#my hands and clothes are bloody with fruit juice

[steelycunt]

hello oh my god HELLO!! insane ask prompt .. there's no coming out of this alive. but 2 or 4!! whichever choose your fav xx

HI YOU. god. well a million years later, i am here xx i'm so so so sorry xx literally nothing happens in this one either they're just smug and obsessed with each other but i don't let them be smug often enough so it felt fair xx went for two in the end xx

There’s this faint white scar, on his chin—it cleaves through his bottom lip, just slightly, and curls downwards. It’s the shape of Norway. Sirius is twelve when he first notices it, over breakfast: orange juice and fried mushrooms and his best friend’s mouth. He’s nineteen, now, when he kisses it, and that’s only in lieu of swallowing it whole.

“I need to show you—” Remus pauses, twists to spit a cherry pit into the souvenir mug they’ve balanced precariously on the chair’s arm, “I need to show you how to use the washing machine.”

Sirius stretches one arm across Remus’ waist; they’re crushed into the bile-yellow armchair they got from a second-hand furniture shop last week—a bargain, even if it took them the best part of the day to drag it, with James’ help, from the shop to their flat—and it’s all a lazy knot of hands and hipbones and dry knees, rucked up shirts and boxer shorts.

Tangle in an old shoelace. They’ve been sitting here, just like this, for hours—dust has settled, most likely. Moss has grown. My heart is like a wheel, drawls the record player.

“Not right now, you don’t.” His nose is digging into Remus’ cheek. He wants to kiss him, wants to kiss his lips and his neck and his eyelids and that lovely curl of hair, just there—which isn’t new—and so, without a second thought, he does—which is.

“Do it later,” he urges. “Won’t take long. I’d like to think I’ve acquired skills in my life thus far that will prove transferable to putting dirty clothes in a big barrel.”

“Well, I’d like to think so too, but then—I also thought you’d acquired skills that would prove transferable to using a hoover, up until last night. And my blind faith ended up making fools of us both, didn’t it?”

Sirius dismisses him with a gesture, plastic palette from the Co-op in hand; the little fruits roll like eyeballs. “You know, I’m starting think you don’t really care all that much about household chores, Moony. You just like seeing what a shite muggle I make, so that you get to be smug about it. It probably helps you cope with the reality that I make such an exceptionally talented wizard.”

“Wow.” Remus chuckles, draws his head back to look at him properly, to present him with this awful little grin—this boyish, tilting, fruit-stained grin. Everything is funny. Even the things that aren't. Days passing like the beats in a knock-knock joke. “You’re exceptionally bloody insufferable, is what you are.”

And, sat here, there’s this thing in Sirius that swells so fiercely; it bucks around inside his chest, which is the drum of a marching band, which is a pinball machine for the cherry pit he accidentally swallowed earlier. Except the cherry pit is his own heart. Except the cherry pit is the entire fucking sun. All orange.

He’s thinking about all that time spent locking themselves in broom cupboards. Co-conspirators, holding hands under the table. Notes passed on balled-up corners of parchment during class, hello, hello I like you do you like me, hello I want to see you lets skive off after lunch, we can snog behind the greenhouses yes/no? (say yes please.)

Today, standing in their very own flat. Putting their hands on each other’s faces. Not once—not fucking once, did Sirius have to check over his shoulder before they did it.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he argues, with a click of his tongue. “You seem to suffer me rather well. Look—you’re wearing my shirt.”

“That’s exactly my point, you fucking twat. All of my shirts are in the laundry,” Remus shoots back, and then—he kisses Sirius, quickly, on the mouth. Once, twice. Smiles, afterwards, as though he’s stolen something from him, and is now holding it out of Sirius’ reach. His stomach, perhaps. His spinal cord.

“What are you smiling about?” Sirius demands, regardless of the fact that he’s doing it to. It’s hard not to. They keep waking up in the same bed. His boyfriend is wearing his shirt. Later, they’re going to do laundry. He pushes his forehead against Remus’. “Stop it.”

“Nothing. I’m not, it’s only—we really live together, properly,” Remus says. He speaks quietly, as though their flat is a beast he is trying not to wake. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. Or sneak around. I just get to—suffer you, all the time.”

It catches Sirius off-guard, makes his face ache. Someone begs, let me roll it!

“Mm, lucky you,” he tries to tease, but it doesn’t land right, it’s all soft in the belly—lacks the snarky, whip-crack delivery he intended. He clears his throat, to punctuate it. Eats another cherry. Red flesh beneath his teeth.

Remus, watching him. His fine brown eyelashes. Sirius’ arm, draped across him. “Yes,” he agrees. “I think so too.”

[cosmic-waves7]

PLS- I read your yandere househusband Dazai headcannons and my heart is 💓. So I'd like to request for the same concept but with Akutagawa and maybe Kunikida, if that's alright? Thank you for the food ahhhhhh

Notes: this request is lonnnng overdue I'm sorry, but in back on track (≧▽≦)

Doppo Kunikida

Very organised.

I mean...very very organised.

He's very strict.

Cute frilly aprons are his staple apparently and you always tease him for it.

He'll cut up cute star shaped fruits for your lunches. Don't expect little notes from him though, he's only a sap within the safety of your home.

A home he's so diligently crafted to be picture perfect for the both of you.

He's got you on a schedule just like him. A set of rules you both follow even if he's your wonderful stay at home husband.

You'll always come in from work, toeing off your shoes for a quick peck to the lips.

But tonight there's a deep loving kiss with your noses brushing lightly and a rushed mutter of dinner will be a bit later then usual.

It took forever to clean up all the blood from earlier so it's only fair he wouldn't have time for cooking just yet.

Who knew a shot to the head execution style would cause so much trouble for the rest of his day.

It was a bloody mess to clean up and his Doppo poet ability was of no help unfortunately.

But he promises he's got your clothes folded all pretty - just like they do in hotels - and your outfit picked out for tomorrow.

Kunikida never lets you have takeout, it's always delicious home cooked meals. He's had to work hard to sharpen his skills just for you after all.

But tonight he's made an exception, he's been in an awfully giddy mood lately.

It's not every day you get to kill your wife's overly friendly colleague.

The rest of the evening is spent in bruising kisses and well...other activities.

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke

Honestly.

You really didn't expect it from him.

A househusband? Didn't know he had it in him.

He's the type to spend hours deciding on a specific brand of orange juice in the middle of the grocery store.

Only the best for you.

That's why he's hired professional hitmen from the port mafia itself to watch over you while your out.

They're very confused to say the least on why they need to watch over your mundane life but he's the boss so there's no questioning him.

He's very particular about the order everything, not a schedule per say like kunikida. More like: my house my rules.

You joked about having him wear an apron, even bought him one as a gag gift.

At first he hated them, then one day you walk into the house and boom.

Frilly aprons part.2

They've really grown on him, he prefers the plain black ones though since you've called him hot when he wears them

He only wears them for special occasions though lol.

Which concluded to right now, you've walked into the penthouse and your sweet grumbling husband has a black apron on with his sleeves rolled up.

Carefully turning the stove off he lovingly helps your coat off your holders to quickly press down on the sore tendons and hear a hum escape you.

He's ushered you into your shared home with a kiss and his hand engulfing your own with the promise of your favourite on the stove.

So maybe you'll ignore the odd brownish splatter on his collar and the strong stench of bleach from the corridor.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 19

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 19 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story

The girl was extremely pale, with an oval face and round eyes which were especially attractive. She was wearing a light pink skirt, her hair tied back. She looked like a young woman. She rubbed her eyes blankly in the dark, looking from side to side.

"Where am I. . .?"

Chu Wanning said: "You are in Return to Truth barrier I set up."

The girl was taken aback and said fearfully: "Who are you? Why is it so dark here? I can't see you, who's talking?"

Chu Wanning replied: "Did you forget?. . . You're already dead."

The girl's eyes widened: "I'm. . . I. . ."

Slowly, she remembered.

Lowering her head, she folded her hands across her chest. She murmured in a soft, unwavering voice: "I. . . I'm already dead. . ."

"Only souls can come to the Return to Truth barrier. Here, their hatred will be eliminated. No matter whether the dead person has transformed into a vicious ghost or an ordinary spirit, they will retain their original and personality appearance, known as their 'Return to Truth.'"

The girl was frozen for a while as if she was gradually remembering the past. Abruptly, she dropped her face and silently wept.

Chu Wanning said: "Have. . . you been wronged?"

The young girl sobbed: "Are you King Yan*? Or Bai Wuchang*? Are you here to avenge me?"

*(T/N: King Yan [阎王爷] is the one to judge the dead while Bai Wuchang [白无常] is one of the deities to escort spirits to the underworld)

Chu Wanning held his forehead and said: ". . . I'm not King Yan or Bai Wuchang."

The girl sobbed quietly. Chu Wanning was quiet for a while and didn't speak. He waited until her cries calmed down a bit and then said: "But I am here to help you air your grievances."

When the girl heard this, she choked and raised her gaze, and said with a mixture of joy and sorrow: "Then you really are Lord Yama*!"

*(T/N: Same person as King Yan)

". . ." Chu Wanning decided not to continue this topic with her and instead asked: "Do you know what you've done after you died?"

"I don't know. . . not really. I just remember that I was so, so sad. I wanted to get revenge. . . I wanted to go to them. . . I wanted to find him again. . ."

When the soul had just awakened, it would take a minute for all their memories to return to them, but it didn't matter. Chu Wanning patiently asked her: "Who did you want to go to?"

The girl whispered: "My husband, Chen Bohuan."

Chu Wanning was astonished. Chen Boyuan - wasn't that the name of the eldest son of the Chen family?

He asked: "What. . . what's your name? Where are you from?"

The power of Tianwen was infused with this illusionary barrier, and the dead who entered would almost always talk honestly with Chu Wanning. Therefore, the girl replied: "I'm a concubine, Luo Xianxian. I'm from Caidie Town."

"Before I came, I read the analects of Caidie Town. There are more than 500 households in this town, and there's no Luo family. Who is your father?"

The girl slowly remembered the details, her eyes filling with even more sadness: "My father used to be a scholar in the village. He was my father-in-law's brother-in-law's close friend. A few years, he contracted tuberculosis and passed away. Then I was the only one left from my family."

"Then why did you die?"

The young girl froze for a moment and then she sobbed: "I had no other option but to die. They, they lied to my father and stole the secret recipe for the butterfly fragrance powder. They beat me and scolded me, threatened me, and told me to leave Caidie Town. I. . . I'm a weak woman, where else could I go? I didn't have a single relative left in this world. . . The world is so big, where could I go? Apart from the Underworld, where else could I go? Where would there be room for me. . ."

After she recalled the events of her life, she seemed to have infinite bitterness and sorrow in her heart, She was desperate to talk to someone. Chu Wanning didn't even have to ask anything else, she slowly continued on her own.

It turned out that Luo Xianxian lost her mother when she was young. She heard from his father that she had an older brother, but her brother was separated from them in the chaos of the Lower Cultivation Realm, and they never saw him again so she didn't know whether he was dead or alive. When her elder brother was lost, Luo Xianxian wasn't even a year old, still in swaddling clothes. Later, she tried to remember her elder brother, but she still had no recollection of him.

There were only two people left in the Luo family were Xianxian and her father. The father and daughter depended on each other. They wandered around and finally built a small house in Caidie Town and lived there.

That year, Luo Xianxian was five years old. The Chen family's oldest son, Chen Bohuan, was two years older than her.

At that time, the Chen family hadn't made its fortune. Several members of the family lived in a two-bedroom earth-rammed hut. An orange tree was planted by the low wall of the small courtyard. In autumn, the tree was full of fruit and it grew over the low wall and snuck into the Luo family's yard.

Luo Xianxian tilted her head. The branches full of oranges looked like lanterns during the Lantern Festival. She was shy and introverted. She didn't play with others. She was always alone. She would dutifully be peeling some beans, raising her head from time to time and peeking at the orange tree peeking over from the Chen family's yard.

The oranges were temptingly yellow, and against the sunlight, you could almost taste the sweet and sour fullness of their juice.

Luo Xianxian looked eagerly, gulping and swallowing from time to time. Her cheeks were sore from the cravings.

But she never reached out to pick one. Her dad was a scholar who had been inferior to her father-in-law's brother-in-law. He failed the exam, but he didn't lose his backbone. His sour scholar brain was probably hurting but he always coached his daughter to be a "gentleman."

At the age of three, Luo XianXian knew that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed. She never reached out to pick the oranges that were close at hand, even though she craved for them.

One night, Luo Xianxian sat in the courtyard humming and washing clothes by the moonlight.

Her father wasn't very strong, so he had to go to bed early. The poor man’s child had to take charge of the house. The little girl rolled up her sleeves, soaked her thin arms in the barrel, and rubbed her face earnestly.

Suddenly a hoarse cough came from the door, and a young man covered in blood staggered in and stared at her.

The little girl was so frightened that she even forgot to scream.

The young man's face was dirty and bloody, but his eyebrows were very handsome. The two people stood frozen staring at each other for a while. In the end, the young man couldn't stand up anymore. He sat down slowly against the base of the wall, panting, and said hoarsely: "Bring some water."

Xu was that kind of young man who didn't look like a bad person or perhaps Luo Xianxian was simply too kind-hearted. Although afraid, she still ran back to the house, made a cup of tea, and held it up to the young man's mouth.

The young man wasn't very polite. He threw back his drink, then wiped the corner of his mouth. Rolling his eyes back, he stared at Luo Xianxian's pretty face. His eyes glazed over and he didn't speak for a while.

He didn't speak, Luo Xianxian didn't either, she just blinked timidly. She held her hands at a distance she thought was safe enough and sized up the stranger.

". . . You look like an old friend of mine." The young man suddenly grinned, squinted his eyes and smiled eerily. With the bloodstains on his face, it was really quite terrifying. "Especially the eyes, they're so round. It looks like you could gouge them out, stick it in your fingers and swallow it in one bite."

When he said such horrible words so plainly, even with a little smile, Luo Xianxian trembled even more, and subconsciously covered her eyes.

The young man said: "Heh, clever girl. Just cover them up. Don't keep staring at me. I can't control my own hands."

He spoke casually with a northern accent.

Moonlight fell into the courtyard. The young man licked his chapped lips and suddenly saw the orange tree stretching into the yard. For some reason, his eyes lit up. His pupils flashed in the light, the lustre brightening for a moment before dimming back down. He raised his chin and motioned.

"Girl."

Luo Xianxian: ". . ."

"Pick an orange and peel it for me."

Luo Xianxian finally spoke up. Her voice was soft, slightly trembling, but she didn't hesitate to say: "Sir, that's not my family's fruit tree. It belongs to someone else. I can't pick one."

The young man was taken aback. She wasn't sure what went through his mind but his face slowly sank.

"I told you to pick one. I want to eat an orange. Pick it for me!" The last phrase was harsh like he spat it out through his teeth. Luo Xianxian shuddered, still stubbornly stood her ground.

The little girl was soft-natured, but her bones were the same as her stubborn father.

"I won't."

The young man's eyes narrowed. He raised his nose, his expression changing: "Do you know who you're talking to, brat?"

"If you want to have some water, I-I'll pour it for you. If you want to eat, there's some food inside, but the orange tree isn't mine. I can't pick it. Father said taking something without asking is stealing. I'm a gentleman. Wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed. You can't fish. . ."

In her rambling, she started talking about fish instead. The half-grown girl blushed. She insisted on what her father had taught herself and ended up completely fumbling her words, but under the young man's gaze, she was violently trembling, and her legs were weak.

The young man was speechless.

Hearing such a little kid, especially a young girl, say things as odd as "taking without asking is stealing", "wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed", and - and "I'm a gentleman"?? pfff, he normally wouldn't be able to stop himself from laughing out loud.

But he couldn't laugh.

On the contrary, there was a strong resentment in his chest and his heart was being crushed like it was being trampled by a horse.

"I hate your kind, so-called. . ." He supported himself on the wall, shakily rising to his feet, and hissed out: "Good man, gentleman, hero, benevolent."

Under Luo Xianxian's horrified gaze, he slowly moved his injured foot, he moved over to the orange tree. He looked up, sniffed the smell of the orange tree almost greedily, and then a red gleam of rage flashed in his eyes. Before Luo Xianxian could react, he climbed the tree, shaking it, trampling, kicking, and hitting its branches.

All the oranges on the branch crackled and fell to the ground, rolling away. The young man's smile was twisted and he shouted wantonly: "Taking something without asking is stealing! Wealth can't be lusted after! The mighty never yield!"

"Sir! What are you doing! Stop! Dad! Dad!"

Luo Xianxian hadn't wanted to call for her father. Her father was a weak, powerless scholar so there wasn't much he could do. But she was a little girl after all, and she was so terrified that she finally broke down.

"What are you shouting about! Your dad can come out and I'll cut him down too!"

The little girl was scared silly. Small water droplets rimmed her round eyes, tears forming.

The Chen family next door went to a neighbouring village to visit relatives so the whole family was away. No one could stop this lunatic.

The little madman shook the oranges all over the ground and still wasn't satisfied. He stomped on the ground several times, crushing several oranges, growing ferocious. She didn't know where he found the strength, but he jumped over the wall and flipped into the Chen's yard. In the courtyard, he found an axe and chopped down the whole tree. Then he turned around and cackled.

He laughed and laughed then abruptly stopped. From his squat, he straightened himself, staring blankly in a daze.

Suddenly, he turned his head and waved to Luo Xianxian: "Girl, come here."

". . ." Luo Xianxian didn't move. She was frozen to the spot, the little cloth shoes embroidered with yellow flowers digging into the ground.

Seeing her hesitating, the young man calmed down his voice and said as sweetly as he could, "Come here. I have a treat for you."

"I. . . I don't. . . no, I don't want to go. . ." Luo Xianxian mumbled. Before she finished speaking, the young man suddenly grew irate again——

"If you don't come here, I'll go into your house and slice up your father!"

Luo Xian trembled harshly but finally took small steps towards him.

The young man squinted at her: "Hurry up, I'm not waiting all day."

Luo Xianxian lowered her head and moved towards him. When she was still a few steps away, he suddenly stretched out his hand and violently pulled her over. Luo Xianxian let out a scream, but it only reached the back of her throat before something was shoved into her mouth to gag her. The young man stuffed an orange into her mouth. It wasn't peeled or washed, but covered in the dirt and pushed into her mouth.

The young man tried to force her to eat it in one bite. The orange split open and was rotten inside. Half her face was covered in the rotten fruit, but the lunatic was still smiling. He crushed the fruit into her face, stuffing it into her mouth that she was desperately trying to keep closed.

"Aren't you a gentleman? I thought you didn't eat stolen food. So what are you eating now? Huh? What are you eating now!"

"Haaa. . . no. . . I don't want. . . dad. . .dad. . ."

"Swallow it." The young man narrowed his eyes and stuffed the last bit of fruit into Luo Xianxian's mouth. His pupils gleamed with an eerie light and he shuddered. "Swallow it!"

He watched Luo Xianxian forcibly swallow the orang. She muffledly choked out "Dad". The young man was silent for a while, then he suddenly smiled.

That smile was more terrifying than his hideous face.

He stroked Luo Xianxian's hair with satisfaction, squatting in front of her, and said softly: "What are you calling your dad for? Shouldn't you be called out to me? Isn't the orange I gave you sweet? Was it delicious?"

With that, he picked up another one off the ground.

This time, he didn't stuff it in her mouth. He carefully peeled off the orange peel and cleaned off all the white piths attached to it. Then he wiped his hands, broke off a piece, and brought it to Luo Xianxian's lips. He whispered: "If you like it, eat some more."

Luo Xianxian knew that she had encountered a madman today. She had no choice but to lower her head and silently ate the orange that the madman handed her. The sweet and sour juice melted down her throat and her stomach churned. . .

The young man squatted there, feeding her slices of oranges. He seemed to feel better and even started to gently hum a song.

His voice was rough, very hoarse, like a broken gust of wind, vague and inaudible. Luo Xianxian could only make out a few words.

"Three or four flowers fall into the pool, the bell chimes once or twice on the shore. The best thing is to be young, a light-footed horse, you can see the end of the world. . ."

He suddenly said: "Girl."

". . ."

"Tsk." He curled his lips and reached for Luo Xianxian's slender face, "Let me look at your eyes."

Luo Xianxian shivered. She was powerless to resist. She could only let the young man inch forward, his bloody finger coming closer and closer to her eyes.

"This is how it is," he said.

Luo Xianxian whimpered and closed his eyes. She was really afraid that this madman would, on a whim, poke out her eyes like they were fruit.

But the young man didn't poke them.

The other coldly said to her: "Didn't you teach me the saying that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed? I've also got something to tell you."

"Hmm. . ."

"Open your eyes."

Luo Xianxian's eyes were tightly closed. The young girl laughed in exasperation and hissed: "Don't be like that. Open your eyes!"

". . . Do you think I won't be able to gouge your eyes out if you have them closed?!"

Luo Xianxian forced her round eyes open, her slender eyelashes trembling, and tears streaming down her face which looked pitiful and fearful. She wasn't sure how to make this stranger happy. He suddenly let go of her cheek, his hand lingering in the air, and then gently patted her head.

He gazed into her eyes, and a trembling smile shook from the corner of his mouth. His smile was distorted, ferocious, and just a bit miserable.

He said: "There are men in Linyi. Twenty of them are dead."

After he spoke, he turned around and his figure sank into the darkness and gradually disappeared.

Only the mess on the ground was the only evidence that such a person, covered in blood in the middle of the night, had been here.

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[comfortwriting]

A Triwizard Baby Part 4 - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Part 4 of my ‘Triwizard Baby’ mini-series, please read Parts 1, 2, and 3 if you haven’t already. Want to be tagged? Let me know!

Warnings: Swearing, Mention vomiting, and food/eating.

"Girls" you sighed, watching them finally stop jumping on their beds and dropping their pillows "There's something I need to tell you."

You and Angelina shared a glance, she knew and so did you - you were finally ready, to tell the truth. Hiding this - hiding the truth about you and Fred had caused you enough pain, and the longer you decided to hide this, the worse the pain would get.

"What is it?" Katie asked, already concerned, no longer giggly or excitable.

Staring and picking at your fingernails, you finally looked each of your friends in the eyes, your heart thumping in your chest with each breath.

"I'm ready to tell you" you sighed again "who the father is."

They all stayed silent except Matt's little sister, "who is it?" she asked quietly.

"Fred," you blurted out, unable to hide his name for much longer "Fred Weasley is the father."

"I've told you" Fred hissed "don't bloody speak to me!" he stormed in front of George, stamping his feet, furious his backstabbing brother would dare to even speak to him.

Fred was exhausted from sleeping in the room of requirement alone and no one to talk to, he was pissed off with his brother, frustrated that you weren't his and that everyone around him avoided him as if he had a curse. For the first time in his life, he left as if he had run out of luck.

George grabbed him by the arm "Freddie, please-"

"No!" Fred shoved George's grip off him "You're jealous, you always have been."

George opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't get a word in.

"You always have been, every girl I've been with, you've chased after when I'm done with them. You can't stand the fact I fucked her, and you've rubbed it in my face that you've knocked her up!" Fred's voice cracked "And I told you, I loved her!"

"Fred, I-"

"Do me a favour, Georgie, don't speak a word to me at the baby shower, unless you want a crib smashed against your stupid head!"

"Keep those eyes closed!" Angelina grinned, her hands covering your eyes as she walked you through the rented restaurant covered in banners, balloons, a buffet table and presents.

"I am!" you smirked, feeling slightly nervous, smelling the mouth-watering fruit juices and pies.

"Okay," Angelina smiled, removing her hands "open in three, two, one!"

Opening your eyes you looked across the huge room, your friends were all huddled together with party poppers, yelling "Surprise!" and pulling the string, confetti shooting across the room, Fred sat alone across the room, trying his hardest to show support and be happy for you, but his heartbreak was breaking through his persona better than he thought.

You were bombarded with presents for you and the baby: the new crib, clothes, socks, bottles, nappies, monitors, teddy bears, and blankets - you unwrapped everything which brought the biggest smile to your face and tears of happiness to your eyes.

Everyone made bets on whether you would have a girl or a boy, what time and day they would be born on, and how long the labour would be. Even you had to admit, you were having a good time and for the first time in a while, the smile on your face was genuine, not forced.

After hours of present opening, games, bets, and food, you and the girls cleaned up the confetti, empty plates and scrunched up wrapping paper. Fred slowly approached you and tapped you on the shoulder, turning around to look at him, your heart pained.

Tell him, everyone knows but him, just tell him!

"Freddie-"

"Y/N, can I have a moment?" he murmured.

The girls looked at the two of you standing in the middle of the room, they exchanged looks and nodded, leaving to give you both some privacy.

"I wanted to give this to you in private," Fred said softly, handing you a large faux dragon scale photo album "I ran out of time to wrap it, was up all night finishing it."

You stared down at the photo album and opened it, your heartbreaking with each turn of the page. Pictures of you and Fred throughout the years, followed by his little notes of when and where the picture was taken until you flicked to the empty pages, you stared up at him.

Tell him, now is a perfect time-

"Fred, please-"

"The blank pages are to fill with pictures of us and the baby," he said softly "that's if the father won't mind."

George entered the room again, not knowing his brother was still there.

"Y/N, I was thinking-" he stopped in his tracks, looking at his brother's face dropping.

"Congratulations, again." Fred walked away, pushing past his brother and out the door.

"They are Braxton Hicks, my dear." Madame Pomfrey waved her hand, helping you to your feet in the hospital wing.

Your hand rested on your bump "I'm sorry, what?"

After your little moment with Fred, your womb contracted and relaxed, disturbing your baby, causing it to lash out and kick against your tummy in discomfort from the contractions. You were frightened and sure you were going into labour and George rushed you to the hospital wing.

"Is she going to be okay?" George asked nervously.

"False labour pains" she replied "and if you go to the tournament tonight you'll be experiencing more of them!" she stressed.

"I can assure you I won't be doing backflips," you grumbled, "surely it will be safer for me if I sit down."

Madame Pomfrey held her nose up in the air, feeling slightly defeated "I can't stop you from going, but as long as you're sitting down and surrounded by a responsible group of friends, I don't see why you can't go."

"I'll take good care of her, I swear."

"Your brother couldn't!" Madame Pomfrey hissed "she's in this mess because of him, and I better not see you two back in here until that baby is ready!"

The loud band played along as everyone got seated high up in the stands, the girls on your left, and George on your right, you held onto his hand, still on edge from the sudden Braxton Hicks. You rested your head against his shoulder, Fred stared at the back of your head, his hands bunched into fists, regretting his decision to sit towards the back.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats, Fleur had failed, Krum evidently had too - now - it was between Cedric and Harry, the champion being a Hogwarts student was certain, but still, undecided whether that champion would belong to Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, like many others in the stands, your fingers and toes were crossed for Harry taking the win.

Out of nowhere, Cedric came stumbling out of the maze, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, his shirt sticking to him and his hair ruffled, scratches across his delicate face. He crouched down, clearly out of breath, but so startled and shaken up that he was shaking and green in the face.

The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering for Harry and Gryffindor, holding their red banners and waving their flags in the air whilst Syltherin scowled and hid their faces in their hands.

"We need to go and see if he's alright!" Angelina panicked hearing Cho shriek, the girls got on their feet and hurried down the stairs, running out to Cedric who was now on his hands and knees on the grass, throwing up.

"Well, are you coming!?" Angelina asked George, holding out her hand.

George looked at you, he didn't want to leave you on your own and you knew it.

"Go," you reassured him "I'll be okay."

You watched Cedric gain the courage to speak, you tried to lip read but he was too far away for you to even make out a single word, but whatever he had said panicked the cheering girls and proud lads because now they were muttering, whispering and all appeared to be frightened and anxious, no longer in the mood to celebrate Harry's win.

Katie who didn't leave you behind shot a scowl at Fred who continued to stare at you, she moved closer to you whilst Angelina and George hurried back, horror across their faces.

"What's happened?" you panicked.

"It's Harry" George frowned "The cup, it was a portkey and he's gone, Cedric said-"

Angelina nudged George with her elbow, glaring at him and shaking her head "not now, George."

"No, what is it?" you demanded.

Just as George announced the news that the dark lord had returned, you felt major discomfort and a dull ache in your back and lower abdomen, along with the pressure that increased in your pelvic, you gripped onto your bump and winced.

"George!" you panicked "It's happening!"

The father of your baby watched as you went into labour, Katie and Angelina helped you to your feet as George hurried over to Madame Pomfrey, everyone around you started to panic and gave you all the room you needed to evacuate safely back into the hospital wing - the one place you didn't want to end up twice in one day.

Leaving you behind, George stared up at Fred who was sat as still as a statute, if you weren't going to tell him, George had to, he wouldn't allow his brother to miss the birth of his child.

George stumbled over to his brother and shook him angrily "I don't want to bloody argue but listen to me!"

"George, I told you-"

"You're the dad, alright!" George yelled, "She's having your baby, you need to get to the hospital wing now!"

"What are you on about?" Fred argued, not believing the word "are you seriously-"

"Think back to the party when you played truth or dare! Think for Merlin's sake!"

Fred shut his mouth and suddenly, his world began to spin so fast his heart could've stopped.

“I want you.” you breathed, pulling away from the kiss “I want you to fuck me like you do everyone else.”

“I want you too” Fred replied, taking your hand and fleeing from the party.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Fred asked, pulling away from your breasts.

“Yes,” you breathed out, slurring slightly “I’m ready Freddie.”

The memories suddenly flashed before his eyes, the sight of your naked body beneath his, the two of you climaxing, Fred pulling out and falling into your arms, only to wake up the next morning in an empty bed that smelled of your hair and perfume. It reminded Fred that he had forgotten to put a condom on, George wasn't lying, he is the father of your child.

Fred's eye widened and he bolted from his brother, shoving everyone aside and sprinting for his life to the hospital wing, no one and nothing could stop him now.

The doors of the hospital wing swung open, laying in your bed, tears rolled down your face as the contractions worsened, Madame Pomfrey urging you to keep pushing. Fred pulls out a chair and sits beside you, holding your hand, comforting you, kissing your forehead and encouraging you.

You opened your mouth to speak: you wanted to say sorry, to tell him you loved him, you wanted to explain everything all at once, but you were unable to - the pain increasing, causing you to scream out, tears rolling down your face.

"Almost there Y/N, you're crowning!" Madame Pomfrey announced.

Fred planted another kiss on your sweaty forehead "keep pushing sweetheart," he said softly "you're doing so bloody well!"

Within a few moments, the sound of your babies cries rang out through the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey placed the baby in your arms, encouraging you to sit back and relax - but you couldn't you still had the urge to push.

"I need to push again, "you cried, gritting your teeth "I'm not done!"

Madame Pomfrey's mouth dropped, causing her to take the baby from your arms and handing the newborn to Fred.

"What's going on?" Fred panicked, gripping onto his child, already feeling the protectiveness kick in.

"There's another baby..."

"She's having twins?!"

Fred held the elder newborn in his arms whilst the younger and smaller newborn rested in yours, both of them just like their father; a full head of ginger hair.

"They're yours." you croaked, your. throat sore from all the screaming and crying.

Fred smiled, tears forming in his eyes as he rocked the baby in his arms "I know, they look just like me... their hairs..."

"I'm so sorry, Freddie, I didn't tell you because... because I didn't know what to do, you're my best friend and I've had feelings for you since the beginning and I felt as if you didn't feel the same, I thought that me forcing a child upon you would... would ruin what we had."

"Of course I feel the same," Fred replied "I just didn't know if you did."

The two of you went silent for a moment, the twins sleeping -  they were exhausted from being brought into the world earlier than expected.

"Do you still feel the same?" you asked Fred, staring into his pride-filled brown eyes.

He nodded "Yeah, do you?"

Everything you had ever wanted finally arrived, the children you were carrying - so eager and excited to meet, and the man of your dreams, finally on the same page as you - who had been in love with you for all this time.

You looked down at the baby in your arms and then back up at Fred, "I do too."

"Shall we have a fresh start?" Fred smiled "As parents and that."

You broke out into a light laugh and smiled "I'd like that, Freddie. I'd like that a lot."

There was another silence, it felt as if the world was sleeping.

"So, when can we make another one?" Fred winked.

"When we graduate from Hogwarts!-"

"Next year?" he raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't let me finish! We need to graduate, get stable jobs and have a house with enough room!"

"So next year then?" Fred smirked, still cradling the baby.

Your furrowed your brows, unsure whether or not he was bluffing.

"Okay then, since you're all confident, let's make a bet." You smirked back.

"If I win, we make another baby, if you win... we get married," Fred said softly as the baby opened his eyes and let out a cry.

"Alright," you agreed, taking your baby from Fred, trying to breastfeed "but what is your obsession with making another one?" you asked, "we've just had twins!"

Mr and Mrs Weasley were slowly approaching the hospital wing, George following not far behind.

"Yeah, which I've only just found out are mine!"

The hospital wing doors opened, Molly and Arthur standing in the doorway, staring at you, their son, and their grandchildren.

taglist: Taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl@reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @sebby-staan @onlyfreds@pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx @manuosorioh@cosmiccomicloverqueen @the-romanian-is-bae @fhhsposts@cavalinhox @purple-vodka-99 @simpforweasleys2@dracoismybabey @statellitespidey @xuminghaosworld @michael-loves-chickens @simpforweasleys2 @freddie-weaselbee @itsnottlilly

[deadassdiaspore]

Benjamin Lay was a 4 foot 7 inch, hunchbacked Quaker who was an abolitionist.

After witnessing the horror of slavery firsthand while working in Barbados, Lay decided to dedicate his life to abolishing it. In 1731, Lay was kicked out of the Caribbean island by slaveowners who became increasingly hostile towards his anti-slavery activities.

Lay settled in Philadelphia and continued his activism by handing out pamphlets and giving speeches. In 1737, Benjamin Franklin published Lay's book, "All Slave-Keepers That Keep the Innocent in Bondage, Apostates," which outlined the hypocrisy and evils of prominent Quakers who enslaved people.

In 1738, Lay gave a speech, detailing the evils of slavery. He ended it by declaring, “Thus shall God shed the blood of those persons who enslave their fellow creatures.” He then proceeded to take his sword and pierce the bible. Unbeknownst, to the audience, Lay had concealed a bag of pokeberry juice inside the bible, which began to squirt all over as the sword went through. Lay was immediately thrown out of the church, but decided to lie down on the doorsteps, forcing everyone to step over his "bloodied" body as they left. His efforts eventually convinced the Philadelphia Society of Friends to expel all members who were enslavers.

Lay also boycotted any products that were made by enslaved people. This included any clothing made out of cotton or wool. He made his own clothes using flax. In one instance, when he discovered that his hosts had enslaved people in the house, he abruptly got up and headed for the door, shouting, “I will not share with thee the fruits of thy unrighteousness.”

In perhaps his most extreme stunt, Lay convinced his neighbor's 6-year-old son to come over to his house. By evening time, Lay observed the boy's parents desperately searching for their son. At this point, Lay told them the following:

"Your child is safe in my house, and you may now conceive of the sorrow you inflict upon the parents of the negro girl you hold in slavery, for she was torn from them by avarice."

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from three anons. After the fluff comes the smut! (Is that how it goes? Probably not.) Enjoy, my lovelies! ♥

Words: 2691 Warnings: smut and shameless thirsting for Loki

“The bed sheets are to be changed at the end of the week but please do not worry about hurrying to make the bed in the morning. He enjoys his solitude and peace in the early hours of the day.”

You nodded, mentally taking a note of this. Frigga was heart-warming, kind. You could barely believe she was Thor's and Loki's mother. Be that as it may, you would fulfil your duties as Frigga's chamber maid to her satisfaction. Loki’s was sick this week, bed worn with a heavy case of the Asgardian flu and she had asked you to also take care of Loki's chambers this week.

Unlike his brother and much to your surprise, Loki did not have many demands. He would ask for books brought to him from the library for when he returned from a long day on the training grounds, he wished for fresh fruit (mainly grapes) and wine on his table at his immediate disposal at all times and in the mornings, you were to bring him his breakfast personally.

You were hesitant, for even though you could use the extra wage, Loki... he intimidated you. He intimidated you in a sexual manner. Tall, strong and elegant, it was short of a miracle the women were not falling to his feet like they did with Thor. How could they prefer the God of Thunder over him anyway? Loki was intelligent and witty, always up for a trick and eloquent on top of that. You liked his mischievous vein, even though you could never possibly admit that out loud. Loki's presence made your heart beat rapidly—and his curious, sometimes even seductive looks he observed you with during public feasts where you served drinks and food... they made your knickers damp and your blood heat up. It was wrong to desire him, so you knew. You were a mere chambermaid, unworthy of even thinking about an intimate encounter and yet... his long body and smooth voice had been haunting you at night ever since you had become Frigga’s chambermaid.

You were more than ready to lose your virginity, finally. No man had been inside you yet, no one had claimed you as his. Working as a chambermaid, your opportunities to meet proper men obviously remained ridiculously little, and you were far too proud to give yourself to an unexperienced stable boy. Even when Odin had royal visitors whom you served in his palace rarely paid attention to a simple chambermaid when they could have one of the other beautiful women with a status in the throne room. Besides, your mother had taught you that it was forbidden for an unmarried woman to desire intimacy without a spouse, forbidden to desire a prince at that.

“Loki can be a very gentle man once you get to know him better. Yet I will ask him to behave around you. I know he can be rather intimidating.” Frigga said just then, her hand touching your shoulder in a comforting manner. Once again, you nodded shyly as you came to a halt in front of Loki's door and knocked hesitantly. His smooth voice sent shivers up and down your spine the moment he spoke up and invited you into the lion’s cave…

“Yes?”

“My prince? I, uh… my name is (Y/N). The queen sent me to take care of your chambers this week.”

He looked as handsome as ever. Dressed in more casual clothing than usual, he was sat at his desk with his legs on the table, reading peacefully. Your mouth watered when he licked his index finger to turn the page.

The God of Mischief looked up from his book. “Ah yes…” A playful glistening erupted in his blue eyes like a fiery volcano. “My mother told me she would be finding replacement. I know you. You help out the kitchen maids during feasts, do you not?”

“I do, your highness.”

“My mother has acquainted you with my habits, I presume?” He said, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“She has, your highness.”

“Very well then… I shall be looking forward to an… entertaining week.” Your heart skipped a beat.

-

Panting, you turned over to avoid the wet spot your arousal had left on your thin mattress. Your hand emerged from between your legs, your shaking fingers sleek with your juices. How many times this night had you touched yourself simply by thinking about how concentrated Loki had still been reading in his chambers today when you came to bring him fresh fruit and wine? You had not missed the thoughtful and knowing glances he had shot you, nor had you failed to notice the hint of a smirk both playing on his thin lips and sparkling in his eyes. He kept doing it, knowing very well what it did to you, no? He must have known. Loki was the most perceptive man on Asgard. Perhaps he already knew your reactions to him better than you did yourself. But it could not happen. Frigga might have asked him to be nice to you after you had left but that did not mean he could not have his fun with you and tease you, relentlessly, until you begged him to fuck you senseless, right in his bed while you dug your nails into the green silken sheets. You wanted to have sex so badly—to have a man sheath himself deep inside of you, to have him take you thoroughly… but… you wanted to have this with Loki.

Grunting quietly, you buried your head under your pillow and forced your eyes shut in an attempt to sleep. His blue eyes kept haunting you even in your dreams.

-

“Your highness? Your breakfast is ready.”

“Come in.”

Quietly, you pushed the door open and rolled the serving cart inside. Your cheeks turned bright red when you spotted Loki lying on the bed half... if not entirely naked in his bed. The green sheets left little to nothing for your imagination, the silken fabric complimenting his rather pale but still well-defined skin. A smirk played on his lips upon noticing your staring.

“G-good morning, your highness.” You choked out. Loki chuckled darkly.

“Good morning.” He purred the words as if he meant to seduce you and quite possibly... he was. You had never imagined him to be so smug, to be honest. Compared to his brother, Loki has always seemed to be the reasonable and rational one, however humbler; and you were still sure that in some aspects, he was. He knew, he knew, he knew... a betraying voice in your head whispered. You swallowed thickly.

“Your, uh, breakfast.”

“Thank you, dear.” He was still smirking and you were sure that by the time you hurried to leave his chambers again and shut the door behind you, you could hear him laughing mischievously.

“Are you not going to join me?” He suddenly said when you nodded and turned to leave his chambers for good.

“I, uh, what? My... surely it’s not my place to...”

“It sure is if I ask for some company while having breakfast.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “Entertain me.”

“I… your highness, I have to prepare your mother’s breakfast too.” You replied sheepishly.

Loki only suppressed a smirk.

“Very well then…” Now why did you have the feeling that this had sounded like… a promising threat?

-

You kept dancing around one another for the rest of the week. Loki would watch you hungrily and practically undress you with his eyes and you would try and avoid him, do your duties and masturbate to his mischievous chuckles at night. Soon now, you would be out of danger. The week was almost over. All you had left to do was changing his sheets and flee his bloody chambers, forever. Never again would you agree to replace Loki's usual chambermaid.

You had expected for the younger prince to have left by now, to go on a ride with his brother and then train with some einherjar. But apparently, that was not the case. When you entered, his fresh bed sheets in hand, Loki was sitting by his desk reading a book.

“Oh, your highness... I'm sorry, I thought you were out. S-should I come back later?”

“That won't be necessary. Go on.”

Your heart was already leaping out of your chest as you stepped closer, the door falling shut behind you as if your fate had been sealed.

Trembling slightly—and ignoring how your core heated up when you felt his curious gaze on you, you turned your back to him and began to change his sheets with sweating palms. Ten seconds passed. Twenty, then thirty.

Then, suddenly, you felt his body warmth in your back—his hot breath against your neck. You gasped when he wrapped his arms around your middle, exploring your curves through the simple fabric of your dress.

His mouth attacked the sensitive skin of your back, inhaling your scent deeply before biting down—hard. A scream, both terrified and aroused, escaped your lips. Struggling against his steel grip, you fought against the need to press yourself against him and offer him your body to do with as he pleased. This urge… no, it had to be wrong. Even though it felt right.

“Y-your highness... Loki.... w-what are you doing? P-please... s-stop...”

“Do you truly wish for me to stop?” He growled into your ear. No. No you did not. Feeling his strong body against yours, it felt heavenly. But you were still a mere chambermaid. Odin would possibly throw you in the dungeons if you herded with his second-born son. It was not your place to desire, not your place to... oh... you whimpered when Loki turned you around so you were forced to face him, his lips crashing down on yours and his hands disappearing under your dress which he impatiently pushed up, digits probing your naked thighs and tearing your knickers in two as if they were made of paper.

He already knew how wet he would find you for him, still, your sleek petals caught him off guard and he let out an animalistic growl when his fingers found your clitoris and began toying with it.

You were tempted to closed your legs, to flee... instead, your body finally leaned into him; spreading your legs even further to give him more access. Unceremoniously, Loki lifted you up and threw you on his bed, earning him a terrified squeal from you. It was a moment you needed for your mind to follow rational thinking. Breathing heavily, you attempted to crawl away but the God of Mischief had already seen it coming. Your futile attempt to escape was foiled when he pinned you on the mattress, leaving you helpless and utterly defenceless underneath his strong body. Once again, Loki devoured your neck with relish, kissing, licking and biting until he grew tired of having only half your body at his immediate disposal and proceeded rip the rest of your clothing apart. Your breasts bounced free, your already hardening nipples tightening up even more due to the sudden cool breeze and Loki’s greedy blue eyes on you.

“Your highness... please...”

You could not tell whether you were asking him to keep going or to stop.

“You have been longing for me to sheath myself deep inside of you ever since you first set a foot into this palace, no? Admit it…” He lowered his mouth onto one of your buds, sucking it between his teeth. Your fingers dug into his raven hair.

“I…”

You could feel his arousal pressing against your naked thighs, even through the tight leather fabric of his trousers. Impatiently, he freed his awaiting length, his mouth never parting from your skin.

“Have you got any idea…” He mumbled against the underside of your left breast, “…what you have been doing to me this past week? Teasing me like this… dancing around me…”

What? Indignantly, you opened your mouth. “I… I wasn’t… you… you kept staring at… me as if you meant to… eat me alive!” You panted. Loki growled in an animalistic manner.

“Well, perhaps I will… but first, I need to have you. No one can know of this, yes?” He hissed—although it was phrased like a question, it downright sounded like a threat; and for some peculiar reason, even if your lack of keeping this encounter a secret would have serious consequences both for Loki and yourself, you had the feeling his personal punishment for you would involve nothing but pleasure.

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you did, for you could already feel his tip nudging your petals. Painfully slow, he parted them to give himself access, eliciting a moan from you as you threw your head back in pure bliss.

Loki wasted no time—if what he said was true and you had made him as hot and bothered as he had made you these past days, he must have been desperate for his release… and you could barely wait for him to take it from you, to use your hot cave, claim you and make you his… you were certain you were not going to be left out in the cold. At this point, he had already gotten you worked up so much it would take only a few strokes of his skilled fingers to bring you to the edge of pleasure and make you cum underneath him.

“Please, Loki…” You did not know if you were even entitled to call him by his name but in this very second, you could not care less. You whimpered when he finally pushed inside you, defeating what little resistance your body offered despite your wetness and burying himself inside your core.

Your walls clenched around him at once, moulding around him as if you had been made for his cock. Had he known you would feel this good, he would have dragged you into his bed much sooner. His fingers intertwined with yours, his mouth capturing yours in a passionate kiss once more, but only when you wrapped your legs around his hips to urge him on did he start moving inside you. He retreated almost entirely only to plunge himself inside of you again almost roughly, desperate for relief.

There was no pain really, the unfamiliar feeling quickly replaced with a tingly feeling spreading in your entire body. Finally… this was so much different from masturbating, so much different from secretly stealing a carrot or a cucumber from the kitchens to feel filled.

Loki thrust into you viciously, his hot breath against your lips and your whimpers fuelling his own arousal. Moaning shamelessly, you bucked your hips up to meet his strokes, your back arching as your body climbed the ladder of orgasm higher and higher. It was then he buried himself as deep inside you as he possibly could, the feeling both a little uncomfortable and arousing as he grinded against you, his pelvis rubbing against your clit. You could not help it, not any longer. Screaming his name, you came, your nails leaving angry scratch marks on his back, your peak of pleasure numbing your entire body. He too found his release. Groaning into your mouth, his hard member twitched against your tight walls, coating them with his warm seed. With but a few more thrusts helping you ride out both your climaxes, he collapsed on the bed but made sure to roll you both over so you came to lie on top of him instead.

For a few moments, his chambers were filled with nothing but your rapid breathing. Then, suddenly, he chuckled. This time, his smile was honest, content. “What an interesting turn of events…”

You giggled too, burying your face in his chest. He smelled wonderful. Like an autumn forest, ice and molten metal all at the same time.

“I will let my mother know that I prefer you as my chambermaid and that I would like to keep you permanently. That you will stick to your duties... from now on. Surely, we can come to an arrangement.”

“As you wish, your highness.”

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my  first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would  appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[negandarylsatisfaction]

[SUMMARY: Negan works on winning Everly back as his jealousy continues to rise.]

Fluff

Negan and Everly PART TWO

As the days went on Negan never left your side. It was hard to consider yourself suddenly back together with him after everything and you weren't afraid to let him know this. As stubborn as he was, he didnt care if you considered yourself with him or not. He knew he wasnt going to leave your side and he promised himself he'd show you that you could trust him. One thing you noticed was that you never really saw Daryl anymore. You missed his friendship and his company. He watched from afar but decided not to meddle in as long as you were okay. Until one day he spotted Negan on the porch by himself having a beer. The door of the house was open and he noticed you looking a bit uncomfortable on the couch. You winced feeling the baby begin to kick hard when Daryl headed towards the house. Negan looking out in the other direction never noticing Daryl making his way close to the door. Without stepping in, he peaked inside and heard you moan in discomfort.

"Ya alright"? Negan turned to Daryls voice, his voice instantly making you look up.

"Hey, yeah I'm fine. The baby is just kicking a whole lot today." You called out to him just as Negan leaned in to look over at you to make sure you were indeed alright.

"Shes fine, why dont you go worry about your pal Rick."

"Should make sure ya womans alright before going about cha business." He looked over at the beer bottle sitting on the floor in reference.

"Oh you're just waiting for me to screw up arent you?" Negan grinned getting very close to Daryl.

"Daddy fucks up so ol' red neck Daryl can save the day."

"Negan it's fine." You rushed to the door as fast as you could not liking how they both stared at each other. Daryl turned away from him as you stepped to the door and unhooked something from his belt.

"Here, I got cha these. Heard they good for babies or somethin'." Negan watched as Daryl handed you a small bag of blue berries making him scoff.

"You just dont give up."

"Negan he isnt doing anything wrong. Thank you, Daryl."

Negan didnt take his eyes off Daryl who eventually gave him a threatening glare in return. The two men slowly charging closer to one another before Daryl sucked his teeth.

"Ya ain't worth getting her worked up."

Daryl quietly walked away as Negan looked down at him in disapproval and watched him walk off the porch.

"Come on get inside." Negan turned back to you entering the house with you.

"What do I gotta do, get you some fucking blue berries for you to not be mad at me anymore." Negan muttered under his breath making you sigh.

"I'm not mad...I'm just hurt." Negan looked over at you with your response. A soft sight of guilt on his face, he knew he had messed up. He knew you had a right to feel how you felt and didnt argue back. You turned away with your hands on your lower back, today the pain felt worse than usual. You took a deep breath before suddenly feeling Negans hands on your back.

"Just relax, the asshole has a point. I dont need you upset." Truth be told Negan wanted to rip Daryl apart. He couldnt stand the way he would catch Daryl looking at you. He blamed himself for this as he knew if he had been around, no other man would've taken care of you the way he was supposed to.

The next day you woke up close to the afternoon, carrying a baby around was alot of work.

"What the hell is that?" You whispered hearing loud noise coming from the living room. Rubbing your eyes as you opened your bedroom door, you found Negan laying on the living room floor beneath what looked like a crib. Squinting your eyes in confusion, you walked towards where Negan was as he sat up and noticed you in the living room.

"You like it?" He grinned happily as he stood up.

"Where....? How?" Is all you could ask, never did you think your baby would be able to have a crib of their own.

"I went on a little run this morning, got a few things that I think you and the baby will need. Check this out." Negan spoke with excitment as he picked up a box showing you baby bottles and baby clothes he picked up.

"I got boy clothes and girl clothes cause shit, I dont fucking know what we're having. Some baby books here, I just took eveything from a day care."

Speechless you looked at Negan as he continued unpacking all things he found. A smile appearing on your face as you watched him show you toys he found as well.

"You did this all by yourself?"

"Do I look like the kinda man that needs any assistance?" He responded humoursly.

"I dont know what to say... I-" distracted by the bloody bandage on Negans arm you cut yourself off.

"Oh my gosh, what happened?" You rushed beside him taking his arm in your hand.

"Little bruised up, nothing I couldnt handle. I'm alright, darling." Negan watched as you observed the bloody bandage with very concerned eyes, you yourself realized how worried you became. Feeling him looking down at you, you looked up, the two of you silently staring into each others eyes. It had been so long since you had looked at him this way, in that moment Negan wanted to lean in and kiss you. Truth be told, you wanted it as well. But then, maybe it was those damn baby hormones making you feel all soft inside, abruptly you turned away putting your attention to the baby clothes. Negan could tell you were fighting it, he could tell you were still hurt as you had every right to he.

"Well these baby clothes are very nice Negan. I love everything, thank you."

"Better than them blue berries, huh?" Negan teased not being able to help himself. Laughing it off you walked back to the bedroom.

"I'm going to go sit out on the porch!" You called out to him as you changed into a comfortable casual lavender dress.

"I'm going to-" Negan heard you stop with a gasp.

"Youre going to what?" He called out a bit concerned.

"Everly?" Negan ran to your bedroom to find you with your eyes closed and your hand on your belly before you let out a sigh.

"Sorry, the doctor told me whenever I feel a sharp kick to take a deep breath slowly."

Negan was out of breath from his heart jumping in fear.

"God dammit woman, you okay now?"

"Yes, Negan I have it under control." You walked past him to make your way to the porch. Confident in the breathing techniques your doctor showed you, you lay back on the chair outside watching the people walk by. A few minutes later Negan came out and bought you some fruit.

"Mmm..these fruits grew amazingly." Taking a bite out of one you savored the juices that came out of it.

"The fuck is he looking at?" Negan whispered causing you to look up at him. Angrily he stared out at Daryl who was on the other side facing the both of you.

"Negan..." you whispered grabbing onto his hand. Daryl took two steps foward making Negan step down from the porch.

"Negan please dont start.." you called out to him, struggling to push yourself up as the two men walked to each other stopping face to face.

Negan distracted by the jealous rage he had for Daryl did not pay attention to you speaking.

"What the hell do you want? You think I dont know what the fuck I'm doing?" Negan stared directly at Daryl, his brows deeply knitted together.

"You think you can do better than me?"

Daryl didnt say a word, simply looking directly at Negan with disgust. After a moment, Negan broke out into a sarcastic smirk.

"Go ahead hit me, show Everly the big and bad man you are." He whispered in his face making Daryl make a fist.

"Go ahead, do it." He unexpectedly shoved Daryl.

"Negan!" You screamed feeling too exhausted to get to where he was when Daryl suddenly swung at him. With a gasp, you watched as the two men began to fight each other. Daryl swinging once again at Negan who ducked and speared him onto the ground.

"Stop it!" You screamed suddenly feeling a sharp pain like none you had ever felt before. The pain so strong it made you lose your balance and lean towards the fence.

"Everly!" Maggie called to you running to your aid, Negan held Daryl down when he suddenly heard the commotion behind him and looked back. His eyes widening at the sight of you wincing in pain, he released Daryl and turned to run to your side. Maggie stood by your side holding you up as the pain continued to linger.

"What happened?!" Negan ran to your side, his energy still pumped with anger.

"Let's just get her inside." Maggie suggested as Negan took your other arm guiding you into the house.

"Talk to me, what are you feeling?" Negan spoke low to you his hands holding you tightly. Just as you went to speak another sharp pain ran through you practically making your knees bend as you screamed. Maggie and Negan didnt let you hit the ground and held you up, his eyes worriedly looking at Maggie.

"Wheres that fucking doctor?" Negan asked as they took you to the bedroom and gently lay you down. Taking a deep breath you felt your water break, you knew this was it. The baby was on the way and their was no stopping it.

"Where is she?" Your eyes widened at the sound of Daryls voice in the living room. Negan instantly turning with a growl ready to pace out of the room before you weakly called out to him.

"Negan- please.." he turned back to you with a clear look of frustration. Daryl showed up at the door way, instantly you saw the damage Negan did to him.

"Everly....ya need anything?" Daryl asked not caring that Negan was right beside you. He didnt care that he had just got into a fight, being so concerned for you.

"She needs you to get the fuck out of here."

Daryl took a step in and that's when Negan went towards him, blocking him from getting any closer.

"Negan." Your voice out of breath, neither of them saying a word. Negan took one step closer and looked him directly in the eye with a mean mug.

"They will never be yours." His voice was low but stern. Daryl knew he was right, it angered him that he grew feelings for you that he couldnt control. Feelings for you that were not reciprocated. Letting out a cry of pain Negan quickly turned back to you, rushing to your side.

"I need to push." You cried, squeezing your eyes shut in pain Negan looked up at Maggie.

"Get that fucking doctor already before I drag him in here by his fucking head."

Maggie ran out to find him as Negan held your hand. Daryl watched as Negan looked down at you in concern, he watched him comfort you brushing the tears away from your face. The man was someone Daryl couldnt stand, he didnt understand how someone so gentle like yourself ever got together with Negan. But one thing he could not deny was the love Negan had for you. The guilt he could tell he had as a man for ever having failed you. Distracted by the doctor running in past him to attend to you, Daryl silently backed out of the room. He could hear the doctor instructing you to push, the sound of you in agony leaving both him and Negan distraught with being helpless. Daryl quietly stood by the main door way of the house not wanting to leave until he was sure you both were ok. Negan held your head up as you pushed for dear life, the look on his face of pity watching you go through this pain.

"The head is out, just one more strong push. Take a deep breath." The doctor instructed as Negan looked down at you.

"You hear that, baby. One more strong push, give it all you got." Negan motivated you noticing how exhausted you were. Quietly you nodded your head and with one last hard push the baby was fully out. The cries of the baby instantly bringing a smile to Negans face. Daryl turned back towards your bedroom hearing the baby cry, he could hear the happiness in Negans reaction. Without saying a word he left the house.

"You got yourself a girl." The doctor expressed with a smile as you cried with happiness. Maggie gently wrapped up the baby and placed her on your chest as Negan leaned over you looking down at her. The two of you looked at each other for the first time in a way you had never before. You knew you loved Negan, you always had.

"Do you have a name for her?" Maggie suddenly asked making the two of you turn to her.

"Oh I hadn't thought of any honestly. I-"

"How about Mary?" Negans suggestion made your heart flutter.

"Mary....yes," you smiled up at him as he looked down at you. Maggie smiled at the both of you, the doctor and her excusing themselves from the room as they could sense unsaid words.

"You know I'd do anything to go back in time and change what I did, dont you?" His eyes glimmered as he looked down at his daughter. His finger softly caressing her cheek, making her smile.

"I would never leave you two. Ever." His eyes looked back up into yours. The sincerity in his eyes were clear, Negan was determined to make up for any time lost with you.

"I love you," you whispered. How could you deny your love for him? He leaned in and softly pressed his lips against yours. Soon the doctor returned back into the room and Negan took Mary in his arms. He sat in the corner of the room on the recliner, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Negan couldnt believe he was a father, you watched as he cradled your daughter with the softest touch. You didnt know what the future would hold with the way the world was, all you knew was that Negan was the man you wanted to face it all with.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Treasure hunt

Pairing: dragon!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, death of minor characters, minor depiction of violence.

Words: 2133.

Summary: No knight would dare to save a sacrificial bride of the dragon.

______________

When he lowered your body into a little pond, a cloud of blood dissolved into the water. You whined, looking at your wounded legs. They stopped bleeding when you were in the air riding on the flying dragon's back, but it still hurt too much for you to walk across the cave on your own. You felt the man leaving a gentle kiss on the top of your head while you sobbed.

"You will be alright, my darling." He cooed in your ear in a soft voice and let the water cover half of your body, soaking your long white nightgown smeared with blood. 

You shivered but stayed where you were. You were thinking of his eyes dark as the twilight sky when he came closer to you, tied to a stake and barely conscious after all the beating you took. You tried to run on the day of sacrifice, and the villagers didn't take it kindly. They tried to cover your wounds as much as they could, but the dragon only had to lift the hem of your nightgown to see the ugly shackles marks on your skin. He took away the cranberry beads from your neck and saw your chest, all black and blue, smeared with the red juice. Did they think these smashed berries could cover the bloody marks? 

When the dragon in a form of a man lifted his head, you felt an unbearable heat rising in his fiery mouth.

"Fear not, my lady, it's all being dealt with." 

Although you thought your bones could break if he touched you, he cleaned the cuts and bruises so carefully you barely felt anything at all. Was it his magic? Was the water in this pond charmed? You didn't want to know.

The man wiped your face tenderly and took off your earrings colored in red, scoffing at the piece of metal in his large palm. Apparently, they didn't suit his taste - you saw little, but one glance at the treasures he kept hidden in his cave was enough to see the dragon had more precious metals and gems than the King himself. You expected dozens of servants and concubines to meet their rightful owner, too, but there was not a soul around you two. Did they hide? You hoped so. Otherwise it meant the rumors were true - the dragon simply ate all those sacrificial brides given to him. Even if he cared so genuinely about your wounds, maybe it was because he didn't like to see your bruised skin.

"Ah!" You squeezed your eyes shut. The man above you was covering your cuts with an odd ointment, its smell fresh and somewhat icy.

"We are almost done." He assured you and left an airy kiss on your knee. "You are so young, my love. You will heal fast."

You timidly bowed your head at his remark. How old was the dragon? It was too bold of you to ask him that, of course, so you simply kept your mouth shut.

"I am a century older than you." The golden-haired man said to your suprise, and your eyes widened at his words. "And no, I can't look inside your mind, my lady, but I am able to read your face. Please, do not be afraid."

You nodded, too frightened to speak. You remembered villagers running away in agonizing pain, screaming and pleading and cursing; the smell of the burning flesh and wood; the mighty flame devouring everything on its way. Those people had never been kind to you from the moment they seized you a month ago, but you still did not wish to see them dying such a horrible death.

"Do you feel better?" 

It took you a few moments to respond, and you shivered.

"Yes, Your... Your Highness."

You did not know how to adress someone as mighty as him, and the dragon laughed at your words, making you feel even more humiliated.

"You do not have to call me that, my love. I am Steve, Sarah's son." The dragon smiled at you and kissed your knuckles with his soft lips. You were confused and ashamed. This moment felt too intimate. "I mean no harm to you. Whatever people have said to you before, I did not bring you here to kill."

You stared at him in disbelief. What? Did his words mean the dragon did not want to eat you? Maybe you were supposed to become one of the concubines, then. In the end, if there were many of them hiding somewhere deep in the cave, it could be true. You had never wished to serve any man like that, yet it was still better than to be eaten alive.

"Steve, Sarah's son." You mumbled quietly, looking at your drenched nightgown with a sense of deep shame - the white fabric became completely see-through, and you tried to cover yourself with your hands. "T-thank you for..."

It was hard to speak as you trembled in his strong muscular arms, and the man smiled at you, caressing your head as if you were a child. Before you could finish your thought, he lifted you up in the air, caring little about your soaked clothes that got him wet right away. You shut your eyes again, afraid to see where he was taking you and trying to concentrate on your pain instead. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as before - the ointment Steve used was magical, indeed.

Once you realized both of your were up in the air, you held on to him for dear life. You still couldn't understand how the dragon was able to transform only a part of him - his hands caressing you were still pretty much human. 

You didn't utter a single word before you landed on something soft and fluffy, your nightgown oddly dry on your skin. As you finally opened your eyes, you saw Steve's large figure hovering over you and whimpered, balling up on a huge bed high above the ground.

"It pains me to see you like this, sweetheart." The dragon's voice was unexpectedly tender. "But I know how terribly those filthy brutes treated you. You are afraid I will do the same..." He became quiet for a few moments, and you gulped, suddenly feeling guilty. "Please know I am here to protect you, my love, from any danger from within. No one will ever hurt you again. You're safe here."

Your eyes glimmed with tears at his kind words, and you sobbed, covering your face with a fluffy blanket you found on the bed. He wasn't going to hurt you, he said. He took care of your wounds and brought you somewhere nice, giving you a chance to rest after all the horrors you went through. You didn't know whether he was just toying with you, but for now you felt better, laying on a huge bed covered with blankets and furs. 

"I know you would like to have some time alone, but I can't leave you as of now." The dragon explained when he lowered himself on the bed. "You will heal better with me close. You can handle it, my lady, can't you?"

You wished his hot hand was not on your belly as you shivered from his touch, but you kept silent and nodded. Even if you did not want to be close to the man who could burn you to ashes within a minute, you had no right to protest. Maybe you would heal faster just as he said. 

"Sleep now, my love." Steve pressed his burning lips to your forehead. "It will get better tomorrow."

You said nothing as he pulled the blanket over you and moved closer. This intimacy with a man was foreign to you, but he did nothing other than holding you in his arms. He didn't want to hurt or use you. He only kept you safe just as he said before, you tried to assure yourself.

Thinking of his gigantic scaled wings of blue and gold colors, you quickly drifted off to sleep.

____________

The next morning you woke up to the divine smell of fresh fruits and honey, the dragon placing some peculiar dishes right on the bed around you. When you gaped at him, he let out a low chuckle and gave you a wet towel to wipe your sleepy face. He insisted that you ate right after waking up, claiming that your body needed strength - most of your wounds disappeared during the night. Apparently, it was all his magic.

"Try this, my lady." He easily sliced an odd red fruit with his razor sharp claw. "This one is special."

"Why?" You asked timidly, but took a piece and saw the white pulp with little black seeds inside it.

"It is called dragon fruit." He answered, proud. "It tastes like nothing else, believe me."

You smiled back at the man and took a little bite, feeling something sweet and sour on your tongue. He was right, you had never ever tried anything like that. Snatching more pieces of the fruit from Steve, you started eating them so fast he ended up laughing and rolling over the bed. 

Then he took you to the pond again and gave you your new clothes, a white nightgown embroidered with golden threads and a blue robe, soft as a cloud. Once you changed, Steve showed you around his cave, giving you an opportunity to look at his fabulous treasures - golden and silver coins, gems, jewellery, armour, statues, all those things you had never seen before. He said you could take anything you wanted except for a few magic tools that were unsafe to use. You felt like you were living in a fairytale. 

However, you became frightened again once the dragon told you he had neither servants nor concubines. When you asked what had happened to all those women who were sacrificied earlier, he simply said he took them to the other kingdom far, far away as he had no need for them. But over the seven seas, where women were treated better than here, no one could take them against their will, he claimed, and all of them agreed to leave to start a new life. Did a place like that truly exist?..

"Will you bring me there too?" You whispered, afraid of your own thoughts. 

You didn't like that look in his eyes. It didn't sit well with you.

"I do not think it is... wise, my love." His quiet voice alarmed you. "The women I brought over the seven seas were stronger than you... smarter than you. No one was as fragile, easily broken. Look what had happened when those peasants kidnapped you. You barely stayed alive."

"But..." Your eyes were glistening with tears again. "... You said women were not treated like posessions there... Why won't I be safe?"

"Nowhere is safe if you can't protect yourself even a little. I pray you stay mindful, my lady."

You had nothing to say, lowering your gaze to your bare feet and clutching the silk fabric of your elaborate nightgown. Although the dragon was right, it was hard to believe now he truly let all those women go. Were you that bad? That feeble he decided to leave you with him? It was unfair. You had the right to decide your own fate even if he considered you weak. 

You didn't say it, though. He could still burn or eat you alive if you protested against his decisions, you thought. When his claws scraped over your gentle skin, you bit down on your lip and nodded again. 

You were trapped.

"Until I get stronger, who am I here? What do I do?" You whispered, not meeting his gaze, and the man softly caressed the top of your head. "Am I a prisoner?"

"Of course not, my dear." He shook his head at your words and took your cold hands into his own, his skin so hot it was almost burning. "You are my precious sacrificial bride, my treasure. The only thing I demand from you is obeying me, love. Do what I tell you, and you will always be safe."

He wrapped his hands around your back and made you lean on him, pressing your head to his wide chest and kissing your temple. There was so much tenderness in his moves it almost made you cry. Why did it have to be like that?

"Can you make me stronger?" You moved your head to look at him and saw his bemused expression.

"Forgive me, my dear, but women like you are not made to overcome hardships of life." The dragon's fingers stroked your flushed cheek. "I cannot share my strength with you, I'm afraid. But I can protect you. It is enough, isn't it?"

You nodded once more, keeping your eyes shut and listening to him breathing slowly. You knew little of how possesive the dragons were once they spotted a treasure they wanted to keep for themselves.

[xhanisai]

Bite off more than you can chew and you’ll choke.

(AO3) (FFN)

Summary -  "But Lila cared more about the middle finger that Adrien shot at her when no one else was looking." To summarise, if you hurt the Ladybug, you can count on the Black Cat to absolutely annihilate you without mercy. A.K.A. A wonderful crackfic where Lila gets karma shoved up her ass by Adrien every time she tries to hurt Marinette.

A/N: I'm having an affair with dumb bitch juice. Shhh. Don't tell angst. ~(x)~ . . . "Heh, looking good~" The Italian teen winked to herself one last time at the mirror and then striked a pose that radiated pure confidence and clearly, a drop dead gorgeous Goddess that has ever descended this miserable planet. Luck was on her side today, lil ol' Rossi could feel it in her bones. 'Today is a wonderful day to knock down Dupain-Cheng a peg or two...' Lila hummed perversely, olive irises twinkling with mischief and sadism. She applied another coating of her favourite orange lip gloss and spritzed her body with some more pumpkin spice flavoured perfume (that was apparently a one of a kind DKNY product that the company themselves have gifted her, that's right Juleka). Digging out one of the hundreds of pictures she has of Adrien Agreste in her drawer, she planted a sloppy kiss on the face (lil hoe thinks she's being seductive smh smh), whispered something absolutely filthy and then made her way out of the house with a green apple in hand. As she walked, numerous plans and ideas were concocted up in her head whilst she happily chewed through the sour, bitter fruit that could compete with her own acidic heart. Certainly, her plans weren't going as smoothly as she'd like, given that not only has Marinette stood strong, Alya and Nino still stuck to the raven haired girl like glue and the model boy actually dared to threaten her to withdraw Mari's expulsion. Of all people, he threatened her! Who the hell did he think he is? He should be nothing but a spineless pretty face, a decoration to her growing fame. Ugh! Shaking her head and refocusing her thoughts, Lila took one last, harsh bite from the fruit and then tossed it away without a second glance, hitting an unsuspecting rat with wings- pigeon, an unsuspecting poor pigeon. Looks like M. Ramier will be akumatised later on if he ever sees the splat of feathers on the pavement. She didn't give a damn. Instead, a sinister, almost feral like smile stretched on the brunette's lips as she spotted her prey up ahead, sitting on the front steps that led to the collège. Quite a few passerbyers and students gave Marinette either a disappointed look or a disgusted grimace. Most pretty much ignored her, leaving the Asian bowing her head down in embarrassment, making herself look as small as possible. 'Like the useless mouse she is.' Lila barely held off the urge to giggle. After making Cheng look like such an evil cretin and even managing to get her expelled, her reputation has almost been tarnished! Marinette went from one of the most popular, prettiest, kindest girl in school to the most conniving, horrible, wench in a matter of a day. She would have been gone forever had it not been for Adrien's stupid- SPLASH!!!!! No way. No. Fucking. Way. Lila gaped like a dead fish, unable to comprehend what had just happened as her once dry, stylish clothes dripped with dirty puddle water and the stench of dirt clung to her hair and skin. The now filthy looking teen snapped out of her stupor and glowered at the offending car that DARED to zoom through the ginormous puddle only to gawk again when she registered the vehicle's familiarity. Lila wasn't able to do more than budge an inch as a certain model stepped out of the car in front of the collège and lifted Marinette to her feet with his hand. He gave the petite girl a warm smile that only sickened the Italian girl to the core even further and when he interlaced his hand with Marinette's, leading her inside the building, Lila couldn't stop the ferocious growl from escaping her throat. This was meant to be HER day today. A fresh splatter on her head from up above proved otherwise. Her hand shot to her head, face twisted in a witch like grimace as slick, gooey slime coated her fingers and hair. Lila mustered up as much venom as she possibly could in her eyes, tilting her head up, only to see the very same pigeon that got hit by the apple, glare back. Neither of the two noticed the wry smile that Adrien let out as he shielded a flustered Marinette inside the building... ~(x)~ Full classroom? Check. Mme. Bustier temporarily out of the room? Check. Dupain-Cheng opening her backpack whilst oblivious? Check. Lila wiggled in her seat like a cat waiting to pounce on the mouse (not like those in cute youtube videos), eyes narrowing at the back of Marinette's head, awaiting for the right moment to act. You see, earlier on, Lila planted one of Chloe's prized earrings (dumb barbie never learnt her lesson when it came to bringing family heirlooms to school) in Marinette's bag, planning on calling her out of stealing it to further crush her reputation into smithereens. Knowing Chloe and her illogical grudge against the girl, the consequences would be so much more worse for Marinette considering she's the mayor's daughter and all- . . . Wait... What? Lila blinked twice, thrice, then rubbed her eyes and blinked again. 'What in the world???' "O-ooooh! Who put this pretty flower in my bag?" Marinette twirled the lavender rose between her fingers in awe, admiring the beautiful plant with a cute blush on her cheeks. She gave the rose a sniff, cheeks glowing further as she hummed pleasantly. "It smells so nice!" Her smile was so disgustingly sweet, Lila could have sworn that the girl was radiating diabetes. Maybe she should pretend to faint and blame it on Marinette somehow? "Looks like you have a secret admirer, girl~ Did you know that lavender roses mean love at first sight?" Alya playfully poked Marinette's cheek, waggling her eyebrows whilst the rest of the girls in the class- sans Chloe, Sabrina and of course Lila herself, gathered around their class president's table. Their coos and questions were deaf on the seething Italian's ears as she was hyper focused on Adrien's face. The way his eyes lowered knowingly and his lips upturned into a secret but smug smile. The way his head tilted towards the side ever so slightly as he watched the French-Asian with so much...love. Lila was close to throwing up in her mouth. 'So that little Prince was the one who replaced Chloe's earrings with that stupid flower...huh...has he caught on...?' Just as that thought passed through Lila's head, the sound of Chloe bragging about her new earrings filled up the room with the addition of Sabrina's praises. The brunette cocked an eyebrow, dissatisfied of her plan failing in ruining Marinette's life further and getting Adrien wrapped around her pinky, where he belongs. With a string of Italian curses muttered, Lila opened her bag and- "CHE CAZZO È!?" Lila launched the provocative bag away with another scream and when it landed on Kim's desk, dozens of spiders pooled out like a tidal wave, causing the athletic Vietnamese to jump up ten feet in the air with a high pitched yowl and that in turn created a mass panic in the classroom. "Ah- đéođéođéo- KEEP THEM AWAY FROM ME!" Kim let out another screech, forcing himself into a baffled Alix's arms as the spiders scattered whilst everyone else stood on their desks to avoid the wonderfully adorable critters. "LILA! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE THOSE MONSTERS IN YOUR BAG!?" Kim cried out as soon as a shocked Mme. Bustier returned to the classroom. The red headed woman gawked at the floor and then grimaced before sending a stern look towards Lila, hands on her hips. Everyone in the class froze at her stance. "Lila, we know that you've just returned from a campaign to save a species of highly venomous spiders from going extinct but that does not permit you in bringing them to school. You'll be on rubbish duty for the rest of this week and M. Damocles shall discuss with you later on for a more suitable punishment after that. Everyone else, please remain calm and carefully step out of the room." The olive eyed brunette didn't get a chance to defend herself as everyone comically sped outside at a speed that would make even Sonic The Hedgehog jealous. Nino and Ivan were held piggy back style by their respective girlfriends whilst it took Alix, Max, Nathanael and Juleka to tear a petrified Kim off the wall (In turn, Rose held him bridal style as if he didn't weigh more than a feather). When she saw Marinette shyly grasp Adrien's hand to lead him out, Lila saw red and looked away before she did something she would regret. In amidst her internal monologue, she missed Adrien's dangerous smirk as his eyes glinted devilishly. The boy tightened his grip on Marinette's hand, much to the girl's surprise and delight whilst his kwami snickered in his blazer's inner pocket. ~(x)~ "Whoa!" Marinette let out a yelp, numerous files slipping out of her hands as she flailed her arms to regain balance. Unfortunately, she ended up tipping backwards towards the edge of the stairs much to Lila's entertainment. If she couldn't break Marinette's godforsaken will and reputation completely, a few bones or so should satisfy her ruthless heart- "Marinette! Be careful!" With amazing speed, Adrien caught the girl from behind, interlocking his arms around her body in an iron grip without even wincing at the weight of her mass colliding with his chest. A few passerbyers, including Rossi herself observed the scene with incredulous expressions. The latter pissed at the stupid prince charming's bloody timing! She didn't know what annoyed her more. The fact that her plan failed for the umpteenth time or the useless anime like tropes that seemed to play when it came to blonde boy and noir girl. "Ack! Thanks Adrien..."  Marinette expected a simple 'No problem Mari,' from the boy but was taken aback by his malicious glare that was directed at the tanned girl before them. She couldn't help the squeak that escaped her when his grip tightened as he lead them up the stairs, standing a mere feet away from Lila. His hold on Cheng wavered between protective and possessive. Marinette found it kinda hot. "You know, we have bins for a reason Rossi. Be sure to chuck your litter away or else someone could get hurt." His voice was gravelly and alarmingly low, indicating who would really get harmed in the situation. Lila hated the way her blood chilled to ice and the unpleasant shivers that shook her spine before mustering the energy to plaster an innocent smile instead of running away. "Oops. Silly me," She bent down to pick up the can she conveniently dropped earlier on, causing Marinette to trip in the first place. "My arthritis has been acting up all day-" "And I painted the Mona Lisa, yeah, whatever." Marinette and Lila, both only close enough to hear, widened their eyes at Adrien's passive aggressive tone. Without wasting another second, the boy tugged Marinette along, heading away from the scowling Italian. The sickening duo seemed to get closer and closer every second, causing Lila's blood to burn with rage. "He's definitely caught on...that boy is more slippery and sneaky than I thought...as expected of the son of Gabriel Agreste." Lila growled severely, crushing the can in her grip- SPEW! Oh. The can was never empty from the start. Steam figuratively shot out of her ears as the fizzy drink dripped down her hair, face and clothes, smearing her layers upon layers of caked makeup that took her hours to do this morning- after she went back home to shower and changed into fresh clothes when she was soaked by that dirty puddle, courtesy of Adrien's fucking car! 'GAME ON AGRESTE.' ~(x)~ Lila planted that wretched goose- pigeon, that wretched pigeon in Marinette's locker, anticipating a commotion or SOMETHING. However, when the unsuspecting girl, accompanied by her trio of friends, opened said locker, there was no pigeon. Instead, out popped out a ridiculously cute, handmade Chat Noir doll. According to Marinette's and Alya's babbles, it's a doll that the former has made ever since the pathetic heroes of Paris made their debut. "But how did it get here? I don't recall bringing it in with me today," Yes, Lila also wanted to know how the FUCK that cursed plush appeared out of thin air. It certainly wasn't there when she shoved the feathered pterodactyl in. "Maybe you brought it with you by accident?" Nino quipped. "Didn't you have that phase back in école where you'd always bring a teddy that you slept with for company?" "WEDONOTTALKABOUTTHAT." Marinette retorted back with gritted teeth, slamming her locker door for emphasis but the way she hugged the Chat Noir doll protectively afterwards did little to intimidate the bespeckled boy. In fact, much to Lila's disgust, the trio melted at Marinette's obviously fake cuteness. Unbelievable! Where did that pigeon go anyways!? Never peeling her eyes away from the nauseating quad, Lila snatched the door of her locker open, grinding her teeth- "COO!!!" ...only to be attacked by a flurry of feathers and a sharp beak. This time, whilst she, along with a 'helpful' Alya and Nino managed to rip the bedeviled thing off her face, Lila caught a shit-eating grin on Adrien's lips as he watched her suffer without a word. 'That little BASTARD! He did this to me!' Rolling his eyes as if Lila was nothing but a three year old throwing a tantrum, he threw an arm around Marinette's shoulder who looked more confused than anything. "What is Jacques doing here?" Lila almost scoffed at the Asian's question. That failure of a bird has a name? And familiarised with Marinette no less? No wonder he was currently a bitch and half in her ass! No one answered Mari's question regardless. Though surely, that sinister cat of a model held the answer. "I'm more curious of whether you sleep with that little Chat doll or not, Marinette~" He teased, much to Lila's dismay and Marinette's embarrassment. Alya and Nino momentarily forgot about the clearly traumatised Lila, simply to join in with the jesting. "N-N-NO! HAHA- what a silly question Adrien!" Marinette slapped the teen's shoulder with a bit more oomph than the usual friendly slaps, cheeks reddening and eyes flickering to the side. "She can't go to sleep without it~" Alya confessed on her best friend's behalf, glasses twinkling impishly at Mari's cry of "Traitor!". "One time when she was at mine for a sleepover, she forgot to bring Petit Noir along and stayed awake all night without his presence. She's so pure, isn't she?" Marinette was left as a blushy, squealing mess as the rest of her friends chuckled fondly. If it wasn't frowned upon in this country, Rossi would have gladly kicked them all out the window one by one till their sorry necks snapped but even she had some sort of control. "Adorable, absolutely adorable." This time, Lila did throw up in her mouth as Adrien swept Marinette up into a bone crushing hug with the most disgusting look of 'love' tattooed on his face. The hazel eyed brunette stormed out of the locker room with a growl, deaf to Alya's questioning shouts of her name. She was going to TEAR that boy apart from limb to limb! Adrien's grin only grew at her departure, daring the idiotic girl to try and pull another stunt again. ~(x)~ During a photoshoot that Lila was assigned to model at, every time she attempted to inappropriately run her hands down Adrien's torso or shoulders, she ended up getting bitten by god knows what. The more she tried, the harder the bites were and towards the end, the shoot was cancelled as her skin was covered in tiny little bite marks that resembled wasp stings or even a terrible allergic reaction. The horrid girl never noticed the tiny God of Destruction that lingered nearby his chosen who in turn delivered a little fistbump to his precious friend with a smile far too saccharine to be innocent. ~(x)~ Just before their French lesson began, Lila staged a scene by crying out in pain when shoving her hand in her bag and 'finding' multitudes of sewing needles in them. Surely the class would turn their heads towards Dupain-Cheng with animosity as she claimed that Marinette must have sabotaged her bag that day. Instead, much to her surprise, the majority of the class defended her with an alibi. "But M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng hid away all her sewing stuff for the rest of the month so that Marinette could concentrate for the upcoming exams!" Gee thanks Rose. "Marinette was at mine's yesterday night to study and sleepover so there's no way that she did that," Godammit Alya. "I'm pretty sure 'Nette's needles are silver in colour, not bronze." Shut up Lahiffe. "She would panic if she steps on an ant, how could she hurt a person?" Really Alix? Really? "Marinette and I were stuck in the closet all break so there's no way she's managed to sabotage your bag, Lila." Agreste- do you even know what you're implying here? To summarise, the case was neutralised with a theory that one of the textile upperclassmen students must have accidently put a container of needles in her bag, thinking it belonged to the department. But Lila cared more about the middle finger that Adrien shot at her when no one else was looking. ~(x)~ Lila tried tripping Marinette again but this time, she was caught by the Japanese fencer girl who 'politely' thwacked Lila's knees with her foil and told her to get out of her class. That ice queen never left Marinette's side for the rest of the day. When Marinette arrived to the morning classes with a disturbingly gorgeous, sheer white sundress in hand, babbling about how she was going to alter it after the exams to her friends, of course Lila gave into temptation by altering it herself. By altering, she meant smothering the skirt of the dress with non washable red paint. Marinette returned to the afternoon classes wearing the dress but with the red stains magically transformed into a flawless gradient and decorated with faux red rose petals on the edge of the skirt and the tip of the bust. The poor Italian was rewarded with the grand scene of Adrien claiming out loud how 'beautiful' his 'Princess' looked without shame and twirling her around in the air. Next, Lila somehow snuck a snake out from the zoo (getting bitten a million times and even throttled at one point by said creature) and secretly let it loose at the Dupain-Cheng bakery when she was only 'looking around'. The snake ended up getting its own tank and promoted the bakery, increasing the numbers of customers because surprise surprise, it's the year of the snake according to the Lunar calendar and everyone saw that slimy creature as a symbol of good luck! M. Césaire let the family keep the snake. Marinette named him Aspik much to Adrien's ambiguous delight but then changed it to Viperion when the boy accidentally tore apart her favourite ball of yarn. ("Little bug how could you do this to me!?") Lila even tried to start a rumour going where she apparently witnessed Marinette kissing a strange, delinquent after hours in creepy alleyways and got a little frisky with him. Adrien turned that around on her by asking why she was spying on him and Marinette, both wearing scarves that poorly concealed their ravaged necks. The rest of the day was spent with students gossiping about the new developments of 'Project Adrienette' and suddenly the despicable duo were dating. The rest of the students and teachers decided to switch to Lila as a target to send their scrutinising eyes at. It took Lila twenty-four hours of staring at a blank wall to digest the fact that she unintentionally nudged those two together in her pursuit of destroying them both. Twenty four hours of gaping with dead eyes and not moving a muscle whilst her phone buzzed with the latest gossip on Adrien and Marinette. An immediate news report on Ladybug grabbing Chat Noir into a heated kiss after an akuma battle that almost sent them running for their money, confirming their relationship broke Lila out of her daze and left her screaming inside her house. ~(x)~ The classroom door slammed open, revealing a dishevelled, crude looking Lila Rossi, heaving for air like she's just ran around the world in twelve days. Her hair was dirty, greasy and stuck in ways that defied physics. Her clothes were torn, stained and slick with unnamed substances. Her face was covered in stings, scratches and red marks that ruined her usually flawless make up. Clearly, a drop dead gorgeous Goddess that has ever descended this miserable planet. The students paused whatever they were doing, curious and slightly concerned at the state of the Italian's exterior. Lila let out an animalistic growl, pointing a finger at Adrien Agreste who paid no mind to her and carried on reading his book whilst Marinette Dupain-Cheng slumbered away peacefully in his lap. "I don't know how you did it or what dark magic you played on me or what voodoo dolls you have been using, but you'll never get away with humiliating me! Both of you!" Everyone's eyes widened at Lila's desperate and frustrated tone, now facing the boy bearing the brunt of her bite. Much to Rossi's screaming irritation, Adrien only flipped a page of his book with a hum like someone has just asked him whether he'd like some sugar with his tea. "STOP ACTING DUMB AGRESTE! I KNOW IT'S YOU WHO TRIED TO RUIN MY LIFE!" This time, she received eye contact from the boy. Instead of retaliating back, he put a finger on his lips and- ...shushed her. She was going to fucking KILL HIM. "My Marinette has pulled two all nighters in a row for the exam we just had this morning- which you missed by the way. So, she's sleeping right now. If you have some respect, keep it down." His tone was polite, sophisticated and angelic and his face was softened into the most sweetest smile. A front for the devilish cackle and demonic smirk that was threatening to burst out the seams of his fake exterior and Lila was able to sense it with ease. She didn't get a chance to yell back as Chloe suddenly interrupted. "And what has my Adrikins done to you? Other than get brainwashed by that ridiculous rat and start dating her of course," The blonde pursed her pastel lips, ignoring Adrien's comments on 'I'm not your Adrikins,' and 'Stop being mean to my sweet girlfriend,' and whatever nonsense he was spouting. "Oh wow...hahah...where do I start?" The hysteric girl began, blind to everyone else's distressed gaze at her behaviour. "The spiders? The pins? The ghost bites? That damn ugly bird that can't seem to find another place other than my head to SHIT ON!?" The object of her hate only raised a brow in confusion. "YOU'RE BEHIND IT ALL! I KNOW IT'S YOU!" "...Lila, were you bitten by those spiders that you were protecting during your campaign like a week ago? I think you need to see a doctor." Was the reply she got from Adrien before he went back to his book. "Also, this book mentions that being pooped on by a bird is a sign of good luck! Maybe you'll have a good fortune coming your way after you get better, Lila~" The baffled girl stared back grotesquely, jaw dropped and eye twitching, unable to comprehend the Adrien Agreste before her right now. She didn't even protest as Rose and Juleka hauled her flat ass out of the class, to the nurse's room, debating whether or not to call the ambulance for the mad girl. 'What...The...Actual...FUCK!?' ~(x)~ After the classroom door was closed, leaving behind a questioning class, a cat hero fighting the urge to burst out laughing and a bug heroine stirring awake. "Hmm...what happened Chaton?" Marinette hummed out, still half asleep and she nuzzled against the hand that cupped her cheek. Adrien replied with a genuine, soft smile full of love and a bit of his feline mischievousness. "I'll tell you later, Bug. Get some sleep, okay?" He pressed a chaste kiss on her lips, gaining a brilliant smile in return as Marinette settled back to sleep, relishing the way his fingers combed through her bobbleless hair. 'Mission accomplished, Plagg,' Adrien mused to himself, winking at his kwami who peered out of his bag whilst Tikki shook her head at her counterpart; albeit with more love than anger. The boy dived back into his book, tuning out the discussions that the rest of his friends were sharing regarding the impertinent wench that was just gotten rid of. Hopefully, they won't be seeing her for a very long time. Jacques the pigeon would be delighted in making sure of that. After all: If you hurt the Ladybug, you can count on the Black Cat to absolutely annihilate you without mercy... . . . ~(x)~

Dictionary 

'đéo' - Vietnamese for 'fuck no!' 

'che cazzo è' - Italian for 'What the fuck is this?'

[nocturnememory]

this softness (a knife, a knife, a knife)

 I was with you, he says, with his fingers ghosting along her scar. Right here, always.

She’s curled up against his side, Tales of Beetle the Bard, sits splayed open on the other half of the bed, but there’s no story she likes hearing more than the one he’ll tell her and only her, in the low light of her bedroom, half-asleep and pressed up as close as she can get to him.

Prompt: This is two prompts mixed into one, hopefully that works out for both prompters... the first was “What if Voldemort won the first war but harrie still ended as a hocrux?! Their life and story then. Would he watch over her as she is raised? Maybe care for her more or less?“ and the second, “How do you think Voldemort would raise Harrie? If he took her or kidnapped her from her parents instead of trying to kill her.”

This doesn’t quite match up with both exactly, but it merges the two together because I think they were too similar to not meld together into one prompt.

hopefully the two prompters enjoy it anyway!

Warnings: Underage, age-gap, Voldemort raises Harrie, Minister of Magic Voldemort, morally grey!Harrie. Pureblood rhetoric/prejudice. Pureblood culture/beliefs.

This is definitely pretty dark and like, very very morally complicated. Don’t be fooled by the fluff in the first part. If you’re at all sensitive to underage/age-gap stories, this one is definitely not for you. While I’ve done my best to keep it from being squicky with grooming, there’s definitely still going to be threads of this story that cross like, a lot of boundaries.

this softness (a knife, a knife, a knife) 1/3

                  Outside of her cupboard, there’s a knock on the front door of Privet Drive.

In the kitchen, a chair scrapes back, her uncle grumbles and mutters about dinner time and no good nuisances. His footsteps are heavy and thundering as he passes by her cupboard, blocking the striped, reaching light from the slats for a moment as he heads to the front door.

His footsteps fade as he turns the lock and yanks the door open, his voice sharp and hard. “Do you know what time it is? What kind of f—”

There’s a thump and a sliding sound, like something heavy being pushed across the floor. Like when Aunt Petunia has Harrie vacuum the front room and she has to push and push the big couch back to get at the dust underneath.

The light to her cupboard gets blocked again, that sliding noise louder and louder like whatever is being pushed is sliding right past her cupboard door along the strip of carpet in the hallway.

Beneath that noise, just beneath it, something gurgles and gasps.

And then, there’s a scream. A thump, more thumps, something breaks and shatters and underneath it all, that choking, gasping gurgling sound.

Harrie huddles into the corner of her cupboard with her knees to her chest and her arms shaking, clutching at her little tin soldier in her sweaty palm.

No one ever looks in her cupboard, she tells herself, they won’t find her in here. She’s safe in her cupboard, she’s always been safe in her cupboard.

It gets louder, the thumping and gurgling and screams outside of her cupboard and Harrie tucks her head into her knees, squeezing her eyes shut—

Until—

Until—

It goes quiet.

Her ears strain and she pulls in a breath and holds it, trying to hear what’s going on in the kitchen.

There’s a drip, drip, drip… and Harrie swallows, turning her head towards her cupboard door, watching the light stripping through the slats, her heart thundering in her ears as she holds her breath just a little bit longer.

Drip, drip, drip.

Like spilled milk over the edge of the kitchen table, she thinks, or juice from one of Dudley’s tantrums that Harrie always has to clean up, girl.

Drip, drip, drip.

Shaking, she hears footsteps, a pair of shoes over the hard kitchen floor turning into softer steps on the carpet in the hall. Steady and slow, coming towards her; they sound too heavy to be Aunt Petunia’s, but much too light to be Uncle Vernon’s.

A stranger, she thinks. It’s a stranger in the house, isn’t it?

She huddles smaller, hugging her knees tighter as the footsteps stop in front of her cupboard; it blocks some of the light, the pair of legs just outside of the door.

Her heart pounds, wild and unsteady and so loud in her ears it sounds like Dudley jumping on the stairs above her head. Thump thump thump.

The latch slides and drags back in a metallic scrape.

She goes cold at the same time something hot burns through her stomach and— and she feels— she feels—

So angry. So angry, her palm’s slippery and hot and it was over too quick, too quick, should have taken longer. Drawn it out. It’s clawing at her insides and— and the knob turns and the feeling cuts off, sharp and sudden enough to make her hitch a little breath.

The door pulls back.

A man crouches down slowly, he’s tall and big and fills the little, angled doorway of her cupboard up until there’s barely any space left.

He holds his hand out, it’s red and shiny, even in shadows of her cupboard.

“Hullo, Harrie,” the man says with a careful, slow smile that makes her feel…makes her feel…

It makes her slide forward, unfolding from her tucked-up, tight huddle in the corner, makes her slip her hand into his sticky one so he can pull her out towards him until she can tuck her head into his neck and wrap her arms around his shoulders and cling onto him so tight she thinks it has to hurt him.

But his fingers are long and warm as they push into her hair to cup the back of her head as his arms wrap around her like they’re swallowing her up in the size of them; his voice is low and warm and she can feel it inside of her chest, her belly, the clench of her knees digging into his ribs, trembling to cling on tighter and tighter and tighter.

His head turns into her shoulder, his chest shifts against hers as he breathes out, long and slow and warm over her skin, his arms tightening just a little bit more around her.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

                                                                            She’s so much smaller than he expects.

He doesn’t burn the house down, no matter the desire to wipe the filth of that family off the face of the Earth like God’s hand coming down with a vengeful flood.

No, no. That’s almost kind, isn’t it? Fire purifies in so many ways, and they deserve to die like the bugs they are. A smear of gore on glass. Crushed beneath his palm.

He seals the house and leaves them to rot.

The girl, his girl, breathes gently against his neck, her cheek soft and warm, her arms lax over his shoulders. She hasn’t spoken yet, but she knows him.

She knew him as soon as she saw him.

In a cupboard. A cupboard. (He killed them too quickly, too easily. He should’ve taken his time taking them apart. Chained them to a rockface and picked at their organs and bones like a vulture. Left them to be gnawed on by rats and birds a little more each day.)

His girl whimpers at the heat of his anger and irritation, and he ducks his head and presses his lips to her forehead, his voice low and easing, shh, sweet girl, it’s alright.

She weighs nothing, and it’s his own fault for being so caught by it. She’s taken up so much space in his mind for years that the reality of her, no matter that he knows she’s nothing but a four-year-old child, leaves him staggering to process it.

He’s been hunting for her for so long. Four years since he knew about the idea of her. Three years since he’s known her, known her voice and her face in flashes, known her hunger and her tears, known the terribly rare sound of her laughter. (Once, just once, a kitten-lick on her palm, a stale house with an awkwardly-kind old woman surrounded by cats who fed her stale cake.)

A squib, he’d found out later, a kind old fucking squib faithful to Albus. She’d lived only long enough to seal her own fate. (A terribly small girl, she’d said around her tea cup, her eyes glassy and unfocused, I’m not sure they treat her very well but—)

But.

But.

                                    When he was a boy, he imagined that when the day came that he and Albus came wand-point to wand-point, it would be bloody and beautiful and biblical. The battle of Armageddon; the orphan boy and the false king.

(His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself.  He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God.)

A final stand that would raze Britain to its foundations and let the victor rebuild it in whatever image they chose. A fanciful, violent dream shaped by a boy sculpted by his childhood. Verses twisted to fantasies. Recitation twisted to conception.

It would have been something.

But now— now Albus has fashioned himself a noose of his own making and it tightens by the hour. Inches tighter by the minute. There will be no crowns and no battle, no fire and no brimstone.

There are bruises on her and she weighs nothing.

                                      He holds her through the twist of Apparition, carries her into his estate that’s been sitting empty, sitting waiting, sitting ready for the moment he finally found her.

He peels her out of her too-large muggle clothes and sinks her into a bath so overloaded by bubbles from an overeager house-elf that she nearly disappears into them.

The house elves send food and Harrie picks at apple slices with peanut butter and sliced fruit with slick little fingers.

He sinks himself onto a conjured stool beside the tub and does not even once think about what anyone would think about Lord Voldemort sitting at the side of a child’s bathtub.

Instead, he rolls his sleeves and pulls bubbles into little animal shapes to move around her head. Sends an Erumpet charging through a bubble-boulder, a snake winding over her head, a little fluttering pixie that blows bubbles out of its little bubble mouth.

Her laughter is sweeter than that one echoing sound of it he heard once in his chest— sweeter than any sound, in truth, in all the years he’s been alive or a shade or something caught between the two.

Harrie laughs and giggles and soaks until she’s pink and pruned, until all the filth of those muggles is nothing more than dirt sinking down the drain.

After, when he plucks her out of the tub and wraps her in a too-large towel, she stands between his bent knees and shivers in the chill outside of the tub, the fluffy thick, white towel tugged up to her mouth as she blinks at him all wide-eyed and green; hopeful, resigned, curious, cautious.

“Are you real?” she asks, her voice small and muffled as he rubs his hands briskly over her shoulders and back to warm her up again.

His anger is a sudden and ice-cold dagger inside of him. Harrie's brows furrow and her body tightens, shoulders tensing, pulling the towel higher and tighter until its right under her nose.

He reigns it in, swallowing it down and resumes rubbing over her shoulders and back. “Yes, I’m real,” he says, as light and easy as he can manage. “Do I not feel real?”

She shrugs her little shoulders and leans into him, tucking her head against his shoulder. She’s warm and damp and he can feel it soaking into his clothes slowly, but he wraps her up in his arms and lets her burrow closer, still clutching at the towel but pressing herself into him.

“I’m real,” he says as her hair soaks his shoulder and she turns her head and presses her cheek against his chest. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Harrie.”

She’s quiet, her body slowly easing in his arms as her shivers subside. “You promise you’re real?”

“I promise.”

                                     (Albus has lost the right to be remembered. He’ll be no more than those muggles dead in Four Privet Drive, a smear of bug guts on glass.

He’ll leave the man to rot in a field, he thinks. 

Nothing but dead and rotting meat.)

                                                                                               I was with you, he says, with his fingers ghosting along her scar. Right here, always.

She’s curled up against his side, Tales of Beetle the Bard, sits splayed open on the other half of the bed, but there’s no story she likes hearing more than the one he’ll tell her and only her, in the low light of her bedroom, half-asleep and pressed up as close as she can get to him.

He’s warm and so big and Harrie never feels like she can get close enough, no matter where she tucks her head or how hard her hand curls into his shirt. His heartbeat is steady and familiar, even when it wasn’t. Even when she isn’t sure she knew his face, she thinks she always knew him.

I had to put myself back together, he’ll say, with his fingers on her cheek or her scar, his voice this low-rolling thing that fills her up so nicely, rumbling out of his chest and into her. You were my little guide in the dark for all my scattered parts.

She doesn’t like the idea of him being apart but in her mind he’s like a puzzle and she’s piecing him back together with her own little hands, fitting all his edges into hers the way her still-bony knees and elbows fit so nicely into the warmth of his chest or under his arm. The way her cheek will fit hotly against his shoulder and she can hear that wave-like whump-bump of his heart that always reminds of her when she was in her cupboard and it was dark and empty but not so empty at all. When she’d shut her eyes and plug her ears to cover the sound of the Dursleys forgetting about her. In the quiet, in the press of her palms, she’d hear that ocean-like sound, whump-bump, whump-bump.

It’s her favourite place to be, listening to that sound inside of him; her ear pressed up against his shoulder or chest and she thinks he knows it, too, because sometimes he’ll slide his hand over her cheek until it covers her other ear, until the world fades away and there’s nothing but that sound. Nothing but the weight of his palm, his fingers in her hair and his thumb tracing slowly over the edges of her scar.

Whumpbump.

                                                                                              There’s a man kneeling on the floor, and he’s bound in shackles and he looks at Harrie with the saddest look Harrie’s ever seen, like those dark paintings she’s seen hanging on the walls in the Malfoy’s long hallways, their faces twisted and dark.

The man in front of her and Tom says her name like it’s something other than just a name.

“Harrie,” he says with a face that twists almost painfully towards tears. Harrie, I’m so sorry—

She doesn’t know what he’s sorry for, but one of the Death Eaters standing next to him yanks a thick silver chain that’s attached to a thick silver collar around his neck and the man grits his teeth as his eyes flash yellow and something growls low in his throat as he winces in pain.

Tom carries her as he walks in front of the man, but there’s a smile on his face just for her, and in her ear he says: he thought he could hide you from me, like it’s a funny little secret just for them.

Harrie almost laughs, burrowing her smile into his chest instead; she doesn’t think it’s the right place to laugh, it’s too cold and tight in the room. It doesn’t feel right. But it’s funny all the same and she feels it bubble inside of her because—

Because Tom hunted giants for her, she knows the story; she was hidden away like a princess in those adventures in her picture books.

The half-giant came thundering through the rubble and stole you away from the battle right when I’d finally found you.

The giant had been the one to leave her with the Dursleys, Tom said.

Sometimes, Harrie thinks she remembers it, this cracking roar of a sound that she thinks must’ve been the giant; she remembers being carried so high up that it must have been something very tall carrying her.

He was the key to finding you, he’d tell her whenever she asked for the story, and I fought him until he fell like a great, old tree and then I cracked him open until he spilled all those terrible secrets in his thick, giant head.

It’s silly, she thinks, that anyone could think Tom wouldn’t find her. The man kneeling in front of them should have known better.

“This one,” Tom says as he shifts Harrie in his arms and walks around the chained man. “Was one of Albus’ most loyal little dogs. But he’s been hiding away in the muggle world, hasn’t he? Like the little traitor he is.”

The last comes out sharper, harder, and Harrie feels Tom’s anger in her belly; sometimes she’ll get echoes of it when he tells the story but it’s brighter now, more real.

It isn’t just a bedtime story, she knows, no matter how many times she asks for him to tell it. She knows it’s all real.

Tom fought giants for her.

“Not even a dog,” Tom says and then he smiles again and presses it into Harrie’s cheek until Harrie looks at him and wraps her arms around his neck and drops her cheek to the thick of his shoulder to watch the bound man from the comfort of Tom’s heartbeat beneath her ear when he pulls back.

“No, not a dog,” he says lightly. “But we’ll let him find himself, won’t we, sweet girl? We’ll show him what sort of beast he truly is.”

The man swallows and jerks in his chains, his eyes closing as his shoulders slump. “I’m so sorry, Harrie.”

She frowns and fiddles with a button on Tom’s shirt, blinking at the man; she doesn’t know what to think about him, only that he’s awfully silly for thinking Tom wouldn’t find her, and must not be that smart to think he could hide.

Tom’s very, very good and Hide and Seek. He always finds her.

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Tom says lightly. “We should go to the beach, shouldn’t we?”

Harrie sits straighter in his arms, glancing at the other man. She doesn’t think Tom means to bring him along, they usually only go to the beach together but… “Just us?”

Tom chuckles and nods. “Just us. He’ll be much too busy tonight, I’m afraid. He’s been cooped up and hiding for so long, I’d imagine he needs some time to be himself, hm?” he pinches her side, his smile growing at her laughter before he turns his head to look at the other man. “And he must be quite hungry, I’d imagine.”

                                                                                                           Nagini, Tom tells her, holding her in the waist-deep water along the edges of the lake as the snake slides through the waters around them like a glimmer of dark oil just under the surface. She’s big and long and endless, circling Tom’s waist, brushing slickly against Harrie’s toes where they dig into his hip.

She isn’t sure if she’s afraid, because Tom’s with her and nothing bad will happen to her if he’s there, she knows, but she clings on a little tighter to his shoulders, peering down into the dark waters, the sun above them lighting only the first few inches, just enough to see the metallic, colourful scales along the snake’s skin as she circles them.

Tom walks further into the water, until it laps coolly over her waist and his stomach and she’s only half-listening but ever attuned to his voice in her ear.

Naga’s prefer the water, he says, but Nagini loves to hunt in the fields. Fat cows and wild deer, the bigger the better. She’ll squeeze and squeeze, he says, his arms tightening around her, until they fall asleep, and then…

He pinches her side and makes her squeal out a laugh and slosh the water around them as he sinks them up to their shoulders.

She’ll bite them, quick and sharp, sinking her venom into them.

You’d be nothing to swallow up, he teases, a little mouthful. A little appetizer with sharp little bones.

You wouldn’t let her eat me, Harrie insists.

No? he asks, with his crooked smile that makes her whole tummy do this happy little dance and makes her grin back as she shakes her head, the damp edges of her hair flying around them.

I’m not food.

Aren’t you? he says, with a laugh as he takes her hand in his and moves it out into the water to stroke over Nagini’s winding scales. What are you then?

Yours, she says and his grin is wide and so happy she can feel it, like little bursts along her insides.

You are, he says and brushes his nose over the soft of her cheek before he lets out a little snarl and bites her cheek lightly. You’re mine to eat up, aren’t you?

Harrie squirms in his arms, giggling at the scrape of his teeth over the soft of her cheek, before she bites him back, snapping her little teeth at him, her nose scrunching with a growl. No. I’ll eat you. She says and wraps her arms around his neck, tighter and tighter. Like Nagini, she decides, I’ll swallow you up.

He laughs into her shoulder, and she barely pulls in a breathless squeal of surprise when he dunks them both into the water, Nagini winding around them, her voice as smooth as silk.

Hello, little hatchling. He’s been hunting for you for ssso long.

                                                     The door creaks open and he glances up, even though he already knows who it is, sneaking into the room. Though, he thinks, sneaking isn’t quite the word for it.

His girl slips sleepily into his office, clutching a throw blanket from her bedroom around herself, her hair wild and her eyes heavy with sleep. Her bare feet quiet little pats in the lull in the room, the blanket dragging behind her like a cloak.

Abraxas’ lips turn up at the sight, hiding a smile in the way he leans on his elbow, his fist just covering his mouth. Bellatrix’s jaw tightens in irritation, as young and too eager as she is vicious and cruel.

Severus watches the girl, his mind carefully, perfectly blank.

Harrie stumbles up to his side and he turns in his chair, letting her clamber onto his lap, pressing her warm cheek into his chest as she curls up in her blanket. She grabs at his arm, dragging it over her middle, a soft little pout in her lip.

“Spoiled girl,” he whispers before shifting her, settling her more comfortably on his lap, listening to her little inhale and sigh, feeling the curl of her hand into the front of his shirt, holding onto him.

She’s asleep in moments, the gentle hum of her mind always at the back of his, fades into a soft, blurry thing full of contentment.

“The papers are already running the story,” Abraxas continues after clearing his throat and schooling his face. “The attack on the Ministry will be blamed on the Order. I edited the article myself, malcontents targeting Purebloods and Minister Bagnold, who so recently and tragically lost his wife to the very same violent insurgents.”

“How terrible,” Tom smiles, feeling that same contentment that comes with Harrie’s steady heartbeat against his. “I look forward to tomorrow’s paper.”

                                               Albus dies alone a week later. A poisoned candy rotting away in his stomach.

(He lets them bury him and lets them mourn. He takes Harrie to Italy for the week and lets her press gelato-sticky kisses to his cheek in the heat of the Italian sun and the salty spray of the ocean. He’s never been partial to lemon, but he smiles around glass after glass of Limoncello and laughs at the face Harrie makes when she insists on tasting it.)

Lemon has never tasted better, he thinks.

  (He digs him up when they get back. Strips him naked before dumping him in a field just outside of Hogwarts wards. No final words, no victorious speech; Harrie’s waiting for him already, tucked into his bed no matter how many times he carries her back to her own.)

 Victory, Tom realises, looks entirely different now:

Sleep-warm cheeks, bony knees in his ribs, a little reaching hand that curls around his finger. 

                                   .

.

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: The Hand and The Hammer

August Walker x Reader (YOU)

Word count: 5K, Explicit

Summary: August Walker has been living rent free in your head for five years. For half a decade, you had been deployed all across the world to hunt down the elusive anarchist, all because of a long standing one sided love/hate relationship between he and your unhinged employer.

Thanks to @lightsidecalling​ for your support

Part I

You lie beneath cool white sheets, watching the white-yellow wash of early morning sunlight tickle at the edges of billowy sheer curtains. It takes several minutes for the light to seep through the curtains, spill across the bare stone floor and then paint indulgent stripes of gold across your duvet.  

Throwing off the sheets to allow the rising sun to caress and warm your naked skin, you close your eyes and bask in the heat like a contented house cat.  

You have absolutely nothing to do today. Your diary is gloriously empty of responsibilities and just as you've done for the last three weeks, you fully intend to take advantage of your free time.

You stretch and yawn,  feeling comfortable exactly where you are, and you consider sleeping in. However, your stomach growls and abruptly the quest for food is suddenly top priority. You grab the mobile phone that's tucked beneath the pillow and the face brightens at a touch.

You can see that it’s almost eleven am.

You perk up at the rattle of a room service cart being wheeled through the sitting room outside of your bedroom door.

Right on time, you think.

You had requested that breakfast be brought round at a certain time, and everyday,  it was there without delay. The staff in the rented oceanside bungalow was always on the ball, always attentive and you appreciated that.

Rising easily, you walk lightly across the cool stone floor to the adjoining bath.  Powdered and perfumed,  you dress in a light, peach coloured sundress and sandals.

An ocean breeze ruffles your dress when you step out onto the sunny patio where breakfast is waiting. It is quite a spread, for just one person, with juice, coffee and tea services, seasonal fruits, cheeses, breakfast meats and a lovely stack of golden french toast that is still pert and fresh from the cooker. You walk to the shade provided by the umbrellas over the long glass table and help yourself to the food.

Nearly  a half hour later, the service door behind you slides open on quiet rollers and you can hear your assistant striding across the paving stones.

'Phone call for you,' he says in that gentle familiar voice.

You replace the coffee cup on the saucer and shift, fully expecting him to slip a thin mobile phone into your hand. Instead, he lays a bulky black leather case on the table. You look down at it and swear under your breath.

It is the satellite phone. And the satellite phone means only one thing.

You pick it up and hold the earpiece it to your ear.

The messenger down the line delivers the information quickly, sparing no words and then asks if you understand. You say that you do and the call is disconnected.

So much for a day of nothing.

You finish your breakfast and return to your bedroom. Waiting for you on the freshly made bed  are two white envelopes. You pick up the larger of the two. In it is a stack of your destination's local money, and airline tickets. You tuck that envelope into your handbag, dress in comfortable, but chic travel clothing and pack a small carry-on.

You then pick up the second, smaller envelope that you know contains information regarding the target. This envelope, unlike the first, is sealed with a black wax stamp. You recognise the initials of your employer and the envelope comes open with a flick of your fingernail. You slide out a black and white photo and have an immediate and unnamed visceral reaction to seeing the face. Unconsciously clenching your teeth you resist the urge to rip the cursed photo to pieces.

'Fuck...' you mutter, glaring down at the strong, unbearably handsome face peering back at you.

It was the infamous Hammer.

August Walker.

Again.

You struggle to get yourself in hand and after a long,  cleansing breath, you turn the photo over and read the neatly printed message about a lonely summer in Italy addressed to a fictional, 'My darling Véronique.'

With picture still in hand, you walk to your writing desk. Opening the top drawer, you pull out a piece of white card-stock paper that has in it, several cut out ovals of different sizes. You’d received this little holey card-stock in the post three weeks earlier with no accompanying explanation, and while it was strange, you knew enough about your employer's methods to keep it.  

Lining up the white card over the writing, you read the secret message revealed by the ovals.

'Target - August Walker. Find and Take Alive.'

'Ohh,' you groan, exasperated. 'Not this again.'

August Walker has been living rent free in your head for five years. For half a decade, you had been deployed all across the world to hunt down the anarchist, all because of a long standing one sided love/hate relationship between he and your unhinged employer.

You were good at your profession. Very good. And you had no trouble using your skill and your people to get close to hard targets. Yet, August Walker was not a bloody hard target and was NOT hard to find as he seemed to leave a trail of destruction and bodies that in turn led directly back to him!

So much for subtlety.

So it didn't matter much that you were able to pinpoint his location or get a visual bead on him days after the start of an assignment, as your employer invariably hit the mission abort button because 'things had changed'.

You were still paid handsomely. But being at the whim of a mad employer made you start to hate August Walker a little as well.

At least, at first.

Your hate soon turned from a hot coal sitting heavily in your gut to little butterflies that frantically scrambled about at the sight of him.

Over the course of your assignments, you'd had the opportunity to see him do nearly everything ranging from eating, to fighting, to blowing up buildings. The way he moved during a fight, his well-placed blows, his underhanded methods of winning were intoxicating to watch. The man was an absolute menace.

You'd told yourself that your physical delight was just a response to your clear admiration for his chaotic skills.

That admiration was purely professional, of course!

But the more you followed and watched him,  the more those little butterflies of admiration ignited into an unquenchable fire that only your hand seeking out a little self-pleasure beneath the duvet could put out.

But honestly, you would have fallen on your proverbial sword before you admitted to yourself that you found everything about August Walker, sexy.

And then he disappeared.

No destruction, no bodies and the trail was cold.

During the rest of that assignment, you didn't see him for two month until the night he climbed through the french windows of your Parisian hotel room.

To say that you were surprised to see him was an understatement.

But there he was, standing in your bedroom, like a fever dream, with that ridiculous moustache and that infuriating smirk.

He did not give you the opportunity to react, before he was upon you.

But that didn't matter, for you wrapped yourself around him, greedy and eager and August Walker took his time showing you how much of a menace he truly was.

You neglected to tell your employer about those few glorious hours of mission deviation.

No use throwing petrol on that unstable fire, you'd decided.

You were pulled from the field shortly after that because 'things had changed' and it was no longer necessary to bring in the target.  

Your last and most recent assignment ended in Beirut ten months ago. You had come so close to legitimately ensnaring him. You had been in top form and August had been cunning, but it was not enough to elude you. You'd had him dead to rights and all you had to do was give the word to tighten the noose round his neck. But before you could, that damned satellite phone call dragged you back from the brink.

And you remembered standing there, dirty, and exhausted on a crumbling rooftop watching that smug bastard escape through the streets below on a stolen motorbike.

The only thing that soothed you was a text from a blocked number, received a week after the Beruit incident, that read, 'Next time, baby.'

You had to laugh at that. It was so something August would do.

Coming back to the present and shaking yourself of your memories, you realise that you're still standing in your oceanside bedroom holding the photo of August Walker. Checking the time, you see that you're going to be late and you grab your bags.

The photo along with the cardstock go into the shredder, and you listen to the machine choke down the evidence as you leave the room.

Your flight to Heathrow is late arriving and the  airport is as busy as ever, full of children escaping on their summer hols and tourists out to see the world. You walk confidently through the melee and to the taxi stand outside. You want to get to your hotel quickly and have a nap, as you need to be sharp to handle what's coming your way.

**

Part II

Later that evening in your hotel, you shower and scrub up thoroughly, excited about the prospects of the evening's plan. You powder and perfume your body carefully and choose a pair of glossy red high heeled court shoes to go with your black dress. You feel sharp, clear-eyed and ready for a little fun. This assignment was going to be played on your terms and was probably going to be your last.

Carrying your kit bag with all of your tools, you hum along with the lift music (The Girl from Ipanema) as you descend to the lobby where your contact waits. You follow him to a black car waiting outside and climb inside.

As you are driven through the city, your contact sits next to you not saying a word. Your only form of communication is through the tablet he puts on your lap. You look down at the digital photo on the screen.

It is an image of August in what looks like a dance club. Only he didn't look like he was there to pick up women, or to have drinks with friends. He looked big and bulky and out of place amongst the scantily clad glittery people having a fun night out. He looked like he was lurking, and waiting for something.

'That was taken one minute ago,' says the contact as the car, caught by a traffic light, slows to a stop.

'In that one.' 

The contact points towards the window on your side of the car.

Your eyes follow the line of his finger to the brightly lighted neon sign spelling out the name of a club.

'Am I on the list?' you ask and a sudden giggle surprises you.

You open your mouth to apologise for the awkward comment, but you grab your kit bag and slam the door without waiting for a reply.

You walk up to the front of the club and survey the queue waiting to get in. You count up the number of bouncers but keep walking. You make a quick right, cut through the alleyway and come up to the backside of the club. There is a young woman wearing the club's uniform, standing under the emergency building light, and using her weight to keep open the rear door. She is smoking and scrolling through her mobile.

'Hullo,' you say pleasantly, as you approach, your heels clicking on the dry  macadam.

She raises her bleary bloodshot eyes to peer at you. You look at her name tag and under her name is a strip of tape on which is scrawled, 'Barkeep trainee'.

She looks like she is having a rough night as if she didn't know how to handle all of the drinks that overly generous customers bought for her, as the bartender.

'You're not supposed to actually drink it when they buy it for you, you know. You're supposed to spit it into your empty beer bottle.'

Her only answer is a wet burp.

Grinning and shaking your head, you put a finger to your lips and make a soft shushing noise as you put two hundred quid into her hand. Then without asking, you enter the club.

Once inside, the whole world shakes around you, vibrating with the thunderous bass that accompanies some nameless, formless song. You lean against the wall between the men's and the ladies' toilets for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dim lightning. The scent of urine and alcohol permeates your hiding place, but you don’t mind, as you aren’t going to be hiding there for very long. The ancient cigarette machine across the narrow corridor seemed to eye you disapprovingly.

'Yeah, I don't want to be here either,' you mutter.

Opening your kit bag, you fish out your small purse. In it are your syringes, and vials of incapacitating drugs. You are going to go in there with all guns blazing and August Walker is not going to know what hit him. You even left the satellite phone in the hotel room. You weren't going to give your employer an opportunity to back out of the deal and order you to let him escape. Again.

Squaring your shoulders, you stride into the main hall. The club is partitioned into two levels, where the floor above overlooks the main floor on all four sides. You stand by the lower bar and let your keen eyes crawl all over the neon lighted faces. The music screams unpleasantly and immediately your head starts to hurt.

It is the stress, you think.

The stress and the travelling and you haven’t had any water all day.

But instead of water, you order a whisky sour and drink it quickly. It doesn’t quell your headache, but it bolsters your mood. You continue to look around and honestly, if he hadn't moved, you would have never spotted him up on the second level.

Your heart picks up speed.

Dear God, there he is. The unbearably sexy August Walker.

Ducking away from the bar, you go round to where the stairs dog-leg to the next level. Once up there, you weave your way through the thick standing crowd. Then you just stop moving and the crowd buffets you for a moment. You realise that in your zeal to just get your hands on August, you have no other plan.

Sure, you were going to jab him with the hypodermic, but what were you going to do if his knees just gave out beneath him. You would have to make a scene to get your contacts in there to drag the big man away. You were not going to be able to haul him down to the car on your own. And the last thing you wanted to do was to draw attention to yourself.

You growl with frustration and push your way to the more intimate bar at the back of the area. It is just a little quieter there and you take the needed space and time to regroup. You order another whisky sour and face the bar to drink it and think.

Have I been hasty?

Am I unprepared for this?

Has my judgement been clouded by my hubris?

A tall man comes close to you at the bar, but you ignore him. He is probably just ordering something and will move off soon. But when he doesn’t order, or move away, you turn to look up at him, ready to give him the business.

August Walker towers over you, smirking and looking like the cat that ate the canary.

In your mind, you know that you should feel angry, or disappointed, or even afraid, but you can't bring yourself to feel anything but relief.

He grabs you up by the arm and all but pulls you through the crowd and to one of the private rooms in the back. The room he picks is dim and backlit with baby pink and purple lights and the furniture looked soft and fun. The room is also clearly occupied by several people who looked to be having a private coke party in the corner.  However they do not object to your sudden presence.

August crowds you up against the soft bubbly wall, one hand against it above your head and the other hovering at your waist.

'I'm going to search you,' he says, his eyes boring into yours.

A surge of heat rushes up inside you, but whether it was from anguish or arousal, you aren’t sure. Two whiskey sours on a stomach that only had jelly babies is making everything start to blur together.

'No you will not!' you manage to growl indignantly.

He raises a dark brow. His smirk lengthens into something more mischievous and his blue eyes warm considerably and you know he's not a threat.

'Then show me that you are not armed.'

'You can go fuck yourself.'

August  grunts with amusement and you bite your lip.

This is not the time to bring up sex.

You can see the wheels turning in his head and he heaves himself backwards. With the movement, you catch his scent and you are immediately rocketed back to the night he positively wrecked you. You remembered feeling deliciously tender for the rest of that week. 

The demon inside you lurches in its metaphorical cage.

Want him, want him, want...

He holds open his plain  black suit jacket with both hands in an obvious effort to show that he is wearing his weapon in a hip holster. Unfortunately, all you can see is how his tie nestles quite contentedly between his big, meaty pecs.

The demon in the back of your mind reminds you that he's got soft hair on his chest and belly and you fight the desire to touch him.

August clears his throat and catches your attention.

Yes, you think. Yes, focus. His face is right there, focus. Not on the memory of that beautiful chest.

He quirks his brows to indicate that you need to show that you aren't packing. But you are only wearing a thin dress with a light half jacket and couldn't possibly be hiding anything. Instead, you cock your head and mock him, opening your little half jacket to show him you weren't armed. At least not in that spot.

August seems to accept it, because he is obviously more interested in the reason why you are there.  

'It's time to end this.'

'End what?' you ask feigning innocence.

He takes your handbag, and opens it before you can protest. Seeing the contents, he flattens his lips into a tight line and then tosses the bag onto the floor. You watch it roll over once and come to rest in the corner.

'Stop. Following. Me,' he growls and leans in closer obviously using his powerfully built frame to intimidate you.

'I-- I can't. I have a job to do.'

You keep your face turned away, eyes still on the handbag in the corner. 

It’s the only way that you can remain sane with him this close.

Against your back you can feel the thump of muted music, you can smell his cologne and hear the faraway voices of the other occupants. You are starting to drift a little more, buoyed by the particular pleasure you’re receiving from his attempt to cow you.

August is good at reading people and when his big hand come to rest at your waist, you know he’s read you like an open book. He slides that hand to the small of your back and the other hand reaches down to touch you where your dress hem meets your lower thigh.

He arches you against him and you let out a soft  eager gasp.

'Well... well...'

His voice is low, breath warm against your temple and he sounds excruciatingly self satisfied.  

'What am I gonna have to do to get you off my back?'

Mmm there is that tone again. That tone that tells you that he is a man who does not mince his words. He is a man who is unafraid to show his intentions with his actions. Your heart wrenches in your chest. You feel sexy and mysterious in his presence. You are the woman he can’t get enough of. You are in control, not him, and deep down, August knows it.

You roll your head away from where you were looking at the purse. You look up into his eyes and  slide your arms about his neck.  

August needs no other prompting. His big hands tighten round your waist and he heaves you up off of your feet. One of your court shoes slips off of one foot and when you land on your knees astride his lap on the soft, pink couch, you grab the heel of the other and fling it over to its mate.

August Walker is an incredible specimen of male human form. His smirking face and ridiculous moustache arouses feelings of frustration and anger in you even as his thumbs inch up the hem of your dress. The foolishness of your flighty employer, August's elusiveness (for the most part) and the whole incomprehensibility of your futile, prematurely aborted missions, all suddenly  come to a head.

You sit back on his lap and scowl, giving his meaty chest a thump with the base of your loosely curled fist. That stops him and surprise is evident in his blue eyes. You narrow your eyes in return and baring your teeth slightly, you tighten your fist and hit him again. Harder.

Then again, even harder.

You pull  him up by his neatly knotted tie and slap his face. The sound of skin on skin is loud in the quiet room.

Oh, that felt good.

A second stretches into an eternity between you and you watch a mixture of hurt,  and something else that decidedly wasn't anger ghost across his face. It was arousal. Slapping him across the face obviously turned him on.

You huff a laugh and he grins, the challenge is clear.

'Looks like you wanna play,' he rumbles darkly.

August reaches both hands beneath your dress and grabbing your knickers, he drags them down your trembling thighs.

‘Up,’ he instructs you and when you  rise to your knees he slaps your ass and grabs an indulgent handful. 'Good girl.'

You yelp and moan with delight, steadying yourself with both hands against him. With his help, you manage to only get one leg free, but you don't care. August has enough access and you watch him lick two fingers which he slides into your wet heat.

You gasp and shudder, lewdly pushing your hips towards him rocking in time with the motion of his fingers dragging across your sensitive slit.

Fuck... fuck! This shouldn't be happening, you think, trying to keep your thoughts from running together. Not here, not now this is crazy!

'C'mon,' August encourages you, warm hand stroking your bum. 'Take my cock out. I wanna fill that sweet little pussy up.'

You drop into his lap again to do as you were told. His cock is thick and hot in your hand and he groans when you give him an experimental squeeze. August cups your hips and lifts you again. There's no longer any perceivable space between the two of you and when you let him push you down on his ready cock, there is no longer any singular breath. It's just one breath, your shared breath.

You wrap your arms about his shoulders and bury your face into his neck. You  need his steadiness to keep from exploding into tiny pieces.

'You drive me crazy,' you gasp, breathless from the rush of heat drowning you.

August holds you and you match the motion of his body. It isn't long until he has built a relentless rhythm and you are begging him for release. You can feel yourself taking out all of your pent up frustrations on him. The heat and strength of him inside you is enough to drive away all of your fears and worries, replacing them with pleasure.

You lift your head and kiss him. His mouth is soft and yielding and you are confused by this new tide of tender emotions that rush in on the aftermath of your orgasm.  

You melt against him, hiding your face in his neck to recover from the high and just like during his unexpected visit to your hotel all those months ago, August caresses you until you're able to recover.

You hum softly and open your eyes to sheepishly peek at the other people still in the pink and purple room. They're far away enough, but you can see that they are way too coked out to care about what you two deviants are doing.

'They know you're here,' you murmur after a moment, stroking his stubble rough cheeks and smoothing his rumpled curls.

'Hmm.'

'They got you on film.'

'I'll take care of it,' he whispers back, matching your intimate tone.

You nod and with a groan, you heave yourself off of him and stagger back to your feet. He grabs you to help you regain your balance and you're grateful for his quick reflexes. You didn't want to end the night falling and cracking your head open on a coffee table. There's a stack of napkins by the wine bottles on one of the tables. You grab a handful and hand some to him. You both avoid each other's eyes as you clean up and you grab your purse and shoes. 

Contemplating the contents of your purse you say to him, 'Are you gonna let me jab you with this?'

August grins quite suddenly and you are charmed by his disarming smile.

'No,' he says with laughter in his voice.

'Tsk... ok.'

You feign disappointment even though you know that you were going to go through with it anyway. 

Back in order, August pushes himself off of the couch. He takes you by the wrist and pulls you close. He holds your gaze, making sure that you cannot mistake his meaning.

'Come with me.'

You stare at him. Oh, it's so tempting that it hurts when you turn him down.

'You know my methods... why I do the things I do. You know, and I know you understand me.'

‘I understand. I understand. But I can’t.’

August flattens his lips into a grim line again, but he nods and releases you.

‘Don't forget to take care of that… thing,’ you tell him in parting.

You want to stay so badly. You want to run away with him and you nearly turn around when you reach the room door. But you force yourself to keep moving forward and out of his life.

There is a message waiting for you when you return to the hotel. 

Mission aborted. 

Reason - ‘things have changed’.

**

Part III

You lie in your oceanside bedroom listening to the room service cart rattling through the adjoining room. It's time to get up for breakfast. You get out of bed, stretch, yawn and disappear into the bath to wash up and prepare for another delightfully leisurely day.

The stone floor is warm against your bare feet and you walk towards the patio and out through the sliding doors. The mid-morning sunlight is blinding and you put a hand up to shield your eyes. The beach is empty today with only a few boats dotting the clear blue waves. Maybe a swim later is in order, you think as you turn towards the umbrella shaded breakfast table.

A strange sight makes you stop in your tracks. There is a dark haired man sitting at the table, with his eyes closed, and his face tilted up to catch the sun not blocked by the edge of the umbrella.

'August,' you whisper softly to yourself as if saying his name any louder would make the mirage fade away.

You walk closer and clasping your hands together, you hover at the far end of the table.

'August.'

Alerted to your presence, he lowers his head and opens his eyes to look at you. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

'What are you doing here, August? You shouldn't be here... it... it isn't safe.'

'I came for you,' he says as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say.

'No. No, you're leaving now. Right now.'

He looks at you for a moment and with his foot, August slides out the chair next to him and gestures a lazy hand to it.

'Breakfast first.'

Sure, you think, rolling your eyes. Breakfast first. You sit down beside him.

August pours coffee for you. You watch him quietly and without really meaning to, you reach out to put your hand against his cheek. August stills at your touch and when he leans down to kiss you, you curl your fingers into his sun-warmed hair.

'Come with me,' he murmurs against your lips. 'I want you to be with me.'

'You know I can't.'

And even as the words come out of your mouth, you don't believe them.

August scoffs and is about to try another tactic, but is interrupted by the softly opening service door.

You watch your assistant approach with the heavy satellite phone. He gives August an impassive look and hands the phone to you. Your assistant also places two white envelopes on the table by your empty plate. August watches you put the phone up to your ear.

The messenger down the line is different this time, but delivers the information in the same monotone voice before asking if you understand.

'I understand,' you say. 'But... but, I will open the envelope before I agree to the job.'

A beat passes.

'Go on,' says the messenger.

You open the smaller of the two envelopes, the one with the black wax seal and pull out a photo of the target. You suck your lower lip between your teeth and turn the photo around to show August his own face.

'The target is August Walker,' you say.

'Have you seen him?'

You look directly into August's face. He looks apprehensive, you think. Does he think you'll turn him in? After all this?

'No, I haven't seen him. But I won't--'

/Take the job/, August mouths to you.  

'I mean I will take the job.'

You disconnect the call.

'Why did you want me to take the job?' you ask a sense of giddiness beginning to simmer in your gut.

'Because you'll never catch me.'

You tap the phone and grin.

'I can give you up right now.'

August glances at the phone.

'Will you?'

You smirk.

'Mmm, breakfast first.'

0-0 END 0-0

Thanks for reading and please like and reblog  💖 💖

[perfectlymarilynmonroe]

Marilyn Monroe + Diet & Food

Throughout the majority of her life, she maintained a consistent, healthy diet. Like all of us, she indulged in some sweets and took breaks from her diet, but she knew the demands of being a star. She was consistent in her controlled diet and was able to stick to it when necessary. 

She was never finicky about food, she later said that made it easy on her foster parents when she was a little girl, she could eat whatever anyone put in front of her. However, as she aged, if the food resembled too much of an animal, a chicken, or fish, she refused to eat it.

As a model, she ate raw hamburgers, peanut butter, hot dogs, chili, crackers. In 1948 she told her boyfriend, Fred Karger, “I have grapefruit and coffee for breakfast, and cottage cheese for lunch. Some days I get by with just a little over a dollar a day for food.” 

In the 50s, a typical day started with some kind of juice — orange or grapefruit — eggs, followed by no lunch, or a light two tablespoons of cottage cheese lunch, and some kind of lean meat for dinners like steak, lamb, or liver. She drank milk, water to stay hydrated, and treated herself with drinks like Coca-Cola or champagne/sherry. 

In 1952, she told Pageant magazine, “My biggest single concern used to be getting enough to eat,” when she was just starting out, and later she had to watch what she ate. 

According to Pageant, for breakfast she drank a cup of milk and whipped up two raw eggs into it with a fork. She ate nothing for lunch, and for dinner she’d pick up a steak, lamb or liver, which she broiled with raw carrots. For a snack, she loved hot fudge sundaes, "I'm sure that I couldn't allow myself this indulgence were it not that my normal diet is composed almost totally of protein foods,” she said.

On first date with Joe DiMaggio, she ate  anchovies on pimento, spaghetti al dente, and scallopini of veal.

In 1953, she said that due to having to maintain her figure, it caused her to turn “anemic since all this happened — I have to drink raw liver juice and stir uncooked eggs into my milk. And I eat steak for breakfast every morning.”

While filming River of No Return in Canada, she loved to eat lobster.

During the time she was married to Joe DiMaggio, she tried her hand at his favorite Italian dishes and steak. During an interview, she admitted, “I’m learning, a little slow...” at cooking his steak. In Korea, she ate cheese sandwiches and cakes the troops brought for her.

In 1955, after she left Hollywood and began a new life in New York, she went off of her diet for a bit. She ate delicious foods like tomatoes, stewed corn, string beans, red cabbage with apple, winter squash, and her favorite late-night snack, scrambled eggs with anchovies and capers. When it was freezing she’d warm up with a bowl of chili.

That same year, when she was about to cook for the Strasberg family she broke down in tears, “I can’t cook it if it looks like a chicken. The poor thing was alive, and they killed it, it had a mother. I can’t cook it unless it’s cut up into pieces…” 

While married to Arthur Miller, she continued to relinquish her diet. She loved cooking for him and his two children, making her own noodles and different Jewish delicacies. A typical breakfast was three poached eggs, toast, a Bloody Mary, for lunch was salami and cheese sandwiches. Her weight gain during those years, 1956-end 1960, coincided with her pregnancies that tragically ended in miscarriages.

In the late 50s, early 60s, she suffered from gastrointestinal problems which affected her diet. She suffered from stomach ailments and from violent vomiting episodes. After her gallbladder surgery, in 1961, some of the pain was alleviated, and she went on a restrictive diet. She ate a lot of proteins, veggies, and as few carbohydrates as possible. Her weight loss, due to the surgery, inspired her to maintain that lost weight. 

During that time, a typical day started with, again, a juice, some toast or egg yolks, a light lunch, and fettucini leon or a steak for dinner. Her last breakfast, on August 4th, was grapefruit juice. That day she didn’t eat much.

In 1962, she told George Barris: “I love food as long as it has flavor. It’s flavorless food I can’t stand. I usually have a steak and a green salad for my dinner, also for breakfast when I’m really hungry. I keep away from pastries—I used to love them, and ice cream, too. I skip all desserts unless it’s fruit. I just don’t like the taste of pastries. as a kid I did, but now I hate it—and as for candy, I can take it or leave it, usually leave it. But I love champagne—just give me champagne and good food, and I’m in heaven and love. That’s what makes the world go round.”

Her favorite foods were steak and greens, spaghetti, eggs/egg whites, caviar, and her guilty pleasure good was hot dogs! For drinks, she loved Coca-Cola and 1953 Dom Perignon. She hated olives.

“I believe your body should make your clothes look good - instead of using clothes to make the body conform to what is considered fashionable at the moment, distorted or not.” – Marilyn Monroe to Movieland Magazine in 1952.

[ghost-at-the-masquerade]

Taking the Day Off

Rated T, 3,724 words

Summary: Link and Riju have a (mostly) fun day out

A/N: This is not shippy and you are not welcome to read it as such

Stinging sand pelts any bit of exposed skin it can find and sings off their golden shinguards. Scorching desert air whips past their face, hot even with the shield of cooling magic drifting down from their headband.

Ahead of them, Riju’s hair whips wild and free. She laughs and lifts her fingertips into the air like she’s skimming them over the surface of a pond. No crown or jewelry today, just long, baggy clothes in brilliant red, purple and gold.

The two are headed northwest, out from the shadow of the city. Nowhere to go and no one to answer to. Riju guides them past the dangers of the desert with ease, even with its landmarks few and far between. Weaving between pillars on their way toward the ruins, slowing her breakneck pace only to regale them with the the names and glories of the weathered statues they passed.

Grand, statuesque heroines and goddesses uncommon to the mainland. Resonu, conquerer of sandstorms, who tricked the wind into hiding their secrets; Sabis, the goddess who cleaved the stone of the valley and allowed the Gerudo into the rest of Hyrule.

Link studies their crumbling faces and missing weapons, and they have to ask, “But why are they in such a state…?”

“It’s a kind of… symbolic thing. Allowing them to return to the land, in their own time.”

Still, the concern didn’t quite all fall away at first.

“Don’t worry, they’re not forgotten - statues are not how we record history.” She laughed and hurried Patricia along once again.

They reach the depths of the ruins, sheltered by the bleached bones of ancient things and the shadow of the highland.

“We believe they’re a migrant cousin of the Dodongo,” Riju says, running a reverent hand over one massive vertebrae, “native to Death Mountain and speculated to have a cousin in Hebra as well.

Their gut clenched at the very idea of something that big ever lurking in the sand, like the molduga. “What happened to them?”

“Of course the obvious answer is that they died off, but some of our scholars think they may have shrunk instead, as they moved out deeper into the desert.”

“Shrunk?” They signed with a laugh, one which Riju echoed.

“Yes, well, maybe that’s not the way to put it. If Hebra has anything in common with a volcano, it’s mineral-rich stone. But they wouldn’t have that here. So they became smaller to compensate the lack of food.”

“Why not just move back?”

She shrugged, “The ways of beasts are never truly known.”

At last they slowed to a stop under the watchful eye of a stone swordswoman. Unhooking from their mounts, they stuck their shields upright in the sand. Stepping up onto the hot sandstone of her base, they sat together in her shadow.

Riju stuck her canteen upright in the sand in front of her and pulled a bag from her hip, untying it and laying the cloth out on her lap. Inside lay her midday meal, for which she had packed a small spread of cooked meats, seared veggies and sweet wild berries.

Link pointed to the berries and asked, “Dalia’s garden?” before turning to dig through their own pouch, feeling through its endless depths for the right pocket.

“Yes, she was very excited for her first harvest and insisted I should have some. I still don’t know how she gets them to grow here, they rarely even survive the trip from the bazaar.” She says, biting into one in earnest. She spoke through a shameless mouthful,  “They were my favorite as a child.”

They laughed softly and considered telling her she still was one, but thought better of it. Instead they pulled a hydromelon from their pouch, setting it between their feet. They drew a guardian sword with a bit of flourish, halving the melon with a satisfying ‘chunk’. Juice seeped down and disappeared into the sand. Link offered half to Riju, who tossed it to her seal. Patricia barked happily at the treat.

Flicking the juice from the blade, they put it away, returning the two to companionable silence as they watched the shimmering distance and the slow progression of shadows across the sands. Every now and again, a hot desert breeze flapped a bit of cloth or hair, a quiet third companion while they ate.

When she was done, Riju used a bit of her water to wash her hands of the berry juice. She dried them with the cloth that had held her lunch before securing it to her belt again, then stood and stretched her legs, watching Link with a lopsided smile as they opted instead to suck their fingers clean.

“That’s rather childish.”

“Says you.” They puffed out their cheeks and pointed at her, poking fun at her lack of manners earlier.

She gave a good-natured huff and didn’t respond further, tapping her foot.

They laughed, rising and prying both of their shields from the sand, handing Riju hers.

Riju called the seals, who had been playing and chasing each other just a little ways away. Clipping in, they were off again, headed further west after deciding it best to steer clear of the old Yiga base, even if it had been abandoned. Far enough to clear the boneyard before swerving south, staying far from the stone cliff that marked a known molduga nest. A dust cloud could be seen on the horizon.

The distant nest disappeared behind a dune and small clusters of cacti came into view. Link slowed their seal, dropping behind a few yards and pulling an ornate golden bow from their back. They nocked an arrow and let fly as they passed a row of cacti, piercing one of the fruits, the momentum ripping it from its root and sending it flying. They grabbed the arrow by the shaft as they passed, jerking it free and frowning at the sand caked into the juice that had leaked out.

Riju laughed at them as they caught up. “Watch this.” She said, and she called to Patricia, veering hard to the right, up a steep dune. She crested the mound and jumped, snagging one of the fruits mid-air.

She swerved lazily, proudly back and forth as she rejoined them.

“Not bad.”

“At least you can eat this one.” She said, tossing it to them.

They put both it and the one they had attempted to clean away before signing, “I think you can do better.”

“Oh do you?” She said, and when they nodded she continued, “I might have another trick up my sleeve.”

Before they could even goad her, she was moving fast up the next large dune and Link had to hurry to see what she would do next.

Riju launched herself sidelong into the air, snapping up her line so that she unhooked herself from Patricia, doing a quick spin. Amazingly, she stuck the landing, but failed to snap back into Patricia’s harness and the momentum left her spiraling into a face-full of sand.

When Link slowed to a stop beside her, she popped up on her hands and knees, smiling, “It actually almost worked! That’s the closest I’ve ever gotten!”

Link laughed and cheered, offering her a hand up. “Very impressive. But no fruit.”

She stuck her tongue out and kicked a bit of sand in their direction before walking back over to Patricia. Link just laughed again while they waited for her.

There wasn’t time to turn and see. And even if there had been, there wouldn’t have been time to run. The sand beneath them burst open, exploding upward in a great shower of earth and taking Link with it, while Riju was thrown aside.

Time slowed for a split second at the crest of her flight, hung sideways in the air while she tried to make sense of anything that was happening. Then Riju landed, hard, rolling only a few precious feet away. She whipped her aching head up and watched, wide-eyed, horrified as Link was snapped up in the mighty jaws of the molduga with a wet crack. The line severed, their terrified seal dropped back to the sand, where it bolted for the safety of town.

Riju scrambled away, the sand swelling as the beast returned to the depths and sent her tumbling head over heels. Faithful Patricia met her where she fell and Riju grabbed the harness, letting herself be dragged away.

There was little else but desert around her now - the empty expanse between the ruins and the uninhabitable. She urged Patricia back the way they had come, toward the ruins, as she could feel the beast rumbling somewhere below, following them and gaining speed. Her heart raced, her breathing came through clenched teeth, her legs stinging with pins and needles.

In what felt like just the nick of time, Patricia threw herself onto another square of sandstone, taking Riju with her. Girl and seal huddle together beneath the statue, Riju’s fingers balled in Patricia’s mane. For long moments, she hears nothing but her own pulse in her ears. The molduga’s trail stops just a few yards behind them.

This is not a known nest. The earth here is too hard, too uneven, too cool for an adult to move through. Though judging from the size of the trail it left, that was just it; it was a juvenile, more reckless and less predictable than its elders.

With that perspective on her situation, Riju surveyed the area, judging the distance between rocks, wondering if there was any way they could move between them fast enough, wondering how long and how far it would follow, wondering if she could ever get out. She pulled the sword from her hip, held it tight in a shaking fist. She could defend herself - but a sword was almost nothing against the tough hide of a molduga, even a young one. There was a system to taking one down, one she knew but had no tools for.

Even as she thought of her own survival, her final glimpse of her friend in the jaws flashed before her eyes. She whispers a prayer for them, but cannot bring herself to close her watering eyes.

Her breath catches in her throat as the thing’s shovel-jaw breaks the surface once more. Thrashing and squealing, plumes of dark smoke escaping with every cry. She dares not hope - but then there they are. There’s hardly a patch on them not bloodied, but they’re there, still moving, hands and feet braced precariously between jagged teeth, whole body shaking with the effort to keep the jaws from coming down. Riju jerks up onto one knee, but her legs give out under the weight of fear and helplessness. Even from here she can hear Link’s ragged, frightened breathing.

She blinks and the molduga’s mouth had snapped shut, but somehow, Link is on the other side, thrown out on the sand on their stomach. Her own voice sounds distance in her ears as she calls out to Patricia.

Staying as low to the ground as she can, she has Patricia whip her out in a sharp u-turn, just close enough to snag Link under the arms. There’s not a second to spare while the beast recovers, spewing the last of the smoke. She grits her teeth and has to adjust her footing, but she can manage the weight. The three tumble onto the stone in another heap. Somewhere behind them, the enraged molduga burrows.

Riju’s hearing comes back into sharp focus, wide eyes darting over her fallen friend as she pulls back from them. There’s too much, it’s too much, says the static in her brain as she scrabbles for their pouch, for whatever hope it might hold.

She stops when suddenly there’s a soft blue light that grows in strength. A thousand-thousand tiny threads that coalesce. She’s frozen as she watches, as she hears a soft voice, so faint she’s not quite sure she really heard it. The light and the threads envelop and sink into their figure. Link picks themself up, whole again. They touched their head gingerly, shaking it to clear their vision. Their face lit up when they saw her.

“Riju!” They croaked out, before switching back to signing, fingers shaking and a relieved laugh on their lips, “Thank every goddess and sage, you’re alright, I wasn’t sure- couldn’t see-”

“I’m alright?!” She sputtered, flabbergasted, unable to decide if she should play it off or be annoyed or just thankful. She chose instead to throw her arms around them, squeezing with all her might. She pushed them out to arm’s length again - then yanked them closer to the statue. “Why aren’t you dead?!”

“… That’s not a very nice thing to ask.”

“It ate you!” She gestured to all of them with an open hand.

Link smiled sheepishly, shrugging helplessly, “That happens.”

Riju opened her mouth to answer but decided against it, switching instead to the issue at hand. “We need to get out of here.”

Their expression steeled and they gave a firm nod. They rose to their feet and turned to scan the rocks, much as Riju had done, then pulled out their map. Riju stood close behind, watching as they zoomed in close and slowly scrolled through the area. There were areas of hard, raised earth and old structures dotted along for a good while out east, but after that was a large gap of open desert. They’d have no chance of crossing to the city if the thing followed them that far. And the implications of leading it that close to a densely populated area were terrifying regardless.

Clipping the slate back to their belt, they asked, “How well can you climb?”

Riju looked to the highlands, then back to Link. “Not well enough to climb that, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Link studied the distant wall for a long moment, lips pursed pensively. They could maybe carry her up, but getting back down was another matter - another matter that would probably take a whole extra day of travel, since they had no idea if the glider could handle both their weight, and they’d never risk her safety on it. Never mind the fact that they’d have to leave Patricia behind.

They turned to consider the distance to the city. There was no telling how long it would take for the thing to give up on them. How long they could be stuck in the elements, waiting. Even if Link had plenty of resources in their bags to sustain the both of them through the wait, people would come looking. And people would get hurt.

They turned back to Riju, something unreadable on their face. “We’ll have to kill it.”

“Okay.” Was her answer. Neither eager nor resigned, just a statement of fact.

While they didn’t want to have to involve her, having her on standby for another save could make all the difference. “You get to something more solid, I’m going up there.” They pointed to the nearest skeleton.

She nodded, and before they could say anything else, she was dashing across the sand to an outcropping of stone. Icy anxiety twisted in Link’s gut. Both of them watched the waves of sand intently, hearts racing as it turned and charged in their direction. But she was able to jump up on the outcropping safely, close behind her seal. She knelt to steady herself, holding a hand to her chest as she watched the molduga continue to approach. It skirted far too close to her haven, sitting only feet above the sand. While it shimmied its fin angrily above the surface, it didn’t risk the jump; their vision was generally poor, and a bad jump at hard stone could result in a broken jaw.

Link only relaxed when she turned a smile back to them, the two sharing an awkward, stressed laugh. It was Link’s turn now. They turned their eye to the towering ribcage of something long dead. It was sloped enough that it wouldn’t take much actual climbing, but it would certainly take sure footing, without much room for mistakes. The molduga circled in the distance, searching.

They reached into their pouch, pulling from it a pair of sand boots; the molduga was circling closer now, and they would need every advantage they could get. They downed a rancid potion, too. Geared up, hyped up, they sprinted straight toward the ancient bones, almost immediately regretting not stopping off with Riju; it was closing fast.

Riju choked on her heart, throwing a hand up to shield her face as the sand exploded a second time. Whatever miracle had saved Link the first time, she was sure it couldn’t save them a second time. Fortunately, it didn’t have to, as the beast’s aim was off this time. Instead of snapping them up for an easy snack, it threw them high, almost over the pile of bones. They nearly rolled down the other side, scrabbling and scratching to get a grip, scraping their fingers and breaking nails, but able to hold on.

After the beast had disappeared below once again, Link hauled themself back up top, waving to Riju to let her know they were okay. Then, crouched atop the crest of the skull, Link drew one bomb from the slate, then the other. The round one they held between their legs, the other they tossed to the ground. The moving mound of sand stopped. They had its attention. Link pointed the slate down at it and clicked the trigger, sending up a shower of sand. When the molduga started to move again, they tossed the second bomb into the crater left by the first and waited.

When the molduga breached for what they hoped was the last time, they clicked the trigger again. It shrieked in pain, jerking to the side to land with a thunderous thud. One of its teeth came clean out, flipping away to bury deep in the sand.

Riju and Patricia were on the move before it had settled. She circled around it, looking for a soft spot and, finding none, opted to jam her sword into its underside, starting just under one of its pitiful little legs. It was a struggle, but she managed to pull it along as she passed, leaving a large, bleeding gash. Pulling her curved blade free, she whipped around to make another pass. When she hit the tougher hide toward its jaw, the bade stuck and jerked out of her hand. She muttered a curse and headed back to the relative safety of the rock formation.

Meanwhile, Link had dropped down from on high, putting their weight into the master sword, glinting bright as it pierced the beast above one of its tiny red eyes. Landing on their feet and barely keeping the pommel from jamming into their face, they wrenched the blade free, stabbing it again and again, every thrust going deeper until the molduga let out its last pitiful wail and stopped its pained thrashing. They stumbled and slipped off as it settled.

After taking a moment to catch their breath, Link, ever the scavenger, put away the master sword and got out something shorter. They sawed off some good chunks of the hardy fin cartilage before moving on to widen the gashes Riju had started.

Patricia at her side, Riju stepped closer, still shaking with adrenaline. “Gross.”

Link only shrugged and continued harvesting. Riju couldn’t think of anything else to say. When she retrieved her own sword she found the blade badly dulled, with a chip toward the tip. She returned it to her hip anyway.

After the exhausting chase, Patricia didn’t have the strength to pull them both, and the other seal was long gone, so they made the trek back on foot. The wind returned, ever welcome as they made their way home. Many steps passed in tired silence.

Somewhere about the halfway point, Link gently tapped Riju’s shoulder so they could sign, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

She laughed - she couldn’t help it. “And you should have?”

“My… responsibility.”

Riju shook her head and touched their arm in a way that might have been an aborted shove. “It’s already done now. We made a good team.”

They struggled for a moment longer, but finally agreed, “… We did.”

The sun was all but gone and the chill of night had set in by the time they got back, far later than they were supposed to. Buliara met them outside the walls, clearly doing her best not to seem fretful, and only further losing her composure as soon as she saw the molduga’s blood dried across the both of them.

“What happened?” She demanded, forceful in her worry.

Riju answered, tired but straight to the point, “A juvenile molduga that wandered too far east.”

Buliara took a sharp breath, going stiff in the shoulders.

Riju continued before she could speak, starting them walking toward the gate again, “It is slain. But I want a convoy out in the morning to look for more.”

“Yes, chief. I will inform the guard immediately.”

The pair of guards at the western gate greeted them, stoic as ever, but their relief at Riju’s safe return was betrayed by the set of their shoulders. One of them accompanied the party into the city, staying a few steps behind the chief. At the steps of the palace she split off to tell the captain what had transpired.

Finally back inside the palace, Riju turned back to Link. “Thank you, Link. It was fun, until the part where you got eaten.”

“Same.” They signed with a laugh.

“We’ll have to do it again some time.” She waved as she started up to her room, followed by Buliara.

They waved a second longer than they should have. Then it was just them and the remaining guards in the hall. Link’s ears perked up as a thought occurred to them. After a moment of digging, they offered one of them the bag filled with the molduga’s foul-smelling innards.

The smile she offered in return wasn’t quite as bright as Link’s, but she didn’t hesitate to take it. “Thank you. I trust you know where the baths are?”

[earthfire-75]

What Is and What Should Never Be: Chapter Three

(Author’s note: No Beta, all mistakes are mine)

———————————————————

So if you wake up with the sunrise

And all your dreams are still as new

And happiness is what you need so bad

Girl, the answer lies with you, yeah

————————————————————

I woke to sunlight peeking through the edges of the black-out curtains. Robert sat up slowly, and I made a pouty sound, trying to pull him back into bed. He chuckled and patted my hand around his waist. “Sorry, love, nature calls.” I gave him a little squeeze and let him go before sitting up myself.

I watched him head for the bathroom before I crawled out of bed before heading over to my bags, getting out my toiletries and a change of clothes. As he came out of the bathroom, I grabbed my things and headed towards it. But Robert stopped me by wrapping his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Read my mind, darlin’,” he said with a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. “Mind if I join you?”

“Oh, why the hell not?” I gave him another kiss and then moved around him to get to the bathroom. Once done answering nature’s call myself, I started the shower. I heard the door open and close again behind me as I tested the water temperature, then I felt Robert’s hands on my waist, his manhood pressed against my ass. “And what do you think you’re doing, mister?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said innocently, but I still heard the mischief in his voice. He was definitely up to something. As if to prove my point, Robert’s hand slid up, splaying his long fingers over my belly, pulling me flush against him. His mouth now right next to my ear. “Yet,” he whispered, his tone dark and full of promise.

Both of his hands slid under my shirt and lifted it up over my head, tossing it behind him, before moving to pull my shorts down my legs. The tosses the fabric somewhere by my shirt and slowly stands back up, teasing my skin with the tips of his fingers. One of his hands stopped at the apex of my thighs, cupping me there, the other hand slid up a bit further, teasing the underside of my breast. I bit my lip to suppress a moan, forgetting all about the shower running.

“I need you, darlin’. All I could think about last night was how delicious your honey tasted, how good you felt around my fingers. I dreamt about you, this...taking you, claiming you for mine. I didn’t know I could need someone so much, but I can’t deny the way you make me feel. Please, Angel, tell me you need me too.”

My thighs squeezed together, and I closed my eyes, taking in his words. I had dreamt of him as well, making love to me in such a way my heart clenched. He was warmth and comfort, like the sun. His voice when he spoke was like a mixture of silk and velvet. I couldn’t deny the way he made me feel, either.

“Yes, Robert. I need you, too. Please, take me. Make me yours, My Lion.”

A growl resonated from behind me and Robert’s hands where suddenly on my hips before he spun me around to face him. I gasped at the sudden movement and then his mouth was on mine, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with my own. I quickly responded, kissing him back with equal passion. One of my hands went to the back of his head, my fingers played with the strands of his hair, as I had discovered he very much enjoyed. My other hand reached between us, cupping his manhood and gasped at the size of him.

He moaned, and I pulled my hand away only to reach into his underwear and encircled him in my hand. His length was definitely longer than my hand, his girth impressive as well. He was absolutely going to ruin me and I didn’t care; I welcomed it, even. Robert pulled back from the kiss long enough to get his underwear off, and then he was picking me up and stepping into the shower.

My back hit the shower wall, Robert pinned me in place with his body pressed against mine and I wrapped my legs around his hips. He reached between us with one hand, taking hold of himself and lining up at my entrance. He teased us both, stroking the head along my folds before finally sliding home, groaning as he buried himself inside me.

“Robert!” I cried out, bringing my hand to my mouth again in fear of being heard even above the running water of the shower. Robert wasn’t having it, though, grabbing my wrist at the halfway point and pinning it against the wall beside my head.

“No,” came the sudden, sharp command. “Let the whole floor hear you, the entire goddamn hotel, for all I care. I’d go deaf for that matter, if it means the last thing I get to hear are your screams of pleasure. Don’t hold back.”

All I could do was whimper and nod as a gush of wetness coated him. He smirked, his eyes twinkling brightly in spite of their currently darkened color. Much like on the plane, Robert brought my hand back toward him and I tangled my fingers into his hair once more. My other hand gripped his shoulder as I adjusted my legs around his hips.

At last, he began to move, a slow, deep rhythm still causing me to cry out softly. A hand cupped the back of my head, his lips pressed against my temple and whispered something softly into my hair that I didn’t hear over the running shower. His head fell to my shoulder, pressing soft kisses to my skin across my shoulder and up my neck to my ear. Robert gently nipped my earlobe before he began whispering again, singing soft and sweet one of my favorite songs.

Robert’s singing only seemed to heighten everything I was feeling, physically and emotionally. It felt like he was making love to me, the slow, deep rhythm of his strokes inside me, the way he held me against him, the soft, sweet tenor of his voice in my ear...

I didn’t want it to end, but I could already feel the heat growing low in my belly, my muscles beginning to tighten around him. “Oh!...oh, Robert!” My cries were getting louder, but still soft cries compared to last night. I started to reach between us, knowing I wouldn’t last much longer, no matter how much I wanted it to last. But Robert swatted my hand away and used his thumb instead.

His singing had stopped, and he was now moaning with me. The circles he was pressing into my clit were just as slow as his thrusts, and deliberate and driving me completely insane. Robert was losing his control, though, his thrusts started to become more erratic, his whispers between moans were incoherent. I came with a shout of his name, and he right after with a whimper of mine.

As we caught our breath, Robert rested his forehead against mine and slowly slipped out of me. “We should probably hurry, before they think we’re never coming out again,” Robert laughed.

“Or they think you kidnapped me,” I giggled back.

We quickly washed each other, least we linger too long on certain parts and I get pinned against the shower wall again. Though, the moans he was making as I helped him wash his hair, I was quite tempted to pin him against the wall. When we finally got out of the bathroom, we found covered plates sitting on the small table in the main room with a note attached.

When you two are done, meet us in the lobby.

We’re waiting.

Jimmy

I hid my face in my hands, my cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. Robert chuckled, pulling my hands away from my face. “This is far from the worst thing he’s ever done. At least he didn’t just walk into the bathroom and announce this.”

“Oh, well..thank God for small favors,” I retorted before lifting the cover on one of the plates to find a good-sized breakfast. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit and a pastry on the plate and a kraf of both orange juice and coffee. We sat down to eat, Robert poured us each a cup of coffee before we dug into the food. Once we finished eating, we brushed our teeth and headed down to the lobby.

As promised, everyone was waiting for us in the lobby. “Bout bloody time,” Jimmy mumbled under his breath, but Robert caught it, answering Jimmy with a one finger salute. I gave my friend a look and we both shook our heads at Jimmy and Robert’s antics.

“Two year olds,” I said. “We’re hanging out with and spent the night with two year olds.”

My friend snorted out a laugh. “ I don’t know about what you experienced, but Jimmy sure didn’t feel like a two year old to me.”

“OH MY GOD!!! You’re as bad as them!”

I could feel the indignant stares boring into my back from Jimmy and Robert. Jonesy laughed. “Regretting your decision to stick around?” He asked, but before I could respond, I heard the sound of a hand hitting denim and Jonesy’s ‘ow!’

“Don’t you be pickin’ on the poor Lass, Jonesy! She weren’t sober enough an’ ye know damn well ain’t not a one-a us gonna leave ‘er defenseless.” This was Bonzo.

“Fair enough, I suppose. It’s just… ya know I don’t care for groupies.”

Another smack was heard from behind us. “Shut it, ya dimwit! She ain’t no groupie. Either of ‘em. Not like yer thinkin’ at least. You see the way they dress? Ain’t flashy enough, nor fancy enough. Just two Lasses got themselves in a bad situation. Enter the heroes, Goldie Locks and the fourth, unnamed Stooge!”

Whatever argument Jonsey might have had to that died on his laughter at the last part of Bonzo’s little lecture. Somehow, I knew I’d like Bonzo. Not that I didn’t like Jonesy, mind. He seemed to be the one with a decent head on his shoulders while the other three could be complete idiots. Though I was sure it occasionally went vice versa, like right then.

My friend and I did a bit of window shopping as we walked, but didn’t go into any shops. The boys walked behind us, talking among themselves in hushed voices, so we couldn’t hear what they were saying. We stopped in front of a one particular shop with dresses in the window, each of us seeing a dress we loved.

“Come on, let’s go in this one, please?” She asked with a whine and batting her eyelashes at me. It reminded me of Robert’s antics the night before. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing at the memory.

“Alright, alright,” I sighed. I smiled as she squealed and pulled me into the shop. The boys followed us inside as I was dragged over to the dresses. Bonzo and Jonesy went over to a different section while Robert and Jimmy stayed close without crowding us.

My friend and I, mostly her, browsed through the dresses. I would occasionally pull one off the rack to get a better look, but immediately put it back after seeing the price tag. “I can buy you one, you know?” She told me seriously.

“You will not. You’ve spent enough on me making sure I had a bed to sleep on last night. Plus, you’re likely how we’re getting home.”

“It’s not a problem. Besides, you need a dress for tonight.”

“Do I?”

“Yes? You can’t tell me you don’t want something a little nicer than the t-shirts and jeans you currently have. I see the way you look at Robert. And, coincidentally, the way he looks at you. He likes you.”

“I would hope he likes me…” I stopped myself before I could reveal anything that might have happened last night, though I was sure she had her suspicions. It was then a dress really caught my eye, a bright pink thing with bright green lace trim. I took it from the rack and held it up to myself, looking around for a mirror.

“And I think we have a winner!” My friend said brightly as I found a mirror and made my way towards it. The dress had a deep V-neckline and bell sleeves, the hem coming just over mid-thigh length. I heard voices behind as I admired how the dress might look with a tall pair of boots and my hair done up.

I heard the sound of Robert’s boots on the shop’s wooden floor before I saw his reflection in the mirror behind me. He placed his hands on my waist and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. “Go try it on, Angel.”

I turned my head to look up at him in a combination of question and surprise. To use the nickname he had given me in private, while we were intimate, was one thing. To use it in public? Then there were the implications of his request for me to try the dress on. Ok, more like a soft command that sent a pool of heat straight to my core.

As much as a part of me wanted to argue that he should not be spending his money on me, all I could do was nod and go look for the dressing room. Once I found one, I went in and quickly tried on the dress, finding that it did indeed fit. Quickly redressing into my street clothes, I carefully placed the dress back on its hanger and left the dressing room to find everyone waiting for me at the checkout counter.

Bonzo and Jonesy it seemed had gotten themselves each something. Robert was waiting at the counter with two boxes already in front of him. “It fits,” I announced as I approached him. He pouted a little and I knew it was because I hadn’t put on a show for him. I smiled a little wickedly. “You’ll see me in it tonight.”

He leaned toward me, “I’ll hold you to that, darlin’,” he whispered. As he straightened back up, he took the dress from me by the hanger and handed it to the cashier. She rings it up and folds it, placing it into a box and sets it atop the other two, then all three boxes are placed into a large bag. I balked at the price that came up, praying that the dress was the only thing he paid for that was for me.

Robert took the bag, then took my hand as we left the shop and headed a little further down the street. We came to a record store and went in. My friend and Jimmy were talking in whispers by the door, Bonzo and Jonesy went browsing and Robert pulled me over to a section of the store with some band jewelry. Catching the cashier’s attention, he pointed to a necklace with a feather in a circle pendant.

My brows furrowed as I watched the cashier take the necklace out of the case it was in, recognizing what it was. Or what I thought it was, anyway. Robert bought it and put the box it was put in into the bag he was carrying. We looked around at the records for a while before deciding to get something to eat and get back to the hotel to get ready for the concert that night.

@salixfragilis @brownskinsugarplum76 @m-faithfull @tremble-and-shake @tophats-n-lespauls @callmethehunter @lady-jane-revisited

[beyondconfessor]

Humid Nights

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Miranda Croft/Cecelia

Summary: Even in the late hours of the evening, the heat persisted, leaving sweat to drip down the back of her neck and shoulder, and despite how hot it was, how she shouldn’t be able to stand the feeling of another person touching her, there was nothing that could move her from Miranda’s arms.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. Set pre-canon, about a year ago.

Cecilia was stretched in the bath, pushing her toes against the porcelain edge as her back pressed against the warm body. The water rippled with the movement, causing flower petals to shift across the agitated surface, shifting like bobbing boats through the water.

It was an outdoor bath, bed and breakfast, on some property in the middle of nowhere and aside from the heat, it was a nice place.

The water was cool against the hot, humid air. Even in the late hours of the evening, the heat persisted, leaving sweat to drip down the back of her neck and shoulder, and despite how hot it was, how she shouldn’t be able to stand the feeling of another person touching her, there was nothing that could move her from Miranda’s arms.

Dropping her head back against the woman’s shoulder, she looked up at the night sky that sat clear above them. She’d never seen so many stars before, nor had she ever witnessed the milky way in all of its glory.

“Christmas in Summer is weird,” she said, breaking the silence.

Miranda scoffed, and with it, Cecilia turned to move her eyes from the sky to the woman, watching as a small smile tugged at her lips. At the very least, she was amused by her commentary.

“You’re the one who said you were tired of the snow,” Miranda said. “Wanted to go somewhere else.”

“You’re always off travelling. Is it wrong that I wanted some time with you?”

“No,” Miranda said, speaking it softly and then she was drawing in a deep breath, likely pulling her thoughts deep into her most recent job. Cecilia settled against her and felt the words settle like a weight on their chests. Technically, she wasn’t meant to be here. Viktor hadn’t known she’d slipped off to Australia on a different flight––he likely would; there was very little the man didn’t know––, but that was a problem for another day.

Right now they had the stars above them, the bed and breakfast to themselves, and Miranda’s body against her back. There wasn’t another person for at least a few kilometres, which meant that for the first time in a very long time, they could be.

She shifted in the water, turning to the fruit bowl that had been set to the side and picked up one of the pomegranates. The fruit was firm, and she pressed her thumbnail into it, trying to pierce the skin in an attempt to get to the seeds inside.

She heard Miranda huff behind her, and then the woman was shifting, reaching out of the bath to the wooden deck.

Cecilia paused at the familiar swishing of the blade and tried not to scoff as Miranda took the pomegranate from her grip, and sliced through the pomegranate swiftly.

It was definitely something to watch, especially when the purple juice spilt from her hand, dripping into the water like drops of dye. As Miranda split down the sides, partially sectoring it in three quick movements, Cecilia couldn’t help but be mesmerised, and a little turned on.

No matter how many times she’d seen her use her knife––whether on food, or clothes or otherwise––Cecilia found herself mesmerised, forgetting whatever she’d been thinking about before and wishing only to feel the knife pressed against her, threatening to the very same thing.

Miranda chuckled behind her, likely sensing where her thoughts had gone, and then one half of the fruit was being handed back to her as Miranda kept hold of the other half.

Cecilia turned to glare at her. “That’s mine.”

“You’ve got yours there,” Miranda gestured with the knife, before she dipped the blade into the water, rinsing it off, and then set it aside. (Later, Cecilia knew Miranda would thoroughly clean and dry the knife, but it was only for an hour, it’d hardly hurt the blade).

Cecilia scowled. “You can’t just fucking take things that don’t belong to you.”

“Can’t I?” And then she watched as Miranda popped the sectored sides and pressed it to her mouth, taking a bite of the pomegranate, so the seeds split and filled her mouth.

Cecilia set her pomegranate aside then, sitting up to turn in the deep bath and watched as the woman drew the fruit away, looking as though she’d taken a bite out of man rather than fruit with the way the juice stained her face, dripping down her chin and throat.

The woman’s brow quirked, softly enquiring as she swallowed, and Cecilia pressed forward, kissing her until she felt the tartness wash over her mouth, against her tongue, until the stickiness melted with their saliva.

Miranda’s mouth was warm against hers, and as she pressed forward, she wrapped her arms around Miranda’s shoulders until the woman dropped her section of the pomegranate too, her hands coming to sticky settle on her waist. There, Miranda tugged her closer between her spread thighs, their chests pressing together. It was enough to make her thoughts spin dizzily with possibilities.

“Miranda,” she sighed against her, pulling away to look at her. The woman’s mouth was still stained, but there was an arrogance to her as she shifted her head, eyebrows raised. She looked ethereal, like some goddess of war, and it was enough for Cecelia to draw a deep breath, trying to settle the growing heat that drew threw her body.

She kissed her again, her hand drawing down in the bath cool water, slipping down Miranda’s abdomen to between her parted thighs.

As she brushed over the dark curls of the pubic hair, Miranda’s hand snatched at her wrist as she pulled away to stare at her, eyebrows raised. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Fucking you,” Cecilia said shortly. “I thought that was obvious.”

“You said you wanted a ‘nice night in the bath’. Not a fucking. You were quite clear about that.”

“Can’t a girl change her mind?” she asked sweetly. Usually, Miranda was on her the moment they were alone, it was hardly her fault that she wanted a peaceful hour between them where they did more than fuck, claw and bite at each other––but then Miranda had looked like some vampiric goddess in the bath. All thoughts of peacefully lazing under the stars had left her.

“She can,” Miranda said, and she was tugging the wrist closer, and Cecilia felt a purposeful grind against fingers, even in the resistance of the water, there was an intent that brought a shiver down her spine. “But if we’re going to fuck, we’re fucking on my terms.”

“It’s always your terms,” Cecilia said, snatching her hand away as she rose to sit tall on her knees. “Just let me fuck you.”

Miranda’s eyebrows rose, and Cecilia watched as she twitched with annoyance, jaw clenching before she let it pass. “You fuck plenty on your terms.”

“Me riding the biggest cock you can find in the sex shop is not me fucking you. That’s you setting a challenge.”

At that, Miranda smirked, looking up at her. “And don’t you surpass your expectations every time?” She did and looked good doing it. There’d been more than once when Miranda had been frustrated that she couldn’t feel it.

“Let me fuck you.”

Miranda leant up towards her and then Cecilia was watching as the woman took her hand, and brought it to her mouth. First, her index finger, drawing into her mouth, her tongue stroking against its length as she sucked, slowly drawing it out, and then she did the same to her thumb, where her tongue swiped at the pad of it, before drawing its length deep into her mouth, intentionally dragging her teeth against it as she sucked.

It was the first time Cecilia felt envious of the fact that she didn’t have a cock––the way Miranda’s eyes stared at her as she held her thumb firmly but gently between her teeth, grinning––it was enough to know what she was capable of, should she so choose.

“You’re a bitch,” Cecilia said, as her hand dropped away. Miranda laughed, and it was all the warning Cecilia had before her hips were grabbed.

Thrown backwards, Cecilia gasped as her back hit the side of the end of the tub with a smack, feeling as the water rushed the edges with the force of the movement, spilling across the sides down onto the deck it resided on.

Drawing a breath, she watched Miranda hover above her, grinning bright and wide as her hands continued to pin her in place.

Cecilia tried to glare and failed, feeling the shock wash over her. But the shock melted and Cecilia grabbed at the woman, a hand wrapping into Miranda’s hair to tug her close as she kissed her hard, bitting down on Miranda’s bottom lip and puncturing the skin.

Blood burst into her mouth, metallic against the sweet tartness of the pomegranate, and with it, she heard Miranda’s growl, low and feral in her mouth––it was enough to send a sharp rush straight through to her clit.

She tugged harder at the woman’s hair, and then Miranda was sliding her body between her legs, one hand hooking underneath her knee and lifting it high over her shoulder so that Cecilia was feeling the tightness of the muscles run down her leg––not unlike what she used to have other girls do to her back when she was dancing and trying to increase her flexibility.

And then her other leg was being lifted, over the side of the tub, so she was spread wide and open for her, watching as Miranda pulled back. The purple of the pomegranate had been washed away in the brief tussle, but Cecelia watched with pride as blood––a deep red in the porch light––dripped from her bottom lip, spilling down her chin.

She curled her hand tighter in Miranda’s hair, tugging her closer even as she felt the woman resist.

“Oh come on,” Cecilia goaded, tugging her closer. “Didn’t you want to fuck me?”

“I should belt you,” Miranda said, lifting a hand to her mouth and wiping at her face, checking that it was as bloody as she suspected. Her face turned feral. “But you’d like it too much.”

Cecilia laughed, feeling a flutter low in her belly at the thought. Miranda’s clothes weren’t far away. She was sure could fumble her way out of her grip and grab it for her should she change her mind.

“Whatever will you do,” Cecilia asked, rocking her hips above the water, near the woman’s face. “I’m so very trapped in your grip. Entirely helpless.”

“Oh fuck off with that,” Miranda snapped. “If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna have to ask. Nicely. And if you’re very good, I might pull out that nice cock you so discreetly brought in your bag.”

“Of course, you went through my stuff.”

“And I’m to pretend you didn’t go through mine?” she asked.

Cecilia flushed. That was certainly true. The moment that she’d had two minutes alone with Miranda’s bag she’d unzipped it and looked through its entire contents, digging for Christmas presents––but if she’d purchased it, it was presently missing from the usual places. However, she did happen to come across some nice rope.

Miranda pressed forward, and Cecilia drew in a breath, feeling the muscles that ran down her thigh tighten as the flexibility she was forcing. It was a slow, lengthening pain, and if she was honest, it was not entirely unpleasant when Miranda was looking at her like she promised to stretch her out and use her.

And then she felt fingers press against her and it was all she could do to bite her lip and rock her hips against the pattern the woman was drawing over her cunt.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Cecilia’s eyelids fluttered at the growing sensation tugging low in her belly and gave a soft noise from the back of her throat.

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please, Miranda.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

She slid inside of her and Cecilia gasped, filling the fingers press deep before she began thrusting inside of her with purposeful intent. She could hear the water rushing around them, hitting against the sides of the tub and crashing over its sides––and then Miranda was pushing closer, pressing her leg closer to her body, so the tightness of the muscle drew through her backside now, her other leg still hopelessly cast over the tub.

“God, Miran…” she hissed, and tugged the woman’s head to hers, kissing her hard and sharp, as the woman’s thumb draw over her clit.

She squeezed around the fingers thrusting deep inside of her, feeling the tension build and tense until she could feel her leg cramping. Still, she rocked her hips, kissing against the woman’s mouth until her head dropped back against the side of the tub, a low tugging growing bolder and bolder insider of her as she gasped and moaned until the sounds of their fucking filled the night sky.

Her eyes fluttered, and in a glance, she caught Miranda’s face shifting from determination to marvel at her own work, and then Cecilia’s eyes squeezed shut as her back tensed and spasmed, her cunt squeezing around the fingers until she was crying out with a gasp.

Her chest heaved in a great breath and then she was coming around Miranda’s fingers until her muscles fatigued out of nowhere––with it Miranda’s pace slowed, and then eased until she was sliding out.

Cecilia softened, her leg sliding off Miranda’s shoulder to splash into the water (now only half filling the tub) and watched as the woman she loved looked at her with a strange fascination.

“Hey,” Cecilia said, drawing her hand to cup against her cheek. Miranda allowed herself to be pulled closer, her mouth pressing gently against hers, and then sweetly until she was pulled in her arms and pressed firmly against her. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

Miranda huffed, look away as she grumbled, “No need to ruin a moment.”

“Oh, because wishing a Merry Christmas is so terrible.”

“Yes.”

“And whatever will you do about it? Belt me?”

Miranda gave a small laugh, her eyes turning back to look at her. “Might, if you keep that up.”

“Promises. Now kiss me again, and I promise to use that pretty rope to tie you up.”

[adasttrawrites]

A Year in the Countryside

Chapter 1: Alone At Last

Full story on ao3.

Hermione Granger has had enough of Rita Skeeter and the rest of Wizarding London watching her every move. The Wizarding world's sweetheart packs up her things and relocates to a tiny town in the Cotswolds in order to escape prying eyes. She's ready to embrace a year living a quiet life of reading her favourite books, making friends with her neighbours, and most importantly, not running into anyone she knows.

She is only two days into her new, quiet, very normal life when she finds herself face to face with the very last person she ever thought she'd see at a farmer's market: Draco Malfoy.

Chaos, calamity and general hilarity ensue!

“Here’s the key, dear. Now, remember that you have to turn the lock twice to deadbolt the door. Make sure you do. It’s a safe town but you’re a young girl. Better to be safe.”

Hermione accepted the key to her new apartment, smiling at the landlady. She was going to perform several security spells as soon as she was alone but thought that assuaging the old lady’s concerns was a small price to pay for such a beautiful home.

“Thank you, Mrs Llewellyn, I'll be very careful.”

“I’ve left a lemon cake on the kitchen bench for you, dear, and there’s bread, a pint of milk and some eggs in the fridge. I didn’t know if you would have the energy to go shopping this evening, so I thought it would be best to keep some things for you.”

“Oh, you really didn’t have to, ma’am, I wo—,”

“Nonsense. It’s my pleasure. I’ve got to go now, my husband’s waiting for me at the town hall for bingo.”

“Thank you for everything. I really appreciate it.” Hermione walked Mrs Llewellyn to the door and waved as she went down the stairs. Shutting the door and dead-bolting the lock, she turned and sighed with relief. Even though she hadn’t yet removed her furniture from her purse, the small apartment was hers. Her home. A one-bedroom home, with a living and kitchen area, and best of all, a window seat looking out over the road.

Hermione got to work setting up the furniture she needed. Up until recently, the apartment had been a storage space for the bakery downstairs. When the baker’s wife, Mrs Llewellyn, had finally thrown out all of their unnecessary junk, she cleaned up the rooms nicely and advertised it on the local bulletin board a week prior. Hermione, who had been hopping around the little towns in the area, had snatched up the offer and eagerly contacted the Llewellyns to let them know she was a responsible adult who didn’t smoke.

At the time, Hermione didn’t know why she was so keen on renting an apartment in a village in the Cotswolds, but now, she breathed a sigh of relief. Churchbury was a sleepy town, with beautiful flowers and its namesake church sitting in the middle of the town centre. Everyone knew everyone and no-one was magical, as far as she could tell. At the end of the day, she wasn’t in Wizarding London, thankfully. In the months following the war, she had been swamped by adoring fans and crazed reporters, trying to get the scoop on her life. It turned out that, while Ron and Harry were also fair game, no-one really cared about what her two best friends were wearing, or what restaurants they went to. It was “Hermione Granger this” and “Hermione Granger that” and it was maddening. She had had enough by the time winter had rolled by and spring offered her the chance to travel the world. She told Rita Skeeter, in an effort to satisfy her, that her travels would be to get to know different cultures more intimately. However, she had lied. As soon as Skeeter had published an extremely exaggerated article stating that Hermione would spend the next six months with her secret Veela fiancé in Paris, Hermione Apparated to the English countryside to clear her head. No-one would know her there, and when she saw the advertisement for the apartment while walking past the town hall, she knew this would be a good hideout.

Hermione’s parents, now back in London and with fully restored memories, were happy that their daughter was going somewhere they deemed safe, especially after fighting in a bloody war. Her father had insisted that he teach his daughter some basic tips, like using a screwdriver and how to kill spiders. She didn’t have the heart to explain that her wand served as her tool for all such tasks, and let him spend an afternoon showing her how to hammer a nail and find the stud in a wall. Her mother was excited to visit and Hermione promised they could come and stay when she was settled. Harry and Ron had both expressed their confusion at her wanting to leave London for an extended time, but after she had assured them of her safety and gotten Ministry permission to have a Floo connection in her new home, they seemed okay with the idea.

“Promise us that you’ll visit for dinner often.” Harry said as he hugged her goodbye. He gave her a framed photograph of him, her and Ron smiling at the camera. It was the only Muggle photograph they had ever taken together. Ron handed her a large cake, most definitely from his mother, and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll miss you, Hermione, but at least it’s only a year. Don’t forget to owl whenever you can.” Thankfully he hadn’t tried to kiss her on the mouth. She had gently told him that she wasn’t interested in being more than friends after the war, and he had begrudgingly accepted that it was for the best.

Ginny had been the most excited about Hermione’s decision. She thought it would be a good way for Hermione to meet men. Tourists, she had reasoned, would pass through the area frequently. Male tourists, Ginny had said, winking.

“Be safe! Come back home whenever you’d like. We’ll be here, waiting for you.” She pushed a little figurine into Hermione’s hands. It was a wooden carving of two little girls, standing hand in hand.

“What is it for?” Hermione had asked.

“If you shake it, the matching one on my bedside table will light up and I’ll come straight through the Floo, in case you need some girl time. Even to chat.”

“Oh, Gin. It’s great, thank you.”

She was engulfed in a hug by Harry, Ron and Ginny, before Disapparating away to just outside her new village.

By the evening, Hermione had moved in most of her furniture and warded the apartment. It was really unnecessary in such a safe town, but she was a creature of habit and after spending a year on the run, protection spells were muscle memory. The bed she had bought was big. She was tired of sleeping on the tiny cot in which she had spent most nights of the last year. It was time for a large bed, where she could starfish out and not hit a wall or fall off. She placed the photograph on her bedside table along with Ginny’s gift. Walking into the living area, she surveyed her work. A big, soft sofa sat opposite a television set. She had set up several bookcases against the walls and laid cushions out on the window seat. Every tea she owned was now neatly stacked up in the cupboard above the kettle and a frittata was cooking in the oven. Her mother had secretly called ahead to the local grocer’s, and Hermione was surprised to find a parcel full of groceries show up with the delivery boy on his way home that evening.

“All done, eh, Crookshanks?” She had let him out of his carrier after she finished enlarging all the furniture from her bag. He was now sitting with his face pushed up to the window. He turned for a second back to give Hermione an admonishing glare, before returning to his earlier gaze.

As she sat back onto the sofa and waited for her dinner to be ready, Hermione was suddenly overcome by the feeling of acute loneliness. She knew it would be this way, being alone in a new town, but it was still an odd feeling. She ate dinner in silence and fell asleep at 9 pm.

— — —

Hermione walked down the path to the local farmers market. It was Saturday and she had spent the previous day moping and getting drunk on a bottle of wine that she had found in her mother’s grocery package. This morning, she had woken up feeling sorry for herself and decided, after a brief Floo call with Ginny and a Pepper-Up potion, to get out of the apartment and explore her new village. Armed with Muggle money and an assortment of cloth bags, she braved the market to meet her neighbours and buy some fruit.

“Miss Granger!” Mr Llewellyn waved from the bread stand. She smiled and walked over.

“Good morning, sir. How are you?”

“Well, thank you. Take a loaf for yourself, they’re nice and warm.”

She tried to pay but he insisted that she keep her money for other things. She tucked the seeded loaf into a bag and thanked him, making her way down the line of stalls. At the fruit seller’s, she picked up apples and oranges, as well as a bottle of cherry juice. At the cheesemonger’s table, she tried several local cheeses and bought a square of sharp cheddar for the pasta she planned to make tonight.

After her bags were heavy enough that she couldn’t walk much further, Hermione decided to turn back, until she caught sight of a stall at the very end of the market. A bookstall. Narrowing her gaze and marching over, she gasped. It was old books. Her favourite.

“Miss? Is there anything you’re looking for?” An old woman was sitting on a stool behind the table, a pair of thick spectacles perched on her nose. She had several layers of clothing on, regardless of the fact that it was a warm, sunny day. Hermione touched the spine of a novel and smiled at the lady.

“Just browsing, thank you. You have a lovely collection here, ma’am.”

The old lady looked very pleased and sat up.

“I own the secondhand bookstore over there,” she jabbed a thumb across the river at the row of shops opposite them. It was a tiny shop, wedged in between a tea shop and a florist. It reminded Hermione of 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Oh, it’s lovely.” She looked down at the books, gently letting her bags slide off her shoulders and onto the ground. Selecting a beautifully bound version of Pride and Prejudice, she opened it and sighed at the familiar words.

“Do you like Jane Austen, dearie?”

“Very much, Miss, uh—,”

“Owens. Mrs Dorothy Owens. What about you? What is your name?”

“Hermione.” It wasn’t Hermione who spoke, and she spun to her left to see the unexpected, grim and terribly handsome face of Draco Malfoy looking down at her.

“Oh my—,”

“Her name,” Malfoy turned to Mrs Owens and smiled his charming, reserved-for-strangers-only smile, “is Hermione Granger.”