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marktuansvevo · 3 years

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got7 reacts to something theyve never experienced before in a relationship

warning(s); slight cursing, sexual content in bam’s part

mark; being jealous

mark understood why his past partners could be jealous of him in his line of work. as long as it didn’t get out of hand, he thought it was cute. he was never the jealous one in the relationship. he didn’t even know what jealousy felt like....

....until tonight.

you were mark’s entire world. you excited him, you built him up like no other. never before could he see himself spending his life with someone before you came along. you made the world brighter to him.

but now he was only seeing red.

you had been a trainee and never debuted, which you weren’t too upset about, you had a boyfriend you loved and a career with less physical and time demands than being in the entertainment industry. this meant that you knew a lot of other bands, stray kids being one of them. chan was, quite frankly, your best friend during your trainee days, so when you saw him at this afterparty you were attending with mark, you threw yourself into his arms.

mark just watched you from afar.

and his blood boiled.

chan spun you around in his arms, the biggest smile on his stupid, handsome face. “yah!! y/n! mark didn’t say you’d be here.”

you giggled, trying to keep your tears at bay. you put your hands on his face, poking his dimples. mark scoffed at the blush that was forming on his friend’s face. “god, chan i missed you so much.”

“bro, you look constipated,” bam snuck up behind him. “dude, your face is so red right now.”

mark rolled his eyes. “these parties are so annoying.” he didn’t take his eyes off of you as you caught up with chan, who still had his hand around your waist.

bam followed his line of vision. “shit, you’re not constipated, you’re jealous. yugyeom, come look at him!”

mark walked away from his intoxicated friends and up to you. you smiled at him before returning to your conversation with chan.

“y/n, we have to go,” mark said lowly, smiling a sickly fake smile at chan, who immediately dropped his hand from your waist.

“why, baby, we just got here? are you not feeling good?” you asked. he wanted to feel bad, your voice was laced with concern.

“something like that. see you, chan.”

as you got in the car, you smiled at him, poking his cheek. “somebody’s jealous, huh?”

“huh? of chan? i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he clenched his jaw, not making eye contact with you as he steered his car out of the parking lot. you were giggling now.

“you’re cute when you’re jealous. maybe i should make more time for chan.”

“y/n!!!”

jaebeom; wearing disguises in public

jaebeom never thought he would have to dress up in a disguise to go out in public. and jae would never want to put you in such a position. it was draining, and you, as his girlfriend knew that he despised it.

but you wanted to go to a concert with him.

and you wanted to stand in the pit with him and be part of it. don’t get you wrong, you loved when he bought you suite seats or could watch his shows from backstage, but you wanted to sway to ariana grande in th pit with your boyfriend.

“cmon, jae, i think everyone is going to be paying attention to ari. we can skip the opening act?” you suggested.

“y/n, i don’t want to take a chance...im sorry,” he pouted at you. you sighed, trying to figure out what to do.

“what about disguises?” he said. “like, we could wear our halloween costumes?” you were giggling to yourself, but your boyfriend seemed like the idea.

“i could wear my jesus wig and you could paint a beard on me?” he said with serious eyes.

“jae, you hate going out in disguises.”

“true...but, babe, this will be fun. you could wear your sailor mars wig, it’d be cute,”

okay, this was a really cute idea and you were warming up to it...if it made your boyfriend more comfortable to be out in a crowd of so many people, you were down to try it out.

“this really feels like halloween in july,” you giggled as you used mascara to draw a beard on his chin.

“do I look like jesus??” he asked childishly.

“well, you don’t look like im jaebeom of got7, that’s for sure,”

“you look like an egirl,” he laughed at himself. “don’t hate, you know you love it,” you said. “we look so cute, let’s take a mirror selfie and post in later,”

“no, then people will be on to us,” your boyfriend sent a pout in your direction as he looked at his makeshift beard in the mirror. “I look sexy as fuck in a beard,”

“super sexy aegyo please?”

the two of you arrived at the arena, not be noticed by anyone, but jae was still on edge, so you held his hand tight as you made your way into the pit.

“im so excited!!” you shouted over the noise. he shook his head before leaning in to kiss you. the two of you danced the whole night away to arianas crooning, his arms around you as you swayed to her pretty, soothing voice. the two of you let the world fade away while ariana sang honeymoon ave in the background.

jackson; his significant other saying ily first.

it was no secret that jackson was stock full of love and kindness. he had had other partners before you, all with him ending up getting too attached, or scaring them away when he said “I love you” too early.

he did not want to scare you away, and honestly, he had known he loved you two months into dating, but he didn’t want to scare you away, so he never outwardly said those three little words to you.

he wasn’t expecting you to say it, first though.

you had invited him over for dinner and a movie, just wanting a chill night in with your boyfriend. he brought the wine and promised to give you a back massage, so really, what more could you want on this chilly thursday night?

“what’s been going on, honey? you know you can tell me anything,” jackson whispered into your ear as he helped you out of your clothes.

“I feel like I deserve to oversee my department at work. i have the most education of all of them, more experience than them, and generally, I am more optimistic than my superiors….,” you sighed, letting him rub just under your shoulder blades, which had been itching all week.

“mmm?”

“i think they might be scared of powerful women who like to wear hot pink fendi suits to work,” you smiled, knowing he would be offended at your joke. you could almost feel him pouting.

“so the reason you can’t get the job is because your superiors don’t like the suits your boyfriend buys you? wow, what a way to hurt a guy’s pride…,” he followed your lead on the joke, trying to make you laugh because he knew this was really getting to you. “baby, I think you should go to their boss and see if you can get a promotion…tell them everything you told me, okay? i know you’re not only the best woman for the job, but the best person for the job…period,” he said, making you feel so overwhelmed with emotion. none of your previous partners had ever revered you the way jackson had. you felt so incredibly blessed and in love, you couldn’t help yourself.

“god, jackson, I love you so much,” you whispered.

the movement of his soft hands on your back stopped abruptly at your words. ‘oh god, was it too early to say that?’

“j-jackson…im sorry-“

“ive been waiting to say that to you,” he breathed against your lips, closing the distance that was between them.

“jackson wang….you love me?” you could feel the tears building. the man of your dreams was in love with you, too.

“i love you,” he whispered reverently.

“say it again,” you begged. he said it like a mantra.

“i love you, i love you….i love you..”

jinyoung; moving in together

jinyoung thought you were so cute. you were ecstatic to move with jinyoung. you had been living in your shared apartment with your mom your whole life and we’re excited to start a new chapter of your life. jinyoung didn’t think you were taking in the fact that moving is one of the most stressful things a person can go through.

he didn’t want to rain on your parade, though.

the two of you got settled into your new apartment after a long day of unpacking. jinyoung kissed you as you laid onto your new king sized bed. “im gonna grab takeout, you want your usual?” he asked sweetly, squeezing your hand. you just nodded, squeezing his hand back.

you watched as jinyoung walked out of your shared bedroom. that’s when the dam broke. you were so overwhelmed. you didn’t know how to make warm water happen in your shower, you didn’t have your wifi set up, and you forgot your favorite teddy bear at your moms. you missed teddy and your wifi and your mom.

“hey, i ordered you two egg rolls and they gave us three - hey, baby, are you crying?”

“no,” you replied lamely. “I miss teddy,” you wailed miserably.

“teddy...the...stuffed bear?” he asked.

“i slept with him every night for the past 20 something years.”

“baby...we can get your bear in the morning...,”

“we don’t have netflix set up so how am i supposed to sleep tonight?”

“y/n...,” he chuckled. you frowned harder now that he was laughing at you. “moving isn’t as exciting as it looks. tomorrow, we will fix the wifi, okay? and we can visit your mom and rescue teddy.”

“okay...okay. im sorry, im just a bit overwhelmed,” you confessed.

“its gonna be okay, honey. it’s a lot to take in, i know. but you can hold me instead of teddy, and ill sing you to sleep,” he whispered, the takeout now long forgotten. before you could fall asleep, he pulled his iphone out of his back pocket and pulled you into his chest to take a selfie. “there. now we have a picture of us in our bed for the first time.”

“i love you, you sap.”

even though you called him the sap, the next day you went to the pharmacy to get the photo printed and frame it. when jinyoung came home from the market that day, he eyed the frame on your bed stand, smirking at you.

“oh, so im the sap, hmm?”

youngjae; picking up the tab

it was the first date the two of you had been on since youngjae had been on tour. he told you to get dressed up and that the two of you would go out for a fancy dinner and catch up on everything. this is why you loved him, because while you wanted to hear all about his stories of life and tour abroad, he always wanted to hear about everything that was going at home, to see if you were alright.

youngjae looked dazzling in a black checked suit, while you matched him with a little black dress that made him groan when you stepped out of the bathroom. “can we skip dinner?” he’d ask cheekily. you rolled your eyes at him before kissing him on the cheek. “we aren’t skipping dinner, and we definitely won’t be skipping dessert,” you winked before leading him to the car.

the two of you ate dinner together, him holding your hand and looking at you with stars in his eyes as you told him stories that had happened while he was away. you ordered appetizers, drinks, shared an entrée, and youngjae even ordered you a slice of apple pie for the two of you to share.

“baby, I’m going to go use the restroom,” youngjae said before kissing your hand. “’kay, don’t get mugged, please,” you teased him. he shook his head at your playfulness. you watched as he left before frantically waving your arms at your waitress. she ran over to you, checking if you were alright.

“I just wanted to wonder if I can pick up the cheque really quick? I wanted to pick it up for my boyfriend as a surprise,” you spoke in a hushed tone, making the waitress giggle. she nodded her head before handing it to her. you handed her your credit card, thanking her before your boyfriend had any suspicions of what you were up to.

youngjae came out of the bathroom as soon as the waitress set the cheque down. you were applying your lipstick so you couldn’t snatch it in time. you watched as his pretty brown eyes scanned the receipt, looking confused as ever. “is this a joke? what kind of waitress lets the girlfriend pay?”

“jae,” you giggled. “you don’t always have to pay for dinner. I wanted to treat you…I missed you so much,” you confided, watching his expression from anger into warmth.

“oh, thank you honey, you are so sweet and thoughtful, I love you so much,” you let him wrap his suit jacket around your arms before planting a kiss to your forehead. “but that will be the last time you ever do that.”

“shut up, i like doing nice things for you,” you pouted.

“since you paid for dinner tonight, i have to put out, right?”

he ran to the car before you could slap him in the chest.

bam; his s/o borrowing his clothes

remember how joey never shared his food? well that’s how bam was with his wardrobe. he was very particular about his clothing, not letting people borrow them at all. yugyeom used to steal his clothes just to be petty and piss his best friend off. he had never let past partners borrow his clothes, and nothing was going to change, it wasn’t his fault, it was an obsession. if you were sure of one thing, it was to not steal your boyfriends clothes.

but one day, while he was gone from work, you thought you would take pictures of yourself in only one of his blazers to tease him.

you weren’t expecting him to walk through the door while you were trying to take self timer pictures of yourself.

“baby? what are you doing?” bam asked, laughing as you let out a squeal of surprise.

“i..i wanted to surprise you...,” he tsked, pulling away to look at his blazer. “i know you don’t like me wearing your things..,” you stammered as he circled you.

“you have such pretty things, though, bam,”

“you look so sexy in this,” he purred. “you were trying to get me worked up while im trying to work?”

“u...uhhh,” you couldn’t think coherently with you boyfriend acting so domineering. you gasped as he slid his hand up to your cunt, rubbing your clit in little circles. “bam...please...,” you groaned.

“keep the blazer on,” he said as you writhed in his grip.

“its gonna get all sweaty though and then you’ll yell at me,” you teased him as you followed him to the bed.

bam just groaned. “baby, im sorry I haven’t let you borrow my clothes before but you look better in them than me. now, let me fuck you and i promise you can have anything you want in that closet.”

he knew exactly how to shut you up.

yugyeom; his s/o buying him flowers

yugyeom was always so stressed during comeback season. you always scolded him when he forgot to eat, or wasn’t staying hydrated enough, but you were so proud of him. seeing the smile on his face and the way he walked a little taller was so worth it.

he was still busy during comeback season, coming home late after all the videos he had to shoot for publicity.

one night, yugyeom had gotten home around midnight to a bouquet of pink roses and a handwritten note from you. it read; “I am so proud of you, my love. congrats on breath… I can always feel your love,” he blushed and giggled to himself, thinking, “isn’t the guy supposed to buy the girlfriend the flowers?” he wandered into your shared bedroom to see you sprawled into his side, with your book in your hands, a soft snore leaving your lips. he nudged you, not intending to wake you up, he could thank you in the morning. but he did accidentally. “yeom?” you whispered.

“shh, baby go back to sleep,” he shushed, changing into his pjs.

“did you like the flowers?” you asked, suddenly awake now.

“theyre really pretty, baby, but aren’t I supposed to buy you the flowers?”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “not my boyfriend being a sexist,”

“yah! y/n stop it, I didn’t mean it that way!! I love them, you remembered I said I love roses,” he was pouting now, pulling you into his chest to spoon you. his voice got quieter now. “no one’s ever remembered my favorite flowers…much less bought them for me,” he paused, kissing the back of your neck before closing his eyes and falling fast asleep.

he was whipped.

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 reactions #got7 preferences #got7 writing #got7 imagines #park jinyoung #mark tuan #choi youngjae #kim yugyeom #bambam #jackson wang #im jaebeom #got7 writings

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secretsniper2 · 3 years

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Late for Class..

“Im going to be late! Again! Why cant I wake up on time, stupid alarm clock, Im breaking it when I get home I swear!”

Its my usual response really, but I already know full well why I stay up so late, last night I tried to cum for 4 hours before I finally gave up and went to sleep, I just cant seem to manage a single orgasm, all I do is edge and make the throbbing worse! What's wrong with me? I was in such a rush Im only wearing a Simple plaid skirt with pink panties and thin white top with a poorly chosen black bra that shows clearly through my even poorer choice of top, tight 3 inch boots on my legs, A single tear flies off my eye as I rush to the station, I don't want to miss my train today or I really will be late for class.

Dashing through the station, my long brown hair flowing behind me as I make my way to the platform, Its packed, Ill be lucky to get a seat, odds are ill be standing today but at least I made it in time, “Might make it to classes after all.” I think to myself with a smile. Train arrives and I brace for the rush, and as the doors open Im pushed by other commuters into the train and soon enough were all packed in like sardines, barely room to myself I notice that Im being pushed up into someone larger than most in this carriage. He is tall, 2 full heads taller than me, Brown hair and large beard, his green eyes looking down and not just into my own green eyes, but seemingly through them, staring at me harder than any other has before.

The people everywhere still fighting for more space pushes me further into this man as our eyes still locked onto each other as my chest presses into his and i can feel my nipples starting to get harder under my bra, Im still aroused from my poorly timed marathon last night and this man seems to have figured my arousal out, his arm moves around me and pulls me even closer as his other arm moves between us and touches my stomach with his big warm hands.

Still locking eyes with me my mouth opens slightly as I feel his hand begin to slide down my leg and twist up my skirt, fingers crazing my slick thighs, and moments later caressing them, his fingers are being coated in my shame from last night. Sliding up my juice coated thighs his hand continues up till he cups my sex, Im soaked, dripping and desperately needy, moaning instantly into the gaze of this man the second he touched my pussy, my thin pink panties might as well not even be there since I soaked them through completely as his hands were trailing up my thighs before he even touched my wet sex.

A finger peels my useless panties off my pussy as I feel 2 fingers touch my clit and begin to rub, forcing louder moans as I break eye contact as his other hand, which had been holding me closer launches over my mouth and silences me before anyone could take notice to the moan, good think too as his massaging of my clit is making me moan harder and harder without stopping and it only took this man 12 seconds to bring me to a solid edge, it takes me much longer to get my edging started but this man..

Another edge hits as his fingers rub around my labia as he scratches at my clit constantly, dragging fresh moans from my face I feel him pushing a thick finger into my pussy slightly, seeming to test my pussy, its a tight fit, he knows Im a virgin now for sure, only a virgin is this tight to a single finger and I close my eyes as the idea of being raped on this crowded train as my first time slaps me with a edge on its own..

The movements of the train barely phase this man as his hand remains locked to my soaked pussy, his finger curled under pressing a knuckle into my nervous hole as his fingertip flicks at my clit, Im being overloaded, its far more intense than what iv ever done to myself and this man has only been in sexual contact with me for little over a minute and iv edged 4 times now.. 5 times now, his finger wont stop scratching at my clit, while his remaining fingers massage my labia from the base of my pussy to where my clit sits, Im being tortured and no one here is aware because a small girl is being gagged by a hand!

Constant stimulation has reduced my pussy to a source of ever flowing juices as my inner thighs are soaked down to my knees, if my boots weren't nice and tight id likely be standing on my toes in boots filled with proof of my arousal, thankfully they remain tight and my feet are dry inside though Im still being edged while standing on my toes almost making my legs give out beneath me. My juices flowing down my boots and pooling between my feet and the streams on my legs and the constant droplets from the mans hand keep expanding my puddle of need! I hate how turned on I am!

Pulling up to a station at last, I have 4 stops till I get to mine as I look back into this mans eyes, he still staring down, studying my expression and face as his other hand raises from my hand and a finger pushes past my lips and I instantly begin to swirl my tongue around it, I cant stop myself at this point as I suck hard on the finger rubbing my tongue as I moan in bliss as i hit edge after edge, as my head starts to shift back and forth, Im now giving this finger a blowjob and I cant stop myself, Im being swallowed in pleasure.

Another station and I slam into my 15th edge, my mind is in a haze as I drool as my head bobs back and forth on his finger with enthusiasm Im embarrassed Im showing someone who is essentially drugging me with my own arousal! My eyes unfocused as I feel his gaze still burning onto my face as my head drones on his finger, tongue working the underside of his finger as the suction Im giving is pulling my cheeks in on the draw back, my clit being rubbed to another mind breaking edge as we pull into another station and more people leave and enter the train. 2 stops to go, if I can even bring myself to go by then! And as i get to another edge the man leans in, removes his finger and locks his lips to mine, his tongue launching in and kissing me deeply, his saliva covered hand moving behind my head holding me in his kiss.

Making out with this man in brought to another edge quickly followed by another edge as the kiss goes in I melt into this man, legs going limp as I slam into another edge, my eyes fluttering as the man releases my mouth from his probing kiss as his finger drives back in and pulls against my jaw so Im forced to look back as he draws my focus as he pinches my clit before removing his pussy scented hand and licking his glossy fingers. Doors open and Im immediately pulled from the train, 1 stop early but the man doesn't care, his hand behind my head had lowered to my waist when the door had opened as he leads me out the train and through the station.

Walking out to the street the man directs me to the parking lot and a large van unlocks as we approach, I slow my pace but am met with a strong arm still wrapped around me as Im almost dragged to his van. Opening the side door I look around, 1 single seat with multiple bolts around the van, Pushing me into the seat Im quickly tied to the seat as i sit open mouthed in shock, the situation still not beating out my haze completely. Opening my mouth to voice something, anything, a cry for help, a plea for my safety, but as my mouth opens a finger dives in, its the same finger that was rubbing my throbbing clit earlier, I can taste my pussy on his fingers, smell the pure need I left on him.

“You don't say a fucking word, understood?” The man growls with a deep voice, echoing in my head I nod pathetically as his finger withdraws and a ring gag is pushed into my still open mouth, ensuring that my mouth stays open as drool quickly starts to pool in my mouth and flow through my ring and onto my thin white shirt.

Hopping in the drivers seat the man starts the van and we go for a drive, I cant see much outside the front windshield as the interior has been covered in padding to keep any silly screams for help between us 2 in the van. Tears start to form in my eyes as the man looks in the mirror and sees me dead centre of his view, he raises a remote and presses it and I jump in my bondage, my seat is vibrating! its formed in such a way my entire pussy is resting on a new vibrating pad, Im being forced to ride a vibrator while the man continues to drive, chuckling as I moan aloud, drool flowing onto my covered chest, the thin top soaking and sticking to me it almost fades when wet so it looks like Im not even wearing a shirt now!

10 minutes? 20? I don't know, the haze has returned as Im forced into more edges, and hearing a occasional chuckle I know when the man looks at me in his mirror as I lazily look around the van or up to meet his gaze when he drinks in my situation, was this all planned by him or was my abduction a spur of the moment thing? I don't know, and I cant ask with this ring in my mouth, only moan as I hit another edge and drool onto my generous breasts.

Pulling into a alleyway the man shuffles back and grabs my phone, Asking for the password i have little choice but to give him access and he starts going through my personal info, Smiling as he reads 1 of my bank statements.

“Looks like your going to be in debt a while Anna!” He says with a smile forcing a pathetic growl from my open mouth.

Reading my phones diary he goes into my private notes and laughs out loud and I hear him say the diary title “Orgasm Attempts” and my face burns red, Never having experienced a orgasm in my life for some unknown reason and now this man knows and I cant stop him!

“Lets run a test then! since were already in a nice place!” He says as Im untied from the still vibrating seat and the door is opened, thrown out of the van I notice Im not even in the city we took the train to, he's taken me somewhere I don't know! As the man follows he grabs my arm and lifts me up casually and spins me around and pushes my face against the alley wall, Hearing a zipper open i start resisting in earnest and Im rewarded for my resistance by hearing rapid clicking and something cold wrapping around my wrist, having my arm pulled behind my back then more cold clicking on my other wrist..

Iv been handcuffed! I cant push off the wall, I cant push him away! Im as helpless as a child and can do about as much as 1. Feeling my skirt get raised up and tucked into itself my ass is on display, pink thong parting my firm cheeks as he runs a thick finger down the band and pulls my thin layer of fabric and only cover aside and a monstrous pressure hits my asshole, his cock is lined up and my butt is about to take a beating. With ring gag still in my mouth i bite down as pain flows through me, my tight ass has only ever had small plugs and occasional finger enter but now Im taking a 4 finger thick rod in my ass my eyes are watering fast!

Blinking back tears as a moan scream combo rushes out as he thrusts hard and slams into me, his balls slapping my soaked pussy as Im impaled by a solid dry cock, and to my shame I hot another edge as he bottomed out, pulling back drew out another sound, I felt like i would throw up when he quickly thrust back in, raping my tight ass in a alleyway where anyone could see us, as his balls continue slapping my cunt as im fucked harshly to another edge.

Im crying out, the first thrust was excruciating, the following 5 were horrendously painful but now Im feeling pleasure, Im being raped and Im starting to moan as he works me over with his cock, his thrusting speeding up and I know what's coming next, and Who is cumming next since its never been me in my life! Heat bursts into my tight, freshly deflowered ass, feeling hot like lava I cry out as I edge as Im filled, my pussy drooling with need and unfulfilled pleasure as my ass takes his cum all the way inside me, his balls tensing as he pumps more and more cum inside.

Spinning me around and pushing me into the van once again the man rummages around while I lay there, spasming with a full ass and desperate cunt, I feel something press into my ass again and it slides in easily, too easily to be his cock.. Its a plug! my ass has been filled with his cum and is now being plugged to keep me full! why would this man plug me? I turn to get my answer but hes already pushed me into the van and hops in after me, his hard cock swinging between his legs. It felt massive in my ass but its not as big as i thought, definitely larger than average by a full 2 sizes it isnt a monster to break me with, thankfully since if it was any bigger my ass would have torn for sure!

Mouth still open and drool flowing out and stuck to my face and hair he pulls me forward and my mouth lands right where he wants me to land, with my hands cuffed behind my back I cant stop or slow my fall as his entire length, which would go from my elbow to my wrist is now passing the ring and my throat parts as my momentum causes me to deepthroat him right at the start, my tongue thrashing around on the cock in my mouth, his tip in my throat I gag painfully but helplessly. I feel his hand run through my hair as I continue to swallow his cock in a long dive down, he grips my hair at the base and pulls me up and almost entirely off.

Im coughing painfully instantly as he then releases my head and I drop once again to the base of his cock and then once again having my head grabbed by his hand at the base of my hair he then begins to use my head as a fleshlight, a toy I cant avoid being used as at this point, my mouth being full of his cock and before too long Im pushed to the base, his length in my throat as i feel his balls tensing and Im rewarded for my unwilling blowjob with a stomach full of cum being pumped in my throat. Being bulled off his still rigid cock a dildo gag is pushed in my mouth and locked in, Im being forced to deepthroat another cock, at least this 1 cant cum...

Securing me to my seat Im once again sitting with my pussy firmly planted on the vibrating pad, and in seemingly no time at all Im forced to the edge once again, my haze ever present, iv been drowning in pleasure since I woke up, and this mans actions have shaken me, even when used by someone else I really cant cu, I tear up at that realization as we drive off yet again. My view limited again after another 20 or so minute drive with another 30 or so edges Im far beyond any daily edge count iv had before, pulling up to a random alley once again Im untied and the gags are removed from my mouth.

“See you on the train tomorrow.” The man says as Im pushed from the van and he drives away, Spit covered shirt with black bra still visible and my skirt still tucked in exposing pushed aside panties and bald bare pussy and thick plug in my ass I return everything to its usual place then look around to get my bearings. Im a block away from my Uni, a few hours late for sure and no longer caring for the class I clearly missed I might as well just go home, but ill need a new shirt before I go since this shirt is barely a shirt now.

Dashing into a clothes store and a few minutes later leaving in a cheap shirt with my soaked shirt in a bag I leave for the station I intended to reach far earlier today, Hopping on a train and start my hopefully peaceful trip back home I sit in a vacant seat and relax, my ass clenching on the plug he left in me and I know the second I remove it ill be spilling cum everywhere so Ill have to choose a more secluded place, Glancing up my eyes widen and I see him, Sitting on the other end of the carriage, green eyes trained on mine as he sits, and waits unmoving.

5 Stops then its mine and I watch him carefully, Is he planning on assaulting another girl like he did me? Why cant I bring myself to call him out? 4 stops remaining. I should hit him or kick him, he raped me and even plugged my throbbing ass! 3 stops remaining. I should tell someone, there are girls all over this train and they would help me right? 2 stops remaining. Whatever he does ill stop him, I cant let what happened to me happen so someone else.. even though they get his.. cock and get to cum.. why couldn't I cum? why cant I ever cum? 1 stop remaining. Sitting in my seat my hand idly slides under my skirt, my wet shirts bag hiding my action as I begin rubbing my still throbbing clit to another edge, “I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!” i think over and over in my head as my finger traces circles around my slick clit and another edge until.

Doors open and I jump up, the man following suit, I step off the train onto my station and the man does the same on the other end of the carriage.. What's his game? I cant go home if hes following me, I don't want this man knowing where I live! But what choice do I have here, If I don't go home and he follows me I could be in real trouble, in my own home town..

I take off running from the man who only walks after me, Its 5 blocks of zig zagging and a lot of looking back but I loose him quickly. “cant keep up if all you do is walk!” I think to myself as I unlock my front door, enter than lock everything I can lock to secure my home and I take a deep breath, Windows and doors all locked I take another breath, my ass throbbing after running while plugged like this I retreat to the shower and work the plug out. The second it comes out the cum follows, ��he really filled me” I think as i turn the shower on, taking my clothes off to clean myself up.

Getting changed I don't feel very hungry.. considering the “Meal” I had earlier I just go to bed early, Resting my throbbing ass is all I need to focus on and that needs sleep.

Tossing and turning in a light sleep, the scenes from today keep replaying in my head, the arousal, the amount of edges I was forced to experience, the taste of his cum on my tongue, the pleasure.. it felt good, I cant lie about that much. Feeling the bed shift i simply readjust in my bed when a hand presses on my mouth. My eyes shoot open as Im staring back into those same green eyes..

With his other hand pulling my initially fresh and dry panties off my body, my imagination replaying the events from earlier soaking them thoroughly he grabs my leg and raises it high, his cock once again levelled with me he rubs it over my soaking pussy and thrusts a few times, coating his cock in my shame he aims once again for my tight recently emptied ass and pushes hard.

“Nice home you have here” He says in his deep voice as he pulls my raised leg back and so pulling me further onto his cock. “I think ill stay a while, show you a few fun things, teach you a few other things” He says with a smile as he thrusts hard and I feel his cock drive deep once again. “Tomorrow Im going to feed you a refreshing cum cocktail, you'll learn to love it, or not, its all you'll be drinking from now on anyway!” He laughs! My pleasure at its peak my mind cant believe whats going on, I black out in a mix of fear, pleasure and shock. I think Im going to miss my next few classes too..

#Stories #Custom

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secretsniper3 · 3 years

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Late for Class

“Im going to be late! Again! Why cant I wake up on time, stupid alarm clock, Im breaking it when I get home I swear!”

“Looks like your going to be in debt a while Anna!” He says with a smile forcing a pathetic growl from my open mouth.

I take off running from the man who only walks after me, Its 5 blocks of zig zagging and a lot of looking back but I loose him quickly. “cant keep up if all you do is walk!” I think to myself as I unlock my front door, enter than lock everything I can lock to secure my home and I take a deep breath, Windows and doors all locked I take another breath, my ass throbbing after running while plugged like this I retreat to the shower and work the plug out. The second it comes out the cum follows, “he really filled me” I think as i turn the shower on, taking my clothes off to clean myself up.

Getting changed I don't feel very hungry.. considering the “Meal” I had earlier I just go to bed early, Resting my throbbing ass is all I need to focus on and that needs sleep.

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lilulo-12fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Rain Song- Chapter 1

So here is Chapter 1! This is super long. Almost 10K words. I’m not even sorry. lol I did want to get through this as it is mostly background information on who Hope is.

I’m taking liberties here. So if something isn’t factually correct...it is what it is. Since this is an OC story cannon will variate.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! I also write for TVD, Supernatural & The Avengers. You can view each masterlist list at the top of my page.

Also- does anyone do character art/ digital portraits? I’d love for someone to put one together of Hope for me.

Series Masterlist

12 Years Later

Hope slowly stretched her arms out in front of her. She felt the release of the tension she hadn’t realized she had been holding onto. She pulled the earphones off of her head and cracked her neck. She felt a slight smile come to her face. Her Uncle Remus couldn’t understand her obsession with Muggle music. Yet whenever she spoke of the genius that was Freddy Mercury or her obsession with The Beatles he got a far away look in his eyes. There were things from his past that he outright refused to discuss. She stopped pushing for answers a long time ago. She couldn’t bear to cause him any pain. All she knew was that on Halloween when she was just shy of 2 years old her mother sacrificed her life to save Hope’s as her Uncle carried her to safety. Her father, was in Azkaban for life after he sided with Voldemort. Her Uncle was one of the rare few who would speak Voldemort's name. Her Uncle wouldn’t let her fear his name. She had seen to many shudder at the mere thought of the Dark Wizard. Remus wanted her to be strong. With Remus' strength and bravery, also came a sense of fear. She knew he was afraid his former supporters would someday come after her, so they stayed hidden away on their beach cottage. He tutored her in her magical studies when she became old enough. She loved her Uncle beyond measure and he was a brilliant teacher; but Hope craved more. She longed to have peers that understood her. Sure, she had made friends with the Muggle Children that came to the beach for holidays and the few that lived near year 'round, but it wasn’t the same. The only contact she had with other magical children were The Weasley family. She saw them on the rare occasion that Andromeda couldn’t stay with her when her Uncle’s condition kept him from her. Her cousin Nymphadora was much older than she, and while she adored her, she still couldn't relate. All Hope wanted was a couple of really good friends.

Hope had been sitting on the beach sketching for hours. What she was drawing, she wasn’t quite sure yet. That was how she controlled the visions that plagued her, she put them down on paper. Drawing and painting calmed her mind. The music pounding into her ears quieted the other noises. Lately, her visions had quite literally taken a dark turn. She had a persistent dull headache that would sometimes push her into a migraine for the day. Everything was black. That’s all she could draw was black. Black shapes, black lines and sometimes she filled the page with shadings of black. She could see the concern in her Uncle's eyes when he would peek at her drawings, but he said nothing. She hadn’t quite figured out how to piece her visions together yet, everything was still very jumbled. Often times they would make sense after the event occured, she was hoping to use those experiences to learn how to read them. She was still young. Remus was impressed with how far she had come on her own. He had tried to find someone to help her, but hadn't had any luck. From what he had told Hope, the Divinations teacher at Hogwarts would not be able to assist her. The one thing she had learned to control was pulling images from others. She figured out how to touch others without being overwhelmed with their thoughts. On a rare occasion where she wasn’t prepared did it happen. It always overwhelmed her and she hated invading anyone else’s privacy. Remus had shown her memories of her mother that way, when he couldn’t find the correct words. His memories were muted though. There was something he was trying to shield her from.

Hope leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the sun radiate light into the darkness that was swirling inside. Today was her favorite kind of day. The sun was hot and the water was clear. The breeze was blowing to keep her cool. Her wild blonde curls were piled on top of her head, the wind causing wisps to come free and blow around her face. She wanted every day to be like this, warmness and Led Zepplin pulsing through her veins. Yet the persistent pinch in her forehead was making it impossible to completely enjoy the day. Hope looked down at her watch and cursed. She had been gone an hour longer than she had anticipated. She quickly threw her sketch book, pencils and her disc man into her bag. She brushed the sand off her denim cut offs as she stood and threw her t-shirt back on over her bathing suit. Quickly she donned her flip flops and made the half mile walk back to the beach cottage she resided in with her beloved Uncle.

As she approached the house, something felt different. There was a tense energy in the air that caused a chill to go down her spine. She just wanted a day where she didn’t feel anxiety or cold. She wanted one day where the needling in her brain gave her peace. It had been far too long since she had a day like that. Something in her world was changing, she could feel it. She feared it was something that would color her whole world black, not just the pictures she had stashed in her bag. She saw a figure standing in the kitchen with her Uncle. By the way he was standing, she could see tension spilling from his every muscle. She quietly snuck in to try and overhear what they were saying.

“Remus it’s time. You can no longer keep her sequestered away. While I'm sure you are teaching her everything she needs to know, she needs to be around children her own age. She has lived almost as much of a muggle existence as young Harry. She will be safer at Hogwarts. Every manner of protection will be used for the school.” The voice was kind, grandfatherly almost. Hope’s ears perked up at the mention of Hogwarts. How she had longed to attend. To learn magic, make real friends, create an extended family beyond her and Remus. Hope was so lonely. Her thoughts of loneliness always made her feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. Her uncle had given up his entire young life for her, he should be enough for her. It made her feel incredibly selfish.

“Albus- there are still things she does not know. Things I can’t even begin to tell her-“ Dumbledore held his hand up to stop Remus from continuing.

“Hello Hope.” The gentle voice called out her name and she froze. She had barely stepped two feet into the house and she had been discovered, so much for sneaking in and eavesdropping. She set her bag down and slowly stepped into the kitchen. Her Uncle seemed more agitated than she had ever seen him. Uncle Remus almost never got angry or irritated, he always had an abundance of patience for her.

Her attention was quickly drawn to the tall man who had called her name. He had long silver hair and silver beard. His crooked nose reminded her of Billy Berkshire’s after she had punched him in the face for teasing another girl she had befriended one summer. Resting on his nose were half moon spectacles that allowed a clear view of his kind blue eyes. He donned the most magnificent purple robes she had ever seen. He was oddly wonderful. She just hoped none of the neighborhood kids saw him, she’d have some explaining to do. She knew the man before her was Albus Dumbledore, she never expected he would ever be standing in her kitchen.

“Hello.” Hope’s voice was filled with trepidation. Why would she need to be protected? She knew her Uncle was keeping secrets, but to hear him admit it to someone else was jarring.

“Come darling, sit.” She nodded and made her way to the table. Dumbledore also took a seat.

“I’m sorry for being late. I lost track of time.” Dumbledore was staring at her with an odd expression.

“It’s quite alright. Hope, this is-“

“Albus Dumbledore.” She finished the sentence before he could. She felt ill at ease as the blue eyes studied her. She wasn’t used to being studied quite so intently.

“Well I see my reputation has proceeded me. I hope your Uncle shared only the good things.” He gave her a kind smile that calmed her nerves. “I apologize for staring. It just, you are so very much like your mother. I wasn’t expecting it.” It was something Hope heard often. She would catch her Uncle staring at her, a sad look on his face, but only when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. Andromeda had said many times how much Hope resembled her mother. As far as Hope could tell, the only thing she got from her father were her eyes.

“Why am I in danger?” Hope wasn’t interested in beating around the bush. She watched as her Uncle rolled his jaw.

“Your father has escaped from Azkaban.” Remus finally spoke. Hope felt like she had been slapped. Her father- the man she had wondered about for her whole life. The man her uncle could barely spoke of. She had only seen a few pictures, but his handsome and wild features were forever etched into her brain. All Hope knew was that Sirius Black had been best friends with her Uncle, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. He fell in love with her mother while she was in her 4th year and Sirius was in his 6th at Hogwarts. They married shortly after Nora’s graduation. Remus had always stressed how much her father had loved her and loved her mother. It had been discovered that he was a Death Eater and after Voldemort’s fall he was sentenced to Azkaban. Remus would provide no other details, regardless of how hard she pressed. The idea of meeting her father was exhilarating. Only he could provide the answers she most craved. Yet she was terrified of him. What if he came to their home and hurt Remus to get to her. She had read all about the Dementors of Azkaban. She knew what they did to their inhabitants. Her father had spent 12 years there.

“That’s why you’ve been so tense this past week. Why I haven’t seen a single page of The Daily Prophet. Remus nodded.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” He admitted. He reached behind him and pulled a news paper out of one of the cupboards and handed it to her. The man on the front page was not the man she had seen pictures of. He was gaunt and had a waxy appearance to his skin. His once beautifully groomed hair was long and matted. She felt her eyes well up. She should be horrified, but yet she felt her heart break. How could she feel that for a man that caused so much terror?

“We are afraid he will come looking for you. We don’t know what kind of state he is in. But 12 years in Azkaban would have made an impact on his mental state.” Dumbledore was trying to be as sensitive as possible. “We think it’s time for you to join your classmates at Hogwarts. You would be under intense protection and would have the best magical education. Not to say that you haven’t done a splendid job, Remus.”

“We?” Hope looked to her Uncle. It didn’t matter how badly she wanted to go, she would never leave without his blessing. Remus ran his hand down his face. He took Hope’s hand in his as he had done many times, knowing it would ground her.

“Yes. We. Professor Dumbledore is right, as always. Hogwarts can offer you protection that I cannot. And it’s time for you to be around witches and wizards of your own age. I should have sent you two years ago. It was my own fear that stopped me.” Hope felt a jolt of excitement. That gave Remus peace of mind. Yet as quickly as he saw her stormy eyes light up, it died just as quickly.

“But yo- you’ll be alone. And if he comes here, will you be safe? What, what would happen to me if something happened to you?” Remus could see the panic setting in.

“As it so happens-“ Dumbledore interjected “It seems I am in need of a Defense Against The Arts teacher yet again. I was hoping Remus that you would consent to returning to Hogwarts with Hope.” Dumbledore watched Hope’s body relax as she looked expectantly at her Uncle.

“Albus, are you sure? My condition-“

“Is managed by your Wolfsbane potion. You’ve managed to raise an exceptional young lady. I assume you can handle teaching a few classes.” There was no way Remus could say no, not with how his niece was staring at him expectantly.

“If you’re sure Albus, I would be delighted.”

“Now, Hope, Hogwarts doesn’t normally have a student start midway through their education. Your peers have much more knowledge on the school than you will. I think it will be best to have you come a few weeks prior to the other students. I would like to get you sorted into your house and settled before they return.”

“But that’s around the time of the full moon, Uncle Remus won’t be able to bring me.”

“Hope- you will have to go without me and I will meet you there in September 1st.”

“Professor McGonagall will be there to get you acquainted with the school.” Hope sat for a moment with her thoughts. She didn’t like the idea of being away from her Uncle for that long, but this had been what she always wanted.

“Okay.” She agreed.

“Splendid. Remus, I trust you can get Hope to Diagon Alley for her books and supplies. I will send an owl with her list.” Hope had so many questions for Dumbledore but didn’t know where to even start. He was already standing and she couldn’t get her thoughts together. “I will see you both very soon.” Then, with a crack, Albus Dumbledore was gone.

“Go get washed up darling. I’ll start dinner.” Her uncle stood to go and prepare them something to eat. She knew the question portion of the evening had ended. She would get no further information from him that night.

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

A week and a half later Hope was pacing her room. She had 3 days before she was to arrive at Hogwarts. She had gotten no further information from her Uncle. They had just gotten home from having dinner with what Hope thought was her only other family. Except Nymphadora had come home for dinner to see Hope. It had been a long time since she had seen her. Her Auror training kept her quite busy.

“Hopefully that little prat Malfoy doesn’t give you a hard time. I hate admitting that he’s our cousin.” After she said it, Hope knew she realized she let something slip.

“I’m sure everything will be fine!” Ted had exclaimed.

“Hope you will love Hogwarts. It is beautiful.” Hope glanced at her Uncle out of the corner of her eye and he was carefully avoiding her gaze. She picked at her food as the four of them talked fondly of Hogwarts. Hope stewed in her own anger instead.

Hope felt rage building within her. She wasn’t a baby anymore. She’d be 14 soon. Granted she wasn’t an adult, she could handle a lot more than Remus had given her credit for. He had led her to believe that himself and The Tonks were her only remaining family. That was clearly a lie. He had been careful to not provide any information on the rest of her Father’s family.

Remus knew what was coming. The other trait Hope inherited from Sirius was her temper. While she held it together much better than Sirius ever did, when she hit her breaking point, she was explosive. She was like a hurricane and he was approaching the eye of the storm. Remus had never been on the receiving end of her anger. He knew tonight would be the night. He knew he would have to give her answers. He could not believe he didn’t consider Draco Malfoy knowing of his relation to Hope.

But what could he tell her to ease her mind? What could he tell her to make her feel better. Any information he had to give her on her father and he wretched family would only hurt her. He knew that hurt all to well. All he wanted to do was shield her from the pain that he knew Sirius had carried with him. He was being idealistic. Wasn’t it better that it came from him and not someone else?

He winced as her bedroom door slammed. He took a deep breath and approached her room. A teenage Hope was something he was ill prepared for. The older she got, the more she became her mother which included Nora’s deep sarcasm and sass, that coupled with anger would mean a most unpleasant experience.

“Hope- please open the door.” Remus sighed leaning against the wall. “You do realize I can just use my wand to open in.” He could picture her face as she considered his words and he braved himself. As anticipated her door whipped open. “We need to talk.” She gave him a withering look.

“Now you want to talk? You’ve had 12 years to talk.”

“Hope-“

“No! Don't 'Hope' Me! I have family! I have a cousin my own age! AND YOU KEPT ME FROM THEM! FOR 12 years all you have done is LIE to me!” Remus had expected anger, but the bitterness that was pouring from her took him by surprise. He heard it so often from Sirius. He felt right then that he had failed Hope. He wanted to save her from this. “I have no friends that actually know me. They think I’m a little weird and that I’m sick because I have these headaches all of the time. They don’t understand me because they’re muggles! I’m alone.” Her last two words were spoken as a sob. Remus realizes the magnitude of his mistake. He felt like an outcast for most of his life. His condition made it hard to really connect with anyone. Everyone thought he was just ill. It wasn’t until James, Sirius and Peter that he felt truly accepted. He at least had his sister before that. Hope had no siblings. Remus pulled his niece into an embrace and she struggled against him for a moment. She finally gave in and let him hold her as she cried. Once she settled down he led her to their living room to sit on the couch.

“Hope, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to isolate you. I didn’t even realize how alone you felt. All I have wanted, all I have ever wanted is to keep you safe. But, I kept you away from your living relatives because it was what your mother wanted.” Hope looked up at her Uncle in utter confusion. Her tear filled face almost broke him. Her silence urged him to continue. “Your father comes from a long line of Pureblood Wizards. The entire Black family are blood purists. Your father and Andromeda were the only ones to push against that. In fact, your father being sorted into Gryffindor was a huge scandal. He ended up being disowned and moved in with James. His parents welcomed him like he was their own. That is why your middle name is Euphemia. It was James’ mother’s name. Sirius’ mother loathed YOUR mother for being a half-blood. When Nora died, the Black family tried to take you from me. Your mother wanted you no where near their hateful rhetoric. They also had no leg to stand on in getting custody of you. So I kept you away from the magical community as much as I could so they couldn’t try to get their hands on you. I just didn’t realize how damaging it was to you. The majority of that family were Death Eaters. They were responsible for your mother’s death. As for Draco Malfoy being your cousin, his mother Narcissa is Andromeda’s sister. Her husband, Lucius Malfoy was among the top of the Death Eater food chain. He also escaped Azkaban by claiming he was under the imperius curse. He continues to believe in blood purity and has unfortunately ingrained that ideal into his son. Hope, I promise you that if anyone other than Andromeda had been a good person I wouldn’t have kept you away.”

“If my father was so against everything that his family stood for, how is it that he ended up being a Death Eater? Did HE kill my mother? What did Voldemort want with her?” Remus could see you spiraling. He took a deep breath and continued.

“Darling I honestly don’t know why your father sis what he did. I do know he loved you and my sister very much. I’m not sure what caused him to switch sides. I can tell you that I am sure he is not the one that hurt your mother. That is unimaginable to me. He started pulling away from me before that. Your mother trusted him implicitly. I wish I had more information for you Hope. As for why Voldemort wanted your mother, it was her Seer abilities. He could have done so much more damage if he had someone like her on his side. That was another reason to keep you away from Sirius’ family. If they were to get their hooks into as a child, they could have corrupted you and manipulated you into doing their bidding.” Hope was silent for a few moments.

“Hope, I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you. I know what it is like to feel like an outcast. To feel so alone and that no one will ever understand you. I should have know. I am so sorry.” He felt Hope lean back into him and he wrapped his arms around her. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you that your father was the reason that James and Lily Potter were dead. That would have been a horrific blow. His mind drifted to the small vault at Gringott’s that held Hope’s name. Inside was the money that Sirius and Nora had amassed from the inheritance Sirius got from his Uncle. Remus made sure to use it carefully to take care of his niece, never using any of it on himself. What really stuck in his mind were the few journals and vials that Nora had left for her daughter. Keeping those from her was something he had struggled with for years. But she were still too young. He was not going to burden her any further. Perhaps in a year or so when Hope came into her own he would bring them to herS There was too much darkness for her young mind. He needed to preserve Hope’s innocence for as long as he could.

“Does Harry Potter know who I am?” Nora knew of Harry. How he had somehow stopped Voldemort. How the two had played together as children. When his parents died he was brought to live with his Muggle family. Hope had overheard Remus and Andromeda mention the Sorcerers Stone and The Chamber of Secrets. It seemed that Harry had a knack for getting into trouble. Hope had tried to catch more details, but the adults in her life were always careful to not share too much information.

“I don’t think that he does. His muggle family doesn’t look kindly on the magical community. From what Dumbledore told me, he didn't even know he was a Wizard until Hagrid had to personally deliver his Hogwarts letter. Apparently his Aunt and Uncle were determined to keep him away from magic and wouldn't give him his letter. He hasn’t been around many people that know of the history that links the two of you. The Weasley children wouldn’t know to mention you. I doubt Molly or Arthur would tell them any personal details without speaking with me first. Dumbledore and the other professors wouldn’t say anything. But you will meet him soon enough.” Hope was itching to meet Harry Potter. Not because he was famous, but because he was a connection the past you so desperately wanted to know. Remus studied your face for a moment, watching you process what he was saying. "You and Harry have quite a bit in common. I have a feeling that you will be good friends. James and Lily would have wanted that, as would your mother."

“Will I ever understand what happened?" How did a loving father and husband turn into a mass murderer? Hope couldn't reconcile the two people that encompassed who her father was.

"Perhaps someday, when you're older you'll be able to reach a level of peace." That didn't really answer her question. Hope still felt like he was holding back, but this was more than they had ever discussed before.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you." Hope looked down, deeply ashamed. She had gotten better at controlling her temper, but occasionally she lost control. She had never behaved this way towards her uncle..

"Oh darling, it's alright. I'm sure this wont be the only go you have at me. You are after all your mother's daughter. She was never afraid to give me a piece of her mind." Hope was grateful for his never ending patience with her.

"I think I'm going to go to bed. I love you, Uncle Remus, very much." She felt his facial hair tickle the side of her head as he gave her a quick kiss.

"I love you too, get some rest." Hope retreated to her bedroom. The polarized descriptions of her father running through her head. What if she was also polarized. The way her Uncle had raised her was the exact opposite of what the Black family believed. But if the entire half of her family were comprised of Dark Wizards, did she have that capability too? In the end, her father had turned that way. Maybe that was why all she could see was black. She too, would turn bad in the end as well.

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

Hope sat staring into the fire. All of her things had been sent to Hogwarts and were waiting for her arrival. She had spent the morning on her beloved beach. She knew she would miss the briny smell of the air, the way the water would bite at her toes. She wanted to give the Ocean a proper goodbye. It had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. Now the only thing left to do was take the Floo into Professor McGonagall’s office. All of the excitement she had felt had turned into nerves. She had never been apart from her Uncle for more than a few days. Two weeks seemed like an eternity to be with strangers. She knew she was being silly, but she felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she waited for her Uncle to see her off. She looked down at the wand in her hand. 10 1/2 inches of birch wood with a Phoenix core. She had always loved the black and white of birch trees. How the black bark bled into the white leaving shades of gray. The Phoenix feather core gave her a little bit of trouble at first. Remus had reassured her that her wand just needed to get to know her. Phoenix cores were known to be powerful, yet took a while to gain control. In the end, he had been right. She slid her wand into the small bag at her feet and looked back at the fire.

Her visions and dreams had taken a strange form. She felt surges of anger, desperation and an intense sadness. A melancholy so deep she thought she would drown in it. It was affecting her moods more than it every had before. Shades of black and muted grey. But always black. She was starting to loath the color. It was so strange, all she was seeing was the color black, nothing concrete for the past month and a half up until a few nights prior. There had been a flash of purple and a set of green eyes staring back at her. Who they belonged to, she had no idea. Though she assumed she would soon enough. At this point, she only had visions of people she was connected to or came into contact with. Her mother had progressed far beyond that point by the time of her death. Hope didn't know if she would welcome that.

“Ready Darling?” Remus clapped his hands together, smiling at Hope. He too had felt a sinking feeling of being away from Hope for an extended period of time. When he saw the emotion swirling in her eyes he made sure to stuff his back down. “It’s alright. It’s only two weeks.”

“I know.” Hope’s voice felt like sandpaper as it exited her throat. “I’m just nervous.”

“I know. But it will go by quickly. Professor McGonagall will get you acquainted with the school and you’ll meet with your teachers briefly to get to know them. Remember what we talked about.”

“I know. I know. I’m Hope Lupin. I don’t think introducing myself as a member of the Black family will curry me any friends anyway.” Hope scoffed. Remus tried to hide a smile. “No one but Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall know about my abilities so it’s best to keep it quiet for now.”

It had been confirmed that Draco Malfoy knew nothing of their relation. The Minister of Magic himself had instructed Lucius to not breath a word of it and to make sure his wife kept it to herself as well. Hope had no idea why the Minister was so keen on keeping her lineage a secret. It didn’t matter to Hope. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than coming to Hogwarts in the middle of her education would draw. Incidentally, the Weasley children were in the dark about who her father was as well. All they knew was that Hope was the niece of a friend of their Arthur and Molly’s and that she had lost her parents in the war. Remus had never took Hope to The Burrow himself. He had always met up with Arthur. It had been years since they had seen Hope. She always felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of boys in the house. Hope was more inclined to stay with Andromeda and Ted as she got older.

“Just until you’ve found some people that you trust to tell them. Now, Arthur promised me that he spoke to the Fred, George and Ron. They’ll be looking for you when they arrive.”

“What if I’m not in their house?”

“Hope you are brilliant, funny and talented. Regardless of what house you land in, you will make friends. You will find your niche. The same way I did.”

“What if-“ Hope could feel all of her fears that had been festering about to tumble out. “What if I’m a Slytherin? What if I end up just as awful as everyone I’m related to? I mean, my father was wonderful when you were in school and then he turned. What if that is my destiny? What if that is why all I can see is black?” Hope had stood and was pacing. She always paced when she was coming undone. Remus had noticed it had been happening more frequently. He was counting on being at Hogwarts to be a distraction to keep her grounded. Remus stopped her and grabbed her by her shoulders.

“Hope, darling, stop. First of all, all members of Slytherin house are NOT dark wizards. Each house has produced its fair share. If you happen to end up in Slytherin then you will make them proud. You are not destined to go bad. You are not destined to be evil. That’s not how the world works.” He felt her relax. “This is why I’ve always avoided talking to you about them. You are better than that. When you forget that, think of Andeomeda.” Hope nodded her head.

“Okay.” Hope wrapped her arms around her Uncle’s torso and he hugged her tightly.

“Albus and Minerva are there for you while I am not there. But if you need me, all you need to do is send me an owl and I’ll write back immediately.” Hope let go and looked up at her Uncle and forced a smile.

“I’m ready.” He kisses her forehead.

“Remember, it’s only two weeks.” Hope nodded and approached the fireplace. She reached her hand into the bucket and pulled out the floo powder. After taking a deep breath she threw it into the flames.

“Hogwarts!”

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

Hope stepped out of the large fireplace and brushed the soot off her her clothing. She really hated traveling by Floo. She looked around the small office. To her left was a large window where she could see the Quidditch pitch and what must have been the training grounds. She had expected a more grandiose office for a Hogwarts Deputy Mistress, but the smallness of it made Hope feel safe. Standing next to the desk was a very tall and stern looking woman. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she wore the most beautiful shade of emerald green robes. Her sternness melted away when she smiled at Hope.

“Welcome Ms. Lupin. I am Professor McGonagall." Hope smiled back.

"Hello Professor."

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but I have so looked forward to meeting you. I enjoyed teaching your mother and Uncle very much." Hope had been expecting the "you look so much like your mother" speech. She was grateful Minerva McGonagall kept those thoughts to herself, though Hope could see it in her eyes.

“Well I do hope you'll share some stories about my mother with me. Uncle Remus has obviously told me so much, everyday. But it would be nice to hear about her from another person's perspective."

“I would be delighted. I look forward to getting to know you over these next few weeks. First thing we must do is get you sorted." As soon as the words hit the air, there was a knock at the door. "Enter!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. Hope grinned as Professor Dumbledore entered with a dilapidated looking hat. He was so eccentric and wonderfully odd. He radiated calmness which put Hope at ease.

“It's very good to see you again Hope. We are very happy to have you here."

"I wont lie professor, I was a little nervous leaving my Uncle but I do feel better now that I am here."

"I'm very pleased to hear that. I'm sure you'll find all of the staff at Hogwarts will be very willing to help you get settled. Now, we must get you sorted so we can get you set up in a dorm room." Professor McGonagall conjured a chair and motioned for Hope to take a seat. Her Uncle hadn't told her how they would choose her house. She watched wide eyed as Dumbledore approached and put the filthy looking hat on her curly blonde head. After a moment the hat came to life and it made Hope jump. She watched as McGonagall tried to contain a smirk.

“Well, well....what an interesting mind you have brought for me today.I was wondering when the youngest Black member would be joining us. This one will prove to be very difficult, very difficult indeed. I see that you have a long history of Slytherin blood in your veins, but cunning you are not. An ocean worth of talents much like your parents. Hard working and Loyal would make you an excellent Hufflepuff. But what is this? Bravery and courage, a little stubbornness. There it is...the nerve of your father. Let's make it- Gryffindor!" Hope felt her body relax, not realizing how tense she had been. She at least would have some people she knew in her house and hoped she would be able to call them friends.

“Wonderful Ms. Lupin. I will be your Head of House. You will share your room with Ms. Granger, Ms. Brown & Ms. Patil. I'm sure all 3 girls will be most welcoming. I will have your belongings brought to your room. For now, I will take you around to meet your professors."

At the end of the week, Hope was sitting in the common room of Gryffindor House. She ran her eyes across all of the plush arm chairs and couches that she loved to sink into already. Tables adorned the room near the furniture and there was a large bulletin board, while empty now, she was sure it would start filling up come September. She enjoyed the shades of red and gold around the room. It brightened her day and helped push the blackness back into her mind. She loved the extensive windows that looked out over the beautiful grounds of the school. She was drawn to the scarlet tapestries that depicted witches, wizards and various magical animals. They spoke to the artist within her. Though her favorite part was the extensive book collection on the shelves.

She had sent an owl to her Uncle letting him know she had been placed in the house that her and her mother had resided. Also told him off a bit for not warning her about The Sorting Hat. She hadn’t left out what the hat had said. “There it is, the nerve of your father.” had been swirling in Hope’s brain ever since.

Hope looked up as a hooting stirred her from her thoughts. Perched on the Griffyndor window sill was a Tiny Owl. Not often found in Britain, it had her curious. She was pure black and was hopping around the windowsill with a letter tied to her foot. Hope stood from the squishy arm chair she had planted herself in. As soon as she approached, the owl started nipping at her fingers affectionately. She recognized her Uncle's neat hand writing immediately. With a grin she gave the owl a quick pet and ripped open the letter.

Hope-

I'm sorry for not warning you about the Sorting Hat. But really...the surprise is the best part. Mostly for Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore. I didn't want to deprive them of that. I'm glad you're relieved that you're in Gryffindor. I do hope it is because you know the Weasley family and not because you're still worried about going bad. Your house does not determine whether you are good or bad. Yes, your father did have quite a lot of nerve. If I'm being honest, I see a lot of him in your personality. From his younger and more carefree days. The way your eyes smile when you’re happy. The sound of your laugh. You most certainly have his eyes. Hope, I know that many people compare you to your mother quite often and ignore the traits of Sirius. There was a good person there at one point. The good in him radiates from you. However, you are so much more than the parts of her and the parts of your father that can be seen within you. You are your own person. Please don't forget that. I've attached this letter to a beautiful Tiny Owl I found at Diagon Alley. She is yours. I wanted to get you something special for the start of school. Her black nature is rare, but I wanted you to see that black things can be beautiful. That darkness doesn't always have to be bad. Remember, even when you feel that you are in the deepest and most dark parts of your self, there is a light within you that will outshine it. I can't wait to hear what you name her. I'm starting to feel very worn down, but I look forward to seeing you soon. I heard you've impressed both Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick with both your charms and transfiguration abilities. I'm sure Professor Snape will be equally impressed with you, though he may not be willing to show it.

All of my love

-R

Remus always knew the right thing to say. He was right, she needed to push the idea that she would turn bad out of her mind. It was ridiculous. She knew that rationally she was being absurd. She should be excited. She wanted to attend Hogwarts for her entire life. The nerves she felt down were more from excitement than dread. She had already proven herself advanced in Transfiguration and Charms. She knew her Magical History. And while she was horrible in herbology, she hoped that learning with other students would help. She was also confident in potion making, though she was terrified of meeting Professor Snape. The side comments from the other professors lead her to the impression that he was not easily won over. Her Uncle had never mentioned him in a disparaging way, just that he would be a tough teacher. She looked at the clock on the wall and realized that it was almost time to meet with Professor Snape. She hurried to the portrait hole in the wall that swung open and climbed out of the common room, straightening her school uniform as she walked. The uniform would take some getting used to. She was used to jeans, t-shirts and comfortable dresses. Hope quickly made her way through the castle corridors and headed to the Potions Classroom in the Dungeon.

Once she reached the door, she paused for a moment and took a breath. She felt her nerves bubbling to the surface again. She made sure to steel herself and then pushed the door open. The room was rather large. She suspected it had to be to hold a full class of students and all of their potions equipment. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin hit the floor. While the rest of the castle radiated warmth and light, the Potions classroom seemed dark and cold. "How I've felt on the inside." was all Hope could think. There were pickled animals in jars along the wall that gave Hope pause. She had a feeling this would be her least favorite class if she had to look at those. There was a supply cupboard and in the corner of the classroom a basin where the water poured from the mouth of a gargoyle. The room as a whole was intimidating, just not as intimidating as the man stationed near the blackboard. Severus Snape had long black flowing robes adorned to his thin frame. His sallow skin reminded her of the photograph of her father in The Daily Prophet. His black hair was in sheets and framed his face. His dark eyes appeared to have never seen happiness a day in their lives. They both stood silently, sizing each other up. Hope could see recognition in his eyes, he must have known her mother. After what seemed like ages, he finally spoke.

“Good Evening Ms. Lupin. I am Professor Snape. Tonight we will see how adept you are at your potion making. I do hope you've kept up with your studies, I will not tolerate you falling behind." Hope simply nodded. "Tonight you will brew a Sleeping Draught. Standard for any 2nd year student."

"Yes Professor." Hope didn't even try to hold a conversation with Severus Snape. She knew it would be futile.

"Off you go." Hope saw a cauldron waiting. She quickly went to the the supply cupboard and pulled out the Lavender, Flobberworm Mucus, Valerian Sprigs and a large amount of their "standard ingredients". Once she got to her table, she flipped open the book and looked over the instructions. She added 4 springs of lavender and 2 measures of Standard Ingredient into the motar and crushed them into a creamy paste. She then added 2 blobs of Flobber Worm Mucus to her cauldron along with 2 more measures of Standard Ingredient into the cauldron and heated it for 30 seconds. She added the crushed mixture as directed and waved her wand. Time seemed to drag as she waited for the potion to brew. She could feel Snape's dark eyes on her but she didn't dare look up. She hoped this would be a more pleasant experience when the room was filled with classmates. Finally, the potion was ready for trhe next steps. She added the rest of the ingredients in, careful to follow the directions precisely on how to chop and stir. She made the final wave of her wand she saw the dark luscious potion bubbling back at her.

“I’m done Professor.” Snape slowly sauntered to her work station. He looked around and noticed that while she had been waiting for her potion to brew she had cleaned up her station.

“Perhaps you can give your fellow housemates some pointers on organization.” He murmured. He studied her potion, stirring it slightly. After a few agonizing moments. “This is...passable. I was concerned when I found out your Uncle had been educating you.” Hope narrowed her eyes at him. He looked at her smugly, challenging her to contradict him. I’m her mind she was telling him off. Her Uncle was blood brilliant and her potion was perfect. She swallows any remark she wanted to make. When he was satisfied she wasn’t going to mouth off he waved his wand and the potion she made vanished. “You may go.”

“Thank you Professor. Have a good night.” She turned on her heel and quickly left the dungeon, feeling his dark eyes watch her as she fled. As she was rushing back to the Gryffindor Common room she felt the familiar twinge in between her eyes. She knew she was in for a rough night.

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

Hope had a difficult time settling down for the night. She piercing in her skull had been gaining intensity. For the first time since she had been there she regretted coming without her Uncle. He always knew how to help her feel better. Whether they spent the night talking or he would just sit with her as she struggled so she wasn't alone. He took care of her, he always took care of her. She spent the night tossing and turning, her mind turning against her. Black liquid was flooding her brain. The same pair of green eyes were starring back at her. They would go from a state of shock and morph into eyes of confusion. The feeling of melancholy worked its way back into her soul and it was stifling her. Never before did she ever think that her own mind would suffocate her. She was all alone and there was no one there to wake her from the prison of her mind.

As daybreak hit, Hope found herself in the bathroom with her head over the toilet. The piercing agony in her head was beyond anything she had ever felt before. It was as if someone were driving a hot poker from the fireplace directly into her brain. Tears poured down her face as the last wave of nausea finally passed. She needed help, but she was too weak to get up and go to Professor McGonagall. Instead, Hope laid her head down on the cold hard floor for some brief relief. Cold always helped ease her pain before, but this pain was beyond measure. She needed to at least get back to bed, but she didn't have the strength to pull herself off of the floor. Eventually she slipped into a deep sleep with her face pressed against the floor. After what seemed like only moments later a voice woke Hope up with a start. She sat up quickly and immediately regretted it as the piercing pain returned.

“Hope...my dear are you alright?” Professor McGonagall’s frantic voice filled her ears like hot lava heading to her brain. Everything was too loud. Hope squinted as the brightness burned her eyes and looked up to her Head of House.

“What time is it?” Hope saw sunlight streaming into the room. It had been barely light out when she was last conscious. Confusion flooded her exhausted mind.

“It’s after 2pm. I was informed that you missed your flying lesson with Madame Hooch. I thought perhaps you had mixed up the time as we've kept you very busy this past week. I went to check the great hall to see if you were eating lunch and the house elves informed me that you hadn’t been down to eat.”

“I’m so sorry Professor. I- I had a bad night." Hope groaned and clutched the side of her head. "My headache was so horrible it made me sick. I've never had one this bad. I couldn't get up to go for help. I must have fallen asleep here. I didn’t mean to miss a flying lesson.“ Minerva helped Hope to her feet.

“I remember your mother having some nasty spells like this. Do not worry about missing your lesson. There is plenty of time for you to learn how to fly on a broom. That isn't what is important. Let’s get you down to Madam Pomfrey. She used to make your mother feel better.” Hope looked down at her baggy sweatpants and your loose V-Neck t-shirt and felt embarrassment flood her face.

“Don’t worry about how you are dressed. No one will see you. Come Hope.” Professor McGonagall wrapped a firm arm around Hope's body and led her down the stairs and out of the Common Room through the portrait hole. If it hadn't been for the professor's strong grip, Hope was certain she would have fainted. The walk to the hospital wing had Hope feeling dizzy. As soon as they walked into the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey made a fuss over Hope and got her into one of the beds. Hope heard her tell Professor McGonagall that she would keep her updated. Hope felt a cool compress on her head that was soothing and the room darkened.

Unbeknownst to Hope, she spent the next 4 and a half days in and out of consciousness in the hospital wing. It wasn’t surprising that the healing potions Madam Pomfrey had tried were ineffective, they had never worked well before. The would sometimes take the edge off of the pain so that Hope could function, but this pain was incessant. One evening as Hope slipped briefly into consciousness she heard Professor Dumbledore’s calming voice.

“Remus said she’s never had a spell that has lasted this long. As the full moon is about to hit, he cannot come to the castle. I have precautions prepared for subsequent full moons, but I was unable to get them ready so quickly. He is beside himself with worry and his condition makes him more agitated now than he normally is. I promised to send him updates." Hope felt a pang of guilt. It was bad enough Remus had to deal with the full moon, he shouldn't have to worry about her too. Another set of footsteps approached. Hope was in too much pain and far too exhausted to let them know you were awake. "Oh Severus good." Dumbledore continued speaking. "Do you have it? And you had no problems brewing it?” Hope felt the pain overwhelm her again and she slipped back into the darkness before she could hear Snape's response..

Whatever Severus Snape had brought to Dumbledore was helping. The pain was very slowly dissipating. It also must have been keeping her asleep as she hadn't been awake since the last time she heard Dumbledore's voice. Her dreams had begun to change. Instead of inky black and green eyes, her dreams were of being a little girl and her Uncle walking her on the beach and in hand. He had a youthful glow about him, but a deep sadness in his eyes. She heard his laugh as he spun her around. They built sand castles and she watched as he helped her paint her first picture. As difficult as it had been for the both of them, Remus had given her a wonderful life.

It was two more days of pleasant dreams and memories before Hope slowly opened her eyes. For the first time in almost a week, the pain was gone. Three pairs of eyes peered down at her, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape. She was surprised to see that Snape seemed just as concerned as the other two. Hope blinked her eyes to adjust.

“How are you feeling Hope?” Professor Dumbledore gave her a comforting smile.

“I- better- I think. Yes, definitely better. How long have I been here?”

“All week. You gave us all quite a scare. I must say your Uncle is beside himself. He will be arriving tomorrow. I’m sure he will be thrilled to know that you’re on the mend.”

“A week? It’s never been that bad.” Hope looked at Professor Snape. She wasn’t sure if he knew her situation. She wanted to be careful about what she said. Dumbledore must have sensed her apprehension.

“Remus agreed that it was essential to bring in Professor Snape into the fold. We needed his potions expertise. None of the remedies that used to work for your mother were helping you. He was able to brew something up that seemed to help. Though it is not something you can take frequently.”

“Wh- What was it?”

“Oh a very complicated potion. We can discuss that at another time. For now, we will leave you in Madam Pomfrey’s capable hands. I wish for you to stay for the rest of the day just to make sure you are truly okay. You can return to your dormitory tomorrow morning if all goes well. I will stop back and check on you this evening.” McGonagall gave Hope a smile that was filled with relief, where as Snape still looked worried. Without another word, all 3 professors were retreating. When Hope looked to the side table, there sat her sketch book and pencils and smiled. Even from far away, her Uncle was making sure she was getting what she needed.

She spent the day being fawned over by Madam Pomfrey and being fed by House Elves. Hope was obsessed with all things chocolate, a love she and Remus had in common. The chocolate cake from the Hogwarts Kitchen was divine. In between it all, she sketched. She sketched the only thing that had been on her mind for almost two weeks. The pair of emerald green eyes surrounded by a fluid black background. They were quite nice, whoever they belonged too. Hope had just finished adding the color to her drawing when Dumbledore walked in. He had something in his hands.

“Good Evening Hope. I’m informed you’re doing quite well. I'm happy that Remus wont have to storm the castle to get to the hospital wing to get to you. I see you found your sketch book I had left for you. Remus said it helps clear your mind. May I?” He gestured her book. Hope slowly handed it to him. He studied the eyes staring back at him and it was like a light of recognition went off in his mind, though he didn’t say why. “May I ask what made you draw this?” She sighed. She always had a hard time explaining what you were seeing.

“For a month, all I have seen is darkness, blackness, despair and longing. Then suddenly these eyes started popping into my dreams.”

“When?”

“Not long before I came here. Maybe 2 1/2 weeks ago.” He nodded, but didn’t give anything away. He clearly had an opinion and no plans to share it.

“I brought these for you. I thought you might like them.” He handed her two photos. One was of a much younger Remus and her mother. Remus had his arm around her and they donned their Hogwarts uniforms, they were both grinning madly. When Hope pulled out the picture behind it, she gasped. There she was, sitting on the lap of a beautiful red headed woman and next to her, on her mother’s lap was a little boy with dark hair and a bright smile. Standing behind Lily was a tall man, with messy dark hair and wire rimmed glasses. Finally, standing next to him and behind her mother was the most handsome man she had ever seen. A man whose face she had only seen a few times, her father.

“Is that...” Hope’s voice trailed off and she covered her mouth holding in a sob.

“Yes Hope. You’re sitting with Lily. And Harry is with your mother. James and your father are behind you.” Seeing her mother so happy and laughing made tears fill her eyes. She couldn’t have been alive much longer after this was taken. Hope wondered if she knew this was one of the last times they would all be together? She could barely look at her father without her heart breaking. He and James were so joyful and carefree. Harry was turned towards Hope and gripped in his hand was hers. Both children were laughing along with their parents. “Had fate been kinder, you and Harry would have led much different lives. You would have grown up together. I think you will find a very good friend in Harry Potter.”

“Professor, thank you. I-“ Hope couldn’t say anything more.

“You are most welcome. Now don’t get too upset or you’ll get me in trouble.” You laughed slightly as Dumbledore’s blue eyes sparkled down at you. “Now get some sleep. I will see you tomorrow.” Dumbledore smiled once more and headed back from where he came.

Hope spent the rest of the evening staring at the pictures Dumbledore gave her. She wasn’t sure why he had them, but she didn’t much care. She stared at the picture until she fell asleep, dreaming of the family that she longed to have. What would it have been like to grow up with both of her parents or even just one of them? She loved Remus so much, but she couldn’t help wanting what she couldn’t have. Snape's potion must have still been working because for the first time that Hope could remember, she had a dreamless sleep. She slept in the following morning and ate the breakfast that the house elves brought her. When she was done, Madam Pomfrey wished her well and sent her on her way.

When Hope got back to her room she hid the pictures from Dumbledore into the bottom of her trunk. She wasn't quite ready to share that part of her with anyone. She couldn't imagine the reaction to Sirius Black being her father would be a good. one. It was best to keep that photo for just herself, for now. She pulled out a clean uniform and robes and laid them out for later. She dug out some clean lounge clothes and proceeded to take the longest, hottest shower she had ever taken. She ate lunch in the common room while looking through more of the books on the shelves. She lost herself in a copy of "Household Stories from the Collection of the Brothers Grimm" .

When she realized that her classmates would be arriving any moment. She cleaned up her mess and ran quickly to her room to get changed. Once she was dressed she tried to smooth out her hair, which was pointless. There was no taming the curly blonde locks that adorned her head. She really hoped one of the Gryffindor girls knew a spell to help her straighten her hair. She excitedly bound out of her room and through the portrait hole. She wanted to get to The Great Hall and see her Uncle before the feast started. She rushed through the hall as students started piling in. As she weaved through the mass of students she smacked directly into another student.

She stumbled back and they grabbed her both of her arms with strong hands to steady her. She looked up to see a boy with unruly dark hair, a bit of a scar on his forehead peaked out below his hair. He wore wired rimmed glasses. Behind the glasses stared the eyes that had been haunting her for weeks. The brilliant emerald green eyes belonged to Harry Potter.

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collapse-and-comfort · 4 years

Text

BTHB Pt. 2

Part 2 for my @badthingshappenbingo card! Also featuring this prompt from the incomparable @aliceinwhumperland!

Fandom: None

Prompt: Dissociation

Word Count: 2,159

Just something self-indulgent featuring some of my OCs.

Saul sat in his chair, looking into his untouched glass of whiskey. Nan and Ollie sat together on the loveseat as they talked. He gleaned no meaning from their words as they washed over him. Thoughts of his brother weighed heavily on his mind. It had been months since he’d spoken with Merrick, and even longer since he’d actually seen him. In his gut there was a gnawing certainty that he would never see Merrick again; that he’d never get a chance to voice his regrets and apologies.

“I spent a lot of money on that whiskey. You don’t like it?” Nan asked.

To someone who didn’t know Nan, her words would have sounded petulant, but the upward tilt of her brow and warmth in her eyes told him she was inquiring after his wellbeing. The corner of Saul’s mouth twitched into the vague semblance of a smile as he returned his attention to the drink and took a generous swig, rather than answer. The liquor burned, but it was smooth and rich.

“Worth every penny,” he assured her.

Saul was going to need more whiskey if he was going to dodge Nan’s one-two question combos all evening. The glass was half way to his mouth and he was considering drawing attention to how late it was.

The concern didn’t leave her face as she leaned her head back on Ollie’s shoulder.

“Heard anything from Merrick?” she asked.

Saul winced. Perhaps his worries were easy to read, but Nan’s ability to cut bluntly to the heart of an issue was nevertheless surprising. Perhaps she was psychic as well as a werewolf.

Nan and Ollie both straightened their postures and looked toward the front door, and then at each other. Saul knew their ears could pick up far more sounds than his human ones.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s at the door,” Ollie said.

He and Nan both rose.

Saul followed suit when he heard two dull knocks coming from the front door. One thud, then another after several seconds. He tailed Ollie and Nan out of the den and into the mansion’s main entryway. Nan opened the door and Saul saw both her and Ollie freeze for a moment. He closed the distance between them and looked out onto the front porch to see what had halted the other two. “Merrick?” Saul whispered to the figure that stood there, tall, lanky, bare, and entirely covered in blood.

Saul would later identify the thought as being an idiotic one, but he was certain, for however brief a moment, that his brother was dead, and that he’d conjured his gorey specter with his thoughts.

But no. It was Merrick, in the flesh.

And so much blood.

Merrick’s mouth fell open as though he were going to say something; then he closed it. He did this several times. Then Saul noticed Merrick’s shallow breaths, and the way he was shaking in the still, humid night.

“Jesus, Merrick,” Saul said as he steeled himself against dread by focusing on what he could do for his brother. “Where have you been? Are you injured?”

“I d-” Merrick began. “I don’t know, I don’t-”

Merrick’s eyes grew wide with pain, or some terrible realization.

“It’s okay! It’s alright!” Saul said as he reached out his hand.

The fear that his brother would disappear when he touched him was dispelled when he took Merrick by the elbow. Details from their last conversation flitted through Saul’s mind and he was certain that Merrick would pull away. But he only looked at Saul with his too-wide green eyes.

“Come on,” he said as he pulled Merrick through the door. “We’re going to help you.”

Ollie took that as his cue to take hold of Merrick’s other elbow.

“He’s in shock,” Saul said, more to himself than anyone else. Ollie shook his head in agreement. “We’ll get him downstairs. Get him cleaned up so we can assess him.”

Ollie nodded again.

“I’m going to make a couple calls,” Nan said before she disappeared up the stairs.

Saul kept himself from asking all the questions he wanted answers to. They walked down the hall and took the elevator down to the infirmary. Whatever relief Saul felt at his brother’s appearance was sidelined. It wasn’t the blood or the trembling that set Saul on edge. It was Merrick’s meekness. Merrick could be a contrary, vicious son of a bitch. His compliance, his utter dependence, was unnerving.

They made their way down to the infirmary. The lights were low, and the rooms were quiet. It was like a small hospital unto itself. Merrick balked after they entered. His breathing picked up and he took a step backward.

“No, no,” Saul said as he put a gentle hand on Merrick’s back.

“It’s okay,” Ollie soothed as he did the same. “It’s alright, Merrick.”

Nothing about this is okay, Saul thought as they continued to guide Merrick to the showers. Merrick’s breaths were still hurried, but he didn’t struggle.

Ollie got soap and clothes before turning the water on. Merrick flinched at the hiss of the water. Saul patted his shoulder as Ollie tested the water and waited for it to warm.

“It’s good,” he said as he motioned for Saul to bring Merrick closer.

Saul guided Merrick into the water. Merrick shut his eyes, turned his head downward, and tensed.

“It’s alright, Merrick,” Saul said. “We’re just going to get you clean, okay?”

There was no answer, but Merrick allowed himself to be brought into the spray. Saul and Ollie proceeded to wash away the blood and grime. As the mess spiraled down the drain Merick tolerated the intrusion and repositioning as Saul and Merrick bathed him. Saul ignored the fact his own clothes were growing damp. The water was warm, but Merrick continued to shake. Saul scrubbed a cloth over Merricks’ face, and then his throat. Merrick watched him with hurt he was unable to express.

“You are going to be okay,” Saul told him.

His voice was calm and certain. It didn’t reflect the way he felt. He poured shampoo into his palms and worked it through his brother’s beard and hair, careful not to catch his fingers in strands that were matted with blood.

“Hey, there’s someone under all that, after all,” Saul said once he’d rinsed Merricks’ hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used such a gentle, even saccharine tone with his brother.

Probably never.

But he didn’t care.

It must have struck a chord with Merrick. His face fell and he looked back up at Saul with red-rimmed eyes. Merrick’s hands searched out Saul’s arm. Saul looked at him questioningly, but he forced a smile onto his face and assured Merrick it was okay. Merrick swayed and clutched Saul’s arm more completely. He sank down as though he were failing to bear some horrible weight. Ollie and Merrick helped lower him to the floor, and they continued to work

“This looks like the only wound,” Ollie said, drawing Saul’s attention to the laceration on the back of Merrick’s right arm.

Saul nodded and compartmentalized the information. The wound hadn’t healed. Was it inflicted by silver? Another werewolf? There was relief in that knowledge, too; knowing that that was the worst of what was hidden beneath the blood. At least physically. Saul knew that Merrick would tell him that it would just be one more scar. But what was the story of how he came to be in this state?

Not now, Saul told himself.

When they finished washing Merrick, Ollie turned the water off. Heat and moisture hung in the air, but no blood remained. Only water droplets remained on the white tiles.

Merrick stood still as they went over him with towels. They used careful pressure to dry him, and watched for any reaction that indicated discomfort.

“Tell us if anything hurts,” Saul said.

Merrick remained silent. He should have looked better without all the blood covering him, but it was a different kind of unfortunate. He looked bedraggled; lost.

Ollie brought over a gown.

“Can you put this on, Merrick?”

Merrick watched Ollie, but made no move to take it.

“No?” Ollie said with unfailing gentleness and good nature as he unfolded the gown. “That’s okay. We’ve got it.”

Merrick allowed Ollie to lift his arms and put the gown on him and Saul tied the back. The gown was meant to provide some semblance of dignity, but the vulnerability that sort of cover signified made Saul ill at ease.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” Ollie said.

Merrick followed obediently as they led him to a room, and he made no complaint as they helped him onto an exam table. His docility was unnerving.

Saul and Ollie washed their hands and put on gloves. When Saul got a stethoscope Ollie stopped him.

“You should let me.”

“He’s my brother.”

Ollie nodded, but it wasn’t because he was conceding.

“That’s exactly why you need to let me do this, Saul.”

Saul pulled his attention from Merrick and met Ollie’s sympathetic, but dead-serious gaze.

“Yeah,” he said as he handed over the stethoscope, knowing full well Ollie was right. He knew it would be a disservice to his brother if he allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement. “Yeah, alright.”

He walked over and stood by Merrick, unsure of what to say.

I’m glad you're here. I’m sorry. What happened? I should have been there for you.

“Hey,” he said.

Merrick looked up from his lap, but he didn’t look at Saul. He watched Ollie as he put together supplies. His shoulders flinched at every metallic sound, and his breathing escalated when Ollie approached with a blood pressure cuff in hand, and a stethoscope slung over the back of his neck. Saul lifted a hand to put a reassuring palm on Merrick, but Merrick ducked away. He looked up at Saul as though Saul had intended to strike him.

Merrick lunged forward, off the table without speed or grace. He stumbled, but Saul caught him before he could topple completely.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Saul said in a hushed voice as he helped Merrick right himself. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Saul prepared for him to try to bolt again, or worse yet, fight; but Merrick stayed and he didn’t lash out. His eyes shifted around the room. It hurt Saul’s heart to see Merrick so scared, so far removed from the person he was.

Saul put a hand on either side of Merrick’s face and looked him in the eye.

“You’re safe, Merrick,” he said. Merrick screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Please look at me.”

Merrick opened his eyes.

“That’s it,” Saul said.

He smiled, though his heart broke. He saw no hope in Merrick’s eyes; no acceptance that he had reached safety. Saul brushed his still damp, blond hair out of his face. He wrapped his arms around Merrick. He tensed, but allowed the contact. Saul couldn’t ignore the way Merrick trembled like a taut wire that had been plucked.

“You’re going to be okay,” he told him. “You are.”

Saul watched as Ollie loaded a syringe with a dosage fit for a werewolf, and cast a questioning glance in his direction. Saul frowned, but nodded. A sedative would be prudent, though he hated the thought.

Ollie announced his presence before taking a gentle hold of Merrick’s left elbow.

“Just gonna give you something to help you relax,” Ollie said as he rubbed a spot on Merick’s upper arm with a prep pad.

When Merrick caught sight of the needle, he tried to pull away, but Saul held tight.

“N-no,” Merrick rasped. “Please.”

“Ssh,” Saul said as he held him still. “We’re just trying to help you.”

There was no real power behind Merrick’s struggles. Was too worn, too tired not to resign himself to whatever tortures he thought they had in store for him. Saul didn’t need to see it to know when Ollie administered the injection. Merrick let out a tired, desperate sound that was neither a moan or a snarl. He tried one last time to pull away, but it was too late. Saul held Merrick close and rubbed circles on his back.

“It’s okay, Merrick. It’s over. It’s done.”

He felt his brother take in a sharp breath.

A sob, Saul realized.

He continued to hold Merrick until he could feel his muscles begin to relax. He and Ollie helped Merrick back over to the table, and he followed with the obedience of a lamb. He sat there, shoulders slack and eyes growing heavy.

“Lie down, now,” Ollie said as he and Saul tried to ease him back “Just sleep.”

Merrick gave only the smallest amount of resistance to this, but Saul hushed him and pressed his shoulders down. Merrick gripped his forearm. Somewhere in him, Saul was glad to see the small flicker of defiance in his brother’s eyes.

#bthb #dissociation #ocs #bathing #forced sedation #siblings #guilt #my writing #monster mansion #hurt/comfort #unbeta'd #forgot how much fun it is to completely indulge yourself and not overthink something #angst #didn't really get into too much monstery stuff #but oh well #released into the wild

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anartic-monkeys · 4 years

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[fanfic] opiate this hazy head of mine (chapter 1 of 2)

Summary: The brick walls of his dorm rooms, the white tiles of the baths, the drapes in his childhood bedroom, they all know her name. Initially it had been in anger, in frustration, in denial even as he pumped himself into completion to images of her. Eventually the name was whispered in resignation, in concealed adoration, and in an agonized declaration of a love that would never be returned.

TRIGGER WARNING: Character is diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD). If you are triggered by mentions of suicidal thoughts, depressive episodes, panic attacks, or even medication, please skip this story or proceed with caution.

Title is directly lifted from the lyrics of Medicine - The 1975

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413189

FFN Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13537767/1/opiate-this-hazy-head-of-mine

CHAPTER 1

la douleur exquise: the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable

August 4, 2002

He knows for certain that she’ll be leaving soon.

The timepiece on his wrist tells him it’s well past one in the morning, but he keeps his eyes open and trained on the woman lying next to him. Hermione Granger’s face is peaceful in sleep, the lines that usually mar the space between her eyebrows hidden from sight. He wants to touch her, her cheeks and the exposed skin of her shoulders, but he’s terrified of waking her up.

He knows that once those eyes open, she’ll realize what a colossal mistake it had been to sleep with him, then she’ll be gone from his life.

Forever.

So he stays still, tries to keep his breathing as even as possible so as not to rouse her. Just minutes ago he had been drowning in a sea of her—her eyes, her warm heat wrapped around him, her hands everywhere, her lips leaving marks that are not his to keep. Now he’s lost, the constellation of freckles dancing across the skin of her nose and cheeks drawing him in deeper into what would be very dangerous territory.

He has never been this close, despite the many cruel efforts on his parts to be physically near her.

The taunting.

The dirty looks.

The insults thrown at her face, right at her face, allowing him just a moment to be that close to her face.

Tomorrow she’ll be gone, but for now he allows himself to live in the reverie that she is his.

He wakes and feels his chest constrict in panic, his breath catching in his lungs and his limbs freezing up. In the back of his mind, he imagines that this is how it would feel for her to wake up the morning of their N.E.W.T.s, realizing that she had fallen asleep in lieu of studying. The space beside him is empty, only the ruffled sheets and some stray strands of hair on the pillow serving as evidence that Hermione had spent the night with him. He had meant to watch her to the very last minute, savour the very last moment before she’d leave, and he had fallen asleep instead and wasted precious time. He doesn’t even try to get up, choosing instead to close his eyes and will the sharp pain in his chest to fade into a dull throbbing. He doesn’t know how much time passes but he finally moves his head to face the other way, discovering a kink in his neck.

“Draco, are you awake?”

His eyes snap open at the voice and he imagines that his body visibly stiffens.

“Do you mind if I use your kitchen to make breakfast?”

He rises slowly, leaning on his elbows, and finds her sitting on the wide windowsill. He swallows at the sight of her wearing his shirt, a book propped open on her exposed legs. For a moment, he entertains the idea of sleep-induced hallucinations, wracking his brain for an explanation for the anomaly that is Hermione Granger.

He opens his mouth to ask her a dozen questions, each one an attempt to explain why in Salazar’s balls she's still here in the poor death eater’s lair, but his mind blessedly decides to kick in before his mouth can do any damage.

She had said his name. His given name.

“I’ll make breakfast,” he says instead, swinging both legs off the bed and turning away from her for a moment to search for his pants. Only half-naked, he takes note of the time and beckons for her to follow him into the kitchen.

She doesn’t move from her spot (he has no idea how many hours she’s been sitting there but he knows for certain that it couldn’t have been long enough for it to justify him referring to it as her spot) and the minutes tick by with the two of them merely staring at each other. She would never hear it from him, but he would much rather stare at her than cook breakfast. A few heartbeats pass and then she’s pushing off the ledge, raising her eyebrows at him and he answers the unvoiced question with a roll of his eyes. “I can cook.”

“Here, I’ll give you your shirt back," she replies, ignoring his declaration.

He shakes his head, not even trying to hide the appreciate way his eyes roam over her body. He doesn’t know why she decided to put his shirt on, it doesn’t seem like something she would do, but he wants to keep her in his clothes for as long as possible.

Maybe then her scent would be permanently engraved into the fabric.

She says she wants pancakes and Draco pretends he’s not thankful that she chose something he actually knows to make. He doesn’t burn anything, even when he feels her eyes boring holes into the back of his head, but he barely stops himself from going overboard with the blueberries.

Little triumphs.

He’s plating up a high stack for her, ignoring the curious stare she’s been maintaining ever since he poured her a cup of tea. He wants to run away from the scrutiny and jumps on the opportunity once he hears a light tapping sound coming from the window. His owl delivers him letters that he leaves in a drawer for later and a copy of the paper that he brings back to Hermione, wordlessly handing it over to her just to get her to stop studying him.

“Do you have powdered milk?”

“No. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just,” she pauses, glancing up from behind the face of an elderly wizard being tried for tax evasion. “I usually put some powdered milk on my pancakes, but these are fine. You’re surprisingly good at this.” She makes a show of taking a rather large bite that has him hiding a smile behind his tea.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Granger,” he says, not without irony. She catches on his meaning and then they’re sharing a smile, an inside joke that only the two of them know, and Draco wonders at what exact moment did the universe tilt the wrong way and allowed him to have this with her.

To have her.

“This is odd,” she finally says, looking at him in a way that tells him its not his culinary skills she finds bizarre. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she means them, that she means it’s odd that she had slept with him and him with her and that he had made her pancakes with far too many blueberries and she had just shared a smile with him that made the darkest parts of his mind recede for a moment—

“Don’t overthink it, I can hear the cogs in your brain turning all the way here,” he responds, hoping against all odds that he sounds as nonchalant as he wants to be about it. He knows for a fact that if he wants to keep her from finding out the mess that is his thoughts around her, he best start putting up the occlumency walls he had so carelessly torn down last night.

He tells himself he will, in a minute, when she finishes her pancakes and she’s had enough tea. He’ll put up the walls when she stops looking as if she doesn’t hate him, doesn’t hate that she had fallen into bed with him, doesn’t hate that he’s standing shirtless in front of her because she’s wearing his shirt.

He tells himself he couldn’t have expected her to stay any longer. She has work, she tells him, and he doesn’t tell her that of course you’re working on a Sunday. He watches her tiptoe her way back to his room and he watches her emerge once again dressed in her own clothes, her healer robes tucked in the crook of her arm. He tells himself he isn’t disappointed when she only kisses his cheeks, tells himself he doesn’t feel his fingers warm when she tells him that she had a good time, that she’ll see him around soon.

He tells himself it’s not the hope that she would come over again that has him purchasing the tin of powdered milk from the muggle pharmacy. It sits in one of the cupboards, right next to the tea that she had picked out.

February 11, 2000

Draco grits his teeth, mentally listing off a number of hexes that he could fire at the beady-eyed wizard sitting in front of him.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, struggling to keep the drawl in place. To the untrained ear, they would hear an almost bored quality to the question. To anyone who pays attention, they would hear the unnatural lilt that his voices takes on right at the beginning.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, we need to perform legilimency on all ex-Death Eaters wishing to apply for a job at the ministry,” he eyes Draco, one hand coming to scratch at his whitened beard. “Of course, everyone knows you’re a skilled Occlumens, which is why we’ve prepared a special potion that will ensure you do not… keep things from our knowledge.”

Draco feels a muscle twitch somewhere on his jaw. “And why exactly would such a thing be necessary in the first place, if I may ask?”

The veil covering the cruel sneer falls away and the man in front of him openly shows him just what he thinks of Draco. “Mr. Malfoy, you can’t honestly expect the ministry to let you work here without the reassurance that you do not have any ill plans tucked away that mind of yours. Think of it as a way of earning your future employer’s trust. That is, if we do end up hiring you.”

Draco has no response, choosing instead to steeple his fingers against each other and stare back at the other wizard. When the silence stretches on, with no attempts from Draco to end it, the other man speaks up in a tone brokering no argument, “This is an absolute requirement. If you do not wish to go through with it then I will be bidding you farewell.”

“When?” he asks, feeling the last dredges of his pride slipping away from his grasp.

A healer performs the spell. When it’s over and he feels like his mind has been repeatedly stabbed by a blunt knife, he turns away from the judging eyes staring right at him. There’s a flurry of papers and the sound of a book rapidly being flipped through. The healer furiously scribbles on his chart while Draco awaits the verdict.

“Mr. Malfoy, you’ve been diagnosed with major depressive disorder. Here’s a prescription for anti-depressant pills that you are to take if I’m to clear you for work at the ministry.”

He turns back to the healer with a deliberate slowness, as if reducing the speed of his movements could aid his brain in keeping his mouth from falling wide open. “I beg your pardon?” he finds himself asking for a second time that day.

“Mr. Malfoy, you have suicidal tendencies—”

“Harry Potter has suicidal tendencies, did you also diagnose him with depression?”

“We value patient confidentiality, Mr. Malfoy, I assure you. You won’t be hearing about Mr. Potter’s medical business as he won’t be hearing about yours,” the healer states this with a pointed look, no doubt alluding to the fear she saw in Draco’s head about his thoughts becoming of public access. Draco takes little relief in this.

“I also know for a fact that when you say suicidal tendencies, you’re referring to the things he did during the war,” the healer continues. “Unfortunately, that was a case of reckless heroism, not a sign of depression.”

Draco raises his eyebrow at this, finding that the comment made him like his healer infinitesimally better than before. “I’m not depressed.”

“Would you like me to read to you all the signs I just picked apart from your mind? Aside from constantly thinking about your own death, you have severe insomnia, you have very little interest in doing things you like, you have virtually no appetite to speak of, you’re conflicted between the belief that your mother would be better off without you and the guilt of leaving her now that your father is gone—”

“Enough.”

The healer pauses, adjusting the spectacles that had started to slip down her nose. “As you know, depression is not something you need to be ashamed of. You’d be surprised how many of the British wizarding folk have been diagnosed with various mental health issues following the war.”

For the second time that day, he chooses to answer with cold silence. The healer meets his gaze and wordlessly hands over a small sheet of paper. Draco takes it and his eyes drop to read the messy scrawl. His eyebrows draw together at the unfamiliar words staring back at him. “This is muggle medicine.”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

The question catches him off-guard and he looks up, realizing his mistake a second too late. The potion hasn’t fully worn off and he is unable to build up his occlumency walls in time to counter the healer’s legilimency.

Scared.

Don’t know how to buy these.

Don’t know where to go to get these.

Not depressed.

Can’t be depressed.

“Stop,” he finally grits out, turning away from the healer and finally breaking the spell. He wants to scream, wants to get up and run away from the room, job at the ministry be damned. He almost does the latter when he hears her ripping out a small piece of parchment.

“This is the address of a pharmacy I frequent. You may think of it as a muggle apothecary of sorts. Just hand your prescription over and make sure you have muggle money on you.”

Draco takes it, hating the trembling of his fingers as he fights the urge to crush both pieces of paper in his fists.

“Come back with the filled prescription and I’ll give you your medical clearance. Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy.”

He likes to think he makes a graceful exit, but he knows that he all but stumbles out the room and into the lit hallway. The walls, white and suddenly so oppressive, seem to close in on him as he feels his breathing grow laboured. A panic attack, his mother had described it on the one occasion he had been weak enough to show her that he wasn’t as put-together as he would like everyone to believe. She had scoffed at him, her aristocratic face wet with tears, and had pulled his head to rest on her shoulder.

Now he thinks the healer would have listed off sporadic episodes of panic attacks if he hadn’t interrupted her.

His legs miraculously carry him towards the floo networks and he struggles to fight off the last vestiges of the potion remaining in his system, already working on constructing the ever-trusted wall around his mind. His throat has gone dry, all moisture seemingly travelling to his now-clammy hands, and his vision starts to blur when he’s only steps away from the floo that would get him away from this wretched place—

“Malfoy?”

Fuck.

If someone were to slice his ears off, damage the sensory organ enough that he would only be able to hear anything if one were to use a sonorous charm and shout directly into the mangled hole on the side of his head, he would still be able to recognize that voice. The last time he had heard her, last time he had seen her, was during his trial shortly after the culmination of the Second Wizarding War. He had been more surprised to see her than when he’d seen Potter, more surprised to hear her testify for him than when it had been Potter doing the same thing.

His hands had been bound before him, but his heart had soared at the sight of her then. He had been so certain that he would never see her again, not when he had been on his way to be locked in Azkaban. He had barely paid attention to the words she was saying, his focus trained on the sound of her voice, the fire in her eyes. Not once during her speech did she glance at him and he had only been given the chance to look into her eyes when she had been about to exit the room.

He had sworn that day that he would never forget that image, would hold on to it through the horrors of Azkaban. When he’d been told that the Wizengamot had decided to put him under ten years of heavy probation instead of 10 years in Azkaban, he had let himself foolishly hope that he’d be able to see her again under different circumstances.

Nearly two years later and he finally gets his wish, but the circumstances are only marginally better than before. He attempts to take a steadying breath and only succeeds in affirming that he still can’t breathe quite properly. The last of the bricks fall into place and he turns to face her. A lesser witch would see nothing amiss, only an ex-death eater making a hasty escape from St. Mungo’s, but she’s no lesser witch.

Hermione Granger takes one look at him and the suspicion in her eyes is replaced by that of concern and he fucking hates it. He pretends to appraise her, feigns the slightest bit of shock at her healer robes, only enough that she would think he had failed at trying to hide his surprise at the knowledge that she works here.

Of course he knows she works here; he had almost worked himself up into an early panic attack worrying that she would be assigned his healer.

“Granger.” He notes that there’s only the slightest bit of a tremor to his voice and he imagines his godfather would have been proud. Still, he keeps his hands behind him where she won’t be able to see how badly they’re shaking.

“Malfoy, are you—” she cuts herself off, eyes narrowing at him. “Are you okay?”

He manages a smirk and a slight inclination of his head. “Never better. Goodbye, Granger.”

“What?” is the indignant cry. He’s already stepping into the floo and tossing down a handful of the powder when she calls to him. “Malfoy, wait—”

He doesn’t think about the possible repercussions of fleeing from a healer, of fleeing from Granger of all people, the only thought running through his head as he’s engulfed by the flames is how he needs to get away from her and her worried eyes.

He doesn’t deserve her concern.

August 8, 2002

He startles awake, hanging suspended between grappling for consciousness and holding on to the last images of sun-kissed skin against his tongue. He blinks away the fog clouding his mind and searches for the source of his sudden waking, feeling a throbbing behind his eyebrow that somehow falls into beat with the knocking outside his door—

He’s on his feet and rushing out of the bedroom, wand at the ready. The frontal lobe of his brain catches up to his adrenal glands just as he reaches the front door. He reasons with himself—the wards wouldn’t have allowed just anyone within 20 yards of the door, and since the knocking isn’t a figment of his imagination, he can only imagine that it’s someone from the ministry on the other side of the door. With a wandless flick of his wand, the door opens.

Draco hadn’t known who exactly to expect, but he had not expected to see her. Her hand is raised mid-knock, her hair is flattened down by the knit cap keeping her ears warm, and her eyes are wide and bloodshot as they stare back at him in shock.

He barely has time to open his mouth and call her name before her face contorts and she starts crying, right there by the doorway. Something in his chest constricts at the sight and he almost rubs at it to soothe the sudden painful throbbing radiating right above his left breast.

In the back of his mind, he suspects that it might be his heart aching at the sight of her tears.

“Can I come in?” she asks, uselessly wiping at tears that are only followed by others. She all but collapses into his arms when he moves to pull her into the flat.

He tries to lead her over to sit on the settee but she shakes her head at him, hands clinging to the collar of his shirt and effectively wrinkling the fabric. He blames the epinephrine still coursing through his blood vessels when he finds himself leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. He freezes, lips still pressed to her skin, waiting for her to shove him away for daring to do something so intimate to her of all people.

Hermione releases her hold on his collar, her hands travelling upward to cradle his face. She tugs him down until their lips meet in a soft kiss, Draco all too cautious to deepen it and risk scaring her away.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” she asks against his mouth, breath washing over his face and leaving behind a distinct scent of chamomile and peppermint. He wonders if he’s being manipulated, wonders if he should allow himself to be manipulated by soft lips and cold hands.

Why?

“Please.”

“Okay.”

Hermione transfigures her clothes into something more sleep-appropriate and Draco slips away to prepare her a cup of tea. When he returns, she’s already settled in the middle of the bed, hands fidgeting with the edges of the quilt. She spots the cup he’s holding and reaches out to take it from him.

“Thank you, Draco,” she says, turning to him as he moves to sit net to her. “For all of this.”

He frowns down at his own hands, the adrenaline from before already well out of his system by the time he’d finish preparing her tea. Chamomile, the same thing she had chosen the last time she was there, with one heaping cup of honey and enough milk to turn the drink an ugly shade of Dutch white. She doesn’t comment on how he’s already committed to memory the way she takes her tea and he doesn’t ask her the barrage of questions assaulting his brain.

When the tears start flowing down her cheeks in a silent current, he takes the hand that’s not holding on to the delicate china in both of his. He feels foolish, offering her comfort when the whole wizarding world knows he’s the last person qualified to do as such, but she doesn’t pull away from his touch and the trembling of her lips still just enough for her to keep sipping her tea. Draco spots her wand lying on top of his bedside table and his grip on her hand tightens, the sight making him wonder when exactly he started to earn that level of trust from her.

He watches her lower the empty cup and start to pull away from him, moving to put the cup beside her wand. He vanishes the china with a wandless and non-verbal flick of his hand and allows himself to revel in the impressed look she gives him.

“Sleep, Granger,” he tells her. He moves to lie down, giving her enough space to decide the distance that would exist between them, telling himself that whatever she chose he would keep it that way all through the night. He watches her chew on her lip for a moment then promptly slide down to lie with her sides pressed against his. A few moments pass and then they simultaneously move, him raising his arm to circle her shoulders and her moving to place her head right above his erratically beating heart.

The silence stretches out long enough that he suspects she’s fallen asleep, her breathing even and her heart finally calm in its thumping. His own eyes start to drift close when he hears her soft voice whisper against his skin.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

He wakes up to lips pressed against his neck and he thinks this is how he dies, a bite to his jugular that will drain him of his pure and ancient blood. When Hermione does move to bite him, he finds himself moaning in pleasure instead of pain, his hands shooting out to cradle her head and keep her mouth firmly in place. She soothes the bite with a languid drag of her tongue.

“I thought you just wanted to sleep?” he asks, voice thick with sleep and dick already half hard in his trousers. “Granger.”

“Draco,” she responds, her own voice just the right amount of rough. Her hands move down to work on the buttons of his shirt and he finally gathers enough sense to still her movements.

“Granger,” he grounds out, firmer this time. “We can’t. We shouldn’t. Not when you’ve been crying all night.” He wants to add not when you’re vulnerable but thinks better of it, suspecting it would only grant him a hex or two.

“I’m sorry,” she says, extracting her body from his hold and completely turning away from him. She hunches forward on her sides, curling into a position that makes her look so small and makes Draco’s eyebrows draw together into a frown of genuine confusion.

“Why do I feel as if you’re under the impression that I don’t want you?” he asks, tugging on her shoulder to make her lie on her back and face him again.

“Because I am,” she responds right away. The next part comes a few seconds later, in a much quieter voice. “Because you don’t.”

The occlumency walls fall apart and he grabs her hand and places it right where he wants it, rubs himself using her palm for a few wicked seconds before stilling them both. “You’re as much of a fool as I am.”

Hermione resumes stroking him through his trousers, her eyes alight and her mouth parted. She pushes him down to lie on his back and moves to straddle him, her hand still on his cock while the other works on completing the mission of removing his shirt. She helps him out of the garment and runs warm hands down his chilled torso, leaning down to once again attack his neck with her lips.

His hands map out an exploration of their own, gripping her hips through soft cotton shorts and seeking out the skin hidden underneath her jumper. His hands reach up until the tips of his fingers tease the edges of her bra, feeling up the lace and groaning when he feels her hand leave his crotch.

She pulls back and whips off the jumper, watching his steadily darkening expression. Hermione reaches back and unclasps the final piece of clothing holding her back from being equally half-nude as he is and he watches with rapt attention. The bra falls away, tossed to lie forgotten somewhere on the floor, but his eyes never stray from the sight of her full breasts just inches away from his face. He swallows and her eyes follows the motion, smiling down at him and grabbing his hands to pull them to her chest.

The first time he had seen her tits, he had ended up worshipping them for the better part of an hour, not neglecting to tell her she had the most beautiful breasts he had ever laid his eyes on. He had been granted a sharp laugh for his eloquence, a laugh that quickly evolved into a drawn-out moan when he had wrapped his lips around one nipple and used the nail on his index finger to tease the other.

Now he holds both of her breasts in his hands, testing out their weight much like the last time, caressing the underside with his palms and watching the skin breakout in goosepimples. She leans back to rest her hands on his thighs, pushing her chest out to him and letting out breathy little moans that fill the room. Her hips start a steady grinding motion, the heat of her clothed arse rubbing against his cock enough to drive him half delirious with need.

He rolls her nipples between his fingers, alternating between slow rubbing and fast swiping. He leans forward, sitting up, and catches one hardened nub in his mouth. The answering moan eggs him on to suck harder, switching between breasts with an almost desperate edge to his movements. This close, her scent invades his senses and overwhelms the part of his brain that usually has him questioning every move, every thought, every word coming out of his mouth.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he tells her, lips pressed against a reddened nipple. She responds by further pushing her chest into his face and he is happy to oblige, continuing his ministrations on her breasts. He feels her hands fumbling to pull down his trousers and he lifts his hips high enough to assist her.

“It’s been days but I can still feel you inside me.”

Her words make him groan and he bites down on one nipple, just a light graze of his teeth. He helps her out of her shorts and her underwear, leaning back down to his original lying position with his hands firmly on her hips. “Think you can ride me, Granger?”

She takes his cock into her hand and the shock from the difference in body temperature has him biting down on his lip. She smiles at him, teasing her entrance with the tip of his length. “Not if you keep calling me that.”

“Hermione, fuck, Hermione,” he gasps, the syllables of her name rolling from his tongue with practiced ease. The brick walls of his dorm rooms, the white tiles of the baths, the drapes in his childhood bedroom, they all know her name. Initially it had been in anger, in frustration, in denial even as he pumped himself into completion to images of her. Eventually the name was whispered in resignation, in concealed adoration, and in an agonized declaration of a love that would never be returned.

He watches her sink down on him, her heat engulfing him and obliterating any coherent thought he was previously capable of making. His muscles burn from the effort it takes him to not move, to keep still and let her do everything in her own pace. He thinks his grip on her hips may leave bruises in the morning, but he allows himself the selfish thought, forgives himself when he doesn’t loosen his hold on her.

She stops when he’s fully inside her, their skin flushed against each other, chests rising and falling in tandem. Hermione leans down and kisses him, her face overheated and her lips slow and wet against his. He lets her take charge of the kiss, following her lead, matching her peck for peck, tongue for tongue. When she pulls back, he catches a glimpse of the scar on her arm and he’s immediately overwhelmed with the familiar feeling of guilt. He swallows, hoping to physically push back the thought.

“Take what you want from me, Hermione. Take what you need.”

For a moment she looks like she’s about to cry, but she swoops down and kisses him with ardour, catching his bottom lip in between her teeth and giving a painful bite that she quickly soothes with a swipe of her tongue. She doesn’t break the kiss when she starts moving, moaning against his lips with every thrust.

He kisses the side of her mouth, making his way down to the spot beneath her ear that had her screaming his name last time. She whimpers when his lips touch the sensitive skin, her hips picking up speed. Her mouth attaches itself to the back of his neck and he feels her sucking, biting, leaving marks that he won’t hide with a concealment charm. The forward-backward canting of her hips transforms into a circular motion and he knows she’s close. Aside from the constant assault of his mouth on her neck and his hands groping her breasts, he keeps still, feeling her walls clamp down on him and her teeth press down on his neck almost hard enough to break the skin.

She lifts her head, kissing him while riding the waves of her first orgasm for the night. Her body collapses on him and he pulls out of her, still painfully hard, and moves her to lie down on the bed. Even in the dim light of the room he sees the flush of her skin, the light sheen of sweat on her chest and on her legs. He kisses her face, pushes away the curls stuck to her forehead, kisses the arch of her brow, both of her cheeks, the tip of her nose and the dip of her upper lip, and kisses his way down her body.

She shudders when he takes his time kissing her shoulders, biting and sucking and selfishly leaving marks that she’ll have to hide with a concealment charm. Her hands shoot out to tangle in his hair when he reaches her breasts, torn between pulling him away from the over-sensitive flesh or pushing him to keep sucking on the spot just centimetres from her right nipple. He promises to worship her tits later, when he’s inside of her again, and begins to move further down her body.

As he draws closer to her centre, her scent grows stronger. He kisses her inner thighs, careful not to touch the swollen folds of her cunt. Hermione has grown progressively louder as he grew progressively bolder in his exploration, his tongue dipping into her wet hole. They moan in unison and he thinks he may get drunk on her taste. He fucks her with his tongue, letting her grow accustomed to the feeling, waiting for her to come down from the high and demand for more.

When the last of the tremors from her orgasm fade away, his lips find her clit and he sucks the sensitive nub into his mouth. Her hold on his hair borders on painful, her hips bucking up into his face. He pushes her down with his hands, keeping her in place as he uses the flat of his tongue to massage her clit.

He alternates between swiping and circling the kernel with his tongue, using two fingers to fuck her hole. He feels her walls tighten around the appendages and he withdraws them, determined to make her cum using just his mouth. He sucks on her clit, pulling her impossibly closer to him and allowing her to mindlessly fuck his face. When she comes for the second time he barely hears his name pouring from her lips, her thighs clamping down on his head and effectively blocking out the world.

He doesn’t give her time to ride out her orgasm, pushing into her in one swift thrust. He makes good on his promise, kissing her to let her taste herself on him then moving down to worship her breasts once more. Draco only half recognizes the things she’s saying, a mix of familiar swears words and his name and then things his orgasm-deprived mind just can’t seem to put together.

“Your cunt feels amazing,” he replies when she tells him how good he feels inside her. “You feel so goddamn good, Hermione.”

“Harder, Draco, please,” she mewls, fingers clawing down his back and leaving even more marks for him to keep. “Please, please, I’m going to come again.”

She comes a third time, not nearly as intense as the first and the second one, but enough to pull him spiralling into his own orgasm. He spills himself inside of her, the euphoria of his release settling deep into his bones. In those blinding seconds he forgets that they’re former enemies, that they were only tentative acquaintances before this whole fling started, forgets that he doesn’t understand her motivations and forgets to question his own.

He doesn’t pull out of her, remembering how she had asked him to stay inside of her the last time, and he’s rewarded with a smile and a tender kiss. He moves them so she’s half-lying on top of him, the sheets shielding their naked bodies from the cold. He’s internally debating with himself on whether he should go back to sleep when she makes the decision for him.

“Sleep, let’s give it another go when we wake up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He only nods, moving to gather his clothes from the floor. He finds his trousers first and slips them on, facing away from her.

“Not yet,” she amends, as if she had somehow known her response had hurt him. “In the morning, I will.”

He doesn’t point out that it already is morning. They had woken up multiple times during the night and had satisfied each other countless times. The first time he had been the one to wake up, pulling her warm body into his arms, kissing her shoulder as an overwhelming feeling of gratitude took over his heart at the sight of her still curled up beside him. She had taken it as him initiating and things had quickly escalated from there. That had been followed by more sleep and even more sex, and now the sky is tinged with a warm orange and he can’t bring himself to feel regret at the prospect of being sleep-deprived at work.

He looks down at her and catches her watching him, his shirt from last night hanging open on her shoulders. He wants to know if this is her own cruel way of revenge—false hope, a taste of what could have been and what may be but will inevitably never happen. He wants to know why he’s been allowed to feel as much as he has only for it to be violently taken away from him in the end.

“Come back,” she says, delicate hand patting the empty spot beside her on the bed. “It’s far too early to get ready for work, isn’t it?”

“I’ll make you breakfast later. Get some more sleep.”

He retrieves a fresh shirt and leaves her alone in the bedroom, not turning around to give her a chance to seduce him back into his own bed. He waits by the door for a few seconds, listening for any tell-tale signs that she’ll follow him out, and breathes a sigh of relief when his ears are met with silence. The papers he had been reading before turning in for the night lay abandoned on the coffee table, the sight of them prompting images of Hermione stumbling upon them and asking him questions he can’t and won’t answer, even for her.

His legs carry him to the sitting room and he hastily shoves the papers into the drawer, eyeing the half-empty bottle of pills staring back up at him. He grabs it, pops one pill into his mouth and swallows it dry, then tosses it back in to join the papers. The drawer is locked with a flick of his wand and he starts to breathe easier.

There are many things he doesn’t know about whatever it is going on between them, but one thing he is certain of is that she must never find out about his depression. The thought that she had only slept with him four days ago out of pity had plagued his mind during the interim between then and now. It had taken him every logical cell in his body to convince himself that the impossibility of her finding out about his illness came second only to the impossibility of her sleeping with anyone out of pity for their mental predicament.

He had spent hours every day thinking about what had happened between them, thinking about how and why it happened, how he wanted it to happen again. He wouldn’t go as far as deluding himself into thinking that he was anywhere near done thinking about it, and her showing up in his flat and then fucking him senseless for hours certainly did not offer any help.

What he didn’t have any problem accepting was that there wouldn’t have been a repeat after the first time. Another thing he had been certain of—that Granger would never set foot in his flat again, that it had been a one-time thing. Then last night happened, and now she’s in his bedroom, possibly sleeping, and he’s in his kitchen preparing the ingredients for pancakes.

He’s finally going to put that tin of powdered milk to use.

Draco suspects that it’s the smell of food that has her emerging from the bedroom, his shirt buttoned up around her form and her hair resembling a nest of some large bird species. He’s torn between the desire to fix her hair for her (with his hands, not using magic) and the desire to see if it would be possible to mess it up even further. He slides her a plate of pancakes and pulls the tin from the cupboard, presenting it to her.

“Is that… did you get me powdered milk?”

His brain tells him to lie, to downplay the gesture, make up a story about seeing it during one of his grocery runs and purchasing it out of curiosity. He knows she would stop believing him the moment he tries to pretend he does his own grocery.

“Yes.”

She stares at him, mouth hanging slightly ajar, and he braces himself for the questions to come. “I have so many questions about that, but I must admit I’m more hungry than curious.”

It’s his turn to gape at her. The many years between them has given him the privilege of knowing enough about her to know that she must be burning to ask him, to clarify, to make sense of whatever it is that isn’t making sense to her brilliant brain. He watches as she pops the lid open and spoons out a generous amount of the milk, pouring it all over her pancakes. The sound she makes when her lips close around the first bite is devilish and he feels his face heat up.

“Here, try some,” she says when she catches him still staring at her. She catches him by surprise when she leans forward to feed him off her own fork. “Go on, it won’t bite you back if you bite it first.”

The milk is too sweet and it dries out the edges of the pancake. He tries to hide his grimace by drinking from his tea but she catches it and openly laughs at his reaction.

“Bit weird, is it?” she asks him, still eating the ruined cakes. “My parents made me these, but they had forgotten that we’d already run out of syrup. They were arguing about it, so I just grabbed a tin of milk and poured it all over my pancakes so they would stop fighting about the bloody syrup.”

He finds that he’s at a loss for words. He’d heard about what happened to Hermione’s parents, what she’d been forced to do to keep them safe from Death Eaters, from people like him. The sweetness from the milk turns sour in his mouth and he feels his hands begin to tremble. Once again he’s left wondering why she would ever associate herself with him, why she would ever trust herself to be vulnerable in his presence, why she would look at him and talk to him like he isn’t scum on the bottom of her shoe.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. The words are inadequate, useless, but he continues to speak. “I’m sorry about your parents. I’m sorry you had to do that. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear this from, but I’m so sorry about everything that happened to you during the war. I’m sorry about everything I did to you, every nasty word I told you before the war. I’m sorry, Granger, I’m sorry I stood by and did nothing but watch when my demented aunt did that to you—”

“Draco, shh.” He hadn’t even realized his voice had risen and had taken on a hysterical tone before she was suddenly standing before him, his face in her hands. “It’s okay, Draco, I forgive you. I’ve forgiven you. We were children. I don’t blame you.”

“Well you should,” he says, stepping back from her reassuring touch. “I was your bully, I was a Death Eater, I let those people into Hogwarts and let them torture and kill children. I called you that word, that fucking word, for years.”

She looks like she’s ready to argue but he doesn’t let her, speaking over her attempts to placate him and tell him he’s not a monster. “I let her do this to you,” he says, grabbing her arm and pointing at the word engraved there. The letters are still an angry shade of red against her skin, framed by other tiny scars that have already faded. “You lost your family trying to hide them from us, from me. Many people hate me, Granger, but none of them should hate me more than you.”

She looks like she’s on the verge of tears and he doesn’t know which one of them is shaking harder. He thinks she might slap him, maybe wake up from whatever delusion she had the he could be someone she should be sleeping with. Whatever they had, surely she’s going to end it now that he’s talked some sense into her.

“Are you sorry?”

The words are spoken so quietly that he half believes them to be a figment of his imagination. He stares down at her, into the fire of her eyes and the set of her shoulders. Forget a slap, he thinks she might punch him.

“More than anything,” he replies.

“Then I forgive you,” she tells him, moving to wrap her arms around his waist. With her head pressed against his chest, her voice comes out muffled when she adds, “And don’t you dare presume to tell me that I shouldn’t forgive you. That’s for me to decide.”

He doesn’t doubt her words, doesn’t doubt for a second that her Gryffindor heart has forgiven him. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if she’d forgiven him before he asked for her forgiveness; it’s simply her character to be the forgiving one, to be the person to look for the good in people even when they’ve been swallowed whole by the bad. He allows himself a moment to embrace her to him, pull her body even closer to his and kiss the top of her wild hair.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t meet her gaze. “Eat your pancakes, Granger.”

She’s redressed in her old clothes and about to floo in to work. He wonders if she’s not worried about people commenting that she’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday sans the knit cap but decides to keep his mouth shut on the matter. There’s a myriad of questions in his head that he’d much rather voice but, just like the last time, he chooses to savour the last moments. He doesn’t know when he’ll see her again, but he knows last night had only been another moment of weakness on her part. She had been emotional over something and for some twisted reason he had been the one she sought comfort from.

It’s never going to happen again, he knows. A one-time fluke that just so happened to be repeated a second time, but he wouldn’t dare raise his hopes up for a third. The world simply does not work that way.

She looks like she wants to say something, her brow furrowed and her bottom lip caught in between her teeth. She looks up to meet his eyes and they just stare at each other for a few moments, her working something out in her brain and Draco just waiting for whatever it is she’s going to say.

“I never got to tell you,” she finally says.

“Tell me what?”

“I never got to tell you what happened, I said I would in the morning,” Hermione explains. There’s a hint of a smile playing at her lips but she looks nervous and he immediately regrets asking in the first place.

“It’s okay, Granger, I won’t pry into your personal business,” he says, feigning boredom. He sees a flash of trepidation in her eyes and wonders if he could fuck things up any further than he already has.

After a few terse moments, she seems to come to a decision and clenches her fists at her sides. “Would you like to talk about it over dinner?” she asks, her chin raised and her eyes staring directly into his.

He feels his mask slipping through his fingers, the surprise showing in his face and fuelling her confidence. His mind is reeling with about a dozen thoughts per second. She looks less scared and more determined, and she looks beautiful like this. She looks beautiful brandishing her Gryffindor courage. She looks beautiful in old clothes and with her hair smelling like his shampoo. She looks beautiful standing in front of his floo, standing inside his flat, she looks beautiful wearing his clothes—but she’s not his and why is she asking him out to dinner?

“Why?”

“To eat and converse, obviously,” she replies, her cheeks coloring. He thinks she looks beautiful like that too, flustered and annoyed at him. “Do you not want to, then?”

Draco decides then and there to stop trying to pretend that he would ever understand the inner workings of Hermione Granger’s head. He knows very little about her—she’s the most brilliant witch of her age, she eats her pancakes with powdered milk and takes her tea with one heaping cup of honey topped with an obscene amount of milk, and she uses about half a dozen drying charms on hair. She’s the poster girl for all Gryffindors, she’s a reluctant war heroine, she’s a healer and she probably overworks herself to near death. She’s the only girl he’s ever been in love with and she can never be his but there she is, asking him out to dinner.

“I would like to have dinner with you. When and where shall this take place?”

She giggles at his words and he decides that when she leaves his life for good (in the very near future, he knows) he would endeavour to keep the sound of her laughter playing in his head.

“Would tomorrow work for you? I have the day off,” she says, still smiling up at him. “I’ll bring takeout here.”

He realises that it’s only to be expected that they would have dinner at his place, not outside, not where people can see them and judge her for her choice in company. Whatever they are, it could never become public information, which is why he nods his head even though he doesn’t have the slightest idea as to what takeout is.

Her smile grows bigger and she also nods. She seems to hesitate for half a second before pushing on her tiptoes and kissing the corner of his mouth. The contact only lasts for a few blissful moments but it’s enough to leave him the slightest bit breathless.

“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco.”

#dramione #harry potter #hp #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fic #dramione fanfic #dramione fic #draco malfoy #hermione granger #my writing #my fanfic #smut #angst #hp angst #dramione angst

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adolanables · 4 years

Text

Flame - Part 10

Masterlist

Today was the day you had to fly back to school and Grayson hadn’t responded to any of your texts. Granted, you had only sent about three after he didn’t respond to your initial message letting him know you had landed safely. Part of you thought about reaching out to Ethan to make sure everything was okay, but you refrained. Surely Grayson would’ve told you if something was wrong and probably just wanted to take some time to himself with his family. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The break was uneventful - your family didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving as it is mainly an American holiday. Both of your parents are vegetarian and don’t see the point in stuffing yourself until you feel like you could vomit. There were a few dinners throughout the week that ended in your father telling you he was disappointed in your lack of effort in school and your mother shushing him softly. Truthfully, his words didn’t bother you all that much anymore.

The flight back to school was quick and painless, Grayson initially had told you he was picking you up, but considering you hadn’t heard from him you weren’t expecting much. The Lyft app on your phone told you your driver was three minutes away as a familiar voice broke your attention.

“Get in the car.” Grayson’s voice sounded deeper, his face certainly looked like he had aged about ten years in the last week. His glasses were gone, a scraggly beard on his chin - hair unkempt.

“Oh - hey.” Cancelling the Lyft and shoving your phone in your pocket, you tilted your head at him in confusion. “I didn’t think you’d be here-”

“I said I would pick you up, didn’t I?” He quipped, jogging towards you and gripping your suitcase before throwing it into the back seat. Ethan was nowhere to be found so you slid into the passenger seat.

“Yea, I just thought you changed your mind.” You nodded uncomfortably, feeling the tension in the air as Grayson sped back to campus.

He didn’t respond, his jaw clenched tightly as his foot was pressed to the floorboard. The thirty minute drive turned into ten and soon enough you were parking in the lot behind your dorm. As you went to let yourself out of the car, Grayson’s hand caught yours, drawing your focus up to his eyes surrounded by very dark bags.

“When were you going to tell me you fucked Ethan?”

Have you ever seen a scene in one of those movies where everything freezes except for the main character? Like the whole world stops turning for a second so that person can have a few seconds to gather their thoughts before speaking. That’s what you felt was happening as Grayson’s hand held your wrist tightly, his eyes trained on yours, pure hatred searing through you. As everything unfroze, you opened your mouth to speak, but couldn’t get out a single word.

“You have nothing to say?” He gawked, dropping your hand and sinking back into his seat. “Figures.”

It felt like he had just kicked you in the chest-. Every second you were trying to breath properly so you could get out just one word to tell him that you were at least sorry - maybe explain yourself a little bit. Nothing was happening. You felt your chest tightening as he got out of the car and slammed the door, pulling your suitcase from the back and walking around to your side. He threw the door open, reached down to unbuckle you and stood with his hands on his hips. “You have to get out so I can lock the car.”

His words were muted, but you heard him, your fingers haphazardly reaching around for your phone as you managed to pull yourself out of the seat. The concrete felt like jelly and soon your knees were connecting with the black asphalt. Grayson let out a conflicted sigh as he watched you try to gather yourself on all fours, the lights in the parking lot the only thing illuminating you having a mental breakdown. He didn’t know what to do. The angry side of him wanted to walk away and leave you to fend for yourself, but the more prominent side of him - the Grayson side - knew he couldn’t do that. So, instead, he stood there as you tried and failed to catch your breath, the rocks on the ground digging into your hands were not nearly as painful as what felt like direct stabs to your heart.

“Logan, come on.” He sighed, after nearly ten minutes of watching you have a panic attack he couldn’t take it anymore. “We have to go inside.” Seeing you weren’t responding to him, he leaned down to grip you under your armpits and force you to stand up. “Just lean on me, I’ll pull the suitcase.”

His arm wrapped around your waist sent chills down your spine because you knew this would be the last time you felt his hands on you. As he helped you upstairs to your room and unlocked your door, you were grateful you had come back a day early so Bridget didn’t have to see you like this.

“You need to lock the door when I leave, okay?” He explained, helping you sit down on the edge of your bed. Honestly, after Ethan had told him this, the rage that ran through him was other worldly. He had never been that angry at someone - at two people. After a much needed talk from his mom, she convinced him it wasn’t rational to move out of the dorms just because he was furious with Ethan. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t - so he decided to shift all that anger to you. He thought he was going to be able to rip you a new one the second you got in the car - that’s the only reason he still picked you up. He wanted thirty minutes to scream at you in private. When he pulled up and saw your messy hair and bright pink lips that you surely chewed on too much for an entire week, he faltered. When he watched you just fall apart at the seams he truly thought for a moment if perhaps he was being too harsh.

“Logan, please breathe.” He begged, a whine in his voice as the girl he was sure he was in love with two weeks ago continued to struggle to get in a full breath.

You didn’t want him to leave, but the way he stood at the door with his hand on the doorknob and pained look on his face told you he needed to go. He wasn’t going to leave you like this and you knew it, but you truly weren’t able to say anything. Instead, you held up a thumbs up and forced a soft smile, shooing him out the door with your hand. As the door clicked closed, you let out a guttural moan you had been holding in since he had parked.

Grayson made it one step away from your door before you let out your cry. He stopped in his tracks, heart racing as he used every ounce of strength in his body to keep walking.

“You good, bro?” Ethan’s voice was the first thing Grayson heard as he re-entered his own dorm room.

“Yeah.” Grayson just nodded, not really wanting to talk to his twin about what he was thinking. As much as he had promised he wasn’t mad at Ethan anymore, he couldn’t help but feel some of that lingering. Ethan had always been the popular twin - the one all the girls wanted. Grayson wasn’t surprised when he found out that Ethan couldn’t let him have you - he needed to claim everything for himself.

Ethan didn’t press his brother, knowing their relationship was still trying to recover from him being an idiot. He did want to ask how you were. There was no way you weren’t furious - or really sad - or maybe a mixture of both. He knew the two of you had planned on telling Grayson - or at least he thought that was the plan. Honestly, he probably should’ve given you a heads up that he was going to let Grayson know, but he didn’t feel like he owed you the decency. Truth be told, Ethan was insanely jealous of his brother and didn’t want to have to watch the two of you be together constantly. If he couldn’t have you, Grayson couldn’t either.

When Bridget got home Sunday evening, she was shocked to see her best friend curled up in a ball in her bed at 6 PM. You weren’t the type to spend all day in bed unless you were sick, so she assumed you were contagious with some sort of illness. “Log… you sick?”

“No.” You squeaked, after a few hours you had managed to calm down. The constant anxiety hadn’t subsided, but you could at least breathe now.

“What’s wrong…?” She pressed, slowly unpacking her suitcase from her week at Kyle’s.

Contemplating whether or not you were ready to unload everything that had happened or not, Bridget let out a sympathetic sigh and walked over. Her tiny frame soon joined you in bed, her body wrapping up next to yours - a calming feeling she always brought to your life. The two of you had been friends for years and she was the only person who could handle you and your crazy - sometimes stupid - decisions.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but whatever it is I’m here.” She assured you, her fingers brushing the unbrushed dark hair from your eyes.

With a shaky breath you started to speak. “Grayson broke up with me… it’s my fault. Ethan and I hooked up… a few times before I even knew Grayson liked me. I was too scared to tell him and Ethan never said anything either - I guess until now.” Taking in a breath and letting it out slowly. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Oh, Logan…” Bridget sighed, shaking her head softly. “I’m sure that isn’t true. Grayson is head over heels for you.”

“I know… but I really fucked up.” Picturing the rage in his eyes when he picked you up from the airport made your stomach flip again. “I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

“What about Ethan? Didn’t Ethan know he liked you?” She reasoned, her fingers still smoothing over your hair. She always knew the right things to say - you were grateful she didn’t bring up the fact that you hadn’t told her about Ethan when it had happened.

“I think so… but who would side with me over their twin brother?” Another shaky sigh and a nuzzle into your pillow later, you paused. “I guess he could be mad at him too, but he can’t just break up with Ethan like he can with me.”

“It’s a fresh wound… just give him some time and maybe things come around.” She spoke softly again, taking a second to get up and turn the lights off, switch into pajamas, and crawl back into bed with you.

“You fucked Logan?” Kyle’s voice rang through campus as he caught up with Ethan on his way to class.

“Jesus…” Ethan muttered. “Who’d you hear that from?”

“Bridget…” Kyle rolled his eyes as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Didn’t Gray like… have a massive crush on her?”

“Yea.” Gritting his teeth, Ethan glanced around before turning to Kyle. “Please stop talking about it for fucks sake. Logan is in this class, if you forgot.”

“Oh, she’s not coming.” Kyle shrugged, pushing the door to the building open as the two of them headed into the classroom.

“What do you mean?” Raising an eyebrow, Ethan slid into his regular seat as Kyle did the same. “We have like four classes left before finals.”

“Bridget said Logan can’t even get out of bed - she had to brush her teeth for her and force feed her applesauce to get her to eat something.” He sighed, letting out a puff of air. “Kinda wild, I never thought I’d see her even slightly sad.”

Honestly, Ethan didn’t even know what to say - thankfully the professor started talking before he had to answer. Kyle was right - you were such a life force that hearing you were sad threw Ethan off. He knew you cared about Grayson, but he really didn’t think you were that serious about it. To be honest, he had thought that maybe you had some sort of kink about how wimpy Grayson was - he had never thought you genuinely liked him. Either way, Ethan didn’t regret telling Grayson about what happened. It was eating him alive watching his twin fall for you knowing what he did - on top of that, he wanted you and couldn’t have you.

“Hey… Gray?” Ethan hesitated to interrupt his brother who was very clearly studying at his desk.

“Yes?” Grayson turned around, an obvious look of annoyance on his face.

“Uh…” Thinking twice on whether or not to bring it up to him, Ethan let out a sigh. “Have you… uh… heard anything from her?”

“No.” Turning back to his desk, Grayson chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Why… have you?”

“No, no - of course not.” Hands held up in defense, Ethan climbed up onto his bed. “Kyle just mentioned something because of Bridget, ya know.”

“Are you going to tell me what he said...or?”

“Uh, yeah.” Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ethan stared down at his fingers. “Kyle just said she is… um… not getting out of bed or anything? Like she isn’t going to classes or eating…” Ethan waited for Grayson to respond, when he didn’t he continued to ramble. “I just didn’t know if you wanted to know because it’s not like her to act like this… and kind of concerning because she’s Log-”

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you go check on her?” Grayson snapped, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his pen. If he was being honest, he wanted to run downstairs and hold you - assure you that everything was alright. He didn’t really know how to react - hearing you weren’t even eating was just… strange? Ethan was right, you weren’t the type to be so sad. Grayson was sure he’d never seen you actually care about anything in the nearly four months he’d known you. He wasn’t even sure you cared about him; sometimes just thinking you liked the attention - maybe he was wrong.

With a roll of his eyes and a scoff, Ethan rolled out of bed, clearly annoyed with his twin. “Ya know what, I will.” He slipped his shoes on and glanced down at a bewildered Grayson. “I know you want to and won’t… so I will - don’t worry no funny business.”

As Ethan slipped out the door, the pen in Grayson’s hand exploded - the top popping off and spring flying across the room. He wanted to tackle his brother and tell him to never look at you again, but he didn’t have the balls - if he was being honest. Maybe this way, he could hear how you were doing today - maybe you were doing better than Kyle had heard.

Taglist:// @dolan-bliss @graysavant @justordinaryjen @rainethan

#ethan dolan #grayson dolan #the dolan twins #ethan dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fanfic #the dolan twin fanfic #dolan twin fanfic #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan smut #adolanables #nerd!grayson #flmae #flame

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shadowed-ranger · 4 years

Text

Chard Headcanons?

I recently realized that FlanAAARGH didn't really put much detail on Chard, so I just used common sense, 2 brain cells, and some help from real humans to fill in the gaps. To be honest, you can picture Chard however you want. Chard with black hair with no beard? Valid! Chard with two pigtails with red hair and is shorter than Salt? Valid! Chard with rainbow galaxy hair with rainbow sparkly galaxy eyes and is taller than the castle??! YOUR VALID AND I SUPPORT YOU (I think I went overboard with that). Anyway, here you go. Keep in mind that these headcanons are just my thoughts and you don't have to honor these....thoughts.

• Chard has white hair as said in the books because he is well old (but not that old!) but I think his hair was probably originally a light shade of blonde ( IT WILL MAKE SENSE ONCE I PUT MY THEORY FOR "WHY GARATH KILLED CHARD" LATER IN THE MONTH).

• So since Crowbird has green eyes (imo) and Salt has dark brown/black eyes (also imo), I'm debating on giving Chard either blue or Gray eyes. The winner? Gray. So Chard has gray eyes and light blonde hair.

• I forgot to say this but Chard has long hair like Crowbar.

• Height? Chard is taller than Salt, Will, and Mad but shorter than Crowbird and Gilan obviously.

• I saw a post about whether Chard has a last name and if I were to answer that question I would say no, he doesn't have a last name. This is my belief: Chard is an orphan, always have been until a kind hearted ranger adopted him and made him his apprentice. That was my thought like, 2 weeks ago but now...I don't really agree with the adopting stuff. I feel like...Chard is an orphan who sometimes get food from an nice old lady who has no kin. In return, Chard took care of the old lady for 11 years until she got ill. A healer (who was probably the mentor of Malcolm) told Chard that he will have to find another way to survive. The healer also offered Chard to become his apprentice but Chard refused, for he rather not stay in the fancy cottages where healers lived (its somewhere near the castle). Anyway, once the old lady died, a short, muscular Ranger came to Chard at the funeral and asked if Chard wants to be his apprentice. Now, the Ranger has actually watched Chard grow up, from the times he helped younger kids get their kites out of trees to helping the old lady walk and carrying her groceries. All in all, Chard was a kind-hearted boy who's ready to help people in need, and that's what the Ranger liked best about the long boy. Chard agreed to be the Ranger's apprentice and the Ranger took him to his cabin after the funeral. ( I actually wrote a little bit more about Chard living in the cabin but I decided to get rid of it since it was...boring)

• Chard likes to put milk and sugar in his coffee (mum made it for me recently and it tastes really good imo).

• Chard is gay. He is probably a gay ace.

• The only reason I say he's gay because...well..Will, Salt, Gil, and Mad are bisexuals and Crowbar is the only one who is gay. Chard probably has a lot of crushes on other Ranger's apprentices when he was in his 3-4 year but he didn't know how to confess to them. ( I don't know why he is ace but Imma leave it because I like it :3)

• Hrghjgg Chard came out of the closet when he was 17 (or 18) and the Ranger supported him ( the Ranger is probably queer or aroace or pansexual or Idk, he is somewhat part of the LGBTQ+ community). Wait why did I even wrote this whole paragraph sdfhkkdha.

• GAYYYYYY

• Chard has a courier friend and a scribe friend. Don't look at me like that, I'm not going to make new names for them, you do it or something like that in your free time..

• Idk what fief Chard and the Ranger lived in, my job was to figure out basic details, not going into full depth about Chard's whereabouts.

• Ranger number...heck I have no clue but then that isn't important at all.

I will go into detail sooner or later about Chard's likes and interests but not right now. Oh and take these picrews, I eventually got annoyed when drawing Chard (because I don’t like drawing people 😅) so I decided to do some picrews based off Chard. They probably look kind of wack because some of them had more femine feature (and also I was very picky with the options) but oh well.

Picrew link: https://picrew.me/image_maker/197122 Picrew owner: https://twitter.com/spotchy_pooch

Picrew link: https://picrew.me/image_maker/296093 Picrew owner: https://twitter.com/poika_

Picrew link: https://picrew.me/image_maker/343731 Picrew owner: @citrus-captain

Picrew link: https://picrew.me/image_maker/97204 Picrew owner: @blograinyoak

#rangers apprentice #ranger's apprentice #ra #rangers apprentice pritchard #pritchard #screw flanaaargh for being mean to Chard >:(#shadow is now a researcher ^_^

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levirens · 4 years

Text

[fanfic] opiate this hazy head of mine (chapter 1 of 2)

Title is directly lifted from the lyrics of Medicine - The 1975

CHAPTER 1

la douleur exquise: the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable

August 4, 2002

He knows for certain that she’ll be leaving soon.

He knows that once those eyes open, she’ll realize what a colossal mistake it had been to sleep with him, then she’ll be gone from his life.

Forever.

He has never been this close, despite the many cruel efforts on his parts to be physically near her.

The taunting.

The dirty looks.

The insults thrown at her face, right at her face, allowing him just a moment to be that close to her face.

Tomorrow she’ll be gone, but for now he allows himself to live in the reverie that she is his.

“Draco, are you awake?”

His eyes snap open at the voice and he imagines that his body visibly stiffens.

“Do you mind if I use your kitchen to make breakfast?”

She had said his name. His given name.

“Here, I’ll give you your shirt back," she replies, ignoring his declaration.

Maybe then her scent would be permanently engraved into the fabric.

Little triumphs.

“Do you have powdered milk?”

“No. Why?”

To have her.

February 11, 2000

Draco grits his teeth, mentally listing off a number of hexes that he could fire at the beady-eyed wizard sitting in front of him.

Draco feels a muscle twitch somewhere on his jaw. “And why exactly would such a thing be necessary in the first place, if I may ask?”

“When?” he asks, feeling the last dredges of his pride slipping away from his grasp.

“Mr. Malfoy, you’ve been diagnosed with major depressive disorder. Here’s a prescription for anti-depressant pills that you are to take if I’m to clear you for work at the ministry.”

“Mr. Malfoy, you have suicidal tendencies—”

“Harry Potter has suicidal tendencies, did you also diagnose him with depression?”

Draco raises his eyebrow at this, finding that the comment made him like his healer infinitesimally better than before. “I’m not depressed.”

“Enough.”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

Scared.

Don’t know how to buy these.

Don’t know where to go to get these.

Not depressed.

Can’t be depressed.

“This is the address of a pharmacy I frequent. You may think of it as a muggle apothecary of sorts. Just hand your prescription over and make sure you have muggle money on you.”

Draco takes it, hating the trembling of his fingers as he fights the urge to crush both pieces of paper in his fists.

“Come back with the filled prescription and I’ll give you your medical clearance. Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy.”

Now he thinks the healer would have listed off sporadic episodes of panic attacks if he hadn’t interrupted her.

“Malfoy?”

Fuck.

Of course he knows she works here; he had almost worked himself up into an early panic attack worrying that she would be assigned his healer.

“Malfoy, are you—” she cuts herself off, eyes narrowing at him. “Are you okay?”

He manages a smirk and a slight inclination of his head. “Never better. Goodbye, Granger.”

“What?” is the indignant cry. He’s already stepping into the floo and tossing down a handful of the powder when she calls to him. “Malfoy, wait—”

He doesn’t deserve her concern.

August 8, 2002

In the back of his mind, he suspects that it might be his heart aching at the sight of her tears.

“Can I come in?” she asks, uselessly wiping at tears that are only followed by others. She all but collapses into his arms when he moves to pull her into the flat.

Why?

“Please.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, Draco,” she says, turning to him as he moves to sit net to her. “For all of this.”

“Goodnight, Draco.”

“I thought you just wanted to sleep?” he asks, voice thick with sleep and dick already half hard in his trousers. “Granger.”

“Draco,” she responds, her own voice just the right amount of rough. Her hands move down to work on the buttons of his shirt and he finally gathers enough sense to still her movements.

“Why do I feel as if you’re under the impression that I don’t want you?” he asks, tugging on her shoulder to make her lie on her back and face him again.

“Because I am,” she responds right away. The next part comes a few seconds later, in a much quieter voice. “Because you don’t.”

“It’s been days but I can still feel you inside me.”

“Take what you want from me, Hermione. Take what you need.”

“Your cunt feels amazing,” he replies when she tells him how good he feels inside her. “You feel so goddamn good, Hermione.”

“Harder, Draco, please,” she mewls, fingers clawing down his back and leaving even more marks for him to keep. “Please, please, I’m going to come again.”

“Sleep, let’s give it another go when we wake up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He only nods, moving to gather his clothes from the floor. He finds his trousers first and slips them on, facing away from her.

“Not yet,” she amends, as if she had somehow known her response had hurt him. “In the morning, I will.”

“Come back,” she says, delicate hand patting the empty spot beside her on the bed. “It’s far too early to get ready for work, isn’t it?”

“I’ll make you breakfast later. Get some more sleep.”

He’s finally going to put that tin of powdered milk to use.

“Is that… did you get me powdered milk?”

“Yes.”

She stares at him, mouth hanging slightly ajar, and he braces himself for the questions to come. “I have so many questions about that, but I must admit I’m more hungry than curious.”

The milk is too sweet and it dries out the edges of the pancake. He tries to hide his grimace by drinking from his tea but she catches it and openly laughs at his reaction.

“Are you sorry?”

“More than anything,” he replies.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t meet her gaze. “Eat your pancakes, Granger.”

“I never got to tell you,” she finally says.

“Tell me what?”

“Why?”

“To eat and converse, obviously,” she replies, her cheeks coloring. He thinks she looks beautiful like that too, flustered and annoyed at him. “Do you not want to, then?”

“I would like to have dinner with you. When and where shall this take place?”

She giggles at his words and he decides that when she leaves his life for good (in the very near future, he knows) he would endeavour to keep the sound of her laughter playing in his head.

“Would tomorrow work for you? I have the day off,” she says, still smiling up at him. “I’ll bring takeout here.”

“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco.”

#dramione #harry potter #harry potter fics #fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fic #dramione fanfic #dramione fic #draco malfoy #hermione granger #smut #angst #romance #my writing #my fanfic #dramione angst #hp angst

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hardyimagines · 5 years

Text

A Friend

Drabble!

———

It was a particularly cold night in April. The sun was long gone and the grass was coated in a thin layer of moisture from the sprinkles of rain that had fallen earlier in the day. People strolled through the fog unbothered. Men wore tophats and women cradled umbrellas as they walked arm in arm along the pavement. All day long, that was the view. Couples going for strolls, sharing sweet kisses, cradling one another delicately. You were forced to lounge on the wooden swing that sat three people.

The coat your wore was black and large. The material fell down to the backs of your calves. It was heavy, so it kept you warm. Beside you, your boyfriend, Evan, sat. His green eyes trailed along the romantically involved humans and anytime he watched one of them kiss, it reminded him to show you some affection — especially in his drunken state. Today, the pair of you had gone over to one of his long-term friend’s houses. Alfie Solomons. There was a leak back at your own home, a toxic one that was sure to make one or both of you deathly ill. Alfie had been very kind in offering you both the guest bedroom. Shivering visibly beneath the wind that whipped around the three of you, you casted a sideway glance toward the men to see if either of them looked as cold as you did. They didn’t.

Alfie was sat at the far end of the bench. His legs were spread wide, boots shuffling quietly, but audibly against the floorboards. His dog, Cyril, was sat between his legs on the floor, tongue flapping out of his mouth as he panted happily. Alfie moved his hand along the pup’s head, lazily caressing his warm fur with the hand that didn’t cradle his cigar. He looked toward you when he felt your gaze lingering, but he didn’t say anything because he didn’t want Evan getting all riled up over eye contact. Your eyes dropped to your feet, gaze glued to the socks that embraced your cold toes.

“Alright, boys. I think I’m going to go lay down, mh? It’s freezing.” Your fingertips curled around the chain on the seat to lug yourself up, but as soon as you did, Evan gripped your arm and drew you back down. Alfie straightened at the agression in the touch. His foot nudged the bottle of alcohol beneath the seat, guiding it away from the man. If he was going to behave in such a hostile manner so early on, he wasn’t getting anymore liquor.

“Where’s my kiss?” He slurred out. His breath made you feel like you’d just walked into Alfie’s workplace. Despite his strong stench and alcohol-laced breath, you gave him a quick, soft kiss to silence him and ease his grip. You just wanted to climb into bed and get away from the drunken man. He was always rough with you when his head started getting foggy. The chair began to swing beneath the constant movements, so Alfie dug his heels into the floor more securely to stop the movements. His hand moved to Evan’s arm.

“Ease up, mate. Let her go to bed.” Alfie’s eyes flickered up to your own. “Lay on the sofa, yeah, it’s fucking cold upstairs, right, so you don’t wanna be up there, pet, all on your own.” Behind his blue eyes, you saw a protective tint glazed over his orbs. Studying him momentarily, you offered a short nod of thanks before prying yourself out of your boyfriend’s secure grip. Gripping the thin blanket that now laid on the floor due to your standing, you hoisted the cloth up and wrapped it around your shoulders. Stepping around your boyfriends knees, your palm lowered in order to graze Cyril’s head. The tips of your fingers skimmed Alfie’s, already planted on the pup. The touch was hardly visible, but Alfie had felt the warmth from your hand seeping into his own. He watched you go, blue eyes twinkling beneath the moon’s glow. When you vanished inside, swallowed by the warmth that Alfie’s home offered, your worn body wasted no time at all before collapsing on to the cushions. Alfie looked toward Evan, studying the way that the bloke gazed out at the city and its people.

Evan tipped his head back and let a heavy sigh leave his lips. His palms pressed to his knees, sinking into them momentarily before he stood on shaky legs. “Need to piss.” He uttered gruffly to the man at his side. “Won’t be long, but I know the lass’ll be ready for sleep soon, so I can’t stay out much later.” Alfie couldn’t tell if the man was honestly concerned about how tired you were or if he was just trying to get you alone. Either way, he tongued his cheek and offered a response.

“She can sleep on the sofa, mate. Not a fucking problem, right, you can have the bed for the night. She, yeah, is probably passed out and there’s no sense in waking her.” His eyes didn’t meet his friend’s, they merely remained on the fog that floated by. He stood alongside the man, fingers hooking around the neck of the bottle as he clicked his tongue and ushered for the pup to go inside. He piled in afterward and Evan was right behind him.

“She can’t sleep alone.” He uttered hoarsely, a harsh whisper drowning in disappointment. “She gets horrid nightmares. Most annoying thing, really, but..” Evan shrugged his shoulders before lowering his voice when the pair of them passed by the sofa. He didn’t want you to overhear them. Majority of the time he did get annoyed, but he wouldn’t leave you. One, you were younger, so that was nice. Two, you were good in bed, very willing to do whatever he asked. Three, at this point.. he didn’t know if he truly cared for you and needed you or if he just didn’t want anybody else to have you. He figured it was the latter as he made his way toward the kitchen. He pondered ending things, but he didn’t want to see you happy with someone else, and why leave such an easy girl. He’d wait until he met someone new.

Alfie pointed toward the door in the corner. It was propped open, dark inside because it wasn’t in use. Evan smirked before shooting a wink of thanks at Alfie’s reminder before he moved into the bathroom. Alfie licked his lips before dumping the beer in his hand into the sink. He rubbed his hands off on his shirt before slipping out of the kitchen and moving into the main room. “Y/N?” He spoke quietly, so softly because he didn’t want to wake you. Your hum of response was just a soft, a shy response. You lifted your head from the cushion and peered at the man in the doorway. Sleepily rubbing your eyes, you waited patiently for him to speak again. “You’re alright, yeah? Don’t need anything?” He squinted. “I mean.. you know, right. Hes fucking drunk, pet, and I’ve seen how he gets..” There was a brief pause. A gap of silence so he could give you the chance to speak up but you remained quiet. “What I’m saying, yeah, is you can have my fucking room if you need it for tonight.. I can take the sofa.” You shifted slowly, brows drawing together evidently. Sitting up further so you could see Alfie completely, your arms crossed over your chest.

“You’re not serious?” You let out a soft giggle. “Alfie, Evan would never let me sleep on my own. I’ve tried. I need space from him sometimes, but he’s so persistent. I’m hoping he’ll think I’m asleep and just leave me in here, but.. it’s doubtful.” You mumbled, lazily playing with the loose, fuzzy pieces that were attached to the blanket laid over your lap.

Alfie was quiet for a long while, face scrunched up in an intent listening face and then it morphed into one of consideration. He twisted around at the sound of the toilet flushing. “Lay down.” He uttered gruffly, quickly, almost too softly. You obeyed as he vanished from the room and re-took his place by the counter in the kitchen. The bearded man moved to the fridge and tugged the heavy thing open. Busying himself with rummaging through the contents pointlessly, he gripped bottle after bottle and container after container to give off the impression that he was looking for something to eat or drink — he was really just trying to hide the fact that he was trying to stick around and make sure Evan left you alone for a while.

The door opened and Evan made his way back into the room. His hand was jammed down the front of his trousers as he stuffed his shirt back into the waistband, tucking it in once more. Alfie licked his lips slowly before lifting his fingers to his facial hair so he could tug at the strands lazily.

“Right, mate, you’re off to bed then, yeah?” He looked briefly toward the porch. “Not much else to look at tonight, street lights don’t do their fucking job around these parts.” He chortled before laying his hand on the bloke’s shoulder. Evan had always been such a good pal of Alfie’s, but he didn’t know how to treat a woman. It made Alfie sick to see the different person that the alcoholic became under the influence, but there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. He was addicted to the foggy feeling and addicted to the confidence and power it brought along with it.

“Yeah, just gonna grab the girl and head up to bed.” He shuffled his feet, narrowing his eyes toward the sole of his shoe when it gripped the floor beneath him. He cringed, angling his foot so he could see the underside and inspect what sticky substance had attached itself to his boot.

“Mate, I just checked on her. Like I said, she’s out like a light. Doesn’t take too much time at all, yeah, when you go from sitting outside in that cold fucking air to lying under a warm blanket.” Alfie let out a breath of amusement. “I’ve fallen asleep too many fucking times to count on that sofa, yeah, it’s comfortable, she’s alright.” He ushered toward the steps. “I’ll be up a while longer, if she has a nightmare, I’ll send her your way. Promise.” The crossed fingers at Alfie’s hip went by unnoticed by his mate.

Evan wasn’t in the mood for disagreeing. Truth be told, he felt rather drained as well so he didn’t bother trying to fight Alfie about where you slept. It was one night. Evan undid the fastenings on his shirt before waving over his shoulder in order to bid his mate goodnight. The wave was half-hearted, drunk, lazy. He vanished from the room and passed directly by the couch without so much as a glance in your direction.

The hollow sound of his footsteps filled the house as he climbed the stairs. His movements were sluggish, loud, and accompanied by his unnecessary grunts of exhaustion. Alfie waited until he heard the sound of the upstairs door to slam shut before he made his way back out on to the porch so he could clean up the empty glass bottles and straighten up the kitchen.

You rolled around momentarily on the sofa, watching as Alfie crossed through the living room at least three times. He seemed to think you’d actually gone to sleep because everytime he opened the screen door, he’d grimace if it creaked. You slowly lifted yourself up, blanket locked around your shoulders as you made your way into the kitchen.

“Alfie?” Your soft voice held its quiet volume so you didn’t startle the man. He tensed in the slightest, but apart from that, there was no evidence of frightening him. Alfie looked over his shoulder toward you before lifting a slow brow. He studied you, blue eyes roaming your features at you came to a stop by the table. “Whatre you doing?”

“Being loud, evidently.” He folded his broad arms over his chest, muscles rippling beneath the white shirt he wore. “Did I wake you?”

Your lips rugged upwards in the slightest. “No.. I was pretending to be asleep, remember?” You fixed the blanket that was locked around you, dragging it around your shoulders more securely before you lowered yourself down into a seated position at the square-shaped table. The wood was smooth beneath your fingertips. “What are you still doing up?” Alfie smiled at your want to continue a conversation. You really could’ve gone to sleep.

“Not much of a good night’s sleep kind of bloke, pet, I toss and turn all night and don’t fall asleep till it’s time for me to get up and head to work. Fucking exhausting, it is.” He grumbled. His footsteps shook the table as he approached, large hand curling around one of the chairs so he could drag it out and lower himself down on the thing.

“Well, I’ll keep you company until I fall asleep.” You offered softly. “Feel like I can’t talk to you much when Evan’s awake. He gets jealous when I even look at you.” Your eyes dropped to your fingers, staring at them as you lazily rubbed your digits together, distracting yourself from ogling the man across from you.

“That’s every bloke though, innit. He’s just a sore fucking sport, right.” He murmured. His elbow planted down firmly on the table, palm pressing against his cheek firmly as he inspected you.

“No, I think you’re threatening to him. He only ever acts defensive and possessive around you.. drunk Evan, that’s the ‘constantly tugging and shoving’ man that’s jealous of anything that moves.” You laid your arms out on the table, folding them as you laid your head down. “It’s so tiring. I don’t know how much more of this relationship I can take. He didn’t use to be like this.” Alfie let out a low grumble, a sound of distaste. He didn’t know how to advise you — and he didn’t know what the right thing to suggest to do would be. He adjusted the chain that embraced his neck before lowering his hands to his spectacles so he could fiddle with the glasses.

“Pet,” He let out a hoarse grunt before licking his lips and laying his hands out flat on the table. “You, right, are a very beautiful girl, yeah, you are.” He shifted in his seat. “You don’t have to waste time with a bloke that isn’t treating you right, now do you?” His blue eyes scanned your features when your lifted your head to study him. “No, you don’t. Right, if you’re unhappy, then he’s just shit out of luck. He’s done something wrong then, hasn’t he, right, if you’re feeling a bit unsatisfied.”

The man slumped back in the chair before setting his hands on his stomach and stretching so his lungs expanded. Neither of you knew what to say then, so instead you looked at the table, counting the stains that seemed permanently engraved in the surface.

“It’s hard..” You finally spoke after what seemed like ages and ages of silence. “how can someone mean so much to you and then all of a sudden.. they’re just someone you don’t know anymore.” You looked to the ceiling. “I’d leave him if I didn’t think he’d throw a fit. He’d come after me, Alfie, you and I both know that.”

The man rose from his seat then. He stepped around the table and made his way over to the cabinet so he could pull out a bottle of rum. It was the last thing he had at the house and he figured it was better than nothing.

“Right, I won’t lie to you, now, Y/n, I’m not good at all this relationship stuff, am I. I’m never in one, so I clearly have no idea what I’m talking about, pet, but all I can say is that if you’re not fucking happy, you shouldn’t fucking be with someone.” He set the bottle down in the center of the table. “I noticed you don’t ever drink around him, pet, but if you want something to calm you, you can have some of this.” You studied the tall, brown bottle, ears twitching at the sound of the liquid sloshing around inside. “And, pet,” Your eyes lifted back to his. “I’d never fucking let him hurt you.” His words were soft, almost inaudible. You could’ve very well conjured up any sort of sentence when he spoke. You didn’t think you’d heard him right so instead of responding, you sent him a slow smile.

He twisted the lid off the bottle before lowering himself back down and into the chair. “Do you want me to pour you a glass?” He offered quietly.

You drew your bottom lip in before letting out a quiet sigh. “I don’t know.” You told him shakily. “Alcohol and I, we don’t get along.” You pulled your lips in for a second before releasing them with a soft pop. “I think I’m going to go lay down..” You whispered before standing slowly. He ogled you, lid making its way back on to the top of the bottle that resided on the table still. You stepped around the table, small hand finding his large shoulder. “But I do have a question.”

He let out a soft hum, an alert sound which urged you to continue.

“If I were to ever leave Evan,” Alfie held his breath. “would you still invite me around to see you?” Your question wasn’t necessary for he was positive that you knew the answer. His eyes held a charming tint to them as he bobbed his head.

“I consider you just as much a mate of mine, if not more so, as he is.” Alfie’s eyes moved between your colored orbs. The stars outside were nothing in comparison to yours. You leaned in, small hand brushing from his shoulder up to the base of his neck. He held his breath, cheek already tingling before you pressed your lips against his warm skin. His lips curved upwards fully, remaining like that before he shut his eyes and turned his head to face your own. The space between the pair of you was nonexistent and he swore your mouth had touched his own. You didn’t pull back, you stayed like that, brows creased and lips hovering. You wanted to kiss him, there was no question there, but what it would do to your relationship if you did was what made you hesitate.

Alfie tilted his head, effectively eliminating some more of the space. Your lips were practically touching, a hair of a kiss.

“You deserve the world, Mr. Solomons.” You whispered breathily. “Don’t stop until you find someone willing to give it to you.” Alfie’s eyes drooped in the slightest. He should’ve been the one saying that to you. He wanted to whisper out that he very well thought that you could fill that position, but flirting with a girl who’d just confided in him — and told him she was pondering dumping his mate, well it didn’t seem right.

But was kissing her okay?

He couldn’t stop you even if he’d wanted to. The pair of you were just teasing one another. The second you’d kissed his cheek, you’d both known a kiss on the lips was inevitable. All alone in a dark kitchen with nothing but a bottle of liquor and the moonlight. The topic of the night was an alcoholic boyfriend and who better to soothe you than the big gangster who said boyfriend was worried about you falling for. Your lips grazed his hesitantly, a touch that neither you, nor he, could’ve imagined feeling so good. Neither of you placed your hands on the other. You were leant against the table and he had his hands a few inches from your own. The kiss was delicate, lazy, a graze that turned into a very agonizingly slow liplock. You’d felt his tongue, curious to know what yours tasted like, but before he could venture too far, you broke the physical contact and distanced from him.

“Goodnight, Mr. Solomons.” Your voice floated throughout the room. Your tone teased him, it told him that you had every intention of furthering the actions that had just taken place. When, he didn’t know. He watched the swish of the blanket you held on your shoulders as you vanished from the room, leaving him to bask alone in the silence. He shut his eyes and let out a breathy sigh. The twinge in his heart told him that he yearned for more of your sweet-tasting lips, stained and imprinted in the front of his mind now — but he told himself that wasnt smart. You were taken, for how long he didn’t know, but you weren’t single. And you most certainly weren’t his. Not yet, anyway. He swallowed down the urge to follow after you and instead whispered a lonely goodnight to the empty kitchen he was left in.

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Tagged: @peakblogbecauseimweak @bsotstory @mollybegger-blog @morphoportis @ghost-of-student-sufferings @drippydownes2002 @ellar21 @sovereigngoth @willowick13 @xxxxxeroxxxxx @wheresthewater @anrm1 @pansexualginger @marvelgirl7 @evilspretty-dead @heyitscam99 @wow-he-cute @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @sparklyreaderx @emerald-bijou @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @goodiesintheclosetlove @giftofdreams @ihclipse @meer0rauschen @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @jamierdr @favouritereadings @badmaax @thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere @uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @matoki-darkpanda @bignastyfan-nz @97freaknik @hot-and-spiceyyy @shane-isa-shame @chimthighz @azayamari @baliadelcuore @lonewolf471 @crldrr @keeleyella

#tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

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secretsniper2 · 3 years

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Part 4: New Life

You wake after a rough night, tear stained cheeks, your mouth dry and your body aching, blinding back tears you look down your body and see nothing, the contacts doing their job, you can barely see your own breasts. A loud slam as the door at the top of the stairs opens and closes, footsteps as he approaches and stopping at your bed, “awake already cunt? your too eager for the fucking!” blinking back more tears as the blurry figure standing over you grabs your breast and squeezes hard drawing a sharp gasp from your dry lips, his other hand brushing against your delicate nether lips and parts them easily, dragging fingers up your labia forcing moans to burst out your mouth now. Pushing deep a finger plunges into your pussy and moves around inside you, stirring up your insides as if he is looking for something that isn't there

Thrusting harder and harder your hips push up as he finger fucks your pussy, seemingly going deeper with each thrust. “what a needy cunt you have! would you like to cum? would you like this metal shield to come off?” Screaming out at that last part “YES PLEASE!!!” throat almost breaking, your so thirsty, “PLEASE LET ME CUU-!” you break off as your throat gives out as the man flicks the shield sealing your clit away, sending ripples through your entire body as your clit receives some desperate stimulation for the 1st time in what seems like a lifetime. “ill leave it on for now, if your a good slave i may remove it for the night” he says with a smile as he begins to mount your body once again, intent on pumping you full so he has reason to clean you out later.

Cock lining up with your pussy he pushes in hard, lips parting around his member he goes straight to your womb, your head flies back into the mattress as your arousal and mind both soar into the clouds! fucking vigorously as the bed squeaks beneath you both as his cock pulls out and thrusts back in over and over again, your blinking back tears as your teeth seize your lower lip as your pleasure reaches newer heights with no end in sight, the source of your release locked behind a shield and out of sight.

Finally cumming inside your womb the man pulls out of you and stands up at your side, seemingly looking down on his pathetic piece of fuck meat. “ill give you a favour, slave.. “ he says as your face is seized and your eyes forced open. you can see his blurry fingers get closer and peel away the contacts that made seeing impossible from your eyes. Blinking madly your eyes adjust to being useful once again and you look up at the man. Hes tall, long black hair and a beard, his shirt is open revealing a hairy chest with a still hard cock between his legs. Turning away your given a chance to survey your new room, its horrible! a chair sits alone in a corner with a chain dangling from the ceiling and a horribly painful looking dildo sitting on top. Multiple shackles nailed to 1 wall at various distances and heights, likely meant for wrists and ankles, there are nails holding more shackles a foot further across. Various other devices lay around your room, likely inspired from medieval times, a rack and a random barrel surrounded by anchor points, a Sybian which scares you, you tried 1 once and you came hard and it wasn't even on half power, a series of stocks ranging from different sizes with bigger and smaller holes..

The man returns with a trolley, too high for you to see what's on it as he wheels it to your bedside, you know that there's nothing on that trolley that your going to enjoy.. Seemingly on cue the man takes 2 clamps and a series of wires from the table and rests them between your supple breasts, taking a clamp and lowering it on your nipple, he looks into your eyes as you whimper in fear as he releases the clamp and it slams down on your hard nipple, biting deep forcing tears to swell up in your eyes. Blinking as the tears run down your cheeks your greeted with the other clamp held over your other nipple, already knowing how it ends you look into his eyes as he releases it, slamming it down on your nipple and wrenching more tears from your eyes.

Pulling the wire from your cleavage he attaches 1 wire to 1 clamp then the remaining wire to the other clamp and trails the wires up to the trolley top. You hear him push the wires into something but your certain its a electrical device that your going to hate. Shaking your head in frustration your eyes catch something hanging on the wall facing you, its a digital clock, large red numbers showing 09:15 illuminate the surrounding wall in the darkness, at least you will know what time it is as your tortured and raped. Lifting the control box from the trolley its placed on your stomach making it difficult to see as your wired tits are blocking your view.

“lets start with number 3.” you hear him mumble as your nipples begin to tingle with the current being forced from 1 nipple to the other. “number 5? he says and as he pushes the button “ahhh!” it hurt, not not as bad as it will if that was only 5, 5 out of what? “number 9? he says, through your cleavage you can see the button he presses, his thumb hovering over it, looking up a bit you lock eyes with him, with a smile on his face, his thumb drops! “AHHH HA HA! FUCK!” you scream, he held the button down a good 10 seconds, clearly enjoying the setting your on, or perhaps your at max power he pushes again drawing more cries of pain from you, Head launching side on your eyes search for the clock on the wall as he continues pressing that red button, “09:25?.. fuck.

Your nipple torture seems to have lit a light in the mans head, as he pulls the wires free of the clamps and walks away, only to return holding a piercing gun.. Removing your nipple clamps your nipples are lined up and the gun is loaded, a quick shooting pain signals your nipple has a fresh hole that's already filled. Looking down you see a metal bar protruding from your left nipple, you stare in fear as your right nipple is lined up to be pierced, and moments later it looks the same as your left. fresh pain flooding your breasts as blood trickles out of your freshly punctured nipples, cleaned up by the sadistic man, but you wonder why he pierced your nipples so suddenly..

Seeing more wires be placed on your chest your eyes widen as you realize the piercings purpose.. wrapping 2 wires per piercing at each end of the bar your nipples will be filled with their own hellish currents! As his thumb lands on the button you feel a dull current pass through the bar and into your sore nipples, “number 3? he says. Cranking it higher you hear him say “number 7? and you nipples flood with power that makes you moan out loud, it hurts but it also feels good, but you know he isn't planning on making YOU feel good. your confirmed as he says “number 10? and as he pushes the button you scream out in pain as your nipples begin to course with electricity, too strong to be pleasurable!

“number 13..” he says and your eyes shoot down to meet his gaze, as he hits the button your head launches back once again as your lungs draw in air and you scream “FUUUUUUUCKKK!! STOP PLEASE!!” and he does, only to press it for a second to make you scream for that second, making him laugh you hear 2 more clicks and a “number 15? and once again your button is pressed. Higher number but not that big a leap, your ready for most of the pain but not all, your mouth tears open again as you scream out “NO MORE PLEASE!!” and after a hellish 8 seconds he stops. your head falls to the side and your eyes lock to the clock, 09:58.. worst morning ever..

“Number 20? and it just got worse! eyes tearing off the clock and visually stabbing the man in his eyes you can only meet him for a heartbeat then the button is pressed and your eyes shoot into your own head, “AHHHHH FUUUUUUUUCK NOOOOOOO!! you shriek! your back arching painfully as your body does everything it can to fight the pain and free your nipples, but bound as tight as you are your efforts are reduced to a pathetic jerking motion.

Clearly having fun with your poor nipples he continues to press a number 20 on your body, holding you in that hellish place for ages, or so it seems. Shaking eyes roll down to find the clock and your shrieking only grows as you see the time.. 10:01.. its only been 3 minutes and it feels like hours.. Tears flood down your cheeks as you look back at the source of your hell, smile still plastered on his face as he pushes the button again, pulling more screams from your mouth! Your eyes still locked on his own you beg and beg with all your might hoping that it'll sway him so he will stop tormenting your nipples. and after 1 final minute long press of the button, the wires are removed from your freshly pierced and throbbing nipples..

Returning to the trolley the man picks up a rather large dildo and pushes the head of it against your tight ass, you clench in denial but there's little your ass can do to stop him with your legs bound wide open, soon enough he fills your ass painfully with a solid cock, pushing it deeper inside you and finally letting it rest in your already sore ass. A long, thin, ribbed vibrator is pulled off the trolley and with a smile he sits between your spread legs. you expect him to insert the uselessly small toy in your wet pussy but you jump as its your urethra that gets the tip.. ”OH GOD NO NOT THERE PLEASE!!” you scream! no longer seeming too small, its turned into a monster that will tear you apart on entry! dipping it inside your pussy to lubricate the toy its then pushed slowly inside your pee hole.

Pushing harder and harder the vibrator slides painfully inside you, stretching you wide around the monster toy you can feel every bump along its surface as it continues its penetration, at last you feel it reach the end, his thumb brushing against your pussy, you now have the entire length inside your urethra. Hearing a light click your rewarded with a strong buzz in a place you have never considered being stimulated, its strong and easily takes your mind off the pain, your hips begin thrusting dully as the man pushes his still hard cock back into your pussy. eye zipping to the clock 10:30..

Fucking hard inside your pussy like a madman you hear him grunting into your ear “fucking hell cunt, i can feel the buzzing from in here! must make you feel good!” he isn't wrong.. your pussy is gushing from the stimulation, its incredible your only sad it isn't making you cum, each time the man slams into your pussy your shield takes the blow, protecting your desperate cum button from being hit! Dumping another load inside your pussy you reel from the stimulation, legs pulling uselessly against the bindings that pin you to your bed, you have never wanted to cum this badly in a long time, though you have never intentionally kept yourself on the edge of release for days on end before.. “please let me cum..” you cry out through a flood of tears “i cant take it anymore..”

Feeling the shield blocking your clit get pulled away you moan loudly, the air hitting your little bud you look at the man expecting him to pinch or twist your clit to make you cum through pain, but as he holds up the piercing gun your eyes almost shoot out of their sockets “NO PLEASE NOT THERE!! NOT MY CLIT PLEASE!!!” you scream! not interested in your complaints or begging he plants himself back between your wide open thighs and leans in close to your helpless clit, you can feel his hot breath blowing against your little nub as tears stream down your face in fear of what's to come..

Nuzzling your swelling clit with the tip of the gun you hear him whisper “lets see if you can cum from this..” and as you look down between your breasts at the man you hear a loud *clunk* and a stabbing pain, your clit now has a friend, and your mind is screaming! Breaking into tears over the pain, your clit throbbing with a mix of unending arousal and a flood of pain, your ass and urethra still buzzing wildly serving as a minor distraction to the pain, then you see a piece of metal in his hands with some weird things inside it, he brings it closer for you to see.

“its your new shield, ill put it on you later” he says with a grin, “oh fuck no…” you whisper, its got 2 hooks, likely to attach to your new piercing at the sides, the centre is covered in tiny rubber spikes, they are all going to land right against the tip of your clit, and every move you make is going to drawn them back and forth across your sensitive button, its going to feel incredible but if your forced to walk around alot, you wont be able to stop cumming no matter how tired you get.. Placing your new shield at the foot of the bed, likely so to not misplace it, your pussy is invaded by another dildo, large and ribbed “for your pleasure” he says with a laugh, pushing it deep into your womb he clicks it to life, now all 3 of your holes are filled with buzzing toys, and you cant cum..

Grabbing something new from the table he closes in on your face, most likely to use whatever it is on you. not wanting to go blind again you slam your eyes shut to keep the contacts out, only to have your jaw grabbed and pulled open and a ring inserted behind your teeth, pulling it up your mouth opens wider and wider until its physically impossible to open your mouth any further. Your tongue pushes against the ring only to find its lodged in place, its not going to budge, with your mouth now free for use your chest is straddled and his cock pushes once again inside your mouth and down your throat, with the stimulation your receiving your forced to moan onto his cock as he puts 2 loads of cum down your throat as he holds your head close with each shot.

Taking his cock out your head drops to the side, 11:20, time flies when your getting fucked. “i got some errands to run and a few things to pick up so ill leave you with something to do!” he says as he unlocks your feet and your wrists, locking your hands in front of you. Pulling you off the bed by your hands your led around a corner and taken to a iron horse.. the wedge on the top looks both dull and sharp at the same time. your wrists are chained over your head and the chain pulls you closer to the horse, he lifts you up and your pussy rests on the iron wedge at the top, your lips parting and your clit almost slicing into the wedge. Crying out in pain you know that begging gets you nowhere, even so your mouth gets a ballgag to go with the ring holding your mouth open. The man bends under the horse and attaches something to your ankle, then your other ankle, pulling your legs up you find it was a spreader bar, though your legs are already spread it now serves to keep you seated. another clock is in front of you 11:25 on the front, you notice it has 4 screws in the front, at 12,3,6 and 9, each with wires leading to the horse, the long hand on the clock has a wire of its own, with a piece of metal at its tip. “every 15 minutes your going to get a treat. don't cum too hard you desperate cunt!” as he watches the clock in front of you. tick tick tick tick you watch in horror as the hand gets closer and closer until 11:30..

Your pussy and ass course with high voltage as your shriek through the gag, tears rush down your face as your mind races with sensations of pure pain and pleasure! but no orgasm! the pain keeps her denied now! a moment of sensations then 15 hellish minutes of anticipation. “ill be back in a few hours!” he says drawing another scream from your lips. Hearing him walk upstairs and slamming the door and the faint sound of the bookshelf sliding over the doorway, your isolated and in a lot of trouble. Eyes locking to the clock, its already 11:43! you moan and scream but its no use and you know it. tick tick tick goes the close till inevitably your body is assaulted with more electricity! your captor just left and you can barely take anymore!!

Your eyes glance back to the clock 01:28. you brace for another round of hell when you hear something! the door opens and closes and footsteps as he walks down the stairs! Just as his foot lands on the ground 01:30 and your body convulses and you scream in pain as he laughs! “fuck! nice timing huh cunt! so did you cum or not?!” he said as he walks over to your shaking body. “i asked you a question slave, did you cum?!” “MNNN!” is all you can manage but it gets the point across, you couldn't cum once.. Switching off the device your taken over to another device and strapped down, a long dildo pushes effortlessly into your pussy, ass and urethra as you groan out loud, still delirious from the previous torture. mentally gathering yourself you look at your new torture tool.

Eyes shooting open you realize you just got strapped onto a Sybian.. your going to cum hard on this, and the man isn't likely to keep you on ¼ power! so you'll keep cumming till you faint! trying desperately to get off the device your completely restrained on its evil seat! locking your arms behind your back your shown the remote to your new seat. Clicking it to life your rewarded with a soft hum as it roars to life, watching the remote as your captor rotates the dial to half way in a single go you cum instantly! and again and again! constantly orgasming your head launches back as you scream into your gag!

Pulling your head by the hair back to face the control you watch as he ramps you up again to ¾ power and your body convulses harder than it did on the horse! constant streams of cum leak out of your pussy as your orgasms have combined into 1 constant orgasm, no end in sight, the only thing in sight is the controls as he maxes the sybian out, your orgasms now coming every single second! blinking tears out of your eyes you begin to see spots in your vision, each orgasm adds a new dot to slowly block your vision. It isn't long until the pleasure has rendered your eyes useless due to the dots and you black out finally!

Waking up rebound to your bed, pussy still shaking from the orgasmic onslaught your eyes slowly turn to the clock on the wall, 05:47, your glad you blacked out from that, you know you would have gone insane from the orgasms if you were awake. Hearing something in your head you find you have earbuds in your ears, and something holding them in place, its a white noise, nothing more, at least you hope. Waking up further you find your 3 lower holes have been refilled with buzzing toys and your clit has its old shield back in place. Hearing your captor returning you look over and see through the haze you can see a hose, cleaning time.. fuck. your pussy is emptied and then refilled with the cold hard cock designed for 1 thing, and sure enough your pussy is flooded with cold water, fucking you hard with it your womb is washed clean of all the cum he's loaded into your pussy today. Shaking from the internal wash, your pussy is refilled with its toy and a latex hood is pulled over your head, leaving only your eyes exposed. Your going to learn how to live with your new life you have now. its going to be long and hard but you'll learn to love it eventually.

#Stories #Custom

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secretsniper3 · 3 years

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Part 4: New Life

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madsmikkelsenschesthair · 5 years

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Blood of the Dragon ch. 8

Summary: Freyja meets the Mad Grandfather and has a strange but prophetic dream.

A/n: yaaaallll I am so sooo sorry but our dear Danny won’t be in this story. I will be using her to make my aesthetics so technically y’all are kinda her? But not really her HER? Get it? No? Me neither! Enjoy! Remember to send me a message for comments, questions, and concerns. Like I said before, Keep it nice.

Warnings: insults, uncomfortable situations, mad Grandfather, one sad papa Rhaegar, fluff, cursing, violence, angst, a hint of death of character

“Look sister! That’s Dragonstone” Little Robb pointed excitedly towards the grey castle that nearly stood on the edge of a cliff. Freyja couldn’t believe it! She had never seen such a big castle in all her life. According to her books and her father, Dragonstone was where her family first settled when they fled Old Valyria. Hundreds of generations have lived in that very same castle and gave birth to new generations and now here she was! This was far too exciting! Freyja could only imagine how big and beautiful Kingslanding was. She couldn’t hardly contain herself her body was jittery and she was grinning from ear to ear until she could no longer feel her face. Little Robb coughed into his cloak breaking Freyja out of her daze, it had been getting chillier these past few weeks and her little brother seemed weaker than when she first met him. On the other hand, Fenrir was growing fast and strong and his puppy eagerness was gone replaced by the adulthood overcoming him. He was ever so faithful as well always by her side,

Freyja took off her own cloak, red with black fur trim and gold dragons, and put it around his shoulders. “Go back to your chambers,” she told him, “I think we will be there in an hour or so. Stay warm” The cold wind brushed against her cheeks reminding her to do the same, Freyja was far too excited to go back to her own chambers though. Today she will meet her Grandfather Aerys. Her father had not told her much about him or his other brother and she wondered why. Anytime Freyja asked about them the conversation was immediately changed to another topic or her parents would ask her about her day. Freyja kept a mental note of that for later.

Little Robb stopped midway to the stairs that lead below deck and stared at her, “Are you coming? You’ll get sick too” Freyja kept her eyes on Dragonstone, she could feel magic swarming in her blood as they grew closer. This would be their first and last stop before they left for Kingslanding. She looked down to her wolf, “Come on, Fen” and the pair followed her little brother below deck.

After sailing for so many weeks, the Targaryen fleet stopped and the family got back on the little boats and sailed to the shore. Freyja had no problem stepping off the boat and getting her boots and dress a little wet but her family looked to be in anguish to have their fine clothes soiled. She was used to it after so many years of fishing with her boys. Looking at it now, Dragonstone castle was bigger that it loomed over them. The closer they walked to the entrance the more nervous she got. Freyja saw a group of people waiting for them at the top of the grey steps all of them wearing dark clothes. Her hand closed around the Thor’s Mjolnir on her neck homesickness tightening her stomach. She followed her father and his guards close behind enclosing them, protecting them. The leader of the group that was waiting for them was a short man, an imp, with curly dark hair and a beard and he smiled at her.

“Welcome home Your Grace!” he said his smile growing wider.

Her King Father’s face broke into a grin, “Lord Tyrion, such a pleasant surprise we thought you would be back in Kingslanding”

“There is no ‘we’ my love” Cersei intervened, her voice cold, “what are you doing here? You should be helping father at the Red Keep”

Freyja was surprised by how much malice there was in her voice towards the little man but he didn’t seem so phased, he only smiled sweetly at her.

“Good to see you too, sweet sister,” Lord Tyrion answered, “but I couldn’t wait to see my new niece” Freyja smiled shyly at her new uncle and she stepped forward. “Look at you!” he gushed “Pure Valyrian beauty! You look just like your father, Princess Y/n” He took her hand and gingerly placed a kiss on top.

She flinched at her new name and her smile almost disappeared but Freyja managed to compose herself after all Tyrion seemed like such a kind man, “Thank you, Uncle Tyrion. It is very nice to meet you and I can’t wait to meet my grandfather”

The grownups gave each other wary looks. Even Uncle Tyrion’s smile faded, “Speaking of,” he turned to Rhaegar, “Your father wishes to speak to you, Your Grace even you Cersei. In the meantime, I will help the children settle and get to know my new niece”

Her parents wasted no time and hurried up the steps with Uncle Jaime and a group of knights following. Freyja watched them, dumbfounded. What were they hiding from her? Why did everyone grow quiet when her grandfather was mentioned? She would have to ask her Uncle these questions.

The interior of Dragonstone was as breathtaking as it was outside. The was seemed to be made of some rare dark stone, the torches on the wall gave it a hint of red golden streaks. That wasn’t all; carvings, drawings, and statues of dragons stood on almost every corner and wall. It truly lived up to its’ name. It was also surprisingly warm, so warm that Freyja took off her cloak.

“I can’t believe I’m really here,” she said smiling her eyes still wandering up and down the walls and ceiling. “The home of my ancestors”

Tyrion watched her facial expressions, how happy she looked and even the sparkle in her eyes. And there was something else but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. All he knew was that he was glad the rightful heir to the throne was home Even with her Valyrian looks, Y/n looked Viking or at least a small one in the making. Still, she carried the heavy and dreadful burden of homesickness. Tyrion could see it.

A woman came in making Freyja lookup. She had on a plain grey dress along with the same colored wimp on her head covering her hair. Little Rob instantly lit up when he saw her. “Ah, dear Septa please take my nephew to his room,” Tyrion said and the woman curtsied. The pair left them alone. He smiled at his niece. “Come, you and I have much to talk about dear Niece. Tell me about Kattegat, your home”

Freyja’s throat began to close, she followed her uncle down a long corridor it took a bit for her to find her words. “My home”, she began to say slowly, “is very beautiful. There is so much green everywhere and it rains a lot. During the winter it gets really cold but I love it”

“It does sound like paradise” Uncle Tyrion commented with a smile, “I hear you worship different gods”

“We do! We worship Odin, Frigg, Thor, Baldur, Loki, Freyja” her eyes had that sparkle again, “I was born during the wrath of Thor and that’s why I’m Thorsdottir”

Tyrion chuckled. “And you were named Freyja after your mother. It was a nickname Ragnar Lothbrok gave your mother”

Freyja’s smile faded. She missed her family so much and prayed to the Gods Ragnar was safe wherever he was. Uncle Tyrion led her and her wolf to a room that was more elegant than the one she had on the ship. Like the rest of the castle, there were beautiful soaring dragons on the walls and ceiling but in the middle of the ceiling, there was a painting of a man with short pale hair and a beard his gaze hard and intimidating. By his side, two beautiful women; one feminine and the other wearing armor. Both of them with the same pale hair and violet eyes as the man.

“Who’s that?”

Tyrion followed her eyes, “Ah! That my sweet niece is Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys”

“Conqueror?” she said full of wonder and curiosity.

“Yes, he is Aegon the Conqueror. Many Targaryens were named after him” Tyrion explained as he poured himself a cup of wine, “Many of them not as brave or sane as him though”

The painting was beautiful but her favorite part of the room was the window. She could see the dark ocean from here and smell the sea salt that was stronger than any pungent smell. Freyja was about to open the window when a knock on the door brought their attention. Uncle Tyrion opened the door to find a knight.

“Pardoned me Your Grace but your grandfather has asked to see you,” he said.

There was that look on her uncle’s face again and now Freyja knew that this meeting with her grandfather was not going to end very well. How she wished Bjorn was here to protect her. Even Ragnar. Suddenly the halls of Dragonstone were no longer welcoming and Freyja wished to be anywhere else but here. The whole way to her grandfather’s sickroom, they were quiet not making the situation any better. Finally, they reached two heavy double doors guarded by two more knights. Before they could go in, Tyrion turned to Freyja.

“Be careful, sweet niece, Your Grandfather is not right in the head.” And the guards opened the door before she could even open her mouth. They were all waiting for them, Father, Stepmother, Uncle Jaime, and...grandfather. He was laying in a large bed with many pillows to keep him propped up, his pale white hair long and matted, lilac eyes sickly and frail or at least what she thought was frail. His nails were longer than hers and the room smelled heavily of illness. Her father motioned her forward. Even the air was uneasy.

“Father,” King Father said gently, “Y/n is home. This is your granddaughter”

Aerys Targaryen’s eyes studied the girl, “Rhaella? Is that you?” Freyja looked at her father and he gave a dry chuckle. “No father, It’s Y/n. Your grandchild”. Her grandfather’s face molded into a bitter twist. “Come here, girl let me take a look at you”. Freyja gulped and inched her way closer to him. She gasped when he suddenly snatched her wrist gripping it tightly. Aerys’s pulled her closer until she could smell his foul breath. He didn’t say anything only his eyes wandering her face. Freyja’s heart pounded loudly against her chest. The more he stared the angrier he got. There was no illness in those eyes only madness and he was swimming in insanity.

“You smell like the Norse,” he said harshly, “You smell like your bitch mother”

“Father!” Rhaegar hissed and stepmother gasped, Freyja only stared at him dumbfounded.

“You little wench! Your mother was the one to cause that Rebellion! You are exactly like her. You look like the dragon but you have the stench of a wolf!” Her grandfather roared startling Freyja and everyone else in the room. She then felt a sharp hot sting on her cheek and she fell to the floor from the harsh blow. Stepmother shrieked next she heard the wrestling of men and through watery eyes, Freyja watched her father fight his own. He called for the guards and immediately they busted in holding back the Mad King from hitting her more. Fear shook her entire body.

“I’ll burn them all!” he screamed, his face red and eyes on fire. “I’ll burn them all starting with you!”

Freyja ignored Uncle Jaime’s strong arms and Stepmother’s desperate cries, she fled from that room as if fleeing from the wrath of Hel. She ran, ran all the way to her room slamming the door behind her. Freyja collapsed on to her bed sobbing inconsolably. No one in her life had hit her. Ever. Everyone had always treated her kindly, her home was full of love and laughter and here she didn’t have that. She missed her Bear, Kraka, Lagertha, Athelstan, her boys. Everyone! It wasn’t fair that these people had to take her away from her family!

“Freyja? It’s us, Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion, can we come in?”

She didn’t wipe away her tears or respond. Freyja was far too heartbroken. Her uncles came in anyway.

“I want to go home!” she wailed “I want my family! I miss my bear!”

Uncle Jaime sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her back. “Don’t cry, little Freyja. Your grandfather will not burn anyone” She sat up still sobbing. Jaime put her head against his chest, letting the tears run down his armor.

“Hey, hey now,” Uncle Tyrion said, his voice soft and kind “Let’s get your mind of that, hm? Tell me about your family, about Bjorn and Ragnar”

“They would have killed that monster!”

Jaime shot his little brother a look and Tyrion’s eyes went wide. “Alright let’s not talk about that! Please, tell me about Bjorn. You talk about him a lot” Jaime took out a handkerchief and wiped away her tears.

“His name literally means bear,” Freyja said, she touched her necklace, “I call him bear because he is protective of me. A bit overprotective, really. He loves me a lot. I am like his daughter”

“Are you?”

“Yes, and he is like my father” Talking about Bjorn made tears swell in her eyes again. “I really, really, really want to go home. I miss my family”

Uncle Jaime got on one knee taking her hands in his, “I understand, little one but I cannot take you home. We don’t have that power”

“But we can speak to your father,” Uncle Tyrion said, “we can tell him how you feel. In the meantime, you have us to come to for anything else”

Freyja thanked them with all her heart. Stepmother came in after her face was back to its normal bright self and she was laughing at a funny story her Uncle Tyrion was telling. Her stepmother comforted and told her she loved her but her King Father did not come in to talk to her. It stung her. Such coldness from a man who had not seen her once, nonetheless this being the first time as a family. Her supper and dinner were brought to her room and she spent most of her time avoiding her father as much as he had been avoiding her. Freyja spent her time with the rest of her new family, She played with Little Rob, had tea with her stepmother, took a long walk on the shores with Uncle Tyrion and Uncle Jaime. Still, Freyja couldn’t help but have a tiny bit of hope that her King Father would speak to her.

Thunder roared through the skies, dark clouds covered the blue sky and sun. Waves crashed against the cliffs dangerously. Every time lightning struck, Freyja was seen walking through the corridors of Dragonstone. The dragons on the walls and their statues looked more terrifying than they did during the day. Yet Freyja was not scared, she could hear her people’s music through the thunder. In between those flashes, she saw the familiar woods of home or at least she thought was home.

“How the little piglets' would grunt if they knew how the old boar suffered?” A voice boomed. He sounded familiar but Freyja couldn’t name the owner of the voice.

A heavy door with the Targaryen sigil opened by itself, creaking. Freyja grabbed a torch from the wall and entered.

“It gladdens me to know that Odin prepares for a feast. Soon I shall be drinking ale from curved horns. This hero that comes into Valhalla does not lament his death!”

Freyja walked down the stone steps, the smell of humidity hung heavy through the air. Thor’s wrath pounding the sky. As she walked, the images of home came flashing back. Somewhere an eagle screeched. The sky was too cloudy for her to see where it was. Freyja followed several more flights of steps until she stumbled on a trap door. She almost missed it through the very dirty floor. Freyja struggled to open it and the door hit the floor with a loud clang. It was very dark down there, she grabbed the torch and squinted to see.

“I shall not enter Odin's hall with fear. There I shall wait for my sons to join me.”

Freyja finally found felt a wooden step and she went into the darkness, careful not to fall. Another image. This time she saw a cage hanging from a tree, sturdy enough to hold a man. Something dreadful will happen here. The closer she got to it the more afraid she was and the more her heart dropped.

“And when they do, I will bask in their tales of triumph. The Aesir will welcome me!”

When she reached the bottom, Freyja was shocked when she came face to face with rows and rows of eggs. All of them as large as a child's head and all of them came in different colors. Their shells scaley and weathered they almost looked to be made of stone. A thousand years old. Freyja put the torch where it could help her see and she picked up an egg, admiring it. Back home, crows circled above her cawing. She braced herself for what she was about to see. There, surrounded by serpents of all sizes, laid her Ragnar. Dead. In the dungeon, the dragon egg burned into glowed but it did not harm her, boiling until it cracked and a baby dragon with golden eyes screeched at her. With Ragnar, Freyja’s screams of terror and anguish turned to the roars of a dragon.

“My death comes without apology! And I welcome the valkyries to summon me home!”

Freyja lurched forward, cold sweat sticking to her skin and her heart pounding. Fenrir padded to his mistress sniffing her to see if she was alright. The princess stroked her wolf’s fur and she was stunned to see that the window was wide open. Thor pounding his hammer furiously.

@lettersofwrittencollective @mellxander1993 @faeeiiry @blonddnamedhandz @-thatgirloverthere- @wanderlustimagines @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @colie87 @whatwhyc-c

#game of thrones #game of thrones and vikings #vikings imagine #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones writing #game of thrones imagine #vikings fanfic #vikings writings #hvitserk x reader #sigurd x reader #ivar x reader

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razziecat · 5 years

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ffviihalloween OCT 28 🥀 Gothic tales of the macabre and morbid, telltale hearts and family curses

Hello, friends, and welcome to Story Corner! Please enjoy this story in three parts.

Wedding Hell Blues

The SOLDIER squad formed up at the doors to the chapel, each man in full uniform, a sword on his hip or at his back. Spectators clustered behind them, and everyone’s eyes were on the closed doors. Hojo found himself in the front row of the crowd, next to a slim, familiar man in a dark suit and a neatly-trimmed, dark bronze beard. Well, this was awkward. He’d known it was inevitable. They were related now, after a fashion. “Director,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “Lovely day for a wedding.”

“Hojo,” came the equally-dry reply. Veld nodded to the woman at Hojo’s side. “Lucrecia.” “Wasn’t it a beautiful ceremony?” Lucrecia dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed hankie. “Veld, you look very handsome today.” She glanced at her husband, shaking her head. “Not everyone balks at wearing a suit.” Hojo scowled and glanced at his watch. “So, Veld, how did you get your daughter to agree to let you give her away?” “I didn’t,” said Veld. “We argued it to a draw, and when the shouting was over she agreed to be ‘escorted’ down the aisle, provided the whole of AVALANCHE took part in the procession.”

Well, that explained the twenty-odd members of the entourage, and a more ill-matched group of attendants Hojo had never seen. He’d kept his mouth shut, though. The groom’s family was handily outnumbered, and besides that, every member of the wedding party was openly carrying. There came a rustle of movement at the chapel doors, and the SOLDIER CO barked, “Detail! PRE-SENT! ARMS!” As one, every man lifted his blade high into the air, forming a gleaming arch of steel. The doors opened, and the newly-married couple stepped out into the sunshine, resplendent in silver and black. Pride lifted Hojo’s head and shoulders, pulling him out of his habitual slouch. Even without armor, Sephiroth was magnificent. Garbed in a black suit subtly designed to mimic the cut of his uniform, his hair a silver waterfall down his back, he glittered like the morning star. Even his eyes shone, blue as a highland lake. No trace of any other color showed through; the lenses, painstakingly ground and polished by hand, were undetectable. Hojo sighed in satisfaction. A brilliant smile graced Sephiroth’s face, almost too bright to look upon. Lucrecia squeezed Hojo’s arm. “Oh, he looks so happy!” Hojo grunted assent. Beside her new husband, Elfe was a drab little mouse, but it wouldn’t do to say so in her father’s hearing. At least she’d opted for a dress, although it was a soft silver-gray, knee-length with a split skirt, rather than some fluffy white confection. Leave it to the rebel to flout tradition wherever possible! As the couple moved down the path beneath the arch of swords, Elfe strode forward as though marching into battle. Sephiroth would have to work to keep up with her, rather than she with him. Modern values. What had happened to the old days? By chance, his eyes met Veld’s, and a spark of rueful concurrence passed between them. Veld shrugged, and the moment was gone.“Don’t be so gloomy!” Lucrecia tugged at Hojo. “Come on, the reception is starting!” “Drinks,” Veld murmured, turning away. Well, things were looking up! Hojo allowed his wife to tow him toward the refreshments. A few hours later, he wandered down the stone steps of the mansion, following them deep into the basement rooms that no one ever visited. With the key he kept always in his pocket, he let himself into the room farthest from the door. He flicked on the old battery-powered lantern, pulled up a chair, and sat, propping his feet up on top of the dusty coffin. He might be imagining the low growl like a roll of distant thunder, or the cold rattling of the heavy chains that bound the casket. He raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Hell of a party going on upstairs, Valentine.” He sipped champagne. “Too bad you’re indisposed.”

Beware of Turks Bearing Gifts

Sephiroth and Elfe’s daughter received her name on the wings of a storm.

Family and friends gathered in her honor at her grandmother’s house. Veld arrived at the party as forked lightning split the sky, thunder rattling the windows. Lucrecia’s arms tightened around the baby. “Oh, I hope that’s not an omen!” “It’s a promise,” Elfe said. “She’s going to kick ass and take names.” She smoothed the baby’s pale gossamer hair. “Aren’t you, Ingrid?” “Pretty name.” Veld placed his gift on the table piled high with name-day offerings. Oh gods, he was a grandfather now, and wouldn’t that take some getting used to? Elfe accepted a brief embrace, and that was progress; time was when she’d as soon slug him as hug him. “It means hero’s daughter.” She glanced over her shoulder at her husband, surrounded by AVALANCHE, and deep in a discussion of last night’s kendo competition. “Good choice, then.” Veld smiled a greeting at Lucrecia. A quick scan of the room picked out familiar faces, but one was missing. “Where’s Hojo?”

“Working, of course!” Lucrecia rolled her eyes. “He promised to be back in time for the baby’s name-day, but it looks like the storm front’s keeping him in Nibelheim.” “He’ll be sorry he missed it, I’m sure.” Veld let Lucrecia place the baby in his arms, awkward at first, relaxing as he remembered the art of holding an infant. Dark eyes in a heart-shaped face regarded him with wary curiosity. “You’ve got an unusual pedigree, child.” Soldiers and scientists, rebels and Turks. What a mélange! Gods grant that he never failed her the way he’d failed her mother.

Later, Veld took a glass of chilled white wine, while Elfe extracted Sephiroth from his clique and sat him by her side for the presentation of the gifts. Twenty-some years ago, it had been Veld, his wife, and baby Elfe--Felicia, then. If only her mother had lived to take part now! Veld shut that thought away, along with other regrets. The dead were dead; they didn’t return. Ingrid lay in her cradle, happily gumming a stuffed Moogle toy, while ribbons and wrapping paper were scattered, and presents admired. The first one proved to be a hand-made chocobo-down quilt in bright primary shades. Elfe spread it across her lap. “Cloud, this is marvelous! I didn’t know you could do needle-work.” “Winters are long in Nibelheim,” Cloud said, grinning. “You have to do something creative to combat cabin fever.” Tifa’s gift was a companion to Cloud’s: An herbal pillow, small enough to be safely kept in a baby’s crib. Elfe held it to her nose. “It smells lovely! What’s in it?” “Chamomile and hops,” Tifa said. “To help her sleep.”

Yuffie’s gift turned out to be materia, surprising no one: A Mastered Heal, because, as Yuffie said, “Hey, you never know what kids might get into!” Next, a slim gold chain bearing three gold beads, from Barret and Marlene. “Three for luck, to start her off,” said Barret. “One new one each year, until she’s twenty-one.” Last was Veld’s gift. Elfe smiled. “Oh, books! Fairy tales.” Her eyes misted as she paged through the three small volumes. Good memories? That smile was all the thanks Veld needed. Once upon a time… He rose to refresh his drink, just as thunder crashed and rolled overhead. Rain hit hard, dimming the late afternoon light. The scent of ozone and wet earth prickled his nose. “Looks like Ingrid’s paternal grandfather isn’t going to make it,” Veld remarked. “He sends his regrets.” Veld reacted to the smoky voice and tall, shadowed figure before recognition hit him. He blocked the path to the cradle, stopping the intruder clad in black leather and ragged crimson, and only then did his brain catch up. Veld’s prosthetic hand shook, fingers spread flat against the man’s chest. “Gods of Gaia. Is it…Valentine?”

The apparition inclined his head. Wild black hair, ice-white skin, blood-red eyes in an impossibly young face, elegant bones honed sharp by something dark and predatory. “Veld.” Sephiroth had risen, a welcome presence at Veld’s back. AVALANCHE moved, taking up defensive positions to left and right. Veld trusted that someone had by now slipped Ingrid out of her cradle and into safety. “Who is this?” said Sephiroth. “My old partner. Thirty years gone.” Veld took in every line of Valentine’s body, wraith-thin and garbed in clothing both antique and viscerally disturbing. Gold covered his left arm from elbow to fingertips, ending in draconic talons. “Where the hell have you been?” The fine lips twisted. “Hell, indeed.”

“Where is my husband?” Lucrecia’s voice, raw iron with a razor edge. “Why are you here?” Valentine’s fiery glance barely acknowledged her. “He’s…indisposed. I’ve brought a gift for my…for the baby.” He moved, so swift that Veld’s eyes couldn’t follow, stepping around Veld, one long arm outstretched. A small white object lay on his gloved palm. He offered it to Elfe, who stood beside Sephiroth. She didn’t hesitate. “It’s a rattle.” She held it up for all to see, shaking it gently. The soft clink and clatter sounded to Veld like the chuckling of crows. He took the rattle, examining it. Hand-carved, smoothed and polished, the whole of it hard and cool to the touch. But not true white. More like old ivory, or…bone-colored. Chilled, he looked up, meeting Valentine’s eyes. “What is this?” “It’s an oath fulfilled.” Valentine’s mouth curled into a shape that wasn‘t a smile. “It means ‘never again.’” “Vincent--” “Later.” One lean finger touched Veld’s lips. “Perhaps.” He turned away, his midnight hair hanging thick and tangled, except for one long, plaited tail pinned to the red band encircling his head. Wind at the door tossed the black braid, stormlight catching in silver threads.

Sephiroth shut and locked the door. The silence and shock that gripped the room broke, but Veld shook off the questions. “Lucrecia.” He took her arm. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

Head, Hands, Heart

Veld approached Shinra Manor from the south, avoiding the main road up the mountain. A stand of black oak trees marked the estate boundary, conveniently screening him from sight. He slipped through the formal gardens at the rear of the house, and on to the old library in the east wing.

Vincent would be watching the front door. Veld preferred to scope things out before that inevitable confrontation.

Third window from the left: Faulty latch. He eased it open, drew aside the heavy dark drapes. Stared at the back of a bookcase, blocking his way in.

He could push it to one side, but if it fell, the noise would alert Vincent and anyone else on the premises. Assuming any of the staff remained. He wouldn‘t bet on it. So, on to the kitchen garden.

Once magnificent with fruit trees and herbs, the garden had diminished to one small cold frame beside a mound of recently-turned earth. The pantry door, almost invisible in the lee of the wall, yielded to Veld’s lock-pick. He risked a small light. A broken chair and a pile of scrap wood made a minor obstacle. He pushed past them, paused to get his bearings.

Silence and shadows. An antique iron stove brooded in one corner, cold. The massive oak table centering the room held only a single, broad-bladed knife, stained dark.

“Dirty tools left lying?” Veld murmured. “I taught you better than that, Valentine.”

Vincent was neither stupid nor careless. The knife pointed toward the door across the room, opened on a narrow stairway. It led, Veld recalled, to the basement.

Too obvious. He explored the ground floor first, floorboards creaking softly as he walked. A sigh at the very edge of hearing stirred the heavy air; the back of his neck prickled. He refused to turn and look.

Dust whitened the old-fashioned furniture in the sitting room and the formal dining room. Little of the house was in use. Only the office showed signs of recent occupation: Leather briefcase on the desk, cloth jacket draped over the back of the chair. An open notebook, its leaves filled with an esoteric shorthand in a bold black scrawl.

He took the bait, deciphering page after page of a private journal dated over thirty years ago. Part of his mind admired the brutal efficiency and sheer creativity of the experiments described, even as cold sweat crawled down his spine.

The subject of the experiments was identified only by an initial, but it was enough. This was more than a piece of the puzzle; it was the key to the mystery. He’d been led to this point from the moment he’d arrived at the house.

He turned back to the hall. In a corner, light glinted. He bent for a closer look.

Eyeglasses, wire frame twisted askew.

Nerves taut, he returned to the kitchen, to find the basement door now shut. A length of heavy steel chain hung from the knob, broken links trailing on the floor. He gathered it up, stuffing it into his pocket, and opened the door. Cold air wafted up the dimly-lit stairs, tasting of iron and copper, and the sharp, oily bite of mako. He went down the stairs, since that was what Vincent wanted.

Shinra Manor boasted several sub-levels. The first one held the labs, specimen cages, and mako tubes. He checked the cages first: Empty. Should he be relieved, or worried? Moving on, he found the mako tubes bubbling quietly, glowing softly in the dark. That left the labs, at the darkest end of the hall.

He flipped the light switch in the first one. Gods of Gaia! He backed out, suppressing the urge to vomit. Now he knew the source of the raw-meat stench. Was there any use in looking further?

In point of fact, there was. He had a promise to keep, no body, and no rogue Turk. Veld Dragoon did not leave a job unfinished. The thought of checking the rest of the labs made his stomach churn. He was too old for this shit.

In the second lab, no gore, still no bodies, nothing but long-idle equipment hung with shaggy cobwebs. He moved on, and that was when he noted the rusty-brown footprints–long, narrow, tapering to pointed tips–leading down the hall to the lab farthest from the stairs.

“Goddamn lunatic games,” he muttered, following.

Once more, he hit a switch, unsurprised at what the light revealed: Vincent Valentine, all black leather and ragged cloak, tangled hair framing ember-red eyes in a face untouched by time. He leaned against a steel worktable, arms crossed, gold talons tapping.

“I don’t play games, Veld.”

“Then what do you call all of this?”

“I call it justice,” Vincent hissed. “Payback.” He moved with unnatural speed, pinning Veld to the wall. “You let me disappear. You and everyone I knew went on with your lives, and forgot about me. Thirty years, Veld!” The grip of his gold-clad fingers tightened around Veld’s throat, just short of pain. Veld could still breathe, still speak.

“We thought you were dead.”

“I was.” Vincent’s fingers tightened a fraction more. “I am.” Abruptly, before Veld’s air ran out, he let go and backed away. “And yet I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. I don’t even blame Lucrecia…much.” His eyes flamed, and he snarled, canine teeth catching the light. “Hojo. It was all Hojo!”

The lines of his body blurred, going dark, gaining height and bulk. His face flickered, one moment a beast’s muzzle filled with dripping fangs, the next a parody of grinning madness, all teeth and staring eyes. Adrenaline sparked a burst of energy to the materia in Veld’s metal arm, but before he could release it, Vincent melted back into his own human shape.

“I was more merciful than he,” Vincent said. “I let him run. Let him try to escape. I gave him the night, the dark of the moon and her shadows to hide in. The last thing he heard was the howling of wolves.” He smiled, eyes half-hooded. “I am what he made me, and that’s what destroyed him in the end. As a scientist, I’m sure he appreciated the irony.”

“You could,” said Veld, against his better judgment, “be charged with murder.”

“Go ahead. If you think you can hold me. If you think anyone cares.”

“What am I supposed to tell his wife?”

“Oh, I’ve already sent her a message,” said Vincent, at the worktable again. “And not only her. There’s another with a right to know. In fact, it should be–”

Veld’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, seeing two messages flashing.

Vincent smirked. “Timing is everything.”

Veld listened to both messages, one delivered with cold, military precision, and the other shaking with horror. He listened twice to make sure he understood. When Veld looked up, Vincent had shifted so that he no longer blocked what stood on the table.

“Did you know that mako makes an excellent preservative?” Vincent turned the wide glass jar, watching the contents spin lazily in the green liquid.

Veld swallowed bile. “Why…?”

“I suffered hell’s own torture under these hands. It’s only fair.”

“And…the ‘message’ you sent to his son?”

“Hojo was only his father in the intellectual sense! It’s an average-sized brain, by the way.”

“And Lucrecia?”

“She chose his heart over mine.” Vincent smiled, a deeply disturbing sight. “Now it’s hers in fact as well as metaphor.”

Veld closed his eyes. “Gods damn you, Valentine.”

“Yes,” said Vincent. “I believe they have.”

And so concludes our morbid little tale. Sleep well! ;)

#ffviihalloween #Vincent Valentine #Veld #Hojo #Lucrecia #Sephiroth #Elfe

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vaguely-concerned · 5 years

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Temeraire let’s read: Crucible of Gold AHOY!

- lol I’m glad hammond is back, he is phenomenally funny. I do love me a bureaucrat character who won’t let trifling things like dignity, morality, politeness or common sense get in the way of their job

- it is a CRIME that Tharkay had to leave before he got to see Laurence all sun-bronzed and casually dressed and golden haired and relaxed, I wish to petition the universe itself on his behalf to correct this injustice

- hahaha shen li is the best; a buddhist dragon would be the greatest party pooper among her own kind

shen li, serenely: attachment to material things can only bring suffering

literally every other dragon, dripping bling from every available surface: um actually

- . . . without the clinging stink of murder and treachery which seemed to have by slow octopoid measures attached itself to his life. laurence I understand where you’re coming from on this but you have served colonial britain since you were like twelve. this has been an extremely slow process of waking up to smelling dem roses (fatherhood changes your perspective on your life situation I guess)

- awwwwww laurence finally studying some more chinese while temeraire helps him... no no this is just rain on my face yes I know I’m indoors it’s just me and lady allendale sitting here with our arms around each other crying about our boy reading poetry of his own freeish will

- oooh I really like how novik writes the way hammond talks -- it can be hard to write a character who constantly breaks up their own dialogue and interrupts themselves and continually couches their words without it being hard to read and annoying, but she really nails communicating that he’s a) completely graceless and with no dignity but also undeniably intelligent, b) definitely a Diplomat but not a total weasel, if only by a hair, c) hilarious

- pour one out for laurence’s civilian beard with me guys, gone too soon and dearly missed (and again tharkay didn’t even get to see it! this continues to be the greatest tragedy of these books let’s hope he grows it out again later when they’re all settled down.)

- . . . These were distinguished from the others mainly for their having had less time in their careers to demonstrate a lack of initiative or skill, so he could have some small hope of uncovering some previously hidden talent. OH MY GOD LAURENCE the straight up savagery

- DAD!LAURENCE!!! DAD!LAURENCE!!!!!!! (aaah it’s so interesting that when he gets a bit more stern you can definitely see sides of his father peeking out, but he deeply remains his mother’s son -- he’s acting from a place of affection, feeling of responsibility and concern for their futures, not the weird controlling shit lord allendale routinely pulls)

roland is such a teenager at this point oh my god. also laurence’s whole speech to demane about respecting her boundaries and agency... *chef kiss emoji* and ALSO demane is so sympathetic in this still because who HASN’T wanted to dangle some asshole over a cliff for being a creep to your friend/crush... they’re all good and perfect and I love them actually

- ...I’ve managed to put it out of my mind in the last few books but with the allegiance going down like that I keep remembering there were so many actual children onboard and now I feel ill

being an adult and realizing the full fuckedupedness of these things sucks haha

- 1) the description of seeing the ship sinking from underwater is hauntingly beautiful and 2) as I have said many a time before, thank god for demane

- see this is the other side of the coin of these books making you care so deeply about the characters; I know that no important characters die in this book but I am still so fucking stressed out by all of this D:D:D:

- well well well if gong su’s ludicrous competency wasn’t suspicious before it certainly is now, I guess china trains its spies well in the culinary arts haha

- I mean uh. what a way to symbolically and literally sever laurence from his former life and former self, I guess. you’d be hard pressed to do so more explosively at least

- something extremely bad happened to granby, we can tick that off the list

- I feel like the prose and writing in general is super improved in this one? it feels sharp and purposeful in a way the last few haven’t quite been

- He hoped Riley would be mourned; Riley deserved to be mourned ahfksahsdajklhsajkfhaslkjfhsakjdfhdaslkfhakj pain :(:(:( I’m so sorry laurence and I didn’t even like the guy. I can’t believe that the first thing this madman does after trying to secure their survival as best he could is writing letters -- on dragonback!!! hands stiff from cold so he can only work in five minute increments!!! -- to make sure riley’s memory isn’t blackened how can he be like this

- emily roland is so smart and capable and amazing my heart is blooming with pride

- iridescent feathered dragons... holy shit this is awesome

temeraire has a little feather envy tho and also maila casually eavesdropping so he can chat up (literally) hot babes... I know they’re prisoners of war and everything but this is all pure unadulterated gold

- oh temeraire darling no have no fear hammond has no self respect whatsoever, that will not be what stops him

- I can’t believe laurence is actually taking time to tie himself in knots over not following perfect procedure around his officers’ future career options while they’re FUCKING MAROONED with a bunch of asshole sailors fkdfhsjdh

- GET YOUR DIRTY FUCJING HANDS OFF DEMANE OR I’LL CHOP THEM OFF FOR YOU YOU SWINE

sipho is like eleven and a nerd and ready to run at all these grown men armed just with a branch PAIN

- granby’s unending exasperation at laurence not knowing all the stuff that seems self-evident to him having grown up with dragons fksjdhfskajd

- aw laurence finally having a little dad talk with roland ;____; and demane has proposed to her repeatedly and she would agree in a moment under other circumstances ;________________; and it never even occurred to me that that’s why she was so upset about him taking on his own dragon but of course that would fuck everything up if that’s what she was planning OH NO ;_________________________________________________;

laurence confirmed for boytoy & hideously embarrassed about it flasdfsdkjhfksd

“But I don’t want someone I want, if I can’t be sure of seeing him one week in the year” crack crack goes the sound of my heart breaking

I hope they find a way to solve this eventually :(

- really interesting what a clear view emily has of roland and laurence’s relationship tho, considering he’s basically her father figure -- like there’s clear affection, physical attraction and camaraderie there but it never feels particularly romantic & they both have other shit to do. (and laurence knows it too on some level, considering his main emotion when she refuses his proposal is relief lol. it really shows off this central conflict he has where like... he has a very clear idea of who he feels he should be and managed to convince himself he was for a long time, and what that man wants and needs (namely very little, emotionally) and is loyal to. aaaand then there’s the person he actually is, who’s been fighting his way to the surface since temeraire showed up in the very first book and sort of woke him up by giving him something he actually loves and values with all of himself and can’t compromise on. proper gentleman/navy!laurence feels like he has to do what society deems decent and marry roland to be a good person, actual!laurence seems to know that what they already have isn’t wrong or immoral in any way as long as they’re both happy with it. ugh I love him and I hope his last remaining character development includes realizing that who he really is is not only acceptable but actually a better man than that imagined perfect self ever could be and how many people love him for who he is already A N Y W A Y onwards)

- the incan dragons continue to be dope as hell

it’s super interesting how they’ve grown to value people -- and not just one special person, like british dragons, but whole groups of people -- over gold and jewels. like the tendency is there in dragons from other cultures; temeraire loves The Bling but would still easily prioritize laurence and his crew over it. presumably some of it is cultural and some of it must stem from the sheer trauma of losing so many people within a few centuries, which is basically living memory for a dragon (which makes it equal parts sympathetic/heartwarming and juuuuust on the edge of being too creepy and possessive haha).

- jeez this book is doing a good job at showing what a haunting fucking sight it must be to enter a land where like. 90% of the people are dead in plague and their cities stand abandoned

- fhasdklhfaskljfhs hammond going full diplomat on the dragons squabbling... he truly is something

and laurence apologizing to demane because he was out of line and he is a fellow captain now T_____T lord allendale could never

- haven’t had a lot to say for a while because I’m just so entranced with the world building and stuff haha, I find the irl history of this area super interesting as well

- ambassador iskierka........ what a time to be alive

poor poor poor granby hahahaha

- if these books were named harry potter style this one would be ‘william laurence and that time he tried to put off wearing his ceremonial robes for as long as humanly possible’

- granby being good at drawing but having atrocious handwriting is such a good little character detail, novik is just so expert at nonchalantly plopping them in

- temeraire is being haunted by a green-eyed monster the size of a continent huh lol fair play to maila tho, he’s given it his sleazy all right from the start

I can’t believe gong su invented dragon ice cream solely so temeraire could eat it out of a tub over this... the real mvp

- awwww granby <3 I’m glad there’s some actual canonical queer rep in this series as well (as for the technically not stated straight(heh) out in canon... listen my friends if you can come up with any kind of heterosexual explanation for normally extremely sensible tenzing tharkay gazing at his friend and thinking shit like ‘in the fading light he was a statue gilded by sunlight’ and ‘it was a pang not unmixed with pleasure to look on him, as ever’, you are free to try to come at me with it but I won’t believe you lol. also laurence has the most potent disaster bisexual energy of any man in modern media even if he hasn’t quite caught on to it himself)

tbh I know it’s mostly in desperation but they should come up with some new kind of medal to give granby for having this particular Talk with william laurence, one of the most awkward men to ever walk this earth... braver than any us marine etc.

- temeraire and iskierka in this scene STRONGLY evoke dirtbag teens sneaking off to make out in the backseat of a car or something god bless

- ...I guess you can’t fault the empress for siding with the dude already crashing like a natural catastrophe over his own home continent and who is eyeing the other six like a starving eagle would a pack of mice. all the europeans suck but I guess it’s sort of her best bet to ally herself with the biggest bully on the playground, especially since forces in her own court would be hard pressed to do anything about the situation. respect sister & congratulations granby lol

- hahahahahahaha leave it to hammond to be forcibly adopted by a dragon

poor churki tho she’s a grownass adult and she only has one weird coke-addled diplomat and three basically adolescent dragons to work with here

- GRANBY SETTING SOME BOUNDARIES FINALLY I’m so proud of him ;__; this book really does have a lot to say about dragon/human relations huh

- LETHABO!!!!!!!!!!! man i’m so happy she’s doing well, she fucking deserves it and she’s doing good work

- laurence has evolved to his ultimate form of give-no-fucks-do-some-good laurence and hammond was not prepared lol

“You forget yourself, Captain Laurence,” Hammond said . . .

“I forget nothing,” Laurence answered . . .

im crying b/c he literally has forgotten before but remembers himself at the end of victory of eagles b/c of tharkay and and aaaaaaaaaaaaaugh here he is refusing to do the dirty work he’s handed once more

- lily and maximus! this is not a drill it’s the good good kids back at it again. also temeraire’s phenomenally misplaced sense of superiority re: his reaction to kulingile growing bigger than any of them fkshdfksahdfkj

- berkely <3

- poor harcourt :( ah well she’ll survive it tho he wasn’t that important it’s not like she lost her dragon lol (I honestly can’t feel that bad about riley considering y’know how he was not only chill with but actively for the institution of slavery)

- YOOOOOOO GONG SU! and temeraire is so happy they’re going back to china aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I love this (laurence’s stammering outrage at this reveal is also highly entertaining “he STAYED in my father’s HOUSE!!!!!!!”)

- man that entire last battle scene was so cool in the context of the rest of the series; the sheer effort and ingenuity that went into avoiding a bigger battle and slyly aiding the only worthy cause in the situation (the tswana and freeing the slaves) is so satisfying, especially after VoE

- holy shit I really enjoyed this one! It had a good balance of travelling/character moments and giving us time with the culture and characters of the Inca and their dragons, as well as driving the overall plot forward splendidly! I also feel like we got some more meat to the laurence POV (in hindsight it feels like it was mostly temeraire POV in tongues of serpents, which is fine but I do love our golden boy and his slow burn character development too)

on to blood of tyrants! I don’t know anything about this one except a) amnesia and b) some Very Important Lines I’ve already picked up along the way, I’m not sure I’m prepared (as a trope amnesia can be pretty hit or miss for me, so it’ll be interesting at least!)

#temeraire #meta #his majesty's dragon #yes hello I am back on my bullshit

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