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samwinchesterswifu · 7 months

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Exile on Main Street (Dean Winchester x Reader) Angst

Requested: No

Season 6 x Episode 1

Warnings: slow burn, deeply setted angst if youre ready to cry.

Song Inspiration: "Every Rose Has Its Thorns" by Poison, "Faithfully" by Journey

MINORS DNI

A/N: Oofta. This one got me a little emotional.

Word Count: 1386

Summary: Dean returns to ask her back in the game. Broken and destroyed by the memory of him leaving her for Lisa, she's unsure whether or not that would be a good idea, but these Winchester boys are known for their apologizes.

She sighs, entering her apartment late one evening. Kicking off her shoes, she strides over to the kitchen. Turning on the water she begins to handwash the few dishes left over from last nights dinner. Flashbacks replaying in her head of the brothers, of her past lover, of what her life used to be like before Sam jumped in the pit.

She turns over to her radio that sat on the counter, tuning into the classic rock station that Dean had consistently on. ‘Every Rose Has It’s Thorn’ by Poison turns on and she goes back to cleaning the dishes while humming along. A small tear seeps through her eyes thinking about Dean. Before Sammy jumped in the pit, they had gotten into a deep argument that lead to their break up. Dean had disappeared and she assumed it was to be with Lisa.

She always felt second best to Lisa after finding out about her. She just felt like a toy for Dean, something to hold and to have sex if there were no other options. She knew deep down it wasn’t the case, but after leaving her the way he did, that’s all that ran through her brain.

Wrapping up from dishes, she is completely unaware of the fact of someone breaking into her apartment. The last verse of the song begins to play from the radio and she turns up the sound. Grabbing a whisky glass from her cabinet, and the bottle from the counter, pouring herself one extra large shot. As the song ends, she slams the whisky glass onto her counter, accidentally shattering it in the process.

Another sigh left her lips as her hand began to bleed from the smashed glass. Sneering at picking out pieces from her hand she takes a moment to look up at the window. Seeing a shadow of a man behind her. She stops, quickly turning around to find none other than Dean. Her eyes darts between Dean and her gun that was on the table.

Dean holds up his hands and moves towards her, giving her just a split second to dive towards the table. She’s getting to pulling the trigger when suddenly the gun is knocked out of her hand and her arm is twisted behind her back. Looking up she’s met with Sam’s eyes. She tries to wiggle free of Sam’s grip, getting desperate with tears rolling down her face.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Dean speaks up from behind her now.

“It’s us, see?” Dean takes out the demon knife, and slices on his bicep.

Still trying to wiggle free, Dean also looks for salt in her cabinet, doing the whole routine.

Taking a deep breath, she finally calms down enough to warrant Sam letting go of his grip. Rubbing her wrist to ease the pain she looks between both brothers. Utterly confused.

“You wanna explain whats going here before I beat your ass until you see stars Winchester?” She says through gritter teeth looking directly at Dean.

Dean clears his throat and shifted on his shoes.

“Can you give us a minute Sammy?” Dean voice sounding shaky, almost nervous to be in the same room as her.

“Sure, I’ll be in the car.” Sammy says giving her a look that almost said to hear them out.

Sammy leaves her apartment shutting close the door that they lock picked.

“So?” She says, standing in her kitchen with arms crossed over her chest. Sending daggers towards the man she thought she lost forever in the woes of a woman he loved more.

Dean mentions to sit at her table. She shrugs, moving for him to do so. But she felt comfortable standing. Giving her an advantage to move if she still felt like beating his ass. Dean coughs at the awkwardness.

“You got 5 minutes Winchester,” She states sternly.

Dean takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything. How he got poisoned and how Sam saved him, everything happening with Sam and their family. It was a lot to take in, and time seemed to fly by getting later in the night.

“…So we came to see if you wanted to be back in the game.” He asks, eyes looking towards her in the same old puppy dog look he used to give after a bad hunt.

She was about to say something when she realized the radio was still on. ‘Faithfully’ by Journey started to play through the crappy speakers. Tearing at her heart strings as another flashback occurs of when they were younger, dancing to this outside of the impala.

“Why now Dean? What about Lisa? Ben? All that apple pie life? What do you what me to come back?” She says, choking as she tried to hold back tears.

Another deep sigh left Deans lips.

“I miss you, Y/N, what I did was totally wrong and I’m so sorry I never fixed anything after Sam jumped. I abandoned you and I acknowledge that I made that action,” Dean takes a pause. She turns back towards her cabinets, grabbing a glass to pour another drink of whisky.

Dean studies her from the table and she can feel his eyes burning into the side of her cheek. She pauses for a second, trying to console herself before speaking to him. However, she breaks, tears start streaming down her face. She grips onto the counter, white knuckling, allowing emotions she pushed down to resurface after a year.

She hears the chair Dean was sitting in scraping against the hardwood floor as he stood up. Crying harder, she was engulfed in a large bear hug. She let it all go. All the memories of their times together whether that was romantically, after a good hunt, or a bad one flood her brain. The memories of her doing everything she did to make sure Dean didn’t jump the gun to say Yes to Michael. The love they made after he returned from the trip of the future and finding out she got bit from Croatian virus and he had to kill her. It was too much to keep down anymore.

Dean consoled her with quietly voiced shh’s. Petting her hair while laying his head onto of hers. One arm was still wrapped around her waisted tightly. To afraid to let go.

She finally calms down after a good while. Checking the clock it was way past midnight at this point. Certain that Sam had probably left the two to chat.

They stand in silence for a little while longer. Letting her bask in the feeling of Dean’s body weight against her after all this time. Taking a deep breath, she signals to Dean to let her take a step back. Which he does reluctantly, still holding on to her arms at arm’s length.

“If I come back, what’s gunna happen Dean? Between us?” She asks, voice hoarse from the crying.

“Whatever you want. We can start over, take our time. If you want nothing to do with me, then I would understand.” He takes a moment to pause before continuing.

“I can’t continue on like this. I need you here with me, with Sam. Hunting or figuring out whatever the hell is going on does feel right without you sweetheart.” Dean says, tucking a strand of hair that fell out her ponytail behind her ear.

“Okay.” She whispers.

“Okay?” Dean asks, heart pound against his chest.

She nods, and Dean lets go of the breath he didn’t even realizing he was holding. He leans down to give her a small kiss on her forehead, hovering for just a moment.

“I have so much to take care of before we leave, this apartment, my job, so I can pack up tomorrow.” She says looking around the place she had gotten used to calling home.

“Yep, nope, totally understand, whatever you need Sam’s and I’s help in we will.” Dean says, letting go of her arms.

“Thank you,” She whispers. Receiving a nod in return.

“I’ll uh, text Sam to come get me, I think he may have left.” Dean says looking out the window assuming he’s trying to find the Impala.

“Stay for tonight,” She asks. Dean looks towards her longingly.

“Okay.” He speaks out. “Whatever you want.”

#dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural

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toomanytookas · 4 months

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The Gift

Dieter Bravo x f!afab!reader

Rating: 18+ only please

Summary: Dieter designs a special room for you in the house that you are building together.

Important note: This is set in the world of @schnarfer’s If Wishes Came True trilogy. If you haven’t read it (where have you been? Go! Read it!!) you will likely be a bit lost.

Word count: ~3k

Content: Angst and fluff, the angst is pretty much all in the past but we do sit with it for a while here (this is dedicated to Al, after all), consumption of food and alcohol, references to/presence of drugs but they aren’t consumed on screen, oblique references to the reader and Dieter's sexual proclivities, blink and you’ll miss it moment of smutty touching, lots more sensual and casual touch as well as kissing, swearing, bathing, cats, I wrote this for one person but she’s invited you to the party

A/N: A version of this fic was gifted to my beloved @schnarfer on the occasion of her birthday last week. It would have never actually been possible for me to have the confidence to send it to her and not just throw it straight in the bin without the very gentle hand holding of @pascalssbabyy (Beth, you are an angel).

I say a version because after being the most gracious recipient of a fic of her fic (wtf was I thinking?), Al not only encouraged me to share it more widely but was willing to give it a beta and helped to refine my attempt at an ode to her style into the much punchier, emotionally charged (we do love torturing our boy a bit...) thing you now have the opportunity to read. This is absolutely the product of two minds and I could not have had more fun working with her to reach this final version. Any remaining errors and weird bits are my own, feel free to lmk if you see anything funky. I hope you like it!

I don't know what it is about you that makes the bathwater blush, why I want to ask for your hand forever around my throat;

- Megan Falley, "Your Bathwater > Wine"

When Dieter adopted Chairman Meow from the shelter, the sign on the tom’s cage said he had been wandering despondently around the property his last owner had vacated, unable to stray far from the place where he had last known a comfortable life. Abandonment issues, the profile warned. Looking for a home that will provide constant affection.

Having been driven to the cattery by a deep yearning to be the centre of someone’s world, Dieter thought he recognised a kindred spirit. I’ll be your friend, bud. He stuck a thick finger into the mog’s enclosure and wiggled it against the soft fur. When the cat had budged up even closer in response, he knew that it was love.

After you left, when he would wake to that furry face rubbing against his chin, a paw tapping his cheek to ask to be let in under the covers, Dieter was grateful that he had someone who understood why—despite Pete’s encouragement—he could never quite go through with leaving that fucking fishbowl of a house for good. Not when he no longer had you.

The wretched, destructive thing that lived inside him conjured constant reminders of how your brightness had seeped into the very walls of the house. It dangled flashes of your smile in his periphery when he made his morning coffee, replayed echoes of your laugh when he reached for you in the middle of the night. They were glimpses of lost happiness that in those brief moments still radiated joy. The glow sometimes burned like hot coals, but he gathered every memory of you tightly his chest. The searing ache was worth it. Staying put was worth it. How else would he remember so clearly how much you had made his world come alive? And how else would you know how to find him when you decided to come back?

But when you did return to him, when you came home, Dieter’s dedication to remaining in that bastard house until his end of days vanished. He was climbing the walls to be rid of it as fast as humanly possible. Why would he want to stay there when it was a constant reminder of the destruction he had wrought? Without you the house was a lifeline, but with you it was a curse. It could never be the home he wanted to give you now that he had a second chance. Despite what his trusted energy worker suggested, a ceremonial disposal of the bed and a few rounds of sage burning would not have been enough to fix it.

So he called his realtor. Sold the house. Said goodbye to all its awful energy. Hoped that maybe all the worst versions of Dieter Bravo managed to be left there, trapped behind the glass. Waiting to be discovered and dealt with by whichever sad fuck bought that Hollywood house of mirrors, blissfully unaware of the demons they were to inherit.

The Dieter menagerie moved in to yours.

The Chairman and Dolly Purrton both quickly found their favourite new spots to snooze in puddles of sunshine, but as much as he longed to join them, Dieter could never quite settle.

The longer you shared the space and began to rebuild some of the trust and respect that needed to layer on top of your burning, incandescent love; the clearer it became that your house was also too haunted.

There was too bitter an aftertaste on both your tongues whenever you would pull into the drive, remembering the pleading eyes of past Dieters who had turned up unannounced at all hours of the night begging for forgiveness, desperate for a second chance. It was too jarring, the pangs of Dieter’s jealousy over plastic, perfect Brandon, who once upon a time happily wandered those halls, pressed you hungrily against those doorframes, laughed with you over a lovingly prepared dinner made in that kitchen. What a fucking prince.

The discomfort of it all, the continued haunting that he had thought escaping his former house would resolve, left Dieter lumbering through the house, wrapping himself in a moveable den of blankets and keeping a hand braced against his tummy or a cat cradled to his chest in an effort to soothe the roiling thoughts.

After he spent a full week between shoots wandering despondently from room to room, only able to feel grounded when you were somewhere in the house, you put your foot down.

This was meant to be a second chance, D. Not us climbing back into the coffin. This house was no longer your home, you told him, if it was responsible for the tension in his jaw and the ache you felt when either of you found reminders of all the past hurt.

And so Dieter set out to build you both a house. A home that would reverberate with the joys of love and the laughter of friends, and never, ever know the monster inside him that he was working so hard to put to rest. A sanctuary for the two of you, tucked against the hills in an area where the neighbours don’t care a single bit who either of you are, only that you look out for the community and pitch in a baked good or two for the annual block party.

It’s the house of your dreams because it represents your shared commitment to making a life together. It’s the house of his dreams because, somehow, you want to live there with him.

Given a blank check, the architect and interior designer work with the two of you to identify the exact touches that will make you feel beyond comfortable. The kind of upgrades that aren’t flashy, but make enjoying the pleasurable things in life even easier.

The new bed feels like you’re being cuddled by the softest clouds. You spend your free mornings tucked in under the covers together, letting him sneak peeks over your shoulder as you gleefully trade quips with your friends and read the naughtiest and most delicious smut before rising to start your day.

There’s a gas fireplace that can be lit at a moment’s notice when you want to curl up in one of the the divine plush chairs, which you picked out together after spending an afternoon in a high-end showroom, half focused on which were the most comfortable to read in, half on which could reliably sustain both of your weights in motion.

These are just a couple of your favourite things amidst a near embarrassment of riches. They make you feel as though you’ve won the lottery, and the lottery’s name was Dieter (just Dieter, your dear love Dieter, no Bravo in sight).

Picking out features and facets for the house was so much a shared project between the two of you—the thing you could work on through trading pinterest boards and voice notes, even when projects kept you physically apart—that it was a bit of a surprise when Dieter informed you that there was a room he wanted to build that he wasn’t going to share the details of. Not until it was done.

He took infinite pleasure in making a big show of the secret, whipping out a blindfold that may or may not have originated from your toy chest when you were set to do walkthroughs during construction, curling his broad body around you and nudging you forward with one foot and then the other until the room was far enough away from view that he could restore your sight without worry of ruining the surprise.

It’s going to be magnificent, angel, he would breathe gleefully against your ear.

The contractors were always thankfully far enough ahead of you that you didn’t feel embarrassed by the heat that flooded your face at the tickle of his words and the firmness of his chest against your back.

You had some sense of what the room might be. Dieter wouldn’t reject your idea for a vintage-inspired clawfoot tub in the master unless he was going to make it up to you somewhere else in the house. He knew how much of a comfort a soak in the bath was for you, there was no way he was going to deny you the luxury in your own home.

But what exactly this room looked like remained a mystery. Sometimes a package would arrive that he would eagerly squirrel away behind that closed door, disappearing for a while to set up whatever newest addition he had imagined on the road to perfection. Piece by piece, Dieter was building a dream, one that he specifically dreamed of for you.

In the meantime, the two of you moved into the house and set about truly making it your space, fit to burst with the vibrancy of your lives.

There was nothing like being able to wind down from the heights of the energy on set, the frenetic hustle that you loved so much but demanded that you be at a constant eleven.

Nothing like ending a chillier evening by the fire. Your feet tucked under the fluff of the Chairman’s rotund rump where it was perched on Dieter’s lap, your thumb idly tracing the drops of condensation on a bottle of cider.

Nothing like welcoming friends at the weekend for a hearty roast and glowing conversation, getting to show off the fruits of your beautiful gas range and indulge in the delight of warm bellies and full hearts.

Nothing like your Dieter, flush with a new aura of happiness and love and the therapy-influenced acceptance that he was allowed to have all of this, to have you, to know joy.

On the night of your birthday, when your body and head already feel floaty from a delightful evening featuring a steady flow of cocktails and sushi, Dieter sneaks away as you are bidding goodbye to your final guests.

Once the last of your friends are out the door, he places a pair of oversized scissors in your hands and herds you like an eager collie over to the soon-to-no-longer-be-secret room. There’s a velvety ribbon across the door and he has you make the ceremonial opening cut before placing one of his warm palms over your eyes and the other at your sternum, holding you to his chest and guiding you both over the threshold.

You feel a wall of steam envelop your body and your heart leaps with anticipation. Your bathtub. You were right.

Dieter removes his hand, “Open your eyes, angel.”

Immediately, your vision is flooded with ochre and gold. Candles flicker playfully on almost every possible surface, their dancing light filling the room.

It is clear to you right away that this oasis will become a peaceful near holy space, a sanctuary that you can retreat to when you need to shut out the rest of the world. Despite the many, many acts of sin that are bound to occur inside these four walls, there is something bright and pure about the energy that Dieter has curated.

Lush ferns and orchids are mounted to the walls, bound to flourish in the tropical climate that the frequent steam will create for them.

There are massive geodes of your favourite crystals that sparkle on pedestals, radiating deep energy and glistening in the candlelight.

Two skylights open the room up so you can see the heavens, as though from your watery cocoon you might be able to ascend to the stars.

The bath itself is cavernous, currently filled nearly to the brim and softly crackling with lush bubbles that are being stirred by what you assume must be underwater jets.

On the far wall, Dieter has painted an abstract mural that makes you think of the moments of calm that you feel when he wraps you in his arms after a long day. Soft, warm, safe.

As he follows your gaze, eager to ingest your every reaction, he directs you to look at the title that he’s lettered just next to his signature.

Angel’s rest.

Your eyes are misty, “Oh, D. It’s magic.”

“Everything for my girl. Everything.”

His voice cracks slightly through the whisper, his hands come to your waist to turn you in his embrace, strong eye contact boring into your soul with the depth of how very much he means those words, beyond this gift, beyond this house.

You have to kiss him. Your heart can’t take not fusing your mouth to his in this moment.

It’s a soft kiss, a tender kiss, one you could bask in from now until the end of time. It makes you so bright with love.

You can’t help but let your lips curve into a grin. You think he must be able to feel your cheek muscles twitch from how widely you are smiling against his lips.

He breaks from you, but immediately returns once, twice, and then presses a quick and cheeky peck against your jawline.

“Come, angel. Before the water gets too cold.”

Slowly, reverently, he helps you slide your sparkling birthday dress over your shoulders and down to the floor. Pressing gentle, open mouthed kisses to your collarbone and lace-covered breasts as each inch of you is revealed.

He kneels before you to remove your panties. As soon as they are at your knees, he nuzzles his face against your mound, the tip of his nose nestling against your clit.

Fuck.

You hear him exhale happily when your stance softens, hands ghosting up and down your thighs, but instead of taking his first taste of your cunt for the evening, he draws back and tips his head toward the bath.

Pouting, you nod and let him help you out of your slippers, large hand cupping each ankle in turn. When your bare feet touch the floor, you can tell that there is some sort of heating system beneath the tile. It’s heaven.

You grasp his forearm for balance as you ascend the steps and then slide into the steaming hot water of the bath. You let your grip linger, playing with the flexing muscle that you feel ripple as he wiggles his fingers playfully. He knows you're a bit loony for the feel of his powerful arms.

Then he's pulling away from you again.

Despite the near-trance the water and this moment is sending you into, you let out a soft squawk of disapproval.

"Just for a minute, angel. I want to go get your present."

More gifts? Well, an indulgent Dieter is often the happiest Dieter and it is your birthday. And Dieter firmly believes that birthday girls deserve to have some lovely treats.

You let yourself doze, still tipsy and buzzing from the joys of the night, cradled by the bubbles and the soothing warmth of the water. The next thing you know, gentle but thick fingertips are lightly dragging their way from your knee to your hip and then up the flesh of your stomach, a mild and delicious friction. Before those fingers can reach the swell of your breast, your hands come up to halt their journey. Intertwining your fingers with his, you bring Dieter’s now somewhat bubble-covered hand up for a kiss, avoiding the worst of the soapy aftertaste by pressing your lips high on his pulse point.

When you make eye contact, his gaze still looks wild with love.

"Relaxed, angel?"

"Ever so."

You look over at him and find he's set a tray down on a bar cart that has appeared from somewhere in the room. On it, a box of four pralines from your favourite chocolatier, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a joint resting on the edge of a beautiful glass ashtray. It must be new because its colours are too perfect to not have been picked out lovingly by Dieter to match the room.

You sit up slightly. Happy birthday to you, indeed.

"May I join you?" The reverence in his voice feels it’s been magnified by the room.

"We've talked about this, baby. Water makes for horrible lube."

"I just want to cuddle with my birthday girl."

This Dieter, so tender, so vulnerably in love in a way that he never let himself be before you. You sense in this moment that he truly feels he needs permission to be allowed to just be in your space for a while, a hesitance fueled by past regrets and insecurities that even the promise and protection of this new house have not fully squashed. No matter. You are more than happy to affirm just how welcome in your arms he will always be.

You smile, nodding sleepily, and he sheds his clothing. You're so relaxed, so enveloped in warmth, that you almost forget to admire his bare body as he climbs in to join you. Almost. Thank goodness the part of your brain that always wants him, is always drawn to his form, isn't actually taking a holiday so you can admire.

When he's settled with his back against the side of the bath, Dieter pulls the cart over so that everything is in reach. He pops the champagne, handing you a glass, then brings one of the chocolates to his mouth, holding it in his teeth and wriggling his eyebrows playfully in a suggestion for you to take it from him.

You giggle and indulge him, using your hands to grip the edge tub on either side of his body and pull yourself through the water until you are practically chest to chest, nose to nose. Too close for true eye contact, but you can't help but pick one of his eyes to focus on, letting yourself go a bit crosseyed to try and send him every wonderful thing you have been feeling this evening directly through your gaze.

Slowly, gently, you close the remaining distance and bite the praline in half, letting your lips drag against his as the chocolate begins to melt on your tongue. It's perfectly bitter and smooth.

Dieter consumes the rest.

"Mmm. A not too sweet for my not too sweet."

The snort that leaves your body firmly disrupts the headiness of the moment, the exhalation forming a crater in the bubbles and making you further devolve into giggles when you have to bring a hand up to brush away a clump of the soapy fuzz that sticks to his cheek.

You press your forehead against Dieter's damp shoulder and feel the rise and fall of it as he joins you in mirth, arm coming up around you so you don't slide away from him as you once again relax into the water.

As the wave of laughter subsides, your breathing synchronizes with his and you let yourself soak in the quiet. A perfect christening of this tub. He presses a kiss to the side of your head.

"I love you, angel. Happy birthday."

#the bubble #the bubble fanfic #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #me: wednesday is probably a good quiet day to post this #pedro: hold my beer #but i'm still posting it anyway because if i don't i'm just going to keep obsessively poking at it #also this is queued for while i’m sleeping so if you know what time it is for me rn i promise i’m at least pretending to be asleep

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cherryslyce · 1 year

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Second Son (XIII) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Sixth year comes to a close. Y/N and Harry sport new badges of trauma. Fleur and Bill get married.

Part XII / Part XIV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: chapter wc: 6.3k. Enjoy. I really miss Regulus *cry*

Time bears no meaning to one unseeing and unfeeling, one who endlessly sinks into a void. You’ve read the papers and the theories: an observer outside of a black hole would think that time has frozen, while those falling into the black hole would appear to be frozen to those watching.

Perhaps, you were falling through a black hole.

You don’t know how long you’ve been laying in the medical wing, eyes puffy, pillow damp with tears, but you can only pity whoever it was that sat with you the entire time. The first memory you could recall of waking up in the medical wing seemed so distant, but you knew it had likely only been a few days since then.

Nothing seemed to register in your mind throughout those days, not that you cared all that much. You would simply peel your eyes open, silently shed tears, ignore whoever was whispering in your ear, ignore Madam Pomfrey’s fussing, go back to sleep, and repeat.

Every time you awoke, you desperately hoped that the events that kept replaying in your head had been nothing but a terrible, prolonged nightmare. But the emptiness in your pocket weighed on your chest and hollowed out your heart.

Every time you opened your eyes to see the familiar beige, arched ceilings and bright latticed windows, you wanted to sink through the bed and fall into an abyss that matched the chasm in your chest .

Regulus’ voice kept ringing in your ears, making your head ache with sharp stabs behind your eyes, ‘I’ll find you again, my love.’ You wanted to laugh. His last words to you were futile promises, yet you still wanted nothing more than to believe them.

You were positive that you would drive yourself into madness.

You decide to start listening to the voice that would always emit from beside you, half expecting it to be a figment of your imagination. Even so, you hoped that it could provide solace, if not a distraction from your mental spiral.

The more you listened, the more your senses began to clear – and you realized you couldn’t spend forever wallowing in your misery. Surprisingly, it was not just one person that visited you. From what you could discern, it was three different people that would seemingly take turns talking to you.

“Mother and I are concerned for you, amico mio. Draco hasn’t been back since that night, same with Professor Snape. The term is going to end soon, and Aurors have been hassling Potter for answers. They’re leaving you alone for now because you’ve been unresponsive, but the press and Ministry are waiting for your eyewitness account. If you don’t get better soon…They want to send you to St.Mungo’s for monitoring, but mother volunteered to house you instead. I have to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Rest well, Y/N.”

Blaise.

It seemed that Dumbledore was dead then. There was no other reason why the Ministry would be so eager to question you. Two people died that night, three if you counted whatever part of yourself was missing now – but only Dumbledore would be memorialized.

You felt your heart race at the thought, but you tried to ground yourself by remembering Blaise’s words. At least you knew that the Contessa was willing to take you in. The thought sent a warm buzz down your navel. You wouldn’t be alone.

“It was Professor Snape. It all happened so fast. After he shot the spell and Dumbledore … Draco was going to stay with you, but then they shot off the dark mark into the sky. And Snape, he-he … he’s the Half-Blood Prince. He killed him. Dumbledore trusted him, and he killed him. I don’t know where the locket is either. To think of what it took – what it cost us, and I lost the bloody thing.”

Harry.

Even in your state, you could feel Harry’s turmoil – his rage. But you couldn’t bring yourself to reflect the same sentiments, things were always more convoluted than they seemed, especially for your lot. You did feel remorseful about the locket though, realizing the damn thing was still looped around your neck (even if it were a sham).

You don’t know what exactly happened that night in the astronomy tower after you blacked out, just that Snape finished the job and escaped with the rest of the death eaters, but you assumed that Harry was secretly wounded by the professor’s betrayal.

No matter how vehemently he denies it, you could tell Harry did care for Snape in his own weird, unconventional way. You shared a similar sentiment, feeling a tinge of understanding toward the disillusioned man. That was why you held onto hope that Snape was truly not a traitor, but only time would tell.

You were taken aback to hear that Draco tried to stay with you, but perhaps your strange encounters with each other and your initiative to try and help him – even while he aimed his wand at you – made him feel indebted.

“The wrackspurts are beginning to leave, they were hovering around you for a long time. You will be okay, he waits as he always has. You must not give up.”

Luna.

Luna was a comforting presence. She never bombarded you or urged you to recover quicker, and oftentimes you could feel her gently playing with your hand. You always looked forward to hearing her the most. Her reassurances sparked hope in you, especially since you believed that she was clairvoyant.

Things did get better, eventually.

You awoke on the second to last day of term with aching joints and stiff muscles. The world seemed to gleam with a new vibrance under the July sky, and it helped that Blaise nearly tipped out of his seat when you abruptly sat up on the bed.

“Is that any way to greet me, B? How uncouth.” Your scratchy voice did little to deter the boy who merely threw his arm over your shoulder.

After a few moments of silent greetings, you pull back and pat the boy gently on the shoulder, wanting room to stretch your arms.

Blaise moves over to sit at the foot of your bed, hands digging into his robes, “Glad to have you back. You gave me quite the fright, you know?” The boy shoots a pointed look at you, “I thought you were dead when I found you that night.”

“So it was you?” Your words are more to yourself than anything, but the Italian nods firmly.

“Mio dio, here we are.” The boy fishes something out of his pocket, and extends his palm towards you, “Thought you would want this.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as you reach over.

Regulus’ frame.

“Thank you.” The lump in your throat makes it difficult to say much more, but the gratitude that bleeds into your words has Blaise tilting his head. Of course, your friend didn’t quite grasp how important the tattered pieces of wood were to you, but you were touched nonetheless.

Thank Merlin for his scavenging tendencies.

“Prego. Now, are you feeling well enough to get up? You should start packing soon.”

“Nevermind, just kill me now.” Blaise, the traitor, laughs at your misery much to your chagrin.

The last two days at Hogwarts are filled with suppressed grief and reassuring smiles, with many approaching you to make sure you didn’t sustain any permanent damage from the encounter with Bellatrix (you were quite sure Neville even promised retribution).

You’re decidedly silent about the main events of being manhandled by Greyback, tired from the tirade of questions and also unsure if the prospect would have your friends flying off their handles.

As the Hogwarts Express came to a halt at King’s Cross, you dismissed yourself from the Trio’s compartment and levitated your items with you to locate Blaise. The slytherin was adamant that you say your farewells to him, already dissatisfied with your decision to stay elsewhere for the summer.

Peering into one of the compartments, you catch Blaise’s eye and wave slowly. The boy stands and slides the door open for you, grinning at your unimpressed frown, “You made it!”

“Yes, I didn’t want you to brood the entire summer. Merlin knows I barely agreed to have tea with you and the Contessa anyway.” Your indignant response elicits a few snickers from behind Blaise, and the Italian spins around with an expression of mock offense.

“Traitors, all of you.”

You peer over Blaise’s shoulder and meet the curious stares of some of the other slytherins in your year, though Draco was notably absent.

Pansy appraises you quickly before grinning, “Well met, L/N. Blaise said you were much better than your other friends.”

You let out a dry laugh, but nod in greeting. Scanning the opposite bench, an exasperated set of eyes cuts through you. The boy inclines his head, causing you to do the same. You were already familiar with Theodore Nott, having quite literally clashed with him over the top position in your Runes class (which somehow led to you both studying together in silence?).

“Y/N, any summer plans?” You lean against the doorframe and wave at Daphne, ignoring Blaise’s huff.

“Hi Daphne, and just a few things here and there. Mainly just looking forward to spending time with my dogs.” Which was not totally a lie, both Remus and Sirius were part time dogs of sorts.

Blaise crosses his arms and shakes his head, “Yes, a summer with some pets over one with me.”

Continuing to ignore the boy next to you, you crack your knuckles and smile apologetically, “It’s nice to see you all. But apologies, I must get going, one of my dogs gets a bit restless.” You wave to the group and quickly pat Blaise on the back before quickly ducking out of the train.

As you walk through the platform, you barely flinch when Harry sidles up to you with his own luggage.

“Harry, come to Grimmauld Place after it’s all done.” The boy shifts his head to look at you, eyebrow raised to indicate that he would have done so even without the reminder. Rolling your eyes, you adjust the collar of your shirt before quickly pulling out the locket long enough for the boy to see.

Harry’s mouth sets into a firm line and he nods, “Alright. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.” His firm tone indicated that he expected an explanation from you, but you could see that he was refraining from being too direct, having already expressed guilt for what happened to Regulus.

Harry and Hermione informed you that they would be taking certain measures to protect their respective families, and you winced at the implications – more so feeling commiseration for Hermione than Harry, knowing that the girl’s parents actually valued her.

As Sirius and Remus come into view – Sirius in his Grim form, Harry rushes away and lunges into Remus’ awaiting arms. Sirius trots over to you in greeting and you have to restrain yourself from petting him, knowing it would be awkward to face the man after he transforms back.

Crouching down, you smile at the dog-man and barely duck fast enough to miss his attempt at licking you. It would appear that he was forgoing formalities and was jumping straight into licking and pawing at you and Harry – you admit, that it made his disguise all the more convincing.

“Okay, enough you old menace!” You bat at him, causing him to huff at you, still rounding around you to nudge at your leg.

Harry reluctantly leaves as he spots his Uncle Vernon, reaching down to squeeze your wrist in comfort one last time. As soon as you double-check your items and greet Remus, you all are off in a hurry to get to Grimmauld Place, not feeling comfortable being out in the open for a prolonged period of time.

The journey back is spent in silence as you pointedly ignore Sirius’ looks of concern and Remus’ more subtle glances.

The first few days back at the gloomy house are interesting to say the least. Both of the adults were almost diffident towards you, clearly unsure of how to breach the subject of their concerns without immediately spiraling into an interrogation.

You try and wait it out the first few days, and soon Harry is joining you with a pleased smile, regaling you with how Dudley had made amends with him before the Dursleys all packed up and left. Despite Harry’s arrival, Sirius and Remus continued to edge around you both much to Harry’s confusion.

The awkward atmosphere gives you and Harry time to convene in your room, both sitting around the decoy locket. As you peer down onto your bed at the glimmering piece of jewelry, you feel your lips twist in forbearance.

Harry scoops it up and examines it in the light before sighing, “Yeah. This isn’t the real thing, I would be able to feel it if it were.” Narrowing his eyes further, he tugs at the locket’s sides and pulls.

The locket abruptly pops open and you and Harry share a look that pretty much conveyed the ‘shit that actually worked’ thought that flew through both of your heads.

You’d think there would be more security measures even with a sham.

Placing it back down onto the bed, you tilt your head at the slip of paper that revealed itself inside. Harry slowly picks it up and unfurls it, frowning at the contents,

“To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B”

“Regulus,” Your gasp is followed by a devastating realization that has you shuddering. Harry looks up at you with a worried frown, patting your knee before handing the paper to you. As you gently cup the paper in your hands, you reread the message several times.

“He died to try and stop him.” Harry’s words are not a question, but rather a declaration of crushing recognition. He looks over to your hunched figure and cups his hand around yours, nodding firmly, “Keep it.”

Not bothering to retort that you were planning on doing so even if you had to wrangle it from him, you simply nod and carefully fold the note up and place it back inside the locket. As you carefully click the pendant shut and move the necklace back over your head, Harry turns towards the empty space near your door, “Kreacher!”

A loud pop emits throughout the room and you slowly turn to face the house elf, “Yes, Master Harry called for Kreacher?”

Harry swallows harshly, “Did Regulus ever talk about a locket that belonged to Voldemort?”

Kreacher flinches back and alternates between sneering at Harry and frowning at you, “Kreacher doesn’t know anything about a locket.”

You rise up from the bed and slowly walk towards the cowering house elf, squatting down to appear less intimidating, “Kreacher. Regulus, he…he wanted–wants us to destroy it. Please.” You hoped that Kreacher didn’t register your slip up, not wanting to explain that his favorite master was blown to bits by an insane witch.

Seeming to weigh his options, Kreacher darts his eyes around the floor before meeting your gaze, “Kreacher will find it.” Not a moment later, the elf pops away and you’re left with your thoughts and achy knees.

As you stretch back up, Harry shoots you a grateful look before sighing, “We should talk to Sirius about the locket at the very least. Maybe he’ll let us look around and we can figure out what else Regulus knew.”

You don’t have a chance to answer as Kreacher pops back into the room, hands clasped tightly around the real locket, extending his hand away from his face to keep the artifact as far away from him as possible.

“Thank you, Kreacher.” The elf merely grunts at Harry’s words and practically shoves the locket into his hands when the boy gets close enough to reach it.

You nod and smile at the elf, feeling a twinge of guilt when he pops away without another word. It seemed that Kreacher had an idea of what happened to Regulus, and he was definitely not happy with you and Harry by any stretch of the imagination.

Harry fiddles with the item before huffing, “Hello again, Tom.”

Rubbing your forehead tiredly, you leave your friend to his musings and opt to find Sirius, deciding to rip the bandaid off sooner than later.

Surprisingly, the man barely bats an eye at your bizarre request, “Sure, go ahead. I don’t think you’ll find much more than old books though.”

Nodding with wide eyes, you try to rein in your gobsmacked expression, “Uh–yeah, thanks,” and with one last boost of confidence, you decide to pat the man’s shoulder, “And really, thanks for the concern. Harry and I are fine though, so you guys don’t have to keep walking around eggshells when we’re in the same room.”

Not giving time for the man to respond, you practically fly up the stairs and towards Regulus’ bedroom. Hit with a sense of deja vu, you only pause to take everything in once you crack open the bedroom door.

So many memories.

But he’s not here anymore.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest, you slowly shuffle into the dark room and shut the door behind you. Spinning around on the spot, you take in every detail around you, determined to commit it to memory – for what reason, you didn’t really know. You wander around in circles for a while, slowly working up the courage to actually look around for something useful.

It felt wrong to go through his possessions without his knowledge or expressed permission.

Crouching down next to the dusty bed, you trace your finger around the design of the bedding.

The design scheme of Regulus’ room was far more subdued in comparison to the rest of the house’s gaudy antiques and brassy accents, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he would have decorated a house of his own.

Brushing away the thought, you pause your movements when your finger hits a protrusion under the mattress. Furrowing your eyebrows, you slowly lift up the quilt bedding.

Please be spider-free. If a spider lunges at me, I will actually die.

Your prayers are, thankfully, taken into account. As you peer at the object, you realize that it was a worn leather journal shoved haphazardly between the two mattresses – how neat. You wrestle the book out with far more effort than it should have taken, and breathlessly sit down on the floor.

Flipping the object in your hands, you run your finger along the creased cover.

Just as you lay the book in your lap to flip it open, you’re distracted by the sound of the door creaking open. Harry slowly slinks inside the room and shoots you a quick smile, “Sirius is being weird. Like strange. Something about therapy and teenagers?” You merely raise your eyebrow as Harry moves to sit beside you, the boy’s eyes immediately falling to your lap, “What’s that?”

“No clue. What about the locket? Figured out how we’re going to destroy it?”

Harry rolls his eyes before fishing out the necklace and dangling it from his hand like it wasn’t a precious heirloom (even if it were tainted by a sadistic, egomaniac’s soul shard).

“No clue,” Harry intones, laughing at your narrowed eyes. You roll your eyes before shoving him lightly, deciding to tuck the journal away by your side before getting up to wander around the room again.

Your search around Regulus’ room continues for the next few days, but ends up fruitless.

July passed quickly, taking the sunny days away with it. The journal that you found was shrunken and bouncing around in your pocket, remaining untouched. You couldn’t explain it, but it didn’t feel right to read it just yet.

Was Luna’s clairvoyance rubbing off on you?

The thought had you smiling softly, causing Remus to share a look with Sirius that you barely caught.

“You doing okay there, pup?” Sirius asked, reaching over to pat your arm.

“Never better, old man. Also, pup?” Your question hangs in the air and Remus merely shakes his head before craning back down to read his book. Sirius smiles brightly at you, “Yep.”

“Never a dull moment around here. Forget my Runes study, maybe I should become a mind healer and have you as my case study.” You tease, much to Harry and Remus’ amusement.

You wouldn’t ever admit it aloud, but you had sorely missed the comfort of summers with Sirius.

Actually, you wanted to rescind that statement.

“You absolute troll of a man!” Your words echo throughout the house as Sirius’ laughter draws the attention of the other two men.

Remus shoots Sirius an exasperated look, while Harry spins around in his seat to try and see what was happening. You emerge into the room, heaving from anger, hand clasped tightly around a soggy potions book.

“I am going to wreak havoc upon your bloodline, Black! Beg now or wrath shall hath no mercy for your foolishness.” Your wild gesticulation and fury has Remus raising an eyebrow towards Sirius who simply shoots his friend an innocent smile.

The absolute oaf then turns and sticks his tongue out at you.

“Do it! I dare you! You wouldn’t–”

You throw the wet tome at his head.

“Remmy! Look what’s become of my beautiful face!” Sirius whines and bangs his elbows on the table, drawing the attention of one stressed out Mrs.Weasley. The woman shoots a withering look at the man before returning to fuss over a particularly wild table arrangement.

Remus simply shakes his head and resumes surveying the venue, studiously ignoring the man next to him (who was now sporting a large bump on his head that he refused to heal in order to show everyone the result of your “demonic mood swings”).

You smile tauntingly at the older man before standing up to walk around. It was insane to you how drastically different you were feeling now in comparison to at the beginning of your summer break. The aching in your heart never fully ceased, but you were back up on your feet and even allowing yourself to indulge in Sirius’ antics.

The world truly was coming to an end, wasn’t it?

Guiltily, you found yourself remedying your heart ache by sneaking into Regulus’ bedroom at night. It inexplicably brought you closure to see what was left of the teen’s bedroom.

August emerged from the corners of the sky with temperamental winds and blue, misty dawns. Bill and Fleur had decided to commence the month with a rather extravagant wedding, having sent out your personal invites weeks before. The venue was at the Burrow, but was simply breathtaking: the ivory tent was propped up by poles that were encircled with plethoras of cream flowers, and the dainty chairs lined with gold were eye-catching without being tawdry.

Gold.

You wince as you reach into your jacket, feeling the scraps of Regulus’ gold frame brush against your fingertips.

It seemed you weren’t the only one plagued with grief and foreboding though. Many were expecting for Voldemort to make his next move any day now, which was one of the many reasons as to why Bill and Fleur decided to rush their union.

The political climate was tense as well, wracked with uncertainties after the death of Dumbledore. Ex-Auror, now instated Minister of Magic, Scrimegeour was trying his best, but he was rough around the edges and had the charisma of an angry goblin.

Still, you were one of the many who preferred him over Fudge.

In light of all this, you made a greater effort to get to know Contessa Zabini, knowing that your channels for information were more restricted than ever, and who better to turn to than an all-powerful, neutral femme fatale?

Corresponding with Blaise and Luna kept you sane throughout the summer since you refrained from trauma dumping on Harry (á la therapy, knowing the boy was literally the embodiment of “what are you talking about? I’m perfectly fine”).

“Hey, pup.” You spin around to see Sirius approaching you with his hands in his pockets, mouth curled up amiably.

Suspiciously raising a brow, you cross your arms, “If you pull something on me right now, Bill is going to be left wondering why there’s an empty chair at our table. Spoiler alert, your chair, not mine.”

The man chuckles at your playful (kind of) threat, and simply hands you a folded paper, “Thought you’d want it. Still not sorry about your book though.”

Shaking your head, you gently grasp the slip and raise your eyes in uncertainty when you realize it was a folded photo. Sirius gestures for you to unfold it, eyes gleaming brightly with a shine you could hardly decipher.

As you bring the photo up towards your eyes, you gape as you realize what you were looking at.

“Sirius, what?--” Why was he giving you a photo of Regulus? What did he know?

“I don’t know what’s up with you and Prongslet and your fascination with Regulus, but I’m not completely oblivious.” He jabs, smiling widely at your disbelief.

Debatable, really.

You sigh and hug the photo to your chest, “I promise, I’ll tell you everything when this all blows over. Thank you though.”

The man shrugs and gives you a brief side hug, “I’ll take your word for it.”

As soon as you see his mischievous smile disappear behind the milling Weasley family, you decide to study the photo again.

Regulus looked a bit younger than he had in his portrait, hair a tad shorter and eyes sparkling with a youthful glow. Clearly, Regulus hadn’t been marked when this photo was taken, but he still looked like a dutiful, proper pureblood heir.

He looked perfect.

You were going to rip Bellatrix to shreds.

Yes. You would have the banshee screeching at your feet, begging for the release of death.

Sorry Neville, she’s mine to kill.

“Heya-”

“Y/N!”

You quickly fold up the photo and tuck it into your pocket, shooting your head up to meet the eyes of the twins. Smiling at their antics, you tip an invisible hat to them, “Messrs Twins, how are you today? Excited to see Bill in his suit?”

George offers you his arm as he gestures outside of the tent, “Doing just dandy, Y/N!”

“Yes, Bill was able to weasel his way out of mother’s claws,” Seeing your confused expression, Fred continues, “She wanted him to wear father’s wedding robes.”

Snickering at the idea, you allow George to continue dragging you, “How frightful. You both might not be as lucky though. Merlin knows Charlie’s muscles would suffocate in those robes, you two on the other hand…”

“Ouch!”

“My poor heart!”

Your banter continues until the twins manage to parade you through the Burrow’s living room, dropping you off with mock bows, “It’s been our pleasure!”

As soon as they’re off and running to Merlin knows where, you turn around to meet the unimpressed face of Minister Scrimgeour. Harry, Hermione, and Ron emerge from the kitchen and meet your questioning eyes, looking just as puzzled by his appearance.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Minister?” Harry asks, ever the diplomat.

You smile wearily, shifting closer to your friends, “Yes, don’t suppose you’re here for the treacle tarts?”

The scraggy man shakes his firmly, mouth deepening in its frown, “Unfortunately not. I think we both know the answer to your question though, Mr.Potter.”

Clenching your jaw, you make way to sit on the couch, gesturing for the Minister to sit across the coffee table. Your friends quickly follow your movements, fidgeting quietly as the man limps over and settles down with a huff.

He wastes no time and sets down a folded cloth on the table, leaning on his knees to meet your awaiting gazes. Before any of you have time to question him, he reaches deep into his coat and whips out a folded piece of paper.

The yellowed parchment floats to the side and unfolds itself as Scrimegeour shoots you all an assured look before reading off of it, “Herein is set forth the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore-” Holy shit, “-First, Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my deluminator…”

You zone out, only vaguely aware of how Scrimgeour reaches down to unwrap the cloth. Harry shifts uncomfortably beside you and you’re quick to pick up on his grief. He was still in the process of accepting the headmaster’s death.

Frankly, you were amazed you were left in the will.

Hermione receives a children’s book (not cryptic at all).

Harry receives the snitch he caught in your first year, which was quite unexpected seeing as your friend was pretty much carrying the weight of the Wizarding World on his back. It seemed that he thought the same as he reluctantly reached over to accept it, rolling the golden ball around his palm.

A snitch, really? Couldn’t he have left a detailed instruction manual on how to slay Voldemort? Not like your lot isn’t elbow-deep in resuscitating Wizarding Britain or anything.

Your attention is drawn away from Harry’s despondent face when a paper is being shoved towards you.

What was this, the second time today?

Masking your bemusement, you reach over and take it from the man’s hand, quickly glancing at your friends.

‘There is a wonderful municipality in Moskenesøya, Norway called Reine. Anders Fiske owes me a meal of which I pass to you. You may find great enlightenment on your troubles with him. He has knowledge of magic which your young companion utilized.’

Slowly looking up at the other occupants of the room, you don’t let your surprise show.

“Well?” Ron asks impatiently, clearly intrigued that Dumbledore left you an actual written message.

“A meal. He left me a meal ticket.”

Minister Scrimgeour leaves shortly after, mumbling something about endless paperwork and efforts to suppress the growing dark forces. You were quick to part from your friends, falling into thought about how you were going to heed your former headmaster’s words.

As you mill around the tent, eyes glued to the purple carpet under your feet, you’re pleasantly surprised when you accidentally bump into a familiar face.

“Luna!”

The girl spins around and looks at you dazedly, mouth tugging into a wide grin, “Y/N! The heliopaths burn brightly around you. Have you gotten the clue, then?”

Gazing fondly at the younger girl, you wrap an arm around her and guide her near a vacant table, “I’m not even surprised. Did you see this coming?”

“There were whispers that Dumbledore would aid you. Our paths are now converging…” Luna trails off, but you understand the gist of her words. It would appear that she was going to help you in some way, and you were quite pleased with the turn of events.

Soon, dusk blanketed over the fields and the inky skies loomed over the tent, giving life to the vibrant lights and the guests who were resplendent in their formal attires.

Sheer curtains fell around the tent in waves of dusty purple, slightly veiling the patrolling Aurors from sight. Sirius had to be put under multiple glamours much to his ire, but he conceded after being told it was either that or partying as a dog the whole night.

The man was currently nestling a glass of firewhiskey to his chest by your side, occasionally glancing at Luna who was spinning in circles on your other side. Remus had decided to help patrol, and you rolled your eyes at his wallflower tendencies, picking up the unspoken “babysitting Sirius” duties in his stead.

Bill and Fleur were dancing around at the center of the tent, surrounded by their immediate families and you were entranced by the dozens of pink butterflies that encircled the couple.

How were they doing that?

Well, they did make for quite the attractive pair, and you were just grateful for the lack of drama throughout the evening. Though, you would be making a grand escape at the first hint of drunken stupors and incoherent babbling.

Turning to the entrance of the tent, you smile softly as you see Harry make his way inside, slowly approaching an older man who was peering at the clapping guests with poorly concealed anxiety.

Before you can further goggle at the boy’s movements, a sheen of yellow hues suddenly bombards your eyes and casts a shadow over your figure. Looking up, you’re struck at the sight of a familiar dazed expression.

“Hello, Xenophilius Lovegood,” The man sticks out his hand for you to take, and you see Luna sway happily towards the man, “A pleasure, Mr.Lovegood. I’ve always enjoyed meeting my friends’ families. I’m Y/N.”

“My Luna speaks very highly of you, and if you or Mr.Potter ever need anything, feel free to come to us. We live just over the hill, you see.” The man muses pleasantly, wrapping an arm around his daughter as she nods in agreement.

You speak to the man for a few more minutes before he dismisses himself to find Harry, explaining that he would very much enjoy talking about The Quibbler with the boy.

At the man’s departure, you begin to try and drag Sirius onto the dance floor, but he simply complains that the music wasn’t really his style and chugs his drink.

There did seem to be a lack of electric guitar riffs in the air.

Rings of gasps and shuffles draw your attention away from your two companions, and you look towards the center of the tent to see an illumination of blue floating in place of the once dancing couple.

A patronus.

Immediately, Shacklebolt’s resounding voice echoes around the venue, “The Ministry has fallen. The Minister of Magic is dead…they are coming…” Scrimgeour was dead? You just saw the bloody man!

“They are coming…”

The tense silence has you stepping forward and drawing your wand, sharing a look with an alarmed Sirius who was slowly edging in front of you.

“They are coming…”

As the patronus dissipates, the panic that had been stewing erupts into cacophonous shouts and echoing distortions of apparition. Many guests flee just as the first cluster of black smoke swoops through the tent.

Death eaters.

Grabbing Sirius’ wrist, you quickly try to shout over the chaos, “Stay safe! You and Remus better not die!”

The man nods firmly, but gets pulled away into the moving crowd as people begin to make a break for it just as the first spells start flying around. Twirling your wand into your palm, you turn and grab Luna’s hand, pulling her behind you as you duck through the mayhem.

You see rays of green soar across the tent as flames begin to engulf the flowers and curtains. Blocking a killing curse from flying straight into your face, you quickly shoot out a Confringo and a binding spell back to back, effectively binding your attacker as he tries to duck.

Spinning around frantically, ignoring the blood rushing through your ears and the thrumming of your heart beat in your fingertips, you see Hermione apparate with Ron and Harry. Sighing in relief at the trio’s escape, you quickly continue to push through the pandemonium.

As Remus turns his back, you see a death eater try and shoot a killing curse at him causing you to nearly fly forward on the spot.

“Expulso!” The lamps by the death eater’s head explodes in a spray of glass, causing him to hunch over long enough for Sirius to fire off an array of hexes that had you raising your eyebrows.

Good to know that even Azkaban couldn’t erode his dueling skills.

Satisfied with your cathartic release, you apparate away with Luna to the first place that pops into your head.

As you touch down on damp cobblestone, you quickly spin around to assess Luna for injuries. The girl merely smiles at you reassuringly before gazing around at your surroundings. Luckily, it seemed that this section of Diagon Alley was safe from death eaters for now, but with the fall of the Ministry, it would only be a matter of hours before chaos would erupt.

You cringe at the thought, knowing that many of the shops were still recovering from the previous year when Ollivander’s was ransacked and when Fortescue was killed by death eaters.

Slowly creeping out from the dark alley you were both in, you assess the environment quickly. There were a few wizards still walking about, but for the most part, it was quiet and safe.

Waving for Luna to follow, you both begin to stroll down the stone path, no real destination in mind.

“Bedda Matri! What are you doing?” You whip around with your wand pointed towards the voice, only lowering it once you see an annoyingly familiar face, “And what are you wearing?”

“Nice to see you too, B. We were at a wedding for your information. I would have taken you as my plus one, but then I remembered how insufferable you are.”

Your shoulders slacken in relief and you quickly trail over to your smirking friend.

The boy goes to retaliate, but is interrupted by a dulcet voice, “Mio figlio, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Pausing at the honeyed voice, you slowly crane your head to the shadows to meet a pair of amused eyes.

Blaise seems to flounder a bit before quickly composing himself, “Mama, this is Y/N L/N, my good friend,” he then turns towards your flustered gape and coughs lightly, “Y/N, this is my mother.”

You collect yourself and straighten up your posture, inclining your head towards the imposing woman, “Contessa Zabini.”

“How fortunate.” She drawls, slowly approaching your stiff figure, “We finally meet young Y/N, though the night is not kind. Come, let’s have tea together, we have much to discuss.”

Perhaps you should have tested your luck with the death eaters.

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purpleyoonn · 2 years

Text

enchanted

P R O L O G U E

“I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you.”

summary: The realm under King Min’s rule had been under war for over. thirty years, a war within the inhuman species with origins no one knows. Your presence was brought into awareness when found by the king under the rubble of your home. You are plunged into a world you had only ever seen from the outside, and don’t know how long you can last.

genre: soulmate au, fantasy au, dragon au,

pairing: Dragon King Yoongi x Human MC

status: ?

warnings: starts in the middle of war, violence, angst, death, supernatural creatures, more to come.

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

The river was freezing when you got up that morning, basket of cloths in hand to wash. It had been your chore for a couple of weeks now, ever since Mela’s body was found at the bottom of the hill. She had been working with you at the manor for a couple of years now, another “stray” taken in by Lord Ahn and his family. She also wasn’t the first to be found, others found at the same dip in the bottom of the hill.

You and a couple of the others had taken on her chores along with the ones you already had, meaning you barely got any sleep lately. Not to mention the nightmares you had. You and your friend Lila had been the ones to find her, body mangled from being pushed down the hill. When you had told the Lord of the manor, he just smiled and told you to get back to work.

It was nearly springtime, meaning the water was going to be getting warmer, and more of your chores would be done outside. You loved the spring, all the flowers blooming and the sounds of the woods to drown out the sound of your mind. Your thoughts were always loud, overthinking and replaying different memories. Your mind never seemed to shut off, always loud and all-encompassing.

You had a hard time keeping still, your mind and body needing to do something. That was why you liked working outside the house whenever you got the chance. Whenever you were inside, you had to be still, someone seen and not heard. That was normal for women, especially those who worked for Lord Ahn.

Mr. Ahn liked looking. His eyes always wandered when he was home. He only employed the girls in the manor, the men working outside. You had once been tasked with cleaning the upper portion of the manor, where the family resided, when you first started working to “pay for your stay”. He watched you the entire time, silent as he did.

You shook your head as you got out the soap from the bottom of the basket, rubbing against the washing board you had rested against the side of the river. You had to be quick, quiet as you worked. The woods were becoming increasingly dangerous over the past couple months. Stories of trolls and ghouls making their travels to the neighboring villages. You didn’t want to alert anyone or anything of your presence.

You had your own stories, your home destroyed by a horde of giants set loose, smashing everything they could. Your parents and sister had been crushed by one of their feet, running from the market. Which is what got you here to the manor, the Lord’s family “happily willing” to take you in.

You didn’t want to think that you could lose another home at the hands of the witches. The Queen had become angry with the kingdom, setting lose her minions on the land, killing and pillaging wherever they could. Reanimated bodies were their favorite thing. The ghouls seemed to be popping up all over the kingdom, and it seemed as though the King or his guards were doing nothing about it.

When you were in school, you remember learning about the Witches, how their Queen was angry with your King, some broken promise, and that since then, she had taken that anger on his realm. Your teacher had tried to drill into your head that your safety was only ensured if you remained silent, something that stuck with you, even to this day.

“Y/n!” You turned your head, seeing Taemin coming to a stop, leaning on his tree to catch his breath. “Are you almost done? Lord Ahn is wanting all of us to come back to the manor. He seems upset.” Your eyes widen in fear, scrambling to gather the half-washed clothes and washing board, getting to your feet.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” You asked your friend as both ran back up the hill and to the manor.

“No. All I heard was that Jeongmin can rushing out of his room with bruises all over her face.” You sigh out, knowing he could be mad at anything. Poor Jeongmin just had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You wonder if she refused him, even with you and the other girls telling her to go along with it for her own safety.

Lord Ahn was known for his anger; the entire village knew it. No one was to speak of it though, for fear of repercussions on their own families. The word ‘no’ was the one thing none of the servants could say to him, not if they wanted their life to remain in their bodies.

“Well, let’s hurry. We don’t want to give him any more reasons.” You breathe out, picking up your pace with a tight hold on the basket.

When you get to the manor and move through the kitchen, placing your basket on the floor by the door, you both rush to your position in line in the hall, right at the end where your faces could be seen, eyes on the floor.

“Now, it seems to me that some of you…” You listen for the uptick in tone, knowing that Lord Ahn was really upset about something now. “think you can have a relationship within my house.” Oh no…. now you know why Jeongmin was all bruised up. She confessed.

You wince as you could hear her whimper, your body tensing as footsteps move closer to where you were. You knew there had been a couple of relationships going on within the household, particularly the one with Taemin and Yujin. You hoped that they weren’t the relationship he was talking about.

“You all know the rules, that I don’t expect much when you come into my household.” Lord Ahn’s voice had become deeper, darker as he spoke making your breath hitch, trying not to move.

Lord Ahn was now almost in front of you, about to say something else when the sirens from the village square went off, announcing the presence of non-humans. You move forward, ready to run when Lord Ahn catches you, his hand on your chest, keeping you from moving.

“Now, now. Since I’m sure all of you have been keeping these… secrets from me, you can stay here. Keep the house in order, as I’m sure nothing is truly going on.” You gape at the man, watching his smile turn into a dark smirk as his gaze turns to you.

“Min, Jung, help my family to the carriage. Kim, younger Kim, gather all the materials necessary and put them in the boot.” His hand is still on your chest as he barks out the orders, watching from his peripheral as the men he called forward move to do as he said.

“Sir,” You bite out, “What about the women?”

“Well, why don’t you continue your chores?” He squeezed once, before moving away and down the hallway.

Turning around, you watch him, mouth open in shock, the siren still ringing throughout the village. Feeling a hand grasp onto your shoulder, you turn back around, seeing Hana pull you back. Her gaze was soft, knowing how the sirens make you feel.

“Let’s just hope that it’s nothing. Come with me, we can finish the laundry in the sink.” Hana helps you walk forward, everyone else moving back to their chores. Once in the kitchen you pick up the laundry basket form the floor, noticing that the cabinets and pantry have been cleaned out.

“Did they take all of the food?” You ask, concern dripping from your lips as you think about being locked in the house with no food.

“It appears so. But don’t worry, I don’t think they touched the servant’s quarters.” Hana reassures you. You sigh out, moving to the sink where Hana has gotten some water. You empty your basket again, moving the washing board into the sink and then soap bar.

You hear the siren again, this time closer to the manor, swearing you could almost hear some screams mixed in. You chose to follow Hana’s lead, hoping that she was right about everything. You go through the motions, scrubbing the sheets with the soap and brush.

A scream has you dropping the brush from your grasp, the wooden handle making a clang as it hits the floor.

“Stay here.” Hana holds her hand up at you, motioning you to stay where you were. You do so, heart beating fast as you hear another scream cry out. You choose not to listen, moving through the back of the kitchen and down the hall to the servant’s quarters.

From there you can see through the narrow windows used for light. There were people running everywhere, people being pushed to the ground and having chunks bitten out of them by gray, almost see-through creatures.

Ghouls, you thought, eyes widening in horror as you watch a couple ghouls begin to move towards the manor. You look through the room, trying to see if you could find anything to defend yourself with, trying to ignore the screams that came from within the manor.

If these really were ghouls you were dealing with, there was nothing you could do to save anyone.

You could feel your cheeks becoming wet, trying to find a way to get out of the servant’s quarters without going back into the manor, as you still look for something that could create fire. You begin to freak out, flashbacks to the giants and the screams of terror as you hear the screams of now moving closer to where you were.

However, it gets silent quickly, the only noise heard is the sound of your breathing. Holding your hand over your mouth, you try to listen for anything else, only hearing the sound of something dragging across the floor. The crackling of something in the walls also catches your attention. It becomes louder and louder until suddenly; you were on the ground.

Everything seemed to be moving too fast for your mind to catch up with. You couldn’t feel your legs, but you could move them, somewhat. You felt like you had a huge weight on you and you could feel heat licking at your skin.

As your eyes begin to adjust, you could see the body of the ghoul who was still trying to get to you, and the fire that was now spreading over the rest of the manor, inching your direction.

Your wits come back to you; survival instincts kick in as a loud roar is heard with a gust of wind keeping the fire from reaching you. Despite that, you try all you can to move the pieces of the roof from anchoring your body to the wreckage of the manor before that ghoul can get to you.

It didn’t matter to you that he was also buried under the remnants of the roof, you needed to get away. You blinked hard, rapidly as you tried to remove your tears from obstructing your vision. Using all your might, you tried to push the roof off of you, grunting as you failed again and again.

Another loud roar had you scrambling even faster, trying with all your strength to get out from under the rubble. Before you could get your leg out, the heavy material was yanked off of you, a growl as your bruised legs were visible.

You look up in horror, only to see who you recognize at King Min staring down at you, his eyes red and his fangs visible as he looks at you. Your frozen in place, unable to move as his red eyes pierce your soul and keep you still.

It’s only a couple of seconds before the King lunges for you, making your close your eyes in fear. Arms wrapping around you and picking you up from the rest of the roof and walls of the servant’s quarters.

“Please...” You whimper, not knowing what the King was going to do with you, only for him to place a hand behind your head, pushing so your head was rested against the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

One little word has you blinking away even more tears, a slew of emotions moving through you as you take it in. Your finger gripping tight into his button up shirt, the buttons almost popping loose from how tightly you hold onto it.

King Min moves quickly, walking out of the rubble and into the trees, a clearing by the river coming into the view as he shifts, his wings breaking out from the back of his shirt, the rest of his shirt now loose in your grip as he begins to fly away, to a place unknown to you. You were only focused on what he had growled out when he picked you up.

“Mate.”

#bts #bts au #min yoongi #bts min yoongi #dragon king! yoongi #dragon au #bts dragon au #soulmates #bts soulmate #bts soulmate au #min yoongi x reader #angst #dragon king yoongi x human reader #human mc #supernatural #fantasy au #enchanted #purpleyoonn

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years

Note

Good morning/afternoon/night

Could you make Sanemi x male reader? With reader is chosen by kagaya to go with Sanemi through missions and reader is calm, logic and aways stop Sanemi from getting in trouble

Yandere Sanemi X Male Reader

You most definitely beat him up after his actions with Tanjiro

And since you work so well your names typically are never said without the other

Where he’s abrasive and offputting

Your approachable and gentle

“You’re family’s probably dead. Might as well get your grieving over now.”

“W-what?!”

“I apologize for my partner. What we mean to say is that their fate is uncertain but we will get to the bottom of this.”

“Ohh well thank you so much!”

“Happy to help.”

Your strong as him

And so much sweeter

You’re just really really good at this

So good you do often get pulled away from Sanemi

Who politely throws the biggest tantrum to Kagaya-sama when you get the assignment

“Master I strongly request that he stay by my side. After our assignment.”

“Sanemi...I realize why you want him to stay with you but you must give him space…he’s requested it.”

The stakeout for this mission was uncharacteristically silent. Typically he’d be insulting the demon or even the people you placated before lightly interrogating about the demon but he was silent. As were you, already aware of the conversation he no doubt had with Kagaya-sama.

“So…I’m too much for ya is that it?”

You let out a sigh as you could already hear the angry grumble in his seemingly calm question. You didn’t respond instead watching as the demon began to make its move, you began to move feeling the angry puffs of Sanemi’s hollering behind you.

“What? You not gonna talk to me now!? Is this too close for you, huh?!”

Practically yelling in your ear as you tried to focus on the demon’s movement, silently debating if they were aware of your presence. You concluded that they were and they were preparing to attack a nearby home to divide your attention. You took a step to descend from the roof of the building only to be stopped by the tense body of Sanemi.

“Sanemi. Move. Those people need help.”

“I’ll move when you tell me, why?!”

You sucked your teeth sidestepping the Wind Hashira.

“I don’t have time for this!”

He pulled at your bicep wrestling you face first into the ground; knee in your back as you watch the demon ravage the people inside. You struggled against him, failing to remove him you yelled.

“LET ME GO SANEMI!”

“I WON’T! NOT UNTIL YOU TELL ME ‘WHYY?!’ WAS IT TOMIOKA? OBANAI?”

You let your cheek rest against the wood of the roof.

“It's really…because of you.”

You growled at his silence as you registered the demon moving to attack you both.

“Its because of you that I’d rather be in solitude than clean up the messes you make with your mean attitude. And your mean face! And your horrible attitude about everyone that talks to me…”

Sanemi let his mouth hang open.

“Yeah, I know about the threatening. I know about the mystery asphyxiations. Kagayama-sama may not be willing to disown the Wind Hashira in fear of what you will become but I will. And at this moment I wish to part from you forever, alright!?”

At your call, Sanemi beheaded the demon without looking. Letting you up from his hold on your back to swipe at the demon’s last attempts to stab at the both of you. Letting the demon’s screams hang in the air you let silence envelope you both once more. That is until Sanemi broke it.

“Ha! Even when you're saving my life, you reject me!”

“What did you expect? I’ve been doing that since selection.”

He let the memory replay as he let the mirror of your past self align with your current self. Grimacing at the thought he debated cutting your Achilles heel. Stopped by the unsheathed blade hanging low as if already aware of his intentions.

“Don’t think about following me. I’ll kill you if you do.”

“Right. Right. And you better come back unharmed or I won’t let this go.”

“Whatever.”

Sanemi whipped around letting his hand clutch at your face, squishing you into silence as he gave his unsettling smile.

“You. Will. Come. Back. Unharmed. Yes?”

You reluctantly nodded being released as you watched your crow's circle overhead.

‘It really couldn’t have been longer.’

#yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere kny x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yanderexrea #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yandere #yanderes #yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #yandere sanemi #yandere hashira #yandere wind hashira

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stargirlfics · 1 year

Text

The Gentleman Chapter 4: Do I Wanna Know?

Alfred Pennyworth x Black Dancer!Reader

Summary: While you and Alfred are caught up in the clouds of your romantic night together, on the ground, not all is as well as it seems

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of violence and injury - canon typical, drug/alcohol mentions, protective!Alfred, slight angst, fluff and feelings, smut: unprotected sex, soft sleepy PiV, praise kink, creampie

Word Count: 5.2k

Note: Apologies for how long it’s been since I last wrote for this story, I hope this chapter is well worth the wait! Things are beginning to unfold and unravel and I am so excited about it!

[series masterlist] [series playlist]

Sore limbs of yours uncurl against the solid warmth that is Alfred next to you in bed, bare arms keeping you pressed close to his chest, your nose nuzzling into his side where you’re tucked.

It almost feels like a dream, some kind of fairytale you’ve found yourself in, head up in the clouds with no signs of coming down…and you had no protests about it.

During the night you had wriggled around to face him, waking up now with his scent surrounding you, the blankets, and his broad hands splayed across your body keeping you cozy and content.

Calm silver light found its way through the gap in the curtains casting a soft haze through the room, making you curl up against his side even more, earning you a raspy chuckle.

“Good morning, darling.”

The sound has your eyes fluttering open, a thrill running through your chest at the deep lull of Alfred’s morning voice, his accent just a little more pronounced. Another thrill came right after at how utterly handsome he looked first thing in the morning.

His usually perfectly styled hair was out of place, the natural waves of his locks making an appearance against his undercut, a smile already on your face at the sight, “Morning…” you yawned, eyes closing for a second before opening to find his gaze still on you.

The memory of the night before crossed your mind then, flashes of the things he’d done to you replaying as you dared to peek back at him, inevitably succumbing and losing yourself in the sleepy blue of his eyes, the adoring, heated look they held, mirroring the same desire you’d seen in them last night only a little softer now.

A jolt in your lower tummy and the sudden worry that he could read your face had you lowering your head, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, hiding there while you tried not to think about the way his hands had felt keeping you in place and spread out for him while he fucked you into the bed.

Or the way you had to stretch your mouth to fit around him, the reminder of his size, the weight of him inside you making your thighs press together, trying to stave off the ache already blooming between them.

But Alfred wasn’t one for missing details, catching how your body subtly shifts against his.

Seems as if you both woke up in a mood this morning, feeling the gentle pressure of his hips pressing against yours, his arms cradling more of your body now, effectively pulling you closer into his center.

Yeah, you thought, you could stay like this forever.

Blankets pulled up around you, keeping you warm in the slightly chilly room, hovering somewhere between awake and drifting off to sleep again as you lay in Alfred’s arms, safe and taken care of.

You’re trapped sweetly against his chest when you hear it, the words that ignite the fire that had been building since you woke.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart. I’ll give it to you, just tell me.”

It almost sounds like a plea, a whimper of your own lodged in your throat when you look up at him again and see just how much he means those words.

If it were anyone else you might have been too embarrassed at just how badly you wanted him but there was an automatic kind of safety you felt with Alfred that made it so easy to show how you burned for him, that made you want to do as he said, to be good for him, especially with the promise that he’ll grant you whatever you wished.

“Miss you inside me,” you whined, “Just want you to fill me up, please.”

There was no hesitation in the way he moved in to kiss you, swallowing the rest of your “please” while his hands got to work tugging down your underwear.

Nimble fingers touched down on slick skin, coating them in your arousal before rubbing circles against your clit.

His resounding groan and your whimper mix together while you cling to him.

“Christ, always so ready for me. That’s my girl.”

The words made your chest feel tight, clenching around nothing because something about hearing him call you his and seeing and feeling the way you affect him makes you feel proud.

It’s funny, how easy it is to imagine it, being his, sharing your life with him, falling in love, realizing you want nothing more than to be weaved into the intricacies that make up his life.

And that scares you.

Your heart was familiar with this kind of gamble, too much of a romantic to ever resist the pull but also acquainted with the specific kind of anguish relationships could bring, hoping this one wouldn’t hurt you like the others had.

Yeah, speaking honestly, it terrified you.

But then Alfred was cutting through the noise in your head, pulling you back into the moment fully, his fingers still coaxing your arousal higher, making you whine when his mouth meets yours again, this time more urgent, needy.

Still facing him you hooked a thigh over his hip, trying to pull yourself even closer, grinding against his fingers until you’d grown impatient enough to slip your panties off the rest of the way.

Rocking your hips against him you reached for his waist, your fist finding what you wanted easily, almost shaky from want, trying to steady yourself as you palmed over the bulge in his boxers, content with the breathy sighs and groans you get as a result.

He follows your lead, pushing the fabric down to release himself, your warm, soft palm meeting the flushed, heated skin of his cock, obsessed with the way his jaw grits in response to your touch.

Your grip changes, positioning your hand so it dips down, taking him with you, guiding him toward where you want and need him most.

“I need to get a condom, sweetheart…” he hums and halts your wrist, the sentiment almost sounding like a reprimand if you didn’t know him to be so thoughtful, looking out for you always.

But you’d anticipated this, a response already on the tip of your tongue before he could say anything more.

“Don’t want one this time,” you stifle a small yawn, your hand twisting around his shaft, pumping him a few times, giving him more reassurance that you were okay and safe without one if he was okay with it too, a sinful smile as you say the words that damn you, “Wanna feel you when you fuck me.”

“Yeah? Is that so? How filthy…it’s not even seven in the morning yet and your pretty cunt already needs me.”

That has you tilting your hips up, nodding your agreement at his searing words, your mind already foggy as you felt him press against your folds, sliding with how wet you were. Alfred’s mention of the time had you slowing yourself down a little, pillowed by the dreamy safety of being in bed, of having time to savor this, there didn’t have to be any rush.

One of his hands sweetly held your hip, the other finding the side of your face you were laying on, cradling your head in his broad palm, groaning with each pass of his hips against your folds, rocking slow and steady until the tip of his length catches against your entrance and you’re both breathing heavy at the pressure of him sinking into you, finally.

Your eyes flutter as he drags against your walls, seating himself deep, till he’s all the way inside, stuffing you full before slowly pulling back, never going too far, just enough to have you gasping as he plunges deeper into you again, fucking you sweetly.

“O-oh! You feel so good, it’s so good,” your soft moans and cries wreck him, you know they do, able to feel his grip on your hip grow firmer, a soft but heated passion sparking every ember smoldering inside you both.

Your praise made him smile, ego softly boosted at the sincerity in your words, being able to tell that you meant it, you weren’t just saying words he might like to hear, you were telling him how good he was making you feel and that was everything.

It made him want to fuck you like you were his.

In his mind, you already were even if the conversation hadn’t been had yet, even if it scared him to think about for so many reasons, his fears nor yours would get in the way here, not when he was pressing you flush with his body, your nipples budding at the contact through the thin material of your sleep shirt.

There was possessiveness in the way he held you against his chest, in the way he fucked you, grinding his hips deep, obsessed with the way your head tips forward to bury in his neck, how you relax into his hold and let him do as he pleases.

Your fingers pinch at his skin, clinging on as he brings you over the edge swiftly, pulling a blissful orgasm from you twice, not stopping or slowing after the first leeches your energy, building the pleasure back up again.

It’s the eye contact that makes you shudder, still so disarmed by the intensity they could hold, melting into the fact that you trusted him, that you knew he’d take good care of you, that you could fully immerse yourself in what you were feeling.

Sweet little curses and whines fall from your parted lips, kiss swollen from his own, the prickle of his beard against your skin making you clench around him, the slap of his hips against you growing just a little harder as he chased his own release now too.

“Please, please,” your frantic plea and the fucked out look on your face nearly has him there.

“I know, fuck, I know, darling,” the rough, ground out rasp of his accent goes straight to your core, your sensitive walls pulsing as you came again, going soft and pliant in his arms.

An endless stream of praise fell on your ears as Alfred fucked you through it, letting you ride out the waves, holding out until he couldn’t any longer, his self control finally snapping when you whispered to him to finish how he had last night, wanting to feel him release inside you till he was spent, properly this time, till you were sure you were coated in every drop.

He did just as you asked, staying vocal like you hoped he would, his arms still keeping you pressed to him as you caught your breaths together after, a self assured smile rising to your cheeks following more praise about how incredible you are, how incredible you made him feel.

It’s a feeling you want to stay in forever as he finally withdraws from you, eyes fixated on where you start to drip with him already, the two of you curling back around each other under the blankets, finding another hour or so of sleep before starting the day could no longer be pushed back.

Alfred wasn’t needed at the office until the afternoon and planned to make good use of all the time he could have with you, convincing you to get out of bed with the allure of taking a shower with him and being treated to a home cooked breakfast.

No way you were resisting that, heart skipping in your chest at just how good the last twelve hours had been to you so far.

You’d pinch yourself if you weren’t so giddy.

The Tower was a new kind of stunning in the daylight and you were delighted to pick up all the extra details you’d missed last night, noting all the natural light coming in, how it contrasted perfectly with the gothic style you don’t think you’ll ever tire of admiring.

Once you’d finished getting ready Alfred led you down the same path to the kitchen, showing you where the laundry room and a few other things were down the stretch of hallway that opened into the updated but still rustic style kitchen.

You took your seat at the island, perched on the same bar stool you’d sat at when you shared that late night sandwich with Alfred, now watching him cook for you again.

Waffles were on the menu this morning per his request, only under the condition that you could make a request of your own: that he makes you your first proper cup of English tea.

It was an immediate yes.

“Looks like Bruce had the same idea about waffles this morning…” you chuckled at the hastily cleaned up breakfast endeavor left behind on the counter space in front of you.

Alfred sighs with a smile, “Indeed, in all his tidiness. I’m glad he’s eaten though, I swear sometimes if I don’t nudge him he’ll forget about his meals.”

You’re starting to pick up more things about their relationship, their dynamics.

How much you can tell Alfred loves Bruce, parental affection in his tone when he talks about him, knowing they’ve been through so much together, good and bad, and would do anything for each other, how they were a family…it feels so special to get glimpses of.

Laughter and the smell of waffle batter and syrup fill the kitchen now, the misty fall morning making you feel especially cozy here next to him, by the heat of the stove listening to him indulge your questions about the perfect cup of tea.

You don’t notice at first but you find yourself carefully cataloging things as he talks like you're storing them for later like there’s a future you’re saving up these details for. The realization leaves you flustered, not sure if you can stop the feelings beginning to bubble up the more time you spend with him.

But you try not to dwell on it for long, fresh Belgian style waffles with blueberries on top were calling your name, unable to stop yourself from doing a delighted wiggle in your seat at the taste.

He grinned at that.

So he was handsome and caring and romantic and sexy and proving to be a good cook too?

Again, you’d be pinching yourself if you weren’t such a ball of excitement.

You talked some more as you ate together, telling him about the show, how you came up with the routines, talking to him about your friends, mentioning that they knew about him and were so thrilled he came to watch you dance, how he’d scored points with them over that which made his cheeks pink up a tad, warming your heart even more.

How he could intimidate you in the best way one moment and then be so adorably sweet the next bewildered you.

You also shared your love for the style of the kitchen, perking up when Alfred told you the decor credit had to be given to Dory, their housekeeper, mentioning that she had been a dancer in her youth and that he’s sure she would adore you.

“Of course, I have her beat in that department but I may be biased.”

The way he said it made your cheeks burn with warmth, caught off guard by his suaveness once again, heart soaring at his words, how he stated it as a fact.

He was going to be the death of you.

The plates had long since been cleared and put in the sink to soak, mid-morning flying by as you spent time in the main room with him, looking over his books, the collection of different antiques and heirlooms in cases that filled the spaces of shelves, a happy conversation going until you both realized the time.

He drove you home after you gathered your things, reluctantly kissing him goodbye at your door, thanking him for everything with a bashful, barely contained grin.

You watched him go after a moment and another kiss, not wanting him to be late for the board meeting he was headed to.

A collection of memories from last night, a few indulgent favorite moments, would be heavy on your mind all day you were sure of it and there wasn’t much of your own self restraint left to keep from spending the rest of your free time daydreaming about it all.

Not that you minded one single bit!

LATER THAT EVENING….

The Iceberg Lounge was busy on the heels of another show.

You weren’t dancing in this one, it was your night off from the stage so Amber and Kiera could perform their routines, instead getting plucked from bar duties to deliver a few ‘packages’ and a drink to Oz up in his office.

You’d rather deal with any other man out in the crowd but there wasn’t any getting out of it, a thick envelope of cash placed on your drinks platter, a quick shuffle in your steps as you were nudged in the direction of his private office by one of his security detail.

There were two drinks on the platter tonight and you kept your fingers crossed it meant he had company when you got there, not wanting to spend any moment alone with him if you could help it.

Oz has a bad side nobody wanted to be on, his perfectly content side was sleazy at best and downright dangerous at worst and you were already on thin ice with the boss.

You were sure he hadn’t forgotten your insolence those weeks ago, how you had scoffed at him, bruised his ego about becoming the one in charge in this city, how he’d sent some of his guys to intimidate you, to stalk you and do god knows what else as you walked home that morning.

It’s the memory of that very morning and how it quite literally thrust you into Alfred’s arms that made you take a deep breath to steady yourself as you approached the office. You can get through this.

Oz isn’t alone to your relief, your eyes keeping low, trying to avoid eye contact as he and the man sitting next to him talk.

There isn’t anything special about his guest, you know you don’t recognize his face and the plain suit and rectangle glasses he wore weren’t terribly out of the ordinary for the kind of people Oz did business with.

He just didn’t look as threatening as the usual crowd, on the younger side too but judging by the way you felt the man eye you up and down you were sure his nonthreatening looks were plenty deceiving.

You hated this, feeling like some helpless mouse in a trap, presenting the platter neatly, professionally, not a thing out of place.

“Well look at that, about time someone got me those drinks I asked for,” Oz sneered, a gold tooth flashing in the glittering lights of the club. He noticed his guest raking their eyes over you and snickered, “Yeah, she’s a beauty ain’t she? Just finished teachin her a lesson in respect too so she’s puttin it on extra sweet for us tonight right, honey?”

The pet name made you grit your teeth, the subtle message in his words making you want to throw his stupid drink in his face just to wipe the grin off of it.

But you held your tongue and smiled, nodding politely, trying your best to keep calm, to not cry or scream or break something right there and then.

“Ah, it seems she learns well. Dr. Jonathan Crane, pleasure to meet you,” he introduces himself and you give him a curt nod, knowing better than to give him your name.

A doctor doing business with the shadiest man in Gotham, you were sure you’d seen everything.

They return to their conversation and you wait for Oz to take the envelope of cash before you snatch your platter up and head for the door, spying him hand Mr. Crane an envelope of the new hot drug in town, drops.

Of course, the good doctor was dealing in Oz’s drug trade, it made sense now, he must be the newest high-paying customer.

Whatever the deal was, you were glad not to stick around.

–

Another few hours had gone by and you were weaving through the tables near the stage, admiring your girls pulling off every dance without a hitch while you collected empty glasses and got people their drinks, being extra nice to those you knew would leave you good tips.

The night passed quickly, Oz finishing up business on the main floor, coming around to mingle with regulars before slinking off to some private hotel room next door, a different woman on his arm tonight than the last.

You were just glad he wasn’t going to be around for the rest of the night, able to relax a little more now.

The midnight hour came knocking, the show now finished, and closing duties for the night starting, making a quick detour to the dressing rooms to gush about everyone’s performances, loyal to the artform you were working here for first and foremost, Oz didn’t get to take that joy away from you.

After your catchup with Kiera and the rest of the girls, you got to work wiping down tables, collecting any left behind tips in your section, lost in thought as you tidied up that the sharp buzz of your phone nearly startled you.

It was a text notification from Alfred, the sight of his name making you smile until you opened it, a news article made within the last hour attached to his message that read, Darling, I’m coming to pick you up, I’ll be driving you home tonight, I don’t want you out on the streets trying to get home with this going on. I’ll be there soon x.

Something was going on out there and it didn’t sound good.

Eyes bouncing up to the article, you opened it, the title sending a chill down your spine.

GOTHAM TIMES - Violence Breaks Out at Paulie’s Diner after Unknown Chemical Attack

You knew that diner, it wasn’t too far from The Iceberg either, not exactly close but near enough that being outside right now wasn’t safe. The information slowly began to sink in as you skimmed the article.

A man was said to have been smoking in one of the booths and was asked to stop before he attacked staff, wearing some sort of mask that released a gas chemical, chaos erupted right after, and nearly everyone in the diner was either badly injured or killed.

That wasn’t all either, dread knotting in your stomach at the message this masked man had left behind.

This is Gotham’s only warning. Fear The Scarecrow.

They were calling the gas, fear toxin, from what you could tell. Reporters were saying this is likely the first attack among many and investigators were already working on finding the man.

Unease filled your chest at the events unfolding, pictures and videos of the incident circulating in your news feed. It was everywhere.

An all too familiar worry began to rise, reminding you of the previous year, The Riddler putting the city underwater for months, and now this Scarecrow, whoever he was, seemed just as bad if not worse with his toxin.

You hoped Alfred could make it without trouble, understanding and grateful that he hadn’t hesitated in his decision to come and get you even if you weren’t necessarily near the danger but also worrying for his sake too, not wanting him to get caught up in the madness that seemed to follow when things like this happened.

Finishing up the last of what needed to be done you rushed back to the dressing rooms to see if anyone else had heard, warning everyone you passed to be safe as they headed out, finding Roxie and Bambi before they left the club and Kiera and Amber right behind them.

You all huddled near the stage entrance of the alley, talking about what was going on when you got a call from Alfred saying he was parked outside the alley and would come walk you to the car.

“Are your friends with you, love?”

“Yeah we were just talking about what happened, is it really bad out there? Some of the girls were wondering if it wasn’t too bad to catch a train home.”

“Things are...quiet so far but tense. I think that’s too risky, people are already starting to panic, and I do not like the idea of you ladies being on the subway this late at night. If your friends are comfortable, I’d be more than happy to take them home too.”

God, he was so sweet.

You really appreciated just how concerned he was, understanding why he wasn’t leaving this to chance even if he understood you were capable of looking after yourselves. It made you feel safe to know he was here, and he was serious and respectful about protecting you and by extension, the people you cared about.

It meant a great deal and the feeling was shared by the group as you told them what Alfred had said, thanking him softly and hanging up before you were all heading out the back door, meeting Alfred halfway, greeting you with open arms.

He greeted you all with immediate reassurances, a sense of calm urgency about his body language that reassured you he knew what he was doing, that told you he was capable as he led you to his car just up ahead at the mouth of the alleyway.

You all stuck close to his side, his arms down but positioned out just slightly, keeping himself between you and the space of the open street ahead, smoothly unlocking and opening the car door, seeing that each of you was tucked safely inside before he was checking his surroundings briefly, slipping into the drivers seat a quick moment later.

Everyone decided they were going to crash the night at Bambi’s place not too far from your own and a good distance away from Downtown, Alfred already picking up the quickest route to her address.

Now that things had settled some, introductions went around and everyone shared a giggle about being in this strange situation together, a smile beginning to creep up onto your face despite what was going on as your friends gently prodded Alfred with questions, all of them including yourself charmed by his answers.

You thought it was safe to say he’d passed whatever kind of test they had for him, Roxie starting off a chain of thank you’s when Bambi’s apartment building came into view, her and Amber making swooning gestures as the car came to a stop, making you shake your head and shoo them out of the car.

“Have a good night, ladies. Please be safe,” Alfred chuckled his own goodbyes, sharing a happy look with you at their collective, “We will!”

He waited till he was sure they were inside before driving away, his hand finding its place on your thigh as he took you home, his thumb passing over your knee soothingly from time to time.

Sooner than you wished he was parking outside your place, following close behind you, protecting your back as you walked to your door.

You fumbled with your keys for a second, fingers a little slow with the biting chill of the air, unlocking the door soon after, turning reluctantly to say goodnight.

“You can’t stay can you?” The question is shy, quiet coming off your lips and you’re a little worried you sounded too clingy or too invested when his hands come up to cup your cheeks, lifting your head a little so you’d look at him.

Of course, there would be nothing but gentleness on his features, you should have known he wouldn’t be off put by your words.

“My darling, I’d love nothing more than to stay. I’m not keen on leaving you alone tonight, I would if I could, lovely. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

There’s worry laced in his tone and it stings your heart, rushing to reassure him that he was far from disappointing you. Reminding him how special and amazing the last day with him had been, that you and your friends were safe tonight because of him.

And yes you’d miss him but knew he and Bruce had undertaken a lot trying to build up and fix Wayne Enterprises, and you knew that came with late nights, knew he couldn’t always stay and that was okay because you knew he’d make time for you when he could and you’d do the same for him.

Your words seemed to soothe him, resting his case with a purposeful nod as you leaned in to kiss him goodnight.

“Get some rest, love. And hey, those doors and windows of yours stay closed and locked, is that understood?”

The slight serious shift in his tone, the soft sternness of it almost made you lose your breath, nodding and squeaking out a “Yes. Promise.” a delayed second later.

What was it about being cared for so fiercely that made you want him so badly? It simply wasn’t fair!

Sharing another soft kiss you slipped inside to the warmth of your apartment, waving to him through your window and watching him drive off after a moment.

The street was quiet so far tonight though you could hear the distant wailing of sirens and the particular hazy glow of the bat shaped beacon illuminating the sky above told you things were far from quiet in the city.

You didn’t have much faith in whatever investigators were on the case to find Scarecrow before something else could happen but maybe just maybe, The Batman had a chance…if he did it once before…

Forcing yourself away from the window you shut your blinds, retreating into the hot steam of the shower, later curled in bed with a book, reading but finding that you had to go back and re-read a passage every so often, lost in thought again, things coming full circle to thinking of Alfred, of your feelings.

Softened and vulnerable now that you thought it over, scared to wonder, to ask, to know if these feelings were the same for him.

It scared you to know he affected you this much already, that you cared about him and wanted him and felt things for him more than you had cared to admit even a day ago.

Could it be too soon, too dangerous to think of a potential relationship with him, to let yourself feel like this was more than just a few great dates and amazing sex, that maybe there was something more beginning here and you could trust in it?

You wanted nothing more, knowing in your heart already that if you were wrong it would crush you to bits but that’s not what you wanted to dwell on tonight, not with so much doom already on the horizon.

No, tonight you’d indulge yourself, thinking of the older man that now occupied so much of your thoughts, dreaming of his strong arms wrapped around you and the way he’d held you close like he never wanted to let you go.

The more you thought about all the moments you’d spent with him since you met, you started to feel like maybe you could trust your gut with this one, holding onto the thrilling hunch that the answer would be everything you were hoping for.

-----

A/N: Ok ok ok how are we feeling, what are we thinking about this one? Let me know!! And yay we have a new character/villain edition with Scarecrow in the mix! I thought he would be a good one to add to this story especially with the fear toxin storyline, I have sooo much cooking for this plot with a few influences from different Batman media so I can’t wait to show you where this takes us!! Also couldn’t resist sprinkling more protective Alfred in this one so I hope this is a good read! I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading it!

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs make my day! 🖤

some tags no pressure: @eupheme @saradika @obiknights @tarrenterror25 @thaddeuscranes @flamingdisputes @squidlywiddly87 @madamepoelzig @mariahthelioness29 @unrefinedmusings @xnodamsel @allaboardthereadingrailroad @yelenas-lova @aislupu @kneelforloki @xoxovivarecs @fluffyprettykitty @ayoarticulate

#amalia writes #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth smut #alfred pennyworth x black reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth fluff #alfred pennyworth x woc #alfred pennyworth #the batman!alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth fanfic #alfred pennyworth imagine #the gentleman series #alfred pennyowrth fanfiction #alfred pennyworth x f!reader

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luvlyycy · 5 months

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Priest!Belial x Follower!Reader . // Love me Dead.//

a/n : i literally love this fic so much, it really makes me feel what obsessive love should feel like. this is dark content because belial is vv manipulative. also belial is still a fallen angel in this. lolz

war ,,nings》 smut, reader is a female, sacrilegious themes, mentions of the right hand being god's and it being used it lewd acts, morbid love, obsessed love, yandere ish behavior ig, mentions of hearts and ribs and blood only in metaphoric use, belial is a love struck demon, reader calls belial father in a religious way a lot.

Words. . | 2.6k

Your whole body feels sticky, there’s mud stuck to your calf as you desperately run towards the area you feel most safe. You have sinned, the visions continuously replaying in your poor innocent cranium. You arrive at the heavy doors of the Church, hands shakily and desperately trying to push them open as heavy droplets of rain crash down onto your head.

As you push open the creaking doors seeing the one whom you had been yearning for in your dreams, the mere memories having you clench your sticky thighs together, but you push all of that away. Your legs move before you can even think, cold damp hands being pressed upon the one you call ‘Father’, tears beginning to stream down your face as you desperately cling onto the white cloth of his jacket, gold accessories tickling the back of your hand. His warm hands engulf your swollen cheeks with a soft hum, “Ahh? What’s troubling you so, my poor little lamb?”. It takes you a moment or two to settle down your heavy breathing, “F-Father.. That dream.. I had it again.” just the mere thought sends a shiver down your spine.. “Oh? Is it the exact same one or a bit different?” he tilts his head, eyes filled with worry as they meet your’s. “It was different!” you exclaim, gasping for air as you try to stop sobbing, he softly ‘tuts’ as he wipes the warm tears from your face with his right hand, the left lowering to your back- dangerously close to your round bum. “Tell me.” he whispers, the corners of his lips curling into what you assumed was a reassuring smile.

You take approximately five minutes before you can even begin, you shut your pretty eyes, giving them a break as you recall the dream you had..

“You, you entered my room. Wearing what you’re wearing right now, smiling- except! It-It wasn’t a nice smile, almost as if you had terrible intentions with me-” if your poor eyes were open you’d see he was doing the exact smile you had seen in your recent nightmare.. “Then, then you approached my bed, and embraced me-. You smelled like a rose.” you take a moment to swallow, “I did?” he asks, hands rubbing at your back in an attempt to relax you. “Yes.” you sigh, “then you kissed me, you kissed me the way only an improper man would, taking my tongue in your mouth as if you were a beast.” you miss the way he groans, his hands gripping you tighter. “Then what did I do?” he whispered once again, voice oozing with honey as his breath tickled your ear. “You put your hand in, in my. In my panties. We began to make love as if we have been doing it forever! You knew every spot-” your eyes fling open as you begin to get worked up again, tears welling up in your eyes, “touched me everywhere I needed, everywhere I wanted-""Did I pry you open?” he cuts you off, his right hand trailing over your supple breasts. “Y-Yes.” you stiffen up as you feel that familiar heat rising in your core, the ‘butterflies’ dancing in your stomach, just like they had when you woke up from that dream.

He steps away with a small huff, grabbing a thin blanket from the side and wrapping it effortlessly around your shivering shoulders, before raising his hand to caress your chin. “We’ll have to dig the urges out of you.” he sighs, “Wha- What does that mean, Father?”. He smiles down at you, head tilting to the right as he pats your head, “It merely means that I’ll have to clean you out. Free you from the shackles of your rotten sins. God has entrusted me with this, dear. So don’t you worry that pretty brain of yours, we’ll remove your horrific stains- One. By. One.”

After a bit of preparation he orders you to lay back first on the altar, your clothing from earlier folded neatly in one of the Church seats as he approaches you, smiling eerily the same way he did in your dream. “Hands together, you have to pray.” he lets out a noise as if he was holding in a laugh, you clasp your hands together, shutting your eyes as your ‘Father’ spreads open your legs-. His dark eyes lock onto your pulsing vagina, grinning as he looks at his left hand then the right- ‘god’s hand is the right one.’ he recalls before raising his right hand, using his thumb to rub small circles on your cute little bud. You let out a small whine, eyes fluttering open to catch a glimpse of your beloved Priest doing his best to free you from your damned sins. You watch as he inserts one finger into your heat, swirling it dangerously around inside as you award him with soft moans and sighs. He groans as he leans his face forward, eyes darkening as he wraps his mouth around your twitching clit- sucking at it whilst using one finger to pump your insides.

“Fath— Father ! It's fil, filthy down there—” you gasp as he inserts another finger, damn near scooping your juices out of you— “using your mouth— nnh, is improper!!” . You hear him laugh into your pussy, his dark bangs tickling your thighs as he begins to purr.

“Oh, is it now?” his voice is different from before, as if something had been holding him back— he laps at your juicy clit as he curls his fingers against that spongy spot you never knew was there. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, nails leaving crescent marks on your skin as you try your hardest to arrange your thoughts in order to pray. He mumbles something into your pussy that you can't quite hear due to the loud squelching of your pussy— he eases his fingers so you can just briefly hear his vulgar tongue spit words you've never dreamt of escaping a Priest's mouth.

“Gonna fuck this sinning pussy until she's crying for me.” he chuckles out, dark red eyes landing on yours as he grinned like a cheshire cat— “Wh, what?” you question, feeling your own pussy betraying you by squeezing against his thick fingers. He doesn't utter a simple word, not even a breath as he continues to smile, removing his fingers from you as he rises.

There's an aura around him that you can't quite place, almost as if you're encountering sin or lust itself, it sends a chill down your spine— “I want you to wrap your arms around me,” he sounds breathless as he unbuckles his jacket tossing it to the floor then going to remove his pants, “and embrace me as if I'm your very own husband, understand?” you nod quickly and unclasp your hands, arms outstretched waiting for him.

His face is flushed, the tip of his tongue lifted up to lick at his upper lip as he pumps his cock with his right hand, eyes glued to the sight of your fluttering pussy, he watches the clear bubbles seep out and slide deliciously down. He takes two steps forward, his left hand spreading your wetness around your pussy lips before spreading them. Your heart is almost beating out of your chest, you feel as if you were a mere sheep compared to the deafening gaze of a hungry wolf. Your eyes lower to see the part of a man you were never supposed to see until marriage, cock.

You gulp, “Will it fit?” he lets out a quick shaky laugh, “Of course. I'll fucking make it fit.” he groans, the last part of his words under his breath as he inserts the mushroom tip of his swollen cock— mixing his pre-cum with your sopping wet cunt. He's nearly growling as he pushes his cock in, leaning forward to grab onto the altar beneath you, white-knuckling it. “It-it hurts, Father..” you sniffle, feeling your hole spread in a way you've never felt before, and yet the line between pain and pleasure is becoming slightly blurry— “It's going to hurt. Don't worry, I'll make it all better.” he mumbles as you wrap your arms around him as you were instructed.

In a few moments, he bottoms out inside of your cunt, your grip on his shoulders surely leaving finger marks— his heavy balls caressing the curve of your ass. He pulls his hips backwards as he watches your expression, watching it turn from shock to something of sin. He wants you to eat him, crawl into his ribcage and tear out what belongs to you— for you are the bane of his existence and reason for the heat in his loins. You drive him mad as blood would to a vampire— he's unsure of what to call it, but he knows it's something animalistic, something too savage to speak out loud. Yet, here he finds himself driving his cock so deep and tastefully into your pussy that it causes you, the closest thing to an angel he knows, to cry out and be so exoticly lewd. If he could, he would paint this moment on all the walls, just so he can remember the first time you had succumbed to adultery, to sin— the moment he had entered you and tasted you seemingly the same way a wolf would taste a wounded deer. He sighs as he curls his right hand around your throat, your hazy eyes fluttering open and shut as he places kisses on your chest.

You lean your head back, feeling your pussy fluttering as you try your hardest to suck in your moans, arms slipping off of his back as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your collarbone, continuously driving his cock into you as slow as he can manage. He pushes his arm beneath the curve of your back, arching your back earning himself a long whine from you. He lets out a guttural groan, speeding his hips up as he latches his mouth on your right nipple, suckling it and swirling his tongue around the hardening bud. ‘

‘Cum, cum, cum, cum, cum, cum’ it’s like a fucking mantra in his head, he pops your nipple out of his mouth, only to see you look at him the sweetest smile on your lips as you sweat, skin sticking to his as he grins. “It feels weird Father.-” you suddenly say, eyes looking down to the area where you two meet, barely getting the words out as he lowers his right hand to your pussy, rubbing circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Let it go. Just re, fuck, relax.” he breathes as he leans back down to lick at your neck, “Say my name.” he groans against your neck before biting it. You let out a loud moan, back arching as you shake, legs tightening around his back…

“Be- Belial-” you begin, “Yes. Just like that, say it. Cry my name. Louder.” he interrupts, “Belial! More, more, please.” you whine, arms tightening around him once again. He presses his forehead to yours, sighing against your lips as he wraps both arms around you, pulling you impossibly close, “I’d do anything for you.” he breathes, and you feel his bumping heart beat, suddenly reminding you of your dream. Remembering the way he touched you, similar to now, and yet now felt more raw, more animalistic, and even though you knew you were sinning, damning yourself to hell- you just wanted more. “Embrace me.” you breathe out, earning a purr out of him as he places his mouth on yours, tongue dancing in the devil’s tango as you feel your cunt fluttering once again. He pulls away to look at your face, “I’ll be your husband. Your devoted lover, your everything. I will be your damned, your god, your angel, and your devil. We will become-” he grunts, “become, one.” he laughs as he kisses your face again, red eyes glimmering as the world seemed to still for a moment. Your hands entangling in his hair as you arch your back, molding into his hands, soft cries of ‘Belial’ exiting your gorgeous lips, the soft pattering of rain on the stained glass windows a mere background noise to your vulgar show.

He lets out a shaky breath as he stills his hips, pushing himself as deep as his very own cock could let him, lips just merely a hair away from embracing yours again. The world begins to move again, the rain heard again as he lowers his head, leaning against your chest. You feel heavy, sleepy you believe, hands slipping off of his back and laying limp by your side. He places a soft kiss to your chest, if he wanted he could say he loves you, he would say just how far he would go for you, knowing his obsession was unhealthy he feared he had already said to much, and yet, when he looks at your face; gaze locked upon your lopsided smile and lidded eyes, your soft hands cupping his cheeks, he wonders for a moment. Would you still embrace him like this if you knew just how much of a damned individual he is? He’s a fallen angel who’s fallen for an angel, he thinks. He watches how your eyes tear up, “Am I free of sin? Am I pure again?” you sound as breathless as when you entered this damned Church, and he looks at your chest, noticing the dark marks on your skin he left earlier. He contemplates what to say, “To be free of sin you’ll have to rely on me the way a wife relies on a husband.” he’s cursed, “I do?” you ask, still on the verge of sleep. If he had earned himself a demon tail, it’d be curling around you and pulling you close, never letting go, yet he finds his own hands doing that, left hand curling around the back of your cranium. “Will you allow me to be your husband?”

. . . . Four beats and then you answer, “Yes, Fat-” “Say my name. I’m your husband now, yes?” he finds himself smiling, and for once without a hint of debauchery, “Yes, Belial.”.

Is this what destined lovers feel like? Is this what it’s like to be a bear to fall in love with a deer? Maybe even a cunning fox falling in love with a lost and dazed bunny, yet he wants you to have a whole garden of flowers and maybe his name etched on your heart, he decrees himself a knight to your holy princess. The thought of having your innocence mixed with his treacherous mere being, it gets him dizzy and yet here he is, bathing you, taking you to his bed and lying down with you in the most mind bending ways, and it replays in his mind, the words he’s never wanted to say.

I love you. For I am yours, and you are mine. For we are each other and my right hand may be god’s but I’ll be damned if you can’t have my soul and body. I have sinned and I know I’ll sin again. Take my eyes, my lips, my ears, my ribs, my legs, my skull. All of it shall belong to you my dearest angel. Take my damned skin and engulf me in your purifying gaze and I’ll melt beneath you, mixing with you once more. I’m a parasitic psycho who has won your beautiful heart. Yet, you wish to be stuffed into my mouth and grind your bones against mine until we are dust. I love you. I wish to eat you. I love you.

#belial #gbf #gbfvs smut #gbf belial #granblue relink smut #granblue smut #granblue belial #gbfvsr smut #belial smut #gbf smut #granblue fantasy #granblue fantasy smut #granblue versus #granblue versus smut

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razs-archetype · 1 year

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One thing I’ll always long for is to replay Minecraft: story mode for the first time. I understand it’s a game that’s received much hate and distain. It’s not something for everyone.

But i played it, experienced it, learned it’s lessons and listened too it’s story at an age free of hate, cynicism, and judgement. Where the quality didn’t matter in my eyes. Where it was a story, and a story so filled with love and learning and caring and forgiving.

Was it groundbreaking? Was it something truly special? A hidden gem amongst the rubble? That’s something only you can decide, everyone has their own opinions. But for me, personally. I’d just love to return to that stage where I stayed up late playing minecraft, free of judgement. Learning about these characters and creating.

It’s nothing perfect. Nothing ever is. That doesn’t make it not special, to me. Something that reached out to me and forever occupies my mind. And. God, can it still make me cry.

Minecraft story mode has been officially abandonware for a while now. Unable to be purchased, removed from Netflix. The only way to play it is through illegal means. It hurts, it will never not hurt me. There’s a shitty longing in my heart, something that breaks, that wants me to curl up and sob knowing so many people will never even know what this game is, other than other peoples judgment. And will have no way to experience it themself, as it was intended.

Nothing truly lasts forever, and it is just another testament. Life will move on, the universe will move on, and insignificant memories to entire games, stories, tales, will be lost in the inevitable ebb and flow of it all. Stories are made to be told, experienced, and witnessed. And eventually, there will be no one around to tell, and no one who wants to witness.

But my god, as long as I’m around. I won’t shut the fuck up about this game.

youtube

#apologies. I don’t get sappy much. this’ll probably be the last in a while #a shitty love letter of sorts. lol!#I acknowledge that the game isnt good and so many people hate it. but #is it so much to wish to experience it free of those judgements . go in clear minded. just exprience it for the story. you know?#clover talks #mcsm #Minecraft story mode #Youtube

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ahlyasimps · 1 year

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Whispers in the Wind [O.G.]

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x GN Reader

Summary: Ominis will always love you, even if you’re no longer there.

A/N: Feels good to be back. Still swamped with work but I’m making good progress so I decided to write something quickly! I’ve got quite a few requests but I’ll swear I’ll get to them soon🫠 (writers block is a disease and I hope I get well soon).

It had been a year since the battle against Ranrok, and Ominis was still struggling to come to terms with your death. You had fought bravely against Ranrok and his dark army, but in the end, you succumbed to your injuries. Ominis had never felt such pain and grief before.

Every night, he would visit the spot by the lake the two of you used to lay down by and soak in the other's warmth. He would place flowers and sit there for hours, sometimes swearing that if he focused hard enough, he could hear the sound of your laughter as you tied his hair into those short, silly pigtails that he didn't doubt made him look ridiculous. Thinking about it now made his heart ache knowing no one else would that to him again.

Ominis couldn't help but replay the last moments of your lives together, remembering the warmth of you embrace and the softness of your lips. He missed you so much that it hurt to breathe.

As the months passed and the year was nearing an end, Ominis tried to move on, but the pain never faded. He had lost his soulmate, his best friend, and his reason to live. Nothing could fill the void that you had left in his life.

One day, while sitting by the lake with the stains of freshly shed tears still on his cheeks, Ominis felt a faint breeze brush past him. It felt as if two hands were cupping his face and wiping his sorrows away. It was like your spirit was trying it comfort you, telling him that you were still with him, watching over him, and guiding him.

With a heavy heart, Ominis whispered to the wind, "I will always love you, my dearest." Silence greeted his declaration but he swore he felt something touch his forehead, a featherlight kiss.

As he stood up to leave, Ominis felt a sense of peace wash over him. The pain was still there, but it was no longer all-consuming. He knew that you would want him to move on and find happiness, but he didn't know if he could do that, at least not yet. His love for you would live on forever, in his heart, and in the memories you two had shared.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt imagines #Ominis Gaunt x reader #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt imagine #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy imagines

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hongluboobs · 5 months

Note

Please tell us the reason behind the pokemon choices! I get most of them, but am curious about Meowstic and Nihelego in particular. Is it for the nihilEGO pun?

OKAY i am on my iphone so i’m typing this from scratch again instead of my drafts. also it is night. tumblr decided to not give me notifs until now but it’s okay!! we ball😁

I’m unsure how much you know abt pokémon so I’m gonna do my best to explain but this is a lifelong special interest so i may miss some things^^

Quick going over the ones you didn’t ask about:

Mewtwo: clone created to replicate Mew, Went Horribly Wrong, ended up destroying the lab it was born in. It’s even a really long time since I’ve seen the movie but i believe the mewtwo there is neglected child core. This is REALLY Angela especially because in pokedex entries they often talk about the thing that makes mewtwo nothing like mew is that it’s “heartless”. poor poor angela baby…

Mega Gardevoir: This is a mostly aesthetic pick. That thing really looks like her if it’s shiny (see image) and the colors match perfect. the way gardevoir is portrayed in pmd reminds me a lot of Angela. Gardevoir is about immense loyalty to a trainer (even if it ruins your life forever and the trainer does not care, as shown in pmd) and i read it as something about the script

Porygon2: Honestly this could be any of the mons in this line but Porygon is a digital being and the first fully synthetic pokemon which begins acting in ways which were not programmed as it evolves. Kind of represents Angela acting in ways a machine should not and breaking free of her predetermined role to me :)

Now onto the pokémon you actually asked about!! :)

First up, Meowstic!

This first part is a small design thing but this thing has Angela’s face to me, especially with the yellow eyes with red pupils. Angela’s eyes are inconsistent in canon but I like to represent them with both red and yellow to represent both of her “parents” (sorry Benjamin… i love you but u aren’t included there😔)

This pokedex entry is one of the main reasons this is an angela pokémon to me, aside from vibes.

It has the same “closed eyes to repress” thing that Lobcorp angela has going on, just with repressing incredibly explosive powers instead of repressing The Horrors!

These pokedex entries are really goofy but they read very angela to me :) its unfriendliness is part of its charm!

Also i have no idea when i’ll ever get to post these so now is a good time as any to drop meowstic angela :)

Nihilego is a slightly different case because it’s tied less to dex entries and more to how it is used in the story of sun and moon. I haven’t played those games in YEARS so i might be a little bit questionable with my reasoning but this one’s really important.

Nihilego is intentionally designed to mirror one of the human characters in pokémon sun and moon.

(image i found online. i see it somewhat differently but it’s close enough for this)

Anyway this human character’s mother has neglected/abandoned her in obsessive pursuit of this pokémon and other Ultra Beasts.

The fact this pokémon not only has a similar silhouette to angela but serves as a “replacement” for a human character in a parent’s mind while also being Distinctly Nonhuman… it’s by no means a perfect comparison but there’s Something There

This dex entry always gets me too… it’s just a girlie… :(

It really makes me want to replay sun/moon because i feel like my memory of the story being really shaky has me on the edge of a breakthrough about this thing… but it looks like angela and i can draw story parallels basically:)

I have No Idea if this is coherent but I hope it cleared things up a little ^^^

#pachiposting #asks

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5t4r1uv3r · 1 year

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♡︎༺ Let You Break My Heart Again ༻♡︎

☆ hi hi hi!! i bring another kyle piece :3. this one is inspired by let you break my heart again by laufey. she speaks for the hopeless romantics + those who experience unrequited love. which unfortunately kyle goes through a lot of. i definitely recommend listening to the song while reading!! would you guys like a second part to this inspired by her song valentine? as always feedback and advice are welcomed!!

warnings include: semi angst, unrequited love, heartbreak.

character: Kyle Broflovski

reader is gn!! 796 words ☆

☆ Pretend that we are more than friends. Then of course I’ll let you break my heart again ☆

Kyle Broflovski stared out his window, a piece of pie, a cup of coffee, and books littering his desk. He felt sick, maybe it was the late-night meal kicking in, maybe it was the thought of you. This had been a common occurrence over the years, harboring feelings for you since the fourth grade. He thought you were absolutely breathtaking, intelligent, and caring. You were unlike anyone from South Park, resembling an angel sent down from heaven. He’s watched your past relationships, coming to the conclusion that he would never be the one for you. Kyle compared himself to your past partners, noticing every little difference between the two of them. Believing that you would never have eyes for him, why would you? You were the best person in the world, and he was just himself. Over the years Kyle tried to distract himself with his studies, his friends, and even other people. His attempts to pursue other relationships failed time and time again, never feeling the love he felt for you. You two are very close, hanging out constantly, having almost an identical schedule, and being in the same circle of friends. Trying to fall out of love with the person who has played a large part in his life seemed impossible. No matter how many times he has tried to distance himself, Kyle is always drawn to you. He’s struggled and prayed to God but never seemed to be in Heaven’s grace. Kyle longed to be loved just as he loves you, a beautiful and passionate love that seemed to rival even the strongest love.

Until that day arrived he continued to wish on stars, hoping that maybe you would one day be more than just friends. He wants to pretend that you could be lovers, dreaming that he could be yours. The two of you are young adults now, closer than ever before. Kyle has everlasting thoughts replaying in his mind, years of memories being evaluated, searching for clues that showed you could possibly return his feelings. Kyle was consumed by you, morning, afternoon, and night. You had a place in his heart that would forever be yours. The kindness he has received from you, he wasn’t lying when he thought you were like no other. You were always there for him, lending a shoulder to lean on during his toughest moments. Standing up for him when others were scared to, and being someone he could rely on through thick and thin. You were one of his dearest friends, not wanting to ruin the lifelong friendship you two have, he swallowed his feelings.

He didn’t want to risk losing you, even if you were to be only friends, he would accept that fate. However, he wondered if the two of you would ever be anything more. Exchanging songs with hidden meanings, late-night calls, and sunset views at Stark’s Pond. He looked for you in every aspect of life, finding your beauty in nature, in songs, in everything pure and light.

He wished to tell you how he felt—wanting nothing more than for you to feel the same. Kyle is someone who feels every single bit of his emotions. The thought of being rejected and potentially destroying what the two of you had made me feel sick. He vowed to never let that happen, he preferred a broken heart. For you he would do anything, placing your emotions and well-being above his. This wouldn’t be the first time he has dealt with this situation, it seemed that unrequited love is the one for him. Kyle shed a tear, he didn’t want to cry. He knows he has to be strong, Yet he understands that feelings can become overwhelming. Kyle wonders if you have ever felt the same as him, being in love with a person who doesn’t seem to love you back. He wonders if you have ever cried over those emotions, he hopes you never go through that experience.

You deserve to have someone love you with every ounce of their being, to have someone who would be there for you no matter what, someone who will appreciate you for everything you are. Kyle thought no matter how much he tries to fall out of you, the more he thinks about you, the deeper he falls. You take up all his mind, his being, and his heart. Kyle waits for the day his love for you ceases to exist, until then he’ll be lost in thoughts of you. Imagining a world, a timeline, and an alternate universe in which the two of you are more than friends. He is pretending that it’s a possibility. Until then, he’ll endure all the pain of heartache. Kyle will let you break his heart, again and again.

#south park x reader #south park x y/n #south park x you #kyle broflovski x y/n #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle brovlofski #Kyle Broflovski angst #sp kyle #south park oneshots #south park angst #south park fluff #kyle broflovski fluff #south park kyle #kyle broflovski #south park fanfiction #5t4r1uv3r #5t4r1uv3rwrites #abwrites

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chimchimmarie · 9 months

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Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 700ish

Summary: Seeing your ex-boyfriend again after ten months since the breakup. He looks better than he has ever been. You try to show him you’re okay, but little does he know, you’re not.

Featured Song: “How Are You?” By Dylan Brady and Rosie

AN: Hello everyone! I’ve started a new writing series featuring songs that I personally love. I like sad, angsty songs. So I’m giving you a heads up on the songs I’ll be featuring. They will most probably be the type that’ll rip your hearts out and make you remember every sad breakup you’ve ever had. I listened to “How Are You?” By Dylan Brady and Rosie while writing this one. This wasn’t heavily edited, So I’m sorry for any errors. I personally made the banner for this fic. I don’t own any of the pictures.

Time seems to stop the moment you found his eyes. You were walking in while Jimin was walking out. The little cafe you used to frequent with him suddenly was filled with a nostalgic air that hurts you but awakens something in you at the same time. The memories cripple you and you stay planted where you stand. But your eyes have never left his.

Jimin is your ex-boyfriend. It still feels so wrong to call him that. It’s like your whole being hasn’t been acclimated to the fact that you’re nothing but mere strangers now. The denial is still there—alive and kicking, like the breakup only happened yesterday.

In reality, You’ve probably meant nothing to him since that cold December day. It has been ten months. He doesn’t know it, but he still means the world to you until now.

“How are you?” His deep honeyed voice still sends a shiver through your skin, leaving goosebumps in its trails like it’s the first time.

You bit your tongue and just smile.

“I’m good.” You lie.

You could lie to him and to everyone else, but you couldn’t lie to yourself.

You were not good. You were far from being good. You were not okay. There’s this big hole in your heart. The same heart that hasn’t been beating since Jimin ended things.

You were barely living. But here you are. You’ve managed to act like you still have a life, when all you really were was a shell—hollow on the inside, devoid of anything that resembles life.

Perhaps Jimin doesn’t realize that he had taken everything with him the moment he left. Everything. Including your heart and all the love and hope that had breathed life into it.

It’s been months and months of barely struggling to survive. Months and months of drowning in your own pool of tears night after night. It feels like forever now but you still find yourself replaying the night you lost him, wondering how you could have prevented it, how you could have done more, how you could have made him change his mind.

Every night you look at the ceiling in your cold bedroom, thinking about Jimin and how he said he didn’t know how to love you anymore.

Every night you cry and wish you can change it all. Every night you whisper a silent prayer for him to come back.

Deep inside, you wish he’d known how bad it hurt to lie. To say you’re okay when you’re not. Like what you’ve been doing since he left. Every time someone you knew would ask you how you were doing, you’d say your fine. But it rips you to pieces each time.

The pain is so bad that you want so desperately to say you’re not okay. That it’s hard to breathe. That it’s hard to live. That your world has been upside down ever since he hasn’t been in it.

But here he was. He looks better than he has ever been.

He dyed his hair that honey blonde you’ve always liked. His cheeks are full and rosy. He has that sheen of happiness radiating through him. Just like the Jimin you remember. The Jimin who was yours.

It’s nowhere near the Jimin who broke your heart. The one who begged for you to let him go, to forget him, to stop loving him, like it was so easy.

This Jimin is full of life. This Jimin looks so happy now. This is the Jimin you fell in love with.

How is he not dying even just a little bit?

How is he already over things?

How is he already over you?

“It’s… been a while.” You add, looking into his eyes. Those angel eyes that had you weak in the knees then, as you are now.

“How are you?” Your voice faint, almost a whisper. But Jimin caught it.

You manage to ask back like the hole in your chest isn’t burning just looking at his perfect face.

He gifts you a smile. Soft and knowing.

And just like that, you break all over again.

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penwieldingdreamer · 1 year

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Brewing Storm - Questions

I'm so sorry...I've been swamped with work (and it doesn't look like it gets better any time soon) but here's the next installment of Brewing Storm. Let me know what you think. Thank you for leaving likes and reblogging.

If you want to be tagged in future chapters follow the link . (Link is updated so you guys should be able to us it now, sorry it wasn’t working properly)

Have fun and happy reading ❤️

Betas: @fortheloveoffanfic @ladyelissarose @missathlete31

Warnings: 18+ in future chapters, MDNI, canon violence, mentions of injuries, fighting, drug trafficking

Reader is non-descriptive, only Candy is frequently used as nickname

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Part 3 - Questions

You walked through the bustling NCIS office in San Diego, your expression a mix of determination and concern. A thick file containing the details of the incident at the football game in hand, you were ready to question Lieutenant Jake Seresin about the events that had unfolded. Stepping into the room he was held for questioning, you immediately felt the tense atmosphere, the chatter of the other agents fading away with the door closing.

The aviator was seated at the table in the middle, dark circles underneath his eyes and his face a mask of apprehension and determination. You approached him, seeing the weight of the situation etched in the lines of his forehead.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” you began in a firm yet empathetic tone, taking a seat across from him, opening the folder in front of him. You scanned the evidence pictures, locking eyes with him ready to dig deeper into the night that had forever altered your lives. “My name’s Y/N Gibbs, I’m an agent with the NCIS. I appreciate your cooperation. I need to ask you some questions about you being on the scene tonight.”

Jake sighed, feeling the tiredness seep into his bones. "I told the other agent already and I'll tell you again: I did nothing wrong. That boy was in danger and I was helping him."

"Chief Petty Officer Andrew Cain sustained a gunshot wound to his left shoulder. He got lucky, a few more inches to the right and he would have been in the morgue instead of a hospital bed. Question is what we're you doing there and where the hell is the gun?"

Jake took a deep breath, his memories flashing vividly in his mind. "I was going to find you. Wanted to get the date we talked about, but I heard these guys. They were threatening Chief Petty Officer Cain - as I now know.”

You leaned forward, your eyes intent on Jake's face. "And then what happened?"

"I walked up to them, I don’t know why but I had to help him," Jake continued, his voice filled with a mix of adrenaline and trepidation. "They told me to leave and one pointed his gun at my head. I swear I nearly shit my pants - if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it instantly. All I know is he turned so swiftly and shot at Andrew, I wasn’t fast enough."

You nodded, your pen poised above a notepad. "So, you are telling me you didn’t have a gun on you?"

Jake's eyes flickered with regret, as if replaying that moment in his mind. "Yes, Agent Gibbs. Though I wished I had. I should have protected the kid."

Scribbling down his response, you then pressed further. "Can you recall any specific details about the individuals involved? Any distinct features or what you overheard?"

Jake furrowed his brow, his mind racing through the fragmented memories. "It’s all fuzzy. I know they were out for a job, one said their boss wanted the job done. The guy with the gun had a tattoo on his neck, looked like those Yakooza ones but I can’t be sure. The other one was stocky, short with a scar on his temple."

You nodded, making notes as she absorbed the information. "Were you able to see anything else, a ring, special feature?"

"I'm not sure," Jake replied, frustration tinting his voice. "I was more focused on the gun pointed at me."

Silence hung between you momentarily, the weight of the investigation pressing upon your shoulders. You could sense Jake's unease and his desire to assist in any way possible.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," you said, your voice soft and laced with appreciation. "Your cooperation is crucial to getting those guys. We will do everything in our power to keep you safe and bring those men to justice."

Jake's gaze met yours, a mix of gratitude and determination shining in his eyes. "Thank you," he paused, not sure if calling you Darling on record was going to go over well. "uh, Agent Gibbs. I know you’ll bring them down."

You offered a reassuring smile, making his insides flutter like they did the night before. "We might have more questions in the future, so we might call on you again."

Jake nodded, anxiety slowly melting away. He couldn't imagine how it might have sounded to Mav and Cyclone if he was arrested for trying to murder the son of an Admiral.

Closing the folder with all your notes, you rose from your seat, gesturing to the pilot to follow you. You were just at the beginning of your investigation and had a feeling it was going to be a long one. “I’ll show you out, Lieutenant.”

Grabbing the jacket he had haphazardly thrown over the back of his chair, Jake followed you out of the room, entering the bustling bullpen of the San Diego NCIS office. "Just sign the papers before you leave and I'll be"

"Candy!" Ellie’s voice drifted over the hustling agents and you could hear her feet stomping along the carpet floor. "It's so good to see you."

With a grunt you planted your feet into the ground as the blonde agent pulled you into a tight hug. "What are you doing here?" You ground out, lightly patting her shoulder as you spotted Gibbs and Torres in a heated staring match with a man you remembered coming by your entrance at the game.

"SECNAV wanted us on the case with the kid of an Admiral involved." Your uncle ground out. You sighed - in all the years you had been in the same space as Gibbs you never understood how he always heard or saw what was going on, even ways away from where you were. Must be his really special talent as a sniper.

"Great, well, I, uh, already got Lieutenant Seresin's statement. He was involved, trying to help CPO Caine." You glanced to your left, Jake still standing there awkwardly while Gibbs and the other man came closer. Ellie raised her eyebrows at you, a smirk making its way on her lips.

He's hot. She signed to you, something you had picked up after first meeting her right after leaving the FBI. Shaking your head you waved your hand at the blonde, making her giggle loudly behind her hand.

"Good, we'll keep coming back for more questions. And for you as well, Captain Mitchell. Don't think we won't be asking your team or you as well."

There was an obvious tension in the air between those two and you scoreboard yourself you'd get to the bottom of this.

"Wouldn't have thought otherwise, Gunny. Still the same old grumpy Marine."

"Still the same old cocky flyboy."

There was definitely some history there and judging by the curious faces copying your own you knew that Torres, Ellie and Jake wanted to know what was going on as well.

Tagging:

@none-of-your-bullshit @fortheloveoffanfic @ladyelissarose @missathlete31 @chipendenspook1997 @mayhemmanaged @aviatorobsessed @genius2050 @chickensarentcheap @harrypotteranna23-blog

#jake seresin x NCIS!reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #TG:M x NCIS #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin fic #ncis fanfiction #TG:M x NCIS crossover

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ficbrish · 3 months

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Chapter 2 - A Proper Introduction

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[Ao3 link] | [Previous chapter]

[[TW/CW: Alcohol, suicide ideation, cptsd, domestic violence references, public embarrassment, sexism]]

Summary: They said goodbye forever. But who knows? They could meet again.

“I got lost in the woods and fell.”

Vistri lied without any guilt, meeting the stern expression of her housekeeper with tepid nonchalance.

“I don’t believe you.”

Old cunt.

“Well,” she cleared her throat in preparation for violence, “Maybe next time some jewelry goes missing, I won’t believe you either.”

Her housekeeper guffawed, as if she hadn’t already been overstepping enough, “Hah! I changed your diapers when you were a babe! You will never be rid of me until one of us is buried in the dirt.”

“Or both of us,” Vistri rolled her eyes, “If you continue on with these impertinences.”

“I am only concerned!” her accent grew thicker with her frustration, and her hands flailed about with her accusations, “Just look at the state of you!”

“What of it?”

“What of it?!”

Vistri was caked in dirt. Her dress had been so ruined that now she stood only in her underclothes. There were sticks in her hair. Sticks from bushes and trees!

And she’d been gone, in no one’s watchful company, for hours.

Well, not no one. Unless that man had been some figment of her imagination. Vistri didn’t want to rule out the possibility that she was going mad. That would certainly be a sensible explanation for these past few fortnights. If she’d acted like this when the baron was still living, surely he would have beaten her to death.

She scoffed, “You are being ridiculous.”

“You are acting worrisome."

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again, and then again the next time you ask. I fell in the woods and got lost.”

Crossing her arms, the housekeeper teased, “Ah, I thought it was that you got lost in the woods and then fell.”

“What does my phrasing matter?” Vistri stomped rather immaturely.

“It matters because you are lying to me.”

“I am not! I got lost in the woods and I fell.”

“I don’t believe you,” she repeated with casual stubbornness.

“I said it right this time!”

“And I still don’t believe you.”

“Hag!”

Jaheira took that as her cue to exit, leaving her mistress alone to stew in her sour mood. Maybe a little time would gather a guilty conscience.

But for once, the woman who’d been by her side since birth was wrong. There would be no guilt over her tryst in the woods.

How could there be any when it was the only time she’d ever truly felt alive? If every day was like that for other people, no wonder it seemed no one else constantly wanted to kill themselves! There was life in this world after all.

Who would have thought?

With her housekeeper finally gone, Vistri finished undressing and sunk into her warm bath. Descending into fantasy, she relived every experience in as much detail as she could. Replaying it over and over. His face. His voice. His touch.

They would never meet again.

This person, frozen in time, could never disappoint her. For who he was in that moment, was all he ever would be.

Even so, she couldn’t quite resist the urge to flesh out his mysterious character; guessing at all the little details she never wanted the real answer to. She started with a reexamination of her previous assumptions. Vistri was beginning to think the man was perhaps more actor than vagabond. He’d certainly played the part of seducer very well. So well she could still feel his stare dancing across her skin.

Unless, of course, he was exactly what he’d denied being; a gentleman. Vistri laughed a private laugh. What a ridiculous sentiment! Men like that didn’t exist in her social class. They desperately wanted to be like her stranger; claimed they were to their friends, pretended that it was a secret everyone else shared, but the truth was that rich men couldn’t even please themselves.

“I aim to please.”

“Do you?”

The very memory sent such shivers.

A few days later, Vistri stood firm in her decision to go to a ball. She brought up the matter to her housekeeper at breakfast. Although most sensible ladies ate later in the privacy of their rooms, she’d taken to the habit of having a man’s breakfast—despite all objections—since the very first morning of her husband’s passing.

“Darling,” she started, lazily taking a bite of toast, “I believe we are due for a reintroduction.”

Jaheira pinched the space between her brow like she had a headache, “What?”

Vistri held out her hand like she was greeting an old school mate, “The baroness you knew is dead. My name has not changed, but everything else has.”

It would be easier if she just went along with it, so instead of sighing and asking her mistress to explain, the housekeeper took her offered hand, “Nice to meet you. Again. I am Tired.”

“Hello, Tired,” Vistri smiled, “Anyone ever tell you that your face matches your namesake?”

Jaheira rolled her eyes, and left the room mumbling, “Ha ha, you are so funny. You’ve got all the zingers. Never quite lost your touch.”

One of the footmen let out a snicker, and she met him with a glare before exiting that made him turn a stark white.

“I will be going to a ball tonight!” Vistri called after her, slamming her fist against the table like some petulant child.

Vistri was serious. She would not be put off it like last time. That baroness was dead, and with that old self died the side of her that existed to be molded, which had already robbed her of all the life she’d ever known. Every day minus a few precious hours stolen by a stranger, that is.

With utter disgust, Vistri realized she’d just sighed like a lovesick maiden.

She really needed to get out of this house!

In her most rebellious fantasies, Vistri would turn up to a ball in full color, shedding her mourning cocoon like a sultry butterfly. But this new baroness still carried some of her predecessor’s old habits. Thus, her defiant gesture in showing up at the Shadowheart’s ball was tempered by a black dress.

The hostess for the evening greeted her warmly. Although technically she wasn’t the hostess, her mother was. Sadly, Viscountess Shadowheart of Phandalin was reported to be in a perpetual state of ill health that kept her tucked away for most events; and while the viscount was a pleasant enough fellow and by no means a dullard, he was not the most gregarious. Therefore, the responsibility always fell upon their daughter, and Vistri’s dearest friend, Lady Jenevelle Hallowleaf to maintain every function.

“I did not invite you!” she squealed with beaming affection, pulling Vistri into a tight, ruffled embrace.

The lack of invitation was not a slight to Vistri, but rather out of a dreary acceptance that any widow had to wait a while before they were free. Vistri’s presence at the Shadowheart’s ball was therefore a surprise. A happy one at that.

“No one invites me anywhere these days,” she teased, kissing both cheeks, “You’d think someone had died!”

The laugh Lady Hallowleaf let out was almost shrill, she was so delighted, “Oh! You wicked thing!”

The Shadowheart’s had one of the grandest ballrooms in the country. It was a standard size, but the height of the ceiling was particularly impressive and made completely of a stained-glass atrium. Demigods fought with devils above their heads.

How very fitting.

As she surveyed the crowd, Vistri noticed an abundance of eyes and whispers, all pointed in her direction. She told herself they were in regards to their hostess, not her. After all, they were standing side by side, and she was just a silly widow. No one paid any mind to those.

Unless they were supposedly in mourning and breaking its confines.

As she drifted from her friend’s much-needed company, Vistri found herself shunned from almost every conversation. The longer she went without easing into a welcome group, the more that a sense of foreboding grew in her stomach.

When she settled for speaking to those whom she usually avoided, Vistri finally found her place. Slowly, she was coming to terms with the fact that her misguided act of defiance was never going to go the way she’d hoped.

“Surely, dear, you must come visit our darling, little trees,” croaked Lady Muffington.

A woman who, Vistri was beginning to learn, may not be as atrocious as everyone always twittered about. In fact, she was quite pleasant! A welcome surprise. Perhaps her status of social pariah was due more to her unfortunate name than any defect in manners or personality.

Too bad she’d never found a way to be rid of that surname though. Lady Muffington was around the same age as Vistri, but considering she’d never been married, Muffington would never be anything more than a thornback. Virginity was only popular through one’s mid-twenties, after which point, it apparently soured a woman for life. At least widows stood a chance to remarry.

“Did I tell you the late baron once graced us with a visit? Oh, but that was way back! Yeeeaaaaars, darling! Before he was married to you,” she started ranting.

Vistri didn’t quite like the look in her eyes, which was a shame considering they were Muffington’s best feature; a brown so light they were almost yellow.

“Which is a very good thing, considering he’d been calling to ask the Lord’s permission for my hand, you see—Too bad you were never able to have any children, you know, before he… You know.”

Perhaps those yellow eyes were her only redeemable feature. Vistri couldn’t tell if Lady Muffington was mentioning this to get a rise out of her, but sensing a sort of sadistic self-satisfaction under her tone, she grew determined not to give her the reaction she wanted. Which was really just any reaction at all.

So, she simply blinked.

And Lady Muffington took that as her cue to continue, “Perhaps if I had agreed to marry him back then, the baron would not have left this world with no heir. Oh, but I just could not stand the thought of it! He had such a… ghastly quality about him, did he not? Oh, but I do not mean to cause any offense! I just figured that, well… since you’re here, you may not have held him in very high regard.”

Was Lady Muffington actually trying to empathize with her? Or insult her? Or perhaps eek out a bit of risqué information in which to ingratiate herself to the others with?

It didn’t matter. Vistri had already thrown out all previously kind thoughts and decided the dreadful woman’s pariah status had been hard earned after all.

“Oh, look there! It’s Mr.—” except she didn’t see anyone she could point to who would currently welcome her, “I-I think I see someone. Excuse me a moment.”

With that flimsy excuse, Vistri fled her wretched company.

Thankfully, she was able to easily join another conversation, having happened upon some visiting city dwellers, residents of the capitol, Baldur’s Gate. It wasn’t as though social conventions changed whether one was in the city or county, rather that Upper City patriars found the scandal of a mourning widow at a provincial ball much more entertaining than typical provincial chatter.

“—some Outer City nitwit who expected me to actually pay for that flimsy excuse for art!” one of them scoffed at the end of his wildly offensive tale.

Gods! These people were horrible!

Vistri giggled the way ladies at balls were expected to giggle. She then bit her lip, hating herself for it. Why couldn’t the old baroness stay dead?

Why couldn’t her late husband stay in the grave where he belonged?

Seeing as no one was rescuing her from this conversation, and that she could not slight a new acquaintance, Vistri was stuck. It was better to just dissociate and occasionally answer with, “How absolutely droll-dreadful-delightful!”

She needed a fucking drink. No one had offered her one yet, and she was not going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing the ungrieving, recent widow ladling her own punch!

Slowly, the reality of her life dawned on Vistri, coming into full view. Death was nothing in the face of generations of tradition. It lived on, and suddenly she became hyper aware of being the only partygoer dressed head to toe in black. She looked like some hybrid of guest and servant—Ridiculous!

She’d lost Lady Hallowleaf in the chaos of hosting, and almost burst into tears when her dear friend came into full view again—Only to then be reluctantly dragged away from wallowing in her new black thoughts.

Her friend took her by the hand and said, “Come, there’s someone I’ve been longing for you to meet!”

Vistri chuckled bitterly, “You know I still cannot be courted? Showing up to one ball doesn’t suddenly do away with centuries of mourning conduct.”

“Hush! You are allowed to make acquaintance with new people.”

For a moment, she decided to let go and be open to the possibility that there were nice things in store. Then her heart dropped when Lady Hallowleaf stopped cheerfully in front of a man with silver hair.

His back was turned to them at first, but there was no mistaking those curls. They were in her dreams every night. Behind her eyelids as soon as she shut them.

“This is the lady I haven’t been able to stop blathering about,” she explained to this new acquaintance.

Vistri’s heart was in her throat.

“Baroness Vistri Harper of Reithwin, it is time you’ve met my disreputable cousin, Mr. Astarion Ancunín.”

He bowed his head with a secret air of delighting in her misery, “It is my greatest pleasure to make your acquaintance, Baroness.”

She decided right then and there that she would never like him.

With no other choice but to hold out a gloved hand and allow him to kiss it, Vistri stood determined to match his audacity and make Mr. Ancunín fight a blush of his own.

But when he took her hand, lifting it briefly to those lips of his, she lost her words. Even though this time they met glove on glove instead of skin to skin, his touch still burned.

It was only once he let go that Vistri was able to resume her thought, “I see you are quite the gentleman after all.”

He shrugged through his tone more than any movement of his shoulders, saying in a droll cadence, “Well, who can tell between charlatans and gentry these days anyway?”

“I find they’re often one and the same.”

Mr. Ancunín winked at her and nudged his cousin, “Oh, I think I like this one.”

Vistri was raging inside, but she smiled through it like a champion.

Because she was a champion! That little silver-haired twink of a rake, who was apparently Jenevelle’s relation, wasn’t going to win at any game he played, so long as she was playing it too.

She would die rather than allow him such satisfaction! Maybe a woman would be allowed to fight a duel on her own behalf, that is, if duels were still legal. In that case, if his gloating smirk got too loud, she could shoot him dead. That would surely wipe that disgusting confidence off his—No! Don’t look at his mouth!

Feigning a pitying look, Vistri held up a hand to her heart, “Oh, poor dear! My heart simply breaks for you, for I do not think I return the sentiment.”

“Vistri!” Lady Hallowleaf scolded, hoping her bold friend was only attempting to be funny again.

“I’ve only met the man a moment ago!” she protested, saving face, “Am I expected to have already formed an attachment?”

“Perhaps we’ve met before,” Mr. Ancunín suggested sneakily, forcing Vistri’s heart to throb again with rising anxious dread.

“In another lifetime, that is,” he continued with a secret smile, “And have only just now been reunited to meet again at my cousin’s benevolent introduction.”

“How fortunate,” she sighed flatly.

Lady Hallowleaf excused her friend’s poor manners and lack of enthusiasm, “I swear she’s usually a delight at parties! But perhaps we are learning in real time why it is that we don’t add those who are still in mourning to the guest list.”

Vistri could take a hint. In fact, anyone could take a hint that obvious.

“Subtlety has ever been your forte, dearest.”

Ignoring the insult, Lady Hallowleaf said, “We could toast to that if we had drinks. Cousin, go fetch us something!”

“Go fetch?! Am I a dog in a kennel?”

Lady Hallowleaf raised a knowing eyebrow, “Shall I answer that the way I want to? Or the way you want me to answer it?”

Vistri practically howled, and the look on Mr. Ancunín's face made her worry that he might return with punch a la spit.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lady Hallowleaf asked, “Well, what do you think?”

Raising a judgmental brow, she quipped, “Surely, he’s not a first cousin?”

Lady Hallowleaf couldn’t help but snort.

“Seriously, darling. You are the absolute diamond of your family, a cut above the rest!”

“Amazing how you manage to flatter me and insult me within the same sentence.”

“In the very same breath!” Vistri took hold of her friend’s arm in a warm, intimate gesture, and smiled placatingly, “It is why you love me so.”

Lady Hallowleaf could not disagree.

Instead, she gave Vistri’s arm a light squeeze and answered, “And believe it or not, he is. On the Hallowleaf side.”

“Gracious!”

By the time Mr. Ancunín returned with a servant carrying a plate of champagne, more had joined their company. So eager for the attention of their hostess that they were willing to coldly and politely acknowledge the shunned baroness.

Mr. Ancunín flashed a bright smile but said nothing. Vistri hated the way his very presence managed to get a rise out of her.

After all the champagne was rightly distributed, he raised his glass.

“From the nameless to the named,” he toasted, confounding all the others with his choice of words, aside from the blushing, completely horrified baroness.

“How… poetic,” Lady Hallowleaf said, trying to save the situation.

“I made my own attempt at poetry. Once… Back in the day. Loooong, long ago. Or just yesterday really,” rambled Lord Jannath, going down an incomprehensible path of memory at everyone’s expense.

“Oh?”

Lord Jannath was largely renowned for being so dull that Vistri couldn’t help but give voice to her shock that a man, known to be less interesting than a pile of bricks, could even recognize, let alone possess talent for, any artform.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to catch the utterly bewildered look on her face and took her query for a kinder curiosity.

“I can attempt it now, if you’d like,” he offered, puffing out his chest with ruffled pride.

It reminded one of a big chicken. Gods! It’s like the man lacked all capacity for self-awareness!

“Only if you’d like to witness mine shortly after.” My suicide attempt, she thought bitterly, downing the rest of her champagne.

Mr. Ancunín seemed to have grasped her meaning, for he choked a little upon his own final sip. Then, as if the night couldn’t get any worse, he held out his hand and asked for a dance.

She looked up at him as if he’d just told her that the sky was green and there was an army of kobolds armed with clay ducks outside.

“But I have no dance card, Mr. Ancunín?”

“Perhaps because you were not invited,” he smirked, “But seeing as you’ve already crashed the party, why not crash the dancefloor as well?”

Lady Hallowleaf clapped her hands together delightedly, “Oh yay! Now that would be such a sight! Both of you make such excellent dancers.”

Judging by her dear friend’s level of gaiety, it seemed she was at least a bottle deep.

Vistri was ready to refuse, but then a strange feeling, which surprisingly wasn’t obligation, took hold of her at the sight of Mr. Acunin’s offered hand. A chance to defy tradition. To be bad.

Her face flushed with sudden flashes of memory, of letting him be the ruin under her skirts—feeling him be her ruin through the current swooping of her belly—and she cleared her throat before nodding, “Quite right. All right.”

Funny thing, how when he took her hand, she lost all feeling in her feet. All eyes burrowed into the back of their necks, but she was flying above all their stares. Here it was, the moment of defiance she’d fantasized about for weeks, unmarred by cold-shoulder consequences. Right now, she stood out, whereas before she was made invisible.

And then her stomach dropped, realizing it was all probably due to Mr. Ancunín’s company. Now that she had male attention, she was suddenly somehow worthy enough to notice. Scandal turned from a bone-deep, frozen void into a hot blaze of whispers.

They claimed a spot on the floor, despite the harassed looks of pushed-aside couples. Then, along with everyone else, he bowed and she curtsied. Their eyes stayed locked in an unbroken stare that harkened back to those woods.

The music played. Dancers started to move in tune.

Within the first moment that Mr. Ancunín swayed her in his arms, he asked, “Are you unwell? You look a bit peaked.”

“I am fine,” she insisted, narrowly avoiding tripping over his foot.

Before he could respond, the dance parted them for a turn, and they glared over the shoulders of other partners before meeting again.

Then hand to hand, they circled each other like vultures.

“Do warn me if you feel a swoon coming on. I know someone who lost a tooth that way.”

“From swooning?”

“Rather a swooning lady,” he nodded, and his story was delayed as the dance took them away once more.

Mr. Ancunín continued when they rejoined arms as if there had been no pause, “Mate of mine was dancing, just like this, blissfully unaware of his partner’s struggle to stand—”

Look at how you tremble. Weak from pleasure.

Vistri tried to untangle the sound of his voice then from the words she heard him speak now.

“—suddenly she collapsed. Smacked right into his shit-eating grin!” he laughed.

“And lost a tooth?”

He kept laughing as though it were a very happy memory, then said, “Which is why I ask that you let me know if—”

Back to other partners.

Back to each other.

“If you feel like you might faint,” he finished.

His eyes, red like wine, seemed to convey a warning hint. If she didn’t quickly gain hold of her panicked expression, people were like to assume something rather nefarious had passed between them.

“As long as you do the same, sir.”

[Next Chapter]

#vistarion #regency au #vistri #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #full fic #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #down baroness fic #BrishFics #angst #smut #lime

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