#holds up vial filled with green liquid

[soulofapatrick]

Amortentia - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: You brew Amortentia and it leads somewhere you didn't ever expect Words: 1.7k Warnings: none really Notes: I am alive I promise, been really busy as we're getting ready to move house

Y/N’s POV

Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world. The way many people find their partners in Hogwarts and the most exciting class of the year. Everyone is buzzing around, whispering and giggling with their friends about the vial sat on Professor Slughorn’s desk, left completely unguarded. I take on glance at the shimmering blue liquid and cringe a little before finding the closest seat to the door, throwing my bag on the floor after pulling out the Potions book. 

“Hey Y/N,” Harry slides into the seat beside me with his signature unruly black hair and this bright green eyes that seem to hold a hint of mischief and determination, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He wears his Gryffindor uniform somewhat neatly, his tie slightly askew adding to this charm.

Ron isn’t far behind, grumbling about the upcoming lesson. His fiery red hair is as untameable as ever, and his freckled face displaying nothing but annoyance as he throws his arms over mine and Harry’s shoulders and letting his knees buckle while pretending to swoon, “Oh Theodore, my love, it youuuuuu-“ 

“Oh shut up!” I push his arm off my shoulders and he falls with a cry of surprise, Harry trying to catch him but ending up letting Ron fall to snigger behind his hand, “You’re probably going to fall head over heels for Snape… oh Snape, oh how I love thee Sn-“ 

“Alright, let’s begin this lesson shall we?” Professor Slughorn comes breezing in, not as well as Snape as he’s just too happy for that. Ron squeezes my shoulder before he slinks off to sit in one of the only spaces next to Neville who looks like he would rather be anywhere else. 

As the lesson commences, Slughorn goes over the instructions and safety precautions for handling Amortentia. The excitement in the room is palpable as we prepare to brew the potent love potion. The air is filled with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, but I find myself feeling grateful for Harry taking over, using his special edition of the potions book that is full of scribbles and notes presumably making the potion better. The simmering cauldrons and swirling concoctions coming together creates an almost enchanting atmosphere, the scents in the air shifting and blending, giving the room an ethereal quality. 

A figure appears over my shoulder, surprise and curiosity coursing through my veins when I recognise that familiar scent of oranges, honeycomb and something darker like amber which can mean only one thing: Theodore Nott is standing behind me. His calm and composed demeanour a little intimidating as I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually smile more than a very small lift of the corner of his lips. Oh his lips, so plump and flush and-

“How’s the potion going Mouse? Have you blown up-“ He stops abruptly, leaving forwards over my shoulder and taking a very deep breath, causing me to stumble a little over the response I was trying to formulate. His voice is low and husky, sending shivers down my spine at the nickname he calls me. 

“Um, it’s, uh, it’s coming along.” I manage to stammer rout, feeling my cheeks heat up, “Haven’t blown anything up… yet.” 

Theodore’s lips quirk upward ever so slightly, and I catch a glimpse of what could be a hint of amusement. He leans in a little closer, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, sending more shivers down my spine, but it’s a delicious kind nervousness, a feeling I can’t quite put into words. Before I can fully process the situation, Theodore buries his nose in the crook of my neck, taking a deep breath. My heart pounds in my chest so loud I’m sure Ron can hear it from across the room, and time seems to slow down. The scents of oranges, honeycomb and amber envelops us, creating an intimate and intoxicating moment. 

I can hardly believe that Theodore, the stoic and straight-faced Slytherin, is here, so close to me, and that he’s showing this level of vulnerability. His actions are unexpected but oh so incredibly thrilling. I dare to steal a glance at his face, and I’m met with a sight I’ve never seen before - a softness in his expression, a hint of something more than his usual guarded demeanour. It’s as if he’s letting down his walls, revealing a side of himself he rarely shows to anyone. 

My heart races, and I find myself yearning for more of this closeness, more of this connection. It’s like a spell has been cast, and I’m under Theodore’s enchantment. The excitement and nervousness intertwine, and I feel a sense of wonder at the unexpected turn of events, how close he is to me. I can feel his breath ghosting over my lips, knowing that I could just lean forwards ever so slightly and close the near non-existence space between us. The smell of oranges, honeycomb and amber suddenly gets so intense I have to grab the edge of the table and Theodore’s forearm. 

“Aha! We did it!” Harry exclaims, breaking the moment and has Theodore pulling back. Theodore’s eyes meet mine, and I see a spark of something familiar and yet different. The air between us crackles with unspoken words, emotions swirling around us like the brewing potions in the classroom.

“Oh god.” I choke out and I think Theodore actually smiles for the first time, the corner of his lips tilting up into more of a smile than he’s ever shown before, “Wh-what do you smell Teddy?”

He leans in once more, his nose brushing against my collarbone and neck. His closeness sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. And then, he presses a soft, gentle kiss to my jaw, sending shockwaves of sensation through me. It’s a sweet, tender touch that leaves me breathless. 

“You.” He whispers, his voice barely audible,  but the impact of his words reverberates within me. The world seems to stand still, and my heart swells with emotion. 

Theodore Tiberius Nott, the guarded and enigmatic Slytherin, had just confessed, in his own subtle way, that he feels something for me. My cheeks flush with a. Mixture of excitement and disbelief. It’s a moment I never thought I’d experience - being so close to Theodore, sharing this intimate connection, and hearing him express his feelings in such a heartfelt manner. In the heart-stopping moment, I can see the turmoil of emotions playing across his face. His eyes meet mine with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. And then, without warning, he mumbles a single phrase that sets my heart racing even faster. 

“Fuck it,” he whispers, and before I can process his intent, his hand cups my jaw, and he draws me up into a kiss. It’s a surprise, but the moment our lips meet, it’s as if everything falls into place. 

The kiss is soft yet intense, filled with all the emotions that words can’t express. It feels like an explosion of passion and longing, an unspoken confession that’s now imprinted on our lips. Theodore’s lips are warm and inviting, and I respond with equal fervour, my heart soaring with joy and disbelief. Time seems to stand still, and the air crackles with the intensity of our shared emotions. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, a revelation of hidden desires and unspoken feelings. All the walls Theodore had erected to guard his heart have crumbled, and in this magical moment, he bares himself to me in the most intimate way. 

Just as the world around us seems to disappear in the enchantment of the moment, reality crashes back in with an unexpected interruption. Ron, being the protective and ever-observant twin brother, appears out of nowhere and is shoving Theodore away from me. 

“Hey! That’s my sister!” Ron’s voice is filled with shock and indignation, “You can’t just go around kissing my sister!” 

“Ron!” I can’t help but practically facepalm at him as he’s… he’s being Ron, “Shove off,” I reach around Ron and manage to get a grip on Theodore’s sleeve enough to pull him back over to me. Ron's protectiveness is well-intentioned, but I can't let it ruin the magical moment that Theodore and I just shared. 

“I’m not… She’s safe with me, I promise.” Theodore's words are reassuring, and I can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks. Despite his usual stoic demeanour, there's a tenderness in his touch as he holds my hand, a silent declaration of his feelings for me. 

“I trust him.” I say firmly, giving my brother a pleading look. Ron just looks torn for a moment, clearly struggling between his protective instincts and his trust in me. But then, he takes a deep breath and nods reluctantly. 

“Fine.” His says, his voice gruff but accepting, “But if he hurts you in any way, he’ll have me to deal with.” Ron eyes him warily but eventually takes a step back, giving us some space. ”Just remember, Y/N, he's a Slytherin," Ron says, his protective tone still evident.

"He's more than just his house," I reply, trying to convey the depth of my feelings for Theodore.

Ron studies me for a moment before he finally relents. ”Fine," he says, "But don't say I didn't warn you.”

With that, Ron turns and walks away, leaving Theodore and me standing there, still holding hands. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful that Ron didn't push the matter further. 

“Ahhhh young love.” Slughorn’s voice floats across the room , filled with warmth and nostalgia, and I do the only thing I can: bury my face in Theodore’s sweater, feeling a laugh rumble in his chest. 

“Indeed.” Theodore says, his voice laced with amusement as he wraps his arms around me in a gentle embrace. Slughorn giving us an indulgent smile before continuing with the class. The room seeming to take on a different atmosphere now, one that’s tinged with a newfound sweetness and magic. The shimmering cauldrons and swirling potions seem to mirror the emotions swirling within me, and I can’t help but realise how cliche this is. Expressing our feelings for each other during the lesson on amortentia… 

“I’ll wait for you after class.” Theodore murmurs, kissing my forehead then my cheek before untangling himself from my embrace before heading back to his seat next to a predictably sneering Draco Malfoy. 

“What just happened?’ I ask Harry, a little dazed still, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“I’m not actually sure.” 

-----------

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cherry pt. 1 🍒

gif by @taiturner

touch-starved!fem!reader x touch-starved, shy daryl dixon. this is pure tooth-rotting fluff with protective daryl, set somewhere in alexandria. the reader is a medic, this is a sweet build-up to smut which is going to be in part 2.

3.5k words, suitable for everyone. reader is referred to as "she", written in 3rd person, mostly daryl's pov, all lowercase. title from the lana song cherry because lana + norman = *author barks incoherently and descends into insanity*

her knee landed between his legs with a soft thud. the meat of his thigh surrounded by her legs as he sat under the yellow overhead lamp, daryl's chest rose and fell steadily, caramel skin marred by a deep red welt.

he stunk like bloody sweat, moist soil and gunpowder and lead.

"I'll inject a local," she mumbled, tapping on the glass vial before inserting the syringe and filling it up with a clear liquid, "you gonna need some twenty stitches, boyo."

"you dun' hafta," he, nonetheless, winced; the welt went across his chest, over his pectoral and almost to his collarbone. all and all, far from the worst he's had.

painkillers were a luxury, better spent on someone else, someone not like him. but he knew better than to argue with a medic (or someone filling the position of one, for that matter).

the woman's scent enveloped his senses in an opaque fog of sweet summer sweat over sharp, cheap laundry powder. something bitter, like rosemary and thyme, something sweet, like cherries and wine.

daryl's eyelashes fluttered as the needle pierced his skin: once, twice, five times, all around the jagged edges of the torn wound. the breath he was holding in left his mouth in a humid huff.

her hands, so gentle, prodded at the edges of his hurt until he could answer her question of 'feel anything?' negative, honestly. briefly, the acrid stench of rubbing alcohol overshadowed everything else as she sterilized everything, the tools and him, to the best of her ability.

he opened his eyes.

"now," she lifted her clever eyes, surveying the scene, "I'm gonna perch myself here," she moved that much closer, one knee between his legs, the other on the side of his leg; hovering over the same leg, facing his reclined torso, "you tell me if you're uncomfortable. that's the only light here, I don't mean to invade your personal space like that."

he could have laughed, if not for the risk of disrupting her careful stitching of his flesh.

"don'tcha worry 'bout it, pretty girl," his voice gravelly low, daryl did his best to stay still.

she chuckled softly, "bet you say that to anyone who can stitch you up in an even line."

"no," he scoffed, surprising himself, "jus' you. rick's hardly a pretty girl."

her hands stilled, eyes momentarily darting to his. the yellow light reflected in them, giving her pupils a red-hot gleam, as if devil himself had taken a sharp turn and went to seek refuge inside her instead of coming down to georgia.

he studied it, studied his own blurry, open-mouthed, panting reflection in the pupils of the woman currently perched atop his lap. then the realisation hit him, like a derailed runaway train, and he immediately withdrew to count the cracks in the ceiling.

she cleared her throat, resuming the rhythmical push and pull of the needle.

"didn't know rick could do that."

daryl attempted to shrug - stopping it before the motion reached his shoulders - and grunted instead.

she continued to stitch, the suddenly pregnant silence punctuated by the crinkling of a wrapper. an extra large, sterile bandaid was placed over the wound after she applied something green and foul-smelling atop the now-closed gash; his grunted query was met with a curt,

"antiseptic."

and he was let go with instructions to return the next day for a dressing change.

he lied to himself. he waited until it was dark to show up the next day, well into the summer night, just to be placed in the same position - under the lone hanging lamp, under her.

cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme, complimented by a trail of herbal tea. she smelled like peaches, too, this time. or, perhaps, it were the blooming trees outside her window that snuck their sweet aroma indoors.

"healing nicely," she remarked off-handedly, seemingly oblivious to the rising level of his tension and his inner turmoil. "the pain not too bad? you seem grumpy. grumpier than usual."

this time, he waited until she removed herself from his form to bark a terse laugh.

"no, pretty girl," he eyed her in the dusky, dusty room and received a crooked smile for his troubles, "long day 'is all."

"tell me about it," she huffed, shoulders sagging a bit more than he would have liked.

"who's the prick bothering ya?" he couldn't help it, his mind immediately went... places. surely, he wasn't the only one who noticed her pretty.

"no-one but my own damn brain," she scoffed, seemingly at herself, "and maybe the dick from number 17. it's like he's doing it on purpose."

"doin' what now?" daryl's voice dropped, his eyes squinted. his palm migrated to the handle of his knife, a gesture utterly subconscious.

"gettin' injured," she grumbled, no real heat behind her words, "got shot with a dart last week, sprained his ankle on a routine perimeter check today. how did that man serve 6 years in the army is beyond me."

daryl's head tilted as his chest tensed, heart thudded uncomfortably against his ribs.

"isn't carol taking care of all the broken bones?" he asked, tone laced with suspicion.

she turned to face him; he felt, more than saw, the annoyed roll of her eyes.

"he demands a real doctor," the woman shook off the wrapper before leaning back into him and placing it over his wound in one swift, irritated gesture, "how come nobody's told him I'm just a good faker? everyone knows by this point. all he does is waste resources-"

"woah, woah," daryl's voice rose briefly as he attempted to halt the incoming ramble. not that he didn't want to hear what she had to say, it was just unusual to see the quiet woman so... not herself.

"sorry," she shot immediately, looking away, "he just gives me the creeps. I know it's mean but-"

"no," daryl shook his head immediately, "if he's botherin' you, he's botherin' you and he needa back off."

she chuckled as she leaned back to observe the results of her work. her eyes were tired and a little ashamed. "say whatchu want but you southern fellas are real gentlemen," her smile was soft.

nobody has ever spoken to him like that, much less referred to him as a gentleman. through the momentary awe, daryl let the corners of his lips tilt up in a closed-lipped, shy smile.

he didn't return the next day, and the day after, having been deemed healthy enough by rick to be sent off to hunt some game - all activities classified as "takin' it easy" by the community leader. people needed food, growing kids needed the protein.

the gash on his chest bled a little, not much, and the scab that formed afterwards looked proper, thick and healthy.

as he reached the gates upon his return, he could make out some shouting just on the border of the little gated town. a few voices did their best to be heard, one right over the other.

"whazzat?" he quizzed the guard.

"lil doctor lady," the guard responded, frowning, squinting into the distance, "and big john, arguin' over something. dunno what. rick's there too."

daryl did not like the sound of that. he didn't like that at all. he dumped the three deer right there on the muddy ground as soon as he crossed the threshold of the safe zone, powerwalking towards the arguing trio.

"... 'm tellin' ya, rick, she's makin' shit up! I risk my life every day goin' out and patrollin', getting the damn supplies so she could patch me up like she's s'posed to!" big john, red in the face and fists clenched, stood looming over rick as he defended himself to the unimpressed sheriff, "'s'not like I broke my damn arm on purpose!"

immediately, daryl's bullshit meter went off as alarms blared in his head at full volume. big john's words were a little too loud, a little too passionate.

rick's eyes darted towards daryl's rapidly approaching form; that was all he needed to know about the situation.

"if that were true, you'd have no problem with carol attending to you, man," for the time being, rick successfully played the good cop.

"she's not even a real doctor!"

"neither am I!" the woman finally spoke up, shooting a glance at daryl, too, as her shoulders dropped slightly.

"hey, what's your fuckin' problem?" daryl finally stomped close enough for big john to jump at his words.

"none of your damn business," he shot back immediately, switching to stare down at the woman. it wasn't hard for him to make her shrink: his name was big john for a reason.

"don't bother tha nice lady," daryl scoffed, straightening up, "least you want a fuckin' knuckle sandwich. first and final warning."

"oh, fuck you man," big john turned to daryl, taking a step towards the archer, chest puffing out with the force of his rage. his left hand was in a makeshift cast; the right one rose, rapidly flying, aimed at daryl's face.

it didn't take the archer much effort to side-step the large man. he was immediately responding with a punch of his own.

big john staggered, taking a couple of unsteady steps back; within the next second, another punch connected with his face, sending blood and snot flying as he fell on the ground noisily.

"that's enough!" rick yelled, pulling on daryl's shoulder.

for the time being, the archer was content to let himself be steered away from the fight.

somewhere behind him, a feminine voice mumbled something less-than-polite, sighing, as she joined rick in pulling him away from big john.

"you stay away from her, dipshit!" daryl added hotly, "fuckin' weirdo."

"c'mon big guy," she cooed softly, nodding to rick as she steered him towards her house, "let's get you cleaned up."

he let her drag him indoors, towards the kitchen sink where the smell of herbs was the most potent. throughout the dirt and grime that always followed his hunts, it was a welcome respite. earthy and natural in the best, the most tender of ways.

the woman checked his knuckles, tugging on his big, meaty hand to place it under a stream of cold tap water; his skin was clear, once the grime and blood and dirt was washed off. a coupla punches was nothing, his knuckles too seasoned to sustain an injury from something as simple as a fistfight.

in broad daylight, there was no need for her to perch atop him to check the wound on his chest.

daryl swallowed, following her hands with his eyes. in her pristine, clean kitchen, he'd never felt more out of place as she moved aside the neck of his sweat-stained shirt and touched the soft skin of her fingertips to the scab, checking for infection.

the corners of her mouth finally, finally tilted up. an angry, upset expression had no place on her face; daryl could feel himself deflate as the cloud over the head of the little doctor lady finally, finally dissipated.

"you didn't even tear the stitches, I'm impressed," she complimented him softly, brushing the shirt collar back in place and smoothing it out with her palm, "they're dissolvable, luckily. go wash up and come back, I'll put some antibiotic ointment on it just in case. okay?"

her touch burned, but it was a sweet sort of fire. the kind that remained in his mouth after a particularly delicious batch of spicy wings, blooming as he took a deep breath.

he wanted to chase it with his tongue.

his nostrils flared as he exhaled.

"okay, dar?"

she had a nickname for him. she stared at him with those round, trusting eyes, not knowing that in truth, he was no better than big john.

daryl's cheeks flamed.

"okay," he mumbled, unable to refuse her anything when her eyes.., "dun look at me like dat."

"like what?" she frowned again and oh no, this was so much worse than the earnest concern written plain as day on her face just seconds ago.

his heart hammered in his chest. his fingers twitched. he swallowed the lump in his throat, shuffled his feet.

"cya," finally, his legs cooperated! he ran out of the house like the coward that he was.

he didn't come back as she'd requested. he couldn't. instead, he stubbornly stood under an ice cold stream of water, as long as could manage - and it did exactly nada for his racing thoughts or his traitorous body.

the soap carol had made smelled like herbs.

it smelled like the kitchen where tender fingers prodded at his skin, where soft hair briefly brushed his cheek, where the overhead lamp illuminated a halo around the head of the woman that found a home inside his head on most nights.

dusk fell over the settlement as a knock disturbed the miniscule amount of peace he'd managed to find for himself in the darkness of the basement.

"daryl?" rick's voice yelled, "I gotta favour to ask!"

he was there in an instant. "whassup?"

"the doctor lady. big john's bin runnin' his mouth since dinner, ion like it. I think he's gonna be up to no good."

what daryl liked about rick was his straightforwardness and common sense. such concern had place to be. daryl nodded, walking inside to put on a clean shirt and pick up his crossbow.

"I appreciate it," rick clapped him on the shoulder, "I'd stick around myself but judy is teething and michonne has been up for three nights already, m'afraid she's gonna..."

"no probl'm, rick, ah get it," daryl cut off the rambling man, "you go take care of your baby girl."

as daryl made way to the woman's house, his mind switched to defense mode effortlessly. he knew just the perfect spot to perch himself in, away from prying eyes and well within the observation range of the entries to her house. it wasn't the most comfortable of spots but summer nights were warm and the birdsong from the trees provided a childhood sort of comfort under the clear, dark skies.

as he prepared to settle in, the main door to her house cracked open.

she wore short, thin cotton shorts and a worn out t-shirt and nothing else, a steaming cup of tea clutched securely between her palms. her eyes immediately landed on his dark figure attempting to blend into the dusky underbrush.

"I thought you'd be a no-show," she remarked, a playful tone colouring her voice.

daryl had enough conscience to look sheepish. "uhh," he replied, eloquently, taking a hesitant step towards her house. the light breeze blew the hot fumes of her tea right into his nose, momentarily clouding his judgement. he barely could tear his eyes away from the soft, unblemished skin of her legs.

"c'mon," she waved him in, and he followed, obedient, quiet, like a puppy. she made a brief stop at the stove before pushing a cup into his hands, "I made some tea. not terribly sweet for you, I hope. you seem like a black coffee kinda guy."

the upbeat, companionable chatter sent daryl's head reeling. it's like she was completely oblivious to his clumsiness, to his bluntness, to the awkwardness that seemed to take deep root in his bones whenever he was in her presence.

he took a sip, a courtesy, as she made him sit in that recliner chair again, her body warm and comfortable above him. isn't that what you wanted, moron? his head screamed at him, the annoying voice eerily similar to his late brother's.

"it's okay to let me know you're uncomfortable," she spoke quietly as she moved aside the collar of his shirt once more.

he shivered, it's not like he could help himself. "wha?"

"not everyone likes to be... touched," she briefly looked up, then back again as she rubbed the salve around his scabs, sharp chemicals and plastic disturbing the peaceful aroma of her herbal tea, "my ma used to yell at me to, like... stop hugging random people. sometimes I forget that not everyone is perfectly fine with jus' bein' groped."

"hmm," he managed, struggling not to sound like all of his christmases just had arrived at once. she wanted to touch him. well, not just him-

"these days, I'm not particularly keen on that either, but eventually, the touch starvation catches up to me. I'm just glad that, like, carol and rosita don't freak out or anything, when I play octopus with 'em."

"it's... okay," he had to drink to clear his throat, inhale to clear his mind. "ion mind, pretty girl," daryl tried for a smile and was sure it came more like a grimace. he desperately needed practice in that department.

she chuckled, a dulcet little noise, before her eyes shot up to his. whatever she was looking for, she found it; her hands, done with healing his external wounds, stroked slowly over his shoulders, mapping the broad, muscular expanse of them in one fluid motion. the tips of his hair tickled the tops of her palms.

with only a thin cotton barrier separating daryl's skin from hers, it was as close to heaven as he will ever allowed to be. the cup in his hand scalded his rough palms, hot ceramic burning through the callouses: it was like an afterthought of pain and nothing more.

her fingers connected behind his neck, the pads rubbing over the tense muscle there. the groan left his mouth unnoticed by him, until he could feel the smile on her face bloom just like the flowers outside her window.

"you like that?"

"mmm," he managed, weakly. something inside of him was crumbling. maybe it was the tea that had filled his veins with melted sugar and liquified the strong resolve to not let someone like her be tainted by someone like him.

she kept on kneading his neck and shoulders, like a damn cat working graveyard shift at the biscuit cookie factory.

daryl's deep inhale moved his whole body.

she staggered, brief and sweet, tilting heavily into him to keep up her balance and stop herself from falling over. graceful, she was not.

he was met with a parted mouth, so sweet and red and plump, like ripe cherries; right over his nose, just out of reach, sinful and tantalising in it's own right. the pink, moist meat of her tongue was tucked into the corner of it as her eyes narrowed, something between relief and concentration.

seeing him look, the mouth stretched into a smile, making it that much sweeter. she was looking at him, again, like- like that.

her hands faltered, she swayed in place; daryl's instincts got the better of him and he secured her, one hand holding her body by the hip to steady the sudden bout of clumsiness.

"m'sorry, imma klutz," she looked away sheepishly.

he squeezed her hip on response, letting her know it was okay. and it really was more than that: much to his wide-eyed wonder. he felt like he was the one who should be doing the apologizing. but not only did she not shake off his hand, oh no, she leaned further into him, her belly almost touching his bent forearm.

it took a gargantuan amount of effort just to not pull her in all the way. she was most inviting to touch, all soft curves courtesy of semi-regular meals and tender skin despite the blazing summer sun.

daryl's thumb moved up and down the cotton of her shorts absent-mindedly. the sweet little sighs falling from her lips were hard to miss. almost as if it was someone else pushing her into his arms, a well-meaning ghost perhaps; she tilted in on herself to soak up the warmth of his large, hot body.

a trail of goosebumps ran across his scalp, starting from the place she was rubbing gentle circles into it - at the back of his head, where his hairline met his nape. if he was capable of purring, he would.

instead, he groaned again, eyelashes fluttering, casting a moving shadow on his sharp cheeks. his reward was an equally-content sounding sigh as it drafted into his nose, warm and earthy.

the empty cup thudded against the table where he placed it.

her fingers parted his hair gingerly, taking great care to avoid potential tangles. some finer, smaller hairs still pulled, taking some of his self-deprecation and resolve with 'em as the motion traversed his body in a jolt and settled somewhere deep inside the pit of his belly.

this was getting dangerous.

daryl opened his eyes and stared up.

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #daryl x you #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #twd fanfiction #daryl is so puppydog #i wanna pet him

[heich0e]

THE WITCH'S SONG - part one knight!osamu/witch!reader tags: fem!reader, royalty!au, supernatural!au, witchcraft, enemies to lovers, mentions of violence/illness/death, persecution and oppression, tw blood, please read the tags on each chapter as updated and minors do not interact. crossposted to ao3 MASTERLIST

The night air is sweet. 

It’s still early summer, where the days are warm and bright before giving way to cool evenings, and the smell spring unfurled with its budding leaves continues to linger long after the sun sets. The aroma is fresh and green, not yet turned to the heady fragrance of singed grass and warmed earth which will slowly seep in as the days grow longer and the sun ever-brighter overhead.

There’s something captivating about this time of year; not quite the lush, blooming spring, nor the scorching, unforgiving summer, but a deliriously pleasant in-between that keeps the best of both.

On a tall hill, overlooking the rocky coast and a quiet village in the distance, sits a small stone cottage. Ivy crawls along the rows of uneven bricks that give the home its shape, having long settled and slanted in the time since it was built, each vine curling in long stems around four-pane windows and up towards the thatched roof. 

In front of the house sits a garden, full of every plant anyone could possibly desire to find in the given climate; vegetables, fruits and unusual herbs abound. The rich earth that surrounds the cottage is fertile and generous—with a careful hand to till and tend it, there’s little it can't sprout. The gardens are still not quite at their peak for the season, the plants low to the ground but flourishing as they patiently wait for a few more sun-filled days to truly blossom into their prime. 

Along the western side of the property, nearest to the towering forest’s edge, sits a greenhouse connected to a shabby little shed that greatly resembles the cottage in its quaint, unassuming construction. It’s there, in the dead of this cool summer night, that you—the owner of the cottage—toil.

Your fingers hold a glass vial over a small open flame atop the work station with a set of silver pincers. Your keen, well-trained eyes watch attentively as the fire licks up along the edges of the glass, heating the contents within. A breeze, northeasterly with a faint taste of salt air that creeps in with the nearby waves, whisks through the room and a shiver accompanies it in turn. 

A soft sigh slips through your parted lips and your eyes, previously fixed on the tincture held over the flame, lift towards the door. 

You aren’t startled when you see him standing there, though you barely contain the sound of annoyance that threatens to leave you; the momentary glance is the only acknowledgement you make to his (notably unwelcome) appearance as his figure darkens your doorway. You return your gaze to the solution you’re in the midst of preparing—a careful balance of valerian, mugwort, and poppy heads for a woman in the nearby village who has been unable to sleep restfully since the untimely death of her husband.

“Good evenin’,” he says to you once he realizes that you will not be the first to speak. He punctuates the greeting with a light clearing of his throat.

“Is it?” you reply, removing the slender vial from the flame and swirling its contents. You closely examine the colour and viscosity of the liquid, returning it to the heat for a few moments more after some consideration. 

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” the young man’s own tone is rather tight and clipped as he speaks the words–obviously equally unhappy with the turn of events that had led him to your cottage this evening, though resolute to maintain some level of decorum. 

“And yet,”—you finally look up at him, meeting his gaze with a firm and unwavering stare that you have up until this point denied him—“here you are.” 

Finally satisfied with the tincture, you set about pressing a stopper into the tube. You reach over and pluck up a burning taper from the candleholder resting nearby on your worktop, tipping it forward over the still blisteringly-hot glass to seal the cork. A rivulet of molten wax runs from the candlestick in a slow drizzle, and you carefully turn the thin vial to coat the border where glass and cork marry evenly. A piece of blue ribbon is then carefully wound around the warm wax before it has fully hardened, sealing the small vessel shut. 

The man watches silently as you slip the vial into a velvet pouch, tying the strings together tightly to draw it closed, and then you tuck the pouch safely away in the pocket of your flowing skirt—out of sight from where your visitor stands in the doorway to the greenhouse. Your eyes scan over the bench for a moment before you extinguish the oil burner you’d been using, turning the small knob at the base until the flame shrinks down to nothingness. 

“I wouldn’t’ve come if it weren’t important,” the young man’s tone has softened slightly into something closer to a mumble, weary from his journey and seemingly in grave need of something he could only seek from you. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with grim shadows under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that doesn’t suit him.

“Now that I do believe,” you remark, almost drolly, picking up your oil lamp and crossing the room towards where he stands. He stiffens a little as you approach, as though bracing himself against a threat, but you merely slip soundlessly past him, stepping out into the dark night. 

Behind you, the man sighs.

He follows.

The two of you cross the yard, a few paces separating you throughout the silent trek, with the lamp you hold in hand the only light to lead the way. You tread carefully through the well-tended garden, careful but familiar motions deciding where each foot falls, and you sense without turning that he’s following your path as you move towards the stone cottage on the other side of the property—ensuring his own steps follow your footprints precisely. There are candles burning inside your cottage up ahead, their warm glow visible through the windows, and smoke curls steadily from the chimney and into the brisk night air. The smoke is perfumed with herbs, and the scent only grows stronger the nearer you get to your home.

You wonder if he notices.

“That’s far enough.”

You pause in your stride as you reach the stout stone wall that circles your cottage in a knee-high ring, resting with your feet together at the place where a gate might be were there any need for it. Behind you, the man falters to his own stop, surprised by your sudden halt and your sharp words.

“I need yer help,” he sounds confused, and frustrated—impatience creeping into his tone again. There’s a sharpness to it, like he’s forced each word out from between clenched teeth. You don’t look back to verify your suspicion. 

Another cold wind blows from the direction of the sea, and the budding leaves of the garden’s plants around you rustle as it passes, whispering amongst themselves as they spectate your exchange.

“I care very little for what you need, Miya Osamu,”—you glance at him over your shoulder, and see the way the distant light from your windows dances in his eyes—“and it will be a cold day in hell before I help a royal knight.”

The garden seems to still in the wake of your low-spoken words, the breeze dying out like the temporary peace ahead of a storm’s rage.

Before you, Osamu’s eyes have hardened. The lines of his sharp jaw set underneath his skin.

“Ya know me.”

“I know of you,” you correct him flatly. “Fortunately, our paths have never crossed.”

Until now.

Osamu’s nostrils flare, then he swallows.

“How?” he asks, his voice low and deceptively even.

“One of the king’s most trusted knights tearing through the outskirts of the kingdom in search of a healer is news powerful enough to reach even my ears, Miya.” Your lamplight dims slightly as you hold it aloft in your hand, the flame beneath the glass slowly shrinking. The oil is burning low. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you got desperate and I got unlucky.”

He flinches, his lashes fluttering slightly like he’s fighting back a more violent reaction. Like he’s accepting a blow he could easily return but chooses not to. The knight's gaze casts down to his feet as his fingers curl into fists at his sides.

“My brother's ill,” he says quietly, his voice heavy with an anxiety that rolls off of him in waves. “My twin.”

“Atsumu,” you specify, since he did not. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, and there’s a spark of something new behind it. Something more volatile. He looks angry that you’ve taken it upon yourself to speak his brother’s name.

“I know what you are,” he says slowly, wielding his next words like a blade and aiming to kill.

“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side in a show of guilelessness. 

“Yer a witch,” he continues, overlooking your feigned ignorance. 

“There are no witches in this kingdom,” you reply. “The crown you’ve sworn your life to saw to that.”

“Our king h—“

“Your king,” you interrupt him. The unexpected interjection seems to shock him, and his shoulders square indignantly.

“Yer also a subject of this kingdom,” he counters, and your distaste is made perfectly evident in your responding sneer. 

“I’m governed by no monarch, and certainly by no man.”

Osamu’s hands are still held in tightly-clenched fists at his side, the lines of his body as clear an indicator as any to his palpable anger. “You’d admit to treason before a knight?” 

“You’ve already accused me of witchcraft,” you spit, your teeth gnashing together as you force the words out. “What’s another crime to be burned for?”

You know all too well the end that awaits a woman accused of such a crime.

It’s the fate your mother met before your very eyes, after all.

Seconds stretch between you in the garden—sticky, and uncomfortable, and polluted with the animosity you feel for each other. It takes root in distrust and blossoms into something ugly, like a weed.

Osamu takes a breath, letting his head hang forward. His shoulders slump.

 “An old man two towns west from here told me a young woman in this cottage once cured his ailing wife in her final hours, and she lived a decade more. That she was brought back from the brink of death thanks to the woman’s care.” He looks up at you again, and his stare is insistent. Beseeching.

You know the man he speaks of, and his gentle, lovely wife. It was half a century ago now since you’d first met them, and you’ve heard the old man has gone a bit senile in his old age. You doubt he meant you any harm in his revelation, regardless of the trouble it’s come to cause.

“I’m nothing but a humble herbalist.” Your hand sweeps out in gesture to your garden, but the man before you is unmoved.

“Who’s been a young woman for fifty years.”

Even the distant sea seems to have stilled as the tension intensifies between you, the waves falling silent to make room for the hostility that spreads with every passing moment.

Osamu swallows. “They say witches have powerful healin’ abilities. That you can make potions that’ll revive a man half-dead.”

“It’s folklore,” you reply dismissively.

“It’s fact,” Osamu snaps. "I know it is."

“And what else do you claim to know of these so-called witches?” you deride, and you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to quickly trace you.

He squares his shoulders, then he meets your gaze. “They say ya maintain yer beauty and youth by devourin’ the hearts of good men.”

“Is that so?” you muse, though you seek no sincere elaboration. You look to your left, east towards the sea, and then sweep your gaze across the expanse of your garden to the right. You meet his dark eyes again after surveying your surroundings. “Well, I see no good men nearby, so I believe you should be safe.”

In the dim light, you swear you see something throb at the corner of his tense jaw.

“There’s not a healer in the royal court who’s been able to cure my brother,” Osamu’s voice breaks, taking a step towards you. “I’ve come here unarmed, and mean no harm to ya.”

Your upper lip curls at the lie and his proximity, baring your teeth.

No man has ever once approached a witch with pure intentions.

The seek only their beauty, their power, or their beating, bloody hearts.

Your mother’s screams ring suddenly through your ears, piercing and agonized. The memory makes gooseflesh raise along your skin. Makes the back of your tongue taste sour. You squeeze your eyes shut as though to quell it, but this only seems to trap the sound in the recesses on your brain. They grow louder, and harder to forget. 

You see your mother on a wooden stage constructed in the town square before a crowd of horrified spectators, the gnarled boards underfoot already stained in scarlet.

The white linen shift they’d forced her to wear, and the way the thin material flowed away from her frame in the breeze.

The glittering hilt of the jewelled knife that carved out her heart, with the sigil of the king etched into its blade.

The crackling flames that consumed her as she wailed.

A witch can live without her heart, you see, so long as it’s kept close to her. Your mother wasn’t spared a second of the misery of being burned alive. She was granted no mercy in the final terrifying moments of her life.

You open your eyes and the dark sky above you seems to hang closer overhead, as though it’s more suffocatingly near than it was before. The garden around you suddenly feels colder.

Osamu’s eyes widen, like he feels it too.

Your dying lamp burns out.

“Leave this place,” you say to him, low and warning. Your voice rings clear in the unearthly still night. “And if you value your life, never come back here again.”

#osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #hq fic #hq writing #writing #tws

[bandgie]

could you do another hate sex yj?? and could it have loads of banter and verbal teasing?? literally love your stuff soooo much

a/n: yes! I actually have an idea for this! and thank you sm!!

synopsis: Being part of the The Titans means putting your life at risk for Jump City. Defeating villains and putting them behind bars should be the hardest part, but it's actually your own team member that drives you insane.

notes/warnings: MDNI 18+, teen titans AU, fem!reader, reader is called 'Raven', elements of drugging, heat, dom-ish!reader, foot job (sorry), monster fucking I think? I dunno if it counts lmao, bondage (m!rec), tentacles (I had to), throat fucking (m!rec), light chocking (m!rec), PIV/no protection, creampie

2.4k words

You should have known tonight's mission wasn't going to go well. There was an ominous atmosphere as the team carried out their assignments. Being gifted with psychic abilities, you can feel the emotions of those around you. That empathic ability was both a blessing and a curse. The one time you decided to ignore it was the one time you needed to listen to it the most.

Deathstroke had anticipated the attack. He laced the area with drugs and gasses that left the five of you weak, and incapable. Your power was uncontrollable as you were filled with raw fear. The only person you had to rely on was Beastboy who was trapped in the same room as you.

That alone was a trap in itself.

Black tendrils whipped around you viciously. Your power smacked and tried to break through the walls, but they seemed impenetrable. If you were in your right mind, you could easily find a way out. 

"Fuck Raven! You're gonna get us killed!" Beastboy ducked and covered his head as your magic continued to act recklessly. You ignored him, beating at the room. The rest of the team members were most likely separated, and you'd be damned if anything happened to them.

It's now you grow tired that your legs give out from under you. You collapsed on the hard ground, your black magic quickly dissipating. Beastboy rushed to your side and cursed, "Shit. If you would have just calmed down-"

"Calm down!?" The room shook with your voice. "How the fuck can I calm down when our friends are out there and we're in here? You don't get it Yeonjun, I can feel it. They're scared, and alone. We can't sit here and-"

Yeonjun cut you off with a growl, "I never said I wanted to sit here. If you knew how to fucking control yourself we could have found a way out!" Despite trying to keep a level head, Yeonjun could feel the terror in his chest. Watching you, who's usually composed, freak out did little to help. 

"Oh fuck you! You say 'we,' but I always save our asses. You've been doing bat shit to help!" It probably isn't wise to further engage in arguing, but you don't have the patience otherwise. With the gas you both inhaled and the fear you feel, it's impossible to think rationally.

You can see the veins that pop out from under Yeonjun's green skin as he yells back. "How do you expect me to help when you're whipping those things around like a madman!? While you were going crazy I found something."

The retort dies in your throat, "Found something?"

"Yes," Yeonjun sounds exasperated. "I think we're in Deathstroke's lab. Found some potions and shit." He pulls a small vial from his pocket, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. The clear bottle swooshes with pink liquid inside, words scribbled on it.

You look at the bright color curiously, "What's it say?" He shrugs, "Beats me. I think it's his own language or whatever." Without saying more, he pops the cork off and raises it to his lips. "Bottoms up."

"Beastboy!" 

He swallows and grimaces at the taste, burping. "I said to call me Yeonjun."

"You idiot!" The fire in your chest flames once again. "Do you even know what you drank?" Rather than seeming upset, Yeonjun flashes his sharp canines at you. It's better to watch you grow furious at him than be scared. Even if you look at him with rage in your eyes, it's better than seeing the overwhelming panic.

"Nope," he pops the 'p'. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."

You scoot a few inches away from him, waiting for disaster to strike. Will he go ballistic? Maybe he'll explode. Now that you're thinking about it, that potion was awfully pink. Maybe that'll be his new skin color.

Rather than turning into a flamingo, he remains the same hue. Yeonjun's lip twitches and his pupils dilate. His heart rate increases and it suddenly feels much too hot in the room. Your empathetic power picks up on this. Even if you don't physiologically react the same, you can taste the thickness in the air. An intense sense of excitement pools in your stomach, your chest. 

You snatch the vile from Yeonjun's hands. That fucking moron, you groan internally. It wasn't Deathstroke's secret language, it was Latin.

"Eros libido," you read the scribbled words. "Fuck."

"Libido?" Yeonjun's sweaty face looks confused. "The game with the stick?"

"No, you- oh my god. That's limbo. Libido is....nothing. How do you feel?" You quickly change the subject. The potion must be strong. If Yeonjun felt it in mere seconds and you felt the effects soon after, you can only imagine how it'll progress. 

"I feel...restless? I dunno just...like I wanna do something?" He speaks unsurely. The hair on his neck raises and so does a muscle underneath his pants apron making eye contact with you. "Oh shit," his eyes go wide. "S-stop looking at me!"

Yeonjun stands up abruptly, running to the corner of the room. He knows this feeling now. The warmth in his body, the feeling of unfiltered desire, the ache in his cock. He's in heat. Yeonjun could try and play human all he wants, but he still has animal DNA in him.

His raw lust filters into you. It hits you like a ton of bricks and you feel like discarding your cloak. 

"You stupid fuck," despite being aroused, you attempt to turn it into anger. "Who drinks a potion in a language they don't know when they're trapped?" Standing to your feet, you stomp to Yeonjun who's shriveled on the ground. 

He groans your name out, "Don't get close to me please."

You ignore him, throwing your purple cape on the ground and flipping Yeonjun to his back. His eyes are full-blown wide, he's drooling helplessly, and his dick strains painfully against his pants. You scoff, pressing a foot on his erection, "You look so pathetic."

Yeonjun's entire body keens at your touch. His hands reach down and grip your ankle. He means to throw your foot off of him, but instead, he pushes your heel harder against his cock. Yeonjun whines and thuds his head down on the ground roughly. How hates how good it feels, hates that he'd beg to cum from your shoe even if it was beyond shameful. 

Rather than pulling away, you let him hump your foot. Your boots are latex, so it's easy to feel his clothed erection against you. "Fuck, you're really hard huh?" There's a sick sweetness in your voice Yeonjun's not used to. 

He nods mindlessly, "I'm sorry. Mmm fuck, I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. I thought- shit! -I thought it would make me stronger." Yeonjun pants through his sentences. His eyes are crazed, but he manages to speak through it. "I'm such an idiot. Fuck fuck fuck.." You can see tears slip from the corner of his eyes. He bites down on his lower lip to keep from being so loud. After all, how can a mere foot make him feel this good?

"Are you crying?"

Yeonjun whines at your harsh tone. "It hurts..." he speaks in a small voice. 

You tear your foot from his grasp. Yeonjun violently sobs, he is so close. He's about to beg you to let him use your foot when you kneel. He watches in shock as you button his tight pants, yanking them to free his cock.

"Oh," You're in shock. Calling Yeonjun big would be an understatement. The shaft darkens as your eyes trail to the very tip of his dark green head. It's a stark contrast from the white pre-cum that dribbles from his slit. The cold air makes Yeonjun twitch and groan, at least the confines of his pants had given him pressure. 

You don't think when your hand reaches out to grab the base. Even with two fists, the tip would peek out with a few more inches. Desire pools in your stomach. You quickly try to blame it on Yeonjun's condition. This isn't your own emotions, you're just reading his. It's strong, and it's affecting you.

That's all.

That's all, you tell yourself when you move to hover on top. That's all, you think when you move the sticky crotch of your leotard to the side. "That's all," you murmur when you grind yourself on his cock. It's warm, it twitches, it leaks. Begging to be put where your legs ache. You expect Yeonjun to start pleading, crying to let him fuck you.

He knows better though. Talking would ruin the headspace you're in. It would make it real, make it a permanent memory that Yeonjun was inside you. The same person who went out of his way to make piss you off, to watch your turn red from anger.

And you're going to let him.

It's not until you sink down on him that he squeaks. His cock stretches you out fully, forcing your walls to mold into his shape. You groan and place your hands on his torso, pushing yourself deeper and deeper. Your legs quiver and your stomach flips when you feel him kiss your cervix. You've fully seated yourself on him, letting your cunt convulse and squeeze around his length.

"Fuck!" Yeonjun can't help himself as his hands find your waist. He moans your name, over and over until he's started drooling again. "You're so tight. Fuck me, please fuck me. I can't move, I-"

Black tendrils come out of your back without you needing to think. One shoves itself inside Yeonjun's mouth, cutting his needy demands off. Another two grab his wrists and pull them away from your hips, pinning them above his head. 

You pick your hips up and slam down. There's a loud squelch from where you connect, and you can hear Yeonjun's muffled moans as the appendage forces itself down his throat. 

"Shut." You drop your weight on his dick. "Up." And you do it again. His dick drags against your soft walls, a hot sensation slowly building inside you. "You can't do shit right." Your hands reach up to wrap around his neck. You can feel how your magic moves inside his mouth. How Yeonjun's gags and drools around the dark appendage. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and there's a light flush on his cheeks from the lack of oxygen. 

"I have to do everything for you," you seethe. "Useless." Your hips move in circles, letting Yeonjun's cock explore every part of you. "Can't even fuck me. I always do all the work, and you just lie there and take it." 

Yeonjun can't disagree. It feels too good to let you use him. To force his throat open, to hold him down while he writhes in unbelievable pleasure. You're so warm, cunt terribly hot it makes him squirm. It's better than he could have possibly imagined. Your pussy perfectly fits onto his cock, it squeezes him in all the right ways that he's surprised he's lasted this long. 

You scoff at his fucked out state, somewhat jealous. Yeonjun gets to fuck up consistently, yet he still reaps all the rewards. 

"I hate you," you moan out. The warmth in your belly doubles. Your pussy has drenched his cock with cream and slick. It makes it easy to slide in and out, to fuck yourself on him without worrying if Yeonjun will split you open. 

Yeonjun frantically shakes his head, trying to free himself of your magic. You slow your hips and oblige, your back magic pulling away from his mouth. 

His lips are swollen, red, and wet. He coughs and gasps for air. "Again," he chokes out. "Tell me you hate me again."

"I can't stand you," your grip tightens around his neck. "I hate that you mess everything up. I hate that you bother me." Your hips have a mind of their own. Bouncing and dragging themselves along his length. "I hate your voice. I hate how you look at me." You curse when his hips buck him uncontrollably. He starts meeting your thrusts, clear that he'll finish soon. 

Yeonjun only moans at your horrible confessions. His wet eyes look up at yours almost endearingly. "I hate you too," he moans out. "I hate how mean you are to everyone. I hate- ahhh shit, I hate that I can't stop thinking about you. I hate that I dream about you. I hate your skin, I hate your eyes." 

You moan at his cruel words. Your body leans down on top of his, lower body moving with intent. Your hands steady themselves on his green chest, squeezing and pinching the skin there. 

"I fucking hate everything about you."

Then you cum. Waves and pleasure and hot spurts flooding your pussy and his cock. You rock against him until you feel his cock twitch. Yeonjun's arms have gone numb from their positions, but he tugs against the restraints nonetheless. He wants to squeeze to plump flesh of your ass, he wants to leave your body with marks. He wants to remember, wants you to remember how you let him have you. 

His cum pours inside you, moaning and thrusting animalistically in your ear. Yeonjun snarls when your walls tighten around his girth again, milking his cock for all it has to give. He fucks up into you lazily, trying to ride out his high.

The overwhelming pleasure tugs at your stomach and sends your body on overdrive as multiple black points sprout from your body. They stab at the ground below you, the walls beside you. Yeonjun would have been terrified had he not just orgasmed. Instead, he smiles at your violent response, looking at the damage to the room.

A ray of pale light pokes through the roof where your magic has pierced it. He squints at the hole, making sure it doesn't disappear. Yeonjun shouts in excitement. You jump at the noise. Yeonjun nods in the direction and you follow his line of sight. Sure enough, you see the same beam of moonlight shining down. You look back at him, a mere breath away, 

You smile.

The sight makes Yeonjun shiver, his limp cock twitches inside you. He quickly replaces his look of awe with false confidence, flashing his sharp teeth. "Told you that potion would help."

a/n: this actually took me so long to write. no idea where I was goin with it. I had a lot of different plot ideas, but I decided to do this one. please tell me how you liked it! it's defo new to me lmao in case you're wondering! this is how I planned on doing the characters: robin- Taehyun starfire - Kai cyborg - soobin beastboy - yeonjun raven - reader deathstroke - beomgyu

#smut #txt #txt smut #txt imagines #kai txt #txt post #soobin #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x reader #txt yeonjun #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #tomorrow x together smut #tomorrow x together #kpop #kpopsmut #kpop smut #txt hard hours #choi soobin #yeonjun txt #yeonjun tomorrow x together #txt x y/n #txt x reader

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

The Party

Jacinth Masterlist

Remember this post? Welp, I wrote it! At first I was going to use generic characters, but then I realized how well this scenario fits for Jacinth, so I quickly made the change!

Also, thank you to @lilywolfgray for helping me figure out the simile that pops up!

this one is a bit long, so I've put it under the cut!

The sound of Jacinth’s footsteps made Y/N stiffen in bed nervously.

“Wake up my little human,” Jacinth’s silvery voice cooed, “you’ve been napping long enough.”

Jacinth pulled the curtain of his and Y/N’s shared room aside, practically floating over to her. Y/N slowly sat up, her hands twisting the comforter draped over her.

“Have I told you what today is, hm?”

Y/N shook her head.

“It’s the Festival of Winter’s End,” Jacinth said with a gleaming smile, “and I’d like to bring you to the celebration. But first, I have to get you ready.”

Jacinth produced a small flower in his hand, its petals trembling from how much nectar it was filled with. Y/N knew exactly what that deceptively sweet liquid would do to her if she drank it. She looked at Jacinth with a pleading expression.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jacinth said, “drink this, won’t you? It tastes wonderful~”

When Y/N still didn’t drink, Jacinth took hold of her chin and tilted it up.

“Drink, Y/N,” he commanded gently.

As soon as Jacinth had said her name, Y/N felt her lips falling apart so the fae could pour the nectar into her mouth. Y/N swallowed, feeling the sweet, sticky liquid coat her mouth and throat.

“Very good,” Jacinth praised, “such an obedient human.”

Jacinth took Y/N’s hand and gently pulled her out of bed. He led her through the rooms of his abode to a little series of pools surrounded by soft moss. He sat her down next to one of them and positioned himself behind her. He took a small stone bowl and filled it with water from the pool. He poured the contents over her head, letting it soak into her hair. He picked up a vial and opened it, letting the fragrant contents cover her scalp. He started to work it into her hair, until a bubbly lather had formed. Once it was fully worked in, he rinsed it out with more water. All through the process, Y/N could feel her eyes getting heavy and her body going limp.

Jacinth went to remove Y/N’s dress next. When he had first taken her, he had gotten rid of those unsightly human clothes and replaced them with nicer, more appealing garments. He had barely gotten to the strap of the dress when Y/N attempted to shuffle away from him, her cheeks decorated with a red flush.

“Now now,” Jacinth said, “I have to wash you. Don’t be difficult.”

Y/N shook her head, screwing her eyes shut. Jacinth sighed.

“I forgot how sensitive you humans are,” he said, “I suppose we’ll just spot-clean.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but only a bit of slurred nonsense came out. Jacinth chuckled, then grabbed another vial. He poured the liquid inside onto a small wad of moss. He started to scrub Y/N’s skin until it was soft and clean. Y/N blinked slowly; the world started to tilt until she realized she had fallen against Jacinth’s chest.

“Aw,” Jacinth cooed, kissing her on her head, “how sweet.”

…

Y/N wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All she knew was one minute, Jacinth was holding her amongst the mossy pools, then the next, she was blinking up at a series of lanterns hung along the trees. She heard the sound of chatter and music. She tried to sit up, but her body felt too heavy. Jacinth’s soft laughter rumbled behind her, and his face came into view.

“Finally awake, hm?” he mused, “I suppose I could’ve just asked you to sleep instead of feeding you the nectar… ah well.”

Another face came into view. It was another fae, with pointy ears, pink skin and deep, red eyes.

“Jacinth, is this your human?” she asked in awe.

“Indeed she is,” Jacinth replied with a smile.

“May we hold her?” a green fae asked.

Jacinth’s grip on Y/N tightened ever so slightly.

“She isn’t used to other fae yet,” he said, “but you can feed her if you’d like.”

The pink fae giggled with delight, then allowed a raspberry to grow in her palm. She brought it to Y/N’s lips. Y/N, who was still quite out of it, opened her mouth to let the fae feed her. It tasted much sweeter than the fruit at home, and a little bit of the juice dribbled down her chin, which made the pink fae chuckle and coo. Jacinth wiped the juice away with the pad of his thumb.

A green fae came up next, holding a honeycomb in his hand. He offered it to Y/N, and she drank the honey inside.

“She is so precious,” the green fae said, “how I wish I had a human of my own.”

“She’s very special to me,” Jacinth replied, “she is like the soothing touch of a fresh spring breeze.”

“Quite so,” the green fae agreed.

As the night went on, several more fae came up to see Y/N. Any time one of them tried to touch her, Jacinth would pull her closer to himself and make some excuse for why they couldn’t. The music playing was otherworldly, and Y/N often caught herself swaying to it.

Y/N yawned and felt her eyelids drooping shut. She felt Jacinth lift her up in a bridal carry. He made his excuses to the other fae and started to carry her home.

“Did you have a good time, pet?” Jacinth asked.

Y/N only murmured in response, eliciting a fond chuckle from him.

“Sleep now, Y/N,” Jacinth whispered.

Y/N drifted off just as the sun began to peek out over the horizon. Spring was on the way.

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

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[animasola86]

A Demonstration of Pride and Pain

Notes: This is a continuation of A Demonstration of Power and Support.

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader (with face scar)

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 5.1k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: In the aftermath of a rough night, you find yourself easing his pain, while you embrace your own.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship. Pain management. Stimulation as pain relief. Pain as stimulation.

A Demonstration of Pride and Pain

He was aching all over. Every single muscle was sore, arms and legs stiff as boards, every joint so tight he could barely move. So he didn't. Breathing deeply through the pain, he focused on the warm body pressed to his chest. You were sleeping so peacefully in his embrace, head resting on his arm, hands clutching around the other that was draped over your small form, the soft noises leaving your parted lips washing over him like the gentle laps of waves hitting the shore.

Inhaling deeply, he tried to fall back asleep, but the dull throbbing and numb tingling in his limbs wouldn't let him. He groaned, the sound rumbling through your body, and when you stirred, he sighed, hating himself for waking you up. You let out a little mewl as you stretched in his tight hold, back pressing against his chest, rear firmly placed against his groin.

Subconscious or not, you even started grinding your backside against him, and he would have groaned again, feeling other parts of his body stiffen, but then you stopped again and managed to roll around despite his arms caging you in. When you faced him, your gaze was tired, eyes hooded and still glazed with sleep, but then you smiled at him, and despite the ache of his body, he smiled back weakly.

Your hands found his tense jaw and gently scraped over the stubble of his beard, the sound making you shiver. Biting your lip, you leaned closer until you could press a soft kiss to his lips, your eyes on him, watching him closely, always attentive despite your sleepy state. He tried to relax into the touch, closing his eyes, but he couldn't help furrowing his brows.

Suddenly you slipped from between his stiff arms, your warmth leaving him, and he let out a disappointed grunt. He heard your bare feet tapping along the room, then the clinking sounds of glass against glass, and when you returned to the bed, he cracked open an eye. You were kneeling beside him, a small vial in your hands. He recognized the green liquid, and his heart swelled slightly when you leaned towards him.

His little nurse.

He had never wanted you to be like this, tending him, taking pity on the old cripple, helping him with his ailments, but you just did, unsolicited, unprejudiced, because you cared. With the support of your hand behind his head, he managed to sit up slightly, enough for him to be able to drink the potion. Once the bitter concoction ran down his throat, he felt his body tingling even more for a moment, and another groan escaped him.

You placed the empty vial back on the floor and made him lie down again, on his back, and he just watched you as you nestled close to him, snuggling against his side, looking up at him with a soft, yet slightly worried expression on your young face. His dark eyes were on you, filled with gratitude – and shame. He hated needing your help. He didn't hate you nor did he hate the need for you or how willing you were to help him, but he hated being so incapacitated, so dependent, so useless.

Especially when it was his own fault for pushing himself so far. As exciting and satisfying as last night had been, he would rather care for you now, knowing you must be in quite the discomfort yourself after what he had done to you. But you didn't complain, didn't show a single sign that you were hurting. You always masked your own pain when you were caring for him, always focused on his wellbeing instead of your own.

Inhaling deeply, he was about to roll onto his side, wanting to face you, but you stopped him, shaking your head, telling him to relax, wait for the potion to reach every last inch of his hurting body. He hated lying about, unable to do anything, though you were also prone to being impatient sometimes. He watched you closely as you carefully climbed on top of him, trying to distribute your weight equally, before you lay down on him, your warm body pressing against his sore limbs.

He could barely remember how you had managed to strip him of his clothes after you had both returned from his hobby room, but he was glad you did, and apparently none of you had bothered to put on sleeping attire either, so the skin on skin contact you now shared with him did wonders to the tension clawing at his joints.

Your hands cradled his hard face, fingertips rubbing over his cheeks, while you looked him deeply in the eye, a mischievous glint in your own. You gave him a gentle peck, then rested your head on his shoulder, slowly relaxing on top of him, while your warmth seeped into his tight muscles, easing them slowly.

It was when you started grinding against him, your hips firmly pressed to his, that the blood flow concentrated elsewhere. He felt himself harden as you rubbed your pelvis against him, and a small grunt escaped him. Yet he was either too tired or numb or simply too lazy and relaxed to stop you, and frankly, he wanted to feel good again, as selfish as it was. So he let you.

Licking your lips, you felt his hardening cock pressing against your lower stomach, and you shifted slightly so you could feel him closer to your throbbing core.

It wasn't the first time you had seen him so vulnerable, so pained, his tall body so stiff and tight, his muscles tense and aching, and yet it always gave you a little fright, especially when you thought back to the things he was able to do to you with that same body, what strength and power he could demonstrate, so the aftermath always felt a little unreal.

And you hated yourself for not stopping him, not that you could have, at least not last night, but you should have tried, even though he probably was the most stubborn man you had ever met, never admitting defeat, never acknowledging pain, and it had taken you a while to discern the subtle twitches to recognize how he was really feeling even though he told you he was fine.

You didn't blame him for trying to be proud. He was a tall, intimidating man, strong and powerful and respected, he had been an Auror for crying out loud, and nobody would want to step down from that to being reduced to a vulnerable shell of a man who was riddled with pain and self-doubt. You admired him for fighting through his condition, for never giving up, or giving in, you knew he was still looking for ways to cure his leg, and ease the other ailments, and you had quickly realized that all you could do, was be by his side and support him, no matter what.

He never asked for it, of course not, his pride and sense of self-preservation wouldn't allow him so, and you also didn't force him to accept your help, you just did it in subtle ways, too gentle and nonchalant for him to notice what you were doing until you were doing it, and then he never stopped you.

Like now. You had read that warmth was good for sore muscles, so lying your whole body on top of his (even though you could only cover so much of his much bigger frame) was a way to ease his pain, but also to keep him entertained while he waited for the potion to work its magic.

And frankly, a tiny part of you wasn't as selfless as he might see you sometimes, you also wanted a bit of fun, because, after last night, you were sore as well, your entire lower body was aching, the bruises deep within were throbbing painfully. Of course you'd never admit to it, his stubbornness surely had rubbed off on you at some point. But even though you had never been that sore before, you couldn't stop grinding against him because the tiniest bit of friction gave you those pleasant chills that quickly lured these soft little mewls out of your throat that you knew he loved so much.

So, really, this was for both of your pleasures.

You felt him breathing quicker, rougher, his hard erection pressing against your soft flesh, and you were so tempted to slide off him and take care of it with your hands and mouth, but you forced yourself to remain lying on him, forcing his tense body to relax, until he would make a move himself, until he was able to move again.

When he would eventually raise his hands and place them on your hips, you sighed deeply into his neck. He made you stop moving, his fingers gripping your soft flesh, the warmth of his palms easing the shivers running down your spine. Slowly he turned his head towards you, his gaze dark and almost intimidating, as if he was about to lecture you, but you saw the small twinkle in his eyes, that tiny twitch at the corner of his lips.

You leaned up and pressed your lips to his stubbled cheek, then moved further up and captured his mouth for a slightly timid kiss until he replied the motion in full, his tongue quickly finding yours in a sensual wrestle. Your fingers slipped into his hair, gently massaging his scalp as you squirmed on top of him while he kneaded your hips, the friction between your sexes sending a warmth through your body that eased the soreness within. Or maybe your desire for him was simply overriding the pain.

Or, a thought that made you question your own sanity at times, you enjoyed the pain so much you didn't care if it might get worse, you just needed him inside of you, you needed him to poke your bruises, you needed to do it all over again. And again. And again...

A low moan slipped past your lips as you pushed your pelvis against his, your breaths as erratic as your heartbeat. Yet despite the unquenchable thirst for him, you looked at him after you gave him a soft peck, slowly leaning away from the searing kiss that left you both breathless, your eyes on his tense face, reading the stoic expression for any signs of discomfort.

He responded by gripping your hips before he moved his hands along the curves of your rear. Slowly he slipped his fingers between your cheeks, down the back of your thighs, gently prying your legs open so you were straddling him, your core now really pressing against his hard cock.

His dark eyes bored into yours, sending deep shivers down your spine, and when he put his hands back on your waist and started guiding you on top of him, you gasped softly and moved with him, sliding your wet folds over his length, every downwards motion rubbing against your clit, the friction and warmth almost too much to bear.

More moans escaped you as you felt your thighs twitching against his, and you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck as you started to feel that tension building in your stomach. Your sore insides contracted, the sharp pain piercing your nerves like tiny daggers, causing you to wince and whine softly, but you leaned into it, you wanted more. And he held you closer, his fingers digging into your skin, moving you faster against him.

Your whole body shuddered, pressed to his, your breasts squished against his broad chest, hard nipples rubbing against his rough chest hair with every upwards motion, your arms cradling his head as you tried to hold onto anything in your growing frenzy. You moved faster against him, grinding, gyrating, bucking your hips into his, your wetness spreading between your bodies, easing the friction, and when your thighs clenched around him and his fingers gripped your waist almost brutally as he groaned beneath you, you felt that knot bursting within you, lights dancing behind your eyelids, an explosion of warmth making you dizzy as you came against him hard.

Writhing and convulsing against him, he held you close as you stopped moving, his arms wrapped around your small frame, his breaths loud in your ear as you whimpered softly through your release. Once you regained a little bit more control over your spasming limbs, you caressed his hair, snuggled your face into his neck before you left a series of hazy kisses on his skin, slowly making your way towards his face until you could capture his mouth with yours.

His big hands moved over your bare back, rubbing soothing circles into it before he slipped one of them into your hair and held your head as he kissed you back with growing fervour, slow and gentle at first, then more passionate, hungry even, and you felt the need burning against your throbbing core. You still felt the slight ache in your loins, but you couldn't care less about the pain as you slowly lifted your hips and shifted on top of him, still glued to his lips.

Before he could stop you, you had slipped a hand between your bodies and gently grabbed his cock. It was already covered in your juices, and you only stroked him a few times, feeling his tight skin moving over his hardened core, before you guided him towards your entrance. He ceased kissing you then, breathing hard against your lips, his dark eyes boring into yours, the silent question lingering between you.

“I'm fine,” you whispered, your warm mouth hovering over his. “Are you?”

He stared at you, long and hard, a gaze full of doubt and worry, but also swimming with lust and desire. And so he gave you a short nod and a grunt, and you didn't hesitate any longer before you lowered yourself onto him, feeling his tip breaching your entrance, slowly sliding deeper. Your walls protested, clenching, the muscles still tight and sore, but you pushed through, literally, with tiny snaps of your hips, forcing yourself onto him until he was buried deep inside of you, and you gasped in pain and relief when he prodded your innermost spot, filling you out completely.

He groaned deeply, your tightness almost too much for him, and he had to close his eyes to adjust to the sensation. His body felt better than when he had woken up, no longer as stiff, but the aches were still there. At least he could hold you in his arms, pressed to his chest, your warmth seeping into him, and knowing you, he wouldn't have to do much else. Yet you also took your time to adjust to his intrusion, to the stretch of your walls, and he could only imagine the pain of your sore muscles and the throbbing bruises he had given you last night.

You were brave, stronger than you looked, but also just as stubborn as he was. Too stubborn to let pain get in your way. A trait you certainly had in common. When you eventually moved, he saw the strain on your beautiful face. One of his hands moved to your cheek, tracing the scar that was a constant reminder of how resilient and valiant you truly were, every protruding line a testament of what you had to overcome in your young life.

You watched him closely, lips parted and trembling as you started grinding your hips against him, and whenever you winced, he would caress you gently, hold you tightly, show you his support. Your cheeks warmed beneath his touch, and you smiled softly at him, moved by his constant display of affection.

He pulled you closer then, pressing his lips to yours lovingly, a slow and kind kiss, and while your hips stilled against him, you kissed him back just as mildly, simply savouring the feeling of his hardness resting inside you, your walls holding him firmly, slowly easing around the stretch. A sudden fatigue washed over you, and you could have fallen asleep like that, but you were too selfless after all to leave him hanging like that.

It was only fair to give him the same release you'd had earlier. And surely it would help him relax and soothe the aches of his stiff limbs. So you started moving again, slowly grinding your hips, lifting them just enough to feel your walls clinging to his shaft before you moved back down, enveloping him fully once more. Your own wetness grew with every motion, easing the friction, allowing you to move faster on top of him.

Eventually you broke the gentle kiss and leaned back, your hands on his shoulders as you looked down at him, your face flushed, lips swollen and raw, pupils dilated. Your chest was rising and falling fast, small breasts bouncing with every slight movement, and he watched you closely, feeling that warmth gathering inside his stomach.

His hands moved up and cupped those soft mounds, calloused fingers kneading your flesh, while rough thumbs teased your nipples, and you arched your back into his touch and leaned backwards more, your hands now resting behind you on his legs, nimble fingers massaging his sore muscles at the same time as you used them as leverage while you started to bounce up and down on him, faster and harder, your walls clenching around his cock, your bum smacking against his thighs, your noises filling the air, mixing with that wet squelching sound you got more and more accustomed to.

Goosebumps rippled over your skin, your mewls falling from your open mouth, as you rode him to your heart's content, eyes fluttering close as you succumbed to the tension building up inside, that sweet, searing warmth that spread through you like wildfire.

You barely noticed when his hands left your breasts to move lower, sliding along your sides, holding your hips, but then he moved one hand even lower, and when the rough pad of his finger brushed against your throbbing clit, you cried out and convulsed on top of him.

He rubbed you through your approaching release, as your muscles contracted around him, your straining thighs twitched, your arms shook as you gripped his legs in support. Stars danced in front of your eyes as you mewled and moaned, barely able to keep your rhythm, but then he started jerking his hips upwards, pushing you right over the edge.

You came hard on his cock, wetness seeping past your connection, your walls so tight around him he let out a deep grunt, then more strained groans, and the hand that was not assaulting your clit held onto your hip tight enough to leave bruises as you felt him twitching against and inside you.

You were floating on your high, head spinning, heart racing, breaths too erratic to get any oxygen into your empty lungs, and yet you tried your best to pull him along the edge with you, forcing yourself to move despite the spasming of your body and weak state of your limbs, and in the end he came right after you, his loud moan sending shivers down your already tingling spine.

You felt him pushing in all the way, stilling there, then erupting deep within, his warmth filling you to the brim and beyond as he painted your walls and shot his seed straight into your womb, past the bruises he'd left last night. The pain was welcome, adding to the sensation of blissful delirium.

A soft little whimper escaped you as you froze in your position on top of him, hands holding his thighs, back arched, hair falling over your shoulder, face contorted in nothing but pure ecstasy while your body moulded to his, deeply connected through warmth and wetness and deeper feelings of belonging and affection. He was a part of you, physically and mentally, and it pained you to think about ever having to leave him.

Slowly you came down from your high, arms and legs going limp, and still you remained sitting on him, holding onto him, not wanting to move to break the magic that swirled around you, connecting you on so many levels. His warm hands found your thighs, gently rubbing your pebbled flesh as the occasional wave of goosebumps rushed over your skin whenever he twitched against your bruised cervix.

You felt hot and cold at the same time, and yet you didn't want the sensation to ever stop. The pain was as exhilarating as it was addictive. Once you regained a semblance of control, you even ground deeper against him, wanting him to really press into those bruises, and whenever he did, you'd wince and whimper, shudders crashing through your body.

He watched you for a long moment, mesmerized by those sounds falling from your lips and those tiny twitches that vibrated through his body as well, but the strained expression on your face worried him. His hands found your waist, and even though you protested, he gently lifted you off him. Your walls clung to him, not wanting to let go either, but eventually your connection broke, his spent member slipped out, his seed dripping from your clenching cunt in thick globs, and you rolled off him and onto your side, sighing deeply as you nestled against him.

Wrapping one arm around your tiny frame, he pulled you halfway onto his chest, your head heavy on his shoulder. Your hand rested on his warm skin, his heartbeat steady against your palm, as you relaxed fully, the pain slowly ebbing away into a lazy throbbing deep within. At least it distracted you from the empty feeling inside, but the sudden coldness still gripped your limbs and made you quiver against him.

He raised his free hand and flicked his finger to summon a thick blanket that moved up and gently enveloped both of your bodies, the warmth welcome, even if it was only external. Breathing deeply against him, you looked up at him, surprised to meet his dark gaze.

“How –” you both started at the same time, causing you to giggle and him to grunt a short, deep laugh. He tilted his chin and gave you a curt nod.

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly, rubbing his chest under the blanket.

“Better,” he said, and it wasn't even a lie. Your efforts to relax him were definitely successful. He wouldn't leave this bed anytime soon (and frankly, he didn't want to either), but he felt content, and the soreness in his muscles wasn't as incapacitating anymore. “What about you?” he then returned the question, and you bit your lip.

“I'm good,” you replied.

“Really?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, your cheeks blushing deeply.

“You're not sore?” he asked, frowning doubtfully.

You gave him a soft chuckle. “Oh, I am sore,” you said truthfully, yet before he could say anything, you leaned up and kissed his jaw. “But I love it...” He raised an eyebrow. “It's something I take with me when I have to leave you, your bed, your room, when I have to pretend to be just another student. It reminds me –” You inhale deeply, rubbing your nose against his rough cheek. “It reminds me how lucky I am...”

“Lucky?” he grunted, pulling you slightly closer to him while his free hand moved up to trace patterns on your temple until he moved his attention to your scar again.

“Yes, lucky. Lucky that you allowed me into your life,” you whispered, watching him closely. Neither of you were particularly good at talking about feelings, you mostly conveyed those through actions, so you were a little nervous about your confession.

He looked at you, his face the stoic mask he always wore, but there was a warmth in his dark eyes, the creases around them deepening slightly. “But I'm the lucky one,” he then said quietly, his voice low and husky. “To have such an incredible young woman at my disposal...” He winked at you. “No, I mean it, I am lucky to have you, lucky you indulge me so much...” His face grew more serious again, and you felt your heart swelling and skipping simultaneously. “I truly don't deserve you,” he added darkly, his hand cupping your cheek gently.

“And what makes you think I deserve you?” you whispered back, blinking quickly as you felt your eyes watering. “I'm just a simple girl... nothing special... and you are... you –”

He shushed you by pulling your face up and against his lips, his kiss demanding and sweet at the same time. You sank into the touch, closing your eyes, kissing him back with a desperation that almost scared you. You needed him, so much it hurt, and the pain was not necessarily the good kind. A single tear slipped from your lashes, and when he felt it against his calloused fingers, he leaned back slowly, looking at you warmly.

“Sweetheart, you are very special to me,” he rasped against your lips, his thumb wiping at your cheek.

“A-and you... t-to me...” you replied, choking on your words as a strange feeling flooded your insides, making it hard to speak. It settled deep in your stomach, a weird fluttering motion, warm and enticing, something you could get used to, something you wouldn't want to miss ever again.

He smiled at you and kissed you again before he pulled you tighter against him, his strong arms encircling you protectively. A single sob escaped you as you pressed your face against his neck. You felt him exhale loudly against you.

It should have never come to this.

He didn't even know how it had started. In the beginning he had just wanted to console you, help you along, show you that a simple scar didn't have to define your life and that no one should judge you for it. And somewhere along the way, you had turned it around, you had helped him, first by being there for him, spending time with him, smiling and listening and just enjoying his company. And then...

Then things had taken another turn, and he had started to feel attracted to you, to your beautiful face as well as your beautiful soul. Your kind, lovable, innocent soul. You were still so pure to him, even now (despite the highly inappropriate things he made you do, or rather he inspired you to do to him). He had torn down the wall he had erected, telling himself to never engage with a student, but the line had been crossed so easily, and it had felt right to hold you in his arms, to kiss you, to connect with you, to become one.

You had made him feel cherished, desirable, you still did, whenever your deep eyes would stare into his soul, he knew how much he meant to you, how far the both of you had taken this relationship. Relationship. Something he had never wanted, and yet here he was, holding you in his arms, feeling the love you had for him even though you couldn't quite voice it yet. But he felt it, in every touch, every kiss, saw it in every look, every smile, every blush of your cheeks.

And when he had felt the cold stab of jealousy, the need to call you his and his alone, he had known he felt the same, and he hoped you would see it in his eyes too. Even though he had never wanted this, he was very glad you had stepped into his life.

Pressing his lips to the top of your head, he held you close, taking in your sweet scent, feeling your warmth seeping into his body, easing the pain in his tight muscles. He wished he could give you more to remember him by than the soreness you seemed to be so strangely fond of.

So he opened up even more, more than he would have allowed himself before he had met you. His voice was raw and gruff, very quiet, but you heard him all the same when he whispered:

“I love you...”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and another tear fell from your eyes as you gave a pleasantly surprised little giggle. You had never expected to hear this from him. Despite all the intimacies you had already shared, just how close you were to him, and with how often you saw each other, you had never even hoped to hear these three words that felt so heavy and yet so light, they made you feel so warm and fuzzy, and the pain within your body dissipated immediately.

“I...” you whispered and leaned up slowly, nuzzling your nose against his neck, then his jaw, and when you kissed his cheek, you noticed how warm it felt. He had his eyes closed, feigning ignorance, but you knew he was waiting for a reply. So you leaned over him and kissed him softly. “I love you, too...” you breathed against his lips.

He acknowledged your words with a deep grunt that vibrated through your body before he kissed you back gently, firmly, until his hands grabbed your hair, and he pulled you in more, conveying all those emotions he couldn't possibly put into words into actions as usual.

That was your dynamic, and you were completely fine with it as you rolled on top of him and kissed him hungrily, already forgetting how you had started your morning, already wanting more.

Always wanting more.

End notes: Uhh, a declaration of love, yuck! No, really, I was debating if it fit here, or if it was too much. But I've now written four parts (a fifth is already in the making) of this constellation, and I feel these characters would be at this point now. They didn't have much dialogue before, so this felt a little strange, but also completely right and necessary! Sometimes, you need a little bit of fluff to your smut, right?

Also it's rather tame, but it was the aftermath of a rough night, so I didn't want to overdo it. They'll do more in the next part, I promise!

[ MORE SHARP SMUT ] [ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #reader insert #fem reader #female reader #hogwarts legacy smut #professor sharp #professor sharp smut #professor sharp x mc #professor sharp x reader #professor aesop sharp #fluff #smut #mysmut #daddy sharp

[finniestoncrane]

Takeout [bullet-point/free form story/headcanon style]

Milkshake [fluff]

Pumpkin Ravioli [scarecrow]

🥖 Breadsticks [neck/wrist kisses]

🥗 Green Salad ["do you need a hand?"]

🥑 Guacamole ["please don't leave"]

Just gave me touch rooting (funny enough I think this is the most healthy meal)

general!scarecrow x gn!reader, word count: 300 content (warnings): tooth rotting fluff as requested orders open here! 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block) a/n: yeah for this being healthy and salad-y it's definitely squishy!! 💚

"please don't leave on my account"

it's hard not to try and go though, given that you've interrupted his experiments

you don't enter the lab usually, not while he's working, but you'd forgotten your backpack in there

you assumed that jonathan might be having a break, considering he'd been up all night

but he was there, standing at the counter surrounded by test tubes and vials

he encourages you to come over, to look at his progress

always enthusiastic about sharing with you, trusting you with his secrets

"one last step in the process, i need to add this vial, drop by drop, into the mixture. would you like to do the honours?"

it requires a steady hand, and yours is shaking as you take the pipette filled with neon orange liquid and hold it over the beaker

"steady... drop by drop remember"

your heart races, not only from nerves at handling a toxic and volatile substance, but with joy and excitement

that jonathan crane trusts you this much

that he's willing to share his work, his life with you

"do you need a hand?"

he doesn't wait for an answer, his cold, slender fingers wrapping around your wrist

gently holding you steady as you squeeze the end of the pipette

once you are finished, you lay it down on the surface of the counter

with his grip still around you, jonathan lifts your wrist to his lips, kissing it softly, letting your fingers find his cheek

a sweet reward

"i couldn't have done it without you"

his smile is warm, the meaning behind the words genuine

of course he doesn't mean physically, or even intellectually

he has that handled himself

but emotionally, having someone behind him, to encourage and support his work

it means the world to him

#finnie1500 #finnie writes #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #jonathan crane #scarecrow

[danses-with-dogmeat]

🦀👑for arcade gannon “hold still. this might sting a little.”🙏🙏🙏 congrats on 1.5k!!!!! u deserve every follower!!

Well, it doesn't get more perfect than this line/character matchup 😅 Definitely sounds like a doc, lol.

But ahh, thank you! I hope you enjoy this piece!

"Okay, just, ah, just one question, before I treat you and save your life and all that, um... What the hell were you thinking?"

Six looked down at the floor, embarrassment making their cheeks burn nearly as prevalently as the numerous bite wounds in their arm.

The area was obviously swollen now, the skin angry and stretched, the punctures each feeling like droplets of fire touching their exposed flesh.

It had only grown worse on the journey here.

"I don't know, Arcade, I... I wasn't thinking. Maybe."

The blond doctor's expression didn't change. Not even a flinch, not a breath, not a blink.

It was still demanding more from them.

"I didn't know what would be down there!" Six burst out, their good hand flailing expressively instead of pressing down on their injuries.

"It's a cave. In the middle of nowhere." Arcade began, pressing gauze to the-- now exposed-- cuts and bite-marks on their left forearm. "You heard rattling coming from inside."

"I thought it might be some settlers or something! I wasn't far outside Nipton, I thought maybe they were survivors..."

"Nightstalkers! They were nightstalkers. Anything that makes that sound is, inevitably, a half rattlesnake, half coyote hybrid that will bite," Arcade gestured heavily to their wounds, "and kill you with its venom."

Six's lip began to tremble at that, the emotion shining in their eyes going from shame to fear in less than a second.

"I didn't know... I had only seen them from far away before, so I..." They sniffled, their voice growing more uneven with each word.

Arcade's eyes widened as they snapped to his companion, panic sparking briefly in their depths before he spoke.

"Hey, hey, okay." He moved to help them sit down in the chair near the entrance to his tent. "No need for that, I-I wasn't finished with what I was saying."

Six sniffed again, eyes wide as they stared up at him hopefully from where they'd settled in the folding chair.

"It will kill you with it's venom, if I'm not here to treat it." Arcade was moving now, going through the drawers beside them and grabbing various medical tools and vials from within. "But, as luck would have it, I am here. And even though my bedside manner is less than sub-par..."

Six watched him work quickly, his voice shaky, but his expression focused as he filled a few different syringes with a pale, milky liquid.

"You're going to be alright. I'll make sure of that much, at least." His green eyes bore into them as he turned around, willing the statement into them with his uncharacteristically serious tone.

Six gulped, but still, they nodded to him.

Their arm shook in his grasp as Arcade moved to pull it towards him, a piece of wetted gauze in-hand.

"Now, you're going to have to hold still for me on this. It might sting a little."

Six took a deep breath, closed their eyes, and steadied their arm as best they could.

But he was right.

It stung like hell as he pressed the gauze to the wounds on their arm, and Six ground their teeth to bite back the shout of pain rising in their throat.

"Easy. Almost there."

His fingers rubbed over the burning skin, and Six felt it steadily begin to numb. Their eyes stayed shut firmly, but as the pain subsided, they were able to take another breath.

Arcade moved away from them briefly, but was back an instant later, and a slight pinching sensation was felt through the numbness. They hissed in response, but did as Arcade had requested. They kept their arm steady.

"One more oughta do it." They heard him say, and felt his breath spill over the un-numbed skin of their upper arm. "You're doing great, Six."

The courier let those words sit with them, a pang of appreciation for their friend and companion swelling in the depths of their chest. The feeling was distraction enough, that when they opened their eyes, Arcade had finished and was pulling the syringe away.

"I'm going to keep monitoring you over night, so don't think you can just dash off and throw yourself into another cave or chasm quite yet, okay?"

A laugh escaped them as their good hand reached for their numb forearm. The feeling still hadn't returned yet, and so, for now, they were free to feel more than the burning pain.

"You know," Six said quietly, watching as Arcade cleaned and put away the items he'd used to treat them. "What you said about your bedside manner wasn't really accurate, I think."

"No?" They heard the smirk in his voice.

"No. It's at least subpar."

The doctor snickered, his smile flashing as he turned to snatch the used gauze from the little table beside them.

"It's at least subpar, when it it comes to you. That's the difference."

Six returned his smile, that sense of gratitude rising again in their chest.

"Arcade, I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Yeah?" He raised a brow, "Well, don't get used to it. It's just the bedside manner talking."

#1.5k event #1.5k celebration #fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout new vegas companions #arcade israel gannon #fallout arcade #arcade gannon #arcade x courier #mirelurk queen

[captain039]

PART 4 Playing with fire

Alpha!Kylo Ren x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB, sexual, jealousy, slow burn, eventual smut, anger issues, swearing, harassment, needle usage, drug usage, dark themes

Previous part <-

Your shipment had been dealt with and had arrived within the next day. You were in relief, hauling the box to your room before opening it. They were in a padded case blue vials of suppressants, and another case filled with a gross green liquid, the scent blocker. You grabbed one of the scent blockers and headed to the fresher, hands shaking. You looked in the mirror poking slightly at your scent gland before looking down at the syringe. You gulped removing the safety cap and holding it up to your neck. Your vision was blurry, probably nerves, you took a deep breath trying to hype yourself up. Your eyes began to hurt and suddenly a face was staring at you.

“What are you doing?!” A voice yelled and your vision went black. You jumped back, syringe falling to the floor and breaking. You panted opening your eyes and seeing no one. You recognised the scar from the supreme leader, how did that happen? Did he do that. You cursed the broken glass and headed to carefully to the kitchen. You grabbed a vacuum and rag before heading back to the fresher. Your mind replayed the angry face and voice that yelled at you, you shivered at it. You cleaned up and placed your suppressants in a secret place hidden in your cupboard. You took one before doing so and stashed the scent blockers too. You stuck with the roll on one before heading to your work station. You felt a little dizzy along the way, ignoring it as you entered your station and went to work.

“Are you ok?” Leo asked softly by you and you nodded sort of dazed.

“You look unwell” he stated and you frowned slightly turning to him.

“M fine” you waved him off.

“You’re pale and sweating, you need to go to the med bay” Brax stated and you groaned, but did as she said. You headed to the med bay, feeling worse on the way down there, your stomach felt off too.

As the officer looked over you she kept frowning and looking back to her data pad. You grew worried and suspicious as she glanced around and leant in.

“Your symptoms are showing you’re having a reaction to suppressants?” She said softly and you froze, heart hammering.

“Maker, no” you said before you could think.

“That’s wrong because I’m not” you covered and she frowned slightly.

“Would you like to speak privately?” She asked voice soft making you frown.

“You could get worse is all” the beta added and you slowly nodded. She led you to an office and you sat down with her.

“Are you an omega?” She asked and you didn’t answer.

“The suppressants are reacting to your body” she said.

“This hasn’t happened before in the last few months” you stated.

“Well your body is changing currently some chemicals are moving around in a sense” she said and you stared confused.

“Did you find your fated?” She asked and you looked away embarrassed.

“I haven’t” you said mind suddenly flashing to the supreme leader.

“Usually when an omega is on suppressants and finds their fated, their body’s reject the suppressants to better connect” she explained.

“I haven’t, I don’t know who it is!” You said sharply and she saddened.

“I didn’t mean to offend it’s just what’s happening, you may not know till the suppressants wear off” she said.

“They can’t wear off” you said.

“Why not? Finding your fated is a blessing” she smiled.

“It’s not! In case you haven’t read policy omegas aren’t allowed here” you snapped accidentally worry building up.

“Any omega that is caught will be killed or sent home” you added and she couldn’t argue.

“I will try another suppressant” you finished and left before she could say anything. You asked Brax to take a few days off which she agreed to. You looked up different suppressants and ordered a few different ones. The more suppressant you took the worse you felt, you needed to keep them up till the new batch got here. You layered in scent blocker, it made your mind fuzzy at the dullness. Sometimes the supreme leaders face would flash by making you jump or flinch. You got a notification in your data pad about your shipment arriving, you cursed wondering if Leo would go pick it up for you. The beta was too scared to do anything, but do his work. You risked going out at ‘night’ when majority would head in for sleep. You headed to the delivery’s room and cursed your feet for aching. Your whole body was trembling slightly, your stomach churned and you wanted to throw up. You went through the names before you found yours and sighed. You leant against the cool metal shelf taking a moment to breathe. You felt the hair on the back of your neck spike up and frowned sensing someone in the door way. His scent was the first thing to hit you, the overwhelming smell of powerful alpha made your legs weak. What was he doing here? Did he follow you? You listened to him move quietly, your body not moving. You probably looked horrible, you’d go to the fresher and see yourself looking pale and gross and would quickly leave your reflection. You frowned as he took your packages and put it back down to where it was.

“Is there a reason you seem to neglect your self?” He asked voice deep and soft. You could feel him looming over you.

“Why hide it?” He added and you froze.

“Policy” you muttered.

“Why join in the first place if that policy was in place?” He said a little harder making you tense.

“Because of my family” you spoke quietly and he hummed.

“They’re angry at you now though” he stated and you frowned slightly how did he know?

“You missed your sisters presentation” he added and you turned to face him, confused as to how he knew this, did he search your file?

“Your grandma is getting worse, you won’t be there when she dies” he said flatly and your heart clenched. Your hand rose on its own and you slapped him hard. You didn’t think before you acted and your blood went cold when you realised what you’d done. He had a red mark forming and you grabbed your package and ran.

Next part ->

#alpha kylo x reader #alpha kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #x reader #aob #Starwars #omega reader

[simplegenius042]

WIP Wednesday & OC Interview(s)

Tagged by @nightbloodbix & @josephslittledeputy and @g0dspeeed

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @shallow-gravy @strangefable @strafethesesinners @corvosattano @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @minilev @ladyoriza @josephseedismyfather @trashcatsnark @chazz-anova @snake-in-the-garden @cassietrn @softtidesworld @wrathfulrook @onehornedbeast @voidika @henbased @vampireninjabunnies-blog @florbelles @direwombat @derelictheretic @deputyash @dephellseed @deputy-morgan-malone @skoll-sun-eater @fourlittleseedlings @afarcryfrommymain @titiagls @megraen @starsandskies @la-grosse-patate @cloudofbutterflies92 @thewanderer-000 and @i-am-the-balancing-point + anyone else who wants to join. Here's my taglist if you want to continue being tagged or not.

Got a WIP for The Thorned Crown of Iron Thrones and three OC interviews for The UnTitledverse, Far Cry The Silver Chronicles and A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore. You can find these under the cut.

WIP for my House of the Dragon fic, The Thorned Crown of Iron Thrones, a fic set in my Life, Despair & Monsters series, following the tragic dynasty of the Targaryens as shown in House of the Dragon... but taking all of that and making the situation 1,000 times worse. This fic stars the original cast PLUS my original characters; Corvus Targaryen, adopted son of Viserys I and Aemma, good with the blade, though socially awkward fellow who only sets out to be a knight or if he gets his way, a maester (or alchemist, either one), and trying to keep the peace between the Blacks and the Greens, with Caecilia "Cecil" Targaryen Royce, daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce (after an aggressive and drunk consummation filled with scratches and bruises from both sides), who like her mother, absolutely despises her father (though this is not reciprocated by him), is out to help her cousin Rhaenyra keep her claim to block Otto's plans and spite her father, and lastly a down-on-her-luck ex-assassin woman who currently calls herself "Okkotsu", who through means unknown, becomes the paternal figure Aegon II Targaryen never realised he wanted, better than Viserys ever will be. There's also Sir Enigma Malvolio (Director of the Ruins of the Midnight Rise), Yan-Kain (second-in-command of Aggravor's Chapter of the Occult), and the Court King (main antagonist and pissed off people have forgotten about him). Note that this WIP is still under heavy construction, and things may or may not change. Below is a snippet of Rhaenyra convincing Corvus to join in on a fun time at a tourney... on a day where everything goes wrong:

Corvus eyed his sister with a reluctant frown, dimmed violet eyes looking into a vibrant purple. His hand remained anchored to the darkwood table, the vials and tubes and bags full of liquids and substances ready to be used as ingredients to sate the curiosity of a student of alchemy.

He gave glance to Rhaenyra's companion, hoping Alicent could save him from the young dragon rider's expectant gaze. However, the Hand's daughter stared back with polite brown eyes and a slim smile that refuted his silent plea to be saved, leaving him to make a futile attempt at fending for himself against his younger sister of all people, which he knew would conclude into an inevitable failure.

"Surely... surely you could do without my presence at the tourney?" Corvus spoke up, voice soft and uncertain, "I'm no fan of such events. I wouldn't want to bring down the mood. Perhaps... it would be best I remain here, where mother is? The maesters could require an extra pair of hands should she go into labor."

Rhaenyra seemed to think his words over, but her face hardened, determined. She grabbed hold of his arm, grip firm but slack, eyes widening as the candle light reflected off them, unfairly sparkling the purple rings. Lips formed into a soft smile, as she pleaded at him with her gaze.

"Please."

The older dark-haired boy's resolve wavered as his pale skin involuntarily flushing at the contact. He tried to avoid Rhaenyra's wide smile, her eyes and swore upon the Old and New Gods that he tried to ignore the gentleness plea of her voice. But his younger sister knew all the ways to get him to comply to her demands, and just as a dutiful if awkward older brother would, he'd follow her anywhere, just as Father and Mother tasked him with.

And once Baelon is born, I may even be able to convince them to allow me to become his personal guard, should I continue to knighthood that is.

Looking to Alicent once more, searching for her opinion, Rhaenyra's companion merely gave a small shrug and encouraging smile. Exhaling out a light sigh, he looked down to his white-haired sister and gave his response.

"Okay."

The word was simple, but it granted him an opportunity to see a triumphant grin from his little sister, her excitement genuine. Even when the years had been hard to swallow, especially with Mother's condition, he was glad his sister still hadn't lost her fiery spirit.

"C'mon now! We must bid goodbye to mother and join father at Keep's gates. We shouldn't keep him waiting," Rhaenyra exclaimed, pulling Corvus along behind her back towards the spiral staircase, as Alicent joined them with the shake of her head.

Both Rhaenyra's brother and companion briefly glanced at one another, incredulous gazes connecting as they are both, yet again, pulled along by Rhaenyra.

Corvus was nervous at the prospect of the vast eyes of Lords that would be watching their every move at the tourney. It made his stomach coil at the though of that much attention, with his sister's popularity and his own unpopularity.

Alicent must have noticed this, and stated aloud, "I think it will be quite a good day out. The skies are clear, and the sun warm. The tourney should be able to go on uninterrupted."

Rhaenyra piped up, adding, "I'd even say it will be fun. So no need for such gloom, dear brother."

Corvus simply nodded in reply, shoving away his nerves at they reached the top of the spiral. A visit to mother wouldn't be so bad, he thought.

And three OC interviews below:

Far Cry The Silver Chronicles (featuring in Silva's Hope and Ain't It A Joy?)

Name: Alexander Khaos

Nickname: Alexander doesn't like to use nicknames.

Gender: Male

Star Sign: Cancer

Moral Alignment/Personality: Lawful Neutral.

Height: Either 5'10 or 5'11

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Nationality/Ethnicity: British (with Asian descent)

Fave Fruit: Dragon fruit

Fave Season: Winter

Fave Flower: Peony

Fave Scent: Fresh morning air, burning wood.

Coffee, tea or HC: Black Coffee.

Average Hours of Sleep: 8 hours

Dog or Cat Person: Dog.

Dream Trip: Finland.

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: He'd say Jacob Seed, but it's actually Stan Lee.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: None.

RANDOM FACT: Alexander picked up a Southern accent... it's still unknown why he chose to do this exactly.

The UnTitledverse Name: Joaquin Cobalt

Nickname: Jackie.

Gender: Trans-Male

Star Sign: Leo

Moral Alignment/Personality: Neutral Good.

Height: Either 5'4 or 5'5.

Sexual Orientation: Ace.

Nationality/Ethnicity: Australian.

Fave Fruit: Oranges

Fave Season: Autumn

Fave Flower: Lily of the Valley

Fave Scent: Library books or Old Musuems

Coffee, tea or HC: Went from coffee to tea.

Average Hours of Sleep: 8 to 9 hours.

Dog or Cat Person: If he had to choose, a cat person, but he leans towards reptiles like turtles.

Dream Trip: America (and then he changes it to Germany).

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: Stephen King.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: Three.

RANDOM FACT: Joaquin's name is pronounced "jack-a-win" because that's how a young Lisa insisted it was pronounced when she first saw the name. And well... it just stuck.

A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore

Name: Arcane Urias

Nickname: None.

Gender: Male

Star Sign: N/A

Moral Alignment/Personality: Either Neutral Evil or Chaotic Evil.

Height: 7'6

Sexual Orientation: N/A (due to being a Displacement (name for entities manifested from unnamed Dimensions), he has no known concept of sexuality. He does (and continues to try to) conceive offspring with anyone capable of getting pregnant only to use as powerful pawns for his evil deeds).

Nationality/Ethnicity: N/A (though he can take the human shape of anyone not just his main form)

Fave Fruit: Hates fruit.

Fave Season: Summer.

Fave Flower: A dead one.

Fave Scent: Ash.

Coffee, tea or HC: None.

Average Hours of Sleep: He will rest/meditate for an hour or two, only to conserve energy.

Dog or Cat Person: Bobbit Worm.

Dream Trip: He wouldn't mind Antarctica.

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: N/A

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: N/A

RANDOM FACT: There’s only been three individuals Urias has cared for in his entire existence; his brother Mathias “Mason” Talos, his student (a Lich named) Aggravor and lastly his hyper-fixation, Discord (aka the Mad God/Kin of Carnage). Urias has no love for his children (Ortega “Ore” Brantley and Marissa “Ress” Bishop) due to them having the “human element”.

#wip wednesday #oc interview #life despair & monsters #wip: the thorned crown of iron thrones #house of the dragon #oc: corvus targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #far cry the silver chronicles #far cry 5 #we happy few #oc: alexander khaos #the untitledverse #oc: joaquin cobalt #series: a radioactive calamity of love bombs & gore #fallout #oc: arcane urias

[inhuman-obey-me]

Protection

Written for Solomon’s Birthday 2022!

Word count: 477

Description: Why deal with your thoughts when you could throw yourself into work instead? At least, that's how Solomon deals with his feelings.

Can also be read on AO3 here!

Solomon keeps his hands busy and his mind busier. Magic is infinite and limitless, and even eternity hasn't satisfied his ambitions yet. There are too many things he wants to research, too much he wants to learn. Each success opens the way to new ideas; each failure still teaches him new lessons.

And it's a lot easier dreaming of new experiments than thinking about old ones.

His transgressions, his regrets, the prices he'd paid to achieve what he had -- they dangle at the edges of his thoughts, taunting him in his moments alone. So he doesn't leave himself with moments alone. He throws himself into another experiment, always working, always focused. It keeps the nagging whispers at the back of his mind, safely pushed away so he doesn't think about them too hard.

He examines the contents of the tube in his hand, swirling it to see how the properties of the crystal inside change as they make contact with the potion he'd poured inside. Purple edges slide to green, and pink bubbles push their way slowly up through the viscous liquid. Magic shimmers at his fingertips, pushing the liquid deeper into the crystal until the whole vial is filled with only rock and froth. Dumping the crystal out into his hand, it glows faintly with the same green glow, a color more grassy than eerie, and he can feel the lingering warmth of his magic against the sides.

Then, with a softly murmured incantation, it crumbles to pebbles in his palm. He pours the pieces into a small pouch, taking care not to spill a single one, and places that inside a small plush, in the shape of an adorable pink sheep that had reminded him of you.

It's the third protective charm he's put in it this week.

It hasn't escaped his notice how some of his pactmates -- not the ones he's befriended, like Asmodeus, but some of the others who still resent him, angrier demons like Berith and Zepar -- have been skulking around near you lately. He doesn't think they'll do anything to you, not really, not when you have pacts with seven of the most powerful demons in the realm yourself, and the support of the Devildom Prince to boot. But Zepar still holds a bitter grudge over the particular way Solomon obtained his pact, and well, he wouldn't put it past tricky devils to try to use you against him somehow.

A few more incantations, and the pouch of pebbles dissolves to fluff, indiscernible from the stuffing the toy already had. He'll give it to you next week -- it's cute and fluffy, and he's pretty sure you'll like it.

There's a knock at his door. "Solomon, I made you a sandwich! Remember to eat it, okay?" Simeon calls from outside.

He hardly even hears it. He's already working on the next one.

#mod chaos in the devildom #obey me #obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me solomon #om! solomon #obey me solomon x reader #obey me solomon x mc #obey me fic #Obey me drabble #writings #drabble #happy birthday solomon #dammit this was supposed to be a quick birthday drabble but i think i wrote an ominous prologue chapter instead?? #BUT i made it before midnight so whatever its fine!!

[of-teeth-and-tenderness]

Blood Oath

- Chapter One -

M Demon x F Human Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Kidnapping, discussions surrounding virginity, minor self injury, nonconsensual frotting, blood, brief descriptions of gore, minor character death

~~

Awareness returns gradually, grains of sand trickling through an hourglass. Sticky eyelids crack open one at a time, but grogginess spoils your awakening. The dimly lit room may as well be completely dark for all your bleary eyes can see. You close them, rub at them, clutch your aching skull.

Beneath you, the surface is hard and bumpy. The scent of damp earth reaches your nose as you shift and you realize you’re lying on a dirt floor, not unlike the one in your grandmother’s cottage.

Groaning, you force your eyes open once more, pushing up onto your elbow. Blinking slowly clears your swimming vision and finally you’re able to push to your feet without staggering.

Now the question remains: Where are you? Little are the clues as you look around the room. To your left sits a small, wooden table covered in tattered parchment, next to it a single rickety chair. Old, dusty tomes are piled in corners and on shelves. A single candle burns low, the dancing flame throwing reaching shadows across the walls.

You hook your finger in the candlestick and cup your hand around the little flame so you can move about the room. You search for exits; windows or—

A door!

Under your fingers, the worn brass doorknob is freezing, like it was crafted from ice. You must tug and heave to haul the door open. Hinges squeal and the bottom edge drags an indent through the dirt floor.

Your face falls. Instead of an exit, you’re met with a staircase descending into yawning blackness. Icy air reeking of musk and a sharp, stinging odor pours from the open doorway, so overpowering you must throw and arm over your nose and mouth.

Disappointment turns to confusion. How could there be a room below this one? It must be dug into the very earth. But why?

And…. You hold your candle aloft, searching your tiny room—tiny prison—once more. This portal is the only doorway. Where is the exit? How did you get here?

Too many questions assault your aching head. You swallow the dryness in your throat and turn back to the ominous blackness.

The only way forward is down, so down you go.

Your small flame flickers with the trembling of your hand, your worn leather boots tap, tapping softly on stone steps. Your free hand grips the dirt wall, dried bits of mud flecking away and speckling the steps as you move. You can see nothing past the small circle of light provided by your candle.

As you descend, the strange stinging scent grows stronger. Your nose wrinkles, skin prickling as frigid air rushes past, chilling the sweat on your neck, brushing damp hair from your brow. How much farther could this channel go? The impossibility of it leaves you astounded and terrified.

The change is so gradual you don’t notice at first, but finally you realize you can see further ahead. A faint glow reaches you from the bottom of the earthen staircase. As you move closer, the color of light changes from pale white to sickly green.

Now a rich blue.

Gold.

Cautiously you tread as you reach the end of the staircase. Another room opens up beyond the threshold, its vaulted ceiling disappearing unfeasibly into the gloom above. Though, what draws your attention are the long, wooden tables littered with vials, tubes, and bottles filled with various liquids. One such bottle sits atop a flame, the bubbling substance within changing color seemingly at random and lighting up the surrounding space.

You approach and discover different stones and curling parchment littering the places not occupied by glass containers. Your fingers hover over a pearly white crystal, tempted to touch, but you think better of it and quickly withdraw your hand. Who knows what magic could be contained within.

Remembering your mission, you turn your attention to the other end of the room. Glowing coals sit in a brick hearth, a cast iron pot suspended above. As you approach, the evil, sharp smell grows stronger, stinging your eyes until tears gather in your lashes.

Using a nearby rag, you remove the pot from the hearth and set it on a table. Immediately, the smell begins to dissipate, the air around you growing cooler until you can take a full breath once more. What in God’s name is in that pot?

Each new encounter brings more questions than answers.

Wiping your eyes on your sleeve, you renew your search, lifting your candle to illuminate the far wall. You must be close to the way out by now.

What you find instead sticks your heart in your throat, forces a scream off your tongue, and makes you stumble back in terror, your little candle tumbling to the ground, flame dying in the dirt. Raising your trembling hands to your face, you stare, open mouthed and wide eyed at what is splayed on the wall.

The inhuman beast hanging limply before you is enormous, 20 hands at least. It possesses two arms—human-like if not for the curved, obsidian claws at the ends of its digits—and two, thick legs covered in curling fur. Instead of feet are massive cloven hooves, as wide around as a draft horse. It’s skin and fur are pure white as fresh fallen snow. Inky black cracks run here and there along its skin, like chasms carved into flesh. Stretching away from the beast are two great, rubbery wings, like those of a bat. Several steaks have been driven through the thin skin to keep them stretched wide and on display.

Morbidly fascinated, you take a step closer and raise your gaze to the creature’s head. Two dark horns curve out from a mess of white hair. Instead of a human face is a white snout, not unlike a goat’s. The eyes are closed. You wonder what hellish qualities they could possess.

The creature is motionless. It hangs limply, its stillness familiar to you, akin to that of humans who have passed on. It is dead, then, but why is it displayed on the wall like game?

It is then you notice the inscriptions encircling the monster, carved into the very wall. You squint and inch closer. They were runes once, you guess, runes for capture and imprisonment. Though, these have been warped, twisted during their creation. You wonder if they needed to be changed to hold such a creature captive.

One more step, just to see the inscriptions more clearly. Your mind whirs. The magic within the runes is still active. Why, though, if the beast is truly dead—

Something wraps around your calf, something muscular and serpentine. Heart stuttering in your chest, you screech and stumble back. Your leg slips free of whatever holds it and you retreat to the opposite wall, chest heaving, pulse galloping.

Your wide eyes meet solid black; iris, pupil, and whites are indistinguishable from one another in such wicked darkness. The creature’s snout opens, a dark chuckle sounding around pointed teeth. Flicking back and forth below its feet is a long, white tail, a tuft of black fur at the tip.

“Forgive me, little human. It has been so long since I had a visitor. I fear I have forgotten my manners.” It speaks in a thundering baritone, quiet growls rumbling between its words. “I thank you for removing that blasted pot from the hearth. The stench of it dulls the senses, you see.”

You open your mouth to speak but your voice cracks, air lodged in your throat. Swallowing, you try again, “W-What…what—

“What am I?” it suggests playfully, mouth curling into a smirk. Trembling fingers grip the front of your shift. Tentatively, you nod once.

“Many things, many names I have earned, but you, little human, may call me Orneth. I am—

“A demon,” you breathe. Realizing you spoke aloud, you clap a hand over your mouth. Orneth hums inquisitively, head tilting to the side.

“You know of me? I am flattered. Though, most humans do not have knowledge of my kind.”

Your palm slips from your face to anxiously twist in your dress once more. “I…there is a…a page about you in one of my brother’s bestiaries.” You wonder if you should be divulging all this, or if you should even be talking to him at all. However, you are woefully short on answers. Perhaps this demon can help you.

“A human who reads runes and bestiaries. I thought there was an air of magic about you, little witch.” You attempt to keep your expression passive. It becomes apparent you will not be able to hide anything from him.

Indeed, magic runs in your veins. You learned the healing arts from your grandmother and a little alchemy from your elder brother. Though you never met your mother, you’re told she was a skilled healer.

“Your perception is legendary, Demon Lord,” you praise, your voice more tremulous than you hoped. Courage fails you in the presence of such a beast.

At the title, the demon’s tail flicks. You take it to be a good sign. Perhaps his ego can be leveraged.

“Such a charming little creature,” Orneth purrs. “A refreshing change from my usual treatment.” You watch closely as the muscles of his outstretched arms flex against the magic holding him. Now is your chance.

“Please, Lord Orneth, will you tell me where we are? I awoke in a room above this one with no memory or how or why I came to be here.” The demon grins at your question and the back of your neck prickles. Intuition tells you he is planning some deception. You must navigate this exchange carefully.

“Indeed, I can tell you these things, little witch, but I will require something in return.”

“Name your price, demon, and I will do my best to meet it.”

“You must free me.” At his words, you balk. You knew this would be his stipulation, but the prospect of loosing him upon you and the rest of the world above chills you to the bone.

“What reassurance can you give that I will not be harmed?” The demon chuckles, the growling sound of it bouncing off the earthen walls and high ceiling.

“Harming she who aided me in my weakest moment? There’s no honor in that, pet.”

“And…others? My kin…I fear for them,” you tell him honestly. There is some truth in his words, you sense, but his tone carries an undercurrent of trickery.

“My quarrel is not with you or yours, child.” You bite your lip. Fear grips you, but desperation wins out. Free the demon and he can free you too.

“I…I will do my best to free you, Lord Orneth, if you will help me in return.” The demon rumbles in excitement at your promise.

“An honest little mage. Come closer. On the nearby table is an athamé. Prick your finger and let me drink of your blood. Then, a deal we will have.” Your breath falters. You know very little of blood magic, but giving your life essence to a demon is most assuredly forbidden.

“I-I do not intend to deceive you—

Orneth’s booming laugh interrupts your stammering. “And the blood will make sure of that! Come, human, time is not on our side. We must make haste, lest our captors return.”

You close your eyes despairingly. You have run out of options. The magic of this place is beyond your skill. You cannot hope to escape without Orneth.

Steeling yourself, you make your way to the specified table. The knife is cold in your palm, blade glinting in the low light. You set the tip against the finger, gritting your teeth at the sting. Blood wells under the metal point, black in the darkness.

Cautiously, you approach the demon. He watches intently, obsidian eyes trained on your leaking finger. You push to your tip-toes and raise your arm over your head to reach his mouth.

A forked tongue snakes from his toothy maw. It is slick and warm as it wraps around your wrist. A startled gasp leaves your lips as it drags up your hand and laps at your cut before disappearing back into the demon’s mouth.

Hastily, you back away once more. Orneth’s eyes flutter closed in apparent rapture as he tastes you, but they suddenly fly open to fix you with an astonished stare. You’re frozen to the spot, terrified of whatever it is he has discovered.

“You continue to surprise, pet. I see now what they wanted with you. A virgin witch is a rare find.”

“W-Who…who do you speak of, demon?” Your thoughts jumble together in your race to speak them, the shock of his revelation overshadowed by your need for answers.

Orneth’s lip curls up in a snarl. “Wizards. Wicked conjurers intent on more power, no gratitude for what they’ve already been given. Thankless heathens.” He spits on into the dirt. “This prison, these spells are their doing. They sought to control me and use my abilities for their gain, but their magic is unrefined. It can only hold me. I will not give them what they seek.”

He looks to you and studies your stunned expression a moment before continuing, “I suspect they wish to try once more with another of my kind. Another ritual of that magnitude would require a virgin sacrifice, one with magic of her own.” You stare back at him, speechless, body wracked with fearful trembling.

Now, you remember. Memory spills into your awareness like water rushing from a broken dam:

The stonemason’s son was weak with fever. You were traversing through the woods, making your way home from the village after treating the child. Hooves thundering down the forest trail made you look back in alarm. Armored men on horseback barreled toward you. There had been no time to flee. A blow to the head trapped your memory and submerged you in darkness.

In the hearth, charred wood snaps. Furiously blinking away tears, you come back to the present. You fill your lungs with air to calm your racing heart. Across the room, Orneth watches, ever observant.

His thoughtful hum pulls your attention. “It seems you and I are more alike than not, little one.” Your brows draw down in confusion and the demon chortles. “Both of us cursed in our own way.”

“Speak plainly, demon, I beg of you.” You grow tired of his riddles. There is urgency now, much more than when you first entered this chamber. Your life hangs in the balance.

“Virginity, young witch. It is nothing more than a burden. Lecherous sinners covet the maiden above all else. Men and magic folk alike are eager to abuse her flesh for their gain in one way or another. There will be no peace for you until you free yourself.”

At first, you’re too taken aback to respond. It discomforts you, the way he speaks so freely. Yet, there is an earnest quality to his words, a truthfulness.

“Of course, this could be included in our arrangement. An additional stipulation.” At your quizzical expression, Orneth smiles wide and adds, “It has been quite some time since I bedded a human. You would make a delectable treat, whitchling.”

Confusion instantly morphs into mortification. Your eyes grow wide and your face burns as you indignantly splutter, “C-Control yourself! Gods above, this is…I am not agreeing to this-this indecency!” You contemplate turning yourself over to the wizards. Dying would be preferable over this gut-wrenching shame.

Orneth’s boisterous laughter fills the cavern. You glare daggers at him, your eyes burning with unshed tears. Huffing, you turn on your heel and stomp back toward the staircase.

“Wait, wait little witch! I merely jest,” he shouts between guffaws. “We have a deal, if you recall.” You slow, scrunching up your face in ire. You are tempted to keep walking and deal with the consequences of breaking a blood oath, but sense prevails.

Sucking in a breath, you square your shoulders with purpose. Slowly, you turn to face the grinning demon, ignoring him as you tentatively approach. You remain hyper-aware of that swishing tail.

First, you tug free the steaks holding his wings aloft. The demon flinches with each and a small part of you relishes in his pain. He sighs in relief once the last spike is removed.

Next, you turn your attention to the runes and study each closely. Lifting your fingers, you bring them inches away from the symbols, careful not to touch. The power of them buzzes against your fingertips, a warning.

Your brother would be better for this, you tell yourself. This magic is old and powerful, something that takes years to master. Doubt overwhelms you and you draw your hand back. What if you falter and your error kills you both? Your grandmother cannot be left alone, old and frail as she is.

Then, one of the symbols catches your eye. You lean in and trace its shape with your gaze. You know this, know how to craft it…and how to undo it. You remember the book. The specific page floats to the forefront of your mind and you carefully recall the steps.

“There is a sequence, I think.” You speak more to yourself than the demon. Orneth is blessedly silent, to your relief. “They must be undone in the appropriate order. So, it should be…,” your eyes dart up to the symbol near his left hand, “…this first.”

You whisper words of unbinding. Magic rolls of your tongue and gathers at the tips of your fingers. The air crackles, the hair on your arms standing on end.

You press your fingers to the rune. It fizzes, the outline of the symbol glowing bright white, so intense you must squint. Then, it snuffs out and crumbles to dust at your feet.

One.

You move to the rune between his great hooves. Then to the one at his right hand. One by one they fall until you come to the last, the symbol between his horns.

Even on the tips of your toes you cannot reach. Hastily, you retrieve a chair and clamber onto its seat. This brings you eye-level with the demon. He stinks of sulfur and the last embers of a fire.

Orneth smirks at your proximity but says nothing, apparently unwilling to break your concentration. Cheeks heating up under his scrutiny, you focus on the last rune. Silently, you pray the demon will keep his word. You hope you aren’t making a mistake by unleashing the beast.

Under your fingers, the final symbol collapses. He is free, whether you like it or not. Hurriedly, you leap from the chair and drag it away as Orneth begins to tip forward. He lands on his knees with a resounding thud, loose earth raining down on you from the ceiling.

A beat of silence passes. In your ears, your blood rushes like a great river. Should you flee? Should you stay?

Then, one massive wing lifts, stretching to its full breadth. The other follows soon after. You watch in awe as the slashes left behind by the steaks mend themselves, thin flesh knitting together until each wing is whole and unmarred once more.

Gradually, the demon lifts his head to gaze at you. You freeze, the knowledge that he can move about as he pleases reminding you of your helplessness. What will he—

Orneth darts forward so quickly you do not have time to react. Thick hands seize you around the middle and you gasp when the room tilts. A grunt forces itself from your lungs when your back meets wood. Jars and crystals smash to the ground, knocked from one of the long work surfaces when the demon pins you to the table top.

You’re stunned, air refusing to enter your chest. The room spins as your mind desperately attempts to orient itself. Against your palms, the skin of his chest is so hot it almost burns.

“Now then,” he rumbles, settling between your legs. With growing horror, you discover your skirt has bunched up near your thighs in the tussle. The heat of him so near your center leaves you reeling. “This is much more comfortable.”

Finally, you cough and inhale, lungs filling with blessed air. Frantically, you push against his chest. “You…you swore—

“Swore no harm would come to you. And none shall. There are more things I can do to you like this than hurt you, little one.” He leans in close, close enough to feel the warm rush of his breath against your ear. “Unless you ask it of me.”

A shuddering exhale leaves your lips as you furiously shake your head. “No, n-no, I didn’t agree—

Orneth shift his hips and something thick and turgid slides against your inner thigh. You squeak in alarm, legs thrashing when you realize what touches you so intimately.

“Such a clever mage. So resourceful. You brim with more power than you realize. It would be an honor to spill my seed in your untouched cunt.” Your cheeks burn with his whispered praise.

Before you can scream curses at him, he moves again, this time sliding his heated length between your folds. Pleasure shocks you at the contact and the lascivious mewl that sneaks from your throat has shameful tears pricking at your eyes.

The demon groans deeply in response, the sound shuddering in the depths of your own chest. He continues to roll his hips, grinding his cock along your slit until it is slick with your want. You bite your lip so hard you taste iron, so desperate are you to conceal the lustful noises begging to leave your tongue.

Never have you felt this pleasure before or even imagined anything could feel this way. Every second that passes chips away at your resolve, more baser instincts itching to take over. Though…could you let…a demon…?

A snout nuzzles against the shell of your ear. “What say you, pet? Shall I split you open and free you from that wretched curse you carry?” You whimper in response, your nails digging crescents into his flesh. The temptation…it is….

A shout from behind startles you both. Your eyes snap open and you let your head fall back. There, upside down from your viewpoint, stands a man, his long, gray beard reaching down to his leather belt, a pointed hat clutched in his white-knuckled hands. Embroidered in the hat are symbols, descriptions of his status and rank.

A wizard.

A rolling growl shakes the glass jars above your head. Fear races up your spine at the sound and you quickly look to the demon. Orneth’s lips pull back in a vicious snarl as he regards the magician frozen in terror at the base of the stairs.

Then, the demon drops his gaze to you, his expression softening. “My apologizes, sweet one. It appears our pleasure must wait.” The sound of frantic footfalls reaches your ears. Orneth’s hateful gaze returns to the staircase. “I have wizards to kill.”

Sudden wind whooshes around you as powerful wings beat once, twice. The demon raises into the air and launches himself toward the stairs. The abrupt absence of his body heat leaves goosebumps prickling across your skin.

You slide from the table to land on trembling knees. Embarrassed, you hastily straighten your shift, your thighs still damp with desire. You drag a hand down your face and shake your head. How could you have nearly let a demon defile you in this hellish place?

Screaming shocks you out of your reverie. It’s distant, likely near the top of the stairs, but there is no mistaking the agony in it. Hesitantly, you follow the sound, afraid you’ll be trapped here forever if you don’t take your chance.

The cries grow weaker as you climb the endless staircase. They die off completely as you near the top. Faint light glows through the doorway ahead. Moonlight.

A way out.

You ignore the burning in your calves and your haggard breaths to sprint up the last few stairs. At the top is the little room in which you awoke. Beyond is another door. Fresh air smelling of spruce and aspen billows through the opening, bringing with it the promise of freedom. You race across the room and burst outside, but quickly skid to a halt in the grass, your hands flying up to clap over your mouth in revulsion.

The wizard’s shredded body…or what remains of it…litters the clearing before you. Innards, sinew, and bone are spread haphazardly across the ground, blood painting the grass in inky darkness. At the center of the carnage stands Orneth, his snout and chest covered in gore, the contrast of the vital fluid splattered against his pale skin stark in the moonlight.

Over his shoulder, the demon quietly regards you. Fearfully, you meet his dark gaze. His lips quirk up in a grin, his long teeth dripping with ichor. With one, powerful beat from his wings, he shoots up into the air to vanish into the night sky.

Above you, stars twinkle. A cool breeze rustles leaves and chills the sweat beading along your brow. Gathering up your skirt, you pick your way through the grass and return to the trees.

Home awaits.

#ofteethandtenderness #exophilia #monster oc #monster x reader #demon oc #demon x human #demon x reader #monster x human #monster x you #terato #monster boyfriend #monsters

[impishtubist]

a morning at st. mungo’s

[Another Wolfstar-raises-Harry-and-Teddy fic. Could fit with my other fics or could be a different universe altogether - you decide!]

---

Sirius rapped his knuckles lightly on the exam room door, then pushed it open and stuck his head in the room. 

“I heard a rumor that my favorite patient was here,” he said, giving Teddy a bright smile. 

Teddy’s tears started anew the moment he saw Sirius. He rubbed an eye with one hand and whimpered, “Daddy, it hurts.” 

“Sorry to pull you away from your rounds,” Remus said. Teddy was in his lap, his stuffed owl wedged between Remus and the arm of the chair. “He won’t let anyone else touch him. We’ve had three different Healers try.” 

“Teddy bit Healer Thomas,” Harry piped up from the other chair. 

“She hurted me,” Teddy muttered. 

“She didn’t mean to, love.” Sirius crouched in front of him. “Did you take the potion she brought you?”

Teddy shook his head, and Remus handed a vial of bright-green liquid to Sirius. Sirius unscrewed the cap, and Teddy opened his mouth obediently.

“And this is why your colleagues called you,” Remus said, amused, as Teddy drank the whole pain potion without complaint. 

“Well, it’s no fun breaking your arm and then having a bunch of strangers poke and prod you.” Sirius smoothed a hand over Teddy’s curls, which had reverted to their natural color, an indication of his misery. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and said, “I’m going to cast a spell that will show me your bones, Teddy. Is that okay? It won’t hurt at all, I promise.” 

Teddy shrank back against Remus, looking uncertain. 

“Scan me first, Padfoot,” Harry said, holding out his arm, and Sirius was immensely grateful for his ten-year-old. He cast the spell, and an image of the bones in Harry’s arm appeared in mid-air. “See, Teddy? Dad won’t hurt you.” 

“Okay,” Teddy whispered, and Sirius cast the spell again. 

“Well, Edward, you certainly did a number on yourself,” Sirius said, eyeing the image. “Two breaks, but they’re both clean. They’ll be very easy to heal. I’m going to cast another spell, and your arm is going to feel very warm for a few minutes, but it won’t hurt. Is that okay?” 

Teddy nodded and clutched Remus’s fingers with his other hand. Sirius cast the healing spell, and Teddy’s arm started to glow. He whimpered, but there were no tears, and Remus murmured comforting words in his ear. Finally, the glow dissipated, and Sirius gently flexed Teddy’s arm, searching his face for any hint of pain. 

“All fixed!” he declared, and Teddy gave him a watery smile. “That was excellent, Teddy. You were very brave.”

Teddy held out his arms, and Sirius picked him up. 

“We’ve had a bit of a rough morning, haven’t we?” Sirius said, rubbing soothing circles into Teddy’s back. His toddler nodded against his shoulder. “Anybody want to fill me in on what happened?”

Remus sighed and stood. “Someone tripped on the rug in the hallway upstairs while running to the bathroom this morning, and landed wrong on his arm.” 

Remus ran his fingers through Teddy’s hair. Sirius sighed and kissed the side of Teddy’s head. “Edward, what are we going to do with you? You’re almost as bad as Nymphadora.” 

“M’sorry, Daddy,” Teddy whispered.

“Oh, love, you did nothing wrong. It’s okay. These things happen.” Sirius kissed Teddy again and said, “I think this means you’ve earned ice cream for breakfast.”

Teddy lifted his head from Sirius’s shoulder and gave Remus a hopeful look. “Da?”

“Oh, fine.” Remus held out his arms, and Sirius passed Teddy over. “Yes, ice cream for breakfast. And maybe we can stop by the toy shop afterward.” 

“And the Quidditch store?” Harry asked, jumping up from his seat. Sirius chuckled and wrapped Harry in a hug. 

“I think that can be arranged. Put whatever you buy on my account.” Sirius dropped a kiss on top of Harry’s head. “Love you. Thanks for being such a good big brother.”

Harry blushed, but he squeezed Sirius tight. “No problem, Dad.” 

Teddy wouldn’t let them leave without two more kisses from Sirius and Remus each, and then finally Sirius was able to escort his family to the entrance of St. Mungo’s. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” Sirius said, giving his husband a quick peck on the lips. “Try to keep the kids intact until then, yeah?”

Remus rolled his eyes, and strolled off with Teddy and Harry into the bright sunshine. 

#imp is writing #wolfstar #raising harry #raising teddy #sirius and harry saturday #good godfather sirius black #sirius black #remus lupin #harry potter #teddy lupin

[imperical-shop]

A Bit of Extra Luck

For the Luck Potion design, I made another Zonami drabble ☺️ Hope it brings a little 🍀 to your day!

Summary: Zoro loves drinks so he decides to try on the “special” liquid he’s offered on a new island. Nami is pissed at his recklessness in taking offers from strangers. Little do they know, sometimes those mysterious things turn things around.

Words: 2040

Tags: Angry Nami at first but will come around, protective Zoro, both like the other but won’t act on it, slightly fluffy, open ending

“Don’t drink that you buffoon!” Nami yelled at the top of her lungs as she jumped in front of the swordsman and smacked the vial out of his hand. The object broke, glass shattering everywhere on the pavement. But that was it—it was just glass.

“What the fuck?” Zoro lifted an eyebrow and crossed his arms, his tone even, eyes dulled down to piercing black dots digging daggers into her.

“You idiot! Do you know what was in it at all?”

“No,” he stated calmly, turned around, and started walking back to the ship.

“What do you mean no?!” The navigator ran up to him and slowly eased into his pace, trying (and slightly failing) to match his long strides. “Do you just go off randomly drinking from bottles that gypsies sell to you on the street?”

The Strawhat Crew had arrived on a new island that day, planning on restocking and taking a break for a while from crazy pirates and Marines out to get them. Nami had made a full list of all the things they’d need for their following trips and had taken off with Sanji—the cook wanted to choose the ingredients for himself, so what was she to do?

Halfway through it, Nami had spotted a rugged woman, dressed in torn clothes and a small jute sack in her hands. She probably wouldn’t have paid the lady any attention if it hadn’t been for the mossy pop of color skidding in the crowd and the fact the woman seemed to follow him. So, purely out of curiosity, Nami had carefully walked behind her until she had witnessed Zoro purchasing a vial filled with a green liquid and something that looked like tiny clovers inside.

Nami had seen a lot of things in her life. Murderous pirates, fishmen trying to kill all mankind, swordsmen who could cut a mountain in half without even flinching. But she had never believed and would never believe in magic or potions.

“Sometimes.” Zoro shrugged, making her huff in anger. They had no medic on the ship and paying for one would cost her a lot of berries. Plus, they all (especially the captain and his reckless first mate) had a hefty bounty on their head, making getting around that much harder.

“Seriously, do you know what was in it? How can you-”

“Something about luck.” The hunter shrugged again. “Honestly, I was looking for booze. The woman said it was better than any alcohol I’ve ever tried. So…”

“You can’t be serious.” Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide, looking at his relaxed features from the side. It just didn’t make any sense. Nami had believed that out of the whole crew, maybe he had been the one with a brain cell more than the rest. But this now…

The navigator faltered in her steps, the tip of her shoe getting stuck between the cobblestones. She saw the whole world shift upside down, the ground suddenly coming too close. Before she landed face-first, a hand wrapped around her torso and pulled her up. Her back hit something hard, but Nami was still wide-eyed and stumped at how for just a millisecond more she would’ve dove right into the pavement.

The smell of sea salt mixed with a musky note and the undeniable hint of booze on his breath sent chills down her back. The sun was blazing above her head but she was sure that wasn’t the reason why her cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire or why her whole body got an inexplicable urge to morph into a puddle on the ground.

Turning her head slowly, she was met with dark eyes enshrouded in mystery. Zoro tightened his hold around her waist, bringing her even closer to him, still not breaking their eye contact. He looked calm but then again, that’s what he always looked like. Yet, the tiny sparkles in his eyes reflecting from the sun’s rays urged her to believe there was something more. His thumb brushed over the exposed skin of her stomach, making her shiver in response—an action Nami desperately wanted to believe he had missed. But the small curve of his lips proved her wrong.

“Nami-san!” A loud and saccharine drawl of her name echoed from behind them, making Zoro quickly loosen his grip and distance himself from her. Nami cleared her throat and turned around to look at Sanji who was dangling several grocery bags in his hands and desperately trying to wave with one. She cleared her throat again, as if that would help the light awkwardness lift from around them, and turned to walk toward the cook.

“Let’s go back to the ship. Luffy and Usopp are surely waiting,” the ginger said slowing down her steps. For a brief second, she wondered if Zoro had heard her or if he had and decided to ignore her. But once his familiar scent and the clinks of his swords surrounded her senses, Nami smiled and kept walking.

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

Zoro had his hands tucked behind his head, legs propped on the ship’s railing, eyes closed, and enjoying the sounds of the sea hitting the ship as they sailed toward their new adventure. Well, he tried to. Ten minutes into his nap, the navigator had begun screaming for the rest of the crew to come clean the deck and had proceeded to order them around. Interestingly enough, she hadn’t asked for his help at all.

He tried to ignore them; ignore the constant cries of Usopp and Luffy as they scrubbed the deck; ignore Sanji’s constant gushing over Nami’s words. To be honest, the cook’s antics irked him in a different way and way more than anything else.

The swordsman opened one eye and immediately found the ginger, walking around the deck and trying to find new spots the guys could mop up. She had a map in her hand, glancing at it from time to time and turning toward the sea, squinting her eyes, looking for something, before going back to the paper in her hands. Zoro tucked his chin and crossed his arms, smiling—it was amusing watching her nag the rest and work on getting the whole crew ashore at the same time.

He lifted his head once more, this time in an attempt to rest it on the barrel behind his back. A glint in the sky caught his eye, making him forget everything else and focus on it. At the top of the main mast, the shroud seemed as if it was dangling by its last thread. But the sun’s blazing light obscured the vision so Zoro wondered if that might have just been a few seagulls circling around.

The next few seconds played in slow motion for him. The shroud ripped apart, its whole weight falling down on the deck, right on top of Nami. If it had been just the shroud there might not have been any damage, but the distinct sound of metal coming down with it, urged the swordsman to act fast.

Zoro grabbed his sword and in a split millisecond, made a sharp cut from where he had been lying. The sheer force of it slashed the air, spreading the power in long, wavy ripples that reached the shroud and cut it in half. The lower part fell in front of Nami’s legs, while the upper went over her head and landed behind her, the gear of the pulley system hitting the deck and making a small hole right on top of the kitchen below.

Nami stood rooted to the ground, her eyes popping out, mouth dropped open. The map in her hands was scrunched and slightly torn in the middle from the force she was applying by fisting her hands. Cold sweat washed over her at the thought of the gear aiming directly for her head. She kept looking at the top of the main mast where the shroud used to be attached. Only now, there was just a long rope swinging in the air, pushed and tugged by the breeze.

Luffy immediately jumped to her, asking her questions to which she had no answer. Well, her mind couldn’t come up with one no matter how hard she tried. Instead, her eyes started darting left and right, searching for the source of that forceful gush of wind she’d felt right before she’d lifted her head and seen the net split in two. Yet, there was no one around except the three crewmates pestering her about her state.

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

The night had settled in quietly, a dark canvas spreading on each side over the ship, sprinkled with tiny stars here and there. The summer breeze was quite nice, softly caressing her skin and spreading around the sweet aroma of tangerines.

Nami marched toward his room, settled on finally thanking him for everything that had happened during the day. She wasn’t an idiot—it was obvious who had saved her. Twice that day. So, the only logical and nice thing to do was to at least say a simple, ‘Thank you’.

“Zoro?” The navigator tapped on the door, her voice barely over a whisper. She didn’t know why, but the idea of Usopp, Luffy, or (god forbid) Sanji seeing her walking into Zoro’s room made her rethink her initial thought of barging in as she’d usually do.

Since there was no answer, she called his name once again and waited for a few seconds before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The room was dark, illuminated by the grayishly white rays from the round window on one side of the room. Nami squinted so her eyes would adjust to the darkness faster and only then noticed the big hammock in the middle, with Zoro lying on it, lightly swinging left to right. His swords were, of course, right next to him, propped on the wall. She wanted to taunt him and ask why they weren’t lying on top of him, but seeing that only one move of his hand and he could grab them, she opted to skip that question.

One light step forward and Nami noticed the even breaths coming out from the pirate hunter. His features were relaxed; gone were the usual sharp edges around his jaw and the scowl that seemed to grace his forehead most of the time. At that moment, he looked at peace—he wasn’t chased by Marines, wasn’t gunned down by other pirates or hunters.

So call her nuts for not wanting to disturb his sleep. Yeah, he could take a nap at literally any place, but this somehow felt different. Like he was more comfortable, less alert. A weird feeling of trust built up in her, making her bite her lower lip.

Nami stood for a moment longer and turned to walk back. Maybe she could thank him some other day. But would she ever get a chance like this to really show him her gratitude? Probably not. And a simple ‘Thank you’ kind of lost its meaning in the few minutes she’d been watching the always vigilant swordsman, the one who always had her back, finally relax.

That’s when a simple, albeit stupid, idea popped into her head. Nami pivoted on her heels and walked back to the hammock, stopping right above him. She lowered her head and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, lingering a moment too long.

“Thank you for always being there,” she whispered and slowly pulled away, her eyes still glued to his tranquil state. Before anyone could see her or (even worse) Zoro wake up, Nami turned around and dashed for the door.

Zoro opened one eye just as the door was closing. He had wanted to start talking the second she’d entered but something told him that this way would be better. And somehow it had. It seemed the older lady on that island hadn’t lied to him—that thing had really been a luck potion. Because the swordsman could bet that Nami would never do something like she had a few moments ago.

The pirate hunter smiled, tucked both hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. Yeah, Zoro had a feeling his luck would change from now on.

#imperical #different designs for different needs ✨ #zonami drabble #zonami fanfic #zonami #opla zoro #opla nami #roronoa zoro #cat burglar nami #one piece nami #one piece zoro #nami x zoro #zoro x nami #nami #zoro #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction

[when-wolves-howl]

A Link To The Past

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Ross makes good on his deal and you find some more clues from your past.

Genre: Little bit of angst. Little bit of comfort. Descriptions of violence.

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Chapter 5 is here 85 years later. You can find the previous chapters here. I'm so sorry it took me so long to update and for all the people who asked me about this series wanting more. Work, life and everything in between got in the way. I made sure it was super long to make up for wait. Enjoy reading!

*you do not have permission to repost or translate my material to claim as yours*

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It had only been a couple of days since you had visited Wanda and the plan to get her out was in motion. After explaining the plan to Pietro, he was in. No questions asked. All that was needed was to gather the evidence and since Bucky was a world renowned ex-assassin, he was the perfect popsicle for the job. As much as you wanted to do the job yourself, you had to keep Ross’ focus on you and away from The Raft. So you held up your end of the deal.

Right now, you were laying on a bed in the med bay, wires taped to your chest and temples, monitoring your heart beat and brainwaves. Two sets of vibranium handcuffs hung off the side of each rail of the bed, for your safety but you know it��s for Ross’ peace of mind. You have a feeling he's a little afraid of you. Although Bruce had already run the tests as Maria had said, Ross wanted to oversee while they were ran again and he brought in his own doctor like he said he would. Ross makes his entrance into the med bay along with a woman you don’t recognise with Tony and Bruce on their heels. Steve, Vision and Clint had left for a mission earlier while Bucky and Pietro had opted to stay behind to offer you 'support'. You know Steve would've reluctantly agreed. 

The woman following Ross is a wearing a white lab coat, horn rimmed glasses and has jet black hair but you notice a tint on green shimmering off it in the harsh lights of the med bay. 

Her porcelain features almost mimic Natasha’s but it’s her eye colour that shocks you a little. Her irises pierce yours with a cold hard stare and it begins to make you a little uncomfortable. You only know of two other green eyed women but their’s are soft and sweet. This kind of green is the opposite. Even in the light of the med bay, they do not show any brightness.  Instead they show to have an elliptical pupil, like a snake and staring at it for too long makes you a little nauseous. Grey eyes pull you from your focus and Ross steps up to you with a sick smirk on his face. 

“I held up my end of the deal. Now it’s time for you to hold up yours. This here, is Dr. Sarkissian. She specialises in neurology and specifically the retrieval of a persons memories. So she's going to run some tests on you, different than the ones that Dr. Banner ran on you.”

“That’s great. Let’s get this over with” you retort. 

You don’t care for this woman or what she specialises in. You just want this over with. Tony comes to your side and takes your hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“This isn’t going to be pretty. I saw the outline for the procedure and it’s pretty invasive Y/N” Tony warns gently. Did he suddenly forget the excruciating procedure that Strucker put you through, day in and day out? You know pain. It’s literally apart of your DNA now.

“It’s okay Stark, I’ve been through worse” you confirm. Before Tony can speak up, a skeletal figure steps forward.

“I can promise you, you haven’t” says Dr. Sarkissian. She checks on the machine monitoring your vitals and takes a syringe and a vial of blue liquid from her coat pocket. You stiffen for a moment as some the of the past that you do remember, flashes before your eyes. Strucker and Dr List and their endless quest to make your body their puppet. But the way that Dr. Sarkissian looks at you with her serpent eyes, tells you that she’s telling the truth. She fills the syringe with the liquid and with a tap to the needle, she injects the blue substance into the IV protruding from your arm. “You’ll start to feel the effects in a few minutes. It normally takes a few seconds but because of your rapid healing ability, your body will want to reject the substance.

“What exactly is this substance?” you ask. You mentally scold yourself for not asking before she injected it but being with Bruce and Tony, you felt safe.

“It’s my own personal concoction of Donepezil, Memantine, Namzaric and a few other FDA-approved drugs to treat memory loss” she explains.

“FDA approved huh? I’ll bet” you slur out. You never were subtle when you were drugged which didn't happen that often but a large amount of drugs were needed when you were seriously injured. You vaguely remember the time your spine had been snapped in three places with you head rolling around your shoulders after having nearly been ripped off by a purple alien.

You hear your own voice and realise that your jaw is feeling heavy and your eyes are starting to droop. You slowly turn your head to a figure walking towards you and even though your vision is starting to blur, Tony’s immaculate three piece suit never fails to shine through. He takes the back of your head in his hand and brings it down to the pillow.

“I got you, kid. I won’t let anything happen to you” he whispers in your ear. You want to answer that the worst has already happened to you but you feel your entire body fall into a state of entropy. Your hearing hearing however, stays the same. Your heart rate monitor begins to spike and you can hear the shuffling of feet move around the room. What was the point of the handcuffs if you're being put into a catatonic state?

“Now Y/N, I want you stay as relaxed as possible. I know it’s hard because you can’t move or speak but I need to try” Sarkissian asks. She puts her hand on top of yours and you notice that her skin is freakishly smooth and very cold. You can feel her pulse through her touch and it’s oddly calm. With not being able to shake your hand away, the heart monitor begins beep even louder until more feet start to move and Dr. Sarkissian removes her hand. You feel the warmth of another hand on your shoulder and you recognise it as Tony. His touch also allows you to feel his pulse, but its not the sound of beating, instead it comes as a whirring sound. His reactor. It brings you comfort and your body begins to relax against the bed. 

“We’re going to start now Y/N. I’m going to guide you through this entire process so I want you to drown out all the noises you can hear and focus only on my voice” You do as you’re told and focus on the sound of your heartbeat. It’s still being rather fast, too fast for a normal human. But after a few short breaths and a familiar red head’s face in your mind, it returns to its normal pace. “Very good Y/N. Now I want you to take me back to the last thing you remember” It takes you a moment to sort through the things you do remember. Sorting through your fractured mind, you find yourself back to the warehouse in Bulgaria. You suddenly feel like your brain is on fire and realise that is what Dr. Sarkissian meant about not being through worse. But you remember this pain well.

Fighting through the pain, you try to remember the mission objective to collect intel about Hydra locations around the world. You feel as if you're back in that very moment, in real time. You’re seeing your past through your own eyes. You feel your legs take you from room to room as stealthily as you could, avoiding Hydra agents that were scattered throughout the warehouse. You could hear their heart beats and the small whispers being spoken through their comms. You could also hear the voices of your team mates on your own comms. Nat, Clint, Sam and Steve outside the warehouse fending off the swarms of Hydra soldiers and Wanda, Vision and Tony monitoring the situation from the skies.

You could make out the German being spoken and that the soldiers were moving the east side of the building, still looking for you. You wait for the foot steps to become more faint before you take another step but as the moment passes and you raise your leg to move, a huge explosion erupts in your ears and you're suddenly engulfed in flames and you feel the ground beneath collapse as you fall through the flames. As much as you're aware that you're in your own memories, you can still feel the burn and tear of your flesh and the shatter of nearly every bone in your body as you reach the last floor of the warehouse. 

You can hear the monitors connected to your body start to go haywire as your body reacts to the trauma but the drugs that Dr Sarkissin administered won’t allow you to move. 

“What the hell is going on?” Tony yells to Dr. Sarkissian. 

“It seems like Y/N is experiencing the trauma from that day. Take Y/N's hand and try to calm them. It worked before” Sarkissian suggests. Tony does this and runs his thumb across the back of your hand and you recognise his calloused hands comforting you. The heart rate monitor slowly goes back to a steady rhythm and Tony sighs a breath of relief. Sarkissian directs her speech to you telling you to go back to the moment where you left off. You try your hardest. ignoring the pain in your skull and finally reach the moment where you're sprawled out on the bottom of the basement. You will yourself to ignore the pain of your injuries. You can slowly feel your bones begin to heal back into place but the warehouse is still burning around you and you can see the upper levels starting to collapse above you. You beg your mangled arm to let you reach for yours comms and call for help from anyone on the team. You hope they're looking for you. You know Natasha is. You couldn't even scream out if you tried. A thick cloud of smoke surrounds you and you could taste it in your mouth as it made its way to your lungs. After a few minutes that feel like hours, you feel your body start to fail you. You’re not sure if you can die. You've always healed from your injuries after missions because you were given time to. But your body is burning faster than it can heal. So being unable to move or even scream for assistance, you welcome death like an old friend, closing your eyes, and picturing Natasha’s smile.

Before you can fully submit your body to flames, you hear the faint beats of a heart nearby. It takes everything in you to open your eyes to find the source, hoping to be reunited with your red headed love, but not even the powerful Black Widow can walk through flames. Instead you're greeted with a figure wearing what seems to be a fireproof suit. Protest is useless, as the figure quickly inject a needle into the burnt flesh of your neck and you immediately pass out. Your senses begin to go into over drive and the clear memories you were experiencing start to become distorted as flashes of deep red, purple and orange flash past your eyes and some voices you recognise and some you don’t, echo through out your ears. 

“Come back Y/N. It’s over” Dr. Sarkissian instructs as she administers another substance into your IV and you immediately come out of your paralysis and sit up quickly, your eyes wide and gasping for breath. It takes you a moment to realise the effect the drugs actually had on you, when you can't hold your own weight up. Tony quickly takes the back of your head and lowers it back to the pillow. 

He takes your hand again to calm you and instructing you to take try and take deep breaths. You struggle to pick your head up and notice everyones on you holding their breath for you to speak up but Dr. Sarkissian does before anyone, asking if you're okay. You nod and take a few deep breaths to calm your erratic heart beat. 

“Tell us what you saw” Ross demands, stepping towards you. He clearly doesn't care for the state you're in. You recount your memories and everything you experienced but leave out the figures who drugged you. Ross and Sarkissian both look to the heart rate monitor and look for any irregular beats to see if you're lying but they find none. Ross looks back to you and you can tell he's displeased with the results. 

“How can L/N not remember anything past that point?” Ross snarls in the direction of Dr. Sarkissian. You keep quiet, letting the people with numerous PhD’s talk.

“Something is blocking their core memories. It could be repressed trauma and the unwillingness to remember or whoever erased Y/N’s memories, had extremely powerful technology to do so. Because of serum that runs through Y/N’s veins, erasing memories would be extremely difficult because the brain would be constantly trying to repair itself. It’s in a constant state of self repair. I can only imagine that whoever did erase the memories, went to extreme and perhaps tortuous lengths to do so” Dr. Sarkissian explains.

“You saw my results Ross. Y/N’s MRI results showed no sign of manipulation. They were never under any sort of hypnosis or brainwashing techniques” Bruce says from the corner of the med bay. 

“If Y/N wasn't brainwashed then how do you explain the lost memories?” Ross asks, agitation lacing his tone. 

“Maybe it wasn't Y/N’s captors that erased their memories because they couldn’t. Maybe it was someone else” Dr. Sarkissian suggest, looking right at you. You frown, not understand what she's getting at. 

“The memory loss was voluntary” Bruce concludes. You’re taken aback at his suggestion. You didn't even consider that a possibility. Why would you erase your own memories? What the hell happened to make you want to forget nearly three years worth of memories?

“Well then, we’ll have to try and dig deeper and recover everything” Ross says nonchalantly, as if the invasive procedure you just went through was a walk in the park.

“You won’t be doing that for a while” Tony says without room for argument. “Y/N has been through enough for today. F.R.I.D.A.Y, please escort our guests to the front door,” Before leaving, Ross turns his direction towards you. 

“We’re not finished here L/N. I’ll find out where you've been all this time, you can count on it.” Ross warns. You say nothing, instead turning your gaze to Dr. Sarkissian who had been looking at you the whole time with a predatory gaze. It sends a shiver down your spine. She also says nothing and follows Ross out of the med bay, leaving you alone with Tony and Bruce. 

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks quietly. You can see the concern in his eyes and it brings you a moment of comfort. You nod and accept the help from Bruce in clearing your body of the wires and helping you to sit up and sit on the edge of the bed. You can feel your limbs start to return to their natural state, your healing factor taking effect. Both Bruce and Tony look at you with curious eyes and you think you already know the next question that’s going to be asked. 

“Are you going to tell us what you really saw?” Tony asks, with a raised eyebrow. You avoid his gaze and contemplate his question. You trust him and Bruce but you don’t want to drag him or anyone else into this mess. You can’t risk anyone else getting hurt and with Ross and The President keeping their eye on you 24/7, you don’t want what happened to Wanda, to happen to them when you start poking around in places that you're not supposed to.

“I did tell you” you say, looking up to look Tony directly in the eyes. He squints at you to determine if you're lying.

“But not everything” Bruce says suspiciously. You know they know, but you won’t give in. Not until you can make sense of what you saw in your memories. 

“Yes, everything. Now if you guys don’t mind, I’m freaking exhausted and I’d like to go rest” you say, without giving anyone the chance to argue as you move from the bed and out of the med bay. You hear Tony whisper out that the conversation isn’t over.

You make your way back to Wanda’s old room. It’s where you had been sleeping since your return since you still couldn't set foot in your old one. Sleeping was an understatement though. You were constantly plagued by nightmares. Nothing distinct, just flashes of colour, voices and images that you couldn't make out. Basically everything you saw when you were trying to retrieve your memories. The one thing that you were able to make out was Natasha’s face when she walked through the door at the pub in Berlin. It’s haunted you since you returned. 

Collapsing onto the bed, you close your eyes and register the events of the last couple of hours. Someone drugged you after you fell through the floors of the warehouse. Hydra? Could Strucker be alive? No, Ultron sent a message to The Avengers with his death. Whoever it was, has the facilities to have you subdued for three years and the technology to erase your memories. What were those colours that you saw? Everything is a blur and your head begins to ache at trying to remember. Your phone dings on the nightstand next to the bed. You grab it and read a message from an unknown number:

It’s done.

You breathe out a a sigh of relief and relax at Bucky’s message, closing your eyes and unwillingly succumb to your exhaustion.

___

What felt like only moments later, you wake to your phone dinging again and check the message from another unknown number but this one isn’t from Bucky.

She'll be there within the hour. I expect that usb to be handed over immediately.

The next hour goes painfully slow as you make your way to the living room to find Pietro, who you had forwarded the message to. You can hear his heart beat beating dangerously fast so you take your hand in his to try and calm him.

"I can't believe this is actually happening" he says in Sokovian. He grips your hand tight.

"I know Piet. I wish I could've done something sooner" you reply sadly in the same language. Pietro squeezes your hand even tighter and if you were a regular person, you know it would hurt.

"Don't do that. None of this is your fault. We're going to find out what happened to you and I know that Wanda is the best chance you have to recover your lost memories" Pietro explains. You frown at this words.

"You know I didn't do what I did just because she can help me right? She's not a villian and I won't have her locked up like one. Even if she couldn't help me, I'd still do what I did a thousand times over. She's my best friend" Pietro immediately let's go of your hands and stands from the couch.

"I thought I was your best friend!" he argues with a fake pout. You roll your eyes at the never ending argument you always have with him at who was your favourite Maximoff.

"Shut up. I love you both equally" you say with a smile. Before Pietro can respond, F.R.I.D.A.Y announces the arrival of a black SUV and you tell her to allow them entry into the compound. You and Pietro move the foyer and wait for the automatic doors to open. When they do, four men with semi automatic rifles, led by Ross, enter slowly. You think the fire-power is a bit over the top, but you know the President is afraid of the information you hold. Ross steps towards you, the armed men close on his heel.

"I don't know how you did this but I will find out and when I do, you'll be arrested and charged to fullest extent of the law" hisses Ross. You don't care for his threats. If he ever did find out and came after you, you'd be long gone and out of the country with Wanda. 

"Where is she?" you ask bluntly. Ross turns back and the armed men separate to reveal a fifth man standing behind them and that's when you see her, looking the same as when she was in her cell. Exhausted, sunken eyes that point to the ground, messy hair. But you still think she's beautiful. The fifth man releases Wands wrists from the power dampening cuffs and and collar from her neck. When it's removed, you see the bruises that litter her neck and your jaw tightens. You can hear Wanda's shallows breaths and irregular heart beat and it breaks your heart. One of the agents steps up to you and opens a small briefcase. You take the usb from your back pocket and place it in there. The agent snaps it shut and moves back behind Ross who's eyes never leave yours.

"I'll be seeing you again, Y/LN" Ross seethes. You know he's talking about doing more testing, but also he just wants to be there when you're put in handcuffs.

"Get out." you demand and Ross and the men leave without another word.

Before you can step towards her, a flash of blue flies past you and Pietro immediately takes Wanda into his hold. You watch her eyes take in her surroundings and the figure of her twelve minute older brother holding her tight. Her eyes soften as she realises who holds her close and she wraps her arms around his waist. You can hear hear the whispers of Sokovian between the twins but you choose to block it out and give them a moment of privacy. Pietro releases Wanda and places a kiss to her forehead before turning back to you. Wanda's eyes lock to you instantly, almost as if she could feel you there. You release your still clenched jaw and relax your entire body as Wanda slowly walks towards you with a limp in her step. You also slowly walk towards her, your eyes never leaving hers. Her face is expressionless as she finally stands in front of you. You breathe in her scent and realise that it hasn't changed.

"Hi Red." you greet in an almost whisper. Tears start to fall down Wanda face and your heart breaks even more when you know she's realising that she's free and it's because of you. She launches herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck as you arms wrap around her waist, bringing her feet off the ground. You can her tears soak through your shirt but you don’t care now that your best friend is in your arms. Wanda’s arms keep tightening around your neck and you start to feel it harder to breathe. “Wands, I can’t breathe” She immediately releases her hold and you realise that you were engulfed in her magic and that's why you couldn't breathe. You lower her back to the ground and her eyes never leave yours as she takes ahold of your hand and squeezes softly.

“I’m sorry.” she says in a whisper. You smile in acceptance of her apology. Pietro walks up to Wanda and places her hand on his sisters shoulder and you see Wanda almost flinch at his touch. Thankfully, Pietro misses it. You know she’s still on edge by the sound of her heartbeat beating rapidly in her chest. .

“How about we go out and get some food and celebrate both of you returning? I’ll see where the team is at and we can have a party tonight too.” Pietro suggests with a wide smile. Wanda opens her mouth to speak up but you beat her to it. 

“No.” you say firmly. The oldest twin begins to protest but you raise your hand to silence him. “It’s too early for that Piet. Let Wanda settle back into the compound and get reacquainted with everything. I’m still getting used to everything too. Give us a couple days, please?”

“Yeah of course. I'm sorry, I’m just excited to have you both back. I didn't mean to get carried away.” he says sincerely. You shoot him a small smile. You see Wanda take her occupied hand and grab her brothers. 

“I missed you too Pietro. Right now, I just want to sleep in my own bed." Wanda admits.

"No.” you say once again. Both of the twins swing their heads in your direction with frowns of confusion on their faces. “You need to be checked out by Cho first. I don’t know what Ross put you through but i’ll sleep better at night knowing you have a clean bill of health.”

Wanda shoots you a small smile and nods. She turned to Pietro and hugged him, promising to spend time with him later. You then led her by the hand through the compound, to the med bay where she was greeted warmly by Dr. Cho. She and Wanda exchange pleasantries as Dr. Cho leads Wanda to the hospital bed and starts an IV along with some wires to her forehead and chest.

“I’m just going to do some blood work and some other vitals and see if theres any lasting damage.” Dr. Cho explains. Wanda smiles in acknowledgement and you go to leave Wanda in private but she takes your hand and begs with her eyes for you to stay. Dr. Cho notices the silent exchange between you too and quickly takes a vial of Wanda’s blood and her blood pressure and leaves the room.

“Are you going to tell me what you did to get me out of the Raft?” Wanda questions in a suspicious tone.

“Yes. I’d never lie to you.” you admit.

“Is it going to make me mad?” she questions again in the same tone. 

“Yep" you answer simply. Before Wanda can protest, the door to the med bay swings open and the rest of the Avengers pile into the room. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Clint, Vision and Pietro surround Wanda while you take a few steps backwards to give them room to greet her. Bucky steps through the threshold and places a hand on your shoulder with a small smile. You return it and a nod in silent thanks for his help in getting Wanda back. You didn't have siblings, but he was the closest thing to a brother you had, besides Pietro.

As everyone was swarming Wanda with hugs and questions, you decided to step outside for moment to get your bearings. You didn't realise you were holding your breath until you leant your back against the wall and release it.

“You okay?” You feel Wanda enter your mind.

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?

“Cho gave me a mild sedative, so i’m okay for the moment. What’s going on?

“I just needed some air. Plus i just wanted everyone to have their time with you too. They missed you.

“There’s plenty of me to go around, Y/N. Are you saying you didn't miss me?

“It feels like I only saw you last week.”

“Are we going to talk about your disappearance?”

“Only if we talk about why you were in the Raft”

“We will, I promise,” Both of you stayed silent for the moment until Wanda entered your mind again. “Steve’s coming” You immediately straightened your posture and waited for the Captain to walk through the door. Steve was in front of you in a matter of seconds with his arms folded in front of him and a stoic expression.

“What did you do? Steve asks immediately.

“What do you mean? you reply, cooly.

“Don’t play stupid Y/N. I know you and that you’d do anything for Wanda. Including breaking the law to get her out.” 

“I don’t know what you're talking about Steve.” He sighed in defeat and moved his hands to his hips and hung his head. You could feel the disappointment radiating off him and as much as you didn't want him to feel like that, he was right in saying that you would do anything for Wanda.

“Whatever you've done, it better not come to bite you or anyone else in the ass Y/N. I know how much you want to recover your memories and find out what happened but I won’t allow any harm to come to the team because of it.” Steve said firmly.

“I get it, Cap.” You put your hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently, letting him know that you were being serious. “I won’t let anything happen to anyone” you promised. “Now, I'm going to hang out with my best friend.” You moved towards Wanda’s room before Steve spoke up again.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry with what happened with Nat.” Steve said sincerely, his lips forming a thin line. It took all the strength you had not to let the tears fall at the mention of her name. You haven't allowed yourself to think of her and with everything going on, you had little time to cry about your love life. You nodded in thanks and returned to Wanda’s room. She was trying to keep up with everyone speaking at her and not to her. It was starting to piss you off when you could see Wanda’s eyes frantically move around the room and then to the exit.

“Everyone out!” you shouted at the everyone. “There’s too much testosterone in this room and it’s making Wanda sick, so if you want to speak to her you can come back one at a time. You gave all of the men a look to say ‘try me’ when some of them made the motion to protest. You saw Wanda cover her mouth to hide a laugh out the corner of your eye, but you could still hear shaky her breath as she tried to muffle it. All of the men bid goodbye to Wanda with hugs and wishes to get well. Pietro gave his sister a kiss on her forehead and whispered something in her ear, that you decided not to listen to and then left the medway with a wink in your direction.

“What did Pietro say?” you ask, stepping up to Wanda’s bed. 

“You didn't listen?” Wanda replies, curiously.

“I never listen when it’s just you and him. I never have”

Not even back in Sokovia with Strucker?” You shake your head. “I always thought you did.”

“It was hard not to listen when Pietro would basically yell from his cell to yours thinking he was whispering.” you say, with an eye roll. Wanda giggles at yours but it turns into a deep frown a moment later. 

“He just told me to take it easy and that he'll be back later. Are you going to tell me whats going on?” Wanda asks quietly. 

“Yes. But not here. Get F.R.I.D.A..Y  to let me know when Cho releases you and I’ll come and get you. I’ll explain everything once we have some privacy.” Wanda nods at your words and you give her hand a squeeze and a kiss to her forehead and exit the med bay and back to Wanda’s room.

---

She arrives half an hour later and looking much better than she did when she arrived. There’s colour in her cheeks and the circles under her eyes look lighter. You can tell Cho worked a miracle once again. Before you can comment, Wanda holds her finger up to silence you. You immediately sit down on the bed as she walks over to sit next you.

“Talk.” she demands. 

“You have to promise not to get mad at me.” you beg. 

“Nope.”

“That’s fair.” You release a deep sigh. “I blackmailed The President.” Wanda’s eyes go wide with fear which quickly turns to anger. There’s not much you’re afraid of in this world but a pissed off redhead is one of them. She smacks you up the back of the head and if you weren't a super soldier you know you'd be bruised tomorrow.

“Tell me everything, right now.” You go into detail from the moment you woke up, being arrested by Natasha, to dealing with Ross, the leverage you had over the President, involving Bucky and Pietro, the testing with Dr. Sarkissian, her suggestion that you have erased your own memories everything that happened and everything you didn't tell Ross, Bruce, Ross and Dr. Sarkissian, to the moment you find you find yourself in right now. “Huh. Who knew that the most powerful man in the world liked wearing diapers and crawling around like a baby.” 

“Not me. I mean, I’m not here to kink shame but I’m guessing the general public wouldn't like that.” you say with a small laugh.

“Y/N, you know you can’t just be blackmailing the President. If you get caught, they'll put you somewhere worse than The Raft. Pietro and Bucky too.” Wanda says in a whisper, even though the walls are soundproof you know she’s still worried someone might hear.

“I know Wands but I couldn't let you rot in there. You don’t belong in there. You never did.” Wanda gives you a small smile and takes your hands in hers and squeezes gently.

“Thank you for saving me. Even though i couldn't save you.” Wanda says tearfully.

“Hey, hey. Don't worry about that. I’m here now aren't I?” you say gently, rubbing your thumbs over the back of her hands.

“But three years Y/N. You were gone. We really thought you were dead. I thought you were dead.” Wanda says with a deep sob.

“Tell me what happened in Berlin.” you ask, wanting to hear her side. You'd believe her over anyone anyway. 

“After you died, there was no trace of Hydra for months. I was getting pissed off because I wanted someone to answer for your death. I wanted revenge. Nat left after a couple of months when she couldn't find any answers and it felt like everyone else just followed after her and gave up. It wasn't good enough for me. So I left and took matters into my own hands. I found as many Hydra bases as I could and destroyed them.”

“What led you to Berlin?”

“Natasha had left me the names of some of her old contacts and one of them contacted me saying their was an usually large presence of Hydra around, When I arrived, a felt a huge surge of energy and tried to follow it but I was ambushed before I could reach tit.

“And thats when -“ you trail off.

“I killed all of those people” Wanda whispers out. You remind her that it was an accident but all she does it wrap her arms around you and you welcome her embrace, whispering more reassurances in her ear. She releases you and wipes the tears from her cheeks. 

“So you lied about what you saw?”

“Yeah. I obviously don’t trust Ross or his doctor. I don’t want them digging into my brain any more than it already has been. But I can’t bring Tony, Bruce or anyone else into this mess.” you explain.

“Why me then?” Wanda says with a sniffle. 

“You're my best friend. I want you with me on this and I trust you with my life.” you say with a shrug. Wanda smiles.

“Well, how can I help?”

“Yours powers. If you can reach into my mind, maybe you can see what happened to me, where I was, what I was doing. Maybe find out if I really did erase my own memories.” you suggest, hopefully. Wanda lets go of your hand and stands from the bed and paces around the room. 

“Y/N, your mind has already been fractured and repaired multiple times. If I do this and it doesn't work, your mind may not recover this time. Even with the serum in your system” Wanda warns, a slight tone of fear in her voice. You raise yourself from the bed also and walk over to Wanda and place your hands on her shoulders. 

“I trust you.” Wanda takes a moments to register your request and wants to deny you but the pleading look in your eyes only compels her to agree. She places her hands on both sides of your head and you both close your eyes. You feel a warmth slowly seep its way through your cheeks and you're suddenly brought back to the warehouse once again, except you're watching from the sidelines, not reliving the memory like you did with Dr. Sarkissian.

Wanda takes you back through everything you did with Dr. Sarkissian right up until the moment where the figure stuck a needle in your neck. The memory moves to the flashes of red, purple and orange you saw and the voices you heard. They still don’t make sense to you but you feel Wanda force her magic through the barriers of your mind until you find yourself standing on what looks like the top a mountain, an orange sun setting in the distance. It seems remote and barren and you don’t recognise it as somewhere you’ve been before. From the corner of your eye, you see movement and widen your eyes when you notice your past self just standing there, moving animatedly. You’re surrounded by a couple of shadowy figures that you look to be talking to but your memories are still foggy and you assume the shadows are examples of you not remembering. You want to move towards your past self but you can’t move your feet and before you can protest, you're brought back to reality. Your vision clears and you see Wanda wobbling on her legs and you automatically take her in your arms and bring her to the bed to lay down. 

“That was a lot” Wanda says and you can hear the exhaustion in her voice as she lays her head on the pillow. You nod in agreement, not sure what to make of that you just saw.

"I'm sorry. I probably should've waited until you were ready to ask you to do that." you say, ashamed.

"It's okay. I want to help you in whatever way I can. Did you recognise anything?” You shake your head. All you can gather from what you saw is that you were definitely up and about. You weren't handcuffed and seemed to be in okay condition and the shadows that you saw were actual people but you can’t remember their faces so they had none. Wanda hears these thoughts that you're loudly projecting and hums in acknowledgment. You turn to look at her and see her eyes are closed and her breathing has already evened out. She's asleep. You lay yourself next to her and think about all of the events from the day.

Everything you've found out, which wasn't much. You weren't sure where to go from here. All you can do in this moment is appreciate that your best friend was back and the both of you were going to find out what happened to you. As you close your eyes and surrender to your own exhaustion, you feel Wanda's arm wrap over your waist and her head coming to rest on your chest. You didn't realise how touch deprived you were until this very moment. Her warmth brings you a deep comfort and lulls you into a deep slumber. 

Chapter 6

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#natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #black widow reader #black widow x y/n #black widow x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #marvel fan fiction #natasha romanov #when wolves howl

[the-al-chemist]

Artemis Hexley and the Return to the Riddles

Chapter 23: The Truth

A/N: with Dumbledore’s help, Artemis uses her mother’s gift to help her find the answers she seeks, but they may not be the answers she wants… Warnings: This one gets dark. Very dark. Scenes and mentions of intrigue, violence, death, murder, child endangerment, child neglect.

Green flames engulfed Artemis as she and Professor Dumbledore stepped into one of the gilded fireplaces on the right side of the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Once the flames had died down, the room outside had changed; she was back at Hogwarts, in the headmaster’s office. 

Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace and across the office to a tall cabinet. He opened its doors to reveal a wide, shallow stone dish engraved with runic symbols and filled with a silvery liquid. A blue-ish glow radiated from it and illuminated his face.

"You have seen this before, if I remember correctly," Dumbledore said. Artemis nodded her head, her hand still gripped tightly around the vial she had thrown into the fountain almost a year previously.

"It's your Penseive. You use it to help you with all your thoughts."

"Precisely. A Pensieve allows you to deposit and keep hold of memories and streams of consciousness, to review and organise at your will. This particular Pensieve is not simply mine, however. It is the property of the Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts, and has therefore belonged to every witch or wizard who has held this position, and every witch or wizard who ever shall. It contains centuries' worth of collective wisdom and knowledge." Dumbledore's eyes caught the light of the Pensieve, looking bluer than ever before. He smiled before continuing, "Between this, Kingsley Shacklebolt's investigation, and the research of both your brother and Madam Rakepick, I daresay that I have been privy to more information than almost anyone about the Cursed Vaults and the group that calls themselves…"

"R."

"R, The Ronde, the cabal. They are all the same, as you know. I believe that by now, you must also know who created the Cursed Vaults."

"Morgan Le Fay," answered Artemis. "I learnt that from the centaurs and from Merlin's portrait. She discovered a great power, and made the Vaults to keep it safe, but then she turned to dark magic. That's why she added all the curses. But-"

"And you also know of Madame Fortinbras, the professor who created the Ronde and was their first leader?" Artemis nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but Dumbledore hadn't finished with his questions. "Artemis, do you know who was the most recent leader of the Ronde?"

"Merula's aunt. Madam Buckthorn. She stopped us by the lake."

Dumbledore shook his head.

"No," he said. "Madam Buckthorn may have been the director of R, but rather than being its leader, she acted more as the caretaker of the group in the absence of a leader."

"Oh, yeah. They wanted me to lead them because of the prophecy, the one Charlie and I stole from the Department of Mysteries." Artemis bit her lip and turned to Dumbledore to add, "Um, can you forget that I said that last part?"

"I'm afraid that my hearing is not what it once was, Miss Hexley, and I did not quite catch the last few words of what you said," said Dumbledore, but his lips twitched as if he had indeed heard and was amused by it. "Was it only you that the prophecy spoke of?"

"Well, not exactly. It just said Hexley on it, so it could've been about me or Jacob. But I picked it up, and Olivia Green said only the person a prophecy is about can do that, so it must have been about me and not Jacob all along."

"Yes and no. I'm afraid that while you are correct in some respects, you are entirely wrong in others."

"What do you mean?"

"Prophecies are fickle and endlessly cryptic things, Miss Hexley. The one of which you speak may have been about you or Jacob - or indeed, several others over the course of the centuries - but by the time you came to pick it up, certain events had occurred and created the circumstances by which the prophecy became about you," Dumbledore told Artemis, who was no less mystified than before. "The prophecy speaks of an heir, one descended from Morgan Le Fay herself, and born at the start of a new season. Professor Fortinbras thought herself the heir described in the prophecy, but it could have been any other person who meets these two criteria. The most recent leader of the Ronde thought that they themselves might be the one, until your brother came along."

"I don't-"

"You will understand once you have seen the contents of that vial you hold in your hand. You see, that bottle contains memories. The memories of two people who were at one time very closely connected with the leader of the Ronde."

Artemis frowned. "But my mother said that what was inside this was half mine."

"It is. But we will revisit your memories later. First, you must go back further." Dumbledore gestured from the vial to Pensieve and told her, "Go on. Take a look."

Not really sure what she was expecting to happen, Artemis pulled the stopper from the vial and tipped its contents into the Pensieve, which began to swirl faster and glow more brightly than before. As it did so, she could see something moving inside, a shadow or a person, and she rose onto her tiptoes and leaned forward to take a closer look. 

She must have leaned too far, however, because a moment later, the ground beneath her gave a sudden lurch and she found herself falling - or perhaps being pulled - down into the Pensieve, which was far darker and colder than she had imagined it would be.

When she stopped falling, she found herself standing not in Dumbledore's office, but another room entirely. Like the office, the room had high ceilings and walls lined with books, but it was rectangular and far larger than the headmaster's office. It was filled with people, most of whom were reading or writing quietly, and all of whom were around her age or younger. It was a school library, she realised, but not that of Hogwarts, for the walls were of red brick rather than sandstone, and the students wore uniforms of blue and burgundy, not black.

"Excuse me," Artemis said to one of the students, who did not respond. She spoke louder. "Hello? Where is this?"

But the student clearly couldn't hear her, even though the library was silent. Almost silent, anyway. Two girls her own age were giggling quietly as they took books from one of the shelves and pretended to read them, all the while watching a wizard in the far corner of the room who was sitting at a desk all alone, and not wearing a uniform. Artemis wandered over to them so she could hear their hushed conversation.

"Whatever he's working on must be awfully important," said one of the girls, in an accent Artemis recognised as being American. "I've only ever seen him in the library. He's never once eaten in the hall - I'm not even sure he does eat - or anywhere else around the grounds, either. He just stays in here."

"Maybe he can't leave. Perhaps he's a vampire," whispered the second girl, and the first gasped quietly.

"Or maybe he's working on something so top secret and important that he's not even permitted to leave his desk even to have a meal."

Behind them, a third girl with her back to them shook her head, her long dark hair brushing the small of her back as it moved from side to side. She turned away from the bookshelf and joined them, a daring smile playing on her face, which was pretty and somehow familiar to Artemis, though she was not sure how.

"If you're so intrigued, why don't you go over there and ask him?" suggested the girl, raising a single eyebrow at her peers, who both blushed and shook their heads. She rolled her large hazel eyes dramatically. "Fine, then. If you two are too chicken, I'll go over and talk to him."

"But he never speaks to anyone!"

"Well, maybe he'll speak to me."

With an air of confidence, the girl pushed her dark hair back behind her shoulders and looked determinedly at the wizard on the far side of the library. Artemis frowned. She really did look familiar, as if she ought to recognise her. It was only once the girl started to walk away from her friends and straight past Artemis as if she hadn't even seen her standing there that she realised who she was.

"Ma?"

The girl who looked so much and yet not at all like Sara Hexley strode across the library in the direction of the lone wizard, Artemis following behind her, unseen and uncomprehending. As they reached the wizard, Artemis' mother leant against his desk next to him and cleared her throat. The wizard looked up at her. Now that Artemis could see his face, it was clear that he was a few years older than the students in the library. He had untidily cropped brown hair, brown eyes with a distinct ring of green around the pupil, and a face that again was distantly recognisable.

"Dad?"

"May I help you?" asked the wizard Artemis assumed must be her father, his clipped voice so contrasting with those of the girls she had listened to on the other side of the library.

"Actually, yes," Artemis' mother answered, before Artemis had a chance to speak. "My friends over there were just wondering who you are and what it is you're studying so hard that none of us have ever seen you outside of the library since you first showed up here."

"If your friends are so curious to know, why didn't they come here and ask me themselves?"

"They're  too nervous."

"I see," Leander Hexley raised his eyebrows. "You're less easily scared."

Sara shrugged. "I was junior state champion for duelling last year. It takes a lot more than some Brit with a pile of textbooks to scare me. No offence."

"None taken," said Artemis' father. "My name is Leander Hexley. I work for the British Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries."

"So, you're an international man of mystery, huh?"

"I suppose that I am."

"And what brings you to Ilvermorny Academy?"

"I'm afraid that I'm not actually allowed to talk about my work."

"Even if I promise to keep a secret?"

"You just said that your friends sent you over here to find out."

"I can make something up to tell them," Sara smiled sweetly, tilting her head to one side. "Go on. Your secret's safe with me."

As if he could tell that it was pointless to argue, Leander sighed. "Very well. I'm conducting research into Wampus cats."

"Why?"

"Too help us gain more insight into the process of thought, particularly in respect to the skill - or art, depending how you look at it - of Legilimency." Sara scowled at Leander's words, and he frowned before asking her, "You take offence at the idea?"

"You would too if your mother was a Legilimens," said Sara, and Leander's eyebrows shot upwards. She exhaled softly through her nose, her scowl softening. "Natural born, and no, I didn't inherit it. Apparently it can skip a generation or something."

"So I've heard. That must be frustrating."

"It can be. Means I've gotten pretty good at Occlumency, though." Sara shrugged again. "Hey, you know, I don't mind helping out with anything, if you..."

Leander Hexley bowed his head, smiling to himself. "That's very kind of you... Ah. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. But it's Sara. Sara Kowalski. But most people just call me Sally."

The library began to swirl around Artemis, and the scenery shifted. She was now standing outside in the sunshine, in a garden that she immediately recognised as that of her great-aunt and uncle in Dorset. Leander was sporting dress robes, his arm around Sara's waist. She was smiling broadly, her spare hand resting on the gentle bulge of her stomach that was poorly hidden below her white dress.

The world swirled again, and Artemis was now standing in the hallway of  the dark narrow house in Lovelace Crescent, her mother at her side. Sara was leaning against the frame of the door that led into the sitting room, where Leander was kneeling beside a small dark-haired boy, whose eyebrows were deeply furrowed in confusion.

"That puzzle is too hard for him," said Sara, folding her arms across her chest. "He's not even nine years old yet, Leander."

"He's advanced for his age," her husband replied, not looking up from the parchment he held in front of his son. "He needs to be challenged. We're raising a genius, Sally. Just think, in few years time he'll be off to school, and they won't won't know what's hit them."

He ruffled Jacob's hair and handed him the parchment, before standing up and walking across to his wife and daughter, though he behaved as if Artemis was not even there. Sara uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around him, leaning her head against his chest as she continued to watch her son.

"It'll be so quiet when he goes," she murmured. She turned her face up to her husband and told him: "We should have another one."

"We don't need another one."

"Who said anything about needing? I want another one."

More swirling, another scene, another room. Artemis’ mother's room. The scene was altogether more familiar; Sara Hexley sitting in her bed, alone. Except, she wasn't alone, for in her arms she held a baby, her forehead resting against its crown, murmuring softly to it. Artemis swallowed and stepped closer. Was that...

The bedroom door burst open, and little Jacob Hexley ran into the room, leaping up onto the bed and landing right next to his mother.

"Careful," said Sara. "You don't want to hurt your sister."

"But I wanted a brother."

"You don't get to choose," Sara laughed. "Here. You can hold her if you like." She passed the baby to Jacob and put her arm around him, repositioning his arms with her now free hands. "Jacob, this is Artemis."

Jacob blinked at the baby Artemis in his arms. "She's so little."

"I know, that's why you have to be careful. You have to look after babies, be good to them and protect them. You can do that, can't you?"

"I think so."

"I think so, too. You're clever and strong, like a big brother should be."

The baby who would eventually become Artemis herself reached up, and Artemis watched her mother place her brother's little finger into her palm. Jacob smiled and nodded his head.

"You're right. I am both of those things," he said, and Sara laughed as she placed a kiss on both her children's heads.

Artemis stepped forward, longing to join the three of them, but as she did, the scene shifted once more. Sara held a slightly older baby Artemis on her lap, reading from an open book. From outside the room came the sound of raised voices, and she paused frowning. She closed the book, and stood up, still holding her daughter, and walked towards the study, from which Jacob ran out, his face red with anger and wet with tears.

"I hate you!" he shouted back into the room. 

"Hey," said Sara, bouncing the now crying Artemis on her hip in what seemed like a pointless attempt to soothe her. "Don't say things like that."

Jacob slammed the door and ran up the stairs.

"Jacob! Come back down here and apologise to your father."

But Jacob kept running, both he and his sister clearly inconsolable.

The world shifted once more, and Artemis was no longer in the house at all, but standing on the platform of  a train station. The air around her was smoky and filled with the sound of children shouting and owls screeching, and a red engine stood waiting on the tracks. Sara, Jacob, and a little dark-haired girl who looked far more like herself than the baby from the previous memories were gathered on the platform. 

"I'm sorry your father couldn't come to say goodbye," Sara said as she released her son from a tight embrace. Jacob shook his head.

"I didn't want him to come anyway."

"Jacob..."

"It's true, Ma. I don't want him here, or anywhere near us." He exhaled, and looked around himself before pulling his mother back into another hug, whispering into her ear. Artemis leaned in closer to hear what he was saying. "Ma, you don't know him. You can't trust him, you mustn't trust him. Not with yourself, and definitely not with Missy."

"Honey, you're-"

"I mean it, Ma. Please, be careful," said Jacob. He bent down to hug the smaller Artemis, whose eyes were filled with tears. He ruffled her hair. "There's no point telling you to be careful, is there?" He crouched down as a tear rolled down Artemis' face. "I'll be back at Christmas, and I'll write to you every week until then."

"Why can't I come with you? I want to go, too."

"You will one day, Missy. Take care of mum while I'm gone."

With one last pointed look at his mother, Jacob stood up and walked away down the platform. As the train whistle blew, the scene in front of Artemis dissolved into the steam and faded to black. She felt herself turn in the air, and when her feet hit the ground, she was standing back in the headmaster's office, with Dumbledore at her side.

"What.. What was that?" she stammered.

"Memories," replied Dumbledore. "Your mother's memories."

"But why?"

"Clearly, she thought that you deserved to know the truth as much as I do."

"The truth about what?" Artemis looked at the pensieve, her eyebrows furrowing deeply. "Jacob... He said she couldn't trust our Dad."

"He did."

"And our dad... He'd be a direct descendant of Morgan le Fay too, wouldn't he?

"He would."

"He was the leader of R, wasn't he? Before he died?"

"He was," Dumbledore inclined his head. "However, he must have at some point discovered that he was not the heir of which the prophecy speaks. Whether that occurred before or after he journeyed to America, I am not sure. However, I suspect it was his interest in the Vaults that caused him to journey overseas. He said himself that he was researching Legilimency. It is my theory that he was looking for a way to open the Buried Vault. In doing so, he found your mother, the daughter of a natural-born Legilimens. The skill skipped a generation, as she said it often does, and so when Jacob and you were born, you both had the innate ability."

"Which meant we could open the Vaults, and not our dad," Artemis said. "That was why he used to do all those puzzles. It was practice for the Vaults. He was training us."

"That would be my suspicion."

"So it should've been Jacob. He always was good at the puzzles and riddles and things. Much better than I was."

"Perhaps, but as you just saw, Jacob did not trust your father, nor did he want anything to do with him and his plans," said Dumbledore, his face growing serious. "The prophecy tells of the person who will lead the way to the Cursed Vaults. It also speaks of a sacrifice."

"A life."

"Not just any life. The life of the person most dear to the one who will open the final Vault. Jacob, naturally, was not prepared to sacrifice that life. He was determined to keep the person he loved most safe."

"But the Cabal had Duncan killed anyway."

"They did. Duncan's death was an immeasurable tragedy, made even more devastating for the simple reason that it was a great waste," Dumbledore sighed sadly. "Duncan Ashe is not the person I speak of. The person Jacob loved most in the world was you." Artemis' eyes widened, and Dumbledore placed one hand on her shoulder, the other resting on the edge of the Pensieve dish. "I must warn you, Artemis, that the next memories are yours, and you will most likely be upset by them. The truth is never easy, but it is important that you know it."

Artemis shrugged. "They're just memories, Professor. I've seen them before."

"In a way, I suppose that you're right."

Before she could ask Dumbledore what he meant, the Pensieve began to swirl again, and she felt herself plummeting down through it once more. When she stopped falling, she found herself in a small, dark room with a sloping attic ceiling. Her own bedroom. In the bed, a small child was sleeping.

The door opened a little, and a narrow strip of light entered the room, shining onto the child's face. As the child squinted and rubbed her eyes, Artemis recognised her younger self. Footsteps behind her made her aware of a second person entering the room, and she turned to see her father walking across to crouch beside the bed.

"Artemis. Wake up," he said, shaking her gently. "It's time to get up."

"Is it morning already?" 

"Not yet, princess. It's still night time, but I need your help with something."

"What?" asked the younger Artemis, her head tilting and nose wrinkling in the half-light.

"Oh, I can't tell you that. It's a surprise. Do you want to help?"

The darkened room swirled, and shifted into yet another. This one, too, Artemis recognised. She had been standing in it just an hour before, and not just in a memory. 

She watched her father lead her younger self across the black tiled entrance chamber of the Department of Mysteries and through one of the identical black doors. She followed them through the door, and found herself in the great stone-stepped room with the central archway. This time, however, the veil in the arch was missing, and the room was eerily silent.

"I don't like it," said the smaller Artemis, staring at the archway with her hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her father chuckled softly.

"You're not scared are you?"

"No," Artemis watched herself stick her chin out stubbornly, though there was an undeniable waver in her voice. "I'm not scared of it, I just don't like it."

"That's okay, then," said Leander. He knelt down and placed his hands on his daughters shoulders. "Because this is what I need help with. I need you to run - as fast as you can - down all these steps and through that archway. Do you think you can do that?" 

The younger Artemis nodded her head, and her father hugged her tight to his chest. "I knew you'd be good at helping, because you are really, really special. We all love you very much. You know that, don't you?" Another nod of the little girl's head, and Leander let go of her completely. "Good. Now, run."

Artemis' blood ran cold as she watched her own face split into a broad smile, and saw herself begin to run. Her dark hair was in disarray, her feet clad in slippers, her pyjamas partly covered by a knitted jumper adorned with a pattern of blue Kneazles. She scampered down the steps, running as fast as her little legs could carry her towards the daïs with its crumbling stone arch.

"ARTEMIS, NO!"

At first, she thought that she had shouted the words herself, but the voice that cried out was not hers. Both Artemises stopped and turned to see who the voice belonged to.

Sara Hexley, her face white and filled with horror, stood in the doorway.

But not for long. She ran straight past her husband and down the steps to her daughter, placing her palms to the smaller Artemis' face, her arms, her hands, her torso.

"Are you okay, honey? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

Sara Hexley was apparently unconvinced, for the colour did not return to her cheeks and she continued to run her eyes over her child, pushing her sleeves up and hair back from her face as if looking for signs of damage. Sighing as if bored by this display of maternal concern, Leander made his way down the stone steps towards them.

"You." Sara pushed her daughter behind her as she turned towards her approaching husband, her voice shaking with rage and disgust. "Jacob said... I didn't believe him. I couldn't believe him." She blinked as if forcing back tears, and asked, "It's true, isn't it? These Cursed Vaults, these people who want them... You're one of them."

"We don't want the Vaults, Sally, we want what's inside them," said Leander. "We all have wanted it for so long, needed it, and now we finally have the key to getting it. Jacob is the key, he's the one. Our son can do what no one else has done for centuries."

"And our daughter?"

"She is important, too. She has her own part to play."

Leander's eyes drifted to the stone archway, and following them, Sara's own widened to perfect circles.

"No," she said, her voice weak. "No, you can't..."

"I have to."

"I won't let you."

"You don't have a choice," Leander sighed. "Either it happens now, like this, or later, in another way. The prophecy is very clear-"

"I don't give a damn about any prophecy," Sara snapped. "This is our daughter."

"You cannot prevent the inevitable, Sally. It is prophecised, it will come to pass. At least this way, we can control how."

Sara Hexley stared at her husband. Her face began to soften, and her eyes glazed over, her face becoming unreadable. Slowly, she nodded and turned back to her daughter, holding her close and whispering into her hair. Watching on, Artemis heard her words as clearly as if she were the one being spoken to.

"Artemis, honey, I want you to show me how fast you can run, okay? When I let you go, you go run back to that door and back up the stairs. Go as far as you can, and if you find somewhere to hide, you hide. Understand?"

As she stood back up straight, Sara kept one hand on Artemis' shoulder, the other reaching for her wand.

"Go!"

The silent chamber became full of noise and movement. As her mother had instructed, the younger Artemis darted back up the stone steps, her father lunging to catch her. But Artemis had always been fast, and somehow, Sara was even faster. Quick as a flash, her wand was pointed at Leander, her feet springing into an offensive duelling position, her arm moving as she hurled spells at him with more feeling, force, and skill than Artemis had even known she possessed. Leander, now having to defend himself against his wife, had no choice but to let the younger Artemis run away. 

Meanwhile, the older Artemis stayed put, watching the duel with her mouth half-open with shock and awe as her parents continued to fight. Her mother's technique was flawless, and every spell she cast was with furious intent. Leander, even though he was defending himself both with and without his wand, was clearly no match for her.

Artemis would have stayed and watched them duel for longer, but the chamber and the lights began to swirl, spinning around her and not stopping, even as the stone steps turned into black walls and doors. In the centre of the spinning room was her younger self, eyes screwed shut and little body trembling in her blue Kneazle jumper. 

"It's okay," Artemis told herself, even though she knew that she wouldn't be able to hear. "You're going to be okay. Don't be scared."

But the younger Artemis was scared. She was terrified. Artemis tried to hug her, but her arms went straight through her. 

The doors stopped spinning and one opened. Both Artemises flinched, but the person who opened the door was Sara. she wrapped her arms around the little girl the way Artemis had tried to. 

"Where's Daddy? Why were you fighting?"

"We just had a bit of argument, that’s all. He'll come home later."

Sara led little Artemis away, and the room spun again, this time settling to form the hallway at Lovelace Crescent once more. Artemis was sitting with herself at the bottom of the staircase, and the door to the sitting room was ajar. Through it, she could hear a pair of voices.

"She's scared of me, Jacob," her mother was saying, her voice choked with tears. "I can see it, every time she looks at me."

"That's why we have to do it." 

In the doorway, Artemis could see the back of her mother's head move from side to side. Beyond her, Jacob looked through the open door and sighed before making his way over to the stairs. He hugged the younger Artemis and lifted her up, carrying her across the hallway and into the sitting room, the older Artemis following behind her.

"We can't let her remember this, Ma," he whispered, and a single tear fell down Sara Hexley's cheek as she nodded her head, just once. Jacob placed the younger Artemis down, and removed his wand from his robes.

"Ma?" said the younger Artemis, and Sara Hexley closed her eyes. "Jacob?"

Artemis watched Jacob put the tip of his wand to her younger self's temple, and everything turned black. 

#artemis hexley #hogwarts mystery #hphm fic #hphm #the hexley saga #albus dumbledore #cursed vaults #vault lore #the cabal