected in the soft sparkle behind his eyes, the hypnotic storm, pulling you towards unknown chaos, but beautiful, and promising safety in its center. That’s why you don’t protest as his hand reaches for yours, brushing your knee (he wanted to do that for some time, to feel the soft fabric that basically decorates your body), interlocking fingers, and reluctantly retreating them in favor of taking the book that sits in your lap, setting it aside. You don’t protest, despite the screams in your head, saying he’s right there why is he still there-

“And the other thing I missed terribly, the sight of your legs.”

Your shaky inhale echoes.

His fingers gently close over your ankles, and travel upwards slowly, lifting your dress alongside. “Though I’ve only seen them twice, they might be my favorite view, ever.”

“Is that so?” You are perplexed by the confession, with a lazy grin, very much enjoying the seduction. His way with words seems like a constant threat to your sanity, but damn do you adore it dearly, a voluntary victim to its spell.

“Why would I ever lie to you?” He whispers, hands tightening. “I like them very much. But I think I would like them better around my shoulders.” He pulls your knees slightly, causing you to yelp as your back caves in, and grasps your ankles once more, proceeding to demonstrate exactly his words.

“What are you doing?” You ask, like you don’t know the answer. It is a statement, an acknowledgment, the last chance to bring some sense into any of you. You’re in the living room, in a house that is not your own, filled with people who are still very well awake, and can just decide to come in.

“Having a second dessert, if I may?” And how can you refuse, after the image is served to you on a golden plate?

“But at the lake - You were-”

“You think I'm doing this for recompensation?”

“No, I didn't mean to imply that.” God, this is embarrassing. “I just wanted to say I might miss having my way with you.”

“I’ll be glad to take that as a promise.”

Then, it is settled.

Still, he waits for your small nod and takes in the way you bite your lip, wishing he was the one to do so, but- priorities. Time is a valuable asset, especially now, and he has to honor his offer. That’s why he opts for a few small, open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, actively fighting the desire to leave bruises, evidence, a memory. Judging by the rapidness of your breath, it seems he has reached his goal in some way. It’s the beard- scratching your skin even when his mouth is not doing something, sensitizing the flesh and making it all too susceptible to the incoming assault. Your hand flies up, absentmindedly reaching for his hair, yet stopping a second before, landing on the couch instead- if you messed up his hair, there’s no coming back from it. He chuckles at your struggle, the warm breath making you squirm. Even if you don’t, he’s maddened by action, despite the laugh. He has you- but not really. He’s enveloped in your heat, taking in your scent, and seconds away from tasting you, but is not able to be blessed with the slight pain he'd felt if you tugged on his strands, or the untamed sounds you’d have sung in a more private setting.

So yes, he’s as torn and desperate as you. Slow nights, you said?

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what adjective comes before the word; slow or fast, boring or exciting as hell, freezing or hellishly hot; if it is with you, it is a good night. Otherwise, it is lacking. The world may be painted gray forever, considering you two mostly don’t get the chance to spend more than two occasions together in a week, but there can be no comparison to colorful scene of those moments.

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

You both moan, when his tongue finally meets your cunt, licking a messy stripe. It is more of a vibration than a noise- possibly for the best. It makes you jolt, and his hold tightens, and again, it is for the best, because when he decides to pay attention to your clit after his time exploring your folds is done, your limbs start to shake, threatening to fall. Your eyes roll back when things settle, and pleasure starts to build up, your juices flowing, and he drinks it all in before they have the chance to make a mess of your dress.

That is the first time he takes a break. “Eyes on me, darling.”

What is with him and that special request?

Your whine doesn’t mean anything to him, except make his cock twitch in his now tight trousers- but that has other reasons too. He waits ‘til your eyelids open once more, and you meet his gaze, and a second longer, unable to resist the urge to get lost in your hazy expression. Then, he dives back in, swirling the muscle around your bundle of nerves. In any other circumstance, you’d have thought this would be too indelicate, so straight to the point, no fun or respect, yet his way to do so is anything but those qualities. His movements are precisely designed for you, slow enough to not cause discomfort, fast enough to make the best of your unknown time limit. You’re afraid to deduce that one time was enough for him to learn you, one time to turn your world upside down, and leave you to deal with the memory of it.

“Sweetie?” That’s the first time your eye contact is broken. The world freezes for a second before it does, and your head whips to the direction the sound has come from, to find your aunt by the door. Miraculously, she continues to stand there, unbothered by the long and protective distance which compromises of the dining table and the back of your couch, a perfect cover for the scandal that is taking place. Obi Wan stills, perhaps even stops breathing, yet he’s the one to snap you out of your shock with his grip around your skin. It is ridiculously encouraging, knowing he's not abandoning you on your own, even at the expense of getting caught, and the dread it would surely follow.

“Yes, auntie?” You gulp. Trying not to sound breathless is a clear effort.

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

Your reputable smartness lags, the answer of yeah, he’s right here IN BETWEEN MY LEGS, occupying your mind. “I think he went out to get some air, I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“How odd.” She comments, “And what are you doing there on your own?”

“Reading my book.” You smile, and hope your cheeks’ tremble isn’t too noticeable. “It’s quite good- couldn’t tell the time.”

She scorns. “Oh, now I see- he must’ve gotten bored as you were buried in your book. You truly should work on your guest etiquette, dear. And Lord Kenobi, of all people!”

“Auntie!” Your eyes widen, and you squeal a little, and feel Obi Wan giggling quietly.

“I’m just saying, that you should treat him better- he’s a good person, and obviously fancies you.”

“Auntie!”

“I mean, I like him? Don’t you like him?”

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

To escape the subsequent questions should you answer otherwise, you give in, and sag.” I do.” And the worst thing is, you actually do. Objectively, you like him, all his little jokes and sweet tongue (no pun intended), the elegant form he carries himself in, and the kind nature he never fails to live up to. Except for the dangerous extent your relationship is getting into, there’s nothing about him that you don’t like. And truthfully, even that is barely a matter you care about, proven by your current situation.

You can feel him smile, the coarse facial hair biting into your skin, rubbing like a cat, and the sensation is followed by a kiss on your thigh.

“Then you know what I am saying is the truth.” She raises her eyebrows in a motherly manner, a loving attempt of intervention. “Don’t stay up too late, no matter how absorbing that book is. We are invited for breakfast to the Mon’s Estate.”

Thankfully, she’s gone like that, saving you the act.

When you turn to your front again you find the need to come up with a warning to make him shut up unnecessary for he kisses you, silencing both of you. The action brings color to your cheeks more than ever in this entire evening. The fact that you can taste yourself on his tongue aside, he’s so gentle about it, like congratulating your success, or admiring your talent, pouring out his affection for you. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his wide torso, it is how good it feels. When you two part, the lack of breath gets the best of you, only then do the swarming butterflies in your stomach begin to disturb you again.

But you’re not so quick to forget the last couple of minutes. Perhaps you've spoken too soon back then at the lake, thinking this could be continued. You’d imagined the rest of this scene a little differently, letting him follow you to your room, returning the favor, but that scare has only helped you to brew a storm inside you.

“Obi Wan…” You whisper, brows cinched in concentration as he towers over you, claiming all your senses. “We can’t- we have to stop…”

“Sshh, calm down.” His thumb draws circles on your skin, trying to soothe you in one aspect, if not every. He’s not going to let you go to your bed shaken like this, for starters. “Take a deep breath.”

You try, twice before you can manage to fill your lungs in their entirety, and your achievement is rewarded with a peck to your neck. Some of the air leaves you in an abrupt exhale because of it, and he curses himself for it.

“Follow my lead.” He tries again, reclining on his knees, giving you space. It is another challenge to look into his ocean eyes, and match his pattern, but you manage, your heart beat semi-regular after a minute or so.

Semi, for said eyes and your bare pussy are face to face, and all common sense loses its importance, burned by the fire inside you.

“Obi Wan- please…”

“You sure?” He will be very disappointed if you change your mind, but he has to ask, play the sensible part. And ignore the constant throb in his trousers that has become even more unbearable after you confessed your feelings.

“Just… make it quick.” Oh, are you seriously requesting an orgasm like ordering a cake in a café?

“As you wish, love.”

He starts out the same, just playing his game a little faster, and he holds your hand as he does so, the small detail as efficient as his moves. But, the final blow is his other hand, prodding against your entrance. The flood of memories doesn’t help either, as you remember that night. A loud moan threatens to leave you, and you slap your palm against your mouth. He stops ‘til you are secured, praise in his eyes, and pushes the two digits in, stretching you out in the way. Your fingers are nothing in comparison, and he notices it immediately, the way your walls hug him.

Though, he’s an expert, and can absolutely manage to take care of you properly, so there’s nothing but pleasure, your slick channel welcoming the intrusion. It is not long before he feels the resistance fading and returning in a new form, as your climax approaches, and your muscles begin to quiver.

With your noises secured in your throat, the only form of communication is your connected hands, squeezing each other sometimes enough to risk breaking fingers. He understands what you mean perfectly, reaching up to a certain speed, then keeping it the same ‘til you start trashing, legs violently shaking around his body, and juices dripping, this time more than he can clean up. If any other time, he wouldn’t stop ‘til he feasted on every drop of it, but he withholds himself, respecting the clouds of danger. He’s glad to have helped with your anxiety, yet he doesn’t want to carry the ease to dangerous level and make you susceptible to be swayed in whatever direction.

Well, the image of his messy, wet beard certainly sends you through the wrong one, but already your nerves are not able to take more risks tonight, so you just bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, and lower your legs to the ground as he starts by cleaning out his fingers. It is hard to believe any man would try this much to indulge in your every aspect, but here he is, careful about even the smallest part.

Damn, you want to take him to your room and let him have his way with you so bad- but this is enough adventure for a night.

“Good night, Lord Kenobi.” You say, fixing your skirt, and standing up on shaky legs with your book clutched in the tightest grip against your belly.

“Good night, darling.” He nods, a content smile. “Send my compliments to the chef. “

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

You’re justified in your shock, enough to express it out loud in the middle of the jewelry shop, the last place you’d expect to run into him. Of course, he’s a neat and subtle man, and his appearance reflects his statue, though in a very calculated yet effortless manner. His pocketwatch is a family heirloom, so you’ve been told, a chic piece he takes great care of, and while his cufflinks are always elegant, it is never that eye-catching. It only compliments its wearer, you dare say, a final addition to an already completed painting.

(You never denied his handsomeness, and this is an objective opinion. Don’t read much into it.)

His supposed loneliness coupled with the fact that he looks utterly lost and bored, your curiosity is aggravated further.

Also, bumping into each other? What is this, a trick of fate?

“Madame.” He bows, and moves to press a kiss to your hand, the tradition not forgotten. His shock is easily ridden, unlike yours. The small blush on his cheeks and the wide grin on his lips tell contradictory stories, not that you’re judging, but the evident thing is his excitement.

“What are you doing he-”

“What a coincidence-“ His interruption is most unexpected, along with the high pitch in his voice.

You tilt your head, further dazed, but before the suspicion creeps in (you would be terrified to turn your gaze and find women’s accessories laid out for his picking on the table, for somebody else or for you; the latter being the lesser evil, but still disturbing), another joins, though he doesn’t seem to notice you at first.

“How helpful you are being, Obi Wan!” The tall young man with light brown hair calls out, necklaces hanging from both hands. You have a feeling that if he wasn’t busy, there would’ve been a physical reaction as well, a friendly pat on his shoulder, perhaps. “Don’t you know this is important? I need-“

His sentence is broken when he catches your attentive gaze, and realizes you are a part of this conversation as well. You’re amused by how glass-like he is, full of emotions and not afraid to show them. He looks at you, and back to Obi Wan, who finally decides it’s time for an introduction. The expression of recognition flashes through his face in a second as your name is revealed, but you can’t reflect it back fully. You have heard of Kenobi’s best friend or as some call it, brother, although barely from the man himself. You've witnessed how Kenobi's eyes lighten up with pride whenever Skywalker was mentioned, and stories- summaries of their adventures together that he told. The shortness of them wasn't a result of his unwillingness to tell them, but the circumstances of your company, never long or alone enough to visit them in their deserved entirety.

To be honest, Anakin doesn't know much about you either. He and Padme prefer the countryside by the sea, especially during the summer, thus he and Obi Wan hadn't had the means to talk often lately. He senses the situation, by the slight tension in the older man's voice; this strong, confident man crumbling into pieces for some unknown reason.

“Pleased to meet you, my Lady.” He makes a small cursty, which you mirror.

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need my friend back to keep his promise.” The chains in his hands shake as he speaks, reminding the absurdity of it all. You’re not disturbed by it though, for all is concealed under his charismatic voice and mimics. He’s pretty and he knows it, which gives him all the tools to captivate others. Now you understand why people speak about him like that, moved by hearing his name alone.

“Oh, not a problem at all. We were just saying hello.” Entertained by the interaction, your anxiety is somewhat diminished, enough to let him go without an explanation. Also, the way that he rolls his eyes, and clenches his jaw is very cute, you dare say.

“Promise? I never promised anything.” He murmurs, but it is still audible for you as he follows his friend. And the rest, which makes you laugh whenever you remember it. “Anakin- she's your wife, you know her better than me. How exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You always had a vision when it comes to beautiful things. Not like my eyes, which are only accustomed to the dirt and grease of machinery.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning, while you start talking with the salesman about the bracelet you’ve given them to restore. They make you sit and wait for a couple of minutes, all of which you spend trying to not spy on them. Fortunately, the shop is quite crowded, and their conversation is a part of the low grumble. A cup of tea is placed in front of you, as well as some new pieces they think you might like.

The one that catches your attention is not among them, however. It is a ring with a blue stone, the tone too similar to something you can’t put your finger on. It is too big to be for a woman, clearly designed for the other sex, but you admire its elegance nonetheless.

“Here is your piece, Madame.” The young salesman returns with a package, just in time to stop you from reaching it.

“Thank you.” You take the precious item back into your hands and inspect the handwork. It is shining once again, polished, and the place you accidentally broke it is now attached, the handwork barely visible.

You release a deep breath, praying graces. You would’ve never forgiven yourself if the family heirloom was forever damaged from the incident. You almost cried when it happened, a stupid game you were playing with Carolina before a ball, when you had already gotten ready and she was counting the minutes to her bedtime.

“That is beautiful.” Obi Wan joins you once more, now looking more relaxed. Your eyes search for Anakin and find him waiting for a package, reaching for his wallet. Mission accomplished. “May I?”

The chain slides into his hands, and wraps around your wrist under the watch of the young boy with a wholesome smile. He must think you two are engaged in some way, and there’s no turning back from it.

“Would that be all, Madame?”

“Actaully I-“ You remember about the ring, and even if you just want to unravel the mystery around it, the words have already left your mouth, and the entire tray is placed on the table.

Oh. Oh. With him next to you, suddenly it all makes sense. You’re holding the color of his eyes on your palm.

“That is beautiful too.” He remarks, embracing his role a little too much.

“I think it would suit you.” Now it is your turn to accessorize him. He is silent while you do so, taken aback by the unorthodoxty of it all.

“I’m not sure-“ Is all he manages to say, though can’t stop looking at it. It is ridiculously so well fitted around his finger, the fate pulling all strings to give a message.

“It compliments your eyes.” You defend yourself, perhaps a little too lively but you have no shame. It is the truth.

“The Lady is correct.” The boy joins your side, or does his job. “It is a most excellent match.”

“I might think about it.” Is how far he budges, returning it, and checking up on Anakin from where he’s standing.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

The audacity? The though is reflected in your face, which makes him blush at his unnecessary offer.

“With the ring.” You add, and it is all said and done ‘til he has time to get rid of his embarrassment and intervene.

Then, you make him take the package from you, your fingers wrapping around his. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in your tone, only gentle suggestion. “You don’t have to wear it, but I want you to have it.”

“Thank you.”

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

You truly don’t expect to see him wearing it, you really don’t.

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

When he takes on his promise, and actually starts working on the ball he’s supposed to throw, the first thing he does is request for your uncle’s help. Then your uncle entrusts the job on you, and you’re spending hours with him like that, securing the musicians, bargaining for the food supplies, preparing invitation lists… Truly, that’s it. You too are surprised to accompany him that much and engage in nothing outside of the mission. Truthfully, a little concerning in the grand scheme of things, the inevitable result of your relationship improving, real sincerity. Although you have zero problems with the fact, enjoying it far too much. You don't care about how your contributions are secret, for your efforts surpass the limits of help that are considered friendly, and fully acknowledge that it is gonna be a damn good ball.

Also, while you hate to see him distressed, it is a look on him that you are guilty of adoring. The nervousness is like a little crack in his shell, a way to see a part of him that rarely sees the daylight. And it is for something so feeble? Only half of his effort would be enough for a wonderful ball, and he still tries to do more, and gets agitated over that? You are cruel for laughing at that, you confess. But it is more of a balancing act, rather than a mock. Somebody's gotta play the sane part, lower the tension.

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-”

You're at his study, the place you've been sitting since the morning. Time flies with every cup of tea, and plates of biscuits, but after a while, things inevitably get boring. For you, at least. He's quite focused, brows scrunched, tie slightly loosened. You see him looking at the list that you've put together in the beginning, the possible ways to entertain his guest.

You've already arranged the services of more than half of them. Twice the amount that would be considered enough.

And he's still going over it?

“That's enough!” Your open palm lands on the surface.

Obi Wan doesn't expect your outburst. He doesn't flinch, but his mimics change in an equivalent way. His lips part, causing him to relax that clenched jaw -oh, you might have a point.

“You. Need. To. Relax.” You’re now less frantic, due to his irresistibly clueless expression, though still firm in your cause. Fuck, how can he look at you with those doe eyes and expect you to… do anything!

You get up, and reach for the papers, sending them in a far corner of the desk. While you do so, you are basically halfway in between him and the table. Putting the teacups and the pot back on the tray (it has grown cold a long time ago), you turn to him, almost sitting at the desk in order to fit that narrow space. The bashful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t enjoying the perfect view of your ass seconds before) breaks your heart once more.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you mirror his emotion. “It’s gonna be a splendid night. The kind that people will talk about it for years. And I’m not exaggerating on that one. I would’ve said the same thing days ago, all before the last additions, too.”

It is a challenge to feel the warmth of your skin, and not lean against it. “You’re right.” He tugs on his collar, taking a deep breath. “But you know- I’ve never planned a ball in my life, and- I just need it to be perfect.”

You giggle, and replace your hand on his cheek that is colored with the confession of his little perfection obsession. You welcome the slight sting of his beard, like a habit, and caress his cheekbone. He dares not move, or even take a breath, only watching your pretty face focused on his, and relish the feeling of your thumb across his features.

“It’s going to be just that.” You might’ve said, or a joke about his troubles, but words scurry off of your mind as you stay like that, squished in place as you try your best to comfort him.

“Can you kiss me?” The thought seems lunatic when uttered on a whim, but it has crossed your mind too, you must admit.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” There's an undeniable urge to use his words back at him.

Your back has to bend in an uncomfortable way for your lips to touch, but you have no complaints about it. The touch is so soft, laden with affection in the purest kind. It is obvious in every way, the movement of your mouths, determined to preserve the sweetness and sweetness alone, and the itch in your palms, mapping each other out over and over again, and the determination of your lungs, using every last drop of oxygen before demanding an exchange.

“T-thank you for that, dear.” His eyes open after a few seconds, with a sheepish smile that causes him to speak in whispers.

It’s about to get real dangerous for you, if he keeps being this cute.

“I’m not about to say we should've done it sooner, for it is a complete waste of our time repeating a truth well known, and I've already used that trick before, but maybe we should do it again.”

Okay, but how does that kind of sass sound cute from your perspective?

“Don't push your luck.” You say, fingers smoothing his hair, and his complaint dies on his throat visibly. He purrs, eyelids closing. That's the moment you decide to press a small peck to his lips for all his troubles. It lasts longer than intended, and while it's definitely different than the previous one, him gripping your waist telling a different story. The weight of them is welcome nonetheless, and it serves as an anchor, like you two could be molded into a statue if he held it long enough.

However, he is the one to break the stillness, shifting in his chair- first of all, how dare he, you're doing the acrobatics here-

Oh.

He notices that you've noticed it. Clearing his throat, Obi Wan lets his hands slide to the table, just a centimeter away from your body. “It’s been some time.” His face remains focused on the floor.

Didn't he even take care of himself?

You push his shoulder back, and he takes it a step further without a blink, sliding away with his chair.

What he doesn't expect, is for you to stay exactly where you are, only this time on your knees. He has to gulp once, then twice, because he finally looks at your face, smiling back at him.

“May I help?” Admittedly, your fluttering gaze was unnecessary, and tips him even more. You don't miss the way he stabilizes his hands.

“By all means.”

You start by unfastening the buttons of his tan trousers, letting your forearms rest on his thighs. He aids your quests by lifting his hips a little, being freed from the constraints of the fabric-

There he is.

You bite your lip at the sight, and the sight is not just his huge cock, already hard and weeping for you. It is about him, and the redness that creeps up his neck, the way he hisses and bites his knuckles at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin, how he claws at the armrest waiting for your touch. His head nearly hits the back of the chair when you finally do, a small moan leaving his exposed throat.

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

Your thumb swirls around his head, more fluid leaking out as you do so. Thus your fingers slide down his shaft easily, and he is coated in his slick in no time, along with your palm. It twists around him without rush, leaving him to wander in that dream like state without mentioning a finish line. You want to ask him, ask him how he likes it, or make him cover your hand with his, guiding you, but you also want him to stay just like this, eyes fixed with that heavy lidded gaze, partially obscured by that infamous strand of hair that refuses to be tamed like others. His mouth hangs open with loud breaths and sometimes graces you with sounds of his pleasure.

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

You clasp tighter and shudder like him, taking pride in your work. He can feel the strain in his muscles fading second by second, the problems in his mind are plucked out one after the other, replaced by your soothing words you repeated constantly for days at this point, and expert hands, creating the same effect on his body.

“Like this, Lord Kenobi?” You require you still acquire his opinion, a feedback, and his title rolls off of your tongue unintentionally. Honestly, there’s no explanation you can make even to yourself, but you are already over it as his cock twitches under your palm, and his groan fills the room.

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

That must be some sort of karma, for he is above the concept of revenge, but you’re left with an itch to grind your legs together at his praise. If you do that, you’ll probably feel your wetness smearing all over your skin, you’re sure of it.

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

Your other hand joins the game too, starting to massage his balls. That makes him tense under you for a moment, but the tension dissolves quickly, leaving him dizzier.

“Fuck-“ Even the simplest swear word sounds hypnotizing on his lips, “you’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

Like you had any intention to do that.

On the contrary, your intentions evolve in the direction after his words, perhaps even a little bit further. You lean in and lick a stripe up his length, the tip of your tongue dancing around his head, fully tasting him, before you take him to your mouth fully.

His hand flies up, shaking as it comes down, held back by the strongest of wills from delving into your hair. Instead, it inches closer to your cheek, and returns to the position before (because he may have just lost five years of his life feeling the way you swallow him), half-stabilized over the armrest. His head rolls back once more, unashamed to release his moans with your every move. The most sinful one comes out when you use your throat, gagging around his thickness. You repeat it, and he whimpers, earning an equal sound from you too.

This time, you don’t have to ask him anything. The eye contact as you recover your breath, and continue to stroke him tells you everything you need to know, tells how much he enjoys it.

“Please- darling-“

You don’t try to choke on him again, but keep a rhythm with your tongue and your palm. He reaches climax quickly nonetheless, throbbing in your mouth and coating it white. Obi Wan feels sorry for not warning you, a sense of guilt rising alongside that pleasure, but it once again came over with lust as you gulp it down without a blink. He even fears he might go hard in a second, against all the rules of nature. You provoke that in all ways possible, pressing small kisses to his shaft, occasionally licking it, and letting your head rest on his thigh.

“Thank you.” It is so out of place to say that for this kind of act, but it is the sentence that is spoken, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome, my Lord.” Thankfully, you raise your gaze just in time to miss the way his cock moves. You straighten your back and throw your shoulders back, stretching like you’ve just woken up.

So cute and so filthy.

“I’d like to return the favor.” He says, the action fueled only by his kind and generous soul.

“Some other time.” Your smile reflects the acknowledgment, not mocking his advances. “I am expected from home.”

“Ah, pity. Send my regards to your family.” He can’t help but feel envious of them. Do they know to treasure your company, not take a second of it for granted? Do they know what you did to him, before joining them? Would they be as accepting as ever, aware of your scandalous affairs?

Of course not.

But even then, you’d deserve much better than what they would treat you like. Your courage alone is enough to make the world bow down to you.

And what if your family means something other than your blood, your relatives? What if it was a stranger, a man undeserving, but had you to himself every night, when you returned home from your daily activities? A lucky fool who had the blessing of knowing you’d be by his side soon, every damn day.

His fingers turn into fists as you clean yourself up, so pretty in your ignorance to his gaze, brows slightly furrowed as you smooth out the wrinkles on your dress.

“Shall do.” And with your cheery voice, he doesn’t even notice his grip is unclenched.

===

Red isn’t his color. Some say it suits him well, that the stark contrast is eye-catching, but he doesn’t like to carry it. At this point of his life, it’s not even about his clothing choices, he prefers anything over that pigment in every possible scenario; the sheets, the carpets, the flowers… He makes a point of avoiding that powerful color.

Not today, though.

He has no word over how you dress and for once, tries very hard to stay neutral, not verbalize his choices when you mention the outfit you’ll be wearing in his ball, and it is a successful endeavor. (Knowing you and your stubbornness, it would probably only damage the bond between the two of you, something you’ll quip for years, or God forbid, keep you from attending at all.)

In the end, you wear it, and he ends up where he doesn’t want to be. Drowning in that bloody cloud. Without remorse, for the first time in his life.

For once, he finds himself chasing after it, taking joy in its liveliness, surrendering to the dangerous promises it makes. Your presence brings energy to every room you enter. The candles seem to burn brighter, and the warmth in his chest is not solely a result of both of your accomplishment of the spectacle. Obi Wan smiles ear to ear, eyes almost closed because of it, and he wants nothing more than to dance with you all night long, bury his hands in that expensive fabric and feel the burn in your cheeks, painted with the same color. He doesn’t even mean it in a perverse way. He wants to celebrate the payoff of your efforts, let the pride be felt, and enjoy the treats like all the guests, or even more than them (it would be more than fair to do so), together.

Alas, the society you both live in isn’t the type to accept such things. In order to not taint the event with the bitterness reserved for that principle, he doesn’t ask for more than six dances, or follow you around the saloon like a lost puppy. While it is never enough, he counts and cherishes the accidental eye contacts, and your hands holding his in dances, or the different circles you ran into each other and have snippets of various conversations. He accepts every compliment with your name tied behind his tongue and feels relieved with each passing hour, realizing how perfect everything is going, thanks to your pieces of advice and restrictions. He is light as a feather underneath all those layers he had to put on for the evening, without the pressing intention of taking it all off as soon as possible.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and here comes the other side, halfway through the night, the prejudice he had returning sinisterly.

He does a decent job of suppressing his jealousy, for all the purposes he’s thought of before. He can glance over when you dance with a stranger, or two, ricocheting on the stage and putting on a show for everyone. He chooses to admire the beauty you’re radiating, shining like a rose after the rain. It keeps him occupied for a while. But when an hour passes and you’re not even looking at his general direction, way too engulfed in your conversation with them, he feels a distaste rising in him. The red bleeds into his heart, poisoning him. It slowly takes over, and by the time you throw your head back with a burst of laughter that echoes in the room, he’s entirely filled with it. His hands twitch with every dream of ripping the source of that poison from your skin in a cove meant for just the two of you, away from all the vultures that eat and drink and savor his doings and yet ready to crucify him at his slightest flaw.

Obi Wan is one step away from sending everyone to their homes when you escort that man to the garden. Honestly, the only reason he doesn’t is because you return in a minute or two, the tip of your nose giving away all he needs to know- it’s chilly.

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

On the second thought, it’s best that he didn’t, because then Obi Wan wouldn’t even bother to get rid of the crowd to have his way with him.

“Lord Kenobi.” You manage to catch him alone, on the balcony. He’s up there to calm his nerves, over you, unbeknownst to you. Unfortunately, his progress is lost the second he hears your voice, and it is truly an effort to act otherwise.

The night is on the brink of ruin for him, and it doesn’t have to be that way for you. This is why he tries so hard.

“I must congratulate you on this beautiful ball. It is a night to remember.”

“Don't say it like the honor doesn't belong to us both.”

You shrug, as if whisking all the credit away. But your eyes twinkle with pride.

“I haven't had this much fun in ages,” You chirp, “I would've begged for another one already, if I hadn't witnessed the toll it took on you.” He covers his face at the mention of the state he has been in for the last couple of weeks. “Oh God, don't.”

“Oh God, you just didn't expose yourself like that! When will you start enjoying this?” Your laugh is a hidden giveaway of how many glasses you had tonight. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed for those who may inquire.” Your lips. Wrapped around his cock. Mapping out his neck. Keeping his secrets. “Remember that every word that comes out of my mouth is said by a person who attended all types of feasts all over the continent for a decade now. I grew up around these circles.” Shrugging, you add. “Perhaps that was my undoing.”

“Undoing? I could never call you “undone”.” Ironic, how you make him forget about before and continue to concern him with totally different subjects.

“You’re right.” Thoughts come out a little slow, but your effort is evident on your face. “I just had too many opportunities to start over in new places, experience everything that I was curious about, and that all led me to discover exactly what I liked, what I wanted from life.”

“How’s that a bad thing?”

“I’m not willing to let that go anytime soon.” You can’t help but notice that it sounds like some sort of prison of your will, but that’s not a discussion you can have tonight. “Anyways, Obi Wan. I must be going now, just wanted to pay my compliments and wish you good night.”

“I thought you’d stay the night-“Well, that’s definitely not the case, “But it is so early?”

“You know our houses are not so close, any later than this and I’m going to fall asleep on the road out of habit.”

Yeah, that’s why he thought it would be perfectly reasonable for you to stay over.

“I see.” And he wishes he had gone blind and deaf. “Then, allow me to bid you good night, my Lady.”

He takes your hand, placing a kiss you can very much feel despite the fabric. What he doesn’t expect, is for you to press your palm against his chest in return, because he doesn’t know of the urge you have to not leave. It is a split second of override, before you can command your feet to move again, blissfully unaware how tender that moment was.

===

A day. A full day. That’s how long he can refrain from seeing you. Funny, the meetings have become a habit for him, and although he needed you back then, he needs you more now, for completely different reasons, and you’re not there that morning- and why would you be? There’s no arrangement that demands your assistance anymore. Your praises are all said and done, and if to be repeated, it wouldn’t certainly be a matter that required urgency for you to show up at his door.

And maybe, you have other places to be, other doors to knock. Perhaps you’d enjoy a change of air.

So, he has come to yours.

Naboo. Aldreaan. Correlia. The cities churn in his mind, alongside your image in every one of them. The flowers in your hand as you roam the fields of Naboo, the coat that doesn’t do much for the redness on the tip of your nose while you lodge in the mountains of Alderaan. The exquisite jewelry you wear to a Correlian masquerade, outshining every debutante in the room. He imagines the people hypnotized by your presence (what can they be, other than blessed), or you gliding among them (after all, discretion was your powerful suit). And the worst of all, he thinks of the man escorting you, claiming their dances, bringing you a glass of their rare wines, walking with you in the natural scene, their savage arms around you, their hands groping your curves, pulling sweet sounds from you.

(No, the purpose of his visit was not that. )

He invites himself in from your open balcony, catching you as you start your nightly routine. You’re taking off your hairpins, when he does the courtesy of knocking on the glass, startling you just a little. You jump, but thankfully do not scream, the reflex somehow suppressed. Truth be told, it’s not because your shock actually dwindles. If anything, it is redirected into a different question, going from “What the fuck was that?” to “Why the fuck is he here?”

“Good night, darling.” He gestures for you to sit again, and you do, returning to your chair in front of the vanity. Your head has to crane in a strange way for you to see him, but thankfully, he comes closer and solves the problem, eyes meeting through the mirror. And his face lights up as he sets foot in the room, like he too has forgotten everything but this moment, his jealousy and desperation left behind the walls. That’s how the question of “What are you doing here?” is not immediately articulated.

Instead, you say, “Good night, Obi Wan.”

“I see I managed to visit you just in time.” Look at him, fixing his beard, laughing nervously. He just climbed to the second floor, and his heart only got racing now.

“Lucky you.” Honestly, you don't think there's a “wrong time” in his perspective, at least when it comes to you. A few minutes later, and he'd see you in your nightgown. Would that deter him from setting his foot in here? Most, most, most likely, no. Don't dwell on that thought, though. “And what do I owe the pleasure?” You try not to focus too much on the fact that you have him and your bed in the same frame, through the reflection.

“I thought I would see you today.” Is that sarcasm in his tone, or a little bit of self-humiliation?

This must be some sort of a Shakespeare play, right?

Oh my God, it is.

“Ah.” You fiddle with your hairbrush, the eye contact broken, your attempt to stop any matter from escalating this night. Any matter. Not that you had any questions when it came to his morals, he probably was the one person you’d never doubt, but in terms of his intentions to be here tonight startled you in a much different light. “I slept in late today. Didn’t even leave the house.”

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

“That’s because you had too much fun without me last night.” A treacherous scoff falls from his lips as he shakes his head. The moment that the tides turn. The one that brings back all the crude questions.

“What? No? What do you mean?” For all your effort to remain calm, you look alarmed, that tired face with doe eyes showing it all, and he feels sorry for a second, troubling you over his overthinking ass.

Then, he spots the bracelet you wore last night, lying haphazardly over a piece of paper on the corner of the table. It looks very much like a letter.

It’s not hard for him to advance his speculations.

“I think you know it already.”

“Obi Wan.” You twist to actually face him, your arm on the back of the chair. “Why are you here?”

He takes a few steps back, as if the air is stolen from the short distance between the two of you. He runs a hand through his hair, undisturbed by its messy result. You can see him biting into his cheeks, trying to select the right words. In the end, all that effort seems unnecessary, because when he speaks, the sentence can’t be any simpler. “Who was the man you spent an hour with last night?”

Wincing, you take a few seconds to process. It’s not about the answer, but his motive, his audacity that irks you. You stand up and speak. This time, your voice is sharp as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

He blinks a few times, so sure of his righteousness, and determined. “You were in my house, at our ball, dancing and talking with strangers and not even glancing in my direction for the better half of the night. I think it’s some of my business.”

“I was by your side for much longer than it is acceptable, Kenobi, do I need to remind you? We danced six times and greeted the majority of guests together.” You’ll not let the truth be ignored. “Any longer than that and there would be rumors all over the society today, and even I would’ve heard about it despite staying here all day. I didn’t come this much by pushing boundaries at every fucking chance I get. I picked my battles, the thing you seem incapable of.”

“So, am I to understand, this thing between us,” The look on his face dares you to deny the existence of it, “is not worth picking?”

This is the possibility that scared you. And for good reason, it seems. You close your eyes, in order to not roll them, and purse your lips. He uses the moment to reach for your arms, like he could appeal for an answer from you. “Don’t you love what we have?”

You couldn’t feel any worse under the warmth of his hands, affection pouring out of them despite the rage in him. “I love what we had.”

“Had?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t keep doing this, is it not?”

Confusion leaves its place to anger once more, for all the wrong reasons and his face darkens. “Oh, I see. You secured yourself a new entertainment, and now you have to get rid of the old one.”

You shrug out of his hold, distancing yourself from him. The source of the problem is not what he claims it to be, and it infuriates you, along with the accusations he taints you with. “Don't you dare reflect your own degeneration on me like that! It’s not about my damn cousin’s damn friend, it’s about you!” It is nearly a scream, the highest pitch that wouldn’t grab attention. Still, reflectively, you turn your head to the door, which you had luckily locked. “Leave now, you bastard!”

Honoring the part he was assigned in that theatre play, he focuses on the wrong part of the words, the crumbles of information giving him hope, and dim his doubts. “So there's nothing between you and him?”

Seething, you are red with fury, taking a sharp breath, pointing your finger at him like a gun. “Get. Out.”

“Is there?”

Your tongue is determined not to let him hear your words, despite the truth in them. It will not lead to any good.

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close?

The moment you look into his ocean eyes, the decision to say anything is deemed impossible. The decision to do anything, actually. His arms cage you against the cluttered table, and yours end up on his chest, though without any intention of pushing him away.

“Answer my question, and I will.”

How could you? How can you be able to resist his utmost sincerity, the desperation in his behaviors and the brutality of his words contrasted in the way he looks at you, the caging without actually touching you. Your suffocation is only a result of your inner turmoil, the desire to spit out the truths, clear his heart and give in to the love he's handing out, but terrified of the places it will take the two of you.

“I’m waiting, darling.” You can’t help but watch his perfect lips move, his voice licking your skin.

You gulp, an action he doesn’t miss, and dares to laugh at it. Obi Wan can see the exact moment your gaze returns to being that of an eris, though the flames remind him of a different time.

A very different time.

“I hate you.” It is perhaps the most childish thing you’ve ever said in years, and it shows.

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

For all your claims, still, he doesn’t miss the small moan you let out, swallowing it with pride. Your soft lips move against his like a habit, anticipating every move and the next, a choreography you both know all too well albeit in a much swifter tempo. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer but his stay in the same spot, afraid to disturb you, though gripping the edges hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Though, when he tugs at your bottom lip, asking for more, you grant him that, your tongues joining the dance. You whimper, the action triggering your inhibitions to loosen up, like each second wipes the doubts away. It is a sugared water, only serving to increase the thirst instead of quenching it. So you don't stop drinking it.

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.”

Two seconds have to pass for you to understand his response. With his breath still warming your cheeks, even brushing them with his nose, yes he dares now, the statement is the undeniable truth.

However, not that you're ready to admit it. He already knows too much, all the things you like, all your weak spots, all of your soul.

“Yes, I- oh” And he's not the one to endure your lies. His fingers delve into your scalp, putting traction into your hair ‘til you have to tilt your head back to release the tension, forcing you to look at him through your lashes. Still, eye contact is not what he seeks, for he has as much a chance of getting lost in it as you. He uses the expanse of skin you offer, and dives in for that specific spot that has your legs going limp. It has two consequences: Firstly, you are stuck between him and the table, the latter supporting you too little that the weight rests almost entirely on his body, every plane of him touching yours. Secondly, the angle puts the mirror in the corner of your sight, and you have a maddening view of what’s happening. It is enough to make old ladies screech and faint, and artists to slave to immortalize the scene.

“You’re a bastard.” You murmur the last bit of objection, solely for the object of throwing it out of the tip of your tongue. He hears, though quite unbothered, the retort to break you further leaves his mouth readily.

“Call me whatever you want, dear, you’re the one begging for it.”

Of course, you only pant in return. Even when he threatens to nip and bite at the sensitive nerves, you don’t stop him. Furthermore, your calf twists around his as much as it is able in that impossible posture. An invitation.

“And what else would you let me do to you? Would you let me take you to your bed?”

You nod, frantically. “Yes, please Obi Wan- take me”

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

The second your feet touch the ground, both of you gather the ends of your dress, yanking it out to throw it haphazardly on the floor. Your stays and chemise follow the same fate, then it is his jacket and shirt. He taps on your thigh, like he would let you walk the five meter distance between there and the bed, you jump, a little shakily (not that you ever had questions about his strength). Fuck, it excites you how easily and softly he lands you on the edge of it. You reach for his trousers, but he stops you and urges for you to scoot back, and lay down.

Because that’s the best way he can rid you of your shoes and stockings.

Your knees stick together as he works on one foot, and the other. The shoes drop with a loud thud, making you bite your lip, close your eyes for a moment and pray nobody investigates. It’s no wonder that after that small break, your pupils meet once more. How ironic that it is the cause of your concern, and the only solution.

You can feel his fingertips skimming the top of the only clothing left on you. While the touch is stimulating enough, it is the fact that you have to spread your legs a little to allow him to undress you, giving him a view of your wet pussy.

Nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t affect the way you tremble.

Throwing your head back, you let him slide the stretchy fabric down. Slowly. Like his piercing gaze isn’t enough. You’re squirming by the end of it, all thoughts of getting him out of his outfit gone (-or delayed, should you still believe yourself.)

Thankfully, he takes care of it, the sounds of his buttons unfastened echo in the room.

Though he has no rush to join you.

You turn your face to search for what's taking him so long, a whine in your throat when he kneels. That's unlike him.

You feel cold without his body looming over yours. And he has a hard time not to do that, not falling for the flush of red and your hard nipples. Especially when you're so gone that you may come undone just from that.

He'd like to see that.

But he has to make you understand how you keep him in that state, ignorant of his troubles, even as the solution is obvious and wanted by both sides, however the other can't accept it out of simple stubbornness.

Thus, he plays the deaf now, as he grips the supple flesh of your thighs, squeeze and move as he pleases, exposing your core to air while he busies himself with other parts. He claims you with his lips, mapping out, pushing you down to the mattress every time you jolt because he’s so close just a little to the left- But perhaps the worst is his vulgar taunts, whispered, to himself mostly, a way to speak out the anger.

“Are you this wet for all the men you hate?”

“No.” You cry, not able to stand the accusations. “It’s you.” And it is the truth. There are no other men on the planet that you would bear being treated like this by, or attempt to change their opinion of you. But now, you need him to know that. You can’t imagine a future with his back always turned to you, or be subject to his very much forced small talk with empty, or worse, hatred filled eyes. It is a reveal of a side of you that you had to keep hidden and downplay, to be free at the end of the day, give both of you an opportunity to walk out, but it doesn’t matter if the said fallout leaves his judgment of you sour. You care about his perception, and would do your best to change it should it be mixed with lies. Truth, and nothing less, is what he deserves.

A wave of relief floods his heart, that simple answer is all he wishes to hear. There’s also a bit of rage, for knowing you’d never admit it in any other circumstance. Alas, the smile appearing on his face is unstoppable. Even as he finally begins to eat you out.

A moan leaves your mouth at the first contact, which is nothing more than a small kiss. That bad, uh? As he licks everything he can reach, it turns into a whine, because it is evident he has no concern about making you cum quickly, or in a normal amount of time. He just continues to do whatever he was doing before, exploring every nook and cranny, and marking, like he intends to commit this moment to his memory. It may not have been his first time, (or the second), but he’s doing it for himself now, your desperation sadly not a priority. You also suspect he’s doing it to drive you mad, using his previous experience and remembering how sensitive you got when his beard rubbed against your skin.

“Obi Wan-“ Your back arches, a hand reaching for his hair. He stops it all by jostling your legs with a hold that could leave imprints. It takes half of your willpower to stay in the place he put you in, and that means you only have the other half to process the indescribable pleasure he’s giving. It is gonna be fast, whether he plans it or not.

“Could you actually throw this away? How can you pick anything else over this?” You knew it would be a hard transition. The magic he created is haunting and ready to jump on you in those dark corners, even after many years. There is no cure for ghosts, after all. The thought now seems impossible, the last thing that could cross your mind. Simply impossible. He emphasizes by nudging your clit, every single movement forcing a sound out of you. “That's right. I’m going to remind you how good we are together, make you feel so good that you'll forget anything but us.”

The passion in his words scares you, but it would be a lie to say they don't excite you in some way, making your heart flutter in your chest at his devotion and to be able to still feel safe only supported by the honest bond you two have. You chant his name as he smothers himself in your folds, sucking and flicking your raw bundle of nerves. He loves to feel you twitch when you are overwhelmed, but not enough to climax.

Then, he scrapes your clit with his teeth, and you're gushing, head thrown back, a silent scream in your mouth. The hot lava inside you doesn't cool down, paying its visit to every part of you, making stars explode behind your eyes and body trash against the sheets. To be perfectly honest, he didn't expect this much either, his strong muscles tightened to keep you from closing your legs, a string of curses muttered at the obscenity of it all. As always, your bliss only augments his own, especially at the sight of your essence flowing out of you. He has to drink it all in. Thus, he doesn’t stop, unbothered by the subtle sway of your hips, or the slight tug at his strands. He has no objection to them, on the contrary, he would encourage them if he didn't have to abandon his task to say the words. The slow movements of his tongue create constant stimulation in your already delicate nerves. Your second orgasm crashes you like a clap of thunder, leaves you sobbing and shaking. It uses all the energy in your already spent muscles, wipes every argument from your mind and removes those troubling emotions from your soul. The interesting thing, is that you have no oppositions to the matter. Why would there be? Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Isn’t it better than a dream? You speak the truths, and he worships you. You pay him the respect he deserves, and he tries to honor it in every chance. You don't complete his personality, you enhance it, and in return, he uses everything in his power to make your day better.

It is not that simple, a voice speaks from the back of your head, but it's too silent to have an importance.

Likewise, some of his ideas are dismayed just as easily. Pity. He had every intention of taking you from behind, not letting you get away before painting your ass red, and watch you crawl back to him still even when he teased you that badly, but you seem too gone, too weak to lift your hips up. And it is not a big deal anymore, because he's equally excited to have you like this, lying on your back, legs hugging his torso. Like your first time. The parallel is unintentional, but more than welcomed. How much and how little has changed since then? He leans in for a kiss, and fuck, your mouth is greets him too purely, like he's not covered in your slick. There's something more than lust that drives you, evident in the way you move, like you’re carving out a promise on his lips. The sounds that you produce are not in desperation, but gratitude, not weary of the periods of suspense but glad that it is over. His fingers travel the length of your abdomen, all blame on him for the coldness of your skin and the way you shiver. When he circles your nipples with his thumb, you sigh, and press yourself to him.

“You take care of me like no other, Obi Wan.” You whisper as you cup his cheek. You should’ve told him sooner. It was the least you could do.

He has no answer, and he doesn’t need one. Holding your wrist at the sides of your head angrily and meeting with your tongue is more than enough of an explanation, just like the one you made a little too late, beautiful controversies. You both are unaware of how your hips rub against each other, without hurry, ‘til his cock catches your entrance. Your breathing becomes erratic, considering you didn’t get a prep or had any in some while, and he’s big.

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?”

“I need you.” You almost wail, despite knowing it will be too much. It’s not about pleasing him, either, for these things are not given up as sacrifices, ever. What matters is that you’re together, and that is always good. “Please, I want you.”

Could he ever refuse?

He takes his time, relishing the surrender of your tight walls, and brave noises, replied with his own moans. Your pants are guiding as much as they are troubling, making him even harder. He swears he’s about to burst when you outright sob while he brushes your areolas. Your back raises, an attempt to get his fingers a little higher, and your eyelids flutter close with the movement.

Make no mistake, your face scrunched up in delight is a sight to behold, but he can’t compromise having your eyes closed, sparing him from that glossy, burning gaze you have when he tears you apart. He needs to see them lose all coherent thought, see those doubts fly away and light up with pleasure.

“Look at me, dearest.” Right, aren’t you more than acquainted with his most important wish? He pleads, the softest tone that spilled from his lips tonight. Your heart skips a beat although you’re not exactly capable of processing that information. Needless to say, you don’t oblige to his wish, not when you are so spent.

Obi Wan groans, his hand flying up to turn your chin. At that moment, all fall silent. You get lost in his stormy eyes, and so does he. Though his cock twitches in your quivering channel, that’s not the point.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He blurts. Then, the other truths demand to be told too. “I don't like the way they look at you. I don't like how they don't know how blessed they are by your presence. Shit, I hate it when they know it too. I hate to think those who got to memorize you this closely, even those you knew before me.”

Even those you knew before me. “Obi Wan, you're-”

“Crazy? I'll admit, I am crazy when it comes to you.”

“I never-” You have to drown a whimper as he continues his deep, slow strokes, “asked for any of it.”

“Of course, dear. I know, I know it's not you, but them. But I can hardly stop myself from reaching out and pulling you out from their sigh. Or wrap my hands around you, let them see what we share. They wouldn't dare anymore, if they knew the lines you left on my back.” It takes an incredible amount of will not to thrust into you faster, with where his ideas lead him to. “Would you let me mark you from the inside?”

Fuck, why does his words make their way into your heart without ringing those alarm bells you have ready at all times? How does he move past them so easily?

Or do you let him, and take those rings as a cheery tune of his nearing presence, and not a warning as they must be?

“Yes!” The feeling of him finishing anywhere but in you suddenly sounds so disgusting. You want his warmth, even though you're burning already.

His lips find yours, kissing you so hard that you'd thought he wanted to silence you. But surely, you know better, that's definitely not the case. You get to drink his sweet moans as his hands envelope you further (like it's possible). In return, he's right there to swallow your gasps, the proof of how you push yourself for him. The rest of the world stops, the urge to fill your lungs no longer necessary, nothing but the rhythm you've created, and clouds you've climbed on.

He senses your peak before you do and gives you a brief space to breathe, praises falling from his lips that you can't hear, as you shake and let out whimpers, quite loud, for you've grown used to him muffling them. He follows suit, not able to resist your walls clamping down on him, painting your insides with a heavenly moan.

It takes a second for both of your bearings to return, for the night to evolve into a chilly summer night it was simply meant to be. The coldness is especially remarkable as sweat cools down. A towel wipes them rather quickly, but it's never as warm as having the other around. Your usual remedy, a nightgown, is no use either, even if he helps you put it on. It is such a whiplash that makes you question everything about the last hour. You're left with burning cheeks as he collects your clothes from the floor, hanging them on the divider, then his- but he does the same to them?

“What are you doing?” You croak, a minute of silence for your vocal cords. “I don't cuddle.” That's a harsh sentence, but it's the truth.

“And I don't leave the person I love in the middle of the night to freeze.” He's holding a candle, the only lit candle in the room, and his face is illuminated beyond anything else and it could be said that he is the source of light.

The person I love. His words break down the last resolve you have, and you're left to figure out how you feel about it as he kills the flame, and slides into the sheets behind you. You'd think the sensation of his chest pressed to your back would keep you wide awake, but no, it's weirdly new yet familiar, enough to lull to sleep. Also, his scent is mesmerizing, and you never had it this close and constant.

And for him, he had no trouble whatsoever from the start, but this is far better than expected, that he is sure he is living the best moment of his fate. The softness of you, in his arms, drifting into heavy dreams. It is a treasure for him to see that you can relax beside him, allow him to feel the regularity of breaths, showing your most natural self.

But the morning is anything like the night.

You wake up from the orange lights of the rising sun, when he gently combs your hair out of your face. There's a fatigue in your muscles, alongside that sweet tinge of pleasure still lingering, making it all bearable. Your skin runs hot where he holds you, your back, your waist, your intertwined legs… The slight prickle of his beard is not pronounced when it's rolling on your shoulder, especially as it's followed by small pecks. He's unable to resist, your intoxicating smell pronounced in the cove of your neck, right under his nose. Only when he feels somewhat satisfied, and you seem a little more conscious, the tonus of your body increasing, he talks.

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

“Good morning, love.” His hand rises to soothe the redness rising where his chin was pressed. Delicate all over. “I’m afraid I must get going, for both of us’ sake.”

You give an affirming hum, and swiftly roll out. Your body betrays you without delay, a shiver seizing you, protesting the lack of his heat. You shake your shoulders, not so subtly but it's not like you can cringe. It is your band aid, and you're ripping it out.

You reach for a robe and put it on rather easily for your questionable nerves and state of mind.

“Darling?”

“Yes, you should really get going, Obi Wan.” Fuck, that sounds still more aggressive than you are, or you ever intended, a mirror of the storms in your mind.

“What's the matter?” He's awfully quick to put on his trousers and come near you once again. He looks into your eyes, unobscured by your hair, and then there's that look of reveal on his face, the point of no return. He says your name, a final plead and a warning.

“You must leave soon.” This time, you’re a little softer, but it is nowhere near normal, considering what you shared.

“You think last night was a mistake.” He’s never sounded colder, and you have to focus not to bite your lip. The stern expression on his face is unbecoming of him, but it’s also a great reflection of his fidelity. Now, the other side of the coin shows itself, with his icy eyes and clenched jaw.

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.”

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail.

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?”

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads.

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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Hello!

I would like to request a Rocky x reader (romantic) oneshot. A fluffy one with a bit of spice would be nice ;) I don't really have a specific plot in mind, but maybe something on the topic of affection? Whatever the story, i'm sure it will be amazing ❤

Thank u, and have a nice day/night!

Hello, Anon!! Thank you for dropping by!! Your request just so happened to align with an idea I've had, and... I got a bit carried away, I suppose. This is well over three thousand words.

Hope you'll find as much entertainment in reading as I did in writing, anyhow!! (I missed crafting dialogue for this silly cat, even if it's equal parts shameless purple prose fun and an absolute pain in the neck.)

“Absolutely not.”

The pose of cheerful enthusiasm he presented the idea with didn’t falter, although his grin seemed to by a sliver.

“Aww, why?”

“It’s not gonna work.”

“We can’t know that until we try!”

You’d come down before opening hour, when many of the lights framing the red-curtained stage and finely carved pillars hadn’t been ignited yet in order to lessen electricity bills, leaving the grandiose speakeasy hall to ruminate in a mellow, warm late afternoon dusk. Leaning against one of the pool tables webbed with gilded patterns on the sides, you glanced him up and down in half-lidded skepticism. It was brief, yet defeating.

“I say this with all the love in my heart,” you prefaced the ruthless confession with a teasing smile, “but you don’t look like you could lift a cornstalk.”

“And you have a point! But consider this,” he countered, gesturing passionately with his hands as if materializing a vision of success before the both of you, and that’s when you recognized this conversation was about to shimmy beyond the bounds of reality. “What wonders can be achieved through the power of love? It can avail you to weather a sea of infernal blazes, crumble ancient mounts to their innermost cores, compel the course of celestial bodies–”

“But it can’t give you muscles.”

The conjurations of poetic fancies promptly shattered, and he gave you a disheartened look.

“Oh, come on, dearest,” he pleaded, all gleaming blue eyes and droopy ears. “Have you no faith in your one and only chevalier?”

“Concerning any other situation… a hard maybe. Depends if anything flammable’s involved.”

You put a finger to your chin in lighthearted contemplation.

“But this… well, I trust you in pulling this off without either of us getting hurt about as far as I could throw you with one hand.”

“I don’t weigh much,” he perked up assuringly. “You could toss me a good few feet, I reckon.”

“So then we should try this the other way around.”

A glint of curiosity hinted he may not have been entirely opposed. Nonetheless, you could tell he wouldn’t let himself be so easily shot down in his steadfast ambitions, about which you happened to be right.

“Your suggestions are appreciated,” he placated upon your prompt sigh of disappointment, “but in the name of chivalry I must persist with my vision. Because I am certain that there is a way, as there is a will, to achieve it.”

He pondered aloud whilst leant against the pool table opposite to yours, tail swishing figure eights in the air as if stirring up the brainworks.

“Just let me think about it…”

A bit to the left, two of the local employment were spectating from their usual spots by the bar. Zib, who had draped himself half-across the counter while Viktor was cleaning it around him, regarded the scene from under his hat with a caustic glance. The smoke simmering from the cigarette he was languidly tasting occasionally wafted your way.

“Looks like chivalry’s not dead yet after all,” he grumbled, the corners of his lips teasing amusement, “but he’s about to be.”

The burly slovak continued with his somewhat menial task in dutiful disinterest, intimidating all unsightly dirt spots off the wooden surface with an effortless glare.

“Idiot vill break own spine vid effort,” he stated matter-of-factly, then after a thoughtful pause, shrugged. “Saves me the trouble.”

“Oh, such searing pessimism!”

Rocky turned to theatrically retort, rejoining your circles from the far reaches of whatever realms his mind had been venturing.

“Well I regret to inform you, gentlemen,” he gave an easygoing little smirk, “that the only sort of spectacle you’ll be getting today is the glorious display of romance’s incandescent triumph.”

“You should heed your sweetheart’s advice, kid,” Zib warned over his glassful of a somewhat suspicious golden beverage. “Artists like you and I just weren’t built for these kinds of strenuous feats. You’ll get a hernia and then the boss lady will be down one questionable bootlegger.”

“Pff… Nonsense talk!”

He waved off the notion as if swatting away a bug, and you pinched your brow in exasperation.

“Waste not such paltry concerns on me, my friend! You see, it might not leave that impression at first glance…” he flexed a bit to show off his bicep then stared at it with a blank expression once it failed to strengthen his argument, “nor perhaps second… but these spindly sinews are rife with untapped potential! Why, you think the Atlas of mythology had trained in advance to support the whole world on his shoulders? And yet, it still goes ‘round smoothly to this day. Which is to say that, hopefully helped by Fortuna’s favor, the release of a comparable innate strength shall aid me in this fated task of carrying mine.”

Despite his conspicuous lack of visible musculature he gave a grin of such radiant certainty it could’ve powered the rest of the lights. Zib blinked slowly, unimpressed in his fermentative, cigarette-stink skepticism. Viktor kept cleaning.

“Albeit I suppose there’s more point in a show rather than tell.”

Rocky stretched his arms in a somewhat comically overstated manner.

“So the old-fashionated way it is!” He then took up a stance and spread them in anticipation. “Come hither, my darling love, let’s prove those naysayers wrong! Leap into the arms of your favorite bard!”

“I still don’t condone this idea.”

You crossed your arms, resolution as hard as the wood digging into your lower back. Unstoppable force smiling baffledly at the inmovable object.

“You don’t?”

“Not really.”

He pouted. Oh, how you couldn’t stand it when those gorgeous sapphires looked at you so coyly despondent. And of course, he was aware.

“You mean you won’t even give it a chance?” he implored, tail gingerly lowering. “Not even if I’ll sooner have my organs be crushed into a fine sludge than let one hair on your head bend the wrong way?”

“Especially not then.”

Patiently, you stood, the twitch of your ears and your own tail’s gentle whipping behind your legs and brushing up to the smooth block of wood being your only movement. You watched him deflate in a slowly progressing manner not unlike that of a balloon animal leaking from a small opening; you could even imagine the characteristic sound to go with.

You tried not to laugh.

“Not even if,” he attempted once more, “it could be a most passionful pageantry of courteousness?”

“More like foolishness.”

Irritated by his snark for a change, you tilted your head in Zib’s direction. When he earned both of your attention by extension the resident nicotine eater, chin resting on the heel of his palm, flicked a huge ear and leisurely presented his back to you as though he’d never cared.

“Just picture it for a second!” Rocky suggested, snapping back to the conversation and taking your hand in his to help transmit the mental imagery through skin-to-skin contact. “A most consummate culmination of chivalrous custom!”

“Certainly,” you rolled your eyes yet didn’t resist when he snuck up close to grab a hold of your waist with an almost imperceptible delicacy.

“I’d gather you in my arms,” he narrated, “a most beauteous royal rose, pooling in your eyes the glimmers of a star-speckled galaxy, a divine black ether brimming with a variegated, dazzling cavalcade of celestial hues… oh, what fair nobility of ephemeral grace, molded in the realms above from the finest marble and ambrosia by lilium-scented, angelic hands…”

His face was close to yours, and your gazes intertwined; you could be quite sure he was just describing what he saw. You averted your eyes, slightly flustered.

“You sure know your words,” you nipped without any real teeth to it.

“I try,” he acknowledged cheerfully, nonetheless keeping proximate. “And me, no more than a humbled troubadour, a mere mortal permitted by Providence to embrace salvation itself,” you made an inarticulate noise of incredulity, “gentle tethering of your mass serving to remind that this resplendent scene is no meager illusion, a cruel trick of the light, but bona fide reality…”

You squirmed half-heartedly away in your chagrin, yet each bit of distance you created between the two of you he kept closing just as effortlessly, drinking in your expressions.

“In rapt entrancement we’d behold each other’s countenance,” you could feel his words on your whiskers, “honey-glaze lusters dancing across our lips in nectareal beckoning, your arms entangling my nape with fervor as you pull me under to merge our souls by way of osculation in the heart of the Earth–”

“Enough rhapsodizing,” you entreated with a wide, mildly embarrassed smile you couldn’t fight, “you poetaster.”

“Now, don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

You exhaled in a burst, gripping the wooden brim you were leant on. Tail curling and uncurling in thought.

“It sounds fine,” you emphatically minced, “but I don’t require it. You know you can just talk sweet to me like that or give me a kiss when I’m still on my feet and you’ll just as easily sweep me off them.”

“But there’s no harm in experimenting, right?”

“That’s… a very dubious statement.”

“Well, if it does work, it shall surely be memorable.”

Across the way, over ornate red carpet and leather seats, Viktor had since taken to polishing glasses while Zib ever-industriously continued to metabolize the establishment’s embalming fluid reserves in spite of the hour.

“…And if it doesn’t,” Rocky proposed the possibility with great hesitation, “as far as I can recall, bone fractures actually heal a lot quicker than you’d expect.”

With the band backstage, that’d be only two direct witnesses to your loss of dignity.

“You’re not about to let this go until I oblige,” you observed with a heavy heart and patted his arm, “so go ahead. I’ll give you a chance to enter history records as the world’s first cooked pasta-based organism to princess carry a whole person.”

You adjusted yourself in front of him at a roughly ninety-degree angle and put your arm around his shoulders. Enthusiasm flawlessly rekindled he took swift hold of your back in return, biting his lip in anticipation like a giddy kid.

“But if you sprain a muscle, I’m not bringing you the ice,” you stated firmly to his face.

“You can’t sprain what’s scarcely there,” he beamed back like it was of any reassurance.

“Well, alright.”

That obnoxious smoke hit your nose again. Beneath the golden glow of red lampshades, Zib had unexpectedly honored your ambitions by sitting marginally more erect, pushing up the brim of his hat to ensure his sight wasn’t failing him.

“Wouldn’t you look at that,” he grunted, pointy eyebrows raised. “They’re doing it for real.”

Viktor stopped in his surprisingly gentle handiwork and fixed a sharp, singular eye on the pair of you. When your clumsy preparations and nervous fidgeting painted a confirmatory enough picture, he set the glass and rag down with a thud, leisurely slapping two huge paws on the clean oak counter to lean on it.

“Dis vill be amusing.”

You gulped at the audience, blooming in your chest a severe doubt. You squeezed Rocky’s shoulder and felt the pointed conjunction of bones digging into your palm without any real effort.

“Whenever you’re ready…”

He smiled at you with those sweet blue eyes that drew your attention like a magnet, adamant on dissolving your worries within themselves. It almost convinced you that what you were about to do wasn’t both ridiculously asinine and physically unsafe… albeit still rather mild by the standards of dating Rocky Rickaby.

You looked at one of the curling, wrought iron chandeliers and sucked in a resolute breath.

“…Here goes nothing.”

In clenched-fist concentration, you jumped and threw your legs in the air for him to catch. He grabbed after them in wide-eyed startlement and as the momentum flung you at him, you prayed.

There was a grunting noise. Something in-between the squeak of a strangled rubber chicken and the aghast chuff of a scuffed, abused bagpipe as every last square inch of air is violently crushed out of it; you’d heard naught of such a combination before yet were instantly able to identify it. Arms clasped tight around his neck you hung on for dear life whilst he gripped your side and thighs in a no less firm desperation, fingers unintendedly clawing into tense flesh. He stood taut as a bowstring, you could feel as much beneath the clothes, though unfortunately nowhere near as straight and with every slight tremble and corrective squirm you feared yourselves tipping over in his direction and giving the carpeted limestone a sore greeting.

Time collapsed to a halt under the weight of anticipation. Cautious in your breaths, wide-eyed and blatantly uncomforted by his palpable quaking, you watched as his rigid expression of concentration strained on a half-hearted grin for your sake to mask what very much still was mortal terror hatching from amongst the shards of hubris.

And then… nothing.

You blinked a few times. Other than your own heartbeat, and what amounted to the whimpers of a heavy wooden chair being dragged across the floor that you soon confirmed to be coming from him instead, all sounds of impending doom receded. You took a deep inhale of the stagnant cave air and held it in bewilderment, knees squished close to one another.

Well, you’d be damned.

Flush to his torso and clutching the cheap fabric of his shirt, you stared on, trying to comprehend the situation. As was he, evidently, with how amidst his tight-lipped yet valiant bearing of the ramifications his eyes darted around the room as if disaster was running unusually late. No gears turn at such a pace however, for when at last the ice in your tendons began to melt in contemplation of asking whether he could move enough to put you down safely or if you should just jump for it, he exerted a small huff of accomplishment and it changed something, because you began to dip rapidly forward. Some indiscernible profanity escaped your mouth.

At least he gallantly broke your fall… and a rib as well, by the sound of it.

The ground was about as soft as you’d imagined when it kissed your limbs and left you with your hands splayed on velvety carpet. You caught glimpse of your audience and, lo and behold, Viktor for a brief second appeared to possess something of a smile behind the bar. Of schadenfreude, naturally. Nonetheless the witnessing of such an evanescent miracle left you nothing short of humbled.

“Well, that surprised nobody,” Zib sneered, a whiff of smoke leaving his nostrils. “We’ll hold him a tasteful funeral.”

“He’s not dead,” you indignantly countered, blowing tousled locks of hair out of your face, then turned to your knight in shoddy armor just to be sure. “You’re not dead, right?”

With that, you recognized that the reason your posterior ached less than the rest of you was his organs still being smushed under it, so you hastily clambered off. Sweetly enough, he hadn’t mentioned, though it may have just been that he’d yet to recover from getting the wind knocked out of him enough to form a sentence.

“Never felt more alive,” he wheezed in affirmation, clutching his torso. “I’ve come to sense fibers of my physique I didn’t know existed.”

“No wonder. Did you dislocate something?”

Crouched over your boyfriend on all fours, you scrutinized him whilst your tail lashed back and forth in acute concern regarding his lack of attempts to get up despite having him practically caged under you. Considering his talent for looking pathetic while curled up on the floor, you couldn’t be blamed.

“Well, all of my bones are still inside,” he tilted his head without raising it to look over himself. “That’s their designated place, I believe.”

“You’re such a twit.”

Bright blue eyes flicked up at you innocently, arms clasped together in a protective self-embrace. Your features softened with a sigh.

“I heard a crack,” you explained, gaze lingering over his ribcage. “I thought I’d hurt you.”

“Oh, that was just my pride,” he dismissed jovially. “Nothing worth the bewailment. Poor thing wasn’t about to survive the winter anyhow.”

That restless, puffy tail of yours came to a tentative pause upon his knees, drawn only halfway up to accomodate your presence as he squirmed lightly in his restricted position. Though the barely lit murk of underground, his grin still shined as disarming as any other.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

Whether he meant that remark as a pacification or a challenge, you preferred not to dispute. You let go of the tension in your shoulders however, easing off to settle down next to him and allow him some space to do the same.

“Well, this was just stupid,” you concluded, listlessly examining your bruised appendages. “I have no idea what drove you to something so pointless.”

He carefully rolled up off the ground then simply sat there, blinking at you in a way that betrayed neither any particular discomfort nor the absence of it. You observed him in ponderance. Due to the lack of any concrete signals from upstairs you decided you’d just have to assume the best.

“Unless,” you teased with a squint of suspicion, minding your volume, “you just wanted me on top of you that bad.”

Now that definitely reached the headquarters. When it did, he responded with one of those downright sinful grins that made the notion of punching him in the face sound vastly appealing.

“It wasn’t according to my plan, per se,” he gestured in a sly manner, “but it’s certainly not a development you’ll catch me complaining about.”

“You cad.”

You regarded him with a scolding glare you didn’t really mean but perhaps should’ve. He stood or, well, sat his ground, and it didn’t take a medium to guess anymore what newfound visions might’ve been stirring on behind that striped forehead of his; you only hoped he wouldn’t start waxing poetics about it.

“Could’ve just asked me nicely,” you murmured with a smirk.

You noted the proximity all of a sudden; his nose couldn’t have been two inches away from touching yours. He peered down at you in awareness, chuckling.

“Ah, but the overture's half the merriment.”

“This place has marvelous acoustics, by the way,” Zib spoke out of nowhere and made every bone in your body flinch, “so you might wanna consider taking this somewhere else before our sparse patronage arrives–”

“Oh, shut it, Zibowsky.”

You snapped at him, ears pinned, feeling rather deserving of some soap in your mouth. Rocky got over the interruption with a more careless ease and disregarded the air of awkwardness he helped create in favor of lighting up in triumph.

“But our labour for love wasn’t in vain, after all!” he exclaimed over your shoulder. “We all saw it, right? My romantically inspired exhibition of unprecedented prowress? I must’ve held on for a good minute there!”

“How long did it last, by the way?” you inquired, watching as Viktor continued cleaning glasses. “I was too busy panicking to count.”

“Two seconds.”

Your face stretched in astonishment. Zib took out a lighter.

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“No, really,” he reiterated, igniting another cigarette with a series of clicks while the previous butt laid crumpled beside him on the counter, “two seconds. I was just about to congratulate you.”

You stared on at the sprawling carpet, befuddled, yet the intricate patterns held no explanation for this anomaly. Time does simply happen to slow to a crawl when you’re fearing for your life, as it turned out. Rocky slumped in dejection.

“Ah well,” he lamented, bushy brows descending. “It would appear that my hopes to beguile you with a debonair display could not come true after all.”

His tail gingerly curled around him, saddened to an equal degree. You pouted along in playful endearment.

“You’re so silly,” you ascertained. “I don’t mind that you’re a weakling.”

You took his hand balled up on the ground, enveloping it with your own. He watched in slight trepidation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you locked eyes amidst the magnificent cavern of bygone extravagance; the ‘heart of the Earth’, as he’d put it. Decked in hues of crimson and gold and marinating in a mystiqueful twilight, a regrettably vacant wonder of architectural design honoring the arts décoratifs, all the dazzling sights of the establishment couldn't have hoped to draw you away from the one instrictic extension of it you delighted in looking at the most.

“And I wouldn’t trade you in for the brawniest of gallants,” you pressed a tingling kiss on his cheek, “my noodle-limbed prince.”

#{💌 mod rory 💌}#{didn't remember my mod tag being so extra hahhah}#Oneshot On The Rocks #lackadaisy #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy reader insert #lackadaisy rocky #rocky lackadaisy #rocky rickaby #rocky rickaby x reader #{feels good to have made something for you all again. hope you enjoy <3}

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silens-oro · 1 year

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Spoils of War: 7. The Wheel

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader Minor side relationships with the reader will be present throughout this.

Spoils of War Masterlist Masterlist

Synopsis: The Wheel of War begins to turn.

Word Count: ~18k (absolutely absurd)

General Warning: 18+. POTENTIAL SPOILERS FOR UPCOMING HOTD EPISODES. Targaryen uncle/niece incest (lite, nothing truly weird other than they are both Targaryens), blood, gore, murder, child murder, animal sacrifice (not really but I'm warning still), nudity, ptsd, mention of r*ape (none occurs). Let me know if I've missed any!

AN: This took way longer to finish than I anticipated it would. By the time I finished writing, this chapter was over 20k words. I had to do some major edits, and throw some of the bulk into the next chapter. I've adored the feedback I've received on this story, so please keep sending it in! From this point forward, it is going to get very messy, very quickly. Thank you all for reading! This story is a literal labor of love that has taken many, many weeks of writing DAILY and editing to get to this point. I've never felt the attachment to anything I've written like I feel to this story, so I hope you're all enjoying it as much as I am.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.

A putrid smell hit Aemond’s nostrils as he stepped down the staircase leading to the dungeon. It smelled of death and decay, and was absolutely unmistakable. A stone catapulted to the pit of his stomach, the dread that seeped through him was enough to make him sick if the smell alone didn’t.

Aemond had been absent for the last week due to princely duties as his grandsire called them. They were nothing more than to show the might of Vhagar to those who toed the line of support to the Green’s cause. Duty was duty, nonetheless, but Aemond could not return to you quick enough.

The first thought he had as he entered the dungeon was that you perished, by your own hand most likely. His Shadow, as she had done in his absences previous, was supposed to check in on you nightly. By the smell, the decay was days along. His Shadow probably feared what he would do should he find out his beloved had accomplished what he tried so hard to prevent. She was right, of course. No death would be quick enough for her, and he would find her -he promised himself. He’d skin the little wretch alive with his bare hands when he caught her.

Aemond kept his torch in front of himself to illuminate the stale darkness. A squelching noise was the first sound to meet his keen ears. It was faint, but present. He brought the sleeve of his coat to his nose to alleviate some of the stench that permeated the air. It was sickly sweet and rancid with a copper tinge to it that turned his stomach. His feet moved quickly over the dusty floor to reach your cell.

Aemond saw that the door to the cell was ajar before the rest of the cell came into view. His heart pounded as he stopped at the foot of it. A body, swarmed with devouring rats, was on the floor. Dark, clotted blood surrounded it as the rats munched at what was left of the soft tissue of the person’s legs and innards. The face was covered by your wool blanket, seemingly untouched by the vermin.

As Aemond crouched down with the torch, the rats scurried in all directions -squealing at the intrusion- but a rat with a stump for a paw stood in the furthest corner, watching his every move.

Aemond quickly tossed the blanket from the body and relief immediately filled him when he saw dark hair in place of Targaryen silver, but that relief quickly turned to rage and anxiety. He stood swiftly, kicking the dirty blanket to the side.

“Idiot girl!” He seethed at the body, breathing heavily. He brought a hand to his head and paced to sooth his growing panic.

His hand ran down his face as he glared at the decaying body of his Shadow with absolute hatred filling his eye. His angular mouth was set in a sneer at the reality that was facing him. So many thoughts and questions swirled through his mind as he tried to piece together what had happened. How did you lure his Shadow into the cell? How did you break free? How did you escape from the dungeon without being seen?

Aemond’s eyes caught sight of your open shackles and the single key that lay discarded on the ground next to them. His eye narrowed and he looked down at the girl once more. He could see bloody slits in the girl’s shirt where the rats hadn’t chewed through quite yet.

She had a weapon, he thought. She did not escape on her own.

The next thought he had was what would happen if you made it out of King’s Landing. Surely you’d return to Dragonstone -back to your father. Ravens would surely descend upon the Keep, alerting his mother of what he had done. That the Princess was alive and had been alive this whole time. Whatever her reaction would be, his grandsire’s would surely be thrice as bad.

The tendrils of madness scratched at the far corners of his mind as he tried to think five steps ahead.

If he had stolen you once, he would most assuredly be able to do it again. You were his, after all.

Aemond loathed the filth of Flea Bottom, and once more he was in search of someone hiding amongst the shit, piss, and rats. He hoped you hadn’t gone too far and that you were still holed up somewhere in the city. If you were, he’d be able to flush you out.

Though his hood was covering his face, he did not blend in. His face was easily recognizable and it only took one single person to stop him in his tracks.

“Have you lost something, my Prince?” A woman spoke brazenly as she stepped out of a doorway he passed. Her eyes were reminiscent of a snake’s as they zeroed in on him. Aemond had half a mind to ignore the woman, but something about the way she looked at him let him know she knew exactly who he was looking for.

“Perhaps.” He did not give the woman more than that.

“Perhaps,” She mirrored with an arch of her brow. “Is it a bird that has escaped its cage?” She asked coyly. “It…is…a bird you are looking for, my Prince?” Aemond’s eye turned to a slit.

“A bird?”

“Hm…swore I saw a little wren fly to the ports not six nights past. However, if it is not a wren you are looking for, I apologize for the interruption, my Prince. I wish you luck in your endeavor.” She bowed and turned to recede back into the darkness of the pitiful dwelling, but Aemond was quick to stop her. She turned her chin over her shoulder and raised a sparse brow at him.

“…What do you know of this…wren?” The woman grinned and nodded for him to follow behind her. Aemond looked around him, deeming the coast clear of any onlookers, and followed her in.

Aemond returned to the Red Keep after dark with no further luck on your current whereabouts, other than you had fled on a ship in the cover of night with a handful of Northerners.

The Warden of the North came to fetch his bride, was what the woman told him. The words alone nearly set him into a rage. He was so careful, so very careful to keep your whereabouts a secret, and now it was all for naught.

Aemond’s anxiety peaked when he entered the Keep as he was met with absolute chaos. Guards were stationed at every entrance, at every staircase. They were stationed at every “secret” entrance and all had their eyes on the lookout. For what, he didn’t know.

“The Queen Dowager requests your presence at once, my Prince.” A guard fetched Aemond as he saw the Prince stride into the Keep. “It is of the utmost urgency.”

A new mess to clean up, no doubt, he thought to himself with a roll of his eye. He turned on his heel to follow the guard to his mother’s solar where he could hear an awful wailing from within as he turned down the hall. Aemond’s brows furrowed when he opened the door, and his jaw nearly hit the floor at what he saw inside.

The man who carried you through King’s Landing helped you step off the ship and onto the docks of Dragonstone. Once your feet hit the solid wood, you took a breath to center yourself. It took a moment to stabilize yourself on shaky legs as he held onto your arms.

“Can you walk?” The man asked, his voice deep and his northern accent thick. Looking up into his dark eyes, you nodded with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.” You whispered sincerely. Thank you for pulling me out of the dungeon. Thank you for carrying me through King’s Landing. Thank you for delivering me home.

“You are most welcome, Princess.” For the first time, he gave you a kind smile and a nod. His gaze moved over your head and you turned to follow where he was looking.

There, at the beginning of the dock, stood your father with Ser Erryk and Ser Lorent. Your father’s hair blew with the breeze and painted a serene portrait of ferocity and stateliness. Your legs were moving towards him before your brain could catch up. Once your eyes connected with his, your father rushed down the docks with long, hurried steps to meet you in the middle. His arms wrapped you in an embrace that you wished to never part from.

He held you -oh he held you. He squeezed you to him as hard as he could as you sobbed into his chest. His scent that was undeniably home wafted into your senses and it all became too much too soon. Your father’s outward display of affection, in front of such an audience, was a rarity and it told you just how dire your disappearance was to him.

Your rescuers stayed back to let you have your moment with your father.

“There are horses and provisions ready for your journey,” Your father motioned to the top of the dunes. “For Lord Stark,” He held a scroll out.

“Can they not rest here for the night, father?” You questioned. Surely those who risked their necks for you deserved a moment to breathe.

“We thank you for the extension, my Princess, but we do have a long journey ahead of us. We must reach the North before the worst of winter hits if we are to make the journey in as little time as possible.” The woman spoke as she walked up to take the scroll and secure it in the satchel around her shoulder.

“This will not be forgotten.” Your father stated, his eyes holding contact with the woman. She merely nodded with a small grin and bowed. The man who carried you followed suit, and the rest of the men on the boat followed silently as they trailed behind.

“My girl.” Your father spoke in your native tongue as he held your face in his hands, looking you up and down to survey the damage that had been done, noting just how shattered the light in your eyes had become. “What has he done to you?” His voice shook. Never, not once in your life, had you heard his voice tremble. He pulled you into his chest once more.

You shook your head as you held onto him with everything you had. The warmth of your father’s embrace was a comforting security blanket. Nothing and no one could harm you from within his arms.

You longed for your bed with each step you took. An awful pain grew in the back of your eyes as you were led through the archway that opened into the Keep. The sights and sounds of the world outside of your cell were overwhelming -even still, weeks later. You rubbed at your eyes as you followed behind your father. The instant change from sunlight to shadow was a relief.

Jaws dropped as you passed by servants and guards. You noted a handmaid scurry to the western wing, no doubt to spread the news of your resurrection.

You must’ve looked a sight. Dressed in an oversized tunic and trousers that were fastened to your waist with a strand of rope, as well as some boots that were clearly a size too big on your feet. Your clothes alone were well below your station, but they were clean and that was more than you had in that cell for weeks at a time.

The mess of hair on your head was another story entirely. The salty air and briney water were not kind to it. You hadn’t a clue what your own face looked like. While you had bathed on the small vessel, you did not dare look upon your own reflection in the water. Though the temptation was there, you did not know if your mind could survive looking upon the monster that would surely be looking back.

Your father led you up to the council chambers. The room, to your surprise, was empty as you entered. Natural light filtered in from the high windows, but that was all that gave life to the otherwise dark room.

“Sit.” Your father instructed, motioning to the chair at the furthest end of the table. He then nodded to both Queen’s Guards and they set off in opposite directions. A heavy silence overtook the room. Not a single thought flowed through your mind as your father paced for a moment before dropping down into a squat beside your knee.

His eyes held yours in a hypnotizing stare. “I have never felt more relief than I did when you stepped off that ship, byka hontes.” Birdie. It was a nickname you hadn’t heard since you were a child. Your love for the skies at such a young age had graced you with the moniker by your father and your father alone.

As you grew older, he began to treat you more and more like a Princess grown and less like the perpetually small child that clinged onto his legs, and the name soon faded into the deep recesses of your mind until it was merely a memory lost to time.

Daemon’s hands gently held your scabbed wrists, his thumbs rubbing the puffy, pink scars where the scabs had fallen. “Aemond held you in irons?” You nodded, breaking the eye contact between you.

“He was adamant on keeping me under lock and key…until the war ended, anyway. My shackles would only then be metaphorical.” Your father wanted to tell you he saw this coming -the look in his eyes said as much. As happy as he was to have you within reach once more, it was also in his nature to boast when his warnings were not heeded. Surprising you, he did not so much as utter the words ‘I told you so’. Instead, he decided to speak on something so much worse.

“I am asking this before anyone else enters this room, and it shall never be brought up again if you so wish it, but I must know…” Your eyes turned to look into his once more. “Did Aemond force himself on you?” Your face melted into a look of disgust.

“My maidenhead is the first thing you question? After all I’ve been through? After all we’ve lost?” Anger began to build. Daemon shook his head, holding a hand out to keep you seated. His brows were furrowed in irritation.

“No, you silly girl.” The term ‘silly girl’ was never used teasingly when he called you it, and it always struck a nerve when he said it. “I worry for you. I don’t give two shits about your maidenhead.” He returned just as angrily. “I wish to know if my daughter was defiled, if there is a chance that you carry that cunt’s seed in your womb. It will be dealt with if he did, rest assured.” Your stomach clenched at the thought. Your anger had passed on to something along the lines of anxiety as you shook your head.

“He did not, and he would not.” You answered stoically. “Aemond would not force himself on anyone, much less me, father. In that I can promise you. There were plenty of opportunities and not once did he attempt it.” Where Aemond drew the line between what he believed would be acceptable and unacceptable in the eyes of the Seven baffled you as his own morals were so wildly skewed.

“You think he is incapable of such depravity?” The question was asked as if you were stupid, naive. A silly girl.

“I think any man is capable of such depravity, but I know he would not do it, much less do it to me.” You said adamantly.

“There was also a time when you didn’t think it was in his character to cause you harm, to hold you in chains.” He responded point blank. “And yet your brother is dead, you were taken, and we’ve lost two dragons. Because of him!” He raised his voice. “Tell me once more how well you know him!” Your eyes narrowed and a deep frown sat heavily upon your mouth. You did not blame your father for how he lashed out, not after what he and your mother had surely dealt with -are still dealing with. It still hurt, nonetheless.

“I am not defending him, father. You asked a question and I gave you my answer. You need not remind me of what has been lost. I was there. I saw it. I felt it. I heard it.” You stated defiantly. “I harbor enough guilt in my heart that I do not need to be lectured on it.” You were tired -exhausted- and his line of questioning was beginning to eat away at your patience.

A gasp from the top of the staircase broke the growing tension. Your father stood upright, but did not move from his place next to you. You also stood in respect to your Queen Mother. She held onto Ser Erryk’s arm to keep herself from teetering over in shock. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked upon you. You noted the look of horror that crossed her face as she got a good look at your own the closer she crept. Her eyes shifted between you and Daemon, then back to you. Ser Erryk assisted her down the stairs and once she reached the bottom, she tore towards you in a flurry.

Rhaenyra pulled you to her, sobbing into your shoulder as she held you.

“My child!” She wailed, whispering your name over and over. You held her tightly, anchoring her to the floor in reassurance that you weren’t a figment of her imagination. Your father brought a hand to her back and rubbed soothing circles between her shoulders. She pulled back, looking between you and your father with a thousand questions fluttering within her eyes. “How?” Was the only one that she could physically ask. You looked to your father.

“I would also like to know.”

Your father had given his own explanation of what transpired. Jace had acquired the likes of your future Lord Husband, Cregan Stark, to locate you based on a feeling in Jace’s gut that you were not dead. That silly, little feeling that Jace held on to, that Cregan Stark believed in, is the reason why you were sat at the Painted Table, free of your shackles and free of Aemond.

And so, you told your parents everything. Every little detail from your less than pleasant visit to Storm’s End, to Luke’s murder, to your brutal capture and the subsequent death of Maestron. You told them of your time in the pitch black darkness of the abandoned dungeon of the Red Keep, and of Aemond’s shadow. You told them of your hunger strike and how Aemond and his shadow held you down and force fed you until you could not breathe.

Your father paced back and forth like a caged lion as you retold your tale, and you noted the look of surprise and pride when you mentioned how you tricked Aemond’s Shadow into opening your cell and how she met an end she was worthy of.

Your mother sat silently with tears of rage falling endlessly as you recounted every detail that had been unknown to them until this very moment..

“Did Alicent know you were there?” She questioned, her lips set in a firm line.

“Aemond made it clear, and he could’ve been lying, but his shadow was the only other person who knew I was down there.” You picked at one of your broken fingernails, hissing when it splintered just a little too far up.

“If there were any families sitting on the fence, they won’t be anymore.” Your father spoke as he stopped to lean on the table. “The true Princess of the Realm held captive in a dungeon by her crazed kinslayer uncle? Their backs will turn on the Greens in an instant.”

“I see you are ever so quick to jump at the opportunity.” Your mother spat. “Can we not have a mere fucking moment to appreciate that our daughter is still with us?” You sat silently, not surprised by your father’s behavior. You’ve seen the best and the worst of him throughout your life. You knew the man inside and out, and you knew he loved you, but he was also a Targaryen Prince and with that came a certain type of tenacity that did not sit well with most.

“Your Grace,” Ser Erryk interrupted as he came back down the stairs to the first landing. “Apologies for the interruption, but Blood has returned.”

“Bring him in.” Your father commanded with a nefarious grin. Ser Erryk looked to his Queen, who merely nodded, and he turned to fetch whoever this ‘Blood’ was. “Aemond was stupid enough to draw first blood.” Your father explained after seeing confusion cross your features. “Now his family is feeling what ours has.”

Blood was a tall man, massive, wide, and imposing as he calmly took each step into the council room. His cragged face was adorned with a large scar trailing from his left eyebrow all the way past his jawline. His dark eyes were wide and absolutely terrifying when they met yours. A crooked grin stretched his lips when he saw you shift back in your chair. He had the largest arms you had ever seen on a man and you were certain he could snap your neck in an instant if he so wanted to. There was an air of darkness that shrouded him and the sack he carried over his shoulder.

Ser Erryk kept a close distance to the man, carefully putting himself in the line of fire should Blood try to make a go at either you or the Queen. His hand never left the hilt of his sword as his eyes watched every move the man made.

Your father placed a pouch on the Painted Table. The clang it made let you know that there was quite a hefty sum inside. Blood, in turn, swung the sack from over his shoulders and emptied its contents onto the table. An involuntary gasp left you the second two small decomposing heads rolled towards you. Pushing your chair back in a panic, it nearly tipped over had Ser Erryk not been there to catch it. You held a hand to your mouth to stop from dry heaving.

Blood tossed the empty sack on the table and snatched the pouch of gold. He opened it, looked inside, and made a humming noise in satisfaction at what he saw.

“Should you need our assistance again, your Grace, you know where to find us.” Your father dismissed the assassin and Ser Erryk followed after him.

Your mother’s face was stoic and your father looked quite pleased. Your heart hurt for these children, but your mind flashed to Lucerys. He may not have been as young as the two before you, but he was still a child nonetheless. This wouldn’t bring your brother back, but you knew how much this would hurt Helaena, and by extension Aemond and their mother. The corner of your mouth twitched up at the thought.

Let this be a lesson to them, you thought ruefully, and let them see the headless bodies of those children every time they gazed upon Aemond.

“A son for a son. A daughter for a daughter.” Your father said simply. You could not break your eyes from the lifeless milky gazes of young Princess Jaehaera and her twin Prince Jaehaerys. This act would surely set the wheel of war into full motion.

“You’ve done this!” Alicent screamed the moment Aemond entered. Her face was splotched red and her voice was hoarse as she pointed an accusing finger at her son. He looked to the shrouded bodies on the floor and back to her, and in an instant she was on him.

The slap echoed in the room, and just for good measure, she slapped him again on his opposite cheek. The blows were painful and full of rage he knew was building inside of her.

“Look at them!” She grabbed Aemond by his wrist and dragged him to the shrouded bodies. She pulled the sheet in a flurry and Aemond felt as if he would throw up in an instant. “Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are dead! Assassinated before our very eyes, Aemond! The heir to the throne, my grandchildren, beheaded because of choices you made! Look at them!” Alicent grabbed Aemond’s chin and tilted his head down so he had to look at them. He felt his eye tear up at the sight of their small bodies. His niece and nephew had adored him, just as he adored them, and now they lay slain before him. His mother was right.

“A son for a son. A daughter for a daughter.” Alicent spat, covering her grandchildren once more before they were taken to the Silent Sisters for funeral preparations. Alicent stormed to her chambers and Aemond caught a glimpse of an absolutely devastated Helaena. Aemond felt his breath leave him.

You were alive and Sweet Jaehaera died for nothing.

Ser Erryk accompanied you to your quarters. At the command of your Queen Mother, the knight was now tasked with being your sworn shield. Gods only knew what Aemond would do now that you were no longer under this thumb, topped with the assassinations of his eldest niece and nephew. Ser Erryk took his place dutifully outside as you entered your chambers, offering his assistance should you need anything.

Myra, your ever trusted handmaiden, was already inside preparing for your arrival in the short time she was given. Her shining eyes met yours before she bowed her head.

“My Princess.” Myra greeted with a warm smile. “A hot bath is being drawn as we speak.” In her arms was your robe, slippers, and nightgown. It was late in the day and the sun was starting its slow descent towards the horizon, you noted as you looked through the balcony doors. Nodding to Myra, you followed her from your chambers with Ser Erryk trailing closely behind.

You had not truly known what the grave look your mother initially gave you meant until you got your first look at yourself in months when you returned to your chambers after your much needed soak. Myra had made sure the orange blossom oils you loved so much were replenished and waiting for you when you stepped into the tub.

The scent was soothing.

The flaking scabs around your wrists still ached with each flex of the skin. The puffy, pink scars left behind were a scathing reminder that mocked you day in and day out. The pink rings around your ankles fared much better -they didn’t quite ache as much, nor were the scars terrible. They would fade with time.

It was your face that haunted your mother. As Myra managed her way through your tangles tenderly, you could only look upon yourself with a heavy frown as you sat in front of the reflecting glass of your dressing table.

Your once beautiful hair’s ends were split and broken off, giving it a jagged appearance at the ends. Your skin, though it had gained some of its natural color back on your journey back to Dragonstone, was still ashen and malnourished. The circles under your eyes were dark, creating a sunken effect. Cracked were your lips, perpetually it seemed. A deep line split your bottom lip down the middle but it had been that way since the beginning of your captivity, so it no longer really bothered you.

“The maester will be bringing up salves, my Princess. We will get you back into working order in no time. Don’t you fret.” Myra spoke softly as she caught your lifeless gaze in the mirror. She gave you a reassuring smile and you could only nod. “If I may be so bold,” She looked into your eyes in the mirror. You nodded once more. “You have been missed terribly, my Princess. I am filled with relief that you are alive.” Myra’s earnestness made tears well in your eyes. Myra immediately panicked. “I apologize, my Princess! I did not mean to upset you!” Your hand tugged at her wrist and you pulled her into a hug.

Myra, though she was your handmaiden, and was a dear friend. She had been by your side since you reached maturity and she was loyal to a fault.

“My return to Dragonstone has been…overwhelming.” You explained as you pulled away gently. “It lightens my heart to hear your kind words, Myra.” She gave you a sad smile and nodded before continuing to work through your hair.

By the time Myra was done with you, the sun was just peeking over the water’s edge. Before she took her leave, you requested that she let Ser Erryk know that, with her exception, you did not want to be disturbed.

You lounged upright upon the cushioned chaise on your balcony. You wrapped yourself in a blanket taken from your bed, breathing in the fresh air with a newfound appreciation. Dragons flew freely in the distance as they entered and exited the many caves and vents of the Dragonmont.

Your heart ached terribly as you brought your head to your hands and hunched over, allowing the blanket to fully cocoon you. Guilt flowed through your blood with each pump of your heart and it tendriled through you like poison. The cushion beside you dipped and a hand placed itself on your blanketed back. The presence was familiar and comforting, and you immediately tilted your body to rest against them as they held you. Not a single word was spoken between you until darkness began to shroud the island.

“It seems that I have you to thank for my rescue.” Your voice cracked as you brought your head out of the blanket to finally look upon Jace. He had aged well past his six and ten years since you last saw him, due to stress and grief. A hint of dark stubble had started to grace his jaw.

“I merely kept hope. It was Lord Stark that devised the plan. It is he who is owed the credit.” Jace sat back in the chaise, pulling you back with him to keep you nestled safely in his side. His hand ran up and down your covered arm.

“I am…grateful all the same.” You choked out, trying to hold yourself together. You were tired of crying, tired of letting your own grief overtake everything you felt. You wanted to sleep and never open your eyes to the world again.

“Lord Stark accepted the betrothal before you went missing.” Jace spoke softly, looking out over the open ocean. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a beautiful glow over the island and its surrounding waters. “I like to think that it was my shining descriptions of you that sold him on the idea.”

“And it seems that was his stipulation upon my release.” Your tone held a sharpness to it. “I am to go from one man’s prison to the next.” Jace sighed as he pulled from you gently so that you may face one another. “It doesn't matter. I am not the same person I was before. He will soon learn that.” Jace said your name softly.

“You are my sister, and that is enough for him. The North, for all its perceived faults, is not the prison you imagine it to be. You have always trusted my word, so please trust me when I say that if there was ever a man worthy of your hand, it is Cregan Stark.” Jace’s plea was heartfelt, this much you knew. “He has sworn to me that he would treat you with honor and respect. I think you’ll warm up to Winterfell quite quickly, as I did. Cregan will take care of you and you will be safe. This I promise.”

“You seem close…you call him by his first name as if he is blood.” You eyed Jace suspiciously.

“After word reached Winterfell of what happened to you…what happened to Luke…” Jace trailed off. “Lord Stark was supportive while I mourned.” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “He was kind enough to host me in Winterfell for a few weeks longer than intended and during that time we came to an agreement, a blood oath of brotherhood. In my heart of hearts I knew you couldn’t be dead. Aemond would sooner turn his sword on himself than kill you, regardless of his mindset. I was certain then, and it turns out that I was right.”

“If only he had done that to begin with and spared us all a world of hurt.” You mumbled, leaning back into Jace. The ebb and flow of the sea filled the silence between you and Jace.

“Daemon saw to it that Maestron’s skull be reclaimed from the Hook.” Jace spoke softly. “He is resting in the crypts should you wish to see him. We…could not find Arrax.” You wouldn’t, you wanted to say. He’s scattered like ash. Just as Luke is. You kept the words to yourself and let them fester within.

Just as Luke is.

Just as you should be.

Fluorescent yellow flames encircled you, enveloping your being in heat, protection and serenity. The dragonfire did not scorch your skin as it wrapped around each limb, the rays braided through your hair, taking on the glow. Floating, your feet never touched the ground as you drifted higher and higher within the darkness. A deep rumble vibrated through your entire body. It shook the walls of the cavern, causing pebbles to fall around you.

An eye, vividly chartreuse, appeared from the darkness and floated closer to your face. The size was massive, nearly the size of your head -if not bigger. The slitted pupil contracted as it got closer to the flames around you. The reflection of the ethereal fire bounced off its glossy, rounded surface.

The eye blinked, the reptilian lids moving both vertically and horizontally, then it distanced itself from you and in its place a muzzle -as black as the darkness around you- came into view. The salivating jaws opened to display endless rows of sharp teeth. You could smell the dragon’s putrid breath, reeking of death and decay.

Your eyes shot open, a gasp escaped your mouth as the distant sound of a dragon’s roar -mighty in its volume all the way from the Dragonmont- caught your ears. Looking to your open balcony, you felt a pull in your soul you never thought you would feel again in your lifetime. Standing quickly in the candlelit room, the cold stone floor was shocking to the heat of your feet as you walked to the balcony and stood at its ledge.

This pull felt different than it had with Maestron, but it was familiar enough for you to recognize.

There was only one dragon alive who was black as coal and had eyes of the brightest green. You were reminded of the same feeling of awe you had as a child when the dragon came to mind. Though you had only set your eyes upon him a handful of times, it was always from a far enough distance that you never got to truly see the intricate details of his powerful body. Your father made it abundantly clear as a young girl that neither you, nor Maestron, were to ever come close to crossing paths with this particular beast.

“I have never seen a dragon such as him, papa. He is quite beautiful.” Your ten year old self stared in wonder from the shores just outside of Dragonstone’s Keep. There was a gap where one of the last of your front baby teeth had fallen out in recent weeks, and it was visible to your father as your jaw dropped in wonder at the dragon who flew out of the Mont and over the open ocean.

Two dragonkeepers were behind you and your father, guiding Maestron back to where the other wyrmlings were kept near the Keep. Your wyrmling was not yet big enough to ride, and neither were you ready to ride him, but your father insisted you spend as much time with the dragon as you could so your bond was inseparable by the time you could ride him.

“Does it have a name, Kepa?” He shook his head.

“Not as your Maestron does, sweetling. This dragon has only a nickname given to him by the smallfolk of the villages.” Your father explained. “He is a feral dragon, the eldest of the wild bunch if my memory serves me.”

“Older than Sheepstealer? Grey Ghost?” Your father chuckled. The far more docile wild dragons had alway piqued your interest -the elusive Grey Ghost especially as he liked to stay hidden within the mists of the Mont and surrounding waters. You had seen even less of his appearance than that of the dragon that currently held your attention.

“Yes, even older than Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost, Birdie, and just as they have -he’s been riderless his whole life.” Your eyes didn’t leave the dragon’s obsidian scales until he was so far away, he disappeared into the horizon.

“Did he not hatch in a crib?” Your confusion brought a grin to your father’s face.

“No, that is why they are called wild dragons, Birdie. No one really knows for sure where he came from. Some say he was hatched in the Dragonmont. Some even say he was hatched just before Aenar rode Balerion over the seas from Valyria and landed here, but that would make him quite old, wouldn’t it?” He looked down as you nodded. “Most believe he is from a different dragon lineage altogether, which is why he looks so different from the other dragons. I believe this to be true. It could also explain why he acts with hostility towards our Valyrian dragons. He is a mystery, nonetheless, and will remain as such.” Daemon shook his head, his shoulder length hair swayed in the breeze, eyes looking down to lock with yours. “He eats up anyone foolish enough to even step near his nest in the Mont, especially curious little dragonriders. Few have tried to bond with him, and all have failed. Their bones litter his nest, it is said.” You looked upon your father with wide eyes.

“He eats them?” You asked with a frown.

“He does.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a dragonrider yet.” There was relief in your voice.

“But you will be, Birdie. Be warned, little one. It isn’t just curious little dragonriders he likes to feast on. He will consume anything he comes across. People, animals, other dragons -wyrmlings especially.” You looked over to Maestron’s retreating form in a panic. “That is why we keep them and the newly nested eggs separate from the larger dragons, lest they be feasted on. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” You shook your head at the thought of Maestron perishing before he could even fly.

Though, there was something that drew you to the beast in the sky. To be unbonded for so long, living freely to do as he pleased thrilled you. The dragon had quite the reputation.

Your father squatted down in front of you, his hands holding onto your tiny arms gently. “That is why you must always be cautious in the skies, my Birdie. Dragons such as he will not think twice about swallowing you and your wyrmling whole.” His hand came up to push a bit of hair from your face. “He is nicknamed the Cannibal for a reason.”

“The Cannibal.” You tested the name out, your lips pulling into a grin. “Had Maestron not hatched, I think I would be worthy of riding the Cannibal.” Your father let out a laugh, standing up straight with a groan that only adults seemed to let out when they rested on joints for too long. “Don’t you think, kepa?”

“You do not heed my warnings?” He asked with a raise of a brow.

“I do! That is why my Maestron will be the most bloodthirsty dragon in the Seven Kingdoms once he is grown, since I cannot ride the fearsome Cannibal! Maestron will be feared by all just as the Cannibal is feared! When I am older, I will be the fiercest dragonrider to exist! None shall cross me or they will perish!” You had your father’s tenacity, his thirst for victory, and for your own reputation. He saw himself fully when he stared down at you.

“Indeed you shall, for you are my daughter. The Realm will know your name for generations to come, and those who cross you and your mighty Maestron will quake in their boots, I am sure of it.” He smiled genuinely and gave you a pat on your head in affection.

“If my Maestron were to ever fall, I would surely ride the Cannibal.” You had every confidence in the world that your words were true. "I am brave enough."

“Will you now?” His tone was teasing as he lifted your squirming body into his strong arms. Your giggles and screams filled the air as he nibbled at your shoulder playfully. “Such girlish screams from the fiercest dragonrider of the realm.” He tickled you without mercy. “The Cannibal would eat you up as if you were one of those little cakes you sneak from the kitchens when you think no one is watching. One bite and you would be gobbled up.” Your giggles continued to ring through the air until he put you back down on your feet.

“He is that big?” You were out of breath as you righted yourself in the sand, still smiling goofily up at your father. He looked down at you in adoration.

You were his everything.

There was a deep-rooted love he had for you that he never felt so wholly for anyone else in his life. He knew the second you entered the world -screaming and covered in blood- that he would burn kingdoms to the ground, would bring men to their knees, would do anything it took to make sure you prospered in the world he would inevitably leave behind.

“He is.” Your father leaned down, holding his hand to your tiny, rounded cheek. “Massive, fierce, and just as lethal as Balerion was -though he lacks his size. You must promise me to stay clear of him.”

“I promise, Kepa.” You said sweetly, and you meant it because if this dragon scared your Kepa -a man undeniably invincible in your eyes- then the dragon was not to be trifled with.

A knock at your door the following morning stilled Myra’s movements as she finished securing the final braid she was working on.

“Enter.” You called out and the door opened. Baela was the first to enter with Rhaena closely behind. Two servants followed them in, each carrying a tray of assorted foods.

You stood from your bench, quick to close the distance as you pulled your sisters in close to you. The servants moved past you and out to the balcony where they began to set each little plate onto the stone table.

It was Rhaena who looked up at you first. She had tears in her eyes and you knew just how much of a toll all of this had taken on her. She was marrying Luke out of duty, but she grew up with him and cared for him in her own way all the same. His loss was taken hard by many.

You placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then moved to Baela to do the same.

“I have missed your beautiful faces dearly, my sweet girls.” They both had shining eyes as they returned your smile.

“We’ve missed you!” Baela spoke as the girls separated themselves from you. “Father has been…”

“-Terrible,” Rhaena interjected, earning a warning look from Baela.

“He has not been the same. Neither has the Queen.” Baela explained. You nodded solemnly. Not wanting the girls to dwell on such sadness any longer, you quickly changed the subject.

“I see you’ve brought a little feast with you.” You smiled once more, and they seemed to perk up. “I’m famished. Shall we?” You gestured to the balcony and followed behind them.

As you sat across from your sisters, your eyes fell to the small pyramid of stacked marzipan cakes, and you were immediately transported back to the cold, dark, stale dungeons with your itchy blanket and your three-pawed rat. You felt sweat drip down the back of your neck and your eye twitched ever so slightly. Rhaena’s voice was nothing more than babbling to your ears -completely unintelligible- until Baela called your name, snapping you out of your trance.

Your eyes snapped up and both girls were staring at you.

“My apologies.” You cleared your throat. “I am…still not quite myself. Forgive me.” Your smile did not reach your eyes, but the excuse seemed to quell Rhaena enough that she started chatting once more while adding fruits, cheeses, toasts and jams to her plate. Baela, on the other hand, kept looking at you until you gave her one more unconvincing smile. “Please,” You gestured to the food and began to take little bits here and there to busy your shaking hands. You weren’t really hungry -your appetite not returning in full quite yet- but it was the sight of the cakes that turned your stomach to lead.

Still, they had made the effort to see you at the first chance they could, and they thought ahead so much as to have the kitchens prepare all of this just for you. You would eat to please them. It was the least you could do.

“You haven’t touched the marzipan cakes.” Rhaena pointed out midway through the meal. “I know they are your favorite, and I know it is still only the morning,” She shot a glare over to Baela, “but we thought you’d like a little comfort to welcome you home.” A small comfort, Aemond had described them himself. It took every bit of willpower to not upchuck what little you had just consumed. You schooled your face, hoping your absolute dread did not cross your features. Baela watched you carefully.

“They were Rhaena’s idea.” Baela acquiesced. “I told her it was too early for cakes, but she insisted.”

Rhaena looked so hopeful that her idea pleased you. You reached your hand over the table and took hers within your palm. You saw both of their eyes glance to your wrist, but neither said anything. You were grateful.

“Your kindness knows no bounds, Rhaena. What have I done to deserve you? The both of you?” Genuine love and gratitude reflected in your eyes as you looked at the girls. “I am merely saving the cakes for my breakfast dessert. Doesn’t that sound like a treat?“ Rhaena giggled as you looked over at her with a playfully conspiratorial grin. Truthfully, you’d sooner eat a rock than touch those cakes. You didn’t know if you could keep a single bite down even if you wanted to, but that bridge would be crossed when the time came. Until then, you would not dwell on it.

“You are going easy on me, Ser Erryk. Why? Do you think I am incapable of learning this?” Your tone held a bite to it, frustration lacing your every word.

“It is not that I think you are incapable, my Princess.” The knight sighed, letting his blunted training sword drop to his side.

“Then what is it?” You demanded. “Why do you balk at the notion of me wielding a blade?”

“It’s just…you have me, my Princess.” He replied. “This is simply not necessary.” You rolled your eyes.

“You cannot be everywhere, Ser Erryk.” You argued.

“But I will be everywhere you are, my Princess. I am to join you in the North, as my Queen has commanded. Where you go, I will follow. I’ve sworn it to you and to the Queen that I shall be your protector until my very last breath. I do not take my oath lightly.” Erryk’s brows were pinched together. “Perhaps I am not- '' You cut off your knight sternly. You panted heavily as sweat dripped from the sides of your face.

“-Perhaps if you will not do it, Ser Erryk, I shall find someone who will. Though their skill will not be a match to yours, I am sure.” You sighed as you lessened the space between yourself and the knight. “You do not know what it is like to feel powerless, unable to fend for yourself.” Your head dropped in shame. “Through the entire ordeal with Aemond, from Storm’s End to the dungeons of the Red Keep, I was weak -pitifully weak- and I’ve since vowed to myself that I will never feel defenseless again.” You looked up at him once more. “A war is upon us and even if I were to never meet a battlefield, it would make no difference. I will be prepared. I will learn to wield this blade,” You shook the smallsword in your hand, “-So that I may never endure what I have at the hands of any man, ever again in my life. So again I ask: Will you take this seriously, Ser? Or need I look elsewhere?” Erryk looked at you sternly for a moment, analyzing you before he bowed his head with a heavy sigh.

“I will, my Princess. My apologies.”

Dragon fire blazed across the gray skies and storm clouds swirled overhead. The sounds of battle on the ground below could be heard from so far up in the sky. You could see, though it wasn’t from your own eyes. The world around you was made of color that your eyes would never be able to see. It was a forbidden beauty, not seen by the human eye. Craning your head to the left, you saw onyx wings. The ombré of black to a deep purple within the leathery membranes cast a spark in your mind.

The Cannibal.

There was a grip on your mind -or his, you couldn’t differentiate. It was like that of a fist and it clenched firm. The feeling was not painful, but you were all too aware of its unpleasant presence.

The beast soared lower to the battlefield below, neon flame burst from the Cannibal’s mouth, turning all in his wake to ash and char. The air around you sizzled as he accelerated up into the sky.

To feel as a dragon feels is overwhelming in every sense of the word. The raw power, the speed, the might -all of it was too much for a mere human to bear.

A young dragon, only just large enough to carry a rider, caught your eye. The beast’s scales were a beautiful cobalt, while the crest and tail were an orange rust. A burst of adrenaline flowed through the Cannibal’s body -your body- as he surged towards the much smaller dragon with a terror-inducing roar.

A young rider -looking similar in age to Jace- was on its back, and you saw despair shroud over the young man as the Cannibal approached. His Targaryen features were akin to that of the Usurper Aegon’s, and you knew then that this could only be young Daeron. You hoped the fear on Aegon’s own face would look just the same as his youngest brother’s did when he meets his own end.

When the young man saw the unstoppable mass that was coming for him, he nor his dragon stood a chance -and just as Vhagar had ripped Luke and Arrax from the sky, the Cannibal did the very same. There was no remorse to be had in the bloody wake of war.

Bloodlust was the only descriptor you could use for the feeling that swept upon the dragon as he swallowed what chunks of flesh remained in mouth. You tasted it as if your own jaws had taken young Daeron’s life, though it did not taste of salt and iron. It was satisfying, delectable. It fueled the dragon’s lust for chaos and ruin, and that is the path he continued on.

Another mighty roar was let loose from the Cannibal’s maw as he circled the battle overhead, and a deeper roar echoed in the distance in response.

The Cannibal turned in the open sky quickly to charge in the direction of the dragon who dared call back to him in challenge.

Your own eyes opened to the darkness that surrounded you before the dragon came into view. You knew who it was, deep in your bones. The monstrous bellows of Vhagar, for as long as she lived, would haunt you.

Sweat coated your skin, sticking you to your sheets uncomfortably. At some point in the night, you had shucked off your nightgown and now the chill bit at your exposed skin. The cool air hit your bare flesh as it blew in from the open balcony door. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. Looking down at your hands, they trembled fiercely.

A dragon dream.

This could not be a coincidence, not after the dream you had the previous night. Both were so vibrant, so real.

You stood from your bed, grabbing the robe that hung on the post next to it. Shrugging it on, you didn’t bother to tie it as you walked to your balcony to look towards the Dragonmont.

A black mass, visible from where you stood, flew over the village below.

“You have the advantage of a smaller blade at this close proximity to your opponent.” Ser Erryk grunted as he all but manhandled you towards the rocky alcove behind you on the beach. He had taken your plea to heart, and as happy as you were that he did, it was an embarrassingly humbling experience.

Your feet tripped through the sand as you tried to simply not lose any ground, but Ser Erryk was unrelenting.

“The size of your opponent does not matter so long as you know where to place your feet.” With that, you tripped on a rock behind your heel and he used that as an opportunity to push your back against the alcove. His sword’s length lay across your chest to show you what a stupid split second decision will end in. “And now you are dead.” He breathed, inches from your face.

You panted, becoming increasingly aware of how close Erryk was to you. He removed his sword and looked down at you with a softness in his eyes.

“Well…” You swallowed. “...at least I’ll have you.” You said, teasingly. He raised a brow at you and released you from his hold, but you caught the tilt of his lips all the same when he turned towards the shore.

“Again.” Ser Erryk urged, raising his sword once more.

The biting wind whipped through your hair as the Cannibal flew at break-neck speeds. Viewing through your own eyes this time around, you looked down to your gauntleted hands that tightly held onto the saddlehorn. You could feel as the influence of the dragon flowed through your veins and you truly felt invincible.

Movement below caught your eyes. Vhagar, in all her might, bellowed out a cannon of flame one last time as she plummeted to the waters below with a thundering crash. A tidal wave echoed to the shores, drowning any poor soul who stood too near the water’s edge. You could not believe your eyes. Circling the Cannibal around above, you watched as Vhagar sank to the depths below, steam rising from the waters above her.

The Cannibal roared in a victorious threat of dominance to any remaining dragons in the sky, friend or foe, now that his largest adversary had perished.

Arrows flew past you, bouncing off of the Cannibals impenetrable scales and narrowly missing your face by mere inches. The dragon shifted direction to fly higher in the sky to evade any rogue arrows that could potentially hit their targets.

Gaping wounds were slashed across the Cannibal’s neck and flank -marks made by teeth and claws- but they did not seem to bother him. If anything, they pushed him further to decimate everything and everyone in his path with pure fury.

You awoke with clarity. It was as if your eyes had been truly opened for the first time and a sense of purpose settled deep in your chest.

Dressing yourself with haste, you snuck through the secret passages of the Keep. Slinking in the shadows, you bypassed where you knew guards and knights alike would be stationed until you made it outside and to the stables -your face hidden by the hood of your cloak.

The ride to the village took no longer than half an hour by horseback. The moon was bright enough to see the road ahead of you, and Dragonstone was one of the safest places within the realm to wander freely. Even still, your smallsword was tied snuggly to your hip as a precaution.

Just outside of the village, down the road a ways, was a small homestead surrounded by livestock pens. Goats, cows, horses, pigs, and chickens could be heard now that you’ve seemed to have disturbed the entire yard.

A herd dog -a white, fluffy beast of a thing with a dripping muzzle- barked in alert at your arrival, keeping an eye on you to make sure you did not cause harm to his charges. You kept your distance, giving the dog a wide berth, and stopped your horse just before the gate to the walkway of the home. It was by no means big, maybe a bedroom or two, a living space, and possibly a small area to cook. It was modest, but comfortable.

Walking up to the door, you pounded three hard knocks onto it that were sure to wake the occupants inside. It took a few moments, but the door opened a crack.

“What do you want?” A man all but growled through the crack in the door.

“Your goats. I would like to purchase two of them.” You replied sternly.

“Come back at a reasonable hour, girl. I will be selling no goats of mine at this time of night.” The man sneered as he attempted to close the door in your face, but the toe of your boot held it open. You dangled a coin purse in front of the door, jangling the gold pieces inside. The pressure against your foot eased and a haggard, dirty old face filled the small space.

“You don’t know my price.” He looked at you suspiciously.

“Your price is my price. I assure you, it is more than you’d ask and more than they’re worth.” You spoke plainly. This seemed to win the man over and he opened the door fully.

“What are you doing buying goats at the hour of the owl anyway?” The man questioned as he stepped out of the house, closing the door behind him.

“My business is my own. I’m sure you understand.” You replied, looking at the animals that walked up to their fences curiously.

“Aye.” He gave you a once over, eyeing you nervously. Your face was shrouded by the hood of your cloak, but a flash of silver hair did catch his eye. The man nodded and led you to the goat pen.

“I’ll take the biggest two you have. Tie them together so they do not wander. My horse is on the road.” With that, you tossed him the pouch and turned to return to your mount.

You sat patiently upon the horse’s back. It only took the man a few minutes to wrangle the bleating goats. Their incessant chatter only got louder the closer they got to you.

“For you, miss.” The man handed her the end of the rope. You took it within your gloved hand, tying it to the saddlehorn.

“I shall return at the same time tomorrow, and every night forward for the foreseeable future. Each night I will need an animal larger than the last. I will pay you fairly, of course.” The man blinked up at you, but nodded nonetheless.

“Of course.” He mirrored.

“I do apologize for waking you at such an hour.” You kicked the horse gently to begin trotting. “I hope sleep finds you well, sir. Good night.” With that you continued down the road towards the Dragonmont.

It was another hour or so before you made it to the base of the Mont. The goats had run alongside you obediently. If anything, they seemed to love the exercise.

Fleeting happinesses, you supposed.

You pulled the horse to a stop as the path became too difficult to walk it up safely and tied the horse to a tree that was hidden among the brush so none of the dragons would find an easy meal. The walk back to the Keep on foot was not ideal.

The path to the western side of the Dragonmont was frequently taken. The gravel was clear of debris and overgrown weeds unlike the eastern path before you. It was daunting, you would not lie, and the darkness did not boost your confidence.

Steam and smoke billowed into the air high above you. The air smelled of sulfur and a scent that was distinctly dragon. You could hear the chittering of the beasts both wild and bonded as their calls echoed from within the volcano’s passages and vents.

It hurt your heart to know Maestron’s own distinct call was not among them. It would take time to undo all of the natural reflexes in your mind regarding him that were no longer natural. You had a lifetime with him, so to live with his absence was what you’d imagine it was like to lose a spouse. It was a piece of you, gone.

You held tightly onto the rope and pushed ahead, determined to continue on. It was a long, arduous hike to the back of the eastern side of the Mont. Crags had chipped and fallen onto the path over time, making it difficult terrain for you to cross over at some points, much less with the two goats who did their best to make sure this trek was as difficult as possible for you.

You wretched little beasts, you thought as you tugged at their rope. You have no idea what awaits you.

By the time you made it relatively close to your endpoint, you were sweating profusely. Your clothes stuck to you uncomfortably and your skin felt clammy in the warm air. The moon was still high in the sky, so you felt like you made pretty good time thus far.

The closer you got to the cave’s entrance, the more bones littered the ground at your feet. It was a graveyard menagerie, a collection of both animal and human skeletal remains alike.

Still, you only felt the magic within you grow stronger, pulling you to the darkness ahead. Finding an alcove of stone at the mouth of the cave for protection, you hid and listened. One of the wretched goats let out a bleat and you wanted to wring its neck with your bare hands.

The sniffing of a dragon’s nostrils could be heard. It was a long-winded sweeping sound that was loud and clear. The beast inside was scenting what dared to lurk outside of his nest. Still, he did not approach and instead waited for you to come to him. He was an ambush predator, your father had explained once, and he loved the thrill of the hunt -especially if the element of surprise was involved.

“I hold no fear in my heart for you.” You spoke out loud for the dragon to hear, still pushed into the crevice. A deep rumbling vibrated through the pitch black cave, just as it had in your dream. “You called to me, or I called to you. Either way, the call was answered.”

A deep bellow came from within the cave, echoing into the night.

“I know that you hold no love for anyone or anything, but I’ve brought you a gift. Accept it and I shall be on my way to return your peace as it was. Tomorrow, I shall be back to do the same, and one day I wish to look upon you as we did within the dream but I will remain patient.”

You allow the curious goats to wander into the cave, still tied together by their necks with two connecting loops of rope. The clicking of their tiny hooves echoed as they stepped further and further into the cave fearlessly.

Their incessant bleating was cut short by a burst of flame that shot from the entrance, charring everything in its path. The flames were vibrantly yellow, just as they were in your dream, and they took up the enormity of the cave’s mouth from top to bottom.

The heat licked at your skin even from where you hid. The tiny hairs on your forearms swayed from the force of the gusts as you brought them up to shield your eyes from the brightness. Your chest buzzed as if a colony of angry bees had nested within it, smashing against your ribs to be let free.

The visceral sounds of flesh ripping, bones crunching, and entrails sloshing met your ears.

Good, he had accepted your offering.

“You are sluggish.” Ser Erryk narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “More so than usual.” He threw in the jab teasingly, but he let you know that he took note of your lack of performance during this training session.

Your limbs were heavy and sore from your previous lessons, as well as from the trek up and down the side of the Dragonmont, and you swore you would’ve fallen over had the breeze been just slightly more of a gust than it was.

“You forget that I do not have a lifetime of strenuous activity, Ser.” You grumbled crankily as you dropped to the sand to sit for a moment. You did not get back to your chambers until the hour of the nightingale began to approach. It seemed as if you had merely blinked your eyes before Myra entered your chambers so you could prepare for your training session. “I was raised as a soft lady, much to my detriment, and soft ladies do not strain themselves.” Ser Erryk did not look impressed at your whining, but allowed you to take a break nonetheless. “I am adjusting,” You shielded your eyes from the sun with the palm of your hand to look up at him. “And gaining a newfound appreciation for what you do. You make it look effortless.” Erryk dropped to the sand next to you.

“As you’ve said, my Princess, I have a lifetime of honing my skill with a sword. It will come to you in time, but you must be patient and persistent.” Squinting as you stared just a second too long at him, you cracked a smile.

“Perhaps, if you are feeling generous, you could take me on as your squire.” Ser Erryk barked a laugh as he stood back up, dusting the sand off of his trousers before extending a hand to pull you up.

Just as you promised the farmer, you had returned nightly to collect pigs, sheep, more goats, a mule, and now -on the tenth night- a cow. This time around, you had a companion with you.

Ser Erryk had been tipped off on your nightly excursions outside of the castle walls after interrogating the poor stable boy you had paid off to have your horse saddled and ready for you, and to say it disturbed the knight greatly would be an understatement. It wasn’t until this night that he had finally caught you.

“My Princess, I must insist that you stay within the walls of the Keep.” Erryk’s unmistakable voice stopped you as you pulled the horse from its stall. Turning, you saw that he was waiting for you in the deep shadows of the stables. His eyes held exasperation as he stepped into the moonlight. “For your safety.”

“Insist all you’d like, Ser Erryk.” You inspected the strap of the saddle and loaded yourself onto the horse. Erryk stepped in front of you, making your horse stamp his hoof. “You may join me if it will ease your worries, but I will not be staying put. Stay or follow -it matters not to me, Ser. Either way, I will return before the sun rises.” You finished with a raise of your brow in challenge. He could very well alert the rest of the guards to your presence, thus awakening the whole castle. The last thing you needed was your father breathing down your neck regarding this matter. You did not keep many things from him, but this was something you could not utter a single word to him about until the matter was set in stone.

Erryk insisted on joining you if he could not talk you out of staying put, as was his knightly duty, and so he rode a horse beside you as you came upon the farmer’s homestead.

Just as he had the eight nights after your initial visit, the farmer was waiting at the gates of his yard, the protective dog sitting by his feet. His tail wagged when he saw you, now familiar with your nightly visits.

Tied to the fence was a large cow, chewing the grass that grew around the wooden post. Reaching into your cloak, you tossed the purse to the farmer, just as you had every night past. He untied the cow from the fence and tied the rope to your saddle, and off you went without a single word exchanged.

Ser Erryk watched the exchange curiously, but not as curiously as the man had watched the knight who was very obviously a member of the Queen’s Guard. Still, not a word was spoken as the pair of you made off with your livestock. You were a good ways down the road, nearly halfway to the base of the Mont, when Ser Erryk spoke.

“You spend your nights buying livestock?” His question held a cheeky tone to it, and you would give it right back to him.

“I do.” You grinned over at him.

“You risk your life out here alone for cows?”

“Risk my life? Hardly, Ser Erryk.” You scoffed. “And it isn’t just for cows. It was also sheep…and goats…and pigs,” You listed. “Oh! And a mule last night.”

“What do you do with these animals? I did not take you for a farmer.”

“That would be a very silly thing, wouldn’t it?” You humored him.

“It really would be, Princess.” The conversation died after that and it didn’t take much longer to get to the base of the Dragonmont. Both of you dismounted and hid your horses amongst the trees. Untying the cow, you led her to the eastern path you had traveled many times up to this point. Ser Erryk followed behind you hesitantly.

“It is not my place to question you, my Princess,” He cleared his throat. “but I must know what we are doing here.” Erryk’s eyes were on a constant swivel as he watched out diligently for danger.

“We are going up to the Dragonmont, Ser Erryk.” You stated simply as you continued on. It would take about an hour, as you had timed before, to hike up to the cave. With the heifer it may take longer depending on how cooperative she was going to be.

“I’ve gathered as much, my Princess.” He sighed. “The cow is what I have questions about.” Erryk had a sinking feeling in his gut, but he needed to hear you confirm his suspicions before he acted.

“It is a gift.” You replied cryptically, a grin playing at your lips. Your eyes surveyed the tumultuous ground for anything that would cause you to lose your footing.

“For whom?” Ser Erryk stumbled, quickly righting himself.

“For what, is the question you should be asking.” You answered cheekily. “This heifer is a gift for the Cannibal, if you must know.” Ser Erryk stopped dead in his tracks, his brows furrowed.

“You jest.” He spoke, all royal pretenses dropped as he looked at you. His lips were set in a deep frown.

“I’ve never jested in my life, Ser.” You teased, and did not falter in your steps up the inclined overgrown pathway. You did, however, shoot a smirk over your shoulder at the knight. Erryk jogged to catch up with you and stopped in front of you, halting your advances with his hand extended. The cow mooed without a care in the world, dropping its head to chew on a patch of wildflowers on the side of the trail. They were the last living patch of greenery this far up.

“Princess, I cannot allow you to go up there.” Erryk looked distraught, his eyes wide and full of terror. “It would be suicide.”

“Allow me? Let me make myself abundantly clear -you do not allow me to do anything, Ser Erryk.” You looked up at the knight in challenge. Taking a good look at him in the moonlight, his handsome, angular face was accentuated. He and his brother, though nearly identical, had characteristics that differentiated them. You had always naturally preferred Erryk over Arryk during any of your interactions, and seeing as how Erryk was now sworn to your family -to you- you had instinctually made the right choice.

Erryk wasn’t the type of handsome that knights like Ser Criston were -prettily handsome- but he was ruggedly handsome all the same. His eyes were bright and his face was expressive, though it was more than just his face that drew you in. He was tall, broad, strong, passionate, loyal to a fault, and absolutely lethal with a sword. Erryk Cargyll was everything a knight should be and you were more than pleased to have him at your side.

“I apologize, my Princess. I meant no offense. It is only your safety that I must keep as my highest priority.” His head was bowed, though he looked up at you when you responded.

“Duly noted, Ser Erryk.” You took a step closer to the knight. “I’m going to tell you something that only your ears will be privy to, as I know you can be trusted wholly. No one, not even my father, knows what I’ve been doing up here on the Dragonmont.”

“As apprehensive as I am about this, it is an honor to be held in such high regard, my Princess. My ears are yours.” And he meant it -you know he did. Your voice was soft and airy as you spoke. He was the only soul you would dare tell this to, as he would swear his silence if you asked it of him. Your father, for as much as he loved you, would only look at you the way he looked at his brother when he spoke of Aegon’s Dream. That look of disappointment was not something you took lightly, nor could you bear the weight of it and everything that would follow.

The cow’s rope fell from your hands, though the cow stood as if you were still holding it. You pulled the hood of your cloak off, baring your face to the knight. Your trembling hands clasped his armored ones and held tightly, startling him with your touch.

“Ten and three nights past, I had my first dream, Erryk. A dream I’ve never experienced before, but I had two more in just as many nights following. They were not the dreams of fantasy, Erryk. All three of them were as Aegon the Conqueror’s dream, of Daenys’ premonitions. My father does not believe them, naturally. He is practical, if he is anything, which is why I have not spoken to him about this, but that is beside the point.” You took another step closer, Erryk’s hands nearly touching your stomach, and you looked up at the tall knight with what some might describe as lucid madness. Your lilac eyes glowed in the moonlight, Erryk noted.

“My Uncle Viserys used to speak of these dreams. He was adamant that they were the truth. I had heard of them as a child and thought they were merely tales myself. How could something that happened in the land of sleep be real? Now I know. It was real to Aegon. It was real to Daenys. She prophesied that Valyria would fall, and the line of Targaryen would be demolished. Had Aenar not listened to her, I would not be standing before you, Erryk. The dragons you see today would no longer exist.” Your lashes fluttered as you spoke feverishly and Erryk could only listen on with apprehension continuing to grow within him. “Aegon himself truly believed the fall of man would come to be. He saw it, he felt it.”

“The fall of man has not happened, Princess.”

“Yet!” You hissed. “It hasn’t happened yet!” You felt Erryk’s fingers tighten around yours to hold you steady. “What I saw and what I felt was real, Erryk. I saw it, I smelled it, I tasted it, I touched it. All of it was real.” Your words sounded more like pleas to the knight to merely believe you.

“In the first dream, I saw the Cannibal. I was as close to him as I am to you. His fire danced around me as he looked at me and I looked at him, and we understood one another.” Your breathing was erratic, just as your words were. “There was a tendril that pulled us together, connected us in a way that only exists between a rider and a dragon. In the second dream I saw through the Cannibal’s eyes, Erryk. I felt what he felt, I tasted what he tasted. I breathed fire and scorched the earth. Through his eyes, I felt what it was to fly over mountains and oceans -over battlefields and castles. And in the final dream, I saw Vhagar.” Erryk’s brows furrowed as you smiled deliriously. “I saw her! Riding upon the Cannibal’s back I saw her fall to her doom, Erryk.” Manic tears burst forth from your eyes.

“I was there! I do not know where it was, but she perished.” Your chest heaved. “These dreams cannot be mere coincidence.” Erryk took in your words, his mind spinning frantically as he tried to process his response. You spoke so earnestly, but it was hard for him to believe what you were saying as reality. It may have been your truth, but your current mental state may also be aligned with fiction.

“May I speak freely, my Princess?” He spoke gently, his thumbs rubbing over the tops of your hands to calm you down.

“Of course.” You breathed, your eyes shining with hope that he’d understand what you were saying.

“...Perhaps…perhaps this is your way of dealing with your grief. So much has happened and you have not had the proper time to process it.” Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were freefalling from a cliff. Perhaps this is what it would’ve felt like had Aemond let you run off the edge of Massey’s Hook.

Erryk’s brows were downturned and his eyes shined with pity when you visibly deflated. You pulled your hands from his and crossed your arms over your chest to bring your defenses up.

“I’ve dealt with my grief! I’m still dealing with my grief!” You spat. “They were dragon dreams, Erryk!” You nearly shouted. “I know they were! I have been climbing this trail up and down the Mont, for hours of each way every single night since I had the third dream. I’ve visited the Cannibal every night -this night being the tenth, and I live to tell the tale, Erryk! When has he let anyone step foot near his nest and live? When?” You pushed angrily.

“I…Ido not know what to say, my Princess.” In truth, Ser Erryk had a lot he’d like to say, but he’d also like to keep his head attached to his shoulders. He would also like to not become the next offering to the Cannibal if what you spoke of was genuine truth. He could not make heads nor tails of the situation. You took a step back from Erryk and sighed, picking up the fallen rope within your hands.

“You insisted on accompanying me, Ser Erryk, but I will not fault you for staying behind while I continue forward. The Cannibal is unpredictable and I cannot promise your safety should you follow.” You said seriously, sniffling as you ran a shaking hand over your face. Erryk looked between you, the cow, and the steaming volcanic vents of the Dragonmont behind you.

“This dragon calls to me, Erryk.” You whispered. “You may not believe me, nor do you understand it, but I feel it in the furthest depths of my being. It is not the same as my bond with Maestron was, but the magic is there and it will only grow stronger with time should he accept me. The fact that the Cannibal has not ended my existence is encouragement enough. Now,” You gave the cow a pat to its flank as you fixed Erryk with your stare. “You can help me get this beast to the eastern side of the Mont, or you can return to the Keep and carry on with your other duties -whatever they should be at the hour of the wolf.”

“My only duties are with you, Princess.” Ser Erryk said without hesitation. “Day or night, I shall not leave your side.” His eyes held a softness as they looked down at you, but still, he kept his mouth shut.

“Very well.” You nodded and handed the rope to the knight. Erryk dutifully followed behind you with the cow in tow.

The familiar boneyard came into view and you stopped Erryk from going forward.

“It is not much further from here. I must stress to you that whatever you see -whatever you hear- you must remain calm. He will know you are with me. He will catch your scent if he hasn’t already. Stay out of sight and say a quick prayer to the Seven that you make it to see the sunrise, Ser Erryk. Your bravery tonight will not be forgotten.” You smiled softly at him, your palm coming up to rest on his cheek.

Erryk knew what was at stake. He knew the possibility of neither of you coming out of this alive was high. Still, he followed you to the end as he had sworn he would. An armored finger rested under your chin and tilted your face up just the slightest bit.

“I shall not leave you, Princess.” He spoke gently. It was a promise that would be kept. He may not have believed you, but still, he’d follow you to your end. You nodded, tears lining your eyes. They sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight, entrancing the knight.

Erryk could not deny the pull that drew him to you, but even in what he projected was his last hour in this life, he would not allow himself to act rashly for you were his Princess and he had a duty to uphold. If a man could not keep his oath, even with the Stranger looming ever closer, then what was he worth?

Reputation meant everything, in life and in death.

“Come.” You whispered, taking the rope from Erryk and leading the cow behind you. A comfortable silence blanketed the pair of you as you walked. Erryk decided, in that moment, that he would allow himself one final comfort in this life. It was bold, but uncompromising.

He pulled the glove and gauntlet off of his left hand, freeing his fingers from the leather and metal. He grasped your hand tenderly within his own calloused palm, affectionately tangling your more delicate fingers with his.

You turned to look at Erryk and his profile looked as if it was carved from stone in the glow of the moonlight. The breeze lifted his long hair that rested on his back, swirling it around his shoulders. You squeezed his much larger hand and smiled with a shy dip of your head. Returning the smile, Erryk decided that this would be enough. There were worse ways to leave this life.

Silently you carried on, hand in hand with your knight as you approached the final bend. Erryk could feel the stone tremble beneath his feet and his heart nearly stopped dead in his chest. You gave his hand one last squeeze before releasing it. You ushered him into the alcove that you hid in the first time you came to approach the Cannibal.

“You will stay here and do not come out unless you are certain I am dead.” Erryk’s jaw dropped in shock. “Do not look at me like that. Please, promise me you will stay put.” Erryk’s jaw clenched, anger and frustration building up inside of him. How could you ask him to do nothing while you faced the most ferocious beast on this island?

Once more you brought your hand to his bearded cheek. “I believe what I saw, Erryk. I know you don’t, but I truly do. I need you to trust me as I trust you -wholly and without question.” Erryk’s brows furrowed and he held your stare for a few moments before he relented against his better judgment.

“Okay.” He whispered. “Okay.” You nodded, caressing his jaw for a moment more before leaving him in the alcove. He could see you perfectly through a crack in the stone as you approached the mouth of the cave with the cow in tow. It was the same crack in the slab of stone that you watched through the first night you visited the Cannibal.

Surely this is what it felt like to wait for the swing of the executioner’s sword, Erryk thought to himself. To know you are going to die a gruesome death, but first you had to wait for your turn at the chopping block.

“Another offering, as I’ve promised.” You called into the darkness, patting the rump of the cow to encourage her to walk forward. The clip-clop of her hooves echoed slowly as she disappeared from view. The deep rumble of the Cannibal’s purr reverberated through Erryk’s own chest as he watched on with baited breath. You moved out of the mouth of the cave and to the side, only separated from Erryk by the slab of stone he peeked through.

A blinding flash of yellow flame shot through the mouth of the cave. Erryk had to cover his eyes, but you had welcomed the brightness from where you stood with an unhinged smile gracing your face. The flames lasted for five long seconds. You counted it time and time again with each offering you brought, learning more of the dragon with each passing night. That was his preferred roasting time, you figured.

Darkness encased the cave once more. The tell-tale sounds of bones crunching and flesh tearing met your ears.

There was a theory you had worked out in your brain that you purposefully failed to share with Erryk. Had you clued him in on what you were here to truly do, he wouldn’t think twice about letting the cow loose and throwing you over his shoulder to return back to the Keep kicking and screaming.

He wouldn’t understand -not really. He couldn’t. The blood of the dragon did not run through his veins as it did yours.

You didn’t realize it until you were in the safety of the Keep at Dragonstone, but Aemond had fractured something within you. It dwelled in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind and soul, and what you were about to do would either soder it back together or wipe it from existence entirely. Whatever the outcome, you would be set free.

Erryk hissed your name directly as you began to disrobe where you stood. Your cloak fell to the ground in a heap. Next you kicked your boots to the left of it.

“What in the Seven are you doing?” Came Erryk’s panicked whisper. Your shirt, breeches, and smallclothes were tossed onto your cloak, and you moved your boots to hold the pile down. “Princess, please!” His gaze turned from you instantly as you stood bare as the day you were born before him. “This is madness.”

“No, Erryk. This is fate.” Your voice was calm as you turned away from him. The air, though warm this close to the volcano, still caused your nipples to peak and goosebumps to form on your naked skin. You freed your hair from the bands that held your braids together, tossing the strips of leather into your boot.

“In the...off chance…that I do not return…tell my father what has transpired in full truth, and that I am sorry I did not keep my promise.” Erryk grabbed your wrist through the crevice, intent on not letting you go. He adamantly kept his eyes on yours, not daring to let them wander further down. You were not his to gaze freely upon, he chastised himself. And you never would be. He breathed your name once more, causing you to turn back to the knight. There was a deep sadness that swirled in his eyes as he gazed upon your moonlit face.

“Do not do this. I am begging you. If I have to carry you down the Dragonmont myself and tie you to my horse, I’ll do it.” You smiled at Erryk. “Your family has already lost you once. The Realm needs you, Princess. Please think!” Erryk’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes glistened. Stress poured from every feature and there was a slight tremor in the grip he had on you. You rested a hand upon his, gently prying his fingers away.

“This is my destiny, Erryk. This dragon will rid the Realm of all the vile creatures that dwell within it.” Your mind flashed to Aemond and Vhagar, to Aegon and Sunfyre, Daeron and Tessarion, to Alicent and her wretched father.

All would fall to the might of the Cannibal.

You felt it in your bones as you pulled your wrist free from Erryk’s grasp and stepped to the opening of the cave before he could stop you. The deep rumble of the Cannibal’s growl echoed in the cave, and his giant steps shook the Mont from within. Erryk was nearly hyperventilating as he watched. He did not dare blink an eye.

“You feel this.” You spoke freely into the void with a steady voice. It did not shake and there was no fear present. “We are connected. You would not spare me if I didn’t speak the truth.” The Cannibal’s growls only grew deeper, bordering a purr from the massive creature. “Prove to me that this is real, that we are one.” You held your arms wide as you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, face tilted to the sky above. “I welcome you.”

Erryk saw the flames before he could think. Hot, yellow fire shot from the cave as it had with the cow, and now you were fully engulfed. Erryk felt tears fall down the planes of his cheeks, his lips trembling terribly as he watched on as you were consumed by the dragonfire.

Gone. You were gone.

Failure emanated through his core, turning his stomach something fierce and he could do nothing but watch you perish. Erryk’s burning eyes clenched shut.

He failed you. He failed his Queen. He failed the Realm.

The continuous dragonfire made his eyes crack open. The flames lasted much longer than they had before and his jaw dropped in wonder.

The heat of the flames was nearly unbearable, but they did not burn your flesh. They felt like the warmest rays of the sun on the hottest summer day as the fire danced and licked your skin. The golden flames sparked and sizzled around you as you held your breath. Your feet left the stone floor for a mere blip of a moment in time and you felt it. Mere inches off the ground, the flames engulfed you fully.

It was a lifetime within the fire, just as it had been within your dream, and in an instant you were shifted back to darkness. Your feet hit the ground with a slap, your knees wobbled at the force. Looking up, the sharp chartreuse eye of the Cannibal beckoned you forward and your legs moved on their own accord.

Erryk could not breathe as he watched you enter the Cannibal’s nest. You, who had roasted alive within the dragon’s flames mere seconds ago, before his very eyes, was now walking on your own two feet as if he didn’t see what he definitely just saw. He blinked hard, rubbing his eyes.

There wasn’t a single blemish on your skin, not a single burn marred your flesh. You should’ve been dead instantly, reduced to a pile of ash left to blow in the wind.

At that moment, Erryk did not know what to do -what to think. Was he dead? It was the only semi-rational thought he could come up with. He leaned to the ledge of the cliff and vomited the little contents of his stomach he had left.

The growl of the Cannibal should’ve been terrifying, but you knew in that very moment that he would not kill you. He was just as stunned as you were in the revelation that you uncovered. This dragon was old and no creature had ever lived through his flames.

Not once.

Not until now.

With each step closer, you felt the strength he emanated. Unadulterated raw power flowed through you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes as you stood in the darkness. Bones and the dust of bones that had been stepped on for over a century littered the ground ahead of you. The stench of death and the heady, earthy scent of the dragon hung heavy in the air.

The light of the moon stopped just ahead of you, but you saw the dragon shift in the darkness, his green eyes glowed from high above. Yellow embers shimmered from his belly, casting a faint glow to the nest from under his black scales, but they only illuminated bright enough to light the stone below him.

The ground shook beneath your feet as he took long, lumbering steps towards your minuscule frame. You could still feel his flames around you, inside of you, though they weren’t physically there. The Cannibal’s head lowered menacingly and he tilted it to the side to look you over fully with one massive, angry eye.

“Magnificent.” You whispered. The dragon growled and hummed “Issaros.” Stranger. The name fit him as the dragon himself was synonymous with death.

Issaros bared his teeth to you, saliva dripping from his maw. The gusts of air from his exhales were like mighty winds from the sea with how close he was.

“You have been free your whole existence. I do not wish to cage you, to tame you, to bind you to my will. I have great use for you, and you seek death…destruction…flesh.” You could see the interest pique in his eye as he continued to watch you with the threat of his teeth ever present.

“I will make you an offer: Follow me North and allow me the privilege of riding upon you into battle. In return, I give you the freedom to feast freely upon man and beast alike, but only those I have deemed my enemies. There are plenty, I assure you. You shall never want for blood and flesh again, my friend. After the war is won, you shall return here to the Dragonmont, or any other place you deem worthy to dwell in. You will always have your freedom and regardless of the bond we now share, I will not hold you hostage to me. With this, you have my word.” You stepped closer, bringing a palm up to rest along a spike on his snout. His lips twitched back in warning, but he did not move from you nor did he snap his teeth. Your eyes met his once more.

“Will you accept this?”

Erryk sat outside of the cave in near total silence. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. He did not know. It wasn’t until the ground beneath him trembled immensely and a black mass exited the cave did he stand.

Erryk’s hair flew back behind him as the massive dragon flapped his leathery wings and took off into the night sky. He felt the blood drain from his face when he saw a flash of your silver hair upon the Cannibal’s back as he ascended to the stars.

You spoke truth, Erryk thought as he watched on with mental clarity. The proof was right in front of him and he did not dare blink should this be a figment of his imagination.

Your head was tilted back and your arms were stretched out to either side of you. The cold wind felt refreshing on your naked flesh as the dragon tore through the sky.

The deafening roar Issaros let out was bone-chilling and you had never before felt as powerful as you did in that very moment. With this ferocious killing machine beneath you, you would bring death and ruin to Aemond and all he held dear.

If there was ever a formidable dragon that could battle against the likes of Vhagar, as you had prophesised, it was the dreaded Cannibal.

What the dragon lacked in size by comparison, he had quadrupled in viciousness, ruthlessness, and cunning. He was a predator through and through, and had no qualms about killing for the sport of it.

And he deemed you worthy to sit upon him.

To sit upon a dragon so large was unlike anything you had ever felt. The only other times were when your father had taken you upon Caraxes as a girl, but that had been many years past. This, as an experienced dragon rider, made you feel invincible.

Issaros screeched at any other dragon who dared to come remotely near him in warning as he glided through the night sky. Most, if not all, knew of his temperament.

“They are needed.” You called to the dragon. “When this war is over, you may do with them as you wish, but for now they must live.” You felt his irritation, but he heeded your words all the same.

“If my Maestron were to ever fall, I would surely ride the Cannibal.” It was a prophecy spoken at such a tender age and you didn’t even know it. The words were a fantasy, said in the heat of the moment as a child, but those words had come to pass. Just as Daenys’ prophetic words had come to pass. Just as Aegon’s dream was sure to come to fruition.

The flames of magic flowed through your blood as the Cannibal flew through the skies in a miraculous display. It felt as though your ribs were expanding, like you could take infinite air within your lungs. To feel such an intense connection with such a wild dragon not only mended what Aemond had fractured, but it evolved something else deep within you.

You wanted blood.

You wanted retribution.

You wanted vengeance.

Erryk’s eyes were wide as he stared openly at you when you exited the cave. Soot painted over your body from the dragon fire and your hair was a mess of tangles from the wind. Streaks of blood littered your nude body from small cuts made by the dragon’s tough scales.

Erryk quickly removed his cloak when he saw your legs begin to buckle in your delirious steps towards him. When you were clear of the cave’s mouth, he ran to you and swept you into his arms, his warm cloak wrapped around you to preserve your modesty.

“I need a moment.” You mumbled against his chest. Your hand grasped onto the shoulder strap of his plated armor as he set you in the alcove he had been hidden behind. Erryk made sure his cloak was tightly wrapped around you when you shivered.

The knight crept over to your discarded belongings to hastily retrieve them. He tried not to jump when he heard the Cannibal’s purr rumble in the darkness, but his heart pounded furiously in his chest as he backed away slowly until he was shielded once more in the alcove.

Erryk stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you. Sprawled on your back, one arm stretched over your head and the other draped over your stomach. His cloak was pulled up to reveal your legs and covered only your more intimate areas. The ethereal glow of your skin in the moonlight was more than he, a man so strong in his convictions, could handle.

The scene before him could’ve been a painting, and it would be imprinted on his mind for the rest of his life. You had bewitched him, he thought as his stomach flipped and his heart sang. What he witnessed on this night was more than enough to convince him that you would change the Realm. For better or worse, he could not tell, but he would remain at your side.

Erryk allowed you a moment’s rest, but the moon was slowly dropping in the sky and the hour of the nightingale would soon be upon you. The lighter it got, the harder it would be to sneak your way back to the stables.

Erryk turned his back to you so you could sluggishly dress, then he took you in his arms once more to carry you down the Dragonmont.

Your fluttering eyes met his when he glanced down at you. Your palm came up to rest on his bearded cheek in a sweet caress.

“Rest, my Princess. I shall wake you when we’ve reached the horses.”

Days had passed since you took Ser Erryk to the Dragonmont, and he had returned with you every night since. Your trainings had also continued, and just as he promised, you were slowly gaining an understanding of the craft. You were by no means a warrior, but your footwork was improving and you had begun to think on the offense rather than wait to be cornered into defense.

Since that first night on the Mont, Erryk let his touch linger as he instructed you. He got closer, though it never progressed to anything more. You knew he’d never cross that line, much less put you in such a predicament. Erryk worked his entire life to be at his current station and you would not squander that for him.

Still, the temptation lit a fire within you with every touch and glance he gave you. The feelings, though they were forbidden, existed all the same.

At this point in the night Erryk would be waiting for you at the stables, but tonight he was not there by the time you arrived. He’d usually have your horse ready for you, but you didn’t mind saddling it yourself. You were adjusting the straps to the saddle on his borrowed horse when he trotted past you.

“Ser Erryk!” You called when he didn’t even spare you a glance. He pulled the horse to a stop and turned in your direction. “Where have you been off to?” You questioned in confusion. As far as you knew, he was in his quarters resting before your excursion.

Erryk looked at you with wide eyes as if he was looking at a ghost. He kept the horse stock still for a moment before dismounting and taking cautious steps closer to you.

“I had a task set by the Queen, Princess.” You noted that his movements seemed off. His gait held a different stride, and his voice was slightly higher. Brows furrowed, you tilted your head as you continued to analyze him. “I must report back to her at once, Princess.” His tone was impatient and he spoke to you as if you were a stranger. Something must’ve happened for Erryk to be this short with you.

“In that case, if you do not feel up to the ride, you may stay here. Tonight will be no different than the others.” You offered, knowing he would turn you down. You would give him some time to debrief with your mother and then he would insist on joining you.

That is…not what happened, much to your surprise.

“I’m afraid I will not make the ride tonight, Princess.” Odd. “My sincerest apologies.” You gave him a long look, not understanding why he was being so secretive. Relief flashed in his eyes when you nodded and mounted your horse. You tried to not let the flash of hurt you felt cross your features, but you definitely threw him a nasty look.

“Very well. I shall see you on the morrow.” You tapped the flank of your horse with your heel and turned in the direction of the gates.

Something rolling in your gut told you to turn back. Erryk’s abnormal behavior did not sit right with you, and you knew back in the stables that you should’ve stayed to push him for further details. Irritated with yourself, you turned your horse around and headed back to the Keep. Issaros would be cross with you, you were sure, but you would address him on your next visit.

As you got back to the main road, a raven cawed as it flew overhead. Stopping your horse, your head turned to follow the direction it flew in. It was far too late in the night for a raven to fly out of Dragonstone, much less in the direction of-

Your brain went blank for a moment and realization dawned on you. You kicked your horse sharply and he sprinted into a full gallop to race back to the Keep.

“It wasn’t Erryk, you fool!” You berated yourself, urging your horse to sprint faster. “It wasn’t Erryk!”

If you weren't simping for Ser Erryk before, you are now. I'm starting a support group.

We're setting things up for absolute mayhem.

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @bellameshipper @praline357 @crazymusicgirl104 @visenyaverse @nina2697 @malfoytargaryen @ana8swift @ladymoon666 @sunmoon-01 @snh96 @louiselouve @neenieweenie @kemillyfreitas

#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen #x reader #erryk cargyll x reader #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #ser erryk cargyll

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strawberrypinky · 11 months

Text

all your loving (all or nothing) pt. 1 - a. sharp x reader

for the longest time, aesop sharp was absolutely certain that he must have eradicated an entire civilisation in his past life, as there was no other possible explanation for the sheer torture in found himself in. but as the months went on and the weather became warmer, and the flowers were blooming again, he found himself believing that retribution was possible – even for someone like him.

or: aesop sharp is an idiot in love with a breeding kink and this escalated in ways i can never speak of.

A/N: Right. What was supposed to be a simple, short, smutty one shot, escalated into this. Do I have regrets? Yeah - a lot of them. Am I still posting this? Absolutely. I blame @legacygirlingreen for enabling me, but I also thank her for the endless support she's given me throughout. M; you are the best 💚

To everyone else reading this; I have never written 'x Reader' before, so please give me some grace for trying 🙏🏻

FYI: (Y/N) - Your Name (Y/L/N) - Your Last Name (Y/E/C) - Your Eye Colour (Y/H/C) - Your Hair Colour

CW (here we go): Fluff, Romance, Idiots in Love, Miscommunication, Pining, Age Difference (Aged up Main Character), Canon Divergence (bc I can't stand to kill Fig off), Spoiler Alert for Hogwarts Legacy, Implied Hufflepuff MC (not specified), Porn with Plot, Smut (18+, MDNI) - for part 2 (lord, forgive me): Loss of Virginity, Breeding Kink, Impregnation, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Size Kink

Word Count (Part 1): 16k (yes - this escalated)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48482581/chapters/122292907

Aesop Sharp was sure that he must have eradicated an entire civilisation in his past life.

There was simply no other explanation for the sheer torture he continuously found himself in.

He thought Scarborough Harbour and the curse in his leg might have been penance - the pain and guilt certainly served as a constant reminder of his misdeeds in this life, as if he could ever forget about them in the first place. His partner, his best friend, had died because of an oversight in judgement (one he had made), and the woman he thought he was going to marry ended things as soon as it became clear that he would be crippled for life.

Losing his job (one he had tirelessly worked for his entire youth) was simply the cherry on top.

He supposed he was lucky when he ended up in Hogwarts, of all places. Although he had never been one to stick to the rules in his time as a schoolboy, Aesop was a surprisingly studious pupil (he had to be if he truly wanted to become an Auror) and loved the school nonetheless. Potions was among his best subjects, right after Defence Against the Dark Arts, and even if it hadn't been his dream career, he liked it fine. It was certainly far more engaging than being confined behind a desk at the Ministry, looking at applications and deciding which hot-headed and possibly egotistical graduate he would send into the field, perhaps even subjecting them to a fate like his own (or worse).

His second career came with quite a few benefits, too, such as free room and board, fantastic meals (Aesop loathed cooking) and unlimited access to the Restricted Section - a place he had searched relentlessly for a cure or at least a treatment better to the one he currently received. And he could look out for his students, the Aurors of tomorrow, too. He might have been the reason his partner had died, and he might never be able to make that right. But, at the very least, he could ensure that his students would not make the same mistakes he did, lest saving them from the regret and suffering he endured daily. Some of them were brighter than others, of course. He didn't think himself to be horridly unfair. Strict, yes. He had to be; potions were fickle things, after all. But certainly not unfair.

If anything, Aesop would've described himself as quite reasonable most times.

There were, of course, students he had to be particularly strict with. Students such as Garreth Weasley.

The boy had been a royal pain in Aesop's arse from the second those ginger locks appeared in his classroom in the Autumn of 1885, and he continued to be one up until his graduation. Garreth Weasley wasn't stupid - far from it. He was actually quite brilliant if he tried to apply himself, which was rarely the case, but it had (much to Aesop's chagrin) been enough to qualify him for the NEWT level class. Matilda had apologised over and over, though as the years passed, the apologies always seemed to be accompanied by a small grin, possibly because Garreth's...creative...concoctions in school relieved the Weasley Household of their unfortunate duty of having to try them.

Other students were even less forgettable - although for entirely different reasons.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) had been an enigma from the moment she timidly trailed behind their illustrious Headmaster into the Great Hall, late, looking as pale as a ghost. Scrap that. The girl had been an enigma from the second the Book of Admittance spat out her name - four years too late. Suddenly the teachers had found themselves in the precarious situation of what to do with a fifteen-year-old who had no prior understanding of magic but was to start at Hogwarts mere four months later. Eventually, their colleague Eleazar Fig had been sent to tutor the poor girl to at least try to get her up to speed, but Aesop would have been the first to admit that he did not have high hopes. He was pleasantly surprised when the girl was incredibly adept at magic. She had bested other top students on her first day, not to mention taken down a troll in Hogsmeade, and she was nothing short of talented at potions too. He remembered her first lesson vividly; she had brewed a perfect Wiggenweld and a perfect Edurus.

Miss (Y/L/N) continued to be an exemplary student, both inside and outside of the potions classroom. Any (extra) assignments had always been handed in on time, she picked up spells like magic was second nature to her, and she was overall an absolute joy to be around. Her peers likely would have said the same. Various rumours followed her, and though most of them were concerning, Aesop did not think that a new student (no matter how talented) would actually be taking down entire Poacher and Goblin camps. He had suspected that her heroic escape from the dragon and her Hogsmeade adventure let some students become a little too imaginative. How wrong he had been.

Aesop still remembered the February afternoon it all came crashing down. Eleazar Fig had stormed into the teacher's room after summoning them with a note that said the matter was of 'utmost importance' and no matter how many years Aesop had spent in the field, nothing would have prepared him for the reality of what he was about to be faced with. Not only had the girl, in fact, taken down Poacher Camps. No. She had been fighting an entire Goblin Rebellion, taken down both Theophilus Harlow and various operations of Victor Rookwood and (as if that hadn't been enough) she apparently wielded Ancient Magic, completed a set of trials that were meant to lead her to some grand mystery the rebellion leader - Ranrok - was also after and was now preparing to take said Goblin down. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Aesop was sure that Matilda Weasley would have chewed Eleazar Fig apart right then and there for his carelessness in hiding something like this. But when the teachers apparated into the caverns below Hogwarts, they didn't have time to dwell on any of it.

By some miracle, the young witch had done it. She had saved the entire school though it had almost come at the expense of her life.

When he, Matilda, Dinah, Abraham and Mudiwa finally had taken care of the last of the goblins that had invaded the caverns, they descended further into them, only to discover what could be described as an utter wasteland, complete with a peculiar gigantic orb of magic, a gravely wounded and distraught Professor Fig and an unconscious, heavily bleeding (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

When the young girl awoke in the Hospital Wing nearly two weeks later, she awoke a hero.

Aesop could tell she was insanely uncomfortable. She was not someone who was looking for glory or people to sing her praises. She was just a girl who had done what had been asked of her, even if the task she had fulfilled should never have been hers to begin with. She passed her O.W.L.'s with flying colours (of course she had), and thankfully, after an extensive summer break, her life had calmed down significantly. She was able to spend her remaining two years at Hogwarts in peace, having fun with her friends and enjoying her classes. Nobody had been more proud of her than Eleazar himself when she graduated at the top of her class (right next to Amit Thakkar) three years ago.

That had been the last time Aesop had seen her.

He knew from Eleazar (who had pretty much turned into the girl's father) that she had been travelling the world with Poppy Sweeting, one of her closest friends from Hogwarts, to study various beasts and plants - A waste of talent if Aesop had ever seen any. With her skill set and her stellar grades, she would've done phenomenally in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but somehow he understood her desire to live a more peaceful life. If anything, he was somehow glad that she wasn't out there risking her life continually to save others. She had saved Wizardkind once. Now it was somebody else's turn.

When Bai Howin, their resident Care of Magical Creatures Professor, announced her plans to retire last year, Aesop didn't think that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) would be the one taking over. She was just twenty (or perhaps twenty-one? He wasn't sure) and didn't seem like the type to enjoy teaching.

But there she was in front of him, and he was sure that this was another way of punishing him.

She had never been ugly. In fact, from what he remembered, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was quite the sight to behold. She certainly had no shortage of admirers during her time, even if he couldn't recall her courting anyone specifically. But the woman in front of him? She was downright ethereal.

Her long (Y/H/C) cascaded down her small shoulders and framed her small, heart-shaped face. Her lips were fuller and deliciously pink, stretched into a warm and bright smile that lit up her doe-like (Y/E/C) eyes with almost childish excitement. She was positively tiny; he easily towered over her, but Merlin was she beautiful.

"Everyone, I am most pleased to welcome our newest addition to the staff. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) will be filling Bai's position the coming school year," Matilda announced with an equally bright smile at the staff's annual pre-term meeting on the 25th of August. From the corner of his eye, Aesop could see the proud smile Eleazar wore.

"Miss (Y/L/N)!" Abraham cheered, "How delightful to welcome you back to Hogwarts!" "Thank you, Professor Ronen," she smiled earnestly, "I'm so happy to be back." "Oh please," the jovial Slytherin jumped up, "It's Abraham now. We're colleagues, after all, are we not?"

Aesop was sure he had never heard a giggle as heart-warming as hers. He scoffed internally. He wasn't some schoolboy with a silly crush. Get over yourself, Aesop!

"Very well then, Abraham," her eyes twinkling, "I'm (Y/N)."

Aesop observed as the rest of the staff gathered around her, welcoming her back with just as much delight as Abraham and Matilda had done, and her smile only seemed to grow bigger. With a sigh, he got up himself and limped towards the group, his usual stern expression not giving a single hint as to what he was truly feeling.

"Miss (Y/L/N)," he gruffly said as he came to a stop before her, "How nice to see you again."

He did not think it possible for her smile to grow any bigger (seriously, her face must have hurt), but it did as her eyes took him in.

"Professor Sharp!" (Y/N) chirped happily, "It's nice to see you again."

He didn't know this, but he had been her favourite teacher throughout her short time at Hogwarts; his stern and keenly aware nature was calming to be around, and his classes were always interesting. There had been a time when she considered becoming a professional potioneer, but when the opportunity came up to study Beasts with Poppy, she simply couldn't say no. She had only been a witch for three years and barely knew what the Wizarding World had to offer. It was only natural that she wanted to go out and explore the world as she could honestly always choose a career a little later in life. When Eleazar had reached out to her a couple of months back to tell her that a position was opening up, she couldn't help but apply, and when Matilda (and Black) hired her, she was over the moon.

"As Abraham has said," Aesop cleared his throat, "We are colleagues now. You can call me Aesop."

"I look forward to working with you, Aesop," (Y/N) nodded, her cheeks tinted pink as she quickly averted her gaze and struck up a conversation with Dinah instead.

Aesop barely saw her until the following week. All of them were busy preparing their lessons and classrooms, and he spent most of his days brewing to replenish his and the Hospital Wings potion supply. Given that she lived in the small hut on the grounds, he didn't really see her around the castle either, but she continued to be on his mind nonetheless. It was a pity, really. He had wondered how she had fared over the past three years and why exactly she had returned. It was unusual for witches and wizards her age to return to Hogwarts to teach of all things, but then again, she's been hardly usual in the first place. Aesop knew that Y/N would be one of his more familiar coworkers - Bai had supplied him with by-products of caring for the beasts, and he supposed (or rather hoped) that her successor would do the same. If anything, it made brewing that much cheaper when he didn't have to hop into Hogsmeade and pester and negotiate with Parry Pippin or Ellie Peck (their prices were quite atrocious at times).

So when he was finishing up brewing some standard potions on the 1st of September and realised he was out of Unicorn Horn, Aesop decided that now was a good time as any to make the small trek towards the Beasts Classroom and hope that Y/N would somehow have some on hand. It was still early, and the weather was nice, sunny and warm, which helped Aesop's blasted leg tremendously. He knew the colder winter months would aggravate his leg further, but at least for now, he could enjoy his walk to the best of his abilities.

He spotted her before she spotted him.

She was outside in one of the pens, brushing and petting the Kneazles that would surely serve as a lesson in the coming days, looking absolutely content. The sun was shining down on her, illuminating her skin and hair, which, unlike last time, was in an elaborate and fashionable updo which framed her face artfully.

He stopped in front of the pen gates, simply observing the young woman who was entirely oblivious to his arrival. (Y/N) giggled happily as the Kneazles danced around her, desperate for her attention and happily purring whenever she offered them some. One of the older Kneazles cuddled up to her leg, flopping on its back and almost chirping, trying to get her attention.

"Now, now, Persephone," she chided as she turned her attention towards the needy Kneazle, "you've gotten plenty already. Leave some for the others."

"I don't think they understand you," Aesop interrupted her, and he chuckled when she jumped and turned around with a bewildered expression.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, her tone accusing.

"Just a few minutes," he answered with a shrug.

"Hmph."

He watched as she stood up, slowly rising from the dirt and dusting off her skirts. Her glare was accusing as she exited the pens, the Kneazles yapping.

"For the record, they are incredibly wise. They certainly do understand me."

"Alright," he held up his hands in surrender, "I am not here to fight you on your Kneazles anyway." He hadn't known that she was overprotective, though if he remembered correctly, Miss Sweeting had been too. Perhaps he should have figured that the Hufflepuff would rub off on her.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Profe-," she stopped herself, clearing her throat, "I mean Aesop."

Aesop... He liked the way his name sounded from her lips. It sounded almost like a reverent prayer.

He quickly cleared his throat himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts before answering her.

"I was hoping you might have some spare Unicorn Horn? Bai usually provided me with by-products of her care, and I was rather hoping you would continue to offer."

"Oh," she blushed, "Yes, of course. Come. I have some inside."

As he followed her, he inevitably noticed how small the girl was. Even with his limp, he was no more than one step behind her - a highly unusual occurrence.

What had been previously Bai's hut was now completely unrecognisable (not that he had been in there all too often). The rooms were previously quite barren, save for the few personal artefacts and curiosities. A bed, a desk, a closet... Nothing to write home about. Now, though, Aesop had stepped into what felt like an actual home.

The floor was now covered by plush and comforting carpets, which would surely provide additional warmth during the winter months. The walls were warm wood in some places, though covered by paintings and illustrations in others. The beehive fireplace in the corner held the remains of a slow flickering fire, and the eclectic pieces that littered the home did not match one another but were harmonious just the same. One of the armchairs in front of the fire looked worn and old, the other rather contemporary and the shelves to his right reminded him of some modern Parisian styles he had seen some time ago. Various artefacts and trinkets were scattered across the room; some Aesop recognised, others he absolutely didn't. A Potions Station was bubbling away to his left, a small stove with a stray kettle beside it. The entire hut smelled like fresh pastries and freshly pressed linen - comforting and homey just the same.

"Whatever do you need a potions station for?" he asked as she fluttered around the room.

"Oh, that," she answered him. "Call it a force of habit or simply a pastime. I used to brew a lot back in school, and I was mostly responsible for any concoctions when Poppy and I travelled. I suppose I haven't lived that down."

Intrigued, he stepped up to the cauldron, trying to define the mixture by its smell and looks.

"Bruisewort Balm," he concluded quickly, "Looks very satisfactory." The jump back into 'Professor Persona' was one that he had been all too used to, even if it had been around his newest colleague.

(Y/N), however, blushed profusely. Potions had been her favourite class during her short time at Hogwarts, and Sharp's praise would always be special. His had to be earned (rightfully so), and that simply made it all the more satisfying. To hear him praise her years later made her chest fill with pride.

"I learned from the best," she offered, handing him a box which contained some Horns. "Antidote to Common Poisons, or did Madam Blainey run out of Blood Replenishing Potions?"

Surprised, Aesop raised an eyebrow as he took the box from her hands. He hadn't expected her to be able to recall such information, even if it had been relevant in her NEWT exams once.

"Antidote to Common Poisons," he confirmed, eyeing her beaming smile as his heart skipped a beat. Had her smile always been this pretty?

"And you have everything else you need?" she offered, "I think I might have some Bezoars lying around in case you're out of them."

"No, I have everything else," he grumbled, "I know you were a decent potioneer, but I must say I am surprised to hear you have retained that much information."

"Decent?" she sounded affronted, "Wasn't I top of the class by the time I graduated?"

"Perhaps." His grin was teasing; he enjoyed getting a rise out of her. "But even so, recalling ingredients is impressive. It has been a while, hasn't it been?"

"You're awful," she puffed, crossing her arms in front of her like a petulant child. "And for the record, Potions was my favourite class. I even considered becoming a Potioneer or a Healer once."

The words spilt from his mouth before he could stop himself. "And yet you decided to travel the world and study beasts? Enlighten me, Miss (Y/L/N)?"

She bit her lip, causing a jolt of... something... coursing through him as she shrugged.

"I supposed I had wanted to see the world. And I like Beasts; I hardly would've agreed to teach if I didn't. Before I was a witch, I was expected to be a wife. My sole purpose lay in providing children for my betrothed. When I suddenly had the freedom to decide what I wished to do, it was both overwhelming and exciting, and to see more of a world which was so foreign to me seemed like a grand idea at the time." She chuckled absentmindedly. "I apologise for rambling. I shall let you get back to preparing whatever it is you need to prepare."

"Oh, not at all," Aesop shook his head. "You are betrothed?"

"I was. My parents were rather well off and paired me with a suitor they deemed worthy. When I came to Hogwarts, they..." she shuddered, remembering the final conversation she had had with them. "Let us just say that they weren't...eager to have their only daughter in a co-educational environment outside of their ascendancy."

Merlin, suddenly Aesop wasn't surprised that Eleazar had taken the girl home after the events of her fifth year. She clearly did not have another one to return to. Aesop knew that, much like their pureblooded counterparts, muggles arranged marriages between their children in order to secure the most advantageous match possible. He also knew that muggles were even more traditional than wizards, though it surprised him to hear that a co-educational environment such as Hogwarts was deemed inappropriate enough to ruin a young woman's reputation. Most witches, especially those from better backgrounds (magical or not), held on to their maidenhood until marriage, much like muggle women did. Laying with a man who was not your husband was as inappropriate in the Wizarding World as it was in Muggle London, though, in all fairness, most Wizards (especially purebloods like Aesop himself) hardly ever followed that rule - nor were they expected to. And either way, Hogwarts itself had various... safety measures in place to ensure no such encounters would happen.

Aesop found it doubtful that nobody would have been able to appease her family's concerns, though, at any rate, he supposed she was right. It left her able to make her own choice - something she deserved, especially after saving both the school and Wizardkind. Suddenly her decision made all the more sense, and he found himself almost pitying her circumstances.

"I'm sorry," he offered, though he knew it would scarcely be a consolation.

"Don't be," she smiled sadly, "I am lucky to have Eleazar. He's been more of a father to me than mine had ever been. And whilst I would have loved to have a family and a husband by now, I cannot lie and say that travelling the world with my best friend hasn't been worth the sacrifice."

If Aesop ever had any concerns if she was suitable to teach, they had been laid to rest within the first two weeks, for whoever he listened to would say the same: that she was utterly brilliant.

Care of Magical Creatures class had always been decently popular among students - it was certainly more popular than Magical Theory or Alchemy, but ever since the one and only Hero of Hogwarts had started to lecture the class, its popularity had all but exploded amongst the students. They seemed more engaged than ever, and the fourth-year class he taught directly after her class was always in high spirits. Matilda had to refuse several students the luxury of adding Care of Magical Creatures to their curriculum, and if Aesop had to overhear another bulk of male students lusting after Miss (Y/L/N), he would rip off his own ears.

Sure, she was beautiful. Very beautiful, in fact. And smart. And kind. And funny. He had noticed that himself (any man with two functioning eyes would), but Merlin was it infuriating to hear constantly.

(Y/N) had her seat next to him in the Great Hall, and surprisingly they ate their meals at similar enough times, causing them to exchange pleasantries often enough over breakfast or dinner. She was as cheerful as he remembered and did most of the talking, but it was comfortable.

She often shared tidbits and stories from her many travels, the beasts she encountered or the people she met.

"Japan was the most interesting, really. Though one day, Poppy and I wanted to bathe in a local pond and nearly got eaten by a Kappa."

Aesop had nearly spat out his drink.

"A Kappa?" he asked, "The water-dwellers that look like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds? Those Kappas?"

"Yes!" she grinned at him cheerfully before she took another bite of her scone. "Quite fascinating creature, really. Luckily we had a cucumber on hand. Did you know that they prefer those to human blood?"

"I...did not," Aesop shook his head, his eyes comically wide as he watched her devour her scone with such gusto and nonchalance - as if she hadn't nearly recounted yet another story of how she almost died. Someone desperately needed to teach her a sense of self-preservation.

She had many stories like that. Too many, if one were to ask Aesop. Suddenly he ceased thinking that she could have been a good Auror - she would have been blown up within weeks if her recklessness was anything to go by. In hindsight, it added up; no fully sane fifteen-year-old would willingly jump into battle over and over again, even if they had essentially been the sole witch able to save the day. Then again, she wasn't fifteen anymore.

Four weeks after the school year had started, Dinah and Abraham had the wonderfully stupid idea to commemorate (Y/N)'s arrival as a professor officially with a soirée an opportunity for most of them to get drunk off their asses. It was something of a tradition, one that even Aesop couldn't escape when he first started teaching, and Dinah, the absolute menace she was, usually ensured that at least half of the participants would nurse a hangover the next day. The bloody woman could hold her drink; Aesop would give her that much - he doubted (Y/N) could do the same. Sirona was all too happy to open up the small space upstairs of the Three Broomsticks, which teachers usually occupied throughout the school year so awkward encounters could be avoided.

So when the first Saturday of October had rolled around, their newest addition to the staff was all but ambushed and dragged to the Three Broomsticks, and Aesop had to confess that her helpless gaze was worth the tedious walk to the pub.

"What exactly-" "No questions," Dinah interrupted her before shoving a glass of firewhiskey into her small hands. "We are not letting you leave until you are drunk."

"Don't fight tradition," Eleazar grinned slyly at his protegé, "We've all been through this."

"You're evil," she pouted at him, the firewhiskey still in her hands.

"Yes, well," the older man shrugged, "Consider it a debt repaid after all the grey hairs you have caused me over the years."

"Excuse me?!" she gasped, but before she could continue, Dinah barked at her: "Drink up!"

Aesop could only watch with amusement as she nipped on the whiskey with a grimace, coughing as it went down. "It burns," she whined, trying to shove the whiskey back into Dinah's hands, but the former Unspeakable wouldn't have it.

"Get used to it."

It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone really that she was drunk within record time. Aesop, much like Dinah and Eleazar, could hold his drink incredibly well, but it was always entertaining to see the rest of the staff utterly pissed.

Mudiwa and Satyavati were in a spirited discussion about their respective fields, neither wishing to meet the other eye to eye, and Aesop wouldn't have been surprised if the Ugandan native whipped out a crystal ball to smash it on Satyavati's head. Chiyo, Abraham, Matilda and Mirabel, on the other hand, were somewhere between singing and screaming an old drinking song Aesop did not recognise, though it frankly sounded horrible all the same.

"Honestly, Eleazar. I would have expected you to teach her how to hold her drink," Dinah grinned as she pointed at the slumped-over figure in front of the fireplace.

"She can hold her drink," Eleazar countered with a sneer. "You are simply a menace. How many of those did you give her?"

"Oh, not too many," Dinah grinned, taking another swig of her firewhiskey. "Eight, perhaps?"

"Eight?! Are you trying to kill her?!" Aesop chuckled. "Merlin Dinah, even I can tell she's a lightweight."

"She'll live," the woman waved her hand dismissively. "You should take her back to her hut, though."

"Me?!" Aesop asked incredulously, nearly spilling the remains of his drink in surprise. Eleazar had the same bewildered expression on his face, his eyebrow raised in question.

"Yes, you," Dinah rolled her eyes, "You think I miss the looks you two dunderheads share?"

Aesop's heart felt like it was beating out of his chest for a second, his mind completely blank as he took in his friend's words. His face must have given away his utter bewilderment because Dinah only groaned in exasperation. Damn her and her perceptiveness!

"Dinah, I have no idea what you are-" "Oh, quit it!" she interrupted him as fiercely as she had interrupted (Y/N) a while back. "I haven't seen your grumpy arse smile as much as you have during meal times in all my years of knowing you. And the reason for that is seated right next to you."

"She's just a good conversationalist!" Aesop protested, affronted that Dinah would even think he fancied his former student of all people.

"Good conversationalist, my ass," she snorted before shaking her head. "Take her home, Romeo. That's an order. "

Her tone left little to no room for argument (she was insanely good at that), and so Aesop found himself limping and straggling along the darkened path back to Hogwarts, thanking Merlin that no student was wandering about to see a wasted Professor (Y/N) slumped in his arms. She was thankfully rather light, considering that the colder weather was slowly creeping in. Aesop's cursed limp began hurting as it usually did during the winter months, so he was in no position to lift anything heavy.

She was rather close to him, nestled into his chest, though the top of her head just about reached a few inches below his shoulders. Typically, Aesop liked to keep people at arm's length, not one for physical contact, especially with people he hardly knew. But having her in his arms, of all people, was not only comfortable, but he also quickly realised he liked having her there. She was warm and small, fit perfectly into his side, and smelled divine.

He would have expected her to smell like the earth outside, given how much time she spent in Beast pens and caring for them, but instead, she smelled of fresh pastries and the sweetest fruits, a warm and homely scent that made him feel all ways of strange. He hadn't felt this way in a long, long time, but no matter what Dinah may have alluded to - it simply couldn't be.

"You think too much," a small, grumbling voice suddenly pulled him from his thoughts.

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused," she mumbled, pressing herself further into him before falling silent once more.

He thought too much? Aesop wondered what she meant by that. But he enjoyed the remaining walk in silence, understanding that she was far too inebriated to have an actual conversation anyways. She was half-asleep by the time they had reached her hut, so he carefully helped her onto the bed, wondering if he should at least help her take off her boots, but she was asleep before he could ask. So instead, Aesop placed a blanket over her softly snoring form before he limped outside and begrudgingly took the floo flames to the Faculty Tower.

Aesop wasn't surprised when she didn't show up for breakfast the following day, but breakfast did seem a little duller than it usually had been. He kept the affair short before he retreated to his quarters, deciding to catch up on some essays and potion quizzes, which would inevitably frustrate him but putting it off would only mean delaying the inevitable. Some of his students would make brilliant potioneers, but most of them were hopeless cases, unfortunately. Sometime in the early afternoon, a knock pulled him from his frustrating work, and he was surprised to find a sheepish and embarrassed-looking (Y/N) at his doorstep. She looked tired, her face a little more worn than usual, and her hair seemed mildly matted and disorderly, but realistically, she nursed a fat hangover. All things considered, she still looked pretty.

"(Y/N)," he acknowledged with a curt nod.

"I uhm," she shuffled her feet awkwardly, her face downcast and her cheeks adorably red. "I wanted to thank you," she said after a while.

"Thank me?" Aesop raised his eyebrow.

"Yes, uhm," she cleared her throat, raising her face to look back at him. "Thank you for helping me back to my hut. You didn't have to."

"Dinah was remarkably insistent that I do," Aesop blurted out before he could stop himself. A flash of hurt crossed her face, but it was gone within a second, her smile strangely contorted, and Aesop wondered if he had said something wrong.

"Well, either way. You got me back, and that's what matters, I suppose."

The two stood there for a while, staring at each other like fools, before she suddenly jumped and pulled at her satchel. "I made you some biscuits," she rambled, pulling out a small bag that emitted an enticing sugary smell. Aesop wasn't fond of biscuits, but the aroma of these was absolutely mouth-watering, so he gladly accepted. Maybe it was because the smell reminded him of her.

"Would you like to come in?" he offered, stepping aside and inviting her inside his quarters.

"Are you sure that's appropriate?" her tone hesitant as she stood her ground in front of the door.

"Why wouldn't it be?" his tone equal amounts curious and disturbed. Did she think he wanted to dishonour her?

"Nevermind," she shook her head before wordlessly accepting his invitation and stepping inside.

Even if she had been a part of the Wizarding World for nearly half a decade now, the rigorous societal standards she had been raised with for a majority of her life had stuck with her, and if someone from her old life had seen her step into a man's room, unaccompanied, her reputation would have been ruined. She had realised that the Wizarding World was far more relaxed than Muggle London fairly quickly when she had been allowed to be accompanied to Hogsmeade her first week by Sebastian Sallow - an event which never would have taken place without a chaperone in her old home. And whilst the concept of courting and preserving one's honour was the proper way in the Wizarding World as well, one was certainly not watched like a hawk every second of the day until marriage.

His quarters had been just like she remembered them; a little disorderly, muted in colour and sparse in decor. Tons of cauldrons stood against the walls, but his big windows let in ample amounts of sunshine. The smell of firewhiskey and the crackling fire permeated the air, though his unique scent also clung to it. It was comforting but hardly a home. Two leather armchairs stood in front of the fireplace, and his desk looked to be brimming with graded essays.

"Would you like some tea?" Aesop asked her, clearing his throat and effectively pulling her out of her daydreaming and wandering gaze. He usually didn't have guests over, much less pretty female ones.

"Oh yes. That would be lovely," she smiled gratefully. He only motioned for her to sit down as he prepared two cups of steaming Earl Grey, adding a bit of milk to hers (that's how she always drank it).

She thanked him with a bashful smile as he handed her the cup before he eventually sank down in the armchair opposite hers, nursing his own teacup in relative silence before he teasingly asked her: "So how are you feeling?"

"I can't believe you drink that nasty stuff willingly."

"It takes quite a connoisseur to appreciate Firewhiskey," Aesop grinned.

"I think I might prefer the occasional glass of mead," she pulled a face before taking a sip of her tea and sighing in relief. "In any case, I'm not touching alcohol for a good while."

"I didn't expect you to," he chuckled before sighing and stretching his leg. It had started to bother him a little more throughout the afternoon, which was not an unusual occurrence, especially given the events of yesterday. A little massage, his pain relief potion and perhaps even a warm bath and firewhiskey would make it bearable.

"Does it hurt more than usual?" she asked him boldly, her gaze fixated upon his leg as he shifted to find a more comfortable position.

"No," he grit out between his teeth. "This is usual given the weather and circumstances."

"I'm sorry," she meekly offered, her mind wandering off a little.

"I don't need your pity," Aesop spat out in a lapse of judgement, his gaze venomous. She flinched, just barely so, but it was enough for it to tear at his heartstrings and apologise immediately.

"It's alright," she sighed. "I was just...what remedies have you tried? I remember you telling me that you looked in the Hogwarts library, but..."

"That was five years ago," Aesop conceded. "I'm sure I have read every possible book in there by now."

"Perhaps I could ask Poppy to have a look?" (Y/N) offered him. "She is still travelling, and we came across quite a few treatments and fauna that we hadn't previously known..."

"I cannot, in good conscience, ask that of you."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

Aesop thought for a second, but her offer was generous. He was slowly losing hope, as the Hogwarts Library didn't offer a cure, so perhaps it was time to start looking elsewhere.

"That would be very kind," he conceded, his voice stuck in his throat for a second.

Her smile was brighter than the sun itself, and Aesop's heart jumped erratically. It truly was beautiful.

They fell into a routine after that.

As promised, she had written to Poppy as soon as possible, asking her to keep an eye out for strange flora, beast products or books on curses and foreign potions. She had even secretly reached out to Sebastian, who was working as a Curse Breaker and stumbled upon more of them than she and Sharp combined could name; even if he didn't know a counter curse for Sharp's predicament, it was useful to keep tabs on it.

Whenever Poppy sent a small parcel, she would run to Aesop's room or the potions classroom just so she could share what may be a breakthrough in his research. And whilst nothing looked like a cure, the most recent batch of ingredients from East Asia had, at the very least, supplied Aesop with greater pain relief than usual.

"Hō-ō feathers and," she coughed violently, her face twisting in disgust. "Did Poppy send you Mimbulus Mimbletonia? This smells awfully rancid."

"She did indeed," Aesop confirmed, his face passive as he carefully stirred the potion before him. He was immensely grateful that Poppy had made due on her promise to send ingredients their way - ones that were either exceptionally difficult or downright impossible to get in England. That said, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia did smell awful, and it took quite a bit of willpower to not let his disgust show. He was surprised that the lovely woman sat in his potions classroom, just a little to the left of him, recognised the ingredients as quickly as she had, but the more time he spent with her, the more he had to acknowledge that she was smart beyond her years.

"I hated those whenever we came across them," she told him with a smile.

"Yes, well. Let's hope they're useful beyond repelling unsuspecting witches."

"Who said anything about repelling us?" Aesop could feel her smirk before he saw it. "We still wanted to see the Bowtruckles."

"Bowtruckles," Aesop shook his head in exasperation. "Of course."

Aesop was used to brewing on his own, usually secluded in his room, perhaps accompanied by a glass of firewhiskey and a melody from his gramophone. Unfortunately for him, he found that brewing in a certain witches' company was much more engaging, so much so that he began looking forward to spending time with her whenever the week seemed to pass him by a little too slowly for comfort. Most of their free days, however, they spent together in either of their quarters, drinking tea, sometimes playing Wizard's Chess, though usually, they graded their respective papers in comfortable silence. Some days Sharp listened to her stories, and on the very rare occasion, she listened to his.

"So you actually sent people to Azkaban before?" she asked with a shudder, her face a little pale.

"If I recall correctly, it was you who ensured Theophilus Harlow ended up there, too," Aesop countered.

"Technically, that was a group effort," she countered. "Natty was the one who tracked him down. I only duelled him."

"At fifteen?"

"I may have been sixteen. But I am not certain."

Aesop groaned at her carelessness and utter disregard for safety or rules. She was lucky he hadn't been her mentor during her days at the school. Eleazar might have even enabled her antics - he would have locked her up inside the castle walls.

"Either way. What kind of people did you send to Azkaban?"

"Reprobates? Dark Wizards?" Aesop answered her as if that had been the most obvious thing in the entire world.

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes, a teasing smile on her lips.

"Right. One time my partner and I helped cease the operations of an illegal freak show. The woman who ran the whole thing imprisoned and trafficked multiple of her 'curiosities'. Assaulted quite a few herself."

"And she ended up in Azkaban?"

"Yes," Aesop confirmed, "Died there too."

"Ugh," she pulled a sorrowful face, "What an awful place to die. So cold and frightening."

Aesop's eyebrows shot up in question at that.

"And pray tell how do you know what the inside of Azkaban is like?"

"That, my dear Aesop," she grinned at him, "Is a story for another time."

When he found out that Helen Thistlewood had essentially dragged her to Azkaban and she had consequently solved a cold case, he didn't know whether to scream or cry or laugh or perhaps all together. Of course, she fucking had.

The weeks continued like that, and Aesop found that the days he spent with her were days very well spent. His mood usually improved drastically, perhaps to the point where even his students could tell. What was worse, though, was that his colleagues, the nosy little bastards, could tell too. So in hindsight, it likely shouldn't have surprised him when both Dinah and Eleazar suddenly had "endless amounts of essays to grade", and both Aesop and (Y/N) found themselves patrolling the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower on a late November night.

"I have to say, walking these halls after curfew isn't nearly as fun when you're a Professor," (Y/N) broke the silence after a while.

"And how often did you break curfew, Miss (Y/L/N)?"

"I am friends with Sebastian Sallow," she countered, "You take a guess."

"I forgot how much trouble that boy was," Aesop groaned.

Of course, he remembered. Aside from the horrors that used to be Solomon Sallow (who had died under incredibly conspicuous circumstances a few years back), his nephew had been quite the pain in Aesop's arse too. Sebastian and Anne Sallow were both exceedingly mischievous, pulling many (albeit harmless) pranks on their fellow students, breaking curfew, and Aesop had to brew hair regrowth potion on more than one occasion after they had illegally attempted fire spells on their own. The shenanigans did not stop after Miss Sallow had been cursed; if anything, they had continued with newfound vigour, and Sebastian was routinely caught in the Restricted Section. He had calmed down a little when (Y/N) had come to the school, and his sour mood had improved significantly. At one point, Aesop had thought that the two were courting, but the lovely woman next to him quickly assured him that there had never been any such feelings between them. It seemed like she simply had that effect on people.

"Oh, come on!" she whined cutely. "Don't tell me you've never broken curfew."

"Me? Never. I was the very picture of orderly conduct at Hogwarts."

The witch next to him only snorted. "I find that hard to believe."

"And you would be correct," Aesop jested, a wolfish grin on his face. He had broken countless rules during his time (though certainly not as many as she had), but unlike the Sallow boy, he had been smart enough to not get caught. At least not as frequently.

"I kne-" her words were cut off as she suddenly slipped at the top of the stairs, her feet just a little too close to the edge.

Aesop hastily steadied himself, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her into him ignoring her cries of surprise. She held onto the lapel of his coat, staring into his dark brown eyes with her wide ones, her cheeks suddenly a little more rosy as they tumbled a little. Aesop's eyes traced over her face, from the long lashes to the soft curve of her slightly open lips. His treacherous heart sped up the more he got lost in her captivating eyes, the very window to her soul, and all he wanted to do was dive in. Suddenly having her close didn't seem like it was enough - he wanted to be absorbed in her cosmos until he had unravelled each and every mystery it held, but before he could, his mind kicked into overdrive, and he pulled her away from the ledge.

"Are you alright?" he questioned breathlessly.

"Yes," she nearly squeaked, abruptly removing her hands as if he had burned her, avoiding his gaze as she took a steadying breath. "I'm fine."

He wanted, needed, to say something else. To reach out to her and pull her back into his arms, but before he could, she turned away to resume their nightly patrol, refusing to meet his eye again.

Things were oddly different after that night - and Aesop did not know why.

It was downright infuriating, especially since she liked to act as if nothing was amiss, but did she genuinely think she could fool a former Auror, of all people? Aesop might have left the field a decade ago, but he, all puns intended, was as sharp as ever.

She still sat beside him during meal times, but her stories became less and less until they eventually ceased altogether.

She still came to his quarters, though the visits became scarce until she muttered a pitiful excuse of "lots of grading to do" as if they hadn't done that together over the course of the term. And if ever he turned up on her doorstep, she usually had an excuse too or ensured their time together was as brief as possible.

And while she still kept bringing him the exotic ingredients Poppy sent her way, she typically delivered them by owl, which riled Aesop up so much that he hadn't even wanted to try and brew any possible cure in quite some time.

And worst of all? He didn't even understand why her sudden indifference suddenly infuriated him so much. She was a good friend - yes a very good one indeed. She was an exceptional conversationalist - also, yes. And she was breathtakingly beauti - Aesop stopped himself in an instant. Absolutely not.

He sighed in frustration, ignoring the curious stares of his fourth-year students as they, per usual, royally fucked up another potion. He didn't even recall what he had them brew, his mind a little too occupied with something - or rather someone - else. It was a loud 'BANG' that suddenly drew him from his thoughts, a colourful explosion from the back of the classroom that shone in a cacophony of various shades entering his field of vision. A sheepish Elizabeth Larson, younger sister of Andrew Larson and what Aesop wholeheartedly believed to be Garreth Weasley's spiritual successor, stood right next to the exploded cauldron, a tactless grin on her face as she ignored the dregs of whatever potion she had 'creatively enhanced' at her feet. She wasn't sorry; students like Garreth and her never were. If anything, they were only sorry that their concoction had failed and they had been caught. Furiously, Aesop rose to his feet, his leg aggravated and his mood so sour a lemon likely would have been sweet. The mess had been cleared up with a quick wave of his wand, but his fury hadn't dissipated in the slightest.

"Miss Larson," Aesop barked angrily as he stalked towards the back of the room, his glare pointed enough to explode another cauldron if he tried. "This is the seventh time you have acted outside of instruction. One would think your boneheadedness knows some bounds, but clearly, it does not." His tone was unusually cruel, the surprise of which evident on Elizabeth Larson's face as, while he was stern, he never insulted his students. "Fifty points from Gryffindor, and I want to see you for detention every day the following week!"

"But Sir, I-" the poor girl tried to protest feebly, her voice small, and if Aesop hadn't been as angry as he had been, he likely would've seen actual regret and tears in her eyes.

"No. I am done with your infantile deeds, Miss Larson. Either you learn to respect this class and its rules, or you can expect to not make the roster for any year after next year." He was positively seething.

"Yes, Sir," she dejectedly nodded, her shoulders slumped and gaze downcast.

Aesop huffed, turning to the rest of the class, ready to dismiss them early, as he frankly did not have the resilience to endure much longer. "Uh, Sir?" a meek voice spoke into the otherwise deadly silent classroom.

"Yes, Mister Finnigan?" Aesop grunted.

"It's Christmas next week. We don't uhm...have school."

It's Christmas next week... Aesop grit his teeth as he took the boy's word in, clearly an attempt to get Miss Larson out of detention. Great, so he had teenage lovers in this class? Nobody would have been stupid enough to stand up to him otherwise.

"Then Miss Larson will serve her detention after the New Year. Now, I want your potions labelled on my desk within five minutes. And then get out of my classroom."

None of them needed any further instruction, hurriedly finishing up whatever work they had left to do before they all but fled the dungeons, Miss Larson surrounded by her friends in an effort to comfort. At least that's what Aesop supposed.

It's Christmas next week, the words repeated in Aesop's head as he cleaned up the classroom, thankful that the day was finally over and he wouldn't have to deal with the imbeciles he calls his students until the morrow. He perked up when he thought of it again. It's Christmas next week.

Of course! Between classes to be held, essays and tests to be graded and an infuriatingly witchy problem, Aesop had all but forgotten the festivities that rapidly approached them, but suddenly, they seemed to be the answer to his very problem. If she was angry with him, perhaps a gift could put him back into her good graces and even if she wasn't, giving her a gift seemed like a perfect opportunity to have her talk to him again.

Finding a gift, however, seemed to be just as infuriating as she was.

It was the day before Christmas, and Aesop still hadn't figured out the perfect gift to give her. Books, even if she enjoyed them greatly, seemed boring and downright unoriginal. Household items were pretentious, and he felt as if he was overstepping multiple boundaries by even thinking about it. And whilst he would have loved to have gotten her Jewellery, given that she recently rehabilitated a Niffler, he threw that option off the Astronomy tower. So what exactly was he supposed to get a witch that could end the world with her powers and one he had utterly fallen in love with? Asking her was out of the question, but he was slowly running out of time. Businesses would be closing sooner tomorrow and not open at all on the 25th, and his options were dwindling, none of them good enough for someone as exceptional as her. Aesop hated asking for help, but in fear of making an even bigger fool of himself, he trudged down the stairs of the Faculty Tower, striding up to the door of the one place where he might just acquire an answer.

"Aesop?" the surprise in Eleazar's voice was evident. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Good morning, Eleazar," Aesop cleared his throat, already regretting his decision to come. "I... require your help with a...rather delicate matter."

"Oh?" This was most unusual for him. Eleazar and Aesop rarely interacted on the basis of their job alone, though they did strike up friendly conversation when time allowed it. And, as Aesop painfully remembers, the man had asked for his help years ago when (Y/N) had battled an entire goblin rebellion on her own, and he had dismissed the idea of Ranrok working with Rookwood as 'inconceivable'. He wondered if he could've eased the weight on her shoulders if only he had listened.

"Would you like to come in?" Eleazar offered, stepping aside as he recognised the ex-Auror's discomfort at discussing whatever he needed to discuss out in the open. Aesop only nodded curtly, stepping inside the disorderly room littered with a million books, effectively turning it into more of a library than a personal home.

"So," the older man joined his hands in front of him. "What can I do for you, Aesop?"

"I need to purchase a present," he pressed out. "For (Y/N)."

Eleazar raised his eyebrow, taking in the usually stern Potions Master standing before him. But this man wasn't stern, nor was he anything like he usually had been. No, this man resembled a lovesick teenager, ashamed to ask a parent for advice no matter how innocent and if Aesop had blushed, it wouldn't have surprised Eleazar.

"For (Y/N)?" he repeated slowly, carefully gauging Aesop's reaction.

"Yes," the man confirmed, clearing his throat.

"It is Christmas tomorrow, and I wish to get her something nice. I thought since you knew her best, perhaps you could... offer some advice."

Merlin's Beard, Dinah had been correct. Eleazar could not believe it. He was wholeheartedly gobsmacked. Aesop Sharp was in love with his former protégé slash adopted daughter. He had already been curious when Dinah had insisted that Aesop be the one to take her home the night of her inaugural celebration, but even more so when the woman had insisted that both he and her forfeit their nightly patrol with some lame excuse so that (Y/N) and Aesop would have to do it instead. He had frankly laughed when Dinah explained that she was doing it because she couldn't stand the pining between the two 'oblivious fools' but Merlin - when (Y/N) and he shared tea just shortly after, and the girl had blushed like a madwoman when Eleazar teased her by revealing Dinah's plans he realised that the astute Professor had certainly been right about one thing; that (Y/N) was in love.

But to know Aesop was too? Brilliant.

"Of course," Eleazar repressed a chuckle, though he couldn't stop a sly grin forming on his face. "She is exceptionally fond of ballet. She used to see performances all the time, when she was a child in London."

Ballet? Aesop thought, surprised. Wherever would he get something related to a Muggle art form? Clenching his teeth, he found his answer quite quickly: Muggle London.

"Thank you," he breathed out between clenched teeth.

"Anytime," Eleazar chuckled as Aesop swiftly exited his quarters before he rushed to tell Dinah that she was correct once again.

Off to Muggle London, he went.

Aesop positively hated the Muggle parts of London. Not because he hated Muggles, Merlin he couldn't care less about them if he tried, but because the streets were too crowded and dirty and the Muggles stared at him no matter how well disguised and because it all smelled utterly rotten. In all honesty, perhaps it was London that he hated, even if the wizarding parts of it were a little less seedy than the rest. Years ago, when he was a young Auror, he loved the hustle and bustle of the city, gallivanting around like he owned the place with a stunning woman (though not as lovely as (Y/N), his ex-fiancé, on his arm, but those days had long passed, and he preferred the quiet countryside and the fresh air and spending time with her.

He wasn't even entirely certain what exactly he was looking for, but it couldn't be that difficult to find something related to ballet. Perhaps tickets for a performance? Though most pureblood families ensured to stay away from Muggles as best as they could, they did enjoy Muggle arts on occasion; both Ballet and Opera performances were frequented by even the most extremist of pureblood families, and Aesop used to enjoy the odd art exhibition in his days. He hadn't ever been to a ballet performance in particular, but he could endure, especially if it had been for her.

He decided on tickets for a premiere, Swan Lake, or whatever it had been called. Apparently, the ballet had been all the rage in Russia, and a company was bringing it to England for the very first time. He could be certain that his lovely colleague hadn't seen it, and the image of pure joy he had conjured in his mind was worth the insane galleon he had spent on them.

His step was considerably lighter and jovial when he made the trek towards her hut on Christmas morning, hoping, wishing that she would love her present and all would be well again. She looked surprised to see him, with a smile on his face nonetheless.

"Aesop? What are you doing here?"

"It's Christmas, isn't it?" he grinned, excited for the first time in his life to give a present. "I wanted to give you a present."

"You got me a present?" she suddenly sounded excited, her eyes lighting up in almost childlike wonder. His heart jumped as he watched a smile light up her entire face, dazzlingly bright and beautiful and so very her. However had he survived hardly seeing it over these past few weeks? He needed, craved, more.

"Of course," Aesop cleared his throat, suppressing any potentially inappropriate thoughts. He couldn't allow himself to feel it. "We're friends, aren't we?"

He missed the brief flash of hurt that swept across her face, accepting her silent invitation to join her inside before he was enveloped in the homely scent that brought him back to his childhood. Her home had been decorated with tinsel, and ivy leaves sewn onto strips of ribbon, some odd mistletoes hung around, and a wreath had been placed on the table. It smelled oddly reminiscent of speculoos and oranges, the sweet notes of honey and cinnamon biscuits hanging in the air, so very unlike his room back at the castle. The fire was crackling away, and the room was comfortably warm, so Aesop took the liberty of removing his coat and placing it onto one of her mismatched chairs, but not before he pulled a small, golden box from its pockets.

"I might have outdone myself," he grinned, holing out the present like a little boy.

"Think that highly of your present-giving skills, do you?" she jabbed back, accepting the box from his hands with a grateful smile. She was curious, to say the least. Aesop didn't seem like the gift-giving type in her eyes. Admittedly, she hadn't even expected one in the first place, not after she had all but avoided his presence to the best of her abilities ever since that fateful November night.

"I'm excellent at many things." "I'm sure you are."

They smiled at each other before the woman in front of him redirected her attention to the box in her hands as she carefully slid it open, revealing a glittering, crystal Swan ornament.

"Godric's heart," she gasped as she pulled it out, observing the way it shimmered and glittered in the morning light, its reflections casting various shapes across the room. "It's beautiful, Aesop."

"I'm glad you like it," he grinned. "But it's only a part of your present."

She looked at him with surprise, her mouth slightly open, and he wanted to kiss he wanted to laugh as he picked up on the evident bewilderment in her eyes. "This isn't my present?"

"Not exactly. I..." Suddenly he was nervous, wondering if he had picked the right thing. What if she didn't wish to be seen with him in public, especially outside school, and clearly unrelated to work? She had been avoiding him, after all, no matter what she tried to make him believe.

No going back now...

"I got us tickets for Swan Lake. In London."

The astonishment on her face was comical. If there had to be an illustration of the expression "the jaw was on the floor", Aesop was sure that this would have been it. She didn't say anything for a while, only looking at him with her wide eyes, not even blinking.

"That's..." (Y/N) cleared her throat. "That's too much, Aesop. I can't accept it."

"Bollocks," he dismissed her. "You love ballet, don't you?"

"I...I do," she conceded, though her brow furrowed. She hadn't ever told him that, had she? "I must confess I wonder why you, of all people, know about this."

"I have my ways," he tried to dismiss her, apprehensive at the prospect of her finding out that he had asked Eleazar for advice. Unfortunately for him, though, the witch was keenly astute and analytical.

"Eleazar told you, didn't he?" she concluded after a few seconds, horrified when he nodded. Eleazar knew her exceptionally well; he was like her father, for Merlin's sake. So even when she had told him that Aesop was 'just a friend', he didn't even try to suppress his laugh, evidently not believing a word she said. She had only hoped that the older man hadn't alluded to anything because Aesop could never know that she had irrevocably fallen in love with him.

"Thank you, Aesop. Truly. This is the best present I have ever received," she earnestly told him, quickly covering up her embarrassment. "I admit, my gifts truthfully don't compare to this, but..."

She only sighed, deciding to simply get it over with. She didn't recognise the excitement on Aesop's face. She had gotten him something too?

Swiftly she summoned two boxes from their hiding place across the room, offering him the first one with an ashamed smile. "I'm afraid it's no Swan Lake, but..."

"I don't want Swan Lake," Aesop quickly interjected, opening the green box. "I want – a blanket?"

"It's a scarf," she quickly corrected him, her cheeks flushed.

"A scarf," he mumbled, pulling the soft maroon fabric from the box. It was the most delicate material Aesop had ever felt, luxurious too, even if the pattern was slightly off and the edges seemed slightly frayed. He wrapped it around his neck, catching a whiff of that same homely scent that made his heart grow fonder.

"I made it myself," she nervously admitted, gauging his reaction though his face was fairly impassive. "I haven't made one in a while, but it's been a tradition in my family to always give two gifts; one that is handmade and one that is bought and usually a necessity."

"Thank you," he breathed out, enjoying the comforting feel of the fabric around his neck.

"It's no Swan Lake –" "–I don't want Swan Lake," he interrupted her again, his voice a little rougher than he wished to. "I want this scarf."

And he did. It was perfect, especially because it had been made by her delicate hands, and he never wanted to take it off again. How could she think that he would hate this?!

"Right," she mumbled before handing him a second box. "I hope you like this just as much."

The second box was also green, though slightly larger than the box with the scarf and Aesop was intrigued, if admittedly a little guilty that she had gotten him two presents in place of only one. He opened the box to reveal –

"Charcoal?" he had already been confused at the scarf, but why on earth would she give him charcoal? He watched as she nervously wrung her hands before her, avoiding his gaze as she had done all those weeks, a bright flush on her cheeks.

"I –," she audibly gulped, clearly afraid of his reaction. "I may have snuck into your room in fifth year and found your... art room."

Whatever explanation he had expected, it certainly wouldn't have been this. He should have been furious, and if she had been a student, he likely would have taken so many house points from her that her house wouldn't have recovered for years to come. Instead, he laughed.

Of course, she had snuck into his room. Of course, she had found his art room. Of course, she remembered it.

What a devious little thing she was.

The winter break passed in a calm manner, and Aesop was utterly content.

While (Y/N) still seemed somewhat reclusive, she didn't avoid his presence - a win in Aesop's mind. They had tea together again, and she had even assisted him in brewing yet another potion, even if that one hadn't helped to any greater extent. His mood had improved drastically, so much that he even apologised to Miss Larson for his harsh tone in the new year and cut her detention time short (though not forfeit it altogether). The girl was confused but obviously didn't question it any further, quite happy that she only had to spend two nights in detention instead of five.

If his colleagues noticed his new and improved mood, they at least had the decency not to comment on it, even if he caught Dinah and Eleazar throwing him and (Y/N) conspicuous glances every once in a while when they believed he wouldn't notice. He was in far too good of a mood to comment on it, not even irked by it in the slightest.

The day before their planned 'excursion' outside the palace walls, a Saturday, Aesop walked into breakfast a little later than usual, his sleep unusually restful. His favourite colleague was already seated at the table, animatedly chatting with Matilda as they finished up their breakfast.

"Mornin'," Aesop mumbled as he sat down next to (Y/N), grabbing the teapot and helping himself to a cup of Earl Grey.

"I still don't know how you can drink Earl Grey without sugar or milk," the young woman beside him grimaced. She typically had her tea with both, the brew always a perfectly creamy colour that was far too much milk for Aesop's liking.

"I can't understand how you can essentially drink sweetened milk," he jabbed back, grabbing a bread roll and putting some eggs and sausages on his plate.

"It's not sweetened milk," she pouted.

"Well, it's certainly not tea."

Matilda snorted as she watched the two of them interact, slowly starting to understand what Dinah and Eleazar had reported to be seeing. It was no secret among the staff that Aesop had a... soft spot for their newest colleague (if his much-improved mood had been anything to go by), nor had it been a secret that the two of them spent a great deal of time together outside of the necessary interactions. But as the two looked into each other's eyes, the very picture of devotion and adoration, she realised they were obtusely pining for each other. Merlin, if this really was the state of things, Matilda might join Eleazar and Dinah in their efforts.

"Something funny, Matilda?" Aesop asked her with a raised brow.

"Oh no," the Transfiguration teacher shook her head, sipping on her tea. "Nothing funny at all."

"Right," he grumbled, clearly unimpressed, before he continued his breakfast.

"Well, then," (Y/N) smiled, pushing back her chair and standing up. It was then that Aesop noticed that she looked...different. Her usually simple dress had been traded in for a much nicer one. It was moss green, lined with fur to keep her warm from the icy temperatures outside and had some intricate gold stitching that almost shimmered in the sunlight. "I still have to collect my coat. I'll see you tonight, Matilda."

"Oh, do tell Garreth I said hello."

Aesop nearly spat out his drink. Garreth? As in Garreth Weasley? The ultimate headache of a boy, the same young man whose existence had tortured Aesop for seven bloody years? Why on earth would she –

"Will do, Matilda," she singsonged before skipping outside the Great Hall, and Aesop was left with a million questions in his head. Matilda watched as Aesop's jaw was unnaturally clenched, his eggs picked up with strange aggression that hadn't been there before. Surely Garreth's name couldn't have riled him up that much?

"They're having a small reunion in the Three Broomsticks," Matilda spoke into the tense silence. "I heard Mr Sallow, Mr Thakkar, Miss Reyes and some others would be attending too."

"And that is of interest to me how?"

"You tell me," Matilda winked, chuckling as she watched the Potions Master hastily swallow the last of his breakfast before he excused himself to 'do some brewing', limping out of the Great Hall.

"I don't think I've ever seen Aesop being so obvious about his feelings," someone chuckled to the right of her. Matilda looked over to see a grinning Abraham looking at her.

"It is strange to see; I won't lie," Matilda nodded. "Quite the unlikely pairing too."

"The girl was a Hero at fifteen and has ensured that entire poaching operations have ceased in the Highlands," Abraham reminded her with a chuckle. "Just because she is less grumpy than him, I wouldn't write them off. After all, opposites do attract, no?"

"I suppose you are correct," the Transfiguration teacher agreed. "The question is, how exactly do we make them see it? It seems everyone, but them knows."

"Which I told you months ago, you bloody lot," Dinah jumped in from next to Abraham. "Merlin knows Eleazar, and I have tried to talk sense into them. He is too thick-headed to make the first move; that much is certain."

"I would not worry," a final voice joined them, the ever-elusive Mudiwa Onai looking at them with twinkling eyes. "I could see that their future together would be quite...fruitful."

(Y/N), unaware of her coworkers conspiring against her and blissfully unaware of the Potions Master she had left completely riled up, was rather looking forward to seeing her old classmates again. Even if she had spent significantly less time with them than she might have liked, largely because of her late arrival and fifth-year 'extracurriculars', many of them had become close friends of hers, and she kept in contact with most of them. Poppy, unfortunately, would not be able to make it, as she was somewhere in the Amazonas researching yet another creature, but she looked forward to seeing her during the summer. She hadn't seen most of them in quite some time, though letters between them were still largely regular.

The Three Broomsticks was as warm and inviting as ever, the establishment always having been a place of comfort and safety, especially after Sirona had fearlessly stood up against Victor Rookwod and Theophilus Harlow as they had tried to kidnap her for Ranrok and his plans. Natty was the first to spot her old friend, having them over enthusiastically. Quite a few of them had shown up; Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes and Nelly Oggspire, Nerida Roberts, Amit Thakkar, Ominis, hell, even Everett Clopton and Leander Prewett had made time to come with their wives, simply to get together again. The large group chatted animatedly, exchanging stories about their careers and lives.

Unsurprisingly, Garreth had started an apprenticeship under a potioneer in London, whereas Imelda and Nelly were both on the Puddlemere United Team, happily courting and enjoying life, whereas Nerida had realised her dream of becoming a Liasion for the Mermaids ("I even learned how to swim!"). Amit had relocated to India for a while, researching the stars on behalf of the Ministry and Everett Clopton and Leander Prewett both had somewhat stable careers at the Ministry. Ominis, on the other hand, had become an apprentice at a French Wandmaker's shop, fully distancing himself from his family and all that the Gaunt name entailed. And Natty, ever the Gryffindor, was slowly but surely working her way up in the Auror Office (much to her mother's chagrin). The final one, who had yet to join the group, was fashionably late and none other than Sebastian Sallow himself.

The Curse Breaker in question walked in around lunchtime, and they were all more than surprised when he was accompanied by a woman their age, clearly pregnant, and beaming smiles on their faces.

"Sorry, everyone," the man sheepishly excused himself, arm wrapped around the woman's middle with his large hands. "I returned from Romania last night, and the Ministry wanted me to drop off some reports. Took a little longer than expected." "Yeah, yeah, blah blah," Garreth waved him off, "Now who is that?"

Garreth asked the question everyone had been dying to know, and (Y/N) eyed the woman beside her close friend with curious but kind eyes. She was definitely around their age, quite petite and pale, her long ginger hair in an intricate braid, with a few pieces framing her oval, freckled face and strikingly blue eyes. She blushed as the attention diverted to her, though her smile was still beaming.

"This is Megan," Sebastian introduced them with a bright smile. "My wife."

"WIFE?!"

The reaction was immediate, the group gaping at the apparently married couple in front of them, waiting to hear just about any explanation for... well. Megan, apparently, was a witch from Ireland who had eventually attended Illvermorny as her father was relocated from the British Ministry of Magic to the MACUSA, and the two had met on one of Sebastian's curse-breaking expeditions. Sebastian, the ever-rational man he was, married her rather quickly and privately before he whisked her back to England and settled down with her in the Cotswolds. To say that especially Ominis and (Y/N) were affronted that their friend hadn't even mentioned his wife, let alone the fact that he was going to be a father soon, in any of his letters was the understatement of the year, but Sebastian placated them with some Firewhiskey and a heartfelt apology, explaining that he wanted Megan to get settled before bombarding her with the 'bloody lot they were'.

Megan was lovely, (Y/N) had to admit. A little shy, perhaps, but lovely nonetheless, and she had a great snark about her as she continued to open up to the group and the antics throughout the day. They laughed and ate, having far too much fun and far too little time before a majority of them were drunk off their asses and started to dance in their corner of the pub, absorbed in their own world and free of their adult responsibilities for just one day.

It was perhaps exactly why any of them failed to notice their old Potions Professor walking into the Three Broomsticks after the man had begrudgingly spent the afternoon brewing some odd potions before he realised that he was all out of Bicorn horn, thus needing to venture into Hogsmeade to order some from Pippin. Aesop hadn't planned his short foray into the village, so when he spontaneously decided to walk into the Three Broomsticks to drink a firewhiskey, he hadn't expected to see (Y/N) in the arms of Garreth fucking Weasley, happily dancing to some music and looking the very picture of beauty and grace.

It shouldn't have bothered him. It shouldn't have bothered him at all, but when he saw her so beautiful in the arms of another, all he could see was red as his heart audibly shattered inside his chest, his lungs constricting as he watched her do something he could never give her. He quickly retreated from the Three Broomsticks, not even bothering to order a Firewhiskey. Instead, he chose to hole himself up in his room, getting drunk there instead as he moped around.

Why was he even bothered? She didn't owe him anything, certainly not a dance or physical affection. She was a friend, a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less. It shouldn't have hurt to see her in the arms of someone else, even if that person had been Garreth Weasley, of all people. He should have been happy for her - she did say she wanted a family, children, and someone her age could certainly give her that. He was just an old, grumpy, crippled failure of a man, his best years long gone. It shouldn't have bothered him, but the more he thought about it, the more it did.

Fuck, he realised startingly as he downed his third glass of firewhiskey. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It bothered him because he cared.

Because – Aesop could hardly bring himself to think it – because he was stupidly, irrevocably, utterly and wholly in love with her.

Aesop wasn't sure how many he had to drink by the time a knock sounded on his door. He cursed his own tolerance, not nearly drunk enough to forget what he had just barely been able to admit to himself. If anything, he might have been slightly buzzed. The only person that would ever come knocking on his door, he realised, was the one person he very much wanted to avoid right now. Before he could call out a 'No', the doors opened, and she walked right in, a tray filled with his favourite foods in her hand and that damningly beautiful smile on her smile. Why in Salazar's name was she so ethereal?

"I didn't see you at dinner and got worried. So I asked the house-elf's for some of your favourites, and they were kind enough to prepare them."

Aesop's dark eyes swept over the tray, spotting roast beef, his favourite vegetables, a cornish pie and even some sticky toffee pudding. It was perfect, and it only infuriated him more. Couldn't she have ignored him? Or at least treat him unkindly? That would have helped his feelings much more than being cared for by the one person who shouldn't.

"Thanks," he hissed lowly, downing yet another firewhiskey. "Can you just leave it here?"

Her smile vanished, regarding him, with a concerned look on her face.

Why on earth did she have to wear her heart on her sleeve?! Why did she have to show him she cared about him?!

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." No – he definitely wasn't.

"You don't look like you're alright," she pushed on, carefully placing the tray on his table and walking towards him.

"I'm fine," he pressed out, glaring her way, but she didn't even flinch. "Can you please go?"

"Now I know you're not alright," she smiled, "You've never asked me to leave."

"Well, now I do," he snapped, unwilling to deal with it any longer.

"Have I done something to upset you?"

Yes. "No," he sighed dejectedly. It wasn't her fault, not really.

"Right," she drew out, clearly not believing him but choosing to save him from further mortification. An uncomfortable silence hung over them, Aesop just wishing that she would finally leave. Eventually, she sighed, turning around to leave his room and leave him alone, but not until she turned around one last time and smiled again.

"I can't wait for Swan Lake tomorrow."

Fuck, he thought once more. Swan Lake would be utter torture. With that, she left.

Aesop hadn't dreaded anything for a while now, but when he stood in front of her hut the next day, late in the afternoon, dressed in his best suit, he dreaded every second that would follow. He just had to get through this, he reminded himself. Just this, and he could be the one to avoid her. He was the one who gifted her this in the first place, and so he would have to endure it. Unfortunately, though, he hadn't expected her to look as good as she did. When she opened the door, with her big smile and bright eyes, Aesop wished that Scarborough had killed him. This was pure torture. She looked delectable and absolutely ethereal. Her dress was a silky pink colour with an almost scandalously low neckline (Merlin, was she trying to kill him?!), appropriately trimmed with gold stitching, soft lace around the shoulders and arms and a white ermine cape around her shoulders. Her hair was up and out from her face, curled and pinned to perfection, making her eyes shine even more than usual.

Well, this is going to be a problem, isn't it?

"You look bewitchingly beautiful," Aesop whispered, relishing in the blush that rose on her cheeks. At least he could tease her a little, too - he wasn't sure if he could survive this otherwise.

"You don't look so shabby yourself," she cleared her throat, swiftly joining him outside. Like a true gentleman, he offered her his arm, walking the short distance to the outside of the ground before he apparated them into a secluded alleyway in London, only a short distance from the Opera House. He hadn't held her this close since the night at the Three Broomsticks, but the warmth she emitted and the scent she carried both comforted and strangled him. She was oh so close, yet not close enough. He could only fondly smile at her when she entered the place like an excited child faced with all the candy they could ever want.

"Oh, I haven't been here forever. It's still as beautiful as I remember!"

Aesop wouldn't lie; the place was thoroughly impressive. The high ceilings shone under the million candles and crystals, illuminating the site in a comforting way. The high arches and intricate design gave the place a neo-classical feel, and it was bustling with Muggles of various ages, though, as swiftly became clear to him, most of them were likely obscenely rich. Thankfully, they hardly paid him and the beautiful woman on his arm any mind, a rarity and a crime in Aesop's mind, for he couldn't stop staring at her.

"Do you think that –"

"(Y/N)?!" a shocked voice sounded from behind them. He watched as the woman on his arm visibly paled, almost shaking in his hold as she turned around and faced the man that had spoken to her. Aesop turned around, too, wondering what could make the literal Hero of Hogwarts, a woman with world-ending ancient magic, so frightened. They came to face with an elderly man, possibly around Eleazar's age, and a slightly younger woman. The closer Aesop looked at her, the sooner he spotted it; she had her eyes, her nose, her lips, hell, even her hair, though the other woman's was visibly fading into white. Her parents, Aesop thought, surprised. What were the odds?

"(Y/N) is that truly you?" the man asked, stepping closer, and Aesop felt the need to take a small step forward, effectively shielding her from their gazes.

"Evening, Father," she mumbled, and Aesop loathed how demure she sounded. Was she an innocent and sweet woman? Yes. Demure? No. She was a fighter who didn't back down against various beasts, poachers, and goblins. And this man was scaring her? Not on Aesop's watch.

"You look well," she added after a while, though it sounded awfully strange and forced. Her mother at least had the decency to look ashamed, and Aesop could name a thousand reasons why as he glared at them. Her father, however, had flickered his gaze over to Aesop and was regarding him with newfound interest. He knew that her parents were wealthy, but the people in front of him were nothing short of gaudy, pompous and carried a sneer as arrogant as the one on Black's face. These people had raised her? His lovely woman that emitted so much warmth and comfort that it could kill several Dementors?

"Thank you," her father said after a few seconds, though his eyes were firmly trained on Aesop – and his gigantic scar. "You have grown up beautifully."

Aesop had never wanted to strangle someone as badly as this man. The sheer audacity. Was he right? Absolutely. Did he have the right? Absolutely not.

"And who is this, might I ask?"

She tensed beside him, and Aesop wondered why for a second before he remembered one of their earliest conversations. If her parents hadn't approved of a co-educational school, they surely wouldn't have approved of her spending time with a man she was not married to.

"He's my –" "I'm her husband," Aesop interjected, eyebrow raised as he regarded the people before him with as much of a sneer as he could muster. Fight fire with fire, Aesop thought deviously.

"Husband?" her mother suddenly spoke up, a look of surprise on her face.

"Is there a problem?" Aesop asked, his tone menacing. It didn't impress her father one bit.

"So you actually managed to find a decent husband?" he sneered, looking back at his daughter for a fleeting second before returning his attention to Aesop. "Consider me surprised that a man would marry a dishonoured woman. Though perhaps the market was too slim for a cripple."

"Father!" "Listen here, Mr. (Y/L/N)," Aesop growled as he stepped as close to the man as he possibly could, not wanting to cause a ruckus among all of these people. "I will not have you question my wife's honour. She is a Hero in our world, did you know that? Of course, you didn't because your arrogant, pompous ass was too vain to ever reach out to her. I cannot even begin to fathom how someone like you raised someone as wonderful as her. She nearly lost her life as she successfully stopped people so evil they would make your skin crawl from ruining our world. That said," his glare was intense enough to burn the man, "my wife's honour was perfectly intact. You wish to know why? Because our school ensures any untoward things do not happen. You could have known that before you left her for the gallows. Now, you will leave us be. And if I hear of any attempts to reach her, I will personally ensure you will burn in hell. This cripple," Aesop spat the word angrily, "knows how to make it look like an accident."

He pulled (Y/N) away without so much as a second thought, grabbing her arm and walking as fast as his damned leg would allow, hoping that her parents were seated far away from them.

"Aesop?" his company meekly asked him as they had settled in their box. He was still heaving, his breaths coming out a little erratic as he fought the primal urge to turn around and kill a certain someone. When he finally turned to face her, he looked into her watery (Y/E/C) eyes, relieved to at least see a small smile on her lips. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully.

"Any time."

The ballet was beautiful, possibly the closest thing Aesop had ever seen to magic in the muggle world; the delicate nature of the dancers and the way they were seemingly carried by the music was enchanting. He could see why she loved it as much as he did. The greatest thing, though, was catching her smile. It was so bright and wide, and Aesop couldn't get enough. This was worth every galleon, and he would've emptied his and his family's vault to just get a single glimpse of it again.

Her father's sperm donor's words continued to run in Aesop's mind as the two of them wordlessly made their way back, apparating and then walking the remaining distance to her hut. She, utterly content and smiling; him, revisiting what the poor excuse of a man had said to his own child nonetheless. He was correct about him; Aesop was but an old cripple, undeserving of someone like her. In some way, Aesop had accepted that he might never be whole, that his best years had long passed and that he was meant to be confined to Bachelorhood for the rest of his days. But when the woman of his dreams stood close to him, so near yet far beyond his reach, all he wished for was to be whole again.

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" she offered as they reached her hut.

"Yes," Aesop answered without a second thought. This night was bound to end soon enough. He could be selfish for just a few more minutes, relishing in her company, before he would have to ban her from his life.

She beamed at him, the same smile that made his heart skip several beats and that had him wish he could up and kiss her. The smile that was his undoing. Her cabin was as cosy as he remembered, the same smell of fresh pastries and freshly pressed linen and something uniquely her permeating the air and enveloping him in what felt like a suffocating hug. He sat in one of her comfortable armchairs, watching as she waved her wand, her gramophone quietly filling the space with a tune Aesop didn't recognise, her kettle slowly bubbling away on her stove.

"I want to apologise," she spoke into the silence after a while, still next to her stove as she waited for the water to boil.

"Whatever for?" Aesop asked.

"My...father," she sighed.

"Well, forgive me for being forward, but it is hardly your fault that your 'father' is a raging piece of shit."

He watched as she let out a single laugh that sounded more like a scoff than anything else. "No, it is not, but that doesn't mean I don't feel sorry for what he's said to you in particular."

"Don't be," Aesop grumbled as he averted his gaze, hoping to end the conversation right there. He didn't want her pity - that would be far worse than her rejection. "He wasn't entirely wrong."

"But he was!" Her ferocious tone surprised him, his eyes finding hers and seeing pure, unadulterated rage in them.

"I am a cripple," Aesop slowly corrected her. "And I am well above your years."

"You are not a cripple, Aesop Sharp," she seethed at him, further surprising him. "And you are not old. Have you any idea what kind of man my father had me betrothed to? He was fifty when I was thirteen, and the betrothal was finalised."

Aesop clenched his hands into fists at her revelation, wishing to seek out her father to beat sense into him.

"Simply because the man you were supposed to marry was even older than I was does not mean I am not old nor a cripple," Aesop pressed forth, wanting to run from this conversation, his resolve to leave her hanging by a precarious thread.

"You are not a cripple," she repeated herself, her voice resolute.

"I am," Aesop seethed, having risen from his position on the armchair as quickly as his leg would allow, unable to stop himself. "I am but a man whose prime had passed when I stepped into Scarborough harbour. A man who is undeserving of the wonderful woman you are and have become. Surely you must know that a woman like yourself could do far better than me."

She gaped at him with wide eyes, a million thoughts running through her head. "A woman like me?" she asked, her voice reduced to a whisper.

"Yes, a woman like you," Aesop's resolve had finally broken, and he was incapable of telling her anything but the truth. When she inevitably hated him after this, when she inevitably rejected his sorry arse, perhaps he could move on. "A wonderful, beautiful woman like you. A woman who has given her all for this world and has expected not one thing in return. A woman who is so bloody kind and loving that even I couldn't help but be drawn in. A woman who hasn't escaped my mind, no matter how infuriating she is at times."

"What –" she gulped audibly, her eyes still wide as she searched his. The air in the room was stagnant as neither of them refused to say anything, though Aesop could feel his heart beating out of his chest, praying to whatever god would listen to him that she would finally get it over with. "What are you saying, Aesop?"

"Do I actually have to spell it out for you?!" he groaned exasperated, running a hand through his hair as he grew more frustrated than he thought possible.

"Well, do not get angry with me." "I am not angry." "Well, clearly you are. Look at you."

Aesop stalked up to her in quick strides, towering over her much smaller frame as he looked down into her eyes furiously, feebly attempting to ignore her comforting scent. "Right then," he growled. "No matter what I bloody do, you are on my mind like a damn pixie infestation. My thoughts of you simply never end. You carry my heart in your hands and do not even know it. I am yours; painfully, I am yours. But it is utterly ridiculous to think someone like you," Aesop stressed, "would ever burn for someone like me."

Not even wishing to hear her rejection from this point forth, Aesop attempted to turn around to hastily exit her home, only to be stopped by her small hand reaching out for his. He turned back, expecting to see disgust, hate or even contempt in her eyes, but all he found were unshed tears and a look he could not read.

"You...You care for me?" she cautiously spoke, a small (Aesop didn't believe it) hopeful smile on her face.

"I don't care for you," Aesop gulped, finally allowing himself to speak the words that likely had been on his mind since she stepped back into the bloody castle. "I burn for you."

A sob spilt from her lips, though they simultaneously widened into a smile. "Aesop Sharp," she tearfully grinned at him, "You utter fool."

Yes, pour salt into the wound, Aesop thought dejectedly. He knew he was a fool for –

He didn't have time to finish his thoughts before the witch he had fallen in love with grabbed the lapel of his coat to pull him down, her soft, plush lips meeting his.

pt. 2 coming soon

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sukisook · 2 years

Text

Slice of Life Drabble : Dabi

“I’m going to die.”

“You’re not.”

“I am, I can feel it.”

“Shut up.”

“The darkness, it’s closing in,” you gasp, throwing yourself onto the couch with enough force that the remote bounces off and smacks into the wooden floor.

“Seriously?”

“Avenge me, Dabi.”

“Absolutely not.”

You flip onto your stomach, scooching closer to his seated form. “Help.”

He sighs, tearing his eyes away from the news to level you with the driest glare you’ve ever seen. “Dinner will be here in literally five minutes. You’ll be fine.”

“But I’m hungryyy– Ah!”

Your whine is cut short as you’re dragged bodily into his lap. You forget sometimes how deceptively strong his lean figure can be.

He places a scarred palm on each of your cheeks and squishes until your lips pout outwards in an unflattering imitation of a fish.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey!” The protest comes out jumbled and he laughs.

He’s awfully pretty like this. The muted light of the television glinting off the staples in his skin, the startling blue of his eyes nearly eclipsed by his gaping pupils as he drags a hot gaze over your face. There’s a smile on his lips, an exasperated one, but a smile nonetheless.

It suits him.

Happiness, that is.

Softens the sharp planes of his face.

“You’re such a pain,” his voice rumbles out, deep and rasping in a way that makes you squirm.

The grip on your cheeks tightens, and you just manage to stick your tongue out at him, licking over the flesh of his right palm.

He chokes on a laugh, giving you the perfect opportunity to break from his hold and drag yourself in closer to him, hips settling comfortably over his.

Dabi scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving the ink-black strands sticking up at even stranger angles than they usually do. You’re quick to pat it back down.

“Hey.”

“Mm?”

“You said five minutes, right?”

He raises an eyebrow, not dignifying you with a response.

“Do you think that’s enough time to–”

“Absolutely.”

Dinner is promptly forgotten.

A/N: *DJ Khaled voice* And another one

As always, reblogs are appreciated! Thanks for all the love on my other minifics so far!! xox

#dabi #touya todoroki #Dabi x reader #touya x reader #Touya Todoroki x reader #Dabi drabble #mha #bnha #mha x reader #slice of life drabble

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cinnamon-bunni · 1 year

Text

A Useless Date

Rating:G Pairing: Gen (Lucifer & Asmo) Word count: 2.6k Lucifer wasn’t sure how he ended up here. He replayed the scene again and again in his head, and yet he still came up with nothing. How the hell had he been convinced to leave his office, and head down to Ristorante Six? For a blind date nonetheless?

Read it on Ao3! @aggressivelyarospec

took this week as an excuse to finish this fic about lucifer <3 i hope you enjoy it!

Lucifer wasn’t sure how he ended up here. He replayed the scene again and again in his head, and yet he still came up with nothing. How the hell had he been convinced to leave his office, and head down to Ristorante Six? For a blind date nonetheless?

Lucifer hated how Asmodeus could get away with just about anything. If he used his charm at the right moment, he could have the whole underworld wrapped around his finger. Sadly, Lucifer was no exception to this. No matter how much the eldest loved to preen himself on his ability to say “no” and “leave me alone, Asmo” towards his attention-craving brother, there were at times, unfortunately, when Lucifer fell into Asmodeus’s spell. And this was definitely one of those times. It was his own fault though, he admitted to that. It was his own fault for lowering his guard, believing that Asmodeus would know better to waste his time. Why did he believe it was any different?

Asmodeus had claimed that Lucifer doesn’t know how to wind down. Lucifer had argued that he did, in fact, know how to get into a reposeful state, it was just that Asmodeus’ ways differed widely from Lucifer’s, and it was him who had weird methods of de-stressing. Asmodeus had responded with a “no, you”, a phrase taught by Leviathan, which had become the absolute argument ender for those who resided in the House of Lamentation. Lucifer hated it with every fiber of his darkened soul, overwhelmingly because he had no way to fight back against a solid “no, you”.

Asmodeus had said that Lucifer needed someone to unwind with, instead of, quote, “being all broody and alone like some hermit weirdo”. Lucifer did not think he was like Leviathan in any way, but maybe Asmodeus did have somewhat of a point. Enjoying cursed vinyls and haunted pieces of art could only be enjoyable for so long without someone to bounce ideas off of. And it wasn’t like his brothers would be willing to indulge with him–not that he would want them to, they all had horrible opinions. Barbatos was someone he was willing to spend time with, but he understood that the butler was often busy with work, much like Lucifer himself. And so, with the stupid idea of letting Asmodeus continue to talk, Lucifer had quieted down.

Then his younger brother spoke of meeting someone–a demon that Lucifer has never even met before–for a date. A date, as in an attempt for a romantic relationship. For “funsies.” Lucifer detested the idea of hanging out and spending his de-stressing time with someone he didn’t know, much less date them. Lucifer had declined, with a statement of how idiotic it was, and how there was no way he would do it. Asmodeus had whined that Lucifer didn’t know how to have fun, that he was ruining everything, and that he already sorta set up the blind date and they were going to be waiting for Lucifer to show up, only to be stood up by him. And was Lucifer really fine with letting that happen?

“Yes Asmodeus. Yes I am.”

Asmodeus had stomped his foot and puffed out his cheeks into a pout. And then Lucifer suddenly ended up on his way to the restaurant, with his brother giving his thanks. How he had gotten from point a to b, he’d never know. But what he did know was that Asmodeus was in one hell of a punishment for charming him into this.

And so now Lucifer found himself at a table at Ristorante Six. Table set with bread appetizers and a bottle of their finest wine, Lucifer waited with an empty seat in front of him. He knew that he should be patient, that he shouldn’t be angry with the person, but also the half bottle of wine he had drank while waiting told him to fuck it all, that he can feel whatever the hell he wants to feel.

In all honesty, she hadn’t arrived all that late. She sat down with a small smile only a few minutes after Lucifer had. “I assume you’re my date, then?” she asked. “I mean…Lucifer? As my blind date? I guess I should’ve expected that from Asmo though…” She trailed into a polite, yet nervous laugh.

She was cute enough, Lucifer decided. Short, bobbed hair and square glasses that she pushed back up again and again, as she was always looking down at the table. Timid, but not too much where she couldn’t voice her own opinion. She had an appreciation for the arts, so it wasn’t like she was a total waste of time. Lucifer got to indulge himself a bit, both in demonus and in discussion of good art. She was interested specifically in music, and Lucifer was happy enough to admit that she had impeccable taste. In every aspect, she would be considered as Lucifer’s “type.”

And so, Lucifer was fine with dubbing her as a friend, and making his feelings clear. She was visibly disappointed by this, and Lucifer didn’t offer her any comforting words or emotions. He paid for their dinner, gave her a farewell of “having a nice evening,” and left. Lucifer had to give credit where credit was due, though–Asmodeus had set up a good date. If anything about him was different, he could see himself pairing off well with the young lady.

The only problem was that Lucifer had no interest in romantic relationships.

Not that he expected his brother to know. No, Lucifer was an extremely private demon, and he would never tell any of his brothers sensitive information like that. Especially since there really wasn’t a reason to say something. It was his own matter to handle, his aromanticism, and no one else's. He had done extensive research during his own time, and Lucifer kept it close to his darkened heart. So perhaps it was his own fault that he led Asmodeus to thinking that he needed a date in order to be happy; he had never informed him or the rest about his orientation because he simply did not see a reason to.

Hm. Perhaps he should say something. Lucifer knew his brother would be disappointed in this blind date going nowhere, so maybe it would be better if he knew why it never would, despite all his mischief of trying to get Lucifer out into the dating scene.

Lucifer could only give a sigh of relief when he arrived back at his study with no casualties. Both Leviathan and Mammon’s presence was quiet–arguably a bad thing, even more so for the latter–and he could hear the Anti-Lucifer League scheming in the library, which meant dealing with pranks that were a nuisance down the line, and not now, in the present. Which meant he could let himself finally properly unwind, which involved a good bottle of demonus, and a long book to read.

It wasn’t long until Asmodeus knocked on the door and let himself in. If Lucifer knew better, he would’ve told his brother to go to bed, it’s too late in the night to deal with him. But he bit his tongue as Asmodeus clasped his hands together in eagerness, eyes full of anticipation and giddiness.

“Well? How did it go?” he asked, hopping onto the desk. His body ended up shoving papers off to the side, a few slipping off onto the ground. Lucifer sighed, letting his shoulders sag as the sound of flittering paper filled the room.

“It was fine,” he answered, pouring himself a tall glass of the alcohol. “She was good.”

Asmodeus leaned in, far too close for comfort. “Aaaand?” he asked, hopeful for more.

“And we left as friends.”

“What!?” Asmodeus squawked, then was quick to cover his mouth with his hands. He quickly uncovered them and loudly whispered, “as friends!?” back at Lucifer.

“Yes Asmo,” Lucifer sighed, “we left as friends. Maybe not even that; she was kind, but I don’t really have plans of seeing her again. Is it really that big of a deal?”

“Of course it is!” Asmodeus whined. “I was sure you too would hit it off! You guys would’ve been such a cute couple, too–I could see it happening!”

“I’m sure you could,” Lucifer said. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk. “Asmodeus. I really should-”

“What was wrong with her? Too timid? I figured she would be, you like ones who can assert their dominance, but it’s what made her charming! That poor dear was just so excited about the idea of a blind date, too.” He sighed, swinging his leg back and forth, despite his shoe clacking against the front of the desk as he did so. “At least tell me you let her down easy.”

Lucifer blinked, trying to remember if he did. He hoped so. Asmodeus groaned, burying his head into his hands. “I cannot believe you, Lucifer!”

“It was never going to work, Asmodeus,” he said, “despite how much you wanted it to. I’m perfectly fine with where I am right now.”

“What, being alone?” Asmodeus said, a hint of agitation in his voice, making Lucifer narrow his eyes. “Staying in this quiet and dreary room all day and night?” He leaned towards the older brother, and Lucifer did his best to keep his anger in check. “You need to find someone, Lucifer! What if–what if people keep bugging you about it? Because you can’t just have no one, that’s not how it works!”

“Asmodeus.” The fifth-born paused, then leaned back. As much as Lucifer would have loved to chew him out, to snap at him to leave and fester in the anger that started to build from his brother’s words, he could recognize Asmodeus’ look, one that was filled with desperation and sadness-fueled anger. He sighed. “At least let me explain myself.” If he didn’t get it then, then Lucifer was fine with kicking him out.

“Fine,” Asmodeus said, crossing his legs and arms in a huff. “I guess you can,” he said, as if he was in control of this conversation. Lucifer drummed his fingers on the desk in thought, trying to find the right words so that Asmodeus would understand–if he could understand.

“This isn’t something I’m keen on sharing,” he started with, “and I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.” Asmodeus frowned, but nodded. Lucifer continued to drum his fingers.

“...How does that one saying go?” he asked aloud, unsure of where to start. “‘I swing for the other team?’”

Asmodeus stared, almost looking gobsmacked. “I–I believe it’s ‘batting for the other team’; or ‘swinging the other way.’” His eyes widened. “Wait, are you telling me you’re gay? Because I always thought you didn’t care! That makes so much sense!”

Lucifer frowned. “I–no, Asmodeus; let me finish. Yes, I don’t care, but not in the way you think. It’s more like I refuse to bat for any team. In fact, I hate baseball, and I refuse to take part in it. I do not care for either team, and I’d rather die a gruesome death than swing for them.”

Asmodeus stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He stayed silent, closing his mouth, opening it again to speak, only to close it once more. Lucifer sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know why I tried to explain it to you,” he said. “It doesn’t matter either way–it isn’t your problem.” He didn’t expect Asmodeus to understand; he didn’t expect anyone to understand, and he had accepted that.

But Asmodeus still gaped at him, until he asked in a whisper, “you’re aromantic?”

Lucifer found himself a bit surprised. “I don’t care for labels,” he answered, careful to avoid answering. The truth was, while he didn’t care for them–not entirely–he did find one that made him smile, because the idea of calling himself heartless, and not by demons who hated him, felt nice. “But…yes, I am.”

What happened next was a blur of pink, as Asmodeus let out a loud squeal that borderlined a sob and Lucifer leaned back, astounded by what was happening. Asmodeus, from across the table, leaned over to wrap his arms around Lucifer’s neck into a tight hug. The large, pink sweater that the younger wore was itchy against Lucifer’s skin, but decided to stay quiet.

“You’re aromantic?” he asked again, loud in the first-born’s ear to make him wince. Asmodeus’ voice wavered as he continued, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think it was important,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t think you’d care this much about something so trivial.”

“You idiot,” he sniffled, “I’m aromantic too!”

Huh? “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything? If you did, I–I should have known! I deserved to know!” He pushed himself off of Lucifer, and moved to hug himself tightly. “I would have been so much happier if I had known. To know one of my other brothers was aro, too…? I always thought that, I don’t know, it was weird for me to feel like this! Which yeah, is dumb of me to think so, but–I don’t know!” He gripped his hair in frustration. “Do you know how happy I would have been had I known? If I knew that you, or any of my other brothers would understand? I thought I was alone in this!” Tears started to spill now, and Lucifer cringed as he watched it mix with his brother’s mascara.

“I’m sorry,” he tried. “I hadn’t realized this meant that much to you.”

“You should have told me earlier,” Asmodeus continued, doing his best to stifle sobs. “It would have at least made it easier, not being so alone.”

“You’re right,” Lucifer admitted. He hated opening himself up, even with his brothers. But he hadn’t realized how much it meant to them when he did. “I’m sorry that you felt alone for so long; I promise that you aren’t.”

Asmodeus nodded at that, and kept quiet for a short few moments. He then asked, “how long have you known?”

Lucifer took a few seconds to consider it. “Ever since my creation, I believe.”

“Oh.” Asmodeus shifted. “I’ve known a few years after we fell. Becoming the Avatar of Lust helped me realize, I think.”

“Good,” Lucifer said with a nod. “I am happy for you. I’m sorry I never told you.”

“It’s fine, I guess,” Asmodeus replied, and gently wiped his eyes. “It just means a lot to me, I guess.”

He nodded. In a weird way, Lucifer was happy too, after learning that his brother was the same as him. Well, maybe not weird, but unexpected. Lucifer never would have thought Asmodeus would share the same label as him. He internally smiled, just a bit, at the idea of having someone understand him. It was a nice feeling.

“So!” Asmodeus clasped his hands together into a pleading motion, eyes now shining with hope and pleading looks, substituting the previous tears that welled and threatened to fall. “How about we go out tomorrow for brother bonding time?”

“Asmo…”

“Please? Come on, how long has it been since I got to spend time with my favorite older brother?” Lucifer gave him a blank stare, and Asmodeus met him with the same pleading look. He scolded himself for always letting Asmodeus get away with things.

“Fine,” Lucifer answered, and Asmo lit up at the answer, “I’ll go. But only this one time; I still have work I need to catch up on.”

“Of course!” his brother chirped. “It’s a date then!” He winked, and Lucifer shook his head, though couldn’t keep the smirk of amusement off his face.

A date, then.

#masterlist is updated as well!#obey me #obey me shall we date #aromantic lucifer #aromantic asmodeus #asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me lucifer #obey me swd #omswd #obey me fic #aggressivelyarospecweek #arospec week 2023

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mad-scientist-dreams · 2 years

Text

Well. I seem to have been correct about one thing.

I look like an absolute IDIOT.

Also, do you know how difficult it it to take a photo with Banopper hands? The answer is INCREDIBLY so. I have to use speech to text, just to getvout this message.

Anyways... before I begin the experiment, I just want to say one final thing, just in case this experiment doesn't go according to plan, though I doubt that will be the case...

I just want to thank you all, for conversing with me, and being interested in my career thusfar. Even though some of you can be.. EXTREMELY infuriating at times, I still appreciate you all.

To Snorpington, brother, if you're reading this, than.. I apologize for not being the nicest to you. I should have been a better sibling. It isn't fair that I made fun of you so relentlessly. You are still an an absolute spineless baby, but I still love you nonetheless. I truly hope you and Chandlo are happy.

And to Myla...

Ohhhh, my dearest Myla...

I.. will miss you the most, if this goes incorrectly. Never before have I had someone care about me so much. Leaving you like this.. the very idea makes my heart hurt. I am so, so very sorry...

But.. I will do what I must in the name of science.

If and WHEN I come back, I will tell you the result of my experiment.

Farewell, my friends.

-Professor Floofty Fizzlebean

#bugsnax floofty #floofty fizzlebean #bugsnax snorpy #snorpington fizzlebean #snakification #They're fucking terrified btw -Mod #bugsnax

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leiawritesstories · 2 years

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Ok so this really weird but I was listening to Uptown funk and I imagined Aelin, Dorian, Lys, Cassian, Mor and Fenrys just dancing wildly to it at a party while everyone else was watching so uh... that?

why do i love this so much? thank you thank you thank you

word count: 1,387

warnings: language, alcohol, general chaos

enjoy!

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

The Velaris University Illyrians were one hell of a party crowd.

Every time the Illyrians played the University of Orynth Staghorns, the two teams and the students who came to Orynth for the game always, without fail, ended up at one or more parties together, laughing and drinking and just generally having a whole lot of fun. The Illyrians brought cases of their city’s finest cheap beer, stuff that somehow was completely different from Orynth’s finest cheap beer and yet completely the same, the slightly sour taste lingering long enough that people tended to wash it away with a few sips (or gulps) of whatever jungle juice was available.

And everyone, Illyrian or Staghorn, knew that Lorcan Salvaterre made the best jungle juice.

Aelin had absolutely no idea what the hell Lorcan put into his concoction, just that even a single cup of the stuff had her giggly and giddy. And extra handsy. Which Rowan never seemed to mind, gripe though he would about the hangover she’d undoubtedly have. Never stopped him from taking the best care of her when she very much was hungover, though.

“Cass!” she squealed excitedly, the buzz of the three Jello shots she, Lys, Dorian, and Fenrys had already taken zipping through her veins. “You’re late!”

“Am I?” Cassian Ilnair smirked, wrapping her into a big hug. He’d always been affectionate, it had only gotten worse as he grew up, smothering Aelin in big man hugs and ruffling her hair like she was a child. She smacked him. “Yes, Cass, you’re late. And three Jello shots behind.”

“Shit,” he laughed. “Catch me the hell up, then.”

“Gladly,” Fenrys grinned, pushing three Jello shots at him.

Cass downed the shots in rapid succession, wiping off his mouth on the back of his hand and slinging one arm around Aelin. “Where’s Lorcan’s punch?”

“Christ,” she snorted. “You trying to get blacked out tonight?”

“He doesn’t have to try,” Nesta Archeron cut in, appearing on Cass’s other side and rolling her eyes at Aelin. “And he knows he’ll be sleeping wherever he collapses if and when he passes out.” She dropped a little kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek. “Right, Cass?”

“Wicked woman,” he grumbled, squeezing her waist nonetheless. “All right, sweetheart, I’ll stay awake.”

“Sure,” Nesta laughed, peeling off to grab herself a drink.

“Jungle juice!” crowed a triumphant voice from a few yards away.

Cassian barreled towards the voice, whooping. “Morrigan, you are a savior,” he declared, taking a healthy gulp of Lorcan’s concoction.

“Yeah, the savior of the not-yet-hammered,” Aelin snorted, accepting a red Solo cup from the other blonde. “Thank god you’re here, Mor, these idiots are starting to get boring.”

Mor tapped her cup against Aelin’s. “How much d’you think it’ll take them to start karaoke?” she asked, winking broadly.

“Hardly anything,” Aelin cackled. “The second Fen hears a song he likes, he’ll be up there grabbing the mic, not giving a shit that he can’t sing.”

A new song came over the speakers just then, the pounding bass thrumming through the whole house. Lys squealed, dragging Fen and Cassian towards the dancefloor.

“C’mon, bitches!” she yelled.

Aelin drained her drink, tossed her empty cup, and followed, Dorian and Mor close beside her, already yell-singing along at the top of their lungs.

Rowan, meanwhile, sipped from his beer and shook his head as he watched his girlfriend almost trip as she wove through the dancing crowd, definitely tipsy though she’d never admit it.

Fenrys grabbed Aelin as soon as she’d made her way to her friends, shouting the lyrics with great tone-deaf gusto, his eyes already glazed.

“Fuck, Fen, how many drinks have you had?” she yelled over the thumping bass, laughing at him.

“Don’t fuckin’ know!” he yelled back, grinning broadly. “Does it matter?”

She could only howl with half-drunk laughter, sharing an eye roll with Lys and Cass, both of whom had definitely been giving Fen more alcohol.

The thumping electronic music switched to the familiar, pounding intro to “Uptown Funk,” and Lys’s squeal echoed in Aelin’s ears.

“Fuck yeah!” she shrieked, clapping along. “I love this song!”

“Me too!” Mor squealed, yanking Cass with one hand and Lys with the other, dragging them all into some sort of circle as they all danced to the beat, screaming the lyrics.

Dorian produced a flask from gods knew where, passing it around as he slurred his way through the song, the words becoming incoherent as the flask returned to him. He hiccupped, his movements becoming wilder. “UPTOWN FUNK IT UP!” he howled, his hips gyrating.

“UPTOWN FUNK IT UP!!” the others bellowed back, their voices joining everyone else’s on the dancefloor as all the tipsy, half-drunk, and drunk students in the place screamed along to the Bruno Mars song, alcohol and high spirits overflowing in the space.

Aelin was hardly aware of how she was moving, just that she was enjoying the fucking hell out of this party, dancing with her friends and drinking shitty Jello shots and Lorcan’s punch, singing along to that damn song like it was the best thing she’d ever heard. Her hands waved wildly in the air as she shouted the lyrics, jumping and swaying and generally having a hell of a time.

Rowan finished his beer, fondly shaking his head at Aelin’s wild dancing, at the way her head tipped back in laughter as she and the others danced wildly, drunkenly, singing and yelling and laughing at Dorian and Fen’s increasingly sexual drunken dancing.

“Just get a fucking room,” Lorcan grumbled, draining his cup.

Rowan snorted. “You know they won’t.”

“Fuckin’ idiots,” Lorcan scoffed. “They both know nobody gives a shit if they go upstairs.”

“They’re just too stupid to act on it,” Nesta added knowingly.

“So get them drunker,” Lorcan smirked. “That should do the trick.”

“Nah, they should do the trick,” Nesta snickered.

Rowan coughed, laughing despite himself at the terrible joke. “That was awful, Archeron.”

“And funny, ‘cause you’re tipsy,” she grinned triumphantly. “C’mon, Whitethorn, a little laughing won’t hurt you.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Checkmate, Whitethorn,” Nesta crooned. “Now if you two hulking statues will excuse me, my hammered boyfriend is about to fall the fuck over and I’m gonna yell at him.”

A moment later, she was at Cassian’s side, yelling something into his ear over the blaring music. Aelin couldn’t catch what she said, but it made Cassian, who’d indeed been about to collapse, stand up and wrap an arm around Nesta, slurring something into her ear. Probably profane, judging from the way her ears flared red.

“Don’let Fen pash out again!” Cass hollered as Nesta all but dragged him away, stumbling over his own feet.

“Too late for that!” Aelin giggled, still dancing the night away with her friends.

Who were gradually starting to disappear, either to get more drinks or to slip towards the stairs, as she saw Mor do, hand in hand with...Lys? With someone else following them?

Well, Lys would certainly have a few things to share when she got home.

Aelin danced along with Fen and Dorian for another couple of songs, their dancing getting more and more wild, turning into stumbling and swaying and yelling along to the songs. She knew Rowan was watching her from the side, his ever-alert gaze tracking the way she moved.

Hence why she put extra sway into her hips.

It only took the overbearing buzzard a minute or two to slide his strong arms around her waist, molding his hips against hers. One of her arms reached back, sliding behind his head, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“Took you long enough,” she slurred, rotating her hips in a slow circle against his, feeling the way he...reacted press into her ass.

“I like to draw it out,” he purred into her ear, the hand on her waist possessive, burning through the thin fabric of her top.

“Fuck,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as she let him guide her movements, grinding her against him.

He chuckled, low and smoky, into her hair. “Ready to get out of here, baby?” Punctuating his words with a brazen squeeze of her breast.

“Yes,” she panted, arousal rushing to her core. “Gods, yes.” And gods yes would she be enjoying the afterparty she and Rowan were no doubt going to have.

~~~

@charlizeed

@cretaceous-therapod

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@loudphantomdragon

@flora-shadowshine

@nerdperson524

@claralady

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@swankii-art-teacher

@wordsafterhours

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@violet-mermaid7

@holdthefrickup

@skeletons-and-wildflowers

@goddess-aelin

@rowaelinismyotp

@dealfea

@irondork

@themoonthestarsthesuriel

@live-the-fangirl-life

@the-key-to-me-myself-and-i

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@silentquartz

#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #and friends #dorian havilliard #lysandra ennar #cassian the party king #fenrys moonbeam #and mor the life of the dancefloor #alllllll the party people #college au #crossover

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heretherebedork · 2 years

Text

@absolutebl did it and I figured I might as well do a ranking list real quick.

Watching:

Triage: This show may actually destroy me emotionally by ending, I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to cope when it's over. So good. Absolutely glorious and so, so well done. Deserves all the praise.

Want To See You: Soap Opera. But Vietnamese. So I forgive just about everything. Love you Ba Vinh!

Minato Shouji Coin Laundry: Losing my mind over this, preparing for pain but still loving them so much. Shin is definitely one of the best characters ever.

Unforgotten Night: Trash but it's fun trash and I'll take it. Needs more Baiboon ASAP.

Oh! My Sunshine Night: Kind of killing me a bit? Definitely gonna end sad, almost sure, am risking it nonetheless because it hits so many buttons that I formed in a childhood of reading Lurlene McDaniels novels.

Senpai, This Can't Be Love!: What can I say? I really enjoy this weird little show and the double-blind-pining they've got going with these idiots.

Love Mechanics: The right kind of messy, thank you very much!

KinnPorsche: I am wrapped up in VegasPete and there's also a show going on when they're not on screen.

In a Relationship: It's Thailand does Gameboys but on TikToc. Not good, not bad, just... kind of there and a few years too later.

Memories: New V-BL with barely legible subs but I wanna see where it goes. Also very soap opera.

My Secret Love: Yeah, it's not good.

Sky In Your Heart: Also not good and mostly just boring.

Check Out: Why?

Non-BL

I might watching season 3 of Umbrella Academy and I recently watched The Floor In Lava second season and I might rewatch a bunch of Nailed It when I have more free time? Not a lot. Nothing, frankly.

Rewatching:

I don't really watch things? But I'm kind of thinking about doing some Japanese BL rewatching just to get something softer into my system but also maybe some older GMMTV shows when I finally finish working summer school and have copious amounts of free time. I dunno, I'm so bad at rewatching.

Copy and share for your list if you want, don't if you don't.

Also, I should be watching Even Sun but apparently I cannot get around to it so we'll see what happens post-KP.

#currently watching

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somian-audere · 1 year

Text

ENTRY XXII

Step forward

I did it, bois! I did it!

I had a one-on-one hang out with a cute girl today, and it wasn’t completely awkward, sure there were awkward silences, but that’s mostly because my conversational stat is low. Learned a lot too, fun fact, the term “ambivert” may be complete nonsense. I’ll be honest though, getting to this point was a journey of pain.

It all started when I woke up.

My throat was soaring, flyin’, there’s not a star that- Ahem, in short, my throat was in absolute pain. I blame it on the weather, as yesterday I unfortunately faced a storm, not a metaphorical one but a sudden storm that resulted in wet socks and wet everything, that’s what she said. Anyways, I fought on, but then another thing happened, LBM.

The solution was medicinal drugs,

Thank you, science! After getting through the arduous process of recovery, I had to go to class luckily, I told my groupmates that my throat was not going to make it through the day, so they subbed for my part in the presentation. Grades truly are a great motivator. Nonetheless, I made it and it was fun to talk with someone else outside of my friend group. I definitely have to do more out of character stuff.

We just talked about our day,

And it was interesting to hear about someone else’s experience in the university, and while you’ve seen my own perspective of it, hers was optimistic, reminding me of why deep down I admire all the students that work hard in it. Regardless of all the individual fruits of their efforts, I can see that they’re all striving for a future that has yet to come. I’m jealous, had I been more open in my youth, could I have been more like them? Probably, probably not, all I know is that I can only be myself, and that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out all along. Exploring various aspects of myself, I mean, I didn’t even know I could hold a conversation for that long. Granted I ran out of stamina at the end, the salad I was eating was my fuel.

I’m glad that I challenged myself,

Sure, it may not result to much in the long run, but that doesn’t matter, nothing really results much in the end. What matters is that, I tried something new, something else. And that may be able to change something. I am relatively concerned though, that underneath their exterior strength, there remains pain. Is pain the catalyst for growth and development? Perhaps, but right now, I’m regaining faith in surpassing my own pain. Realizing that you may not be alone, though sad, can make you feel like you can get through it.

But Somi, what was she like?

She was pretty kind, yeah, I’m not really sure why she wanted to meet up with me, but hey I made a new friend! That was cool, and she liked Hamilton, which was pretty neat. Her favorites were the Aaron Burr songs, and as we all know, every Hamilton fan stans Aaron Burr because his performance was just peak. We also conversed about Wes Anderson, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and Isle of Dogs rocks btw. We discussed the difference between geeks and nerds, geeks are (based on what I know) are just really into their own interests like a hobby while nerds are really good with science. We talked about other stuff that I won’t share here due to privacy reasons, but it was neat. I found that even though I was probably the dumbest person in the university, the challenges that we face aren’t all that different. Everyone is doing what they can, and even though I may not be sure about what I’m doing I’ll just do the same.

____________________________________________________________

I told you that you could do it.

I know, it seems as though your stupidity does have some merit to it.

Please, being smart never ends well for us, we’re just idiots that are trying our best.

I suppose that’s the way it should’ve always been from the beginning.

This simply proves that you can talk to people even though your experiences are different. If you keep this up, you won’t even have to talk to me anymore.

Are you kidding?

--?

Didn’t you say that you’ll always be by my side? Until the bitter end.

Why are you so sure it’ll be bitter?

A sweet ending just isn’t for us, it’s too boring, life is more than just me standing still, I was so lost in trying to follow a single path that I never realized that I could run in every single direction. And eventually, I’ll find where I’m supposed to be. One step at a time.

Heh, I really am a bad influence.

You really are.

To be fair I had “This fucked-up wonderful world exists for me [1]” stuck in my head so I was running on full adrenaline.

Running on impulse is just our style.

Hell yeah.

Better not forget to send her the link to my Tumblr though.

Aw, shoot. Welp, goodbye any form of respect that other people may have for me.

____________________________________________________________

Just don't share this too much,

This thing shouldn't find itself back to me. It's still a bit of a personal secret.

References:

[1] Eve. (2015). This fucked-up wonderful world exists for me (Eve cover). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVg8orAhz4g

#memoir #personal #writing

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chidoroki · 2 years

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Black Clover ch335

Not surprised to see Asta still alive (mc plot armor ya know?) but I am impressed that he’s actually conscious. He sorta looked knocked out after that attack last chapter. All of that doesn’t calm my nerve upon hearing our boy might only have a couple more minutes to live though. Aahh, where’s Rouge when ya need her?

The girls come charging in to help Asta as expected with Noelle launching a sea dragon’s roar only for Lil to just.. completely nullify it with no effort whatsoever thanks to some spacial magic. Now whenever I think of that kind of magic, my mind always goes back to Finral and his type of spells, so my first thought was that Lily had perhaps just teleported Noelle’s spell somewhere else.

Until sister pulls this kind of spell out that is sorta reminiscent to what Langris did during Spade, at least to me in some way. Similarities aside, it did also remind me that yes, of course spacial magic can always be offensive..

So when this happens, I dunno what to think. Did Lily really kill Asta? Or was he just teleported somewhere else? It isn’t good news either way since he is apparently on his dying breathes and I doubt Lucius would’ve kept him alive much longer if they truly needed him for anything regardless. It’s hilarious though because for a brief moment I thought it was Yuno coming to save our boy with star magic, but I was half asleep when I had read the chapter for the first time, so that was a silly idea.

Nonetheless, the girl’s reactions prove that whatever kind of spell Lily used on Asta is nothing to take lightly. Secre is in an absolute panic, Mimosa looks like she’s about to have a mental breakdown and Noelle is like five seconds away from a full blown rage. The intense emotions from all of them make it seem like Asta did die, or at least critically injured even further, instead of just being teleported somewhere, but hhmm I still got a real hard time thinking a main character would just be killed off like that!

But oh goodie, another deadline. Seems to happen quite a bit; whether it’s six months, two days or seven days.. y’all like to take your sweet time huh? Also I like how we don’t get to see Noelle’s face for the rest of the chapter because her emotions must be all over the place. Oohh I can’t wait to see how she and everyone else reacts to all this news, between Asta being “killed,” the judgement day announcement, and finally to Lucius & Lily disappearing at the end of the chapter.

I’m thankful all the captains (who were present at the ceremony) soon realize something is wrong and decide to take action, but they end up being a bit too late to the party. So much has happened in these last couple chapters that I actually never thought of how either of them would react upon seeing Lucius, especially William and Yami, so I’m glad this chapter made it clear for me (a literal idiot) that “oh yeah, both of them were really close with Julius.”

William looks torn between being worried and confused. No doubt a complete shock to see this new threat look exactly like man you looked up to and served the majority of your life. Yami though.. oohh, the rage! The betrayal he must be feeling! That smirk Lucius pulls right before vanishing is a wonderful touch. Dude really doesn’t regret his actions at all.

I dunno how they’re gonna locate him and Lily after this. Asta too if he’s actually alive, who knows. There’s literally nothing left of him after that attack either so there’s no way anything could be healed. I know the Black Bulls, Yuno & the Golden Dawn are investigating other devil nonsense outside Clover right now so they may or may not have any answers, but they could also stumble upon something new for plot convenience. I especially wouldn’t be surprised if Nacht finds out something. He tends to have all the answers when we need them. Speaking of Bulls though, what might Vanessa and Finral be up to at this moment, huh? I can imagine they stayed behind to protect Asta’s family or even assist nearby civilians, but they could’ve rushed in with the captains.. even though none of them really had a chance to help out. I think both could’ve done at least something alongside Noelle. Vanessa changing fate with Rouge is obvious, unless of course whatever spells Lily used weren’t actually attack spells that endangered Asta’s life (kinda like Dorothy’s dream world). Then you have Finral who could’ve countered such spells since spacial magic can cancel each other out, right? Wishful thinking by me I suppose. I just wanna see them more.

#black clover #bc manga #chidoroki used chatter #i wouldve had this done yesterday but the splatfest world premiere literally took up most of my day and i enjoyed every moment #..okay most of the time. when i wasnt losing horribly. but team rock won in the end thankfully!& 'Anarchy Rainbow' is still stuck in my head

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my-head-is-an-animal · 2 years

Text

Beneath The Skin

Relationship: Remus Lupin x OFC

Summary: This is the story of one young woman's struggle with pain, inner pain, mental pain, physical pain, psychological pain, every kind of pain you can imagine. Remus Lupin understands pain, he wants her to understand that it doesn't mean you can't feel anything else, he wants her to understand that pain has absolutely nothing on love.

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING, heavy mentions of self-harm and suicidal tendencies, pain, angst, loss of parents, trust issues. 18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 36 - Epilogue

I’d been woken up early by Tonks and I hated it, much preferring to sleep in, but she was adamant that now I was old enough that I could see her most treasured possession. It was a box, plain and simple, wooden, no bigger than a large shoe box, but it was heavy. She had a tear in her eye when she gave it to me, like she was giving something away or saying goodbye to an old friend. It was only when I opened the box that I understood why.

I sat down on the bed in my small room in the small cottage belonging to Ted and Andromeda Tonks, they couldn’t afford to give me much more than their small spare room, but I loved them for giving me a home nonetheless, they didn’t have to, but they always said that it was their pleasure and their honour to have me. I never understood what that meant, but I would always nod and thank them anyway.

Tonks told me not to open it until she came back with a cup of tea for us both so that she could explain a few things. She sat down in her bright pink pyjama t-shirt and white trousers and smiled a little sadly at me.

‘If it was up to me, I would have shown you this years ago,’ she said, a lump forming in her throat. ‘But I was under strict instruction to wait until the morning of your seventeenth birthday so that when you go to Hogwarts next year, you can think on what it is you really want to do with your life.’

I frowned, opening up the small wooden box and looked down at the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my whole life. My parents. It was a photograph of my parents holding me on the night they died.

‘2nd May 1998.’ Tonks wiped away a tear that was threatening to fall. ‘I’ll never forget that night and I’ll never forget taking that picture. We were all so scared at the time, but your parents… Rosie was my best friend and Remus was so perfect for her. When they had you, it was like everything felt right with the world… and then the idiots asked me to be godmother and I knew it was all downhill from there.’ Tonks half laughed, prompting me to do the same.

My mother was so beautiful, the same green eyes and smattering of freckles that I had, but unlike her, my hair was a sandy colour that I’d always been told came from my father who was handsome enough, but when he looked at me and my mother with that loving smile, he was as perfect as her.

‘Amara,’ Tonks said, I looked up at her eyes now filling entirely with water. ‘I am so sorry that you never got the chance to know them, but this box is everything they left for you that was important. They both wrote you a letter,’ Tonks pulled out two envelopes addressed to me. ‘I think in some way, despite them always saying that everything would be okay, they knew the war would be the end for them. They left a letter for me as well with the instructions to give you this box on your seventeenth birthday, to make sure that Remus’s books got published so that you always had a bit of extra cash and the one thing they made me promise was that I give you a list of their albums in the order that they should be played. No one knew music like your parents and I don’t think any of us really appreciated that until it was too late.’

I was only half listening to Tonks, I couldn’t help but stare down at my parents, to know that on their last day on earth, they smiled. They loved me.

The only real thing I had that told me what my parents were like was the stories people told me and my father’s books, which sold at a phenomenal rate the year they came out; the second one was my favourite, because he made footnotes about my mother and how they fell in love. They were small and seemed somehow irrelevant to the actual documentation of the war, which Tonks said was a publishing decision, but to me they were everything I ever had to know my parents were real. She had given me the original manuscripts, the second one was unfinished, but she and Ted filled in the blanks that related to the final battle against Lord Voldemort.

‘I’ll make us some breakfast while you read their letters.’ Tonks said and laid the two letters down next to me.

Amara,

My darling baby girl. You will never know how much I love you, or how the love that made you, saved my life. Your father was the only thing I ever needed to allow me to keep my faith in life, because before him I had none.

My mother, your grandmother, Margaret Carter was a Death Eater by public knowledge, but along with Severus Snape, she was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix and she was the bravest woman I ever knew. She taught me how to be strong, to survive and have courage, but she never got the chance to teach me how to live. Your father was the one who did that and he did so without any hesitation.

We spoke only last night about how we can’t wait to drop you off at Platform 9 3/4 for your first day at Hogwarts, of course, we don’t care that much which house you end up in, we were both Gryffindors, but that doesn’t mean you should feel any pressure about that, every house has its qualities, my mother was a Slytherin and she turned out very well in the end.

But, if we don’t get to see that day, I don’t want you to be sad about it, I want you to be happy and know that your father and I wouldn’t change a single thing we did. We will fight if called upon because we believe that by doing so, we are affording you the life we wished we had when we were young. Your father’s lycanthropy started when he was just four years old and I was attacked and cursed when I was seven. I think it best that one of your godparents explain a little more about it as I don’t really like to think on it.

We were worried when you were born that you would inherit my curse and we couldn’t imagine a worse fate for a baby, but it seems like you only feel joy, because all you ever seem to do is smile up at us, except when you’re hungry and then we’re both convinced you’re some form of devil child. But I expect all parents feel like that.

When the first full moon came along, I can’t deny how scared I was, I stayed with you all night just in case, but you just slept soundly and quietly. Your father came back frantic and asking me all sorts of questions, but I assured him you were fine and got him into bed to rest. The only strange occurrence was that you were exceptionally tired, we concluded that only some of Remus’s attributes were passed on to you, so possibly you’ll end up with wolf-like qualities without any of the pain, which makes me so very happy to think about. I’m excited to find out how you like your steaks, your father likes them a little on the raw side, in fact, he’s got a particular liking for all meat, that and chocolate which I constantly tell him he needs to cut back on otherwise he’ll rot his teeth, but he doesn’t listen or seem to care much, because he just laughs and eats some more.

Amara, I want you to know that I love you, with all of my heart, I love you. I didn’t know if I wanted to write this letter because I knew what it meant, your father is even less pleased about it, but I’m hoping through his annoyed looks it means he’s doing it for me. We’re writing these letters in the living room by the way, in our cottage in Yorkshire, your first home. Your father is sitting in the armchair and I’m laying across the sofa and trying not to laugh at his grumpy attitude, it was a hard transformation this month and I’m sure it was because he was exhausted from putting up so many protective charms, we've had to move around a lot recently. You’re sleeping on top of me, because we couldn’t get you to sleep in the cot for some reason, so I suppose I’m stuck until you decide you’ve had enough. I feel if we don’t survive then giving you that information might be important.

Anyway, I don’t know what more to say, I suppose if we do die before this war is over, no one will let you grow up without a few stories, I just hope they put us in a good light, but then you can’t have everything and we wouldn’t be human if there weren’t a few horror stories in there.

I hope you don’t cry reading this, I know if my mother wrote me a letter, I would ball my eyes out for how much I miss her. But I want you to think of this as a happy thing. After all, I’m writing this so that you can have something of me to keep with you through the hard times, of which I’m sure there will be many.

I love you my darling girl, more than you could ever know.

Keep your faith in life and have courage.

Your mother

Rosaline

I couldn’t breathe, the tears were too much, blinding me, making it hard to read the words my mother wrote all those years ago. It was too much to think about, too much to take in, she was real, she really did exist and this letter was the proof. All I ever had of my parents before this moment was a few pictures from their wedding and one of the entire Order standing together during the war. But this was real, living proof that my parents were more than a faded photograph.

I wiped away my tears and took a deep calming breath, reciting the old mantra Tonks used to encourage me to go through when I was finding life difficult. Breathe, just breathe, relax and take a deep breath.

I picked up the next envelope, breathing steadily and as calmly as I could. The writing was slightly more scrawled and it only made me smile to know that my father was a little grumpy when writing it.

Amara,

You mother knows full well that I’m not in the right mind set to write this and I can see her trying to stifle a laugh which is only serving to annoy me more. Having said that, she is beautiful with you laying across her chest and I think she might be right.

This war is taking its toll on the both of us and I am worried for what it means. When she asked me to write this letter, I was at a bit of a loss, I wasn’t sure what to put into it or what would have been appropriate, but she smiled and said “what do you think she’d like to know about us?”. In truth, that hasn’t helped very much, but I will do my very best.

When I met your mother, I was so scared for her, this beautiful, radiant, smart and funny woman was in constant pain and I knew she needed help. I hope you don’t think poorly of me, but we met when she was in her seventh year of Hogwarts and I was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Of course, please don’t think that we were those types of people to cause a scandal, the very last thing I expected when I took that post was to fall in love, especially given my condition, it was most inconvenient. But I was professional and I did my best to help her see that her life didn’t have to be about pain.

In fact, the very first time I met your mother was about a month into the school year if I remember correctly, she didn’t turn up to many classes because her intelligence superseded anything her teachers could give her and the boredom only made her feel the pain she was trying to distract herself from. But she made a promise to the Headmaster that at least once a week she would make the effort to go to each class… I’m not so sure if this is really what she intended for these letters, but I think it would be nice for you to know how we met and the circumstance under which we fell in love.

Over the course of the school year, I taught her the patronus charm, not that I thought she was incapable in the slightest, but because of the dementors who guarded the school at that time, I thought she would suffer more because of what is in her past; your mother is exceptionally skilled and I feel you would only know that through other people’s telling of that. She often smiled the most beautiful smile and went the most wonderful shade of red whenever anyone complimented her, so once we were out of Hogwarts, I made it my intention to compliment her as often as I could.

I suppose it’s important for you to know that when she was a girl, her mother was a spy for the Order and once the war was over and Voldemort was defeated, Death Eaters went after Maggie Carter and so in turn, Rosaline. Her mother died that night protecting Rosaline and for years she never knew who saved her, as it turned out, it was my father – who you should visit as he gets lonely and he’s always asking about you – I took your mother to Hogsmeade to meet with my father so that he could shed some light on the events of that night, it gave her some comfort, but like with everything else, she didn’t speak much about it for a long time.

Anyway, at the end of the school year, my condition was ‘accidentally’ revealed, and it forced my resignation, your mother was understandably upset, but she was optimistic having been scouted by Kingsley Shacklebolt and offered a job as a crafter for the Aurors department. And then I did something monstrous, I made her a promise that I wouldn’t leave her of my own accord and I did just that. I felt her association with me would only harm her career or any opportunity she had to live a good life, but of course, as she often reminds me, I was wrong.

A year later we met again and she was understandably angry and upset. It took a very long time for us to reconcile, but I didn’t give up because I knew despite her frustration and anger, we loved each other and that in itself was always worth fighting for.

We eventually got married – I often wonder if it was more impulsive than right, given that everyone was panicking over the war, any day could have been our last – and then you came along and it was the single greatest day of my life. Your mother was so strong, I’d never seen anyone give birth before, there was no real reason for me to have done so, but to go through that on top of the pain she feels daily was a truly courageous act and I am ever proud to call her my wife.

I broke just one more promise to her, I swore I never would, but when I told her she just laughed and accepted that this was just one promise that was bound to be broken by your arrival. I swore I would never love anyone more than I love your mother, but the second you came into the world, my love for you superseded my love for her.

We promised each other that no matter what, your safety came first, if one of us is killed during this war, the other will run to protect you, because that is the way it should be and that is the way it will always be.

I don’t know what the future holds, we may die tomorrow or fifty years from now, but I hope I get the chance to know you properly, I hope I get to spoil you with chocolate and listen to your mother shouting at me for doing so, I hope I get to meet the person you fall in love with and I hope you devote yourself to them as fully as I have devoted myself to you and your mother. I hope to walk you down the aisle, I hope to meet your children and watch you grow into the most beautiful woman you could possibly be. I hope you keep your freckles, they’re starting to show on your cheeks now as we approach your first birthday, you have your mothers eyes and those freckles made me fall so deeply in love with her.

Your mother has finished her letter and she’s looking at me, I’m not sure I like how amused she is.

I hope this has been enough for you, I’m not sure what else to say to be honest. Except that I love you with all of my heart and I will do my utmost to survive this war for your sake.

Stay strong Amara, love with all of yourself and know that no one will love you as much as I do.

Your father

Remus

P.S. I forgot to say, just in case we don’t survive and there is no one else to tell you: during the full moon, if you feel especially tired, drink Wolfsbane. While I am exceptionally happy that you haven’t inherited mine or your mother’s curses, you will feel some lycanthropic effects, so make sure you look after yourself, be a little selfish where your health is concerned and don’t be afraid to ask for help if you’re unsure of anything. I love you.

It was so hard to keep a hold of my tears, I just couldn’t believe that my father’s entire letter was about me and my mum, I couldn’t believe that the last things he wanted me to know was how much he loved her and looked forward to seeing who I grew up to be.

Tonks came back with some breakfast, a bacon sandwich and I asked a question which seemed somehow important.

‘Did my dad like his bacon this way? Only just cooked?’

Tonks just smiled, her pink hair somehow brightening. ‘He used to get annoyed if you left it in the pan for more than a couple of minutes.’ She nodded. ‘Your mum always used to laugh at him for it, is that what he talked about in his letter? How much he disliked overcooked bacon?’

‘No,’ I shook my head, feeling my tear flooding my eyes again. ‘My mum said my dad loved his meat and… so do I.’

‘Yeah, I remember him mentioning that when Bill was attacked by Greyback, told Fleur he’d probably like his steaks on the raw side.’ Tonks laughed, remembering the day. ‘Anyway, let’s go through some of these pictures, I cannot wait to tell you about some of the things your mum did!’

Tonks showed me some of the pictures taken by Sirius Black, he was my parents friend and a man who had really only recently been cleared of any crimes. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic had done the right thing in clearing a lot of names since the war, giving out Order of Merlin’s to those who’d lost their lives, including my parents, my father being the first werewolf to receive the award. It sat on my chest of drawers and it was yet another reminder that my parents were brave.

‘Not just brave,’ Tonks smiled. ‘Your father was the kindest man I knew, he’d never say no to anyone who needed help. Everyone treated him like crap for so long because of what he was, everyone except Rosie, who just fell all the more in love with him. And Rosie was so funny! She was quiet and had a temper to be reckoned with, much like yourself,’ I had to laugh at all the times I’d lost my temper at school for one reason or another, Tonks never seemed too upset by it though, she just smiled like it was an old memory and now I knew why. ‘Mind you, your dad, as calm as he was, had his limits as well.’

‘Do you think they’d be upset that I get in trouble so much?’ I asked, strangely imaging getting a howler from my mother and secretly rejoicing that I could hear from her.

Tonks thought for a moment. ‘I think, were they alive now, they wouldn’t exactly be happy that you misbehaved so much, but your dad was a bit of a prankster in school so I don’t think they’d be surprised.’

‘He was a prankster?’

‘Yeah, him Sirius, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were best friends in school, called themselves the Marauders.’ Tonks laughed and I couldn’t help my smile. ‘Of course, Peter turned out to be a coward and was responsible for a lot of the stuff that happened in the first war, I think your dad talks about it a bit in his book, but no one really knew that at the time, they all thought Sirius was the traitor.’ I already knew about this, having skimmed my copy of ‘The First Great War by R. J. Lupin’, but nowhere did it mention how close the four boys were at school.

‘What about my mum?’ I asked, hoping there was some great epic story about how popular she was.

‘Actually, Rosie didn’t really have many friends in school,’ Tonks said sadly and I felt my hope diminishing quickly. ‘I know that she was on the Quidditch team as a Chaser, but she sometimes played Seeker when Harry was injured. Oliver Wood was the closest friend she had, but I don’t think they knew each other too well.’

‘Oliver Wood?’ I exclaimed. ‘The England Keeper!’

‘Yeah, you a fan?’

‘Erm, yeah!’ I said, gesturing to my Puddlemere United poster. ‘So my mum liked Quidditch? Who did she support?’

‘Actually…’ Tonks looked a little awkward. ‘Rosie hated Quidditch.’ Once again I felt my heart sinking. ‘Well, I should clarify, she hated playing Quidditch, I think opinion on the sport in general softened over the years, but because of her condition, playing such an intense sport took its toll and she was always in a lot of pain from playing and any injury she got, big or small always felt so much worse than it actually was… but I think she’d be really happy that you love it so much, so don’t feel too bad about it.’

I nodded, feeling a little more distant from my parents than I had only a few moments ago.

‘Thing is Amara,’ Tonks rummaged around in the old letters to find another picture of my parents. ‘Your mum and dad were both cursed,’ she finally found the picture she was looking for, it looked like Christmas time and a big branch of mistletoe had been put up between them, my dad was looking at my mum who was trying to contain her smile, before he kissed her. It was like something out of a cheesy love story, but to me it felt so important. ‘They suffered so much pain in their life and I know that all they really wanted was for you to grow up better than they did. They wanted a warm home for you to come back to, they wanted you to experience all the best things in life, they wanted you to fall in love with some stupid boy and they wanted you to know how loved you are… I think as long as you remember those things, you’ll make them so proud.’

I couldn’t help my crying, I couldn’t help how much I missed them, I never knew them, but I missed them and now, through their old letters to one another, through the pictures people took of them and through the music they left behind, I would finally understand them.

Kingsley had been looking forward to this day for sixteen years, no one had managed to keep the post of Minister for Magic for so long, but it was important that he keep it for at least this long so that on the Day of Remembrance, he could tell a new story, one he’d been dying to tell since the war was over.

Tonks told him that Amara wanted to come to the service of her own accord, understanding how important it was to remember those who gave they life during Voldemort’s downfall. He had never really spoken to the young woman, having only turned seventeen a couple of weeks ago and knowing she would have received her parent’s letters, but he’d kept tabs on her, much like a few others in the ministry and watched her grow into a fine young witch.

The people all filed into the ministry reception and Tonks made sure that Amara was seated close to the plaque where her parent’s names sat next to each other.

‘Thank you all for coming here today.’ Kingsley said, his voice booming through the reception at an increased volume so that he could be heard by all. ‘Today we remember the sacrifices made by those who fell during the first and second wars, we remember our fallen heroes and we remember what was given so that we may continue on. Many of you will be expecting me to talk about the political and strategic side of those wars as I usually would, but this year marks a very special anniversary, sixteen years on and a young orphaned girl turns seventeen,’ Kingsley caught Amara’s eye, she was staring up at him, mouth slightly agape. ‘The daughter of two of the bravest souls I ever had the privilege to fight beside and two of the kindest and wisest individuals this world has ever seen. Today I would ask you to think on these heroes with extra care, I would ask you to honour the memory of their achievements, their sacrifice and take wisdom from the lives they lived. These heroes were Remus Lupin and Rosaline Carter. Two of my friends, my heroes and two people I think about every day of my life.’

Kingsley took a moment to compose himself, he could feel the lump forming in his throat.

‘I first met Rosie when she was at school, the smartest witch of her age, built a pensieve out of books she found in the school library, I asked her to come and work for the ministry and do some good with her talents as a fine crafter. She agreed.’ Kingsley sipped a little water from the goblet next to him. ‘Remus Lupin was a teacher for one year at Hogwarts, he taught with enthusiasm and with as much wisdom and kindness as any man could ever possess. I am proud to have fought with such a warrior. Together, they fell in love, married and had a beautiful baby girl who bore her mother’s eyes and her father’s smile, they were asked far too many times to leave their daughter at home and join the fight against Voldemort and they did so, without hesitation, without questioning and without fear. Why? Because they believed in the future, they believed in life and they believed more than anything in love. They died during the final battle, leaving their one year old girl to navigate this new and better world alone, but far better they died leaving behind the foundation for us to build a better world, than died in vain. My greatest sadness is that they held so much hope that they would see their daughter grow, to die at the very end of things, hours before it was all over at the hands of truly evil men and women is the foulest crime ever committed. Remus Lupin was a werewolf, attacked when he was child of four by the now deceased werewolf Greyback, he the bravest man I knew and the kindest soul to walk this earth. Rosie Carter was cursed with living with the Cruciatis curse in her very skin, she was attacked when she was seven by a group of Death Eaters and stayed in her mother’s arms who died trying to save her daughter’s life, Rosie felt that pain every day of her life. Their daughter, while still young, has gone on to become the finest student at Hogwarts, a brave Gryffindor by nature, inherited her father’s compassion and her mother’s resilience and as I hear it, she has also inherited a fierce and short temper, something I always feared in her mother more than her father, especially when it came to the protection of those who could not protect themselves.’ Kingsley smiled down at Amara who was close to tears. ‘Rosie Carter was a hero, Remus Lupin was a fighter. If I could have one more day with them both, I would make sure they knew how much I appreciated their wisdom, I would tell them that they didn’t need to worry,’ Kingsley was beginning to lose himself, he’d never been one for showing emotion, but this was getting to be too much. ‘I would look after their daughter to keep their memory alive, to keep them in the hearts of all those who they sacrificed themselves for. My only thanks is that they no longer have to live in pain and no one will ever again ask too much of them. Today I ask you to remember all those who died, but especially the Lupins, to remember what happens when you stand up to evil and you say no to the darkness, remember what happens when you choose love over hate and anger, when you treat those around you with compassion and you show kindness even during your darkest hours. You remember our fallen heroes and don’t you dare let them die in vain. Remember Remus Lupin. Remember Rosaline Carter.’

Kingsley nodded and listened to the sounds of the reception area politely clapping, most of them probably wouldn’t take the time to remember the Lupins, but Kingsley could never live with himself if he didn’t at least tell people about them.

Tonks was standing with Amara who was crying and trying to hold herself together, when Kingsley gestured for them to come over to where he was standing.

‘Amara Hope Lupin.’ He smiled down at the young woman. ‘You look so like your mother, except the hair, your father had hair like yours and you’re a little taller than Rosie.’ She tried to smile, but her tears were stopping it from reaching her eyes.

‘You… you worked with my mother?’ She asked, her tears silently streaming down her face.

Kingsley sighed and nodded sadly. ‘Rosie was the best at what she did, she built and repaired our equipment, even making improvements that kept us safe and in the fight. She didn’t have the best start, people didn’t understand her because she was quiet, but Tonks soon got her to open up a little and much the shock to everyone else, we found your mother was quick, she was strong and she was so incredibly brave. Would you like to see the office where she worked?’

Amara nodded immediately and Kingsley snuck them out of the reception with Tonks’s help. The office was a lot different than it used to be, now it had four crafters all working at the same pace Rosaline worked at, no one could quite match up to her skill and Kingsley was hardly surprised.

‘She used to sit about here,’ Kingsley demonstrated. ‘Her record player sat in the corner over there and she spent all day repairing old sneakoscopes, dark detectors, even vanishing cabinets and the odd dark object. She was a damn fine crafter and one of a kind, much like you.’ He watched Amara frown slightly. ‘Werewolves aren’t supposed to breed Amara, the risk of passing on their condition is too great and far too much pain to put on a child. Having said that, I suppose Rosie’s curse was much the same, it’s a wonder you’ve turned out as well as you have done.’

‘What do you think happened?’ Amara asked, looking at all the instruments that were in need of repair.

Kingsley inhaled deeply and thought about it. ‘Well, I’m not healer, from a magical stand point, I think the two curses cancelled each other out, but I’m no expert, I’m just glad you don’t suffer the way they did.’

Amara nodded a little sadly, the same way Rosie used to and it sent a sharp pain through Kingsley heart.

‘Everyone always tells me how much they suffered,’ Amara said quietly. ‘They all tell me how much pain they were in and I think about how much I miss them, it makes me feel so guilty to want them to have survived, because if they did, they’d still be in pain wouldn’t they? So, maybe in a way, it’s better that they died… they were so in love with each other and now they get to be in love without the pain.’

‘Amara,’ Kingsley couldn’t help but smile. ‘You are so much more like your parents than you know. You’re right to miss them and to wish they were still around, Merlin knows I wish it had been me instead of them, but you’re also right that now they aren’t in pain anymore… they’re somewhere better and you get to live a life surrounded by people who loved them so much. That would be more than enough for them.’

Kingsley was suddenly taken aback by the young woman hugging him and crying into his shoulder. He held her tight and couldn’t help but remember the moments her mother cried and needed him to hold her, he was never very good at it, but he tried and for Rosie that was enough, so he did his best for Amara and hoped it was enough.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you for remembering my parents.’

‘Always.’ He whispered back.

The last train back to Hogwarts, Tonks had dropped me off around eight o’clock because she needed to get to work early that day. I didn’t mind, it was the same every year, except first year where my grandfather, Lyall, had come along and stayed with me for three hours before the train left Platform 9 3/4.

It was a strange sight now, not just because this was my last year at school, but because I suddenly noticed the crowds of people, first years being seen off by their parents for the first time. I wondered what it would have looked like if my parents had been there for my first day, would they have cried? Would my father have even been able to come? I wasn’t sure what the moon cycle even was around that time. I was being silly, of course he would have come, he wouldn't have let something like being a werewolf stop him from seeing me off for my first train ride to Hogwarts, not after he so looked forward to it.

I imagined that my mother would be quiet, trying not to let me know how upset she was to say goodbye, I imagined my father would give her knowing looks and sympathise and I imagined them standing hand in hand waving me off as the platform got smaller and smaller until I could no longer see it.

All my friends found me sitting in our usual carriage and they asked me why I was crying, I didn’t even realise I was until they said it. I told them about my parents on the way to Hogwarts and it led to us all crying over what we’d all lost during the war, some of us it was aunties and uncles, others it was family friends, but no one else had lost two parents and no one else had parents like mine.

I remembered Kingsley’s final words during his speech, it was never more important that I take those words to heart.

Remember Remus Lupin. Remember Rosaline Carter.

END

Author’s Note: I wanted to say thank you once again to everyone on Ao3 who read this and left such beautiful comments on the work. I cannot express how grateful I am that you all read it and connected in some way with it. Thank you.

A personal thank you goes to @gemstone-roses for encouraging me to post the story in the first place, had that not happened, no one would ever have read my little story.

For anyone struggling with mental health issues, I am with you, I feel your pain too. Please never forget that you are so loved and my inbox is always open to anyone who wants to chat or vent or even just talk about the weather. There is no one like you on this Earth and that, my friends, is the most beautiful thing in the world.

All my love,

J.D.

#remus Lupin #remus lupin x ofc #remus lupin x oc #remus lupin fic #remus Lupin x fanfiction #triggering themes

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