#credence imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

werezmastarbucks · 8 months

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green

part one - Golden

part two - Silver

part three - Black

credence barebone x fem!OC

there was a boy, a very strange, enchanted boy

word count: 3461

author's note: it turned out as it did

Credence was dying.

He was gathering his stuff, the leftovers of his mind, and leaving this place. Meanwhile, he was watching dreams. Finally, he's seen the obscurial for what it was: a chaotic, confused creature, just like him, unsure of what to do. It wanted in, and it wanted out. It yelled, and gnawed at him, and obeyed him all the while. It didn't really want to hurt him explicitly; most of the time it was just pacing with pain. It was a wound, with blood gushing out of it, and it felt nothing but pain, so pain, it shared with him. Perhaps he shouldn't have fought it to begin with, but it was now too late. The obscurial was turning its forming head, looking around through his eyes. And when it was seeing the ceiling and the window, he saw them, too. He saw faces. The bearded face, the dark face, the freckled face, the beautiful face. It recognized some of them. It remembered the face that it carried once or twice. It knew no language, but he saw this face talking to him, pressing on his chest. Him, it, Credence, the monster. She pressed on his chest, as if trying to keep it in, not out. She sang him a song that lulled him to sleep and he started seeing dreams. It felt like he spoke to her because she replied. She dictated the pictures he saw as he slept.

There would be a boy, she was saying, who will think that the darkness will take him. But it will fail, and the boy will live, because he's strong. And Credence, she was saying, you're even stronger, I think you're stronger. Don't let the darkness take you.

He saw the dreams of New York, and those were the nightmares. He saw the snowy streets, cold, hollow, beige and white. Wind bit his hands like a dog. His skin was breaking apart and dark blood came out in droplets. The wind was so rageful. It was so cold, and he didn't have a coat, and he knew, that at home, it was worse than hell, so he awaited death. The obscurial was dripping from behind his right ear, cracking his skull in two. Someone held his hand. It was a firm, dry grip, someone was shaking him. He was dying, and he didn't recognize them much; he looked at them without any emotion, like he was an empty casket with a face.

Don't fight, don't fight, Credence, the voice said. Let it go. Let it flow.

And he did.

Orlaith left the room and closed the door quietly. It was her birthday, in the middle of summer. She didn't feel like celebrating anything, held by life and death from two sides. Equally painful.

She went outside to look at the street, for a change. They kept the window open in Credence's room at the Inn, but it was still very dense there. Very stuffy. He was releasing so much energy that it ate oxygen. Everything that's been consuming him was predatory, flesh and spirit eating. Sometimes he would tremble and shake, sometimes he would wake up and look at her, or his father, or his uncle, without a trace of recognition. In his eyes, black mist was twirling, it was the obscurial. It's the creature that was opening his eyes and peering outside, at their faces. It was the creature that made his body dance on the bed. The voice it used belonged to Credence, but it asked questions about itself. What am I, what are you, what year it was. Why is it so heavy that it can't get up. It was absolutely cemented to his body, and couldn't leave Credence, like he caged it. They were amalgamating.

She saw the older Dumbledore stroke his forehead and whisper. And the obscurial would rest, letting Credence rest, too.

There were people outside, crowded together in the dark street, like someone had used a deluminator on the streetlights. She walked on to see the stars better.

"Orlaith!" the voice called. It came from the group. She turned, looking at them, her eyes adjusting to darkness. Among them, she started recognizing faces. Oh! All of those faces she knew.

"Happy birthday?" Newt exclaimed, with a little bit of doubt.

Those were her friends. Albus Dumbledore, Newt Scamander, the Botanics teacher, Imelda Ginger, Lodgok the goblin, the farmer from the field, Mr Brance, and the serving elf from the castle, Purrypawn. Those were all her friends, she didn't have many. But they started shooting the fireworks in the air, illuminating the street in all the colors of the rainbow. The brightest one was the golden, forming a dragon up in the skies, that flew on, circling above the field, and then on and on, further into the forest. She saw the face of Tina Goldstein, her little nose crinkled in an amazing, wide smile. She'd never seen her before, but knew she existed somewhere. As they laughed, and yelled, and watched the lights, the thunder of the dragon shattered the houses. Credence saw the dreams of the circus tricks, with fire and magic, stars blown up in the air. Among the sparkles, he was seeing the golden sunbeams.

He woke up like someone pushed him with force. He opened his eyes, forgetting what day it was. It was very warm, unusually. Instead of the normal wooden bars on his ceiling he saw various witch amulets swaying on the strings. Weird, he thought, dangerous. If the mother sees that, she shall punish him mercilessly. He put out his hand, covered in old scars, and tried to reach them, but couldn't. Credence sat up, stood on his knees and started tearing them down. Those were the weridest pranks he's ever witnessed; there was a smal glass vile filled with some lilac powder; and a little soft figurine of an owl; and a glistening bronze symbol he didn't recognize. There was a small dream catcher, bright green and blue. He was in the middle of untying them all when he noticed that something was off about the room. It was spacious and light. He sat back in bed, confused, put his hands to his head to cancel out all sounds and think, and discovered his hair had grown much longer over the night. No, something was wrong.

He jumped from the bed and spun around in this unfamiliar room. It was nice; wooden table was propped against the window, and his bed was small but soft, with white sheets. He walked towards the mirror and didn't recognize himself at first. He looked ten years older than what he was supposed to be. The crack on his wrist wasn't itchy as it usually was, and he dug into the little cut with his fingernail. He cleared his throat because his mouth was so dry. Hearing his own voice, it suddenly stung him, like a recollecting spell. He was Aurelius. And he was ten years older. And he wasn't in New York anymore, but in Hogsmeade. He examined his face in the mirror. Apparently, he was also alive. So alive that he even looked healthier. His skin didn't feel cold, the black circles around his eyes went away. He moved without any ache, feeling the longing strength in his limbs. He smelt himself and nearly retched. The sun was dancing in his room, yellow pollen from the flowering trees on the floor. He stomped his foot, making it fly up a little; his hip wasn't hurting, and the pain that always punished him for sharp movements, never came. He looked inside and asked, are you still there?

I am, the obscurial replied, its voice deep and sticky.

Then why am I not hurting anymore?

I'm not hurting anymore, it echoed.

He ran to the shower, desiring nothing more than to wash away all the feverish, strange dreams off himself. He found some clothes in the wardrobe; shirts of his size, some pants, a vest, a black cloak. He put his hair away from his face into a tail on the back of the head. So that he could see better. He put on the white shirt because it fit him the best, and went downstairs, where he found Aberfort.

At first, the man didn't move, but stared at him in dumb silence. Credence watched his face covered in lines form a grimace of amazement. He had a very old face, his father. He couldn't have been older than forty five years of age, but he looked sixty. His eyes faded with the constant darkness he dwelled in; they have lost its light from looking at that portrait of Ariana all the time. He was stooping, like Credence did, but the worst of all was his mouth. Almost upside down, always hidden behind his moustache, it was ever tightly shut. He didn't dare approach him even.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice still not awake completely. He coughed to hear himself better.

"Forty-one days, Aurelius. Merlin's blessing, you have got out. You have made it".

The man cried silently, clutching onto his shy misery. He held onto the back of a chair, hiding his face in his other hand.

Credence walked up to him, put his hand on his father's shoulder.

"Thank you", Aberfort wailed, grabbing his hand like it was an evasive, unwilling ferret. "Thank you, Aurelius, thank you".

The first thing he did was going into the field. How simply good it was, just to live. To breathe without a second breath echoing inside his chest. To walk without every step stabbing his spine. He let the sun kiss him, lifting his face up. From this spot, Orlaith's house was seen. Or, rather, what was left of it after they'd gone. He fixed what he could, put the roof in place, and gathered the pieces of glass and clay crockery, but he didn't remember where was what. He couldn't find the shreds of furniture as they were probably so light - the feathers, the draping - that they had flown away, or had been picked up by birds for their nests. But he was quite pleased with his work. Doing magic was easy. It was less now like busts of his inner matter, and more like the magic itself. He had to focus to do it. And the wand obeyed him. The monster inside, a part of his soul, the little Credence dying in the cold with unwanted flyers in his hand, was slumbering in the safety of his ribcage as he finally allowed it. He saw his father watching him, always a house away. From the distance. As if he was about to drop dead all of a sudden. Maybe not now, not anymore.

"Um, dad", he asked, approaching. Aberfort flinched like he was hit on the face, "where is she?"

"She went away just yesterday. With Albus, they're looking for Grindelwald. She spent half of day, every day, with you. Albus had to drag her away from your bed".

"When are they coming back?"

"I think today. They aren't far. Go to the castle, maybe they've already returned".

He took a long stroll through the valley, paying attention to everything around him. The honeysuckle, and the bumblebees, the summer pollen in the air, and the black, awaiting mass of the forest, and, most of all, Hogwarts. The name she always said with a special tingle in her voice. He expected the grass and the flowers to whither when he stepped past them, but they did not pay attention. The world around finally accepted him. Credence still wasn't sure this was a promised future, but only clung on the strength, and feeling of having rested for a full life ahead. He felt timidly grateful, undeserving of this beauty, anxiety striking him. This was too good to be true. He could now cut off his old years with a sharp knife and never look back, things like that never happened to Credence. No, but maybe they happened to Aurelius?

The castle stood almost empty, and ghosts, who were not very numbered, prevailed in the halls. He walked quietly, feeling like he was intruding. Hogwarts was, unlike Nurmengard, light, and welcoming. The hallways were wide and made of white stone, and the portraits on the walls watched him with overt curiosity. The fountain in the hall through which he entered had statues of mermaids, who moved their heads and he walked by. There was a soft, barely audible hum to the castle, perhaps those were the walls snoring. He got lost in the unending corridors, the stairs, the unexpected turns. Finally, he noticed the sun started going down slowly. Credence froze in the middle of the corridor, unsure.

"Are you lost, young man?" a female voice asked him. He moved his eyes towards the sound with horror. She was flying on a broomstick, and she was absolutely naked. The witch smiled at him, eyeing him.

He quickly lowered his gaze.

"I- I'm looking for Albus Dumbledore", he said quietly.

"You're almost there. He's in the Defense class".

"I don't know where it is..." he confessed. The witch hummed and flew away. He stared at the empty frame for a second.

"Are you coming?"

"Excuse me, Bella, would you be kind and leave my painting?" another, unhappy voice called. Credence followed the sound.

"Peace, Formulonda", Bella replied, poison in her voice, "a little reminder of beauty won't hurt you. Follow me, pretty boy".

Credence swallowed, embarrassed for some reason. He walked faster, trying not to lose the sight of her as she jumped from one painting to another. Bella led him through the dim hallway, and then they were in a light one again; they took the stairs up and then entered a wide corridor.

"The big door on your right", Bella said, trying to catch his eye.

"Thank you", he mumbled, and hurried away from her. Now that he wasn't burdened with the feeling of life fleeting from him, he remembered how scary it was, to be seen. Oh, it was hot. It was too much for one day already.

He knocked on the door. There was no answer for a while, but then he heard Albus' voice.

"Yes?" curious, energetic. He didn't know what to expect, and so, as he opened the door, the light blinded him. He saw Orlaith, by the desk together with his uncle, and it finally got to him. This was all real. He really made it.

"Ha!" Albus yelled, clasping his hands together. His smile could break apart the stone. "Ha!" He couldn't say anything else.

Orlaith was at loss of words, but she moved instead. Her eyes, the way they looked at him, they were the most beautiful. Credence prepared himself for the collision as she jumped at him, with her arms open.

"Cre-he-he-dence", she cried. Her little body against his, he realized he had been stooping again, and instead, embraced her, straightening his back.

"I was just away for one day, one day", she was hollering. With the tears on her face, and her hair on her face, too, in the glimmer of her gold, she looked like the greatest thing he'd ever seen; maybe like the wooden spirit, or a mermaid from the hidden pools below the blue rocks.

"You look so healthy, Credence!" Albus noted joyfully.

"I guess I'm better", Credence replied.

"Better? You're absolutely, irretrievably, positively well. Do you feel any weakness at all, any pain?"

Credence shook his head no.

Orlaith let go of him, sniffing, wiping her tears away with a whole palm, like a child, and looked at him closely.

"That is just great", Albus admitted, "good job, good job Credence, and you, Orlaith. I had no doubt it would all work out".

She sneezed out of surprise, hiding her nose in her small palms.

"What do you mean!" she yelled, "no doubts? You told me to leave all hope!"

Albus shrugged and tilted his head guiltily, with such a sheepish smile that Orlaith was stupified.

"Oh, you..." she finally uttered, "you absolute calculating, secret-keeping, people-manipulating, warlock chief. Did you make me, did you make me believe he'd die so that I, what?" "Oh, I didn't try to make you suffer, dear. But I did hold a little hope all to myself, I admit. I was really hoping it would work", Dumbledore responded apologetically.

"What would work?" Credence asked. Orlaith's face was moving with some unreadable expressions.

Albus looked at her with some hidden spell untold.

"Well? Don't you know? I thought you'd get it, Orlaith, since you know me through and through".

"Uh..." she puffed, frustrated.

"Love. The ancient magic", he clarified. "Only love could cure an obscurial. And I think I'd told you before at some point, but you didn't seem to pay attention".

She blinked.

"Love", said Dumbledore, "is the most powerful tool of ancient magic. It heals the wounds that would otherwise take the wounded to the world of dead. It shields us from the treacherous dark spells. Love is what cures even death itself sometimes. An obscurial could only be saved with love, from one side, and from the other. Your greatest strength was never your rage, Orlaith, although you seemed to think that. It was love that made the earth help you, the love you felt for the creatures that made the forest defend you. And you", he turned to Credence, "my boy, once you stopped fighting it, and pitied it, the part of yourself that had been nurtured by the lack of love, found its way back to your core. You never fight an obscurial. You understand it. You accept the love that will tame it".

They stood, dumbfounded, in complete awe of Dumbledore's speech.

Orlaith wanted to throw her hands in the air and yell, of course! Of course you are so simply right all the time!

They looked at each other like two schoolchildren, a little bit awkward.

"It would have taken immense strength out of you, of course", Albus added, giving Credence a proud tap on the shoulder. "You, being of our blood, a Dumbledore. You know you will be known as the boy who lived through one of the most trying conditions one could ever, possibly, have".

Credence scratched his neck, wishing he could stare at the wall and digest everything. Suddenly he saw Orlaith's smile leave her lower lip and the teeth biting into it. She gave Dumbledore a look of complete revery.

"What did you say?"

"That he's strong".

"No, after. The boy..."

"...who lived", Albus helped. "Why?"

She gasped, and then gasped again, and her stare became glassy.

"Oh. Oh..."

She gave Credence a desperate, loving look.

"Oh..."

Neither of them understood what's gotten into her. Orlaith looked like she was about to combust into flames on the spot. Thinking proccess reflected onto her face.

"I'll be back", she snapped suddenly, in a very shrill voice. Credence started getting worried. He looked at his uncle after she ran out of the classroom.

Albus was less concerned, - maybe a little, just out of politeness.

"She'll be some time".

"Does that happen often?"

"Once in a while. Do you want some tea? Will you please tell me how you feel now?"

They walked towards the stairs, Credence, throwing confused looks at the door.

Not a single word passable for print crossed her mind as she ran through the castle. Oh no, that was too much. She almost fatigued herself to death by the time she reached the Divinations rope ladder. She was being incredibly lucky - or Matilda didn't have a place to live? because the Professor was still there in the middle of July.

She didn't greet her, but shoved her head into the room, startling the soothsayer almost to death.

"Professor!" she shouted like mad, "I screwed up! I screwed up so much!"

Matilda clutched the dress on her chest in fright.

"What happened?"

Orlaith was stammering.

"The- the- the boy, the vision, remember, when I came to you, the tree, the boy!"

"Yes, yes, I remember that, miss Peverell".

Now, hearing this name was sure horrifying to her.

"The boy you've seen in the crystal ball, don't prevent the tree from growing! The boy!"

"Yes, what about him?" Matilda yelled, "the lost, dark-haired boy, what about him?"

"What eyes did he have?"

She tried to recollect what she's seen. Ah, it was easy for the child had very distinct, bright eyes.

"Green", she replied, "emerald green".

She let go of the ladder and crashed down on the floor, hitting her head on the stone. As she lay there, Orlaith watched the blurry bright opening of the class. Oh, she thought.

Uh-oh.

#ezra miller imagine #credence barebone imagine #fantastic beasts imagine #hogwarts legacy #harry potter #credence barebone #aurelius dumbledore #albus dumbledore #harry potter imagine

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fideidefenswhore · 10 months

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There were, indeed, some observers who thought that Henry was sick and tired of Anne by early 1536, and had determined to abandon her. Chief among those reporting this was the ever-hopeful Chapuys. It is hard not to read wish-fulfilment into the evidence of one who referred to Anne as 'the concubine' or 'the she-devil', and who had made similar bitter assertions about the doomed state of Henry and Anne's relationship at the height of their happiness, in August and September 1533. Chapuys himself recognized that Henry and Anne had always been prone to 'lovers' quarrels', and that the king's character was very 'changeable'. Henry and Anne were direct with each other, got angry, shouted, sulked, got jealous—but they were also described as being 'merry' together, including throughout the autumn of 1535—and this epithet seems to be appended to their marriage more often than to any of Henry's other marriages.

1536: The Year that Changed Henry VIII, Suzannah Lipscomb

#what's funny about 1533 is that there's a quote in direct contadiction by one of anne's opponents #from one whose quote in 1536 becomes infamous (john russell)#it's very. so what is the truth oprah.gif #so those that were opposed to anne admitted begrudingly in 1533 at least that this was a happy marriage #that chapuys was not one of them does suggest that his bias overplayed his imagination and made him extremely credulous #(it's actually a source that's known henry lifelong and refers to him specifically as the 'happiest he's ever been (seen him)#yet so much more credence is given to chapuys who was not an intimate of henry's and had only known him within #a rather formal relationship of ambassador to foreign king for only three years #suzannah lipscomb #ok i think that was the last request from the poll...unless there's been new votes since...#tl; dr i feel like if you hosted a debate between lipscomb and mackay it would stream for 32 hours rwagrfbsfsj

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ma-douce-souffrance · 1 year

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Yo wtf credence is by Penelope Douglas???what the fuck guys omg stay AWAY

#i read this book called bully by her in 12th gosh it sucked so bad omg i can totally imagine what credence is like now wtf #hit me like a truck omg

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shuckstruck · 8 months

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cringe is dead have i told u guys the all-time #1 blorbo of my mind is a demigod too. and it whips.

#rumbles #godskeep #(it’s dnd so as far as /i/ kno he doesn’t get anything special for it)#but he looks Like That and his ridiculous self-important fantasies gain a sliver #SLIVER. of credence #and he’s hunted for sport or smthn. and who doesn’t love That for their oc #‘or smthn’ it’s in development okay. it’s a dnd game #things may or may not shake out how u imagine they will :)

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el-im · 2 years

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#love this random shot of mccoy in sickbay w the doctors marcus while the ship is on red alert and being shot at #particularly bc its a break in the montage of. people getting weapons. running down hallways. getting to battle stations.#he's just sittin there reading #jolted every once and awhile by warning shots #knowing that soon the casualties are going to start pouring in his door #its this strange moment of peace in the belly of the beast that you get to see #particularly bc ive always liked to imagine sickbay is one of the safest places in the ship #the least susceptible to jolts and shakes #ive always thought that there was lighter g in sickbay too. or the option to turn it off and let the patients float #if they have conditions/are in a state in which abrupt movement would cause them considerable pain #you know #give the doctor some magnetic boots so he can still get around to them and boom you've protected the guy with the broken leg from falling on #the floor when engineering gets hit w phaser fire. yanno?#anyway. the fact that the doctors are in this shot is great bc it sort of gives credence to the idea that - physically - its very safe there #they're both civilians so they didnt sign onto being fired at like the officers on the ship did #yanno #trek #star trek #also its just a pretty shot. love me a cut glass door.

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jobey-wan-kenobi · 1 year

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i'm not the first to observe this by a long shot. but i am struck anew but how incredible it is that John's diss track of Paul really goes "hey, yanno who is really a little too stuck on their dead mum?...

... NOT ME!"

#the album is called Imagine #because it's short for Imagine the Bloody Gall of John 'Oedipal' Lennon Trying to Drag Anyone Else for their Mummy Issues #John 'When My Mum Was Tragically Struck Down I Spent the Rest of Art College Making It Everyone Else's Problem' Lennon #John 'Julia: My Mum My Muse My Obsession' Lennon #John 'I Literally Call My Wife 'Mother' and Couldn't Stand to Be Separated From Her for Five Whole Years' Lennon #i'm honestly not mad i'm laughing too hard #truly incredible #really lends credence to his later back-tracking of 'oh well maybe it wasn't really about paul maybe i was talking 'bout myself'

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blockofbones · 1 year

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Kys

Imagine being such a pitiful coward this is all you can say and you say it on anon.

I'm just sad you're such a pathetic piece of shit

#in case you cant tell #i dont give anons a single shred of credence #and i think youre all 12 years old #because no adult hides behind anon and says this shit #imagine if i wasnt in the head space i was #would you single digit IQ losers even care or feel remorse if i did something to myself?#the answer is probably no #tw suicide

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gurugirl · 24 days

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The Handyman

Summary: When you inherit your aunt's estate after she passes away, you hire Harry to fix up the old house but that's not all he winds up being good for.

A/N: This was requested! Also if you'd like to see early access content like this (plus more exclusive content) consider joining my Patreon! xoxo

Word Count: 10.9k

Warning: smut, mentions of a close relative dying, and tons of sweetness

When you pulled up the long dirt driveway to the old estate you used to spend your summers at, it was as if you could feel your aunt Gayla’s presence all around you again. You could remember running through the fields and the trees and dawdling your afternoons away on the big wraparound porch with extra sweet lemonade and book after book.

Your aunt would have her old radio playing with records or cassette tapes, volume turned up so loud you’d be out climbing a tree a quarter mile off and could still hear the sounds of Credence Clearwater Revival or Stevie Nicks crooning over the distance. When the sun would begin to dip in the sky, oranges and pinks coloring in where it was bright blue just before, she’d change the record to Bill Withers or maybe even Louis Armstrong and she’d call you in by screaming at the top of her lungs that it was time to eat. But when you’d arrive she’d pull you into her arms and dance with you and tell you how important it was to read, write, dance, and love.

And everything she did and the way she lived her life had the biggest influence on yours these days. She had been your favorite person, next to your mother of course. But your mother died when you were 17 and your aunt filled in to help raise you when your dad was overwhelmed with the loss of his wife and trying to reign in a hormonal and emotional young woman. He tried his best but you knew it was lucky your aunt stepped up to help guide you into adulthood.

So it came as almost no surprise to anyone when your aunt passed and she left you everything she had. At the time you didn’t realize she had so much. At the reading of the will, it was just you and your father. The lawyer said you’d be inheriting her estate and every dime she had to her name. But when he read off the number, well, that part very much came as a surprise.

It was a life-changing number. And her old, huge house set on 16 acres in that old, small town was worth far more than you ever imagined it would be. You were advised to sell it at first. And you certainly considered it. What would you be needing with so much space all by yourself so far away from the big city you currently lived in? That money could just be piled on top of the already large sum she’d left you.

But the more you considered selling it the more you hated that idea. All the wonderful memories you had there, all that gorgeous space with expanses of marble and hardwood and tall trees and meadowland could be a sanctuary. It could be a place for you to live. To enjoy the large space, tall ceilings, and windows, the sunrises and sunsets… To play music loudly and dance in front of your oven as you baked muffins and write to your heart’s content.

It could certainly be far better than your studio apartment that cost nearly as much in rent as what you made working your ass off at the paper. You could move out of your rundown, mouse-infested building and fix up the old estate to your liking. You could quit your job and begin writing full-time like you always wanted. Your aunt’s house would be the perfect place to begin your new adventure. A refuge of peace. An oasis of your own to spark inspiration and creativity.

And so here you were, standing with the key in hand on the big front porch, old, rotted boards bending and cracking as you stepped up to the door to open it for the first time in years. When your aunt had fallen sick, she’d been transferred to the city to live with your father as she was unable to care for herself during the end of her life. You helped as often as possible. On Saturdays, you’d take her to the park to sit on the bench and watch the birds and the trees and you’d chat about the books you were reading and life. You did that every Saturday until she could no longer be moved from her bed. But you were always with her every Saturday, by her side and holding her hand until she had no more Saturdays left.

You felt a surge of emotion as you walked through the space. The old funky vintage chandelier that hung over the dining table was covered in cobwebs. When your aunt had it installed you helped her paint the little ceramic flowers in various shades of green and yellow. It had been all white at one time.

But it was the window that stretched along the wall that overlooked the back acreage that drew you closer. Pulling the dusty curtains aside, sunshine filled the room. Sheets covered the furniture that had all been left behind.

The whole place was yours. And you had a great feeling about this next phase in your life.

. . .

After a week of cleaning, working in the garden, peeling wallpaper down, having a new refrigerator and oven range installed as well as a washer and dryer for clothes, and attempting to tear out wooden boards from the front porch all by yourself, you’d hit a wall. It was clear you’d need help to get the house in tip-top shape.

Scouring the internet for handyman recommendations, you were left feeling quite hopeless. So you made a trip into town to talk to the owner of the hardware shop you met some days earlier when you were buying paint and tools. He had mentioned he knew someone who could help if you ever needed. A local man who took over his father’s business. You imagined there weren’t a lot of people willing to make the trip out to the small town and then even further out to the old house miles from the main road.

When you arrived, as you expected, the place was empty aside from Mr. George shuffling about behind the counter. When he spotted you his face lit up in a grin, “Miss Y/n! How can I help you this Thursday morning?”

“Hi, Mr. George. I was uh, wondering if I could get the number of that handyman you were telling me about? I think I’ve done all I can do by myself at this point. Some of the electricity needs rewiring, the boards in the porch are rotting away–“

“Say no more, my dear. I’ll call him right now,” he placed his hand over the phone receiver, “We’ll see if he can make some time today or tomorrow and if not, I’ll bet he can fit you in next week for a quote.”

“Next week?” You frowned.

“Well, he’s the only one who runs the business these days. His pop passed away a couple of months back so I’m assuming he might be a bit busy. Good guy, though. I wouldn’t recommend him if I didn’t think he’d do your aunt’s place justice.”

You nodded. That would have to be good enough you supposed. If not this week, next week you figured would be okay. Things were different in the small town than they were back in the big city. Life moved a bit slower and that was something you would just have to get used to.

Mr. George dialed the number he pulled up from his desktop Rolodex as you patiently waited to find out if the recommended handyman would be interested in helping you or not.

“Harry! My boy! How are you?” Mr. George spoke into the receive with a big smile.

“Yeah… I’m well too. Hey, look,” he glanced at you, “I’ve got a lovely young woman here who needs some help with her new house… yes. It’s that old mansion off Timbert. The one about a two miles from the main road… exactly. Gayla’s old place… It’s her niece, uh,” he cupped the receiver and looked at you with his brows raised as you spoke your name to him, “her name is Y/n.”

Seemed everyone in this town knew your aunt. You watched George scribble down something on a piece of scrap paper before sliding it over to you and began to make a little small talk with the man called Harry.

It was a number and the name of the company, Styles and Son. Mr. George pointed at the paper, and looked at you, “Write your number down here for me.”

You picked up the pen he used and wrote your number with your first and last name next to it, handing the paper back to him.

Mr. George tore off the section with your number and nodded at you, “Okay, ready for the number?”

He read it off to Harry before looking at you and holding out the receiver, “Wants to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Oh, sure,” you reached for the phone and stepped closer to the counter so you could put it to your ear, “Hello?”

“Hi. You’re Gayla’s niece?”

“Yes, sir. She recently passed and left the house to me and I wanted to fix it up a little.”

“My dad used to help Gayla out whenever she needed things done. I’ve never had the opportunity to see the inside but I’d like to come by maybe tomorrow afternoon when you have an hour or so to spare?”

“Sure! I’ll be home all day. Any time works for me.”

“Great. Let’s say around 2? I’ll give you a call before I head that way. George gave me your phone number, and make sure he gives you mine.”

“Oh yeah. He already did. I’ve got it written down here.”

“M’kay… well, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/n.”

“Sure! And thank you again!”

Mr. George took the phone from you and placed it into its cradle to hang up the call, “You know… Harry’s a single man. Bout your age. My wife says he’s a looker and I reckon you two might get along well.”

“Is that so?” You grinned at the store owner as you folded up Harry’s contact info and stuffed it into your pocket, “Appreciate this, Mr. George. So much. Truly.”

“Ahh, it’s nothin’. This small town is a close-knit community. We’re all here to help each other when we can.”

. . .

Instead of calling you, Harry texted when he was on his way over.

See you in half an hour. H

You smiled at the thought of finally getting some help in that big lonely house. Wiping the sweat from your forehead you climbed down the step ladder to freshen up a bit before Harry could arrive. You slid on a clean cotton dress, washed your hands and face, and then made some lemonade should he want anything to drink.

When Harry arrived you heard his truck clonking up the dirt driveway before you saw it. He’d been your first visitor so it was the first time you’d had the pleasure of hearing a vehicle driving toward your house (and didn’t it feel so weird to call it your house?). You watched out the window as dust kicked up from his tires. It was a big black truck. A decal on the side that read Styles and Son.

Walking onto your porch you waved to greet him as he stepped out, feet landing on the ground. His attire was simple. Jeans and a white t-shirt with a pocket at the front. Work boots. But what you couldn’t get over as he smiled and raised his big hand to wave back at you was how fit and broad he was. Tanned skin on his arms and tattoos up the length of one of them. Chestnut curls with touches of light brown and maybe blond hidden in the strands. He was tall and he was handsome.

“Y/n?” He smiled as he walked up the steps to your porch with his eyes on you. Green eyes.

“Yes! I’m Y/n,” you reached your hand out to him as he gripped it into his palm to shake.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve always wanted to check out Gayla’s house. Glad I’ve got the opportunity,” he looked down at the boards under his feet, “And first thing is,” he bent down and placed the heel of his palm into the wood, “this porch needs updating in a bad way.” He stood back up, soft green irises on you, “Feel how soft that is when you step over it?” He spoke as he demonstrated, pressing his foot into the floor of the porch.

You nodded, “Oh yeah. I already tore some of the boards out but I knew I couldn’t do all this on my own.”

Harry squinted at you and the way his eyes scraped down over your dress and to your feet then back up to your face had you tingling, “You tore out some boards on your own?” He nodded with an impressed look on his face.

Now you were feeling flustered. The sudden shift in temperature made it feel like your cotton panties were digging into your hips and your thighs too tight.

You laughed and shook your head, “Oh… I mean it wasn’t much. But…” you looked back up at him and watched as a lopsided smile took over his face, complete with a dimple, “You wanna come inside? See the place?”

“Absolutely.”

You pushed the front door in and let Harry pass through into the space. You watched him look all around and then walk toward the big front window and slide his hand over the wood frame, “Beautiful woodwork here,” he looked up toward the ceiling and then along the wall toward the archway into the dining area, “It looks like it’s probably throughout the house. We’ll be sure to keep this original,” he looked at you suddenly, “Unless you wanted to completely change all this. It’s up to you but I would suggest trying to maintain the existing features.”

“I would love to keep it original if possible. So… are you saying you’ll do this for me?”

Harry chuckled and ran his index finger under his nose, “Soon as I saw the place as I drove up the path to get here had my heart set on it. Of course, we’ll need to talk numbers and come to an agreement but I’m ready to start as soon as possible. What’s the electricity situation? Original too?” He looked up at the light sconce on the wall.

“I think it’s all original. Everything. Most likely all needs overhauled to bring it up to code. So… you don’t have other jobs you are committed to right now? Thought you were the only one?”

Harry raised his brows and looked back at you, “Hired a helper a couple weeks back. He can do all the odd jobs for me while I focus on this. Honestly, Y/n,” you scorched at the way he said your name so casually, “There ain’t tons of work around here. I usually have one or two small jobs a day. Garbage disposal repair, sodding a yard, shingle repair… we do bigger jobs too like tree stump removal, burst pipes, and things like that. One-offs usually.”

“Tree stump removal… you do all that?”

He nodded, “Yep. I do it all. Got the equipment from when my father was running the business. My dad and I were the only ones in town to do all this kind of stuff so we learned how to do just about everything.”

You showed Harry around the rest of the house and described what you thought you might want done. But watching Harry slide his hands over your baseboards and knock at the walls as he talked about what he’d do… you smiled and agreed with everything he said.

“I do want the wallpaper out, though. It’s a little too dated for my taste,” you ran your finger over the silk flower design wall covering and Harry put his palm over the wall and nodded, “We could look at other wallpaper if you wanted. Or were you just thinking paint?”

You bit your lip and leaned into the wainscoting, “Maybe a new wallpaper? What do you think is better?”

Harry mimicked your pose, placing his hip on the white wainscoting, and faced you, “There are some really high-quality wallpapers out there. In any pattern you can think of. Can also get them custom-made if you had the money for it. I’d get the wallpaper if I were you.”

You nodded, “I’ll be honest, Harry, my aunt left me a good bit of money and I’d like to restore the place with really nice quality things and finishes. Want it to look as beautiful here as it did the day it was built. I’m not too worried about how much it’ll all cost. Within reason of course.”

Harry pushed himself from the wall and clasped his hands together behind his back, “I’m really sorry for your loss by the way. Was a shock to everyone when we found out she passed.”

You nodded, “Yeah. I always thought she’d live forever. Spent so many summers here with her, climbing trees and dancing… just feels so weird that she’s gone now,” a small smile covered your face, “But also, I’m sorry to hear about your dad too. His recent passing.”

The smile fell from Harry’s face, “Did George tell you he passed?”

“He did. I’m sorry if bringing that up wasn’t–“

“No, it’s fine. I was about to tell you anyway. Hence the name of the business, Styles and Son. I’m the son part of it,” he grinned, “But yeah. He died and I took over the business. It’s been a struggle. I miss him but I think he’d be really pleased that I was getting the chance to fix this old place up.”

You offered Harry some lemonade and you both sat on the back porch together as you discussed what you wanted done first with the house. Of course, Harry already had a solid timeline in mind, he’d start with the electrical wiring and the rotten boards on the porch and make sure everything was up to code and safe before getting to the more superficial parts of the job. The garden and landscaping would come last.

Everything flowed so nicely with Harry. He was easy to talk to and you trusted that he knew what he was doing. And it didn’t hurt that his voice was soothing and deep and slow. You could listen to him talk about solid hardwood versus engineered hardwood all day long if he let you.

“Well, I’ll be heading out now I guess. Be back first thing in the morning and start on this porch.”

You walked him to his big truck and shook his hand again, thanking him for taking the job and feeling a bit overwhelmed and emotional at everything.

Overwhelmed because Harry was so genuinely kind and you knew immediately you could trust him completely. Which just added to his charm and sex appeal. You really tried to push down the fact that he was so stunningly attractive because that wasn’t going to do you any good. And even though Mr. George told you he was single, you couldn’t imagine that was true. Someone as yummy-looking and kind-hearted as Harry? There was no way he wasn’t at least seeing someone.

But you were also emotional because you were finally going to get to see your aunt Gayla’s house restored to its original glory. It was going to be a real labor of love but it felt so good to be doing it. You had never felt so sure you were on the right path in life until that day. Until Harry arrived with his big truck and assured you that you’d get everything you wanted and that it would end up being even better than before.

And for the first time since you moved into that old house, you sat down and began to write. You’d gotten nearly ten thousand words written and were awake well into the wee hours of the morning typing away with the sudden inspiration you’d gotten. You fell asleep with your laptop next to you when you couldn’t hold your eyes open any longer.

You were woken to the sound of pounding and clanking and creaking which had you startled as you sat up in your bed and looked around your bedroom. The sun filled the space with light and you picked up your cellphone to note the time and saw a missed call from Harry.

Wrapping your robe around yourself you ran down the stairs all frazzled and rushed and burst onto the front porch, tripping over a stack of fresh boards and landing on your knees and palms like an idiot.

“Hey… hey…” you heard Harry’s deep voice from behind you as he slid his hands under your arms to help you up, “You okay?”

“Oh my god…” you croaked out the first words of the day from your throat, “I just woke up and realized you were here and… Sorry!”

He turned you to face him and looked down over your knees and lifted your palms upward to inspect, “Let’s get you cleaned up. Took quite the spill there. Sorry, I shouldn’t have stacked those boards right there.”

You felt your heart calm as he led you into your kitchen. He was so gentle with you, which for some reason you hadn’t expected. You knew he was kind but this seemed very much outside of the scope of his job description, “No, it’s fine! It’s me. I’d probably trip over the boards no matter where you had them stacked. I’m a bit of a nervous nelly. And when I woke up I just… I was startled. Fell asleep late and didn’t set an alarm…”

Harry grinned at you as you ran your faucet and put your hands under it, “It’s fine. No need to rush or get all riled up. I got here a bit early and when you didn’t answer I just figured I’d start on the porch. Think I’ll replace your doorbell as well. It’s not working either.”

You dried your hands and smiled at Harry, “I’ll get you a key before you leave today. In case I’m not here or I’m sleeping again. Sorry… I just had this burst of inspiration last night and typed until I passed out. It’s…”

“You’re fine,” you watched his eyes drop down to your torso and then bounce back up quickly to your face.

When you looked down at yourself you realized your robe was twisted and while all your bits were covered, they were barely covered.

“Jesus fucking Christ… I’m sorry, Harry. I’m a mess…” you pulled the material into place and adjusted the robe.

Harry put his hands at the tops of your arms, “Hey… you’re fine. Take a breath. It’s a beautiful morning and the birds are singing, and just look at this view…” he motioned toward your window where you could see trees and lush green grass stretch along the front of the house, “Now… Do you have some alcohol to clean up the cuts on your knees?”

You sighed and nodded, “Yeah. I’ll get it. You don’t have to do all this. I promise I’m fine. Just need to kind of wake up I think.”

Harry nodded, “Okay. I’ll get back to work out there. Gonna be some loud hammering and noises for a while.”

You cleaned yourself up and put actual clothes on before making coffee and bringing a hot mug out to Harry on a tray. This time, you carefully placed your steps around the boards and scanned the porch to see open spaces and nails in a tin next to fresh boards.

Harry was crouched along the railing and prying a board from its spot when he looked up at you.

“Coffee? Wasn’t sure if you take it with sugar or cream… Or maybe you just want tea?” You placed the tray down as he stood up.

“That’s really nice of you. Thank you. I would love some coffee. Black is fine.”

He took the mug by its handle and brought it up to his lips to take a sip.

“And if you’re hungry I could make you something?” You watched him gulp down the hot liquid.

Shaking his head he grinned at you, “Maybe lunch in a few hours. I ate breakfast already. But you don’t need to go out of your way to make anything. I can go into town for a sandwich, which is what I usually do.”

“Oh no. I’ll make you something for lunch! I insist! I love the company anyway. That way you can kind of relax instead of driving back and forth just to eat. Unless you want to get away for a bit. I mean…” you started rambling. You couldn’t help yourself. Harry’s biceps were on full display as he lifted the mug up to his mouth again and you could just feel your own mouthwatering at the sight. You hadn’t seen a man so attractive in a long time. All the city guys you dated were nice enough… but then there was Harry. Tall with broad shoulders and lean muscle all over, deep pink lips and light green eyes… and dimples… and he was handy? God, you weren’t sure how long you could go before you started to become obvious about how much you enjoyed letting your irises rove over his frame. That is if it wasn’t already obvious.

He watched you go on and on about lunch and then offer up other suggestions with a small smile on his face until you stopped when you realized you were yammering, “Sorry.”

“You okay?” He grinned. He knew you were fine. But he did wonder if you were flustered because of him or if that was how you just were.

“I’m fine. Sorry. Get kind of long-winded sometimes. I’ll let you get to it. Um… if you do want me to make you lunch just let me know. And uh…” you paused and then realized you were about to start yapping again, “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Y/n,” Harry’s deep voice was soft as he spoke your name and you turned to look back at him, “Take a breath. It’s okay. We’ll have lunch together in a few hours. Yeah?”

You puffed out a breathy laugh and nodded before heading back inside with the tray that had sugar and milk atop.

You hadn’t considered it until then. Until you were placing the small crystal lid back onto the sugar bowl and putting the milk back into the refrigerator that your sudden burst of inspiration for the story you were working on was thanks to your handsome handyman. It also felt really good to have someone else there with you. Not that you didn’t feel safe there alone, but just having another presence near you was comforting.

And when you began to make up a lunch, something you hoped he’d like (you had to stop yourself from asking him if he’d want cucumbers and white cheese on his sandwich and just trust that it would be fine) you couldn’t help but peek out your window at him as he pounded his hammer down and wiped the sweat from his brow. His shirt was a bit damp as the sun was rising in the sky and the temperature with it.

Which then reminded you to plug in a fan so he could cool off while he ate with you. You set up the kitchen table and plugged in a fan to have it on for him as you both ate your sandwiches. As well as iced lemonade and chopped cherry tomatoes with basil and olive oil.

It was noon on the dot when you opened the door and poked your head out, “Lunch is ready if you’re hungry.”

Harry placed his hammer down and pushed himself up to stand as he nodded, “Thank you. Mind if I use the bathroom before?”

“Harry, you can use anything you want in the house. Feel free to come inside when you please. You don’t have to ask.”

“Well, thank you, Y/n. I appreciate it.”

You felt ridiculous as you paced your kitchen in wait for Harry to come in so you two could begin. The silly thoughts you had in your head about him had your heart lobbing around in your chest a bit too fast. You could just imagine (in the deepest little fantasy spot in your brain) that he’d take one bite of your sandwich and be so overcome by you that he’d have the sudden urge to lift you onto the table, push your dress up, and take you right there, knocking the lemonade down and forgetting all about the cherry tomatoes.

“Wow. This looks excellent. And you’re joining me?” He smiled as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes on the table.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you shrugged as you pulled a chair out for him, just in the path of the fan, “And if it’s okay, though I could have some with you. Keep you company. Unless I’m annoying you…”

Harry laughed and shook his head as he took his seat, “You’re the furthest thing from annoying, Y/n. In fact, I quite like talking to you. Sit,” he gestured at the spot where you’d placed your own plate with the sandwich. “The fan is a nice touch too. See, you’re just about the sweetest person I’ve ever worked for and it’s only been a few hours.”

You felt the skin on your cheeks heat up as you sat down in the wooden chair and looked at Harry. You really really tried not to look at him like that. But you could feel it oozing out of you as you batted your lashes and tilted your head down, your eyes still on him. You couldn’t help it!

And he saw it clear as day too. Grinning at you he took the glass of lemonade and gulped down about half as he watched you blink your eyes and then remove your gaze from his down to your plate.

“Thank you, Y/n,” he said as he placed the glass down and picked up his sandwich.

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

. . .

Harry didn’t take days off. He was at your house at 8 am sharp every morning and every day you were sure to make him a big lunch and chat with him a bit. But every day you fell further and further into a little spiral of want and lust. It was ridiculous but he wasn’t doing anything to dampen the way you felt.

Like after one lunch, he took his thumb and wiped the mustard from the edge of your mouth so nonchalantly you felt your knees give out and he had to help steady you. But you didn’t miss his smirk. Like he knew just what he was doing.

Or the time when you were walking from your bathroom to your kitchen after a shower and he’d gone out to buy supplies so you thought you were alone but instead walked past the huge window in only your underwear and bra as you were talking to yourself. Yapping away about whatever in your panties as you turned to the sink to wash some dishes but then yelped when you saw him standing there looking in, an expression of surprise on his face.

You had never run so fast in your life up to your room to put something on. And you should have known better. What was wrong with you? Of course, you were quite absent-minded at times, but that was something on another level.

But then it happened again that he saw you in only your skivvies as you traipsed to your bathroom and had forgotten that he was rewiring the second-floor hallway lights.

“Hey, sweetheart… just wanted to remind you that I’m here,” his voice startled you and you balked as you apologized and shut the bathroom door with a loud slam.

“Sorry, Harry!” You apologized again with your heart rapidly thudding behind your ribcage.

You could hear his voice through the bathroom door, “Don’t need to apologize. Doesn’t offend me. Just wanted to remind you I was here is all – in case you weren’t keen on me seeing you in your knickers.”

And Harry was like that. So gentle and thoughtful and there was the tiniest bit of flirtatiousness there too. Which really kept you on your toes around him. Made you feel all hot and gooey. Maybe if he didn’t grin at you the way he did or if he didn’t wipe mustard from your lips or call you sweetheart or compliment you as often you wouldn’t feel that tension there all the time.

But he did and so you did.

Which then led to you working up the nerve to start asking him to say for dinner. He’d sit in your kitchen after using your shower to clean up and watch (you insisted he didn’t help) as you made something for the both of you to eat.

At first, he didn’t stay every evening for dinner because he wanted to get home to clean up and you didn’t want to push and make it seem like you were needy for his company.

But soon, after suggesting he just use your shower, it was every night, and he began to bring a change of clothes so he could clean up before eating. And it felt like you were in some kind of bizarre relationship. Or, that’s what you pretended in your mind anyway. And it was fodder for your writing so you played into the fantasy a little bit.

Of course, there were also all the times you caught him with his shirt off. By the time he began working inside the house summer was in full swing and the place had no central air conditioning so it could get rather hot inside.

And it wasn’t just that you caught him with his shirt off… it was that he caught you staring while he was sans shirt, a sheen of sweat on his chest and at the nape of his neck, muscles flexing and tensing as he labored to make your house gorgeous and well-functioning.

Harry Styles was sexy. He was kind. He was charming and funny. He was smart. And you wanted him. Wanted him in a bad way.

And the days and weeks that drew on that feeling and that lust did not falter. No, it only widened and grew strong, steady thick roots into the ground and became fortified and strengthened with every little bit of contact you had with him. You wanted him so badly you could taste it. Feel it. Smell it.

“Let me get it!” He scoffed at you as he pulled the lid from the pot that was boiling over while you were chopping the tomatoes. You told him to stay seated because you wanted him to rest, that you’d get the boiling pot. He’d worked so hard that day (as he always did) and you knew he must be tired. But he dipped the spoon into the bubbling water and turned down the burner to lower the heat for you.

“I can help, Y/n. I know you’re just being sweet cause you think I’m all tuckered but I don’t mind. Really.”

You smiled as you sliced into the tomato, “Okay. I just want to make sure you’re not working extra. You work so hard every day and I feel like this is the least I can do for you.”

Harry pushed a soft laugh out through his nose as he placed the lid back onto the pot, “The least you could do is pay me for my work. And that you already do. This,” he gestured around the kitchen, “Is above and beyond. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Well, I just… I feel like we’re friends now and feels strange to send you home after,” you glanced at him to see that he was leaning his hip into the counter watching you in that way that he often looked at you. The one that made your skin sizzle.

When he didn’t respond you glanced at him again, “There’s a bottle of wine if you want to share? I think it’ll go really nicely with this dish.”

Harry pursed his lips and nodded, “Trying to get me drunk, sweetheart?”

You chuckled in surprise and shook your head, “Of course not!” Placing the knife down you turned to him, “I was only just suggesting it if you want. I mean… you don’t have to. I didn’t think a glass would be all that bad–“

“I’m teasing. It’s okay. I’ll have some wine with you,” he laughed at the way you suddenly bristled, “Where’s the wine opener? I’ll pour us both a glass.”

The wine turned out to be the perfect accompaniment for the pasta dish you’d made. But you knew it would be. In fact, you’d gone into town the night before to the olive oil and wine shop and selected the wine for that exact purpose after asking the owner what she thought. You weren’t sure if he’d like wine or not but you liked wine and it was a really nice bottle. Which you could afford now that you had a bit of money to your name.

And Harry agreed it was good as he poured you both another glass after you’d both finished your plates.

“So what are you writing anyway?” Harry asked as he leaned back in his chair and set his eyes on you.

“It’s a romance. You wouldn’t be into it I’m sure,” you shrugged as you sipped your wine.

“Why are you so sure I wouldn’t be into it? I love romance.”

“Oh. I guess men aren’t usually my target audience or prospective target audience… I haven’t actually published anything. Sorry… I shouldn’t assume I guess.”

“Tell me what it’s about.”

You cleared your throat and shook your head, “Oh… it’s not done. I’m kind of too bashful to talk about it just yet.”

Harry leaned his elbows onto the table and kept his gaze on you, “Oh come on… Tell me. I won’t judge. I want to know what kind of story you’ve been working on. And then I’ll tell you a secret of my own. How’s that sound?”

You sat your glass of wine down and licked your lips as you let your pupils take in his pretty lips, “Uh… fine…” you sighed and smiled. You wouldn’t tell him the whole thing but perhaps you could just make it brief. “It’s about a woman who takes on a new adventure in life and she meets a man unexpectedly and he helps her kind of navigate her new life… uh… like they have this unspoken connection and feel quite comfortable with one another off the bat. And it leads to a whirlwind romance that ends happily ever after.”

Harry tilted his head to the side and stitched his brows together, “Y/n…” Harry spoke your name as if he were about to scold you, “Give me some detail. What kind of new adventure is this woman taking?”

You looked up at the ceiling and felt your neck heat up. If you told him the premise he’d figure out you were basically writing a story that was a fantasy version of what you and Harry were doing.

But you didn’t want to lie and you could just tell him to drop it but you didn’t want to do that either. So you gulped down the saliva in your throat and laughed as you looked at him, “She inherits a gorgeous old house from a family member with all the money she’d need to hire a man to help her restore the place.”

The pleased look on his face had you looking away from him and down at your empty plate in full embarrassment.

“I see. So you’ve had some real-life inspiration since moving in here then.”

You nodded, a small laugh falling from your lips, “Yeah.”

“And this man helping her restore the old house? He’s the one she has her whirlwind, happy-ending romance with?”

You put your hands over your face, “Oh my god. I mean… yes. It’s just inspiration, though… like it wasn’t–“

Your words were cut off when you heard his chair scrape over the wooden floors and felt his hand at your back, “You don’t need to explain yourself. It’s just a story. Wanna hear my secret now? Level out the playing field a bit here.”

You pulled your hands away from your face and looked at him. He was sitting right next to you, so close you could see the pores on his nose as he offered you a dimpled grin. His hand gently rubbed at your back.

“Level out the playing field?”

His soft grin deepened as he slid his pupils down to your lips, “Yeah. You told me something that’s kind of a secret. If you want me to tell you a secret I will… kind of make it even.”

You swallowed with a nod as he moved his eyes over the expanse of your face and it felt like warmth seeping into your skin.

“See… So here’s the thing…” he paused to make sure you were paying attention, “I’ve been working for this insanely sweet-as-pie woman for a couple of months now. Just falling in love with every corner of the house that I touch… getting fed fruit and coffee every morning, sandwiches in the afternoon with lemonade and a fan to help cool me down, and then lately it’s spread into dinner… just me and her eating together in her kitchen, talking about nothing and everything as the sun goes down and then I go home at night alone and find myself unable to stop thinking about her and the way she laughs and the way I catch her staring at me when I’ve sweat through my shirt…”

You were holding your breath as he spoke and it was making your head fuzzy and your heart thud and your skin light up as he slowly worked his hand up to the back of your neck, fingers grazing the skin… it felt like you were watching a movie play out before you. Like it wasn’t real.

“And I think to myself… what if she feels the same way about me that I feel about her? Ya know? I mean I’ve seen the way she looks at me. That can’t be an accident. And she’s even started to ask me to stay even later after dinner to have dessert and even though my stomach is always stuffed full of the food she’s fed me and I couldn’t imagine eating another thing I’m always tempted to stay a little longer with her. Just to see where it goes,” the pad of his finger worked up your neck as you turned your gaze down to your hand on the table, “To find out if her dessert is just as tasty as everything else she’s offered me. And of course, I have no doubt that it would be.”

You stayed quiet. You couldn’t believe he’d just said all that. Like he was reading your story and knew what you wanted to happen next. Slowly you brought your gaze back to his and spoke shakily, “Harry…”

“You want me to stay for dessert tonight, Y/n?” You could feel the brush of his thumb along one side of your throat and the press of the pads of his fingers gently on the other side, palm flat against the back of your neck. And that question. It meant more than what he said and you both knew it.

“Yes. If you want,” you swallowed and kept your eyes on his face as he lowered his gaze to your mouth again. His hand at the back of your neck tensed and you could feel him pulling at you, just the last few inches needed to brush his lips against yours in a tentative move, allowing you to breach the space completely, moving in and pressing your mouth firmly against his.

And it was everything. Warm and soft and wet and then he inhaled sharply and opened his mouth to paint his tongue over your lips and you responded in kind, using your tongue against his and you felt his free hand pull at your hip. You smoothed your hands up his strong arms and to his shoulders and your heart felt full and light all at the same time.

When you felt the fine hairs at the nape of his neck under your fingers he shifted and pulled at you, both hands gripping your hips and bringing you up out of your chair and placing your bottom on the sturdy wood of the kitchen table, the plates pushed to the side and your nearly empty glass of wine wobbled in its spot as he kept his mouth over yours and he fit himself between your legs.

“Always wearing pretty skirts and dresses for me, aren’t you?” His lips traveled down your jaw and pressed over the skin on your pulse point, “Been teasing me this whole time…” slow pecks down to your clavicle and then back up the other side of your neck as he planted his palms flat onto the table next to your thighs, “Just know you wanted me to see you in your panties all those times… acted all innocent like you didn’t know you were giving me a show…”

You gasped when you felt his teeth gently scrap at your jaw before pushing plush pink lips over the same spot, “Harry…” you breathed out his name.

“Mmm… love how you say my name too,” he spoke as he moved his mouth back over yours and it was game over. Teeth and tongues, and wet lips with moans as he slid a thumb under the hem of your dress to glide up your thigh. He pressed himself in further, making you lay back on the table, your saltshaker and napkin holder tipping over as he ran his hands up your sides.

“Is this what you wanted? All this time, Y/n?”

You moaned as he began to pepper his kisses down your neck once again, your body lighting up with every touch and whisper into your skin.

“Yes…”

“Yeah,” he looked up at you with his hands firm around your waist before he moved them down to push at your skirt, shoving the material up your thighs, “And what about this? Is this what you want too?”

You pushed yourself up by your elbows and nodded, “Yeah…”

Harry grinned as his fingers found your panties and he tucked his middle fingers into the band, “Wanna give me my dessert now?”

His light jade eyes were sparkling as he waited for your nod of approval, the small yes you peeped out had him tearing your panties down your legs, left to drape off your left foot as he pushed your thighs apart and moaned, “It’s the only dessert I’ve wanted since you first started offering. Smells so good too,” he dropped his mouth to the inside of your plush thigh and ran his big palms upward on the underside of your thighs to press your legs back and you gurgled a moan as you watched him dip down and tongue at your pussy, his wet muscle slicking upward from your entrance to your clit and then repeated, and repeated, over and over as he kept his eyes on yours until you were so slick he was barely making contact with your skin… your arousal had coated your pussy and his tongue in a thick layer.

“Fuck me… sweetheart… you’re gonna give me a toothache with all this sweet juice…” he spoke mindlessly as he lapped at you. He brought a hand down to your pussy, running his fingers through your crease as he pressed his tongue to your clit and kissed it, bringing it delicately into his mouth with a gentle slurp.

“Ahh! Harry!” You reached down to pull at his hair as your back arched up and your head fell back into the wood.

The moment Harry felt your grip on his hair he spread your pussy with his fingers and drove a digit inside, curling it in and brushing against the spot you loved to focus on when you fingered yourself, making your body shiver.

Your table was rattling from the movements you were making, the lewd act causing the wooden legs to shift and give slightly as Harry ate your pussy and moaned at your taste.

“Gonna let me have some every night now?” His words came out watery, and slurred as he continued working to get you off, “Gonna let me take care of you the way you’ve been taking care of me?”

You cried out in a gurgle when you felt another finger press inside as he flattened his tongue over your pussy, “Yes!”

Harry grinned into your pussy. Seemed all you could say at that point was a combination of yes and Harry. He loved how you were responding to him. Like it was all you ever wanted.

When he felt you roll your hips up and grind into his mouth he pressed your thigh down and dug in harder, flicking his eyes up at you from time to time, watching the way your chest rose and fell heavy, how your lips were dropped wide open with your eyes closed.

“Y’shaking so hard, sweetheart. You can come if you need to,” he slid his fingers into the last knuckle and back out as he spoke, lips grazing your wet clit as he did so, “You’ve been so good to me, you deserve a treat too…”

Your brain was in a fog, a haze that made it hard to hear or make sense of his words as your orgasm tiptoed its way through your tummy and down into your core, slowly sliding its way through your organs until it burst out of you and your limbs stiffened as you pressed Harry’s face into your pussy and moaned his name so loudly Harry figured it was a good thing you didn’t have any neighbors close by to hear what could sound like someone being attacked.

But in a way, you were being attacked. Harry’s lips and his tongue and his fingers ravaged you through your orgasm, never letting up or stopping until you gasped and pushed at him as you sat up with wet lips, burning cheeks, and dark eyes, “Oh god, Harry!”

The dirty smirk on his face was pure sex as he pulled his fingers out of your sticky pussy and slid you from the table, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you to your room, his mouth on yours.

You began to squeak in protest as he lifted you and started up the stairs and you were certain it was too much weight or that he’d drop you but he was solid and strong and moved with ease, holding you tight under your bottom with one hand and his other at your mid back until he laid you on your bed with a bounce.

Harry began to pull his jeans down his strong legs and you watched as he undressed. It was the first time you’d seen his bottom half but just as his chest and shoulders and abs did not disappoint, neither did his masculine, well-muscled thighs and buttocks. The man was in incredible shape, thanks to good genes and hard manual labor you assumed.

When Harry peeled his shirt off over his head, the curls were pushed upward and he was left standing in your bedroom looking like a man ready to ransack your body with wild hair, tight boxer briefs hiding an erection that looked quite sizable.

Silently he kneed onto the bed between your legs and pushed your dress out of the way, “Let me see you, sweetheart. Is that okay?”

You helped him bring the dress off over your head and immediately reached up to unpluck your bra, the clasp at the front that once undone had your tits bursting out.

“Holy, fuck…” Harry dove down to your breasts, lapping and squeezing at each one and you placed your fingers back into his hair as if it were their new home. The length was perfect to grip onto.

He pushed himself up as he cupped your tits together and kept his eyes on your flesh and nipples with mouth dropped open, “Goddamn, sweetheart…” He dipped down again, wetting the skin all around your breasts with his lips and tongue until you bucked upward and your wet pussy kissed his belly button.

Popping off from your nipple he looked down at you underneath his large frame and smoothed his hands down your sides and over your tummy then to your hips. He thumbed at your clit and looked up at you, not an ounce of humor on his face, “I can eat your pussy all night. Want my mouth again?” He licked his lips.

“Want to feel it, Harry…” you breathed out.

“Want to feel my mouth again?”

You moaned and slid your palm down his chest and felt the bit of hair on his pecs tickle your skin, “Your cock.”

“Is that right? Sweetheart wants her handyman to stuff her full tonight?” Now you could see the small smirk on his face as he looked at your tits and then back up to your eyes.

“I want you to stuff me full, Harry. I want to feel it.”

Harry wet his lips again as he moaned at your words and tore his boxer briefs down his thighs and to the floor.

He sat back onto his haunches, eyes on yours as he held himself at his base. His thick ruddy tip smooth and ready to pierce into your cunt had you groaning, “Please.”

“You wanna be my girl, Y/n? Be mine? Cause I don’t fuck unless I know I can keep coming back. I don’t do casual, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, “I don’t either. I’ll be yours. Your girl.”

“You sure? You want to date a small-town handyman, make me dinner every night, and get fucked into this soft bed until you’re passed out?”

“Oh my god, Harry,” you moaned and nodded, “Yes. Please…”

Harry scooted in toward you, and his massive cock was just throbbing before your eyes. That thing was going to do some damage to you but you would happily receive it. Take it every night like he said, looked forward to feeling how much he’d fill you up and how deep he’d get, how much it’d ache when he pounded into you.

His hand slid behind your neck, fingers wrapping around the back side as he hovered over you, “Pussy’s so little, sweetheart. Might need to hold on at first okay?”

The dimple popping into his cheek told you he was playing with you. And while, yes, he was quite large, that bulbous tip and thick shaft would definitely be felt entering you, there was no question it’d tuck nicely into your slippery walls.

You gripped his biceps as you kept your eyes focused on his. He glided his fat tip through your pussylips with the slushy wet sound of your arousal coating his cock, drenching his leaking slit until he was sticking the crown at your opening, his lips parted as he pressed into your muscle and penetrated you slowly.

“Mmm… fuck me, sweetheart,” his voice was hiked up a notch in a whine as he clenched his teeth upon entry, “Y’mine now? Yeah?”

You nodded and whimpered, “Harry… oh god I’m yours…”

Harry nodded with you, his eyes focused on your face as he opened you up, and spread you apart inch by inch. When he’d gotten in halfway he reared himself back, that wide tip sliding out of your cunt just before he pressed himself back in, nudging in deeper. The intrusion was all-consuming. Harry’s hard cock was long and thick. But of course, it was. A man like him with a body like that… But it was his demeanor that had tipped you off at the beginning that he had a big dick. That personality that oozed with natural confidence.

“Oh, my fuck!” You wailed as he drove into you again, this time with a bit of force that had his hips grinding into yours.

“Yeah? It’s big in there isn’t it? Need me to be gentle?”

You could just see it in his eyes. He did not want to be gentle. The man above you, fucking into you was holding himself back. He was taking it easy for your sake. But you wanted him to ruin you. Wanted your pussy wrecked by that thick cock, needed to let him have his way with your body so he could get off.

“No… fuck me like you want. Harry…” you whimpered his name as you cupped his jaw, stubble scraping your palm as he slowly thrust into you, “Make me yours. Show me how you do it.” You wanted to feel his strength. Wanted to know what it felt like to have him completely destroy your pussy.

Harry let out a deep groan then hissed as he ground into your cunt, his cock grazing that achy spot deep inside that you knew was gonna be bruised once he was done with you, “Don’t want to hurt your cute little pussy, Y/n. Can already feel I’m in as deep as I can go.”

“Harry, make me yours. Please.”

“Fuck…” he gritted out as he adjusted his knee placement, lifting himself with his thighs and readying his position to rail into you like you wanted. He pulled your hands up and placed your palms onto his lats as he leaned over you, “Hold on here. Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

You gripped your fingers into the muscle of his back and felt him flexing as he drew his long cock back and bucked in with one harsh thrust. The wind nearly knocked from your lungs as he did it again. He was still taking it easy. Long heavy strokes into your guts, hips slapping into yours in thuds until he got into a rhythm and your high-pitched moans told him you were loving it.

Soon your bed was loudly creaking, the mattress springs bouncing heavy and his balls were whacking into your bum. Wet patting of skin colliding and heavy pants filled the room.

“Like this?” He gritted as his pelvis repeatedly smashed into your clit filling your veins with damp mushy heat as your pussy clamped over him.

“Fffffuuu…” you cried out. Not a word but an answer. You did like it. Every time he filled you to the brim with his fat cock and your pussy parted for him, spreading apart to accommodate his hefty girth it brought you closer and closer to the precipice.

Harry choked out a moan when he felt his own orgasm edge toward the brink slowly. The way you gripped around him, the perfect warm and wet hole attached to the sweetest thing he’d ever met made his heart thrash in his chest harshly.

He couldn’t believe that he was getting to fuck you. That you promised to be his. That things had worked out the way they had. Because he’d started falling for you since day one. He had been impressed that you wanted to salvage the old house and to him, that meant you were already special. A city girl with a heart of gold who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. And when you told him you ripped out some of the rotted boards from the porch on your own his cock twitched in his pants. The image in his mind of you doing that was hot.

And as the days and weeks went on he learned more about you and he became obsessed with making everything in the house just perfect for you. He often daydreamed of living in it with you. Getting to see you every day after work with a kid or two running around. While it was too early to think about all that, he couldn’t help it. Harry was a sincere and deeply emotional man who prized deep connections and love over everything. He’d never been able to do casual.

He was brought back to the moment when your face began to screw up in pleasure and your punched breaths began to grow into loud moans with every snap of his hips.

You, on the other hand, were thinking of nothing but that big cock sliding through your insides and ramming into your depths, your tummy aching at the stretch and the way he filled you so completely. Your brain was empty as he sliced through you, fucking you down into your soft blankets as his chest and arms and shoulders tensed.

“Ooohh, sweetheart… like that yeah? That what you need? Right there?”

Your arousal had dripped from your hole and drenched your ass and the blanket under you, your gushy wetness slopped out with every push of his cock into your pussy.

Harry could feel your thighs quivering and shaking as you started to arch into him, loud bursts of moans belted from your lungs on each plunge.

Harry was losing his mind at the noises you were making and how good you felt squeezing around him, “Gonna have to move myself in here so I can have you like this every day… look at you taking me so well… fucking creaming all over me…” his string of consciousness continued as he railed into you deeply and you felt your insides snap suddenly, your orgasm erasing all working thoughts from your brain.

“Yes! Fuuuuck! Yes! I need you!”

“Need you too, Y/n. I fucking need you baby… come all over me, show me how good that is… fuck… fuck…” Harry clenched his jaw as you squelched around him, your slippery hole clenching so hard you nearly pushed him out but he was stronger as he continued to pound into you, bringing you through your ecstasy until he couldn’t go another moment without coming.

He began unloading into you, heavy, thick pumps of come filled your insides as he coughed out a groan and stilled his hips with your pussy milking him, pussy fluttering and squeezing every drop from his long shaft. You’d both lost your good senses in that moment. No thought about what was responsible or reasonable, it was only about how good it felt to be connected, new lovers enjoying one another and not giving a damn about the consequences.

Harry’s mouth pressed into yours and he moaned sloppily against your wet lips, bodies throbbing and shaking and lungs gasping for air as you wrapped your legs around his waist and hummed in bliss.

Harry’s heart was going wild as he dropped his chest to yours and licked into your mouth, one final push of his cock into your cervix for good measure, pressing his come deeper yet.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out in a mumble as his lips still smeared against yours.

“I know…” he responded with his eyes closed as he continued kissing you.

Your fingers wound into his hair and he rolled you both to your sides, still connecting and simmering and reeling.

“I think now you have to stay,” you parted from the kiss and looked at him with a small smile. Hoping he’d agree to it. You weren’t ready to let him go home yet.

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere. You’ll have to forcibly remove me from you now.”

You giggled and cupped his cheeks, “Good. Means you aren’t gonna be leaving then.”

Harry’s soft smile and his big hands on you felt like home. More than anything had before. The old house was your home, yes, but ever since Harry walked into your life you were a changed woman.

“So you’re mine now? Can I call you my girlfriend?”

You puffed out a laugh through your nose, “Of course. Long as I can call you my boyfriend.”

“Of course. Been dreaming about it since I first met you.”

You licked your lips, “Yeah? Guess we both wasted a lot of time beating around the bush didn’t we?”

Harry shook his head, “Nahh… we didn’t waste time. Every moment spent with you was exactly what was supposed to happen. Got to know you real well. Got to learn all kinds of things about you. I feel like the way it happened wasn’t supposed to happen any other way.”

You nodded and bit your lip. He was probably right. The time you two spent chatting and flirting and getting to know one another slowly made you both open up and feel more comfortable in each other’s presence. And it all led to that very moment right there in your bed.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen any other way.”

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theaskywalker · 1 year

Text

Imagine escaping from Circus Arcanus with Nagini and Credence

Masterlist

#fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts the crimes of grindelwald #fantastic beasts the secrets of dumbledore #credence barebone #nagini #credence barebone x reader #credence barebone imagine #imagines #fantastic beasts imagines #wizarding world #1920s #paris #france #circus #obscurial #snake #shapeshifter

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Note

I can't stop thinking of possessive fire fighter Thor 😌🥴

welp, nonnie, now I can’t either. maybe you weren’t thinking quite this dark, but… 😅

Title: Everloving

Pairing: Dark!Thor x Reader

Summary: A one night stand has worse consequences than you ever could have imagined.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Arson, Noncon, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Implied Basement-Wife, Stalking, Breeding, Darkfic, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Minors DNI!

[divider by @firefly-graphics]

You stare at the ceiling over his shoulder as you catch your breath, your fingernails still dug hard into the muscles rippling beneath his skin. You’re still spiraling back down into yourself when he pulls back, leaning up on his elbows to grin dopily at you. His blond hair falls handsomely across his face, and the corners of his bright blue eyes are crinkled with his smile.

“See, Peach?” Thor says with a wink, his breath still a little short. “Told you I would take you to Valhalla.”

You raise a hand to your head, fingers curling in your hair as you laugh breathlessly. It’s a corny joke—and it was even cornier when he’d fed you the pick-up line in the bar, complete with his sultry little every girl needs a firefighter, Peach. It had been so corny you’d been left wondering if it was specifically engineered to get you to laugh yourself into his bed, but the earnest look on his face makes you second-guess your two minute drunk assessment. The firefighter’s uniform he’d told you about is hung up on the back of the door, too, lending credence to his honesty.

“Why is that funnier the second time?” You say, and he laughs. He eases up off of you, and your cheeks heat as you feel him slip out of your puffy, still throbbing cunt. You sit up, pulling his blanket up over your bare chest self-consciously. Thor, it seems, is just as glorious in nudity as he is clothed, back muscles rippling as he turns to the closet, and pulls out a hand towel to clean himself off. You hear a tinny sounding thud as he tosses the condom into the trash-can next to his desk. He offers you a towel and you take one, hurriedly swiping between your own thighs.

“Do you want to shower?” He asks over his shoulder. “My roommate’s won’t be back for a few hours, so if you wanted to shower and crash—”

“That’s okay,” You say quickly, snatching your shirt off of the back of his desk chair, using his blanket as a somewhat unconventional toga while you shimmy into it. “I should get going, it’s pretty late.” You flash him an apologetic smile as you tug up your jeans. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“No, it’s totally fine, they won’t mind. And maybe tomorrow we could get breakfast—”

“I don’t think so,” you say stiffly. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Right, right,” he laughs a little awkwardly, stepping back into his briefs. The elastic snaps as he pulls them back up around his waist. “Well, maybe we could go out another time?”

You answer him with a shake of your head. “Sorry, I just, um….” You blow out a breath, rocking back and forth on your heels nervously. “I’m not like… looking for a relationship. Right now.” You smile apologetically. “I just, you know. Just got out of one, and it was a whole thing, and I just… I’m not ready, right now for another commitment like that.” His face falls, the boyish grin on his face disappearing as he regards you.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, feeling the tension thick in the air between you. “I um. I had fun.”

“Yeah. Me too.” A look you can’t read crosses his face, and he lifts his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it. He doesn’t say anything else as you shrug back into your jacket and flee his room, navigating back down the dark hallway toward the door. Your sneakers are in a messy heap by the front door where you left them, and you step into them quickly, eager to be out of his apartment.

You pull up your rideshare app as you walk down the block, trying to put a little distance between yourself and Thor before you call. For some reason, you don’t want to do it right outside, not that you think he’d watch you through the window like some creeper—

Or would he?

Either way, you call when you’ve reached the bodega on the end of his block, and in five minute Jeffery in a white Hyundai Sonata is pulling up to the curb.

Omw home. Your text pops into the roommate groupchat, and it’s not thirty seconds before you see three different speech bubbles appear in the bottom left corner.

Heather: girl. it’s one-am!!!!

Bobbie: girl shut up, she was getting her back blown out by that hot blond lmao

Heather: twisted into pretzels lolll

Kirsten: none of you are asking the real questions. how was it???????

You stifle your laughter with your hands, glancing at the rearview mirror before responding.

I will be home in ten minutes. You all will just have to wait. You are, of course, greeted by shrill giggles and questions the moment you walk through the door. You deliver the details as painlessly as you can muster, choosing not to describe the heartbroken look on Thor’s face when you’d tried to let him down as gently as you could.

“I mean, you’re totally right. You shouldn’t jump into anything so quick, not after Jimmy.” Bobbie nods sagely at you in approval.

“I dunno. He seemed sweet,” Kirsten says dreamily. “Might be a nice guy.”

“He was looking for a serious girlfriend, K,” you reply, stretching as you turn toward your room. “And I am not doing serious right now. Bobbie’s right.”

After a hot shower, you flop tiredly onto your bed and burrow under the covers. You’re still a little sore from earlier, and you bite your lip, wondering if you’d made a mistake. No harm in letting him shoot his shot, right? That’s what Heather had told you in the bar when he’d first begun sending you drinks, and what had rung in your head when your casual conversation had become boldly flirtatious.

There are plenty of other fish in the sea for him. You turn over, pressing your face gratefully into the pillow, confident that by tomorrow morning, Thor wouldn’t even remember your name.

——

The smell of smoke wakes you, only seconds before Bobbie is hurriedly shaking you awake.

“Fire! Fire get up now!”

Blearily you sit up, registering the shrill beeps of the fire-alarm just before you choke on thick, hot smoke. It’s filling the room, curling against the ceiling as you sit up, shoving your feet into your slippers. Bobbie’s hand is tight around yours as the two of you race for the door, followed by Heather and Kirsten. The hallway is filled with the other residents, everyone rushing out of the building in a crushing stampede. You’re dizzy, your throat hoarse and your eyes red and watering as you and your roommates watch your lives billow up into the night sky.

The street outside is chaos as the firetrucks arrive, men in uniform pushing through the crowd. You’re still staring numbly at your burning apartment building when large hands land on your shoulders.

“Peach? Peach you okay?” Thor pushes up his visor, his face filled with worry.

“She’s inhaled a lot of smoke, she was the last to get out,” Bobbie says worriedly. You’re forced to agree—every breath feels raw, like you’d swallowed some of the fire yourself. “Is there an ambulance coming?”

“Yes, there is, but if it’s that bad, I should take her to the hospital now,” He says, snapping his visor back down. Thor’s grip is like iron as he steers you towards the back of one of the small response vehicles, and he hands you an oxygen mask and a little tank. “Breathe through this for a little while, Peach. You’ll feel better in no time.”

The street is clogged with vehicles, and Thor steers patiently around them while you sit in the back and try to catch your breath. The smell of the fire, the lights and the sound of sirens fade gradually behind you as you watch the building disappear in the rearview mirror. Eventually, all you can see is the thick column of smoke curling into the still dark sky in the distance as Thor gets onto the highway. His blue eyes meet yours in the mirror.

“How are you feeling?” He asks. The oxygen is certainly helping, though you aren’t sure if you’re supposed to be feeling quite this light and giggly. Oxygen deprivation makes you high right? Or is that something else?

“Like I almost got barbecued,” you say, lowering the mask. A hoarse laugh escapes you. “Sorry. But I did almost die.”

He smiles at you in the mirror. “It’s alright. A bit of morbid humor is to be expected.” You realize with a glance out of the window that you’re far past the hospital. It isn’t funny, but you giggle. In fact, he’ll be out of the city limits in another few minutes. “Besides, It’s probably the nitrous.” You squint at him.

“What?”

“Nitrous Oxide, Peach. In the canister.” He winks at you, though he’s spinning in the rearview—or is it my head? Your limps are limp and uncooperative as you tug at the mask, gasping for air as your vision tunnels. You get it off, but it isn’t enough, and you gape at the air like a fish as you try to swallow it down into your lungs.

Your ears are ringing, and black spots dance in your vision as you slump sideways over in the seat. The roof of the car swims in and out of focus as you gulp down lungful after lungful of air. You don’t know how long Thor’s been driving when he pulls over—twenty minutes? Thirty? But your head is still buzzing, your vision unfocused when Thor opens the back door.

“I am sorry you got hurt, Peach,” he says, managing to sound disgustingly apologetic as he reaches for you. You kick at him, but he’s so big and so coordinated and you are not, and he presses you to the seat, hovering over you like he had earlier this evening. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His admission drags a ragged sob from your throat as your eyes widen. You wail, your struggles renewing themselves until you’re exhausted. Thor remains immoveable above you, like your efforts have done nothing but delay, and perhaps irritate him.

“You set the fire.” He doesn’t deny it.

“Magnesium shavings and alcohol.” He taps the tip of your nose with a finger. “I like you so much, Peach. I just… I couldn’t watch you go out again with someone else.” He catches both of your wrists in one large hand and pins them to the seat beneath you.

“T-Thor,” your voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “S-stop, I—”

He hushes you with a kiss, moaning as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You whimper into his mouth and he swallows it hungrily, sucking your lower lip between his teeth and worrying it until it swells.

“I just want to start over,” he repeats your words from the bar, hours—a lifetime—ago back to you, dark sincerity dripping from every word. “Pick up and start over—”

“Shut up!” You cry, tears welling in your frightened eyes. “You don’t know me!”

“Maybe not yet,” he hums, dragging his lips down the salty tracks over the curve of your cheek. “But we have time.” The fingers of his free hand slip beneath the loose elastic waistband of your pajama pants to cup your bare pussy. He heaves a pleased sigh. “No panties? Peach you are truly a treasure.” He parts your lips with sure, unhurried motions, his fingers sliding through your folds.

You try to close your thighs around his hand, but he doesn’t let you, wedging himself between your thighs.

“P-please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—” You babble apologies that he doesn’t seem to hear, his touches ironically soft and unhurried. “Thor please—!” His lips crush against yours again, turning the words into a frightened squeak.

“What’s the matter, Peach?” He asks, trailing down your jaw and over your pulse point. “Nothing we haven’t done before.” Thor’s pleased little hum makes shame curl in your belly. You’re wet. You know you are, and you hate yourself for it as he draws his fingers back and forth, spreading the slick through your folds with practiced ease. “See? She even remembers me.”

Thor circles your entrance with gentle strokes, and you huff through your teeth to hide the whine that threatens to tumble from your lips. You hate him, his soft persistent kisses, the drag of his fingers through your traitorously aching folds. You hate it because it feels good, because he’s making it feel good, because it feels like you’re shattering into a thousand fractured shards in his capable hands, and you get the feeling that he wants you to.

Can’t fix what isn’t broken.

You whimper at the burning stretch of his fingers, the heel of his palm grinding deliciously against your clit. When you clench your teeth against the pleasure, Thor clucks his tongue at you.

“Let it feel good, Peach,” he coos, scissoring his fingers inside of you. Your breath hitches loudly in your throat, and Thor moans deeply at the sight, leaning down to suck a bruise onto your collarbone. “You don’t have to be in control anymore. You can let go.” He mumbles the words darkly against your skin as you feel his hips shift up.

“You can just let me—” Thor reaches between your bodies, tugging the band of his briefs down over the thick shaft of his cock. “Do the thinking for both of us.” He groans as it pops out from under the elastic, slapping against the puffy, slick lips of your pussy.

Thor’s lips part in a soft “o” as he slides his cock back and forth, eyes rolling up to stare sightlessly through the roof of the car. His fingers dig into the fleshy curve of your hip, the other forcing your wrists down harder into the seat cushion. Tears are leaking out of the corners of your eyes and running down into your hair, acceptance settling like lead as you realize this is happening.

The head of his cock throbs hard as he pushes it against your swollen clit. You push down on the pleasure as hard as you can, trying not to let it show on your face. It’s useless though, as your thighs begin to tremble around his hips from the steady pressure at your clit. You writhe, trying in vain to buck him off. You only succeed in pushing yourself against him, pleasure rolling in sticky warm waves up your spine.

“N-no, ah—” You’re cumming then, your words are lost in the choked sob that tightens your throat. Cheeks flush with heat, you turn tear-filled eyes to Thor’s. He looks at you with an manic kind of joy, his fever bright eyes drinking in every detail. Your pussy is still throbbing, clenching tightly around nothing when Thor begins to line the head of his cock up with your cunt. He sinks in slowly, cursing as you squeeze down around him.

“Better with no condom, isn’t it Peach?” He says hoarsely, chuckling. “Not that that one made much of a difference,” Thor sinks in to the base, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against you as he revels in the feel of you. “Poked it full of holes, just in case.”

He doesn’t give you time to mull over the words before he’s sliding out, sparks shooting in front of your open eyes as his cock drags along your walls. Thor groans as he fills you again, loosing your wrists so that he can anchor you to him with both hands. There is room in your foggy head for shame, but it does nothing to stop the sticky sweet rush of pleasure as he fucks into you with abandon, the truck rocking hard with his efforts.

What’s worse is that you can hear it, the lewd wet noise it makes as he slides into your welcoming cunt. You whine low in your throat as he pinches your clit between two fingers, rolling it back and forth until you’re twitching underneath him. Thor laughs.

“See?” He asks breathlessly. “And you say I don’t know you.” He leans down to kiss you again, swallowing the pathetic little cry you let out as he drags you over the edge. You hate that he’s all around you, in you, everywhere, filling you up until you’re overflowing.

When you cum, again it’s with Thor’s tongue in your mouth, and his throbbing cock in your cunt. He moans against your lips as his hips still, and dimly, you’re aware of slow, sticky heat settling in your core. He doesn’t move, his body pinning you to the seat. When he finally leans away, you try your best to pull your t-shirt back down over your bare breasts, staring stubbornly at the back of the front seat.

“Oh, Peach, don’t be mad at me,” he says, tucking his fingers beneath your chin. He pulls until it hurts, and you’re forced to look at him. You hate that he’s still inside of you, his cum leaking out to pool on the seat underneath your ass. He reaches down beneath the seat for something, but you can’t quite see it. “We’re going to be so good together.”

He produces the nitrous tank and mask, and your eyes widen with fear as you begin to struggle. It isn’t hard for him to push it against your face, though, and you hear a squeak as he twists open the valve. The gas rushes into the mask with a hiss, and it only takes a few panicked breaths before your vision begins to dim.

“You’ll see.”

end

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werezmastarbucks · 8 months

Text

black

part one - Golden

part two - Silver

part four - Green

credence barebone x fem!OC

Then he said to me: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love and be loved in return"

warnings: language

word count: 9056

music: awakening the forest by everrune, fireproof by the national, strange birds by birdy, this will make you love again by iamx, the spirit dragon by mordela morana, ocean rose by tim janis

She mostly spent her days crying and nights, hunting. As she watched the baby run around in vivarium, she realized that the better Qilin felt, the less of Credence there was. Still, this was an exchange on a different plane of reality for her. She couldn't imagine betraying this creature, not even for Credence. This didn't mean he didn't matter. Orlaith needed everything to fall right into place.

Since their last meeting two months have flown by, and Dumbledore's promise of changes within a month might have been just a ploy after all. Grindelwald's acolytes didn't have it easy in the woods. They died in such numbers that it was time for the Lord to get concerned, but apparently, he had other business to attend to, and never showed up. Orlaith was ready to fight him, messy or not; the earth was on her side. As May came, the powers returned to the nature, and it woke up. She was teaching animals to fight back. She was training defense spells on whoever she happened to meet at the Forest in the wrong hour. Speaking of criminals, of course.

Orlaith decided, while she was obediently waiting to Dumbledore's attack! to get the matters in order. Especially she wanted to apologize to Matilda something-porne for her unfriendly demeanor.

She's been to the castle more or less reguralry, with all the baby walks, but rarely in the daylight. As the warm May wind dried everything up, and healed some of her soul, the road to Hogwarts also was made better, without deep pools of water and heaps of dirty leaves. One day, as the baby still slept, Orlaith escaped the house and flew for the castle. On a broom; it was finally warm enough. She flew fast, like she used to; watching the glimmering water below her, rippling with the glimpses of sunlight. The castle stood in front of her an unpenetrable mass. She even flew around it a couple of times, feeling the wind in her hair, trying to stop herself from thinking she could pull quidditch. The field stood, undisturbed, with its flags, bannerols and tabards fluttering in the wind. The world was laughing happily, again for the coming summer. The summer that awaited everyone, no matter where. She had no idea that even at Nurmengard, where the severe weather always held, the ice broke off from the rocks, and the winds ceased just a little, letting the warm air gather. Which made the Lord incredibly concerned at last.

She flew through the hallways of the castle like she was a fifth-year student; gathering surprised looks with her bright hair, and the flowers in it, and with her colorful dress. The poor pupils had still to wear the black uniform, and she looked like a ghost in flesh, unhinged. Children were preoccupied with the exams, drawing near, inevitable. That was one of the things she missed about studying.

She actually encountered the Headmaster himself, as he was pondering at the portrait of a naked hag on a broomstick, flying over a village at night. The moon was yellow in that painting, the witch's hair was obsidian black. She smiled coyly at everyone who looked at her.

"Oh, greetings, Peverell".

Orlaith sometimes couldn't express how proud, refreshed and excited it made her feel, when someone called her that.

"I'm thinking about removing Bella from this corridor".

She gave a look to the witch, who waved in return.

"Are the boys getting too agitated?"

"You have no idea. Always sheer commotion at this exact spot", he turned to her, adjusting his little reading glasses and examining her appearance.

"Isn't this whole summer look too immodest for studies?"

"I have graduated, Headmaster. Under Black".

"Headmaster Black. But didn't he make it known on your graduation certificate, that your results were satisfactory at best, and you ought to still catch up even after?"

"My results were excellent, Headmaster", she forced herself not to laugh, "Black just hated me because I didn't call him Headmaster".

"Headmaster Black".

He shook his head, closing his eyes.

"So, are you still studying, or not?"

"Not anymore, Headmaster".

"But I hear you've been practicing in the woods. Again".

His stern stare made her rise on her tiptoes.

"Uh... yes?"

"Without supervision? A witch of your abilities would act unwisely if she elected to train her duelling skills against the actual criminal, pugnacious enemy".

"Would you like to join me, Headmaster? I think I've located a specific hollow where they think it's absolutely comfortable to plot invisibly. Have you got my owl, by the way? Was Professor Dumbledore made aware of Grindelwald's alliance present so near the school?"

Dippet brushed her off.

"No Grindelwald acolytes have been to Hogwarts yet, thanks to you. Why bother anybody else with it?"

She bid goodbye to him, leaving the wizard next to Bella. If he is so sinile now, she thought, what happens in thirty years' time?

She reached North Tower without other adventure and found the rope ladder hanging suggestively. She shoved her head into the class and looked around.

"Professor?" she didn't want to let her know that she didn't remember her last name.

There was shuffling behind the door, then, Matilda showed up, in a purple trapezoid dress with long, light sleeves.

"Hello?"

"Do you remember me? I'm a Peverell you'd been looking for. We met at Hogsmeade and you gave me a prophecy, and I was rude to you".

Her eyes lit up with recognition.

"Ah, yes! Come in".

She climbed up and found herself in the Divinations class. Of course, with every new teacher the interior always changed, but this time, little to nothing seemed different. There were still crystal balls and books neatly placed on the shelves. The flying candles were now without fire, sleeping. Some empty cages were on the tops, aimless. Maybe it was more purple, understandably.

Matilda offered her a coffee, and they sat at the round table in the middle of the room.

"Were you any good at this subject while you studied?" Professor asked curiously as they made it half through their drinks.

"Complicated. I happen to be a kind of a prophet", she confessed, "but in all the wrong places. Very often, when I needed to glance into the crystal ball, I saw instead what I already knew would happen".

Matilda looked at her knowingly.

"Where have you travelled from?"

"Far away", she nodded. She suddenly felt warm, she realized, she'd underestimated this woman. Matilda didn't ask too many questions, but was politely inquisitive.

"Was it in the form of dreams, or visions?"

"Books", she replied. Matilda was impressed, although, Orlaith always felt sad when she needed to talk about it. The sight of an empty house on the autumn street flooded her head every time. The house she'd left, without saying goodbye.

"So, Professor", she decided to lead the conversation away while it was comfortable, "you told me not to prevent the tree from growing. Have you, maybe, got any more insight into that?"

The soothsayer clicked her bracelets on both hands.

"I'm sorry, but no. The initial message, too, was very foggy, uneven. It looked like something that could be changed, or, on the opposite, set in stone".

"Future can't be set in stone", she argued, "I've already changed it".

"Well. Do you want to try for yourself? If we ask the right questions, maybe you'll understand more".

She nodded. They put away the cups: luckily, Matilda didn't suggest reading the future on coffee grains. She draped the windows quickly and moved one of the crystal balls towards them.

"This is the one where I saw it first. I'm sorry, only I can use it".

"That's fine", Orlaith consented. Matilda touched the ball tenderly, like it was a baby calf. Orlaith thought of her own, sleeping at home. She might have already awaken. But she never got scared when she was alone; she just waited for her in the kitchen, where it smelt the best.

"What do you want to ask?" Matilda offered, looking inside. To Orlaith, the ball looked absolutely transparent.

"Don't prevent the tree from growing. What did it mean?"

There was silence as Matilda peered inside.

"A boy. Dark-haired, thin, very pale, he looks lost. He's alone... do you know him?"

"Credence. What about him?"

Matilda shrugged.

"It's just him. I'm sorry. You know the spirits won't just explain everything to you in detail. The veil is heavy, and it's not easy to hear through".

"I understand", she mused. Matilda looked at her with compassion.

"You look like a person who's had a lot of fights to carry these flowers in your hair".

"I'm about to have more".

Something caught Professor's eye as she moved back to the ball.

"Oh. Oh!" she gave Orlaith a look of amazement, "why are you keeping a Qilin at home?"

Ice-cold fear touched the back of her neck.

"What about it?"

"Someone wants to take it".

She all but stumbled down from the rope-ladder. Damn forbidden zone of the castle, she needed to run so much to even get to the territory where she could fly, to say nothing about apparating! Her breath in her throat, Orlaith told herself that prophecies weren't immediate; and that, in fact, of course anybody would want to take Qilin away. If they knew it existed. Newt made sure nobody, but them four, knew about it. Stairs after stairs she flew, knocking off students and rubbing against the corners; finally, she was in the yard.

"Accio broom!" she screamed, and soon, her broomstick was racing to her with pleasant whooshing through the air. Jumping up, she only made it as far as the field outside, and she disapparated immediately. Then, another course of running through Hogsmeade. Nobody could know where it was, no one, if only Aberfort hasn't lost the match. As she reached the house, her chest was stabbing with pain, knees giving in. She turned the key in the lock and threw the door open.

Qilin was lying on the sofa at the back of the kitchen. Upon seeing her, the baby got down and trotted towards her, happy.

She fell on the floor, hugging the creature. She was trembling.

"I love you. I love you so much, baby, you know I love you".

Just to be sure, she checked the second floor and the wardrobe, and used revealing charms. Nothing came of it which was good. The feeling of unease wouldn't let go though. She felt paranoid. She didn't know what, something still hovered above her. She tried to think what Matilda told her, and made no more of it.

The rest of the day she was just cleaning, letting the birds in, to play with the baby, and feeding cats outside. It was a good day, and she dreamed to take the Qilin to the field, but it was impossible. Evening came, and she decided to go at least to vivarium, the one where she had the ocean, to let the baby play in the water. She put on her evening cloak and made it upstairs to pick up the Invisibility Cloak. Qilin looked a bit tired, so, she was in two minds.

Then someone knocked on the door.

That was not normal. Even understanding it was Aberfort, she felt unhappy. What might have happened that he came himself instead of sending an owl?

Orlaith came downstairs with her wand in her hand, just in case. Waited for another knock, but it didn't come.

She walked up to the door and listened. One time. They knocked just once, scaring her.

She said to herself, you. You, Orlaith, are the Cutter, the Witch. Are you going to be afraid of a guest at your door?

She opened it and stepped back to have better swinging ability.

It was Credence.

Something felt heavy and tragic. Against the homely fire and the light of the house, he looked like a ghost. Still the same face, but white, with blacker eyes than ever. Without a smile, it was mocking her. Orlaith thought he really was a ghost, sent by Grindelwald to break her, and it meant that Credence was dead. He looked like he was resurrected with the Stone.

He stepped into the house quietly, closing the door behind him.

"Hello Orlaith", he said gently.

"What are you doing here?"

It was really him, but very, very barely.

She noticed he had his wand out, too. She instinctively stood her back against the set of stairs where, above, in the bedroom, the baby was already lying in her little bed.

He looked up through the ceiling.

"How did you find my house?"

"Just like I penetrated the dome at the pond", he replied, "I seem to sniff you out easily, even when you try to stay hidden".

She swallowed a scream.

"Credence..."

"I know what you have here. I need it".

She put out her hand and stopped him from coming closer.

"You can't have her".

"When Grindelwald found that another Qilin survived, he was very unhappy with me".

There was something very off with the way Credence spoke; maybe it was already difficult for him. Orlaith felt her ugly helplessness in her throat.

"He told me if I don't get this baby, he'll kill me".

She had to bend her arm because he was now standing closer already. She clutched his shoulder.

"I can't", she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I can't let you have her".

Credence lowered his head to meet her eyes.

"You said you wouldn't give up on me".

And nothing more. If he shouted, blamed her, that would be easier. Credence took the first step of the stairs, moving her with his body. Orlaith clutched on the banister, trying to push on his shoulder, but he was surprisingly strong. There was feverish glint in his eyes. He only looked whithered; in reality, although the obscurial already shone through him, in temples, cheekbones and knuckles, Credence stood is ground very firmly.

"You'll need to kill me, my love", she said. Her head was bowed, his breath on her forehead. She tried to push him as hard as she could, but there was no strength in her limbs.

"I will".

She felt his arm going down with his wand, and their fists touched.

"Look at me".

She raised her eyes.

"Trust my rage".

In a moment something struck her. His eyes expressed nothing, could not. She realised, if Credence has discovered her location, Grindelwald must know it, too. His wand crisscrossed with hers, giving it a light shove. Then he jumped back to the door, and they pointed at each other.

A couple of non-verbal spells met in the air, exploding in fiery flashes. She stepped up to have a better aim and shot, trying to get him; but every spell, Credence broke mid-air, sending one in return. Orlaith ducked, allowing an orange curse bash a hole in the wall behind her. Credence stepped closer, and she forced him to retreive, showering him with superficial blinding curses. He ran deeper into the kitchen, and she followed. Wondering what she is supposed to do next. One, two, three, five, ten curses, bouncing off of each other. They fought symmetrically, guessing each other's movements as they went.

"You'll need to kill me", Credence said, standing in the destroyed kitchen, among the shreds of wood.

"No!"

Credence tilted his head like he was annoyed. She recognized the mist appearing around him, and jumped back as he started to turn into a black cloud of shadow and fire.

"No!"

She ran upstairs. Qilin was trembling in her bed, looking up at her for help as she stumbled next to it.

"You'll be alright, baby, you'll be fine".

She could feel the floor vibrating under her feet as the cloud grew. The obscurial moved with a howl that sounded like a thousand tortured voices. All of those voices belonged to Credence.

She reached for the Invisibility Cloak lying on the bed, holding the baby with the other hand. She just managed to grab it with the tips of her fingers when the swirl of chaos crashed the floor and sucked her inside.

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Aberfort ran like he has never run in his life. He ran and ran through the valley, forgetting he could apparate closer to the gates of Hogwarts. He has completely forgotten he was a wizard, for the first time in his life. He was just human now, running through the heavily scented fields of lupins, skimmias and rapseeds; towards the castle that shone brilliantly above the dark sleeping lake. In the middle of May, Hogwarts celebrated almost every day to prepare students to the rough season of exams. By the time Aberfort finally made it to the gates, it was almost midnight; many teachers have already gone to bed, to say nothing about students. He thundered into the hall, then made it towards the stairs. He was looking for his brother.

He was lucky and knew it as Albus usually went to sleep extremely late. At ten minutes past midnight, he was still in his office, not a sign of exhaustion on his face, in his white and silver jacket, writing something at his desk. However, as he heard heavy steps from the outer class, he was ready for the visitor.

If Aberfort was a horse, he'd be covered in foam.

"She's gone", he panted with a wheeze. Albus got up to his feet.

"They're gone. Aurelius... he found them".

They apparated right to the bridge leading into Hogsmeade. It was even faster than taking the secret tunnel into the Honeydukes. As they ran through the streets, Albus held his brother by the forearm, not to let him fall. Finally, the eastern side of the village was less lit than the center. That's why they chose this house for her. From the distance, Albus could already see the shambles of the dwelling, in the place where the house used to be.

"No, it's not supposed to look like that..." he uttered. They approached hurriedly and Albus sent several Lumos light balls to hover above. The breath was caught in his throat. Something wasn't adding up. Someone betrayed them. He turned to his brother, grabbing him by the collars.

"Where's the match, Aberfort?" he shook him well to stop his eyes from rolling around in their sockets.

"It's here!" Aberfort roared. As he reached for his pocket to demonstrate it. "Here!"

"Did you tell him? Through the mirror?"

"No! He doesn't speak to me, almost never!"

He was gasping for air, thinking, intensely. Something wasn't adding up.

He used the revealing charm to try to peek into what happened here, but the house had been protected too well. It meant, Credence managed to get inside even while the dome still stood. How? If even a Dumbledore spell did not let him see what was transpiring here in the last moments before the explosion.

"Go, send an owl to Newt, gather everyone immediately", he said. Aberfort was panting like a dog. He wasn't tired anymore, but tearing apart. Albus barely thought about how he must be feeling, knowing that his son is in the middle of this.

He stood there for a couple of minutes, deliberating. Then he turned and walked back, towards the bridge.

In fifteen minutes' time everybody was gathered at his office. Newt was the most panicked, understandably. His old ticks were coming out as he paced around. Albus wished Theseus supported his brother a little, even just to stop him from being a moving target. Eulalie was intently watching something on his desk, as she always did when thinking. Her lips moved a little as ideas rushed through her brain. Bunty was staring at Albus, completely lost. She also looked like she blamed him. Jacob collapsed into the chair with red draping, gazing in front of himself, mouth slightly agape. Albus wondered if the muggle had lost his mind.

"Alright", he clapped his hands, and Bunty jumped with surprise.

"Let us not deviate from hope".

"How?!" Theseus exclaimed. "We've just lost both our magical creature and our most powerful asset".

Newt sighed like all life left him.

"Bunty, will you please, give Newt a chair", Albus asked softly. She hurriedly took the zoologist by the arm and led him to sit him down next to the desk.

"How could he have done that", Jacob murmured. "I thought he was... on our side".

"He had joined Grindelwald last year", Eulalie reminded.

"He only did that to protect Orlaith", Newt replied slowly. His eyes were teary.

"Here's the thing I don't understand", Albus said. "There are no bodies and no blood".

Aberfort shrugged.

"He obviously turned. He might have just dissolved them both completely. And died, too".

Theseus was rocking in place.

"The question is", Eulalie said suddenly, "what we do right now. Election is in a week". She looked at Albus intently. He nodded.

"We do what we planned. Everything stays the same.

"But we don't have the Qilin", Newt squealed. Finally, Theseus approached him, and patted him on the shoulder, his hand stiff. That was an endearing gesture from him.

"Grindelwald might not know it. If he had sent Credence to pick up the second baby, and Credence died on the spot, he never gets it, either. We go with the suitcases anyway and see what happens".

"That's barely a plan, Dumbledore".

"The plan was not to have a plan at all", Albus retorted.

"And when we're up there?" Theseus asked. "And we don't have the second Qilin to show people that Grindelwald had been lying?"

"We fight. We do our best to shower him and his acolytes, and we move on as we can".

There was a collective sigh.

The room was sad, divided. The candlelight was dying slowly below the ceiling. Something didn't add up.

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The morning of election was cloudy, a bit cold for a June. The clouds swarmed the sky, promising a storm that would rock the land. Cold winds stabbed the earth and the village, and people, dressed too lightly for this uncharacteristic weather, were bundling themselves tighter in their colorful cloaks. In the middle of the square, where the stairs were leading up towards the Election Podium, was much hotter, the wind unnoticed. People hurdled, crowded, pushed and pulled, paced and yelled their happy slogans, chanting, organizing in separate, orange, red and green groups. Then, on the stairs, the wind ferociously attacked again, tearing the hats from the heads, flapping skirts around the legs, slapping magicians on the faces. A butterfly was struggling to fly up. In this howling vortex of cold air, it flapped its wings with fading strength, thrown around by the gusts of it; the desperate attempts almost paid off as it managed to fly up and up slowly, gradually, while there, on the top of the stairs, the dramatic revelation has already begun. Someone managed to catch it carefully in unclosed fist, and put the butterfly just behind the layer of their black and white striped blanket serving as a coat against the wind. Inside, finally in the warmth, the butterfly landed on a wet, little nose and looked around. A strange creature looked at it back and cooed soflty.

Up there, on the wide round place, Albus Dumbledore locked his eyes with Gellert Grindelwald. The green fireworks were exploding in the air, shattering the sky, as Gellert's face was being translated into all the magical sanctuaries where people watched. He was now the new leader of the magical world.

Newt was wriggling in Mr Pewdence's hands, trying to liberate his working hand. He looked at Eulalie quickly, asking, now what? She stood not far from him, equally guarded, but she wouldn't let them grab her shoulders. Jacob laid on the ground, his face white like snow, a thin trickle of blood dripping from his nose.

There was a soft snap characteristic for apparition. A couple of gasps later, people divided, and a figure stepped up from the last higher steps, towards Grindelwald. He was frail, dressed in all black, his hair covering his face almost completely.

He locked eyes with Grindelwald whose nostrils flared from how livid he became.

"So", he said quietly, "you're alive".

Aberfort shook in his place, his feet scratching the stone, but Albus garbbed him.

Credence said nothing but looked at the wizard for a couple of seconds. Then he raised his wand, slowly, and gently moved it in the air. From the tip of the wand, streams of red smoke flew up towards the wizard and formed a huge word, visible enough for the translation, above his head.

L I A R

Gellert dismissed it with an impatient twitch on his hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"He's lying to you!" Newt screamed. "This Qilin is dead! It's been resurrected through necromancy, it's corrupted!"

Rumble moved through the crowd, people swayed like one liquid body.

"Bring him here!" Grindelwald snapped. Newt was dragged in front of him, Dumbledore aware of every movement.

"Credence", he asked, as gently as he could. Credence turned his face towards his uncle, pale, with eyes full of hatred.

"Where's Orlaith?"

The boy smiled but said nothing.

Before getting to the zoologist, Grindelwald moved his attention to Credence again.

"You haven't only failed me, but also betrayed? You, who had been thrown out like garbage, a circus freak. I took you in. I gave you what you desired the most, your history. I gave you your name, Aurelius. I gave you a home. And now you're dying, and looking at me, for what? You dare to raise your eyes at me".

Credence was smiling. Not a single time either Newt, nor Albus has seen him smile. Gellert's spell was so quick that no one was in time to react; even Albus. He's been too preoccupied with the unrealistic oddness of this appearance. Credence himself fended it, with a wide movement, sending the red flash away, above people's heads. Albus noticed something extremely curious, familiar, about this movement, the hand outstretched recklessly. And the wand - he's seen this wand before. He's seen this wand, dragon core, seven inches, extremely stiff, red wood. A smile of disbelief curved his lips as he raised his own wand to protect.

"Where's the second Qilin?" he yelled, in the high, shrill voice, to raise the wave in the crowd. He stood a little behind Aberfort, who stared at him curiously.

"Show us the second one!"

"Yeah! Show us the second one!" someone picked up. Several voices demanded the same. Grindelwald smiled like a knife.

"There is no second Qilin. You see the only one, the real one, in front of you. All this", he motioned towards Scamander, kneeled before him, "is just a distraction".

Credence sat on the steps, supporting himself with one hand.

"Excuse me! Goddammit! Will you- hey, thank you!" there was another high-pitched voice, as if from someone very small - a child, or a female house elf. Crowd grumbled, preoccupied, and people were finally making a narrow corridor, to let them through. Another person, covered in a striped back and white blanket, was stumbling upwards on the stairs.

"Oh, the-" Orlaith's hand caught herself on the steps, "these stairs, fuck", she mumbled under her breath, her voice unusually high with exhaustion. From the blanket, a butterly flew out and disappeared in the milky sky.

"Are there... two hundred thousand of them, or something?"

"What is this?" thundered Grindelwald. He was losing patience. She threw the blanket off her shoulders. Orlaith held the Qilin baby in her hands, snuggled against her chest. She was wearing a black shirt, not unlike Credence's, and dark trousers. In all black, which Dumbledore hasn't seen her quite often, she looked ever more menacing. Her long ginger hair flew in the furious wind, like golden Celtic song. She stood straight for a second, but then bent forward, putting her free hand to her knees, panting from the running. Credence watched her attentively. She waved her hand, motioning them to wait.

"These fucking stairs!" she yelled in thin voice, but it cracked. She's never cursed that much, in front of people.

"This is precarious", Grindelwald said with finality. "This is a ploy".

Orlaith let the Qilin jump off her arms, and it trotted joyfully around, paying little to no attention to the chosen leader. It ran around in circles, enjoying the weather, as Newt looked at her with tears in her eyes. Albus, without breaking the gaze from Grindelwald, walked up to Orlaith and helped her to get up. She jerked, suddenly, as if she didn't expect his help.

"How are you holding up?" he whispered. Her gaze was stern as she only allowed him to take her by the shoulder and raise to her feet. She immediately stepped away, closer to Credence. He met her halfway.

Qilin, meanwhile, was making her way through the crowd, towards Santos. The noble witch kneeled before the animal, bowing her head low. People started forming a circle around Grindelwald as his face hardened. He saw that the Qilin had chosen, and his own, barely alive, infernally blue, was now wandering aimlessly at the edge of the platform, unused. He opened his mouth to say something poisonous at the wands ponting at him, but was interrupted.

"Ow! Ah!" Credence talked for the first time. His face was bubbling and he grabbed on it, searching support in Orlaith. She, too, was shaking, grimacing. In front of the amazed crowd, the two seemingly changed places, and Orlaith was now holding onto Credence, and Credence stood where she had stood before. He was the one who had saved the butterfly.

"Ha! The most amazing thing I'd seen in a long time!" Albus laughed. He was so relieved. Meanwhile, Gellert finally recognized the girl.

"You. I knew the chains had meant something".

"Oh", she grimaced, "shut up!"

There was a swirl of spells. Green, blue, orange flashes flew towards Gellert, and he fended them all. Orlaith pulled Credence a little at the side, seeing that he was on his last leg. He was very pale, although visibly holding on. She searched for Aberfot with her eyes. He was making his way to them, but with the pushing crowd, it wasn't easy. She noticed Credence was, although he stood on one knee, looking closely at Albus.

There was a pause in the shootout, as Gellert tried to voice towards the wizards. Albus was impatient, clutching his wand, but he could only fight the servants, not the lord. The chain was choking him.

"You know, I wish I had broken your chains", Credence muttered. Orlaith followed his gaze.

"Accio!" he screamed, in the last burst of energy. Everything seemed to slow down. She felt that, together, they were something more. In between the moving bodies, preparing to attack Grindelwald again, she could see the long silver chain with the blood-red-hearted vile sprung in the air. Dumbledore was pulled along with it, barely keeping himself on his feet. She aimed as well as she could, which was relatively new to her; she just usually shot in wide bursts, hoping to shatter as much as possible.

"Reducto".

Golden lightning flashed out of her wand for she was the Golden Witch. Credence felt her shining next to him, keeping him warm, as he let her lean on his shoulder for support. The spell, released by her, wasn't just a breaking curse. It was her ancient magic that made it incredibly strong. It was so strong that it could destroy the heartbreak, the betrayal, the sorrow. It crashed into the vile, and the little glass bottle exploded in the air.

Dumbledore was free.

Aberfort finally grabbed Credence and carried him ten steps away, holding him in his arms. Their fingers unclutched, and Orlaith moved her wand towards the dark wizard. Dumbledore's blue, and her golden curses flew towards him, as he twisted as best as he could to avoid being hit, dancing like a fencer. She saw some familiar faces, the faces that visited Hogwarts, fall, and stepped closer. Credence's shirt was far too big for her, so, she rolled her sleeves very quickly. That second she spent on it cost her a would on her neck, burning like hell. She rubbed the spot and focused again. Let the surge of magic of the earth itself thunder down on him. She put her wand up, and people stepped back, watching. Gellert locked eyes with her. She threw her hand down, and the pillar or purple fire engulfed him.

"Dumbledore!" she screamed, holding the trap. He wasn't easy to keep, actually. She could feel his pushback, and was horrified. Albus shot through the purple, curse after curse, and soon, the others joined. The howling mass of the pillar held Grindelwald as he was forced to his knees inside. He managed to break the curse with Protego Diabolica, from the third try, no less; by this moment Orlaith had redefined all she knew about her skills. She had never, she realized, met a wizard of such power, and her careless, insinctive use of ancient magic was only good with crooks. Otherwise, focus just wasn't enough to defeat someone so masterful. But the ring of fire grew, fighting the blue flames. She was getting exhausted quickly, feeling the supportive curses around, but the magic drained her for energy. Blue dragon was growing, consuming the purple fire, and her anger was the last thing that still held up. She thought of Credence. Credence, the boy she refused to let go of, dying ten steps away from her. Someone who never knew love and yet, sacrificed his little freedom for her, twice. His sculpted pale face with heavy, dark, intelligent eyes. The way he made her feel as his hand touched her neck softly, almost with fright. She screamed and pushed, she didn't even put any words to the blow. She just pushed Grindelwald as hard as she could, like a child would push another child on the playground. He flew up, picked up by the purple flash, and was thrown off the edge.

Suddenly, it was all quiet. People rushed towards the end of the platform to see, but he was gone. Maybe disintegrated in the fire, or maybe, disapparated in the air.

She bent and held onto her knees, like Credence, while he was parodying her. All was quiet for some time. Someone was scratching their head. Orlaith panted, looked up at the stormy skies, felt the June cold on her face.

"Alright, you were right. And Black was right, I need to learn more", she admitted to approaching Albus. He smiled like she knew he would always smile at children he protected.

"That was quite a spectacle".

"Is he gone?"

"Gone, yes, dead - unlikely".

He patted her on the shoulder lightly. His hand was scarred from the chain.

"Thank you for that, by the way. That was the most exquisit job from you two".

She turned around to look for Credence.

"They had disapparated. To Hogsmeade, I presume".

People were slowly gathering around her, dozens of curious eyes, which she didn't like. She realized the translation into sanctuaries and places of viewership was still happening.

"Can I... also go, please?" she asked, huddling closer to Professor. He embraced her by the shoulder, and she clutched on Newt, too, to shield herself. They both held her.

"Yes, let's go. And you'll need to tell me where the hell you have been".

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A week ago, Credence landed himself, and Orlaith, with the Qilin, on top of the Astronomy Tower where she guided him. He swayed and fell on one knee because his head spun for a second. Orlaith collapsed, too, but managed to keep the baby in her outstretched arms. She quickly stood up and unfolded the Cloak.

"Are you alright? Credence?"

He took her hand and pulled himself up.

"Yes".

He was not. All his body was being bitten off by frost from his bones. The monster inside of him was raging, knapping. He couldn't lift his right arm. He let the night air soothe him a little, and then Orlaith threw the mantle over him. She stepped so close that he could see every freckle on her nose.

"What's that?"

"A family heirloom. You remember when Grindelwald - Graves - gave you that necklace? Doesn't matter. It's the Cloak of Invisibility".

He didn't ask where they were going, just looked around. He had to hold her around her waist not to let the Cloak slip off of his head. He found it uncomfortable and inappropriately fantastic. He couldn't even think while she was in his arms. In fact, the pain ceased just a little, and it became easier to breathe. He was staring around curiously as they sneaked down the winding stairs.

"Oh, so good it's the nighttime" she whispered, tickling his face with her hair. "No students".

He obeyed her motions, stopping when she stopped, and whispering to the baby when it made noises. Slowly, because they were both adults, and with a baby dragon deer, while the Cloak was designed for only one person - made their way to the lower level. Suddenly, Credence heard conversation. They stepped to the wall, the Qilin between them, two of their palms covering its mouth carefully and gently.

Two students in green ties were treading down the hallway. They stood still while the two boys passed, and then, after a while, Orlaith grumbled,

"Of course it's Slytherin".

And pulled him further.

Finally, they were standing in front of an empty, flat wall. She took the Cloak off and rolled in under her arm.

"What is it?" he asked.

She couldn't hide how excited she was all of a sudden.

"This, Credence, is the Room of Requirement. One of the most tremendous places in Hogwarts. Take my hand".

He complied happily. A rare bird, ghostly bird of freedom was flapping its wings in his chest. Excitement for magic, something unfamiliar to him before, contageously, travelled to him from her. For a moment, he wasn't aching, or tired, or on the run. He was just a boy, looking impatiently, in wonder, at the wall which was changing, transforming, into a door.

She pushed the door, and they entered a huge, light, spacious room with thick red carpet on the floor, with high, tall windows in the ceiling, through which the impossible daylight was flowing; the walls were covered in portraits of witches and banners of birds, and animals, and statues of incredible beasts were in every corner. It was warm here, safe, quiet. Something bubbled peacefully on the intricatly ornamented purple potion desk at the wall; it was an amazing place. In front of him, across the room, there was what looked like a greenhouse entrance, which glowed with white light. As Orlaith let the Qilin go, the baby immediately raced towards the entrance and, in the soft pearl glow, she disappeared inside.

"We're safe here. Not even Grindelwald can find us here, the Room is hidden deep inside the castle, and no one can acess it, who hadn't been inside before".

There were steps leading up onto a little balcony. On either side of it, on the platform, were doors. The left one had the same ethereal glow, but it was somehow bluer. On the other side, the door was most usual, but with a sign of a fairy on it.

"You can stay here. Hey, I'll go pick up dinner".

He drew a breath, still looking around.

"Is this all yours?"

"Well, the Room provides me with what I need. But I designed some of it", she nodded towards potion tabel and two botanic desks with some sort of yellow flowers growing.

"Can I... can I sit?" Credence motioned towards a big, dark-red armchair standing next to a bookcase.

"Of course. Of course, hey, do what you want here. This is going to be our home for the next week, I suppose. Are you hungry?"

He wasn't hungry, he was awashed with the feeling he couldn't put to words. Most likely it was savage, reckless hope. As Orlaith disappeared under the Cloak and left the room, he changed his mind against the armchair. He wanted to see what the gates were, and followed the Qilin.

When Orlaith returned, she found Credence in the vivarium, watching the baby play. She brought her dinner, too, and the beast started stuffing her face. She was growing, and ate all the time now. Orlaith munched on banana bread and had left some food for him in the room. She pulled on his hand, breaking his sunbathing in the field.

"Leave her be", she panted, with a smile, "I want to show you the ocean".

They left the first vivarium and took the stairs onto the balcony. Credence awed at how many books there were here. They entered the second glowing gate, and at first, he thought, he had another episode for there was noise in his head. Blinking in the white sunlight, he realized that it was the noise of the ocean. Grumbling pleasantly, licking on the sharp grey rocks, it was reaching its waves towards him. Orlaith was already running towards the water while he stood, and watched her. She threw herself in the water in her clothes like she was suffocating without it.

The sun did not recognize his white, paperthin skin. He felt out of place here, a black ink spot on this harmonious beach. But he walked on, he removed his shoes and felt the sand under his feet, and then walked into the water to make sure it felt real. It was amazing how he had been kept in a dark tower in the land of eternal winter, where iron bit him, and only ravens circled above the chasm below his windows, and suddenly he was saved. He was utterly saved, he was happy, his shoulders bending forwards, as his knees caved in. He sat in the sand and was silent, tasting the salt of the ocean. Orlaith joined him soon, water dripping from her.

"It looks and feels absolutely real, doesn't it?"

He asked himself if it has all been a dream.

"Does anybody leave here? Any animals?" he wondered.

"Only fish and very small crustaceans. And there, in the field, tiny beetles". She smiled. Her eyes were concerned, palpating his face. She gathered her hair into a bun. Credence looked at her neck and the sunbeams from her earrings on her skin.

She laid her head onto his shoulder, and they watched the waves until the sun started to roll across the water. The ocean was quietening, stepping back lightly, the shining changing from white to gold.

Several days have passed, and each day he was coming to the beach. There were cracks on his arms that wouldn't heal, the general weakness which he felt every day right in the morning. He knew what it meant, the boneache and the black visible through his skin. His body was only going to hold on long enough to go through with the plan which they now could finally discuss in detail.

In the bedroom, behind the door with the fairy sign, Orlaith slept in the bed to the left, with the baby curled at her side; and Credence slept in the right. In the evenings, days and mornings, they discussed what they would do. He watched Orlaith cutting the yellow and red flowers off the bushes with thin silver scissors; they dined in the next room where the narrow corridor led. In the oval shaped hall, the knight armour was displayed at the wall, and the banners: red, green, yellow, and blue. She explained that those were the four houses of Hogwarts, but Credence had already known about it. Grindelwald had told him a lot about Hogwarts, the place that Dumbledore had chosen over him. Still, he liked to listen to her as she spoke of Gryffindor. Most of the things in her Room were noble wine-red and orange, in the colors of her house. She said he would make the first Dumbledore who's destined for Slytherin. He asked why. She smiled like it was obvious. Your bravery is quiet, she said, and you're dark. You were right about it, you are dark, but your darkness is the darkness of the room where treasures are hidden. And you're smart, since you're reading my thoughts. In your pursuit of your name you almost turned over the mountains, and nothing could stop you. That makes you a Slytherin, the quiet menace, the undiscovered hero.

"And you're so dark-haired, you look like one", she shrugged. Credence found this playful categorisation entertaining.

"And what exactly makes you a Gryffindor?" he asked.

"Well, I'm super powerful".

He snorted right in his tea and apologized. Her smile turned into a laugh.

"You have- do you have any ancient magic by any chance?" he asked. "I don't think you've ever mentioned".

"That's what makes me a Gryffindor", she nodded, still laughing. "Dumbledore constantly tells me I'm too self-reliant and reckless. But it's really hard not to be, whent he earth itself helps you. Also, I'm a Peverell. All Peverells historically are Gryffindors, and they descend from the Gryffindor himself".

"The founder?"

"Uh-huh".

"But did you ever find who you were?" he remembered suddenly. He saw this question ruined her mood in an instance. She gave him an uneasy, doubtful glance. He got frightened.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Instead, she moved closer to him as if she wanted protection.

"I never did, no. I'm occupying the name, the body of an Orlaith Peverell who lived in the sixteenth century. She was, it seems, a lot like me, so I guess, I grew into the persona. But..."

She looked at Credence with trusting eyes.

"I have come into this world after I died. But I was born elsewhere". She put her palms up on the table and observed them. Credence, out of habit, dared to touch them, and she didn't pull away.

"I was born in the world with no magic, no magic at all. Just the planet full of... muggles".

She said the last word almost with disgust.

"I don't remember what it is".

"A no-maj. As a child, I used to read books about magic, but it was so painfully unreal. I grew up with these stories about this magical child who defeated the dark wizard. He was born just like me, thinking he was usual, and then found that he was a powerful warlock. That was the most amazing thing that happened to me. As I was growing up, I got so hung on these stories, that I spent all my time in the countryside, in the woods, looking for the special door leading to the world of magic. And I couldn't find it". She was grim as she spoke, as if she was old. What if she was old?

"Then I became an adult and realized it had all been just a story. Just a product of imagination of a writer. In our world, Credence, we didn't have dragons, and broomsticks, and prophecies, no purple enchantments, no elves, no wizarding schools. Just.... work, buses, taxes, relationships. You get up every day and go to work, and then come back and watch TV... and then go to sleep at night and listen to the traffic".

Credence thought of this world as almost amazing. If he had been born to a place where magic didn't exist, perhaprs he wouldn't have been abandoned. He wouldn't have turned out like he did, he would be normal.

"So... that's how you know the future? You read about... us... in the books?"

"Yes. But everything is differen already. Because I didn't use to be in them".

He thought of the concept.

"The worst thing is that I started a family there".

He was taken aback.

"You... had a husband?"

Something like a thorn stung him in the stomach, phantom. Not the obscurial. Other type of pain.

"Yes. But the thing is, that life almost seems like a dream to me now. I forgot my name, or his, and I barely remember anymore... I think, with time, I'll start thinking that that muggle world was no more than a bad dream. A dream".

She looked at him.

"What if it was?" He mused, "just a long dream?"

She shrugged.

"Maybe. The view of the house doesn't seem to leave me. It was autumn, I died in September. I know I left them behind, and I feel... so awful".

He was shaken to his core. He wasn't sure even Grindelwald heard about things like that. There had to be some meaning to her having ancient magic now. She didn't look like a muggle at all, not even in her previous life. He witnessed her lower her shoulders.

"I'm sorry".

"I would not go back", she said quietly, "even if the hellhounds dragged me by my ankles".

They let the thought soar onto the soft carpet.

"Well", she let her hand snake onto his chest and felt for his watch in the pocket. Credence was still getting used to that. He would stay in place, not a muscle move in his body, in concern that she could be scared off. All the while sweat breaking onto his neck from expecting a blow.

"It's late, and tomorrow's the Day", she clicked the watch closed and gave it back to him, "I'll go wash in the river". He nodded, strange feeling of readiness in him. He knew this could be very well the last evening of his life.

Orlaith was thinking about the next morning. They had already decided how they would apparate, how they could avoid being tracked while travelling. And what they would do. Late evening light in her impeccably realistic vivarium made the air relatively cold for the skin straight out of the river. As she walked out onto the grass and picked up he robe, she saw Credence at the gate. She jumped, putting the robe around herself quicky. She called his name, and he started moving. Something eerie was in the way he walked, without the usual stoop, planting his feet firmly into the ground. Unpleasant paranoic feeling crawled onto her skin as she found the baby with her eyes, grazing hundred steps away. She didn't have her wand, she wouldn't think of it. She trusted Credence completely, she knew him. As they approached each other, she decided there was something different. His face was ready and meaningful. He towered over her.

"I was in the river, Credence", she reproached him. He didn't stoop his eyes like he always did, but on the opposite, made them travel onto her neck and then back to her face.

"You need to be ready for tomorrow".

"I am".

"You need to be ready for my death".

He caught her hands which flew to his head.

"Credence, I told you-"

"I know, I know. You won't accept it, and you need me to fight".

In the silence between them his white hand let go of hers, and she touched the side of his face.

"But no matter how long I'm fighting, the obscurial is eating me. And I'm quite tired of fighting it".

Orlaith didn't know what to say. She was childishly opposed. She wanted to shake her head and stomp her foot. He held her wrist so softly, like she was an artifact.

"I want you to know something", he added. Taking her hand, he opened her palm.

"The elf wouldn't think of bringing you the ointment. I made it myself, for burns, from the slug-dragons we used to have at the circus. I sent it with him because I had been listening to your conversations with Skender".

Her throat was caught in a spasm.

"You took care of me".

He kissed her palm like he did before. He kept it to his face as if he was trying to hide. He used to have nothing, he thought. And now he knew who he was, and he had love. He had felt love, he had felt loved. And he was happy.

As his name left her lips again, he touched her neck, traced the invisible line to her shoulder, and back. They kissed, his darkness dissipating a little, with the warm summer fog. The powerful feeling of hope left him through the pores in his skin, for he didn't need hope anymore.

The light was leaving the sky. The need shoved them close to each other, and they held on, watching each others' eyes in the twilight. Now Orlaith didn't know what to say because she had said it many times. She needed him. She wouldn't let him go. She was stubborn, and selfish, and he just watched as she clung on his cooling hand.

"We go tomorrow", he said finally. "Don't be upset".

"I'm not upset", she argued. "Are you upset?"

"No".

The play of words made him smile a little.

"I was thinking. Do you have a Change-Up potion?"

Orlaith frowned.

"What's a Change-up potion?" there was again a spark of fun in her eyes. Maybe he made her drunk a little.

"It's the potion which makes you look like the other person".

"Aaahh. The Polyjuice potion".

"The Poly... juice", he chuckled, kissing her face.

"I don't. You know it takes a month to preapre it, right?"

She thought.

"But I can steal it from Sharp. He must have some in the Potions class".

"Do you need help?"

She looked sheepish but in the end, managed to get it together.

"No, you better stay here. Grindelwald must be looking for you. I'll be quick".

He let her hand slide off his shoulder, and traced her arm with his fingers. What if in a dream, he thought, watching her leave the vivarium, they were both very boring, non-magical? And there would be a lifetime of this, of him being able to hold her like that?

She shoved her head back suddenly.

"Oi! Why do we need Polyjuice potion again?"

"Well, to confuse everybody even further".

"But we'll need to be silent, because voices don't change".

"I know".

"And you'll need to act like me, you know?"

"So, a lot of cursing?"

She nodded energetically,

"A lot!"

#ezra miller imagine #credence barebone #credence barebone imagine #hogwarts legacy #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts imagine #albus dumbledore #grindelwald #newt scamander

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fideidefenswhore · 2 years

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Richmond was buried at the end of July by his adoptive family at Thetford Priory. Surrey rode along on his friend's jennet, Richmond's favourite horse, which had been delivered to him from his stable. The King, who it seems, had wanted to keep Richmond's death quiet for as long as possible, had ordered that his son's body be wrapped in lead, covered with straw and 'conveyed secretly in a close cart unto Thetford', where he was to be buried without any pomp. After the event, though, he regretted the decision, and, blind to the first order, blamed Norfolk for not according Richmond due honour--this despite the fact that Norfolk had Richmond buried with more ceremony than Henry VIII's original instructions had originally allowed.

Henry VIII’s Last Victim: The Life and Times of Henry Howard (Childs, Jessie)

#i know the head injury theory is controversial re : henry viii but ...#it's things like this that lend credence to it imv #did henry have a great capacity for cruelty before that?#yes; of course #but he didn't have this sort of ...irrationality / issue with memory #& the paranoia. bcus it seems not wanting anyone to know he had died was from paranoia #i think maybe for someone that had argued that his sons (by catherine of a.ragon. at any rate)#*the death of #was the judgement of god...the timing of fitzroy's death was...um.#less than ideal #for all the woobification of the marriage btwn jane and henry #i also read things like this and just...can't imagine it was pleasant #to be married to the irrational and irascible man that he was at this point #altho maybe it does reframe his comment later that year that he believed he wouldn't have any children by jane in a different light?

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strangererotica · 26 days

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Jim Hopper x reader • Hopper has been your dad’s best friend for years. He always thought you were a nice, if not slightly awkward, kid. But when you return home to Hawkins during a break from college, Hopper is immediately smitten with the young woman you’ve become. He indulges his infatuation with you in the only way he can. Hopper lets his mind run wild with a fantasy that’s become familiar to him, even though his feelings for you leave him racked with guilt. And maybe that’s where the story would end for Hopper, alone and burning up in a desire he would never be set free from… But when you came home to Hawkins, you brought with you a knowledge, a craft, that a practical man like Hopper would never give credence to, until it captures him wholly, body-mind-and spirit…

Quiet moments like this were the most difficult for Hopper. When he wasn’t physically kept busy with his job, he was mentally kept busy by his conscience. Guilt tended to creep up on him most acutely in the moments he should have been able to rest, especially the early hours of morning. While Hopper believed mornings should be spent with warm coffee and personal introspection, he found it impossible to practice what he preached.

In fact, Hopper’s hypocrisy extended to more than one area in his life. While the town of Hawkins assumed their Chief of Police was, for the most part, an upstanding and honorable man, he harbored an uncomfortable secret that burned in the back of his heart: Jim Hopper was in love with his best friend’s daughter…

If only you’d never come back to Hawkins, Hopper told himself, he wouldn’t be caught in this moral storm. If you’d stayed away at college, Hopper never would have given you a second thought, except for when your dad mentioned you. His only memory of you would have remained the one Hopper had always had, of you as a skinny, polite-but-awkward kid.

The current image of you in Hopper’s mind was vastly different. You were all grown up now, the clumsiness of your youth replaced with a woman’s elegance. A gentle, refined softness had replaced all your rough edges, the gangly limbs of your teen years now shaped into the graceful form of a young woman. A beautiful woman, Hopper realized, who had him completely wrapped around your finger…

The day began as a regular Monday morning for Hopper, complete with the weight of guilt on his conscience. He stared up at the ceiling from bed and had a cigarette, his free hand moving beneath the blanket covering him, lazily massaging his cock. Hopper had always taken care of his morning wood, usually as his first activity of every day. But what now darkened his behavior and made it feel wrong, was the fact that Hopper couldn’t touch himself without thinking of you…

He tried to imagine someone else…anyone else. Hopper’s usual mental reference for masturbation was Bo Derek, an actress he’d had a crush on for years. The recurring fantasy Hopper had entertained for so long now felt stale in comparison to his thoughts of you…You, with your pretty, bright eyes flashing wide up at Hopper, a blush blooming on your cheeks as you realize he’s standing in the doorway of your room…as you realize he’s been standing there, watching you undress, for minutes now. And you’re covering yourself with the first item of clothing you could grab, a thin t-shirt, clutching it over your breasts in an attempt to hide your nakedness...

…But the shirt’s fabric is too sheer to provide any true coverage, any real protection from Hopper’s penetrating, wolfish stare. He steps inside your room, closing the door behind him, and presses in the lock with his thumb…

In the privacy of his bed, Hopper’s hand moved with more direction beneath the sheet, his grip around his cock tensing. As usual, he’d give in to the temptation that plagued him daily: he was going to come to the fantasy of you.

In Hopper’s mind, there were no moral obstacles in his way, no societal expectations from anyone preventing him from having you. He could fuck your face, your tits, your cunt, your ass, and come anywhere on and in you that he pleased. No one was there to stop him in the safe enclosure of his fantasy. And Hopper allowed himself to indulge.

“…Chief?” your wide eyes darted over his face. “W-what are you doing here?”

Hopper’s hand left the doorknob, moving to his shirt collar. “I think you and I already know the answer to that question, (y/n),” he said, his voice low, husky. You took a step back as you watched Hopper loosen the first few buttons of his shirt, your grip on the fabric covering you faltering slightly.

“How long were you standing there?” you asked tentatively. “Watching me?”

Hopper smirked as he undid the last button on his shirt. “Long enough to know that everything I’ve imagined about your body is right,” he replied, moving closer. “You’re fucking beautiful, (y/n)…Has anyone ever told you that?”

Your eyes drifted over Hopper’s exposed chest and down his stomach, watching as he unbuckled his belt. You nodded confidently, feeling less embarrassed. “Plenty of guys have told me I’m beautiful,” you replied, your voice a little sharper than you intended. You allowed the t-shirt over your chest to slip a little further down, revealing your nipples. “I’m twenty-one years old, Chief Hopper. Of course I date.” You smirked back at him now. “Lots of guys have fucked me.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hopper chuckled to himself, pulling his belt from his jeans. “I’m sure they have. And all these guys-,” He emphasized the word. “-any of them actually make you come?”

Your cheeks heated again, going pink. “I…uh-,” you stammered, as Hopper tossed his belt to your bedroom floor. “Any of these boys...” His hand moved to his cock, palming the bulge tenting his jeans. “…Make you feel like a man could make you feel…?”

Your chest dipped, your breath quickening as Hopper closed the space between your bodies. “…Like I could make you feel?” he continued, his dark blue eyes probing yours. Hopper was standing right in front of you now, mere inches separating your bodies. His hands moved to cover yours, gently removing them (and the t-shirt) from your breasts.

Your lips parted in an expression of both surprise and desire. Hopper cupped your cheek warmly in his palm, gliding his fingertips lightly along your chin. Your eyes fell closed in blissful surrender as Hopper touched you, the last of your defenses evaporating…

Hopper groaned as he fisted his cock, the muscles in his stomach tense. He knew he needed to hurry his fantasy along, or risk arriving even later at the station than he usually did Monday mornings. Hopper had already overslept and still had to shower, shave, and grab something quick to eat before heading into the station. So in his mind, Hopper fast-forwarded a bit to the part of his fantasy he liked best…the part where you begged…

…Hopper’s cock punched deep, sloppy thrusts inside you, rocking your bed frame, knocking off several plushies as he split you in half. One of his hands was wrapped in your hair, pulling your head back, your lips parted in a moan of ecstasy as he fucked places inside you no other man had reached.

“Come on, honey,” Hopper murmured down at you, his voice thick with exertion. “Go ahead and let go; I’ve got you sweetheart, just let it go…”

You whimpered beneath him, bucking under the weight of Hopper’s body. “Chief-,” you started, but Hopper cut you off, his words punctuated by each thrust of his hips. “That’s not my name, honey,” he gently insisted. “Go on-say my name-I know you know it-.”

“-Jim,” you panted against his shoulder. “Jim please, please Jim, please come inside me-.”

Hopper’s cock twitched at your request, at hearing you whimper his name. His balls were tight, aching for relief. Hopper’s eyebrows met, his forehead creased as he strained to withhold his climax just a little longer…

“Say it again,” he growled beside your ear, but your reply was lost in a groan. “Hey!” Hopper said forcefully, taking hold of your chin and holding it firmly. Your lips parted, and he spat between them. “Say my name if you want my cum,” Hopper ordered. “Say-,” *thrust* “My-,” *thrust* “Name...”

You came undone beneath Hopper, his name spilling out from between your lips like a prayer as he spilled his release inside you…

Hopper’s cock pulsed in his fist, his stomach clenching as a thick, creamy load of cum gushed from his tip. He cursed as his semen made a mess all over the bed; Hopper would have to wash the sheets later, or else sleep in his own cum that night. He reached for a fresh cigarette and stared up at the ceiling while exhaling thin clouds of smoke in its direction.

Hopper wondered how much longer he could go on like this? His ability to resist fantasizing about you was virtually non existent. Eventually, he’d have to either figure out a way to let go of his lust for you, or tell you how he felt. And Hopper knew the second option really wasn’t an option at all. There’s no way in hell you’d actually be attracted to him, Hopper thought. He was the same age as your dad, and that alone had to be a major turn-off for you. The likelihood of you ever viewing him as anything besides a contemporary of your dad’s was slim to none. And the last thing Hopper wanted to be, for you, was a father figure…

He swung his legs over the bed, and forced himself to the shower. Hopper knew that revealing his sick secret would destroy his friendship with your dad. He didn’t want that. And maybe more than anything, Hopper didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He chuckled darkly to himself as he stood in the shower, letting the water run over him. A sweet, pretty young woman like you would never guess she was the subject of a perverted cop’s fantasies. Not with all the men who probably pursued you at college, men twenty years younger than Hopper. At best, you likely viewed him as a nice older man, someone you could trust just like you could trust your dad.

Hopper shook his head, gazing down at the shower drain. How wrong you were, he thought to himself. Because there was nothing about Hopper that was trustworthy, when it came to his true feelings for you. He was a hypocrite, a liar, and a convincing one. For now, he would go on spending time with your dad, at your home, pretending like everything was okay. And one day, when you returned to college, maybe Hopper would be free of your spell…

✨ one week earlier ✨

It was a peaceful Monday morning for you. Home from college on Summer break, waking up in your childhood bedroom filled you with a rush of nostalgia you hadn’t experienced in a long time. Sunlight feathered through your curtains and across your bed. You stretched your legs and arms, and let your thoughts drift to the evening before.

Jim Hopper had stopped by to visit your dad last night and watch a football game together. You hadn’t seen Hopper in over two years. To be honest, you’d forgotten about your old crush on the town’s chief of police, letting it fade to the back of your mind as college life became your main focus. Traveling away from home to the big city of Indianapolis, Indiana, was a life-changing experience. You’d never been that far from Hawkins before, and while a few familiar faces from home were there as well, it still felt like the small town you loved was a whole world away.

Over time, you’d forgotten about Chief Hopper and the silly little crush you’d had on him when you were younger. But when he showed up at your house last night, your feelings for him were…brand new. Now, you were an adult, and nothing about your previous crush was present in the feelings you had watching your dad’s friend enter your home. Viewing Hopper through the eyes of a woman, your perception of him was completely different.

You’d been with a man before, a man your age. It had only happened once, and it was terrible. You regretted losing your virginity to someone who obviously had no idea what he was doing, let alone what he was supposed to be doing to you. Part of you wondered what a man like Jim Hopper, a man with decades of experience fucking women, could do to you? The Chief’s love life had always been a popular topic of gossip around town. Rumor had it that Hopper was quite promiscuous, and had developed a reputation as a womanizer in his younger days. A man like that, who you just so happened to be insanely attracted to, could probably show you what sex was supposed to be like. What a real, rough fuck was like, the kind of fucking you fantasized about, the kind of thoughts you touched yourself to…

You sifted through the pages of a well-worn notebook. In its contents were various notes on divination, the phases of the moon, a record and analysis of your dreams, the magickal correspondences of crystals, colors, and more. But by far, the most important content in your notebook were the spells you’d written. Some had worked, some had failed, and there were some you had written but not yet used. One of these un-cast spells was the love spell you’d written. Admittedly, it was less of a love spell and more of a lust spell, but…regardless, you hadn’t yet found the right person to use as inspiration when the spell was cast. You’d never desired anyone enough to make an attempt at bending the Universe’s will to influence your love life, but…seeing Jim Hopper again had stirred something powerful inside you.

Gathering your supplies, you prepared yourself mentally and physically to carry out the spell. You opened your bedroom window and let the sun sink its fingers beneath your skin, absorbing its masculine energy. Performing the spell by moonlight would have been useful in securing a lover whose energy was feminine. But the object of your desire was absolutely dripping with a masculinity so potent, you didn’t think you’d ever been near a man who exuded such powerful masculine energy.

After completing the spell, you trusted that the only thing left to do was wait. You climbed back into the familiar warmth of your bed, feeling a bit sleepy, but with a thrumming ache between your thighs that just couldn’t be ignored. Slipping a hand beneath your panties, you imagined it was Jim Hopper’s hand instead. Believing in your personal power, you trusted that the Universe was working with you. It may take a week, or ten days, or fourteen; but you would have Jim Hopper. If he didn’t want you already, he would, and badly. He would soon be craving you, not just desiring you, but burning alive inside with the need to possess you. Closing your eyes, you began to rub soft circles over your clit, building the pressure until it broke in waves, and Jim Hopper’s name was spilling from your lips in panted, grateful whispers… ✨

PART TWO

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