#did anyone else play pocket dungeon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nvvermore · 11 months

Text

I Always Will

for Amaryllis, nothing goes as planned

[part twelve of Come What May]

words: 3k

cw: memory loss

accompaniment

Last night, Amaryllis and Julian went their separate ways at the edge of the forest.

“We’ll start over fresh tomorrow, with the new information that we have,” Amaryllis’s voice cut through the pouring rain. “Let’s meet at Portia’s after breakfast. Au revoir.”

Amaryllis had lost track of the time they spent aimlessly wandering around the palace gardens, mind lost in thought.

How it could be so easy for Julian’s memory to return, but that they were in a constant fight to regain even just the smallest hint of theirs. After all he did, they still helped him, and he couldn't even be bothered to offer them anything in return.

Julian’s refusal at least confirmed one thing in their mind.

The two did in fact, mean something to each other before.

-☽☼☾-

Now, Amaryllis sits at Portia’s dining table, listening to Julian prattle on about his recovered memory.

That back then, when Lucio was infected, Julian was working diligently on a cure.

“I was down there that night, working, but Lucio was convinced I wasn't working fast enough. He locked me inside and I, well—“ In a flash, he pulls off his eyepatch to finally reveal his eye. It isn't just an empty socket, as he’d implied before. It’s all there, and even appears to have vision, but the sclera of it is a deep red, just like that of the victims of the plague. “I was dying. But the cure worked, and it could still be down there in that dungeon.”

From his coat pocket, he pulls out the skeleton key, and a folded up paper. “I thought long and hard last night, and this is what helped me make sense of it all,” Julian says, gazing down solemnly at the paper. They recognize it as the one that fell from the pages of the grimoire hidden away in their room.

“Then perhaps if you'd have let me read my own writings, we could have come to this conclusion sooner,” Amaryllis says. From the corner of their eye, they can see Portia give them a pointed look.

“Well, it sounds like you two need to go down to that dungeon.” Portia diverts back to the real subject at hand. “We’re running out of time, with how close the masquerade is. Luckly, the countess will be quite distracted today, as some of her sisters are arriving from Praka. So you have the perfect opportunity to go searching.”

Amaryllis glances over to Julian, expecting to see him putting on his classic brave façade, but instead finds him already looking back at them, uncertainty casting a cloud over his features.

“Then by all means, Julian, lead the way.”

“But first!” Portia interjects. “Ilya, you need a good disguise! I have some spare staff uniforms I snagged for the occasion. You can play the part, can’t you?”

“I suppose that could work,” Julian murmurs, mind obviously still somewhere else.

“Actually, I have a different idea. I'd rather not have any missteps, so I’ll use another glamour spell on you.”

“The same one as before?”

“No. This one will be much different.”

Amaryllis murmurs a quick incantation, and in moments before everyone's eyes he turns from a towering, lanky man, into a petite young girl.

“Oh my, Ilya look at you! How cute!” Portia squeals. “Amie, who is he supposed to be? She’s a beauty, for sure.”

“My ward, Ophélie. Julian is familiar with her,” they explain to her. “My first thought was Asra or Vesper, but I can't risk the real ones appearing while he’s disguised. She’s quite unlikely to make an appearance here, so If we run into anyone we shouldn't, it will be easy to explain why she’s with me.” Amaryllis turns to Julian, who's looking at his new appearance in a mirror on the wall. “And the two of you are just alike— you won't have to pretend to be anyone else.”

Amaryllis watches as Julian reaches up to cup his—Ophélie’s— face. “We are just alike, aren't we?” he says longingly. “She’s gotten quite big in the last few years, hasn't she?”

“You remember her?”

“Bits and pieces. Enough to put together what it is I've missed.”

“Well, the sooner we get this excursion over with, the sooner you can go see her for yourself. She’d love nothing more than a visit from you.”

-☽☼☾-

Julian claims to remember the entrance to the dungeons being located somewhere in the library.

With him disguised as Ophélie, the two were able to waltz right through the halls of the palace without a hitch.

“It was a secret passage. A book! I remember… red… gold?” Julian mutters, through Ophélie’s much higher voice, pulling at almost any book on the shelf he can find.

Finally, he pulls on a book bound in deep red leather with golden accents, just as predicted, and the shelf whirls to life, pulling away from the wall to reveal a dark, unlit passage.

Amaryllis summons a flame in the palm of their hand. They find themself far more wary of the flame than the ominous tunnel that lies ahead.

“Down we go?”

Julian only nods. They half expected him to fight back against them going too.

Amaryllis takes the first step, Julian close behind, dropping the glamour as they start to descend.

It’s a long, winding stairwell full of uneven steps. The further the two of them go, the brighter Amaryllis casts the flame. It’s eerie, but their discomfort at what they might find only grows when they sense a headache coming on.

Julian is uncharacteristically quiet, possibly too quiet.

Eventually, after what feels like several stories down, the steps end and they find themselves in a dirty, dimly lit clearing. There’s an old, rickety looking lift directly before them. Crimson light leaks from underneath it, likely coming from wherever the contraption leads to. A gate locks it away, made out of old and rusted wrought iron.

Amaryllis sends the flame they're holding into the rest of the room, lighting the worn torches mounted upon the walls.

Julian— fully himself once more— takes a few hesitant steps closer to the gate, a gloved hand reaching up to wipe at the iron plate in the center of it.

“This… I know this. It’s an old nightmare.”

Amaryllis joins him at his side.

There’s an inscription, along with a keyhole

“Bloody hands may turn the key. Know the weight of your sins, and enter,” they recite.

Julian pulls the skeleton key from his coat. “Well, this is it.”

Quickly, Amaryllis snatches the key from his grasp.

“We turn the key together, or not at all. Your innocence has been vouched for, I don't need you coming up with any other crimes before we have our proof.”

Julian seems to know better than to argue with them at this moment in time. He nods, an uneasy grin on his face, and his hand wraps around Amaryllis’s.

The lock turns over without a hitch. The gate snaps open with a horrible screech.

“Either we’re both just as guilty, or it's bullshit.” Amaryllis’s words don't seem to offer Julian any comfort. He stares down at his hands, cradling the key. He's filled with dread, from his expression to the way he holds his shoulders. There's a tremor running through him, they hear his breathing quicken. Against their better judgment, they take his hands in theirs, steadying him.

Amaryllis has been cruel to him, they know it. They could help it, they've considered that, instead of pushing him away they could have pulled him closer despite his protests. Their attitude might not have made his self-loathing any worse than it was, but it certainly hasn’t helped.

Julian gasps when Amaryllis touches him, like their comfort was the last thing he was expecting. He leans into them, burrowing his head into their shoulder, hands still clasped. “Amaryllis…” His voice still trembles. “I've been asking myself a question, over and over, since last night. If I didn't kill the Count, what am I guilty of? I've forgotten so much. Even though my memories are coming back…” He exhales against their neck, deep and shaky. “I think I know what it is. I think I’ve known since the letter I found tucked away in the book hidden in your room. If it’s true, I don't know how— I know it would be worse than if I was simply guilty of killing Lucio. I’m afraid that my crimes are here. At the bottom of this pit.”

“And what of mine, Julian? I have no memories, I have the same mark as you. Lucio’s own ghost accused me of his murder. According to your own standards, I’m just as guilty as you claim to be. What if we go down there and there’s no evidence of whatever crime it is you think you've done, but piles against me, what then?”

“I’ll still take the fall.”

“That’s not what I’m asking of you, but it proves my point. Why have you been so quick to judge yourself so harshly for the same thing you’d accept me as is for? You can't tell me it's different, because it’s not.”

Julian takes another deep breath, but this time it's steady and sure. His head turns, and then suddenly his lips are on theirs. Amaryllis kisses him back as his hands find their face, cupping their jaw and pulling them as close as he possibly can. They missed this, even if they only had it for a short moment and it had only been gone just as long. It feels so familiar, and they're so enraptured in the comfort he brings, that they don't notice the slight way Julian turns the two of them. They don't think anything of it when Julian’s hands slide back down to grasp their shoulders.

Amaryllis only realizes that they've made a mistake at all once Julian is already pulling away from them. He pushes them away gently, catching them off guard and sending them a few steps back. Before they can make sense of it, he’s already locked himself away in the lift.

They scramble forward to the gate, prying at the bars, but it’s locked itself once more, and they don't have the key.

“Julian!” they shout, fingers wrapping around the rusted bars.

“I’m sorry.” There's a look of genuine remorse in his eye, but he stands tall, confident in the choice he's made. “For what it’s worth, thank you, Amie. I’ve done a lot of things I regret. Things I remember, and, I’m sure, things I forgot. But I don't, I couldn't possibly regret meeting you. Every moment I have with you is a blessing. I want you to know, I… I want a future with you. I always have. More than anything. I’ll find some way for that to happen, to make you forgive me for everything. I promise.”

“Why are you making this sound like a goodbye?”

“I’ll see you soon.” Julian pulls the lever and the lift comes to life with a screeching of gears.

Amaryllis watches it take him down, still pressed against the bars of the gate, until the red glow consumes every last bit of him.

-☽☼☾-

As soon as Amaryllis is back into the palace proper, they rush to find Portia. It’s about midafternoon, the sunlight flooding through all the magnificently crafted windows is jarring when they first come up from the cavern. The halls are bustling, with all sorts of servants bussing about, cleaning and decorating. They stop to ask a few familiar faces if they've seen Portia lately, most have no answer, and a few look at them like they've just seen a ghost.

They haven't managed to compose themself by the time they finally stumble upon Nadia’s parlor. Determined, they push open the double doors and step into the room.

“Has anyone seen Portia?” Amaryllis doesn't bother waiting for the conversation they're certainly interrupting to be finished, doesn’t wait for their presence to be announced.

“Amaryllis?” Nadia questions, sat at the organ across the room. “You look a mess, what's happened?” They scan the room, no Portia to be found. But Asra is there— dressed to the nines in an outfit Nadia must have gifted him— along with several others who look far too similar to Nadia to not be related.

Asra shoots up from where he’s seated, almost spilling his cup of tea when he sets it down on the table. “Amie, what’s wrong?” He rushes over to them, thumb reaching up to brush something away from their cheek before his hands settle on their arms. He has the same look of genuine concern on his face as he does when he's waking them from yet another nightmare.

“Nothing, just… investigating.” Amaryllis clears their throat. “I apologize for the interruption. Is Portia around?”

“Her and I were quite busy most of the day with masquerade planning. She’s been wearing herself thin lately, and looked awfully tired. I— gently— ordered her to go home and get some rest until dinner.” Nadia explains, rising herself and stepping towards them. “You seem a little fatigued yourself, Amaryllis...” For a moment, they're worried Nadia is suspicious of them, but one look at her tells them she’s nothing short of a concerned friend at the moment.

“Nadi, why don't I take Amie back to their room to get cleaned up, maybe rest a little.” Asra suggests. Amaryllis can only nod, too embarrassed to admit that they really do need his comfort right now.

“I believe that is a wonderful idea. Perhaps if you're feeling well enough after, I could have the chance to properly introduce you to my sisters.”

Asra thanks Nadia and bids farewell to the room, and spins them around, leading them out the door and through the busy halls with an arm around their shoulder.

The walk to Amaryllis’s room is quiet. Faust pops out from Asra’s collar to greet them with a snake kiss on the cheek, and then disappears right back into the fabric.

No one speaks when they enter the room. Asra simply sits them down on the chaise, disappears for a moment, and then returns with a glass of water, helping them to drink. They didn't realize they had the taste of that cavern stuck in their throat until now. He leaves again, and Amaryllis vaguely registers the opening and shutting of cabinets. This time he returns with a damp cloth, wiping at their face once more, careful to be gentle around their scar.

“I've noticed you've stopped wearing your veil lately.” Asra finally speaks up, and it isn't what they were expecting him to say at all.

“I just haven't felt the need. I don't know why I ever did at all.” He takes their hands, and they look down at them, finally realizing they're covered in all sorts of dirt and rust from the cavern. No wonder every person they'd come across on their way looked at them funny.

Asra sets the cloth to the side and leans down, unlacing their boots, slipping them off one by one. He stands them up. “Come on, let's get you changed.”

And Amaryllis lets him lead them across the room, stands patiently as he unlaces their gown and switches it out for a clean nightgown. Lets him sit them down at the vanity where he goes to work brushing out their hair, as he braids it back out of their face. It's been years since Amaryllis has allowed him to care for them so closely, but once upon a time it was all they knew.

But right now, Asra is exactly what they need, and they'd be a fool to push him away.

-☽☼☾-

The sun has already set when Amaryllis wakes. They don't remember falling asleep, and they barely remember how they got in bed at all. They know Asra— nowhere to be found— was here. They know they stormed into Nadia’s parlor unannounced. They were looking for Portia because Julian—

Julian.

Amaryllis throws the duvet back and rushes out of bed, into the main room. Their panic rouses Styx, who’d been sleeping away on his perch in the corner this whole time.

“Amma?”

“Where is he, Styx? Has he come back yet?” they ask aloud to their familiar.

“Has who come back yet?” Asra’s sitting in the armchair, rising as they come rushing into the room.

“Julian.” Amaryllis tells him, as if they could be worried about anyone else at the moment.

“I don't think so.” Styx’s response echoes in their mind.

“Amie, slow down. Now that you seem to be yourself again, why don't you tell me what happened?”

“His memories are returning. We found the lift down to the dungeons. We were supposed to go down together but he went down alone instead. He was terrified about what he would find down there, what evidence he'd find of his crimes— of mine. I have to find another way down there.”

“Your crimes? Amaryllis, what are you talking about?”

“Lucio’s back. He told me I'm not innocent in his death. If Julian finds something that can prove I killed Lucio, he’s going to try to take the fall anyways.”

Asra sits back down, taking a deep breath and running his hands through his curls. “I know the dungeons. He’s fine, I promise. He’s not going to find what he thinks he will down there.”

“Then what is it he’ll find?”

“Answers. But I don't know if they'll make any sense to him.”

Amaryllis doesn't bother questioning Asra any further, but they're still uneasy and they're sure he knows it. He stands and approaches them, taking their hands. “He’s fine. He’ll find his way back up if he already hasn’t by now, and tomorrow you can track him down and continue sneaking him around the palace while I keep Nadia looking the other way.”

“That’s why you showed up here?”

“I had my suspicions, and I thought it was finally time to visit Nadi.” Asra gives their hands a squeeze. “Ilya is just… being Ilya, unfortunately.”

Amaryllis rolls their eyes. “Don't I know it.”

“I know I've been harsh when it concerns him. I’m sorry.”

“No, I don't blame you. I've said a lot of cruel things to him in the past couple days.”

“Oh really? Ilya finally got an earful from you?” Asra bites back a laugh.

“He makes it hard not to.”

“Well, I think you deserve not to dwell on him for a little while. Nadia sent for us to join her and her sisters in the ballroom, what do you say?”

-☽☼☾-

Asra spins Amaryllis around the ballroom. They can’t remember a time where the two of them ever danced together, but having him as a partner feels natural, like they've done this a billion times before.

“Nine years.” he whispers against their ear. Amaryllis isn't surprised to learn that they’ve known Asra for a third of their life.

“If I’ve known you that long, how long have I known Julian?” Amaryllis asks, surprised to find that Asra doesn't falter.

“It’s weird to hear you call him that, you know.”

“What else would I call him?”

“Ilya. That's what you knew him as, how you introduced him to me.” The two step effortlessly in time to the music Nadia and her sisters are playing, a routine forming out of thin air. “But you've known him longer than me. At least ten years, I think.”

Amaryllis doesn't know how to respond, and shouldn't have brought Julian up in the first place. They were having a nice time, but now anxiety is starting to creep back in. Asra must sense it, because he twirls them again and flourishes it by dipping them low, wrapping their leg around his waist.

The song being played changes to a slower ballad then, and Amaryllis rises slowly, keeping their leg hooked on Asra’s hip.

“Another dance?” Amaryllis drops their leg, no answer needed from Asra to know he would. Not with the way he’s looking at them now. They take his arms, guiding them up to their shoulders, while their hands go down to rest on his waist. Amaryllis leads them, swaying gently to the music. “How different am I now? Am I still the same person I was before?”

“Hauntingly so.” Asra breaks from his daze. “You're the exact same Amie I knew and…”

“And what?”

“…And loved. Love.”

Amaryllis breaks the rhythm they'd fallen into, standing still on the dancefloor, music still swirling around them.

“Why now, Asra?”

“I just thought you should hear it. I know you know, and I know we missed our chance, but I've never told you—“

Amaryllis cuts him off. “I woke up loving you, it was my first coherent thought.”

“But?” His expression isn’t hopeful, just, curious.

The music and their conversation is cut short when Styx comes flying in from the outside veranda, screeching.

“Amma! It’s Julian!”

#the arcana #the arcana apprentice #amaryllis leroux #apprentice amaryllis #julian devorak #asra alnazar #portia devorak #nadia satrinava #fan apprentice #amie fic #amieilya #amieasra #my fic #come what may

13 notes · View notes

im-a-wonderling · 2 years

Text

Surrender ~ Peter Pevensie

Summary: When Miraz corners the Narnian army in Aslan’s How, Y/N has to do something.

Warnings: physical violence, war, self-sacrifice, Miraz being icky

Word count: 11.2k (this was originally only supposed to be a thousand words and the first draft was only 6.9k whoops)

My body was hosting a competition to see which would happen first: throwing up or passing out.

The moment the lookout alerted Caspian and the four Pevensies to the presence of Miraz’s army, the tension in Aslan’s How skyrocketed. Nobody was a fool; we all knew the odds. Not only were we surrounded, but the bloodthirsty Telmarine army was bigger, had more armor and weapons, and was led by a man that refused to compromise.

Caspian and I had more experience with that than anyone else here.

While the Pevensies were focused on gathering everyone necessary for a much-needed strategy meeting, Caspian pulled me into a secluded nook in the cavern hallway, leaving us alone completely except the distant clanking noises of the army preparing for war echoing down the corridor.

“Are we really going to go through with this?” Caspian asked, chewing his lip nervously, the flickering light of the torch casting shadows on his face. “Like, seriously, we’re going to just stand up in front of everyone and do it?”

I took a deep breath, trying to get my nerves back under control. I shoved my shaking hands into the pockets of my loose, roughspun pants. “Do you truly think this could work?”

Caspian shrugged. “You know Miraz better than I.”

“Which isn’t saying much,” I muttered.

“But you certainly know Peter better,” Caspian said. At my confused expression, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not blind, Y/N.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said shortly, but Caspian sent me a knowing look.

“Yes, you do.”

I ducked my head, staring at the rough stone underneath my feet.

He was right.

Since Trumpkin came to Aslan’s How with the Pevensies, Peter and I had been inseparable. We’d eat together, silently bind each other’s wounds, give the occasional touch that lingered too long to be innocent, and all manner of secret moments that had started out as friendly, but kept bringing us right up to the line between friends and something more.

The night after the attack on the Telmarine castle, Peter and I sat in one of the spots the lookouts used to keep watch, soaking in despair and watered down wine. The wine loosened our tongues and lowered our inhibitions, and there was only a little wine left in the bottom when a strange light appeared in Peter’s eyes. He said my name softer than it’d ever been said before.

He didn’t say anything more, and nor did I.

I’d known without asking that we were thinking the same thing: love had no place in war. But I also knew the heart’s desire burning in Peter’s gaze matched my own.

After that night, Peter and I started acting with renewed vigor, fighting for the freedom of Narnia, yes, but also for the freedom to see what could be.

Caspian’s plan could be the tipping point between losing and winning this war.

“If we do this...Peter is gonna hate me.”

Caspian didn’t disagree, which only made me more terrified of the consequences of what we were about to do. His weak smile—most likely intended to make me feel better—was so strained, it only capitalized on the desperate nature of the situation. “I think you’re the most important piece we can play.” My heart sank into a pool of dread, and Caspian caught my hand. “But if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

I could read the truth in his eyes.

He really was leaving it up to me. No one could really know what this plan would mean for me except him. If I said no, the plan would stop here, and he would never bring it up again, not even if we were all chained up in Miraz’s dungeon facing execution.

Personally, I preferred the dungeon.

But if I said no, and we lost?

I wouldn’t be alone in that dungeon. Nothing would break me as fast as seeing despair on all the faces of the people I could’ve saved had I been braver.

Doing this provided the advantage Peter so deeply craved.

But Peter would never see it that way.

Caspian squeezed my hand, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Y/N? Do you want to back out?”

I felt my heart speed up in my chest. This was an impossible decision. I needed more time to think it all through–

“There you guys are!” Edmund said, jogging up from behind Caspian. “C’mon, we’re meeting by the Stone Table.”

Caspian shot me a panicked look, but neither of us could say anything without being conspicuous and neither of us could linger without being suspicious. There was nothing left to do except trail behind Edmund.

As we walked through the carved corridors of Aslan’s How, my eyes lingered on the etchings depicting Narnia’s history.

Many of the carvings involved simple details, shallow etchings that made the picture stand out, and some of them were half as big as I was.

The earliest depiction was of Mr. Tumnus, the faun who’d invited Lucy for tea and later helped her escape in direct defiance of the White Witch. His bravery started a chain of events that led to the four Pevensie siblings bringing peace to Narnia.

Mr. and Mrs. Beaver were next. Without their guidance, Peter, Susan, and Lucy might not have made it to Aslan.

The nearer we drew to the stone table, the more embellished the pictures became. I saw the fox who saved the lives of the four kings and queens. I saw Father Christmas handing the horn to Susan. I saw Aslan bargaining with the White Witch for Edmund’s life.

Narnia’s history burst at the seams with examples of courage.

Indeed, the old Narnians had hidden from the Telmarines for centuries, waiting for the chance to take back their home. If I said no, if Caspian and I didn’t go through with our plan, my momentary cowardice might cost the Narnians everything.

Could I stand to have that on my conscience?

Everyone else was already in the cavern housing the stone table.

Glenstone spoke for the centaurs while Trumpkin appeared on behalf of the dwarves. As the only giant in the army, Wimbleweather was here too, though he hung back (he was much too shy to speak up in a meeting like this). The talking animals were represented by Reepicheep, Trufflehunter, and Patterwig, a talking squirrel that was perched on Glentsone’s equine back. Asterius, the minotaur, represented the darker Narnian races, the creatures who’d served the White Witch centuries ago. Edmund and his sisters were interspersed between all the others. Susan almost imperceptibly shifted closer to Caspian as he sat in between her and Doctor Cornelius.

Normally, I’d sit next to Peter, but he stood in front of the table, facing the group with arms tightly crossed and face tense.

Only once I sat beside Trumpkin did I realize I had far too much nervous energy to sit. I tried to keep my legs from bouncing up and down, but the effort didn’t last long.

“We know we’re outmatched,” Peter said as soon as everyone was settled. “I know I don’t have to explain the stakes, because we know what we all stand to lose. So we’ll discuss ideas, and at the end we all will vote.”

Not once did Peter’s voice waver as he explained his plan to challenge Miraz, use Aslan’s How in the battle, and send Lucy into the forest to find Aslan. He was not speaking as Peter Pevensie of Spare Oom, but Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia. The furtive shift between the two could be hard to discern if one wasn’t paying enough attention, as Peter showed leadership and integrity in both personas.

When he switched from Peter Pevensie to High King Peter, his gentle nature sharpened into gentility, his consideration to jurisdiction, and his courage to assertion.

No matter how much I pined over Peter Pevensie, he was not who Caspian and I needed for this plan. Peter Pevensie would veto it immediately, but perhaps High King Peter wouldn’t.

Caspian shot a furtive glance at me, reminding me that the decision needed to be made before Peter finished talking, and our window was rapidly closing.

I fought the lump in my throat to take a breath. If the Narnians won, I would be hardly be any worse for wear. If they lost…well, none of the scenarios that involved the Narnians losing was pleasant.

So what it came down to was faith. How much faith did I have in the capability of the Narnians, in Aslan, in Peter?

The answer was obvious: I trusted Peter to the ends of this world and every other.

I gave Caspian a subtle nod. He nodded back, sealing the deal.

The only question remaining, I realized as I anxiously waited for Peter to finish, was did Peter have the same amount of trust in me?

Peter spread his hands. “The floor is open. Anyone have anything they would like to add?”

Caspian immediately stood, drawing all eyes. “May I speak, High King?” Peter nodded, clearly expecting Caspian to present a united front by agreeing with the plan.

The Narnians still nursing offense regarding Peter’s sudden departure in the Golden Age respected Caspian, and the Narnians leery of Caspian’s Telmarine heritage respected Peter. The authority was stretched between them, so if they both agreed on the plan, it was bound to go through.

Caspian wiped his hands on his pants nervously, seeming terrified. I could hardly blame him as I was moments away from having an unfortunate accident myself. “I know how to get back the Narnian soldiers we lost in the battle on the castle.”

At the mention of that night, the room filled with whispers and mutters.

Peter’s eyebrows drew close together.

Everyone in this army knew how that painful defeat still weighed on him. In fact, when the two of us drank together, he’d confessed that he was willing to do anything to make up for it.

But right now, Peter didn’t say anything, which told me he smelled something fishy.

“Challenges traditionally have included conditions. As part of the challenge, we can make an exchange to get the hostages back.”

“What could we possibly exchange for forty hostages?” Reepicheep asked.

Caspian’s head swiveled to me, and with it, every other head in the room.

With knees shaking and blood running cold, I stood with the grace hammered into my since birth. “Me.”

“You?” Trufflehunter repeated, his badger nose lifting in the air, clearly smelling something fishy as well. “Begging your pardon, but why would they want you?”

“She’s a traitor, and Miraz don’t hold with no traitors,” Trumpkin said in his specially blunt way.

“I’m not just any Telmarine.” Every mite of my body resisted the words I was about to share, fighting to keep the secret that I’d kept for months. But now was the time for sacrifices. “My full name is Lady Y/N Glozelle.”

Patterwig’s tail puffed up. “General Glozelle is is is is is is your father?!” The habit of repeating words was common for talking squirrels, especially when they got overexcited.

I braced myself as best I could. “Yes.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone seemed to process this.

Then the room burst into noise, everyone talking over each other at once.

Trufflehunter covered his eyes with his paws. “This is insane.”

“What game are you playing here?” Trumpkin demanded, standing up to walk closer to me. “Are you a spy?”

“No, of course not!” I said, more sharply and defensively than I’d anticipated.

“This could work,” Edmund mumbled from behind me as Susan across from me crossed her arms with suspicion.

“She is a lady?” Reepicheep asked, crossing in front of Trumpkin to point a accusing finger at Caspian. “You said she was a sympathetic servant at the castle!”

To his credit, Caspian didn’t flinch.

Reepicheep rounded on me, more threatening than a talking mouse had any right to be. “Does the Telmarine believe we are untrustworthy?” He palmed his sword, which despite its smaller size could make me bleed just as well as any other sword. “If that’s the case, it speaks more to your character than ours!”

Murmurs swept through the room.

I stepped further into the center, taking great care not to look at Peter, for I knew my nerve would fail if I met his blue eyes. “None of you have ever had reason to question my allegiance before.” I made imploring eye contact with each person. “That shouldn’t change simply because of my heritage.”

Grumbling reached my ears, growing louder and louder. Caspian and I looked at each other helplessly, wondering how to proceed.

From behind me came one word.

“Quiet.”

The talking immediately ceased.

My response was instinctual, like Peter’s voice carried some sort of gravity. Before I made the decision to focus on Peter, I’d already shifted to face him.

His face spoke of the face of High King Peter, eerily calm with unruffled authority. But his knuckles spoke of the knuckles of Peter Pevensie, clenching the hilt of his sword so tightly, they whitened.

Fighter versus diplomat.

Actions versus words.

King versus man.

High King Peter met my gaze. “Forty hostages for one member of nobility is uneven. They’ll never make the trade.”

We’d known someone would point that out eventually.

“Y/N?” Caspian prompted, waiting for me to explain.

I opened my mouth, but my voice failed.

I didn’t know what expression I bore, but dread wove through Peter’s features. He leaned back, resting his weight on the Stone Table, like he was praying Aslan’s strength would course through him. “What is it?” he asked. “What else is there?”

I couldn’t tell him, not when his face was like a slab of stone. I looked to Caspian for strength, and he nodded encouragingly.

“The night Miraz’s son was born,” I began, my voice shaky, “he was thrilled. He’d wanted a son for years, and now that he had one, he wanted as many as he could. But it took years for Queen Prunaprismia to conceive. She wasn’t likely to bear him another child, so Miraz decided he wanted to take a second wife.”

Suddenly the only sounds in the room were the noises that floated down the hallway. I wasn’t sure anyone in the room was breathing as everyone followed the train of thought through to its conclusion.

“You?” Peter asked, his voice breaking under the burden of the word. His mask had broken, and the whole tangled mess of Peter Pevensie’s horror and fury bled through.

I had to avert my eyes.

Fortunately, Caspian seemed to understand. He stepped forward, allowing me to step back. “General Glozelle offered Y/N’s hand in marriage, and my uncle accepted, under the condition that General Glozelle was to kill me in my sleep that very night.”

Trufflehunter turned to Doctor Cornelius. “You got them both out.”

Doctor Cornelius nodded. “I overheard the deal being made and moved quickly to get Y/N and Caspian out of the castle. We didn’t have much time because-” The doctor stopped, shooting me a glance.

I wanted to tell him it was alright, that he could share everything, but I was too overcome to get myself together.

“Miraz was eager to make the match. He talked of Y/N’s beauty and–” Doctor Cornelius paused, taking off his spectacles to wipe them with his tunic and then place them back on his nose.

My eyes slid to Peter, my hands itching to cover his ears for this next part.

“And?” Trumpkin prompted.

“And he started, urm, dicussing her, uh...apparent fertility.”

Peter’s right eye twitched. Everyone in the room cringed and shifted where they sat, the story sitting about as well as I’d expected. Peter faced the stone table, putting his back to everyone, clearly trying to hide whatever expression was on his face.

Guilt wrought it’s way through me, and I started wishing there was a way to have saved Peter from all this. But there was no time for frivolous things like wishes.

I stepped forward again, and everyone’s eyes fell on me. The air felt stifling, but I knew it was just the effect of the obvious pity filling the room. I shoved the unpleasant feelings aside. “Miraz wants me, and he’d be willing to do a lot to get me back, even return the hostages.”

Trumpkin shook his head. “You’re still a traitor. Even if Miraz didn’t know about your personal allegiances, you disappeared from the castle at the same time as Caspian. It’s not a leap to think that the two of you left together.”

For once, I was thankful for the dwarf’s confrontation, because while every one else in the room regarded me like a whimpering puppy, he was bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand. “What if I was a hostage? I wasn’t at the attack on the castle, and no one saw me leaving with Caspian and the doctor, so at least there wouldn’t be any conflict in my story. Beyond that, it’s just a matter of making it convincing.”

“What do you you you you you you mean by ‘convincing’?”

“All of us have old scrapes and bruises, and since rations have been low, we’re all a bit starved.” I shrugged. “With some fresher wounds, I would look the part of a prisoner.”

"Absolutely not,” Peter interjected. “We’re not doing this.”

Here it was, the part where Caspian and I had to be more convincing than the most influential monarch in the history of Narnia.

“Now, hold on,” Reepicheep argued, never one to back down from a fight. “Y/N is the one who has to risk it all here. If she’s willing to do it, so why shouldn’t we?”

“We don’t even know if those soldiers are still alive,” Asterius rumbled. A visible ripple cascaded through the room as the various people tried to work around the idea that the forty soldiers we lost were dead.

“If they aren’t, then we don’t make the trade,” Glenstone answered. “There’s no harm done.”

“Well,” Trumpkin approached the stone table to stand beside Peter, nonverbally declaring what side he was on, “what if Miraz decides to kill those who go with the challenge to take Y/N back instead of humoring the conditions of the challenge?”

“That is hardly the impression Miraz will want to make on the lords as a new king.” Caspian’s voice was steady and sure, showing he was every bit as much a leader as Peter. “Miraz must maintain his image. He must be fair, but if he doesn’t get Y/N back, if he chooses not to make the exchange, he will have Y/N’s father to answer to. Glozelle has just as many alliances as Miraz.”

“But if Miraz agrees to the duel, then why do we need the extra soldiers?” Lucy asked. “The conditions of the challenge state that whomever loses must surrender.”

“The Telmarines aren’t going to stick to the duel.” Susan’s voice was grim. “They’re itching for a fight, so we need to tip the scales in our favor however we can.”

Trumpkin frowned. “We don’t even know that she,” he jutted a finger at me, distrust lacing his voice like nightshade in wine, “cares about our cause! She could be playing both sides, perhaps using us as a means to an end.” The accusation stung, but I couldn’t blame him. Nikabrik’s betrayal affected him the most. It would be natural for him to see duplicity everywhere.

“Y/N is trustworthy.” Glenstone’s normally smooth tone sounded a bit uneven. “I know it.”

“If the noble centaur believes in the lady’s integrity, then I do too,” Reepicheep announced. “And if the lady is in the Telmarine camp, why, she can sabotage some of their weapons and armor.”

“Not a bad idea,” Edmund mused.

“But it’s too big a risk!” Trufflehunter exclaimed. “What will the Telmarines do if they find out she’s working against them?”

“Now is the time for risks!” Susan got to her feet, walking over to Caspian. “If we don’t take this risk, we risk losing.”

Suddenly everyone was on their feet, all arguing over every imaginable aspect of this plan. Some argued that it was moronic to try while others argued it was moronic not to try. Overwhelmed, I hung back, leaning against one of the columns for support as I tried to make sense of it all.

Only Wimbleweather the giant didn’t join the fray. His gentle eyes just took it all in. He hasn’t said a thing this whole time, I realized. What was running through his mind?

“Have you all quite finished?” Peter shouted, visibly losing his temper. All fell silent, the limelight shifting to him. He stood on the step of the stone table, elevating him a head above everyone else. His eyes blazed, and his fists were clenched. “We’re not doing this.”

“Peter.” I drew near, surprising even myself with my interjection. All the heads twisted in my direction. “It’s not your decision to make.”

Peter’s nostrils flared. “It’s not a decision at all.”

“Yes, it is.”

“If your safety in that camp can’t be guaranteed, then no, it isn’t.”

“You can’t guarantee I’ll be safe here either.”

Peter glared at me so fiercely, I was very nearly cowed. Only knowing we were being watched and my defense of this plan was being measured kept me from remaining silent.

“This move could be the difference between winning and losing."

“Not like this.” Peter folded his arms, resolute and unyielding. “We can’t win like this.”

I ached to reach out and comfort him, but I couldn’t, because I would only be comforting Peter Pevensie. I sent him as pleading a look as I could. “There are casualties in every war.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me on war.” Peter growled. “I helped win a war before your ancestors were even born!”

“If I may interject,” Doctor Cornelius said, walking to stand in between Peter and I. “High King, you started this meeting by saying we would take a vote.”

Peter paled, his lips parting in realization as he remembered what he’d said. Genuine fear flickered in his face for the first time since the meeting started. He glanced around at the people in the room, realizing that their opinions were about to rule one way or another.

“I believe the time has come to vote.”

Without instruction, everyone wordlessly returned to their sitting positions, turning to face the doctor.

“As the mediator and as a Telmarine, I will abstain from the vote. If you are in favor, say ‘aye’. If you are opposed, say ‘nay’. Majority rules.” Doctor Cornelius faced Peter. “High King?”

“Nay,” Peter said immediately, with a tone that promised repercussions for any who dared to say anything different.

“Prince Caspian?”

“Aye.”

“Lady Y/N?”

I couldn’t help but notice Doctor Cornelius’s use of my title. “Aye.” Peter’s eyes flicked towards me, and upon seeing them, I looked away, unable to face the storm brewing.

“Queen Susan?”

“Aye.”

“King Edmund?”

Edmund scratched the top of his head and let out a sigh. “Aye.”

Four to one. Three more votes and the ayes would have it. Terror seized my insides as I started to realize how close this plan was to going through.

“Queen Lucy?”

The young woman shook her head frantically. “Nay.” Caspian let out a frustrated sigh, but I knew Lucy’s compassion would never stand for putting me in direct risk, especially when she believed so fiercely that Aslan would intervene.

“Trumpkin?”

“Nay,” the dwarf replied with a look of deep distrust thrown in my direction.

“Trufflehunter?”

“I’m sorry,” Trufflehunter said, to whom I wasn’t sure. “Nay.”

We were tied, four to four.

“Reepicheep?”

The talking mouse drew his sword and crossed it over his chest. “Aye.”

“Patterwig?”

“My allegiance is with with with with with the High King.” Patterwig bounded over to Peter, coming to rest beside his foot. “Nay.”

Tied again.

“Asterius?”

“Nay.”

I sucked in a breath. Peter shot a glance at me, having done the math too. Six to five against. One more nay, and the nays would win.

“Glenstone?”

Glenstone’s eyes rested on Doctor Cornelius, then on Peter, then Caspian, and finally came to a stop at me. “Aye.”

Tied again.

All attention moved to Wimbleweather, who looked quite ready to run from the room.

“You’re the tie-breaker,” Doctor Cornelius said. “What say you?”

I didn’t know much about the giant—no one did as he preferred to keep to himself, being the only giant in the Narnian army. If he’d known before this that the fate of Narnia would very well rest in his hands, he might’ve declined to be a part of the meeting.

“Lady Y/N,” Wimbleweather said softly, “are you truly willing to make this sacrifice?” He held up a finger before I could say anything. “Don’t answer right away.”

“Y/N-“ Peter began warningly, but multiple people shushed him.

Wimbleweather’s gentle eyes did not stray or probe. He simply waited.

I glanced around the room, committing everyone’s face to memory as I reminded myself of what I was fighting for. Whatever happened, I would not remember these people as prisoners, slaves, or unmarked graves, but as determined warriors.

The one thing that gave me pause was the distress on Peter’s face. Strategic, detached High King Peter was gone. In his place was a scared young man, silently begging me with minute shakes of his head to back out of this.

“For Narnia,” I said, addressing Wimbleweather, “I’d do it a hundred times over.”

The giant nodded, seemingly unsurprised. “Then I say aye.”

For a moment, his reply seemed to echo through the room. No one said anything. Doctor Cornelius seemed speechless, but he likely saw no reason in declaring what we all already knew.

“The majority wins.” Edmund said finally, his voice loud enough for everyone but his face directed towards Peter. “We’re going through with it.”

Peter surveyed the people in the room with such an expression of complete betrayal, it made my stomach swirl with shame. I couldn’t even be happy that our plan worked, because getting the plan through was not the hard part of this plan. Similarly, it was not victory that shone in Caspian’s face, but resignation.

“Peter?” I said tentatively.

Without so much as a word, Peter stalked out of the cavern.

“Pulling your punches isn’t going to do any good,” I reminded Glenstone. “We’re trying to make it believable.”

Caspian and Doctor Cornelius were aiding the four kings and queens in preparing the challenge while the others took it upon themselves to spread the word of our plan.

I hadn’t seen Peter since he left this very cavern.

The centaur and I stood by the stone table, and I was doing my very best not to stall, even as my whole body trembled with anxiety. Glenstone raised his hand, and I flinched, shutting my eyes and waiting for the blow.

But the hit never came.

Glenstone dropped his arm and shook his head. “I can’t do this.” His hooves clopped on the stone floor as he backed away from me. “I can’t hurt one of my own people.”

Own people?

He considered me one of his own people?

My heart swelled, and I almost threw my arms around Glenstone for his words, but that would only make his task harder. “I’m sorry to be asking this of you, but it is necessary.” I tried to smile reassuringly, ignoring the thrumming where my stomach used to be.

Glenstone shook his head slowly before reaching out. Involuntarily, I jerked away from him, but he was only placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Sorry,” I said with an awkward laugh. “Just jumpy.” I squared my shoulders. “I’m ready now.”

I’d extensively prepared myself, and in that extensive preparation, I’d decided I was going to be silent and take every blow in stride. But with every trepidatious moment that passed, I got closer to bleating like a fearful goat.

Glenstone didn’t do anything for a long moment, just increasing his grip on my shoulders.

Then, without warning, he shoved me to one side, hard.

I lost my balance, raising my hands to catch myself as the ground rushed nearer.

Pain burst in my left wrist, so sharp and sudden, I let out a gasp. The vicious sensation that burned through the joint, felt new and different than pain I’d felt before. But then again, did pain ever grow old? Rolling onto my back, I clutched the wrist to my chest and breathed in time with the throbbing.

It didn’t help.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the instant regret, reminding myself of the situation.

Gentle hands helped me sit up, and I blinked to see Glenstone’s troubled face peering down at me.

“Halfway there,” he said lightly. It was probably intended to be encouraging, but being punctuated with dull stabs of pain, it only sounded ominous.

“Okay.” I struggled to my feet, facing Glenstone again. “Let’s go.”

Glenstone didn’t even give me the chance to breathe before his hand shot out, striking me in the face.

A cry of pain broke through my lips as the breath was knocked out of my lungs.

Glenstone hit me a second time, harder. His fist collided with my jaw, my bottom lip accidentally getting caught between my teeth. This time, the momentum sent me backwards, crashing into the stone wall behind me with such force,.

“Stop!”

Having slidden down the rock to sit on the floor, I lifted my spinning head, trying to see who’d shouted.

Before I regained my wits, a warm hand cupped my stinging cheek.

“Y/N.”

“Peter?” I asked blearily, blinking a few times to return the world to the correct orientation. When my vision stopped spinning, I saw it was Peter crouching beside me with such great affliction in his eyes, my heart ached more than any other part of me.

“Y/N,” he said so quietly and gently, it broke my heart.

“I’m okay,” I gasped. “I’m good, I’m good.”

Glenstone kneeled beside us as best he could.

“Can you give us a minute?” Peter asked the centaur without looking away from me.

“My king–”

Peter whipped his head around. “You voted for this.” The accusing undercurrent in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. “It was your right to vote,” Peter acknowledged. “But I’ll thank you to get away from her.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” I mumbled. “Thank you, Glenstone.”

Glenstone glanced at me with an expression that said ‘good luck’ and got up, lumbering through the doorway, leaving me alone with Peter.

I brought my wrist to my chest again, thanking Aslan that I didn’t have to face another blow. One look at Peter’s face, and I knew I wouldn’t be facing the High King either.

Peter’s eyes fixed upon the wall beside my head as he withdrew the hand that had been cupping my face. He didn’t straighten from his crouch nor lean away from me. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just stared, his jaw clenched tight.

“Are you here to join in the fun?” I finally asked.

“Don’t,” Peter said sharply, his blue eyes shooting to mine. “That’s not funny.”

I tried to get up, but I only managed to move about an inch before falling limp against the stone again with a pained groan.

“What did Glenstone do to you?” Peter murmured, his thumb gently touching the part of my lip that was starting to swell.

“Just what he needed to,” I replied as best I could. When Peter pulled his hand away, both of us stared at the bit of blood on his thumb. I ran my tongue over the wound, the salty taste confirming that my lip was indeed bleeding.

“How many times did he hit you?” Peter asked. “How badly does it hurt?”

I shook my head, which immediately I knew was a mistake as my vision spun a bit. “Doesn’t matter,” was all I said.

“What can I do?” Peter asked. “Lucy has her cordial, but–”

“–but that would defeat the point.” I tried for a laugh, but it sounded like a screech. “Glenstone would just have to hit me again.”

Peter stood, putting some distance between us.

“Peter.”

He stopped, only a pace away from the door. “What?”

“Don’t go.” He ran a hand over his face with such vexation, my guilt compounded. “I know you’re angry with me. That’s okay. Just be angry here.”

Peter braced his hands on his hips, his expression like thunder. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were never going to like the plan.”

“You know perfectly well that’s not what I’m talking about,” Peter snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me about who you are?”

“Because that’s not who I really am. Come on, if anyone knows that, you do.”

“Do I?” Peter asked, his nostrils flaring in time with his temper. “Because now I’m not sure I know you at all.”

I sighed. I knew he didn’t mean it, but that didn’t keep it from stinging.

“I’m sorry.” Peter threaded a his hand through his hair, making it stand up in multiple directions “You’re right. I’m angry.”

“I’m doing what I think is necessary. If you were in my position, you’d do the same.”

Peter let out a quiet huff, coming closer. “You’re right.” He came closer, lowering himself to the ground to sit beside me.

We sat in silence, and it was in the silence that I realized how much pain I was in. My wrist, my cheekbone, my lip, my back, all of them stung from Glenstone’s strikes. Funny how attacks from a friend hurt more than attacks from an enemy.

Hopefully, there was enough time before the challenge for the bruising to show.

I chuckled.

“What?” Peter asked.

“I was just thinking how odd it is to be hoping for bruising and swelling.”

Peter didn’t laugh.

I didn’t expect him to, for I couldn’t imagine all the thoughts and worries churning inside that mind of his. Peter was a worrier, probably always had been. Whether that was the product of being the oldest, of his childhood, or simply was part of his personality, he was always fretting about something, and in wartime, there was no shortage of things to fret about.

Today had been particularly trying for him, which was at least partially my fault.

“It’s forty hostages for one hostage,” I said finally. There was no point in pretending like Peter wasn’t still mulling over the plan in his head. “That’s solid math.”

Peter jutted out his chin stubbornly. “I’ve always hated math.” He turned his head, looking at me. “You deserve better.” His voice was so soft, I nearly didn’t hear him.

“War doesn’t care about the deserving.” I looked down at my wrist. “And Miraz definitely doesn’t.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Peter asked, his voice still quiet, but with a demanding edge now. “I would give anything to–” He broke off, looking away from me.

If only he knew how much I would give for him to finish that sentence.

With things how they were, I couldn’t ask that of him.

As slow as I could manage, I leaned into Peter. When he didn’t react, I uncertainly rested my unbruised cheek on his shoulder. He shifted a bit, and for a moment, I worried he was uncomfortable.

But then his hand gently moved towards mine. When his fingers wrapped around my injured arm, moving my wrist towards him, a jolt of pain ran up the limb. I hissed through my teeth, causing him to pause. “How much does it hurt?” he asked gently.

“It’s fine.”

“A lot then,” he said, more to himself than to me. Then, he leaned his head down. Before I could ask him what he was doing, he gingerly pressed his warm, soft lips to the junction of where my hand met my arm.

“Hurts less now,” I managed to say, my voice high-pitched and breathy.

Peter let out a very satisfied hum, and something sparked in his eyes. He placed another feather-light kiss on my wrist, slightly further down my arm.

“If you keep going,” I said with a slight rasp, “you’re going to fry my brain.”

Peter chuckled, but straightened again, resting his head against the stone wall at our backs. “I don’t know what outcome to hope for,” he confessed lowly, gently running his fingers over my wrist. “Because if Miraz accepts, it means Narnia has a fighting chance, but...but I lose you.”

I shook my head, and the world spun less than it did last time. “You’re not losing me. I’m on your side, regardless of which side of the field I’m standing on.”

“But what if I lose? It’s bad enough that I’ll be letting everyone down, but if I know that man,” Peter shuddered, “is going to marry you and force you to have his children?”

“That will never happen,” I swore. Too late, I realized I’d spoken with far too much conviction.

Peter’s blue eyes rested on my face, and never had I been so examined by a simple look. “You’ve planned something.” I avoided looking at him, but Peter caught my chin, bringing it back towards him. “Tell me.”

I longed to, and yet, how could I? How could I look Peter in the eye and tell him that I would sooner fling myself off of a tower in the Telmarine castle than marry Miraz and bear his sons?

“There’s going to be a battle,” I said instead. “I can feel it in my bones. And I will fight until there is no breath left in me.”

Peter lifted his hand, gently covering my lips with his fingers. “Don’t talk like that.”

I dodged his hand. “I’d rather die as a Narnian than go back to be a stranger in my homeland.”

“I’d rather you live.”

Impatience curled in my chest, giving me enough energy to get to my feet. “I can’t believe you.” I stalked away from him.

“Wait!” I heard the sounds of scrambling as Peter leapt to his feet.

“Why are you denying me this?” I asked the wall, not wanting to look at Peter’s face during this argument. “I’ve fought in this war like everyone else. Why should my fate be different from theirs?”

“I can’t fight that duel unless I know that you’re going to live either way.”

I spun to face him. “Are you commanding me?” I asked. “As my king, are you ordering me to prioritize my life over everything else?”

The light from the torches caught on the mistiness in Peter’s eyes. “I’m not ordering,” he said softly, “I’m begging.” He stepped forward, reaching out to grab my uninjured hand. “And I’m not begging as your king.” He brought my hand to his chest.

At first, all I could feel was the rough tunic he wore, which was certainly not common garb for a king. Warmth seeped into my fingers from his skin. Every time I’d ever touched Peter, his skin radiated heat like a furnace.

Then I could feel his heart hammer away against my fingers at a rate equal to mine. The longer I could feel his heartrate, the more I realized why people referred to the core or center of things as the heart. To get close enough to the heart meant one was close enough to cause trouble.

It was an expression of trust.

Somehow, without even using words, Peter had somehow told me one of the most tender things I’d ever heard.

“Who are you begging as?” I whispered, even though I was sure I already knew the answer. I felt Peter’s chest rise as he took a large breath and then fall as he let it out.

“As a man who loves you.”

There it was.

Laid bare and complete.

I furrowed my brows, focusing on the hand still resting on Peter’s chest. “And if...” I swallowed hard, trying to gather my words. “If I were to ask you not to duel Miraz, and I begged as a woman who loves you...what would you do?”

Peter didn’t answer, and I nodded slowly.

“You are the high king of Narnia. As the high king, it is your right and your responsibility to duel Miraz.” Peter nodded grimly. I removed my hand from him, feeling much colder. “And it is my right and my responsibility to finish what I started.”

“You’re right,” Peter said after a beat. “You’re right.” He hung his head. “It’s not fair of me.” The defeat in his voice was a far deeper wound to carry.

For all our care and intentionality to avoid this very scenario—when our personal desires and our duty misaligned—we’d ended up here just the same, only with fewer moments to spend together.

I couldn’t figure out if desperation somehow made me feel braver or if it was simply a impulse, but I reached out to him, cradling his cheek, comfortingly running my thumb across his skin. Guiding his chin up with my hand, I saw that his eyes were wet with tears. I almost asked what was wrong, but that would be a foolish question, because everything was wrong.

“What are you thinking?” I asked instead, dropping my hand.

“I’m thinking I don’t know if–” Peter drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to let you go, damn the consequences.” His eyes climbed my face, finally reaching some point beneath my nose. “And I’m thinking…I’d kiss you right now,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against my bottom lip, “if I wasn’t worried I was going to hurt you.”

My heart leapt. “I’m thinking you’d hurt me more by not kissing me.”

Peter didn’t react much beyond watching me. He searched my face for so long, I started to wonder if he was expected to find a rough edge or a seam that he could slide his fingers under and rip up a façade. But I could have no façade with him.

“This isn’t how love is supposed to happen,” I murmured. “It’s not supposed to make doing the right thing harder.”

A dead smile spread across Peter’s face, accentuating the lifeless look in his eye. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Perhaps for the first time, I fully understood that saying. It wasn’t a statement to excuse crimes; it was a bitter truth about life.

Peter pressed his forehead to mine, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m going to win that duel,” he said, his voice rough, his grip on the back of my neck shaking slightly. “I promise you.”

I gripped his arm. “Okay.”

“I’m going to win it because we, we need more time.”

I wanted to tell him that once this war was won, we had the rest of our lives, but I would not raise his hopes falsely. Not when we were fighting in a war. Not when I was leaving in the morning.

“We have tonight,” I whispered,

Wordlessly, he pulled me into him. He held me so tightly I knew what he was thinking.

It’s not enough.

I knew the moment I awoke that our time was up, for I felt too refreshed to have only slept for a few hours. Even so, I kept my eyes closed as I gently traced the arm wrapped around my waist, ignoring the pangs of pain from my wrist as my fingers dragged against the rough fabric of Peter’s tunic. This was worth it.

“It must be morning by now.” The drowsiness in Peter’s voice made such delicious assurances, I opened my eyes.

His hair stuck up in the front, and there were indentations on his left cheek from where he’d slept on his own arm. Even his eyebrows spoke of the natural unvarnished semblance that came from sleep. I lifted a hand to smooth them down, but when they were smoothed, I was too reluctant to move away.

So I traced the crooked lane of his nose. “Did you break your nose once?” I asked as my finger reached his soft lips.

Peter nodded. “My face was swollen for days.” His breath warmed my fingertip, causing goosebumps to erupt on my arms.

“How does my face look?” I asked, wishing there was a mirror to look in.

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Purple.”

“My favorite color,” I mumbled, tracing my fingers up his jaw to his earlobe.

“Is it?” Peter asked, and I nodded my head. “How did I not know that?”

“Well, the only colors that matter in this army are red and gold.”

Peter’s smile turned teasing. “Maybe I should change Narnia’s colors to purple.”

I laughed. “What a romantic gesture.”

He smirked. “I’m a romantic guy.” We laughed together as I followed the curve of Peter’s ear. “Are you going to eat breakfast?” Peter asked softly.

I buried my face into his chest, suddenly feeling shy. “No. I’m a hostage, remember?”

“I don’t know how Narnia does things now, but in the Golden Age, we fed our hostages.”

"Don’t start,” I warned, tapping his chest in admonishment. “What’s done is done.”

A moment of silence passed.

“I should get ready,” I said reluctantly, starting to sit up, but a hand settled on the back of my head.

“Stay. Just for a minute.” The hand started rubbing comforting circles onto my temple.

I conceded, pressing my cheek to his torso. “How are you feeling about the duel?”

Peter’s chest depressed underneath me as he let out a sigh. “It will be what it will be.” His fingers moved up my forehead to lightly brush my hair.

“Will it be too distracting for you if I’m at the duel?”

The hand froze. “I want you there. I want to see you and know that you’re okay.”

“Will it be distracting?” I repeated. Peter’s silence was louder than any admission. I lifted my head to press a cheek to Peter’s jaw, the closest part of him I could reach. “I’ll make up some excuse about being too scared to go to the duel.”

Peter frowned, but nodded.

I sighed. “Now it’s really time for me to start getting ready.”

Peter’s grip tightened, and I knew his instincts were fighting him harder than Miraz ever could. “I don’t think I can watch you leave.”

I sat up. “Then we say our goodbyes now.”

Peter sat up, looping his arms around me and resting his chin on my head. I shut my eyes tight. My future teetered between two outcomes. Shortly, I would walk into the Telmarine camp, masquerading as an underling to my enemies.

But I wasn’t there yet.

In this moment, I was with the man I loved.

And it was the best moment the Lion could’ve afforded me.

“We’ve decided that Edmund, Glenstone, and Wimbleweather will accompany the challenge,” Caspian said with poise. Without Peter there, Caspian was taking the lead with all the monarchs and representatives. “Remember, Miraz is tied by honor. As a new king, his position is unstable, and acting with dishonor does not instill the confidence he needs to solidify his reign.”

Edmund nodded with a very studious look on his face, and I remembered what the queens had told me about Edmund academic successes.

“When will they leave?” Reepicheep asked.

“As soon as Y/N’s ready.”

All eyes turned towards me. I gulped. “I guess that means I have to go get ready.”

Susan stood, holding the dress I’d been wearing when I fled the castle. “We couldn’t find your Telmarine shoes.”

“Barefoot it is then,” I said as brightly as I could manage, determined to keep my fear from showing.

I took the gown from Susan, looking down at it with everything incompatible with fondness. It had many a wrinkle and snag on it, but it didn’t matter much. I was trying to win a war, not score a marriage.

Apparently, I’d already scored one.

I left the room for privacy. Even though my time with the Narnians had been brief compared to my years spent in Telmarine court, I couldn’t help feeling like an imposter in my own dress. Deciding not to linger on it, I changed quickly and re-entered the room, where Glenstone stood, holding a rope and wearing a embarrassed look.

“Miraz will expect a hostage to be bound and gagged and possibly blindfolded.”

I swallowed, already imagining the rope burns I’d get from the coarse cords. “Alright then,” I brandished my wrists, “tie me up.”

“Goodbyes first,” Caspian said softly.

I shook my head. “No. No goodbyes.” I gazed around the room at all the Narnians here. Whether they’d voted aye or nay, I didn’t care, because they were still my family. I swallowed hard. “I will see you all tomorrow, after the duel.”

I walked up to Glenstone, holding up my hands.

While everyone watched, Glenstone looped the rope around my wrists tightly, giving me no room to separate my wrists, a fact that made my injured wrist smart. As my mobility was removed, the trickles of fear started.

This was really happening. I was headed back to the Telmarines of my own free will.

My breathing sped up.

“Hey,” Caspian said quietly, drawing my gaze. “It’ll be okay. It’s just for a day, the duel’s tomorrow morning. It’s just 24 hours.”

I nodded like a helmet being bobbed on a string. He was right, it was just a measly 24 hours. I could do anything for 24 hours. “I’m good, I’m ready.”

Judging by the faces of everyone around me, no one believed me.

“Wait!”

I spun in time to see Peter jogging into the room.

He breathed heavily as he walked solidly up to me.

“Peter?” I managed to ask before his arms came around me, his lips meeting mine.

My lip stung but it couldn’t compare to the searing pain in my chest, as if Peter was taking a red hot poker and pressing his brand onto my heart, not knowing that it was already marked as his.

Fearing I’d lose my balance and fall head-first into a bottomless pit, I rested my bound hands on his chest. Then Peter’s hand abandoned my face for the back of my neck, holding in me in place as he kissed me with enough care to make me slip at the edge of the pit.

Too soon, he broke away, brushing his fingers down my cheek. “You stay safe, okay? I’m counting on you.”

I wanted to tell him not to worry, but I knew he would. I wanted to swear up and down that everything would go as we hoped, but I didn’t know that for sure. We couldn’t make any promises or grand declarations to make the other feel better.

This was war.

“I’ll try my absolute best.”

I scanned his face, trying to memorize the soft gold locks, the nose that clearly had been broken once upon a time, the searing blue of his eyes, and the lips screwed up like he was trying not to cry.

“Pete, I have to go,” I whispered.

Peter shut his eyes, nodding.

Then, abruptly, he pulled away, like tearing off the bandage was the only possible way to part, and with his expression of deep pain and grief, I wondered how gaping his wound was.

He left the room, and only then did I remember the other people in the room.

I swiftly glanced at them, fully expecting teasing or grossed out expressions.

Instead, I saw there was not a dry eye in the room.

Edmund quietly cleared his throat. “Time for the gag,” he said. “Any last words?”

I couldn’t tell if the king was trying to be humorous or gracious. “Do what it takes to sell this, okay? Whether it’s kicking me around or shouting at me, just sell it.”

Edmund glanced over his shoulder at the doorway his brother had just exited through. “But Peter-”

“-will never know,” I finished. “Promise me.”

From the look on his face, he would rather eat his own foot than make that promise, but he gave one single nod, and that was enough for me.

He tied the gag before pulling a sack over my head. The limited air didn’t help me in trying not to hyperventilate, and no matter how loosely Edmund tied the gag, there was no way to feel comfortable with a piece of cloth preventing me from closing my mouth.

A hand rested on my shoulder, too large to be Edmund or Glenstone’s, so I assumed it was Wimbleweather guiding me as I walked. After some time, I felt the ground underneath my bare feet turn from stone to grass that made my feet itch like fire, and the heat of sunshine.

We must’ve been walking through the field between the Telmarines and Aslan’s How. After what felt like only a few minutes, Wimbleweather pulled me to a harsh stop.

I could hear Edmund verbally sparring with Miraz, but I couldn’t hear the specific negotiating of the terms of the deal. The bag over my head muffled everything. I didn’t know how far away from them I was. The only thing I could truly see or feel was the heavy hand on my shoulder.

But even if I couldn’t hear what he was saying, the sound of Miraz’s raised voice left a sour taste in my mouth. It was probably a blessing that there was no food in my stomach if I was about to see the unprincipled king again.

The heavy hand clamped around my upper arm, dragging me forward and pushing me down so hard that I legitimately fell to my knees.

“There’s another condition of the challenge,” I heard Edmund say.

I did not know what I was expecting when the sack was roughly pulled off of my head, but it certainly wasn’t what I saw.

The lords all sat in a tight u-formation with Mirax in the center, my father on his immediate right and Lord Sopespian on Miraz’s immediate left. Grating noises filled the tent as every noble pushed their chair back and rose to their feet, staring at my revealed face in horror.

My father let out a choked sound. “Y/N?”

“Dad?” I said, trying to sound on the verge of tears. The gag muffled my speech, but everyone knew what I’d said.

“Unhand my daughter immediately!” my father thundered. Lord Mollegim elbowed my father to be quiet, but Lord Sorgis grabbed Lord Mollegim’s arm with a warning look.

Within moments, all the lords were squabbling, and a meager rush of satisfaction coursed through me. They’d proven Caspian’s assertion true; my father had many influential allies, and Miraz had his work cut out for him.

“Stop!” Miraz barked, and all the lords except my father froze, looking between their king, Edmund, and myself.

“What did you savages do to her?” my father growled.

Edmund placed a hand on my shoulder, and I made a show of trying to pull away. “When she found out the army was here, she tried to escape.” Clever Edmund, giving a specific reason for my injuries that made me appear even more in line with the Telmarine cause. “The deal is clear. Give us the forty Narnians you have as prisoners and we will give you your woman back.”

Miraz smiled, but he was clearly on edge. “Well, I’m afraid we didn’t let those savages live, so you’re out of luck with that condition of the challenge.”

Suddenly, Edmund grabbed my hair with uncharacteristic harshness and used it to pull me to my feet, a real cry of pain escaping from my lips. “Then we’ll take her back with us.”

“Wait!” cried my father’s voice. “Don’t hurt her, you can have the hostages!” Miraz shot my father a dirty look, but my father was too focused on me to see it.

“Lord Glozelle, think about this,” Lord Mollegim said. “It’s not wise to–”

“That is my daughter!” my father roared back.

Edmund didn’t release my hair, waiting for Miraz’s move.

He wasn’t the only one.

All the lords were looking at Miraz, some craning their necks to see better, every one of them seemingly holding their breaths, waiting for the verdict.

“I accept the challenge.”

“With every one of the conditions?” Edmund pressed.

Miraz’s lip curled, showing his distaste for Edmund. “With…all the conditions,” he reluctantly agreed. “Bring forth the hostages.”

The sack was once again pulled over my head.

Edmund and I had agreed before I’d been tied up that the sack would be kept over my head as the hostages were revealed so the hostages wouldn’t accidentally expose me.

I heard lots of fumbling and activity, but through it all Edmund’s hand rested on my shoulder.

After a great deal of time, Edmund squeezed my shoulder and then his hand disappeared.

Immediately the sack was torn off my head, revealing my father who immediately untied the gag. “Y/N, my darling, are you alright?”

“Get this off of me!” I wailed, raising my tied arms.

My dad pulled a dagger out of his belt, immediately cutting through the bindings. “What did they do to you?” he asked, pulling me into his chest and cradling me. I covered my face with my hands, trying to create a buffer for my aching face.

“The Narnians must pay for this,” my father growled. I didn’t know whom he was speaking to, but there was a murmur of agreement.

“Do not worry,” Miraz’s voice said. “They will.”

My father led me to a nearby tent. “Stay here,” he said before quickly walking out of the tent, leaving me to study the contents of the tent.

A chestnut chest rested beside a cot, the dark pattern on the top tugging at my memory. When I was young, I’d once peeked inside and nearly gasped at all the weapons that had rested inside. A wooden tub rested in the corner of the tent, beside a full-length mirror.

I stepped up to the mirror, nearly gasping at the sight of my own face.

My right cheekbone, a deep purple that matched the dark circles under my eyes, was twice the size of my left. A red scab ran through my bottom lip. My face was also thinner than I remembered, which was likely due to the food. There were patches of dirt all over my visible skin.

I looked like a vagrant.

Strangely, the thought made me smile.

The sound of footsteps reached my ears, and I quickly dropped the smile, spinning to face my father and a young woman carrying a bag.

“Do you know how they injured her?” the woman was asking my father as they entered the tent.

“No.” My father stopped, gesturing at me. “That’s her.”

The woman came closer. “Where are you injured, my lady?” she asked.

“I think my wrist might be sprained,” I replied. “And my face hurts.”

As the woman dug around in her bag, I glanced up, just in time to see my father walking away again.

I furrowed my brow. My father hadn’t asked me any questions, given me any reassurances, or even explained what he was doing before he did it. It was normal, I realized. More than normal. How could I have forgotten what it was like to be treated like a piece of furniture instead of a person?

Apparently, the time away had both dulled my memory and sharpened this reunion.

“When you’ve bathed,” the woman told me, “I’ll bind that wrist.” She dug around in her bag, pulling out herbs of all kinds and making a poultice before instructing me to hold it to my lip. “Most of the swelling and bruising will go down on their own.”

“Thank you,” I said meekly.

She nodded and left just before a parade of servants entered, pouring pitcher after pitcher of water into the bath.

One of them deposited a tray of fruit, bread, and cheese on my father’s cot, and my eyes suddenly welled with tears.

It’s just food, I told myself. It’s just water.

Yet the emotions swirled around me like vultures around a fresh corpse.

Only one servant remained in the tent. “Are you ready to bathe, my lady?” she asked.

When I nodded, she helped me undress and ease myself into the tub. The warm water felt heavenly against my aching body. The servant made quick work of massaging the soap into my skin and hair, wiping away the dirt and blood.

However good it felt to wash the filth away, a filth of a different, heavier kind settled on me.

The servant didn’t look me in the eye once, as was appropriate for our stations.

But instead of feeling respected, I felt sad.

I missed my people.

I missed Edmund and Reepicheep’s witty banter, Trumpkin’s odd way of talking, Lucy’s compassion. I wanted to hear the sound of Caspian’s voice, see the serious expressions of the centaurs despite the energized talking squirrels and mice standing on their backs and shoulders while they ate.

As I eyed the large plate of food beside the tub, I even missed the tiny rations of Aslan’s How because of the friends that I got to eat with. Now here I was, alone. And no amount of food in my stomach could fill the hole inside me.

I got out of the tub and the servant speedily wiped me down with a towel, wrapping a robe around me before scooping my dirty dress off the floor and leaving the tent.

The flimsy fabric of the robe clung to my wet skin, leaving little to the imagination. I missed the practical outfit I’d worn when I was with the Narnians. When I wore the loose pants and tunic of the Narnians, I felt like an adult, and a powerful one, which was a way I’d never felt growing up in the Telmarine court.

Here I was again, dressed like a helpless little girl.

I heard someone come through the tent. “Dad?” I called, still tying the ribbon that held the robe around me.

“Try again.”

My stomach flipped as I whirled to face Miraz.

“My king.” I curtsied as best I could without causing my robe to slide and show too much. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I want some information from you.”

“About the Narnians?”

“Yes.”

My heart faltered, like it was holding it’s breath.

“Where did they keep you?”

“They tied me up in one of the caves, your majesty.”

“Did they feed you?”

“No.”

“Did they give you water?”

“Yes.”

“Why did they hurt you?”

I hesitated. Edmund had already answered that question. “I overheard one of the soldiers talking about the army, and I knew if I could just slip away and get out, that I’d be safe.”

Miraz stepped forward, and I willed myself to stay where I was as he lifted a hand to touch my swollen lip. “Does it hurt?”

Another odd question. “Yes, your majesty,” I said slowly.

His thumb rested on my scab, not dissimilar to when Peter had touched my lip. I tried to stand still, even as my skin crawled.

Slowly, Miraz pressed his thumb into the scab, the pressure steadily increasing. I let out a strangled sound, trying to pull away. Miraz gripped my upper arm, holding me in place. “Your majesty, you’re hurting me.”

“I underestimated,” he said under his breath. “Foolish of me.”

I blinked, confused. “Your majesty?”

“I underestimated your dedication to the Narnian cause.”

My knees went weak, and my voice shook betrayingly as I said: “I’m sorry?”

“You weren’t kidnapped. Kidnapping isn’t my nephew’s style. I know you left with him willingly.”

My stomach seized with fear. “No, I didn’t! He took me–”

“Save it.” Miraz’s hand moved to my swollen cheekbone. “You’re not that good a liar.”

“No! Why would I leave?”

“Shhhhh.” I flinched as Miraz gripped my injured wrist. “It’s alright, dear thing, don’t worry, no one else needs to know you’re a traitor.”

I opened my mouth to deny it further when I caught sight of the look in Miraz’s eyes.

He knew.

Even if it hadn’t been true, when Miraz decided something, his stubbornness would never waive. My fingers itched for a knife or sword to end it all right now, but I didn’t have anything but my fists. And Miraz was much larger than me.

I swallowed hard and gripped my hands into fists to keep from shaking. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Oh, nothing for right now. I can’t be seen to go against your father while he’s been my most faithful ally. But in the coming weeks?” Miraz’s mouth broke into a grin.

My skin tingled with revulsion. I tried to pull away from him, but Miraz dragged me closer by my wrist. I let out a cry of pain as he pulled on it, causing me to lose my balance and fall into him. “Guards!” he cried.

Two armored soldiers came into the tent, one of them carrying chains. I tried to struggle, but it was useless. Within moments, my wrists and ankles were bound, the already irritated skin of my wrists stinging under the weight of the cool chains.

Panic seized in my chest as the full weight of the desperate situation dawned on me. My injuries combined with the chains, I wouldn’t be able to stand, much less run or sabotage the Telmarines like I’d planned.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Miraz said when the guards stepped away.

The guards nodded. “No one will be allowed into the tent, my liege,” one of them said.

“Not even Lord Glozelle?”

“Not even him, your majesty.”

“Good.” Miraz came closer to me, and I forced myself not to flinch as he planted a tender kiss to my forehead, a tender action for the soldiers’ benefit which revealed nothing of the corruption within. “I will see you tomorrow, my dear, before the duel.”

“You’re going to lose,” I said through gritted teeth. “The high king is a hundred times better than you.”

Instead of looking afraid, Miraz grinned. “It matters not. My army is bigger than his, even with the returned hostages. The Narnians all die tomorrow.” He stood straighter, like his bloodlust was strengthening him from the inside.

“You’re underestimating them.”

Miraz sent a look at the two soldiers. “Poor thing, she’s been brainwashed by the Narnians.”

The soldiers exchanged a look, and I knew there was no hope of convincing them otherwise.

“If you truly want to kill all the Narnians,” I said quietly, “you’re going to have to kill me too.”

Miraz laughed. “Oh, honey, you can’t change blood, and yours is Telmarine.” He crouched beside me, lowering his voice. “That’s why I’m still going to make you my wife.” He reached out to lightly run the ribbon securing my robe in between his fingers. “And I will enjoy finding ways to make you surrender.”

And with that, he swept out of the tent, taking all my hopes with him.

Reblog, leave a comment, or buy me a coffee to show your support! Check out my masterlist for more fanfic!

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle

#peter pevensie #high king peter #peter fanfic #peter pevensie fanfic #narnia fanfic #high king peter the magnificent #peter fanfiction #peter pevensie fanfiction #narnia fanfiction #narnia angst #peter angst #peter pevensie angst #narnia #chronicles of narnia #angst

127 notes · View notes

katcoquette · 3 years

Text

I Want to Ruin our Friendship

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

You and Draco had been inseparable since first meeting at Hogwarts in Year One. Both Slytherin, both Pure-Blood, and both undeniably attractive, you ruled over your classmates together. Your only competition seemed to be each other, and although it was fierce, you also relied on each other for everything. What started as an engineered friendship between the parents of two powerful families had turned into a strong, genuine, and trusting relationship. Draco was your closest confidant.

It was now the start of Year Six, and you and Draco were sauntering down the main corridor, his arm lazily draped over your shoulder. The rest of your gang were following behind the two of you.

Students that knew better than to mess with you scattered out of the way as you passed, aside from a group of Gryffindor boys who were blocking half of the hallway.

They looked you up and down as your group approached them in the halls. One of them let out a low whistle. You turn back to make eye contact with Pansy, who is smirking, and laugh. You feel Draco leave your side and pick up his pace toward them, Blaise and Goyle close behind him. You stop in the middle of the corridor, fold your arms in front of you, and cock a foot forward, ready to see how this would play out. Pansy’s at your side now, also knowing this would be entertaining to watch.

“Did you just cat call Y/N?” Draco sneered. At this, most of the group backs away, aside from another sixth year, whose face you recognized but name you didn’t know. He steps forward to face off with Draco. “So what if I did?”

“She’s not interested in any of you filthy, Gryffindors.” Draco spits. You click your tongue at this and walk over to the quarreling boys. You put a hand on Draco’s shoulder and gently pull him from the Gryffindor.

“Play nice, Draco.” You smirk at the boy standing in front of you and Draco.

“I could be…” You say slowly, bringing a hand up to straighten the red and gold tie. He flushes at your touch. You cock your head, keeping your hand around the tie. “You are rather handsome.” You say coyly.

“But, unfortunately-“

You continue, pulling the tie tightly, almost choking the poor boy. You hear Draco chuckle behind you. The abruptness of the motion forced the boy to lean toward you.

“Draco’s right.” You whisper into his ear. “I don’t go for Gryffindors.”

You push his chest back so he’s standing upright again and let go of the tie. You smile at the confused, but intimidated, look on his face.

“Have a wonderful day.” You say sweetly, pushing past him. The rest of the group catches up with you, laughing at the retreating group of boys. “Well done, Y/N/N.” Pansy cheers when you’ve all reached the end of the corridor, the Gryffindors long gone. Draco comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you. You hold his wrists against your chest.

“It’s so sexy how you tell people off Y/N.” Draco teases.

“You know I can handle myself Draco.” You tease back.

“I know.” He notices the rest of the group still listening to the two of you. “That’s what I find so appealing about you.” He says lowly, so that only you hear it.

And that’s how your friendship with Draco was. You flirted with each other often, but that’s all it was, a friendship. Lately, however, especially this year, you had found yourself thinking of him in more compromising positions. The harmless flirting was turning into sexual tension that you were sure he felt as well. You were confident around every other guy, teasing and flirting, but never letting them in. With Draco, it was different. He made you feel different, you would get nervous when you saw him, flustered with the normal teasing, faint at his touches.

But both of you were too stubborn to ever change the dynamics of your relationship, so you continued to ignore the storm in your stomach every time you saw him. That is, until a couple weeks before winter break. Your group was currently on the way to Hogsmeade to take a much-needed break from your schoolwork.

The boys were a few feet in front of you and Pansy, laughing and shoving each other as they walked. Pansy linked her arm with yours as you headed through the snow to the small town. “Are you excited for the annual winter ball at Malfoy Manor?” She said, wiggling her eyebrows. You roll your eyes, but smile nonetheless. “Oh come on, Y/N. I’ve seen you two lately! Something’s changed.” She says matter-of-factly. She wasn’t wrong. You think back to last week.

You had spent most of the evening studying in the library with Pansy, until she decided she was too tired and got up to leave. You said goodnight to her and stayed a few more hours, wanting to finish the essay you were working on so you wouldn’t have to think about it later. You were an excellent student but procrastinated your work to the end of time unless you finished it in one sitting. You sigh happily, setting down your quill and packing up everything you had brought with you. You sneak back towards the Dungeons. It wasn’t necessary, even if you were caught you wouldn’t be punished. It was more out of not wanting to run into anyone else that could be wandering at this time, like Harry Potter and his pesky friends.

You mumble the password, and the wall reveals the Slytherin common room.

“Draco?” You whisper, seeing the blonde hair of your best friend sitting in one of the armchairs. He looks up from the fireplace he had been staring at, looking deep in thought, but smiles at the sight of you.

He motions you over to him, pulling you onto his lap when you reach him. You swing your legs over the other side of the chair and put your arms loosely around his neck. He holds you by your waist. This wasn’t unusual for you.

Your friendship included physical contact, especially to comfort each other, and that seemed to be what this was. However, this simple comfort caused heat to rise in you. “Are you okay?” You say, pushing the feelings down and gently lifting your head from his shoulder to look into his eyes. He stared intensely back at you, silently communicating that no, he wasn’t.

You noticed his eyes briefly flick down to your lips, and for a moment, it felt like he had started to lean in.

“Y/N? Are you in here?” Draco breaks your eye contact and clears his throat, looking back toward the fire. You pop your head around the chair and see Pansy sleepily looking back at you. “I’ll be up in a minute Pans.” She gives you a knowing smile and a thumbs up before turning to go back to your dorms.

You look back to Draco, pressing your forehead to his. You bring your hand up to his face, brushing his cheek. “I’ll be here, anything you need.” You assure him, giving him a small smile. One of his hands was still on your waist, but the other had moved to your thigh when you leaned back to talk to Pansy. You were suddenly very aware of it, and even more aware of the blush that was creeping to your cheeks at the unholy thoughts that followed.

You had always seen the rings he wore on his hand, but lately, lately they had taunted you. You longed to feel his hands running up and down your leg, the cold metal of those rings pressing into your skin.

“Y/N?” Your eyes snap up to Draco’s after realizing you had been staring at his hand. “Is there a problem?” He smirked slightly, hiding the stress that had previously been on his face. You got up quickly, almost tripping into the chair behind you as you did so. “No problem at all! I just really should be getting back to my room.” You rushed out, silently cursing yourself at how obviously flustered you were.

Draco slowly stood up in front of you, the smirk still on his face. You stood your ground, trying to cool your demeanor to normal. He took this as an opportunity to come closer, almost touching your lips with his, but still just out of reach. You let out a small gasp at how close he was, if you tilted your head at all your lips would meet his. “Of course, darling.” He whispered.

As quick as he had gotten close to your lips, he was now walking across the room, hands in pockets. “Goodnight, Y/N/N.” He called over his shoulder.

You hardly slept the night after that encounter. Every touch since then had felt new. You shake your head lightly at the memories and look to Pansy.

“We’re just friends, Pans. You know that.” You laugh off her comment.

“The both of you are just in denial. We can all see it.” She retorts. You lightly smack her shoulder, pulling your arm out of hers. “Not even!” You squeal, reaching down to pick up some snow and toss it toward her. “Oh- you’re on!” She screams, causing the boys to look back at what the two of you were up to.

They come running back, throwing snowballs at each other and at you. You duck behind the wall lining the path and throw a look to Pansy who had the same idea as you did. She nods and you jump up from the wall, pelting the boys with snow. You laugh together at how much you snow you had managed to hit them with but stopped once you saw the looks on their faces.

Draco was staring daggers at you, but you simply shrugged, breaking into a run away from him. Pansy followed you, squealing as Nott caught her. The sight of them falling into the snow distracted you from Draco, who was now right behind you.

“Any last words?” He doesn’t give you the chance to respond before grabbing your arm and pulling you into the snow. He purposely pulls you so that you land on top of him, where you share yet another moment of intense eye contact. Your hands were on his chest, slightly propping your body up so you could see his face. His hair was tousled from the fall, his hat laying on the ground next to him. Again, you felt yourself heating up from his closeness.

“Let’s get going you two.” Blaise called, oblivious to what he had interrupted. You blushed as you got up. What is going on?? You were never like this around other boys. You brushed the snow from your coat and held out a hand to Draco, helping him up. “Thanks.” He mumbled, a small smile on his face before rejoining the boys ahead of you. You link arms with Pansy. “Not a word.” You stop her, already knowing what she would say. She giggles next to you as you continue to Hogsmeade, going over the details of the ball.

Two weeks later you were back at your own manor, getting ready for the Malfoy’s winter ball. You had on a floor length, strappy black dress that glimmered when you moved. There was a long slit that ran up your leg, stopping mid-thigh. Your hair was curled loosely with a small diamond pin holding back the pieces that normally framed your face. You were also wearing a diamond bracelet, with matching earrings, courtesy of Draco (Narcissa) from your birthday. You smiled at your appearance. Even for you, an already gorgeous girl, you looked stunning.

You had decided just days ago that tonight would be the night everything changed for you and Draco. You were going to tell him how you felt, how you had felt for months, maybe even years. How you wanted to be more. You were no longer denying your feelings, and this gave you more confidence than ever.

Your parents had arrived before you, knowing that you would be meeting up with Draco anyway. You enjoyed a grand entrance, and tonight was no different. You showed up fashionably late to see Draco standing at the end of the hallway that led to the ballroom. He hadn’t noticed you yet, leaning against a pillar with his hands casually in his pockets. You confidently started toward him, each step deliberate, almost slow, your heels clicking against the floor.

At this noise, Draco looked up, meeting your eyes. He pushed himself off the wall and stood, watching you. He slightly licked his lips, eyes raking up and down your body, admiring the dress you had picked out just for him. He was wearing all black, in his signature suit. The sight made your heart race. He held his hand out to you once you reached him, softly grasping yours. His thumb brushed across the back of your hand as he brought it to his lips, placing a kiss where he had just touched. You keep your composure, smirking at him, though your stomach is doing flips.

“I like your bracelet.” He says coyly, holding out his arm. “I would hope so.” You reply, taking his arm so he can escort you inside. The two of you looked ravishing together, eyes immediately falling on the new couple that had just entered the room. With your hand still holding Draco’s arm, you descend the grand staircase together, stares only leaving you as the next song starts.

“Will you dance with me?” Draco turns to face you and you nod. He pulls your body into his and you start swaying to the music. You move an arm over his shoulder, as his go to your lower back. You were unbelievably close, you could feel every part of him against you. You look up at him, his eyes filled with desire.

“You look… perfect.” He said, almost growling. You don’t say anything, instead tilting your head so your mouth was hovering by his ear.

“Draco…” you whisper, “I want to ruin our friendship.”

He moves his head back, searching your eyes for the same things he was feeling. You bite your lip, confirming that you were. He lets out a small groan seeing you do this.

“Come with me.” He pulls you away from the dance floor, and out another door into a private corridor. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from candle chandeliers lining the columns on each side.

“Y/N…” He pushes you against the wall of an alcove created by the pillars, starting deeply into your y/e/c eyes. His hand is pressed to the stone next to your head. You move your hands from your sides up his body, simultaneously bringing him closer, until you reach the back of his neck.

“Yes?” You ask innocently.

At this, he cups your face, finally connecting your lips. They move in sync, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you tangle your hands in his hair. He bites your lip, making you moan, his hands roaming your body roughly. He pulls away, only to move down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses. Your head rolls back at the feeling of pure ecstasy, causing your back to arch, and your lower half to press into Draco’s. He groans at the feeling and starts to suck on your neck, and you close your eyes to enjoy it, one hand holding his head to your chest and the other pressed against the cold stone above you. Both of you were breathing heavily at this point, finally releasing the energy that had been building up between the two of you for years.

He meets your lips again, fighting with you for control. “Hold onto me.” He orders. You wrap your arms around his neck, almost squealing when he grips your ass and lifts you up. You were now pushed up against the wall with your legs loosely around Draco, his hands keeping you up. After a few more minutes of snogging, he lets you down, keeping one hand on your waist to keep you close to him. You look to him breathlessly, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Same here, darling.” He smiles, pressing his forehead to yours like he had so many times in the past.

But now, you were no longer just friends.

A/N: I LOVE THIS ONE! I wanted to mix it up with a Slytherin badass reader and some angst ahhah. Crazy in Love (Remix) was the song on repeat for this one because it really makes me ~feel things~.

Let me know what you think! Do you like me including images? They help me write, so I like putting them in the post as well.

I’m always happy to take requests as well.

278 notes · View notes

thestraggletag · 3 years

Text

Roll for Initiative, a Rumbelle D&D Fic

Summary: Tales of the Enchanted Forest was the hottest online D&D game, in part for its charismatic players, in part for the twisted turns of the DM's mind and in part because of the outrageous chemistry between its greatest OTP, the party's beautiful bard and the Dark One, an anti-hero side-character who is there to provide information and uncomfortable levels of UST. Mr Gold thinks it's a harmless flirtation that could never become anything else, just like his silly little crush on the town librarian, Belle French.

He's wrong.

Rating: Explicit.

Author’s Note: Surprise, @argoslight, it is I, your Gifter! Sorry to make you wait till near the end but I just had way more banter to write in me than I thought. I hope you enjoy your gift. I’m so sorry to not be able to add more D&D elements but since I don’t play I don’t have a lot of idea of what could be done. Also I apologise for any mistakes! And thanks so much to @little-inkstone for her help and D&D knowledge.

The castle was quiet when she entered, her steps echoing against the stone. It was gloomy inside, curtains obscured and decor sparse and sombre, the castle living up to its name. But there were flowers on the table, moon lilies, her favourite flower. They bloomed only in the Eastern Mountains past the Old Wall, but she had long since suspected he grew some on one of his enchanted hothouses, with the excuse of using them for potions.

“Where’s the rest of your pretty little troop of do-gooders, dearie?”

The voice came out of nowhere, echoing around the empty halls of the castle. Thankfully she did not need directions, knowing exactly when to turn and where to go. Soon she found herself in a vast room, with a table on the centre and curios filled with oddities and the like. Some others were displayed on pedestals, including a rather fearsome sword and a nasty-looking crown made of thorns. None of the artefacts were what she sought, but she was not there to bargain for an item, but rather for information.

“Off on their own quests, taking care of other things that need doing.”

The voice tsked, seeming not to approve.

“They let you enter the lair of the beast alone? Some heroes.”

The woman lowered the hood of her cloak and walked towards the unlit chimney. Immediately a fire blazed to life, as if the castle itself was trying to cater to her comfort. The fire provided much-needed light as well, revealing the profile of a man in the shadows. Or something that looked like a man, at least, if not for the reflective scales that covered his body and its strange eyes: gold irises around catlike pupils.

“I asked to come alone. I felt like we could talk more openly this way.”

She removed her cloak, ostensibly to drape it across a chair near the fire and let it dry. The creature, however, seemed to read more into the gesture, tsking again.

“You come here all alone, a pretty little lamb, and take off the only real bit of protection you have. Reckless, dearie, most reckless.”

The creature stood up, walking slowly towards the light, revealing more of its form as it approached her. Leather pants and a long, reptilian-looking vest and coat. It wasn’t particularly tall but power emanated from it in suffocating waves. She closed her eyes, finding his cloying presence strangely comforting. Then again, she had always been odd.

“Once again your pitiful little party of friends needs my help. How they weigh you down, Beauty.”

He stepped fully into the light then, revealing a being more creature than man, the reptilian skin and claws as off-putting as his unnatural eyes. She should’ve taken a step back, should’ve gone for her blade or the dagger tucked into her left boot, but she didn’t. As much as she knew she shouldn't, she felt at ease in his presence. Well, perhaps not quite. She certainly felt a strange sort of anxiousness in his presence, a fluttery sort of feeling that she attributed to being particularly attuned to his magic. None of the other members of her party felt that way. If anything, he repulsed them, which wasn’t something she could understand. To her he was… magnetic.

“Are you in the mood for dealing or not? I can trade for information.”

He snorted.

“With what? Your little band of misfits is dirt poor. That idiotic paladin of yours ruined your last mission. You really should think about ditching the man. All brawn, no brains. At least your rogue is a smart woman.”

His gaze left her briefly, running down the length of her clothing: sturdy black boots, a nicely-cut dress that stopped around the knees and a sturdy belt with a few pockets for her spells. But the clothing, as well-made as it was, was dated, old. Looked worn and was signed and stained in places, and it left a lot of her frail human skin exposed. She had not been able to afford an upgrade in a while, preferring to spend her coin in what could benefit the group.

His moue of distaste disappeared once his eyes fell on her cloak. Well, his cloak, since he had been the one to make it. It was a lovely thing in varied shades of green, shot through with golden thread, his trademark. She had bought it off him a long time ago, a simple thing to keep her warm during cold nights and dry when it rained. Miraculously, though, it also did not sustain damage, looking exactly the same as when she had first put it on.

“I’m glad at least my protection is serving you well.”

He ran a claw along the seams of the cloak, making it glitter, like to like, magic calling for its own. He looked smug, as if pleased she was wearing something he had made.

“It does more than we bargained for. I’ve been blasted with magic strong enough to burn through most fabric but it has not even frayed. How strange of you, Rumplestiltskin, to lose out on a deal.”

He shivered when she said his name, walking behind her to the safety of the shadow she cast next to the fire.

“Can’t help it if my magic is just that powerful, my dear. I’m glad you are a happy customer. Always thought that cloak was a nice bit of magic. Can’t fault you for always wearing it.”

She felt him close in on her from behind, to the point that it almost felt like they were touching.

“It smells like you. That’s why I wear it all the time.”

The noise he made behind her was inhuman, a cross between a whimper and a growl. His claws scrapped against the back of her dress, the feeling muted by her stays, but she could feel his breath against the back of her neck and that alone was-

“Hey, this is a decent stream! Keep it PG for the kids, you weirdos.”

“Damn it, Grumpy, I wanted to see how long it would take them to snap out of it!”

“Sorry, Snow, but I ate a big dinner and I aim to keep it down.”

The messages in the chatroom wheezed by, mostly disgruntled complaints about their OTP never catching a break. The other participants in the stream were mostly silent, their mics muted likely to hide the amused snickers. There was no video feed on any of the members of the party, all of them represented instead by artwork to preserve their anonymity. Once upon a time that had been a fanciful choice, and perhaps a way to stay safe when interacting with strangers on the internet. Now it was mostly to keep their private lives from being overtaken by the popularity of their stream. “Tales of the Enchanted Forest” was shaping up to be one of the hottest D&D online streaming shows, already on its third campaign and counting.

“Beauty is just trying to get us some answers, Grumpy. We can’t just go stumbling about hoping to run into some fairy wand by chance.”

“Oh, it’s that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Enough! Can we get back to the campaign already? It took me weeks to plan and it kinda hinges a bit on the Dark One helping, which needs to happen today.”

“Fine by me, dearie, if the dwarf can curtail his temper.”

The party was composed of five characters, a paladin, a cleric, a bard, a rogue and a thief, which along with the Dungeon Master made up the regular cast of every weekly stream. But given the popularity of the show, and the amount of time they had been playing, they had managed to amass a good amount of side-characters, guests invited every now and then to help the campaign move along and keep the interest of the audience. And by far the most popular of those guests was the Dark One, a wizard of unknown lineage and tremendous power that served both as an antagonist and a pseudo-ally depending on the situation.

His presence was likely the reason why the livestream’s numbers looked so robust. He had amassed quite a fanbase, due in part to the commitment the player put on the character (the voice-acting was above and beyond what anyone could’ve expected from an amateur performer, and the backstory was quite complex, revealed in bits and pieces fans had meticulously assembled together) and in part to the chemistry he had managed to develop with the group’s bard, a half-human named Beauty.

“Okay, let’s all go back to what we were doing.” The DM’s voice was authoritative, though also more than a bit pissed off. “Okay, Beauty, you were about to try and cajole the Dark One to sell you the information you needed in return for a vial of water from Lake Nostos. Though the water is valuable, it’s not guaranteed to be enough to tempt the wizard. You have to roll at least a 13 in persuasion to make the trade. Roll when you’re ready.”

...

Rumford Gold stretched within the confines of the small backroom of his shop, where he had his computer stuff set up. Initially he’d bought the computer to better conduct his online business. His laptop at home wasn’t cutting it and it was better to photograph the antiques, update the website and handle the deliveries from his place of business. He had bought a good camera, some light fixtures and, on a whim, a microphone, for instances where he might need to virtually communicate with clients. It was something that was happening more and more, especially because a lot of his clientele was European. The internet had truly turned his antiquing- more of a hobby than a profession originally- into a profitable business.

He had gotten into watching D&D while waiting late at night for a client to become available in Austria. He had played as a lad, one of the few happy moments he could remember from his childhood in Glasgow, but had given it up once he had met Milah. And after they were over he had been too involved in making something of himself to remember past childhood enjoyments. But apparently D&D had evolved with the times and he had gotten into the habit of searching for and watching online D&D campaigns in his spare time. From that to actually being a side-character in one of them took almost no time. It was frightfully easy to go back to that frame of mind of playing make-believe, only now he had a distaste for the clean-cut heroic types and more of an affinity for the morally-grey, shady characters.

So he had auditioned for the role of evil-wizard when there had been an opening for a side-character in his favourite D&D stream, The Enchanted Forest. And though the DM had written what he considered to be a very flat, uninteresting character, he had been able to give it his own spin. He knew the DM hated him for it, hated when he deviated from what was expected of him, but people loved him. It was half the fun, pissing the DM off.

The other half, he had to admit, was Beauty. The one with the brains in the group, clearly, a half-human, half-fairy bard with an uncanny ability to think ahead, and arm herself with knowledge. Most of the other members of her party were more apt to try and decapitate something than negotiate with it, or even befriend it. Beauty prided herself on more of a gentle approach, which sometimes got her treated as the “fragile” one. He thought it just made her all the more interesting.

Their flirting had just kinda happened. He was half into it before he realised it had begun at all and by the time he had grown conscious- and self-conscious- of it fans were lapping it up and loving it. Even the DM, as loath as he was to admit it, found the banter engaging, even as if stole the spotlight from his story and where he wanted it to go. So every now and then he got invited into a stream, sometimes to interact with the whole party and sometimes, like the session he had just finished, to speak only to Beauty. And what was supposed to be a brief conversation before the party moved to greener pastures became a whole session, with the chatroom full of engagement and the view count off the charts.

But the DM had had a short tolerance span tonight, and had nipped things in the bud much sooner than usual. He felt… unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. Itchy, almost, in a way. So he was more than happy when he received an email from Beauty, who seemed to share his dislike of how the session had played out. They had started doing that more often, sharing emails after a session, even when he did not participate in it. It was harmless, he thought. Just an innocent online flirtation that could never realistically turn into anything. Not that his more in-person romantic overtures could ever pan out. He was in his third year of being completely smitten by the local town librarian, and in his second year of being able to put two words together in front of her without the help from Scotch, something he was perhaps a bit too proud of. And though he had decided very early on that the whole thing was utterly hopeless he had not been able to steer his thoughts or affections away. Realistically he was perhaps more in love with the idea of Belle French than the reality itself, given how little he had personally interacted with the woman. But he knew just enough to fill in the blanks and create a beautiful picture of how he imagined her to be: bookish- an easy assumption given how many times he had caught her in public places absorbed in a book-, kind, generous and delightfully able to hold a grudge and enact revenge when the time came. A bit reckless, and sometimes quick to form opinions, but also quick to revise them. A tactile person, with a great sense of fashion and a carelessness about what was expected of her.

He saw her in his head as clear as day, but little of that image was based on any personal knowledge of her. So, perhaps, he had found in Beauty a fictional substitute, someone he could talk to, and flirt with, without consequences, adopting the persona of someone more confident, more at ease with that sort of thing. The Dark One was comfortable in his skin in a way that he could only pretend to be sometimes. All the money and power he had accumulated over the years had helped him evolve from the spineless, cowardly lad he had once been, but when it came to certain situations, especially those that necessitated a level of vulnerability, he was still hopeless.

Perhaps, he wondered, it was better to think about his online liaison with Beauty as the real thing. They wrote to each other often, in and out of character, and over the course of their correspondence he had confided in her more than he had in any other person alive. Small things at first, every day peeves and details. Nothing that could identify them, certainly, but surprisingly intimate nevertheless. And over time it had grown to stuttering confessions and barings of the soul on both sides. She had told him of her teenage years in a mental asylum, the product of an overwrought widowed father trying to do right by his grieving daughter. He had had a few choice words to say about that, uncharitable thoughts about her father prompting his own willing sharing of the sad story of his childhood, neglectful father and all. It had felt nice, to confide in someone, someone he trusted.

He glanced at her email, where she lamented how their scene had not been as long or as satisfying as she had wanted, and saw she was proposing to meet later in a private stream to finish it the way they had both wanted. She had proposed something similar once or twice before and he had politely declined but now he wondered why not take her up on her offer. What was stopping him? His imaginary idea of Belle French, who in reality had never given him more than a polite smile in passing? Too young, too good, too beautiful to ever see him as anything other than an old cripple? Whatever he had built with Beauty felt infinitely more real, and attainable. A relationship without ever meeting in person seemed ideal in many aspects and, perhaps, if and when it came to meeting in the real world, his physical shortcomings would not be relevant, nor would it his rather uncharitable reputation.

He sent her a quick reply to arrange a meeting, feeling like a bit of roleplaying was, in the end, quite harmless. And if it were to lead to something a bit more meaningful, well, perhaps it was about time.

…

“Water from Lake Nostos. A key ingredient in most powerful potions and even some spells. I’m sure it could prove useful to you.”

The bard showed him the glowing crystal vial hanging from a long chain around her neck, with the glowing milky-white water from the cursed lake in it. He made a move to get closer to inspect it but the woman took a step back, tucking the vial back inside her bodice. The wizard’s eyes lingered there, hiz gaze growing intense. The bard felt her skin flush in response, something that felt a bit like fear but wasn’t running down her spine.

“And I’m sure a new wardrobe could prove useful to you, dearie. You’re practically wearing rags.” Rumplestiltskin made a show of running his eyes up and down her form with just enough disgust in his face to make it seem as if he was only noticing the rather sad state of her dress.

“It’s my best gown, I’d thank you not to insult it.”

He made a moue of disapproval, shaking his head for good measure.

“You’re far from your days as a princess. I hope seeing the world is worth putting up with your band of idiots that waste most of the gold they earn with your wit in pointless goose chases that you know will lead nowhere.”

Beauty didn’t respond. There was nothing she could say to contradict what he thought of her party, none of which was charitable to say the least. And she also knew that he was aware that all of it was worth the freedom she had won when she had left her life in her father’s castle behind. She did miss one or two things, perhaps. Her mother’s vast library being one and, perhaps, some of the fashions. Not so much the silhouettes- she had never liked how the sea of petticoats she was always forced to wear restricted her movement- but the fabrics and colours, certainly. And the shoes.

“I’m here to make a deal, Dark One. Are you doing business today or not?”

Lesser creatures would’ve rather bitten off their tongues that throw cheek at the Dark One, but Beauty did not even bat an eye, lips curling in a defiant little smile that had the wizard smirking, something like admiration blooming in his chest. It’s what he loved most about his little bard, her spine of steel. And perhaps her blue eyes, but that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t do business with raggedy urchins, dearie. If you want to sit down and negotiate you’ll need a bath.” He made a face, as if he could smell her across the room. “And a change of dress, while I put your current outfit to wash… Or set it on fire, I haven’t decided yet.”

She could tell that he was pulling his punches, that he was playing at being repulsed by her state of dress and hygiene just bad enough that she would see he did not really mean it, not in any real way. She would’ve been able to tell either way, but it was nice that he thought it important to spare her feelings. And she couldn’t deny that a bath sounded heavenly after so many weeks on the road, sleeping out in the open and washing in freezing-cold creeks whenever possible.

“Well, if you insist…”

He took her to a well-lit and spacious bathing chamber, with the biggest copper tub she had ever seen, already filled with warm, soapy water that smelled of vanilla. She wasted no time after the door closed behind him, stripping quickly, careless of her worn and mended garments, and slipping into the tub. It was heaven on her tired muscles, and her dirty skin, and though she would’ve stayed there for hours she knew that every minute spent bathing was a minute less with the Dark One. Their time was limited. If she didn’t return to camp in the morning her party would venture into the castle, likely thinking the most dreadful scenarios. She could picture Charming attempting to kick the front gate open and getting hurt for his troubles. She could not let them worry for her, or risk the rapport she had developed with the Dark One by coming in unannounced.

She got out of the tub with only a bit of reluctance and found a towel that she was convinced was enchanted to dry her faster than possible. She found clothing laid out in the adjoining dressing room, the undergarments soft and made of pale cream fabric and the dress of a lovely velvety, forest-green fabric, with a belt embroidered in small pearls that matched the detail about the neckline. She put it on gladly, twisting every which way to lace it up at her back. Living a less princessy life had made her acquire a number of small skills, including the ability to dress up mostly by herself even in gowns that did not lace up at the front, like most of her travelling clothes.

She did not spot her mauve travelling dress or her boots, but she was sure that Rumplestiltskin had whisked them away and would subtly mend them with magic, though she was sure he would deny it if she were to point it out. The green dress was accompanied by matching slippers, butter-soft and silent as they touched the stone floor. She made sure to dry her hair out, noticing how it shone red-gold in the flattering light of the candles, and took her time brushing it and styling it out of her face, so it fell flatteringly down her back. Her neck and most of her upper torso was bare but for the chain keeping the vial of water tucked safely against her breasts, the wide neckline of the dress dipping low enough to leave her collarbones bare, but she didn’t mind it. She was inside the Dark Castle, with the Dark One. She was safe there. On the road she always had to think about not attracting unwanted male attention. Here she rather felt like the opposite.

It was a silly infatuation, and many would argue any interest or desire on her part was due to the wizard’s power, which some would say was an aphrodisiac potent enough to make some look past the Dark One’s rather unfortunate exterior. No one would ever believe her if she confessed she rather… liked his appearance. The green-gold skin, the wild hair, the talons, but also the exquisitely-tailored pants and vests, the frothy cravats, the slim coats. A beast and a gentleman. A rather enticing combination, she had found.

She went downstairs into the trophy room once more, where two massive chairs were pulled up next to the roaring fireplace, the main source of light. The Dark One was sitting in one of them, a snifter gingerly held by a clawed hand, containing some sort of brown-gold liquid. He glanced at her the moment she entered the room, unwilling or unable to hide his appreciation for what he saw. He had removed his coat, leaving only his high-collared vest and one of his open shirts to cover his upper body, no forty cravat in sight. He seemed less guarded, more adventurous than he usually was when it came to matters of intimacy.

“You clean up well, dearie. Wish I could say the same for your dress. A wash will only do so much for it, but I refrained from throwing it into the fireplace. You’re welcome.”

“Good, as it’s not your property to destroy.” Beauty sat down, with a poise that betrayed her royal upbringing, and primly crossed her legs at the ankles. “So, Dark One, are you prepared to deal with me now?”

She had dealt with him dozens of times before, she had no idea why it all sounded so much like innuendo now. She couldn’t say she minded it.

“Of course, my dear. I’ve had time to think about our deal whilst you were splashing about in the tub.” His sing-songy voice broke, getting suddenly deeper for a second or two, as if he was struggling to retain his composure. “The vial is certainly a good start, but perhaps not quite enough. Now, I’m prepared to be generous given our long and fruitful history of dealmaking together, but I must also keep up certain appearances. So I thought I would also demand… an evening of your time.”

He tried to make it sound sinister, but she was past getting scared of him. At least in the traditional way. She raised an eyebrow, adopting a rather coquettish expression.

“And what would an evening of my time entail exactly?”

“Oh, well, you know. Companionship, perhaps a game of chess, some good wine, conversation and the like.”

She made a show of thinking it over before offering her hand, which he shook without delay.

“It’s a deal.”

Several hours later she had won two games of chess, one game of checkers, and was sipping from her third coupe of sparkling wine as she listened intently to a story about a deal the Dark One had once made with a king from a distant land. He was a gifted storyteller, engaging and funny, knowing exactly when to pause or gesticulate to keep the flow of the story just right. The king in his tale was rather unfortunate, in the sense that his hubris and arrogance had led him to make a deal with the Dark One that he did not understand. Most of Rumplestiltskin’s deals seemed to be like that, Beauty thought. And when he came to collect people dared be indignant that he demanded what they promised in the first place.

“The king was furious. Never let go of the grudge. Hired several assassins to try and kill me. A waste of gold, of course.”

He let out a trilling laugh, which soon proved to be contagious. Somehow, over time, it felt like their chairs had moved closer, because if she stretched out a hand she could easily touch him. Odd.

“Serves him right, for making such an open-ended deal. What a rookie mistake.”

She didn’t recall removing her slippers but she must have, because her feet were enjoying being pressed against the soft cushion of the chair. He made a gesture for her to lean close, which was a bit of a balancing feat, but she managed. Her heart skipped a bit when he leaned close too, almost pressing his mouth against her ear.

“You have no room to talk, sweet. You struck a very vague deal yourself, committing to an evening of conversation, chess ‘and the like’. That little turn of phrase is an invitation to all manner of sins, even the darkest and most decadent of debaucheries.”

He hissed the last part, making her shiver. Not content with letting him have the upper hand she turned her head so their lips were inches apart.

“That’s what I was hoping for.”

She could tell she had shocked him into inaction. Cocky Dark One, always in control of the conversation, always one step ahead of everyone else. It was nice to see him floundering, to catch him unprepared. Finally he gulped and put a little distance between them.

“Aren’t you the bravest little poppet.”

“My mother always said ‘Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.’ I’m a firm believer of the principle.”

Slowly, almost painfully so, both his hands clutched at the armrests of her chair, effectively pinning her to it. She knew she was supposed to be scared but she felt nothing but excitement, a buzzing just beneath the skin that made her strangely needy for something. Touch, perhaps, or more. The feeling was so overwhelming she did not realise at first that the laces of her dress were coming undone, as if invisible hands were painstakingly pulling them loose. She tried to make eye contact, but he ducked his head, pressing his face against the base of her neck, where it met her shoulder. She sighed, noticing how gentle he was, his touch feather-light, and discovering that she would not mind a rougher treatment. He was restraining himself, she realised, trying to be a gentleman. Sweet, but not what she wanted from him at that moment. Feeling bold Beauty carded a hand through his hair, pressing his face more firmly against her skin.

“Please, Rumple.”

Those two words seemed to have a magic of their own, producing a sudden and radical change in him. He moved too fast for her to see, wrapping her up in his arms and depositing her on the long dining table on the other side of the room. She did not know whether he used magic or simply moved inhumanly fast, but either possibility excited her, reminded her of the power of the creature looming over her, claws tugging at the unlaced bodice of her dress, dragging the velvet down to expose her undergarments. She was wearing the underbust corset he had provided over the snowy linen shift he had also left for her, so it was easy for him to simply tug the shift down a bit to expose her breasts. He leaned forward, nuzzling the space between her breasts, making a sort of satisfied purring noise as he sniffed up her clavicles and down her throat. Then, once he was happy with the level of squirming she was doing, he finally gave her what she wanted, closing his mouth, with all of its sharp teeth, around one of her rosy nipples. It was a strange feeling at first, more unfamiliar than pleasant, but when he began to suck it changed completely, little shocks of pleasure running from her nipple to between her legs. It was amazing, more than she had ever achieved with her own hands whenever she could get some privacy at night, and the feeling doubled when he grasped her untouched breast, his long claws estimulating the other nipple.

She sunk both her hands in his hair, fisting it in an effort to keep herself from squirming too much, feeling both aroused and impatient. She kept waiting for him to tire of her chest and move further down but when he was finally done sucking her nipples his head moved north, his lips blinding searching for hers till they were kissing. It wasn’t anything like any kiss she had experienced before, not even the unpleasant smack her former fiance had forced on her. Though it was just as forceful there was a wild quality to it, one she had never associated with the affectionate gesture. It was heavenly, the release of passion, far from cooling her down, setting her on fire, stoking her need for him till it felt like she would explode if he didn’t give her relief.

He must have sensed it, her desperation calling to him like a siren song, because at some point he let go of her mouth to travel south, past her aching chest, and velvet-covered belly to where the skirts of her long gown kept her modestly covered. He wasted no time dragging the heavy fabric up, letting it pool around her hips along with the white linen of her shift. She did not have any other undergarments, having not been provided with any, so she was completely exposed to his gaze, from her milky things to her round hips. She squirmed, trying to picture what he must be looking at, the trim thatch of chestnut curls at the apex of her legs, obscenely drenched by this point and making a poor show of trying to hide the pink, glistening flesh beneath.

“What a lovely cunt you have.” His voice was dark, guttural, a monster trying to speak like a man. It thrilled her. “Let me drink from it, precious.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, choosing instead to simply bury his head against her flesh, his tongue rough and wide as it lapped at her field parting them to seek out the bundle of nerves that was throwing for attention. She arched her back, feeling like it was only her firm grip on her thigh and hip what kept her anchored to the table. She fell into a rhythm of sorts, her body seeking out something she could not find but his mouth striving to compensate, to give her what she needed. It was heavenly and seemed to last an eternity, the sensations building up till everything but them faded away, all sensations muted. She felt him move to, thrusting his hips against the edge of the table, making it rattle in a way that spoke of his sheer brute force. It was heady to have someone like Rumplestiltskin, who had always strived to don the mask of a gentleman around her, be so unhinged, so animalistic. More than anything it was that complete loss of control what drove her over the edge. She cried out, feeling her inner muscles coil and her senses spiral out of control, her orgasm leaving her dizzy. It seemed to last forever and not nearly long enough. She laid there for a while after the feeling passed, feeling satisfied and wanting at the same time. A few seconds later he also keened, slumping against her still-parted legs, his hair tickling the soft skin of her inner thighs.

They lay that way for what seemed like ages, while they scrambled to try and collect themselves. The afterglow did not feel awkward or uncomfortable, and it loosened up her tongue enough to venture out that she had hoped for an even more intimate act, a joining that was even deeper than what they had done.

“A deal for such a prize would have to involve all my deepest secrets, my most valuable truths.” He paused, pressing his forehead against the silky inside of her thigh, like a penitent would. “One day, perhaps.”

...

“Do you want to meet? I think it’s time.”

The orgasm had mellowed him out, otherwise he was sure he would’ve at least panicked a little bit. But in the afterglow of what they had just shared, albeit virtually, a meeting did not seem like such a bad idea. In hushed voices they arranged the time and place, tomorrow at a café and bistro in Boston. Nice and public, for both their safety. They knew both lived near Boston, so it seemed natural to pick the city. The drive wasn’t too bad, and he hoped it wasn’t a great inconvenience to her either.

Reluctantly they said their goodbyes, both trying to prolong the moment a bit more till they were both close to nodding off. With a final, reluctant goodbye they both disconnected, leaving Gold to clean himself up and make his way home. With his rumpled suit, disheveled hair and five o’clock shadow it must have looked like the walk of shame. It certainly didn’t feel that way.

...

He woke up in a happy mood, perhaps the best in a long time. Far from feeling stupid or embarrassed about his little bit of roleplaying-turned-porn-session he felt smug, empowered by the notion that he had made a smart, desirable woman come with only his voice and imagination. He felt like he was on the brink of something, as if an exciting possibility was opening up for him.

He went about his day with a bit of a spring in his step, though most citizens of Storybrooke would be pressed to notice. It was only when he saw the book on gardening he was due to return to the library that afternoon- his two Moth orchids had developed small water-soaked spots on the leaves and he had wanted to consult some verified sources instead of relying exclusively on Google search results- that his mood dampened somewhat. As nice as last night had been- bloody fantastic rather- it did make him sad, somewhat, to give up his crush on Belle French. However unattainable it was still nice to have it, that bit of feeling that did not need to be reciprocated to be real. It had been nice to feel something for someone for a change, to look forward to each smile and each small conversation. But it wouldn’t be right, and what he had now was more valuable in any case. Perhaps, with time, he would grow out of his infatuation with the librarian and they could be friends. That would be rather lovely.

He crossed the street towards the library around three o’clock, wanting to beat the rush caused by children being let off school, a busy time for one of the only kid-friendly places in Storybrooke. There were some patrons about, and the afternoon light made the library look truly beautiful. Miss French truly worked miracles with her limited budget.

He found her easily, shelving a few books in the poetry section, and tried not to preen when she smiled widely at him.

“Mr Gold, hi! Always a pleasure. Here to return a book?”

The librarian was always sunny and welcoming, but she looked even happier that day, an excited sort of energy practically rolling off of her in waves. Thank goodness he had decided to give up on his silly little crush, otherwise he might have buckled under the power of her brightness.

“Yes. And you look particularly happy today, Miss French, if I might say so.”

The librarian smiled even more, if possible, and leaned close, as if to tell him a secret.

“I have a date tonight.”

It hurt, the slightest bit, the shock making him take a step back, but less than it would have yesterday. And perhaps, he reasoned, this would be good. This would put them both in the path of becoming friends, allowing him to leave his crush behind much faster. He forced himself to enquire politely after the lucky man, listening as she talked about someone she had been flirting with for a long time now, and it seemed like the relationship was finally ready for the next step.

“I’m really happy. And very nervous. It feels like such a risk, after all this time building something that could easily fizzle out with a first date. But I’ve always believed in doing the brave thing, and bravery will follow. It’s what my mother always said.”

She had turned back to shelve a book as she finished the last sentence, so thankfully she did not see his jaw drop and his eyes widen, his surprise so visible no one could’ve missed it. His heart lurched in his chest, sheer and sudden panic making it difficult to breathe. Fuck. Fuck. It wasn’t possible. Belle was Beauty. Belle was Beauty. He tried to contradict the notion in his head but he had known Beauty’s British accent was passable but fake, and it made sense for him not to have identified her voice when she usually spoke with her natural Australian drawl, something he associated so closely with her. Everything else he had ever found out about Beauty, in and out of the D&D setting, coincided with what he knew, or thought he knew, about the librarian, one of the reasons why he had developed a crush on her in the first place.

The initial shock was followed by a spike of elation and then a sinking feeling of dread. He needed to cancel. She would be disappointed, but more disappointed if he didn’t and she realised her crush was a man a good deal older than her that was known for being the town monster. It would be awkward and she would not be able to escape him after it, both doomed to meet each other often, given the small size of the town. He could not put her through that.

He stopped himself then, noticing the familiar dark turn of his thoughts, dipped in so much self-loathing it was almost stifling. And he wondered if he really was thinking about Belle or about himself. Being a coward, taking the easy way out. He thought about how he had woken up, the world full of promise and the future bright with the possibility of something great on the horizon. And how he had felt brave last night, to leap into something that had been so worth it. Perhaps it was time to be brave more often. Do something, however small. Put the ball in her court, somehow.

“I wish you the best of luck, then. Perhaps some other time, if you’re not too busy, you could pop into my shop. I have a few antique books I feel you would appreciate.”

It was a nice recovery, and he was happy to see her smile, apparently welcoming the proposition. Everyone knew Mr Gold’s shop was only to be entered when making deals. He didn’t really allow idle perusal of his stock and no one had the money or interest to buy his antiques. His business was conducted mostly with people from major cities on the East Coast.

“Wow, an open invitation to traipse into Mr Gold’s shop, that’s not something one sees everyday. What do you want in return? I hear only deals can grant you access to the shop.”

She made sure to make it clear she was joking, something he appreciated. Feeling emboldened by her kind gesture he adopted a slightly higher pitch and replied:

“Oh, nothing much. Companionship, perhaps a game of chess, some good wine, conversation and the like.”

Being close enough he got to see as it dawned on her, as her brain quickly processed what he had said and where she had heard it before. And he knew, knew because of the way she looked at him, as if she did not recognise him, as if he was a brand new person to her, that she understood the implication, what he had meant to tell her without actually telling her.

“Hope to see you soon, then. Good luck with the date.”

He turned around before he could second-guess himself, feeling terrified by what he had exposed but satisfied at the same time. This way it was Belle’s choice to show up. For all she knew he had no idea that she was Beauty. She could make up an excuse and simply not meet her, and their worlds would never merge. If she did not want to pursue anything between them all she had to do is cancel the date, or not show up. He would respect her decision and never push for anything, or acknowledge their online relationship in the real world.

He sent her an email just as he was about to get into his car, letting her know that he understood that this meeting was a bit of a risk and he would understand if she backed out at the last minute. There were other things he could do in Boston, and he was not adverse to having dinner by himself. And they could still be friends, no matter what she decided. He was halfway to Boston when he heard his cell phone ping, letting him know he had a new email. As he expected, it was from Beauty:

“I’m on my way. Can’t wait to meet you! See you soon.”

He smiled.

#argoslight #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Roll for Initiative #Thestraggletag fanfiction #Rumbelle Gift Swap

41 notes · View notes

nothinghcppens · 3 years

Text

when nothing’s said- fred weasley

masterlist

pair: fred weasley x slytherin!female!reader

summary: y/n has known the weasley twins since first year and wanted nothing more than to befriend the pair, but one of them wants nothing to do with her. never one to back down, she worms her way into their lives and captures the heart of fred, whether he likes it or not.

warnings: slight swearing, italics is memories

a/n: first hp fic!!! thank you for all the support on my marvel fics so far it means so much <333 i’m gonna start a taglist so message me if you want to be added! and specify if you want to be added to marvel, hp or both! also requests are open!

“wicked.” you heard the voices of fred and george weasley chant behind you. their voices still managed to boom over the loud chatter of zonko’s. they were looking at the new line of products that had been added to the shelves. you were in your last year at hogwarts and had been through your entire school career with the twins. however, you had a love-hate relationship with them.

being sorted into slytherin in your first year immediately made them dislike you, their deep rooted hatred for slytherins being the cause of that. you met on your first day, in the great hall before the sorting ceremony. you heard their murmurs about pranks and tricks they could play on each professor and a small smile crept on your face.

“oi! what you smiling at?” the one on the left asked, you later found out to be fred.

“i strongly suggest you don’t prank professor snape. that won’t turn out well on your behalf.” you replied. your parents were high up in the ministry of magic and were well respected individuals in the wizarding world. they had told you all about the professors at hogwarts and what to expect when you arrived.

“oh yeah? i don’t know about you fred, but i don’t think professor snape stands a chance against us.” the one on the right said, george, you now know.

“you’re absolutely right, george.”

“y/n y/l/n!” professor mcgonagall announced and you stepped up to the sorting hat.

“oh? a y/l/n? i remember your mother. you two are very similar. wow, i see. very cunning. very ambitious... slytherin!”

and that was all it took. that budding friendship, gone. it was more fred than george, well at least that’s what you seemed to notice. fred had a very sort fuse and could never seem to control his anger towards you, george seemed to tolarate you a little more.

you had many run ins with the them throughout your years in hogwarts, many of them to fred’s demise.

“hey george! you said you needed help with potions?” you called, jogging slightly to catch up with them.

“yeah, you’re like crazy smart at it and snape doesn’t like me.”

“snape doesn’t like anyone.” you stated.

“he likes you.” he replied.

“it’s only because she’s slytherin. he doesn’t care that she’s the smartest in our class.” fred complained.

“you think i’m smart?”

“everyone thinks that.” he said. you send him a confused look, did he just compliment you? “i mean, you like to rub it in everyone’s face that’s all.”

“ignore him. library after dinner?”

although the fred disliked you and george only spoke to you for help with potions, their friend lee jordan had a soft spot for you and you two actually got on very well.

“y/n!” lee called. he pushed through the crowds of children to where you stood near the entrance.

“hey lee.” you greeted with a smile, “where are dumb and dumber?”

“drooling over new products, what’s new?” he replied.

you chucked, “usual for them then.”

“who are you with?” he asked.

“uh, y/f/n. she’s looking for something to get her brother.” you explained.

lee nodded his head, “how about you two join us for some drinks at the three broomsticks?”

“hmm a chance to piss off the twins? how could i resist?” you teased.

“meet us there in like half an hour?” he suggested.

“of course. see you then.” you said, winking at him and leaving to find your friend.

you scanned the busy store in search for y/f/n, noticing her talking to adrian pucey.

“hey, y/f/n, adrian.” you greeted. adrian and your friend both smiled warmly at you.

“afternoon, y/n.” he said, “me and y/f/n were planning to head back to the common room, want to join us?”

“actually, lee just invited me to the three broomsticks. why don’t you come with us?”

y/f/n scoffed, “what? just to see you and fred bicker like a married couple the whole time? thanks but no thanks.”

“it’s not my fault he doesn’t like me! i’m only going to talk to lee anyway.” you explained.

“uh huh, sure you are.” she mumbled.

“oh shut up.” you said, laughing lightly.

“i need to pay for this stuff,” y/f/n stated, gersturing to the items in her hands. “you guys wait here and then we can walk you to the three broomsticks.”

you and adrian made conversation until she came back, robes pockets slightly bigger than before she left.

“shall we?” adrian said, letting you guys leave first.

the streets of hogsmeade were filled with excited students, snow falling on their heads. you wrapped your coat around you tighter, feeling the harsh breeze under it. the wooden sign of the three broomsticks came into view and you saw lee and the twins standing outside.

“well, i’ll see you guys later.” you announced, waving at the pair as you walked away.

you approached the trio of boys and greeted them, “good evening boys.”

“where’s y/f/n?” lee asked.

“oh her and pucey wanted to go back to the dungeons.” you explained.

“what the fuck lee? you said we were waiting for angelina.” fred spat.

“whoops sorry, must’ve forgot.” he joked with a large smile on his face.

fred groaned in annoyance and walked into the three broomsticks. “what’s got his knickers in a twist?” you asked.

“he just fancies you.” george replied, with a smirk.

“oh yeah, who wouldn’t.” you joked. you stepped into the dimly lit pub and swept your eyes across the busy tables. george came in behind you with lee and lead you to a table where fred sat with a scowl set on his face. him and lee went to get butterbeers for the table, leaving you two alone.

“hey sunshine.” you said, sliding in beside him. his mouth stayed shut and his eyes stayed trained on the empty booth in front of him. “you cant ignore me forever.”

“actually i can, sunshine. and i will.” he replied.

“merlin, you’re so dramatic. is this only because i’m an evil, muggle-born murdering, slytherin? or is there something else to it?”

he scoffed and turned his head to look at you. “oh come on! just because i’m a slytherin doesn’t mean i’m evil.”

“i’m pretty sure it does.”

you let out a shocked laugh, “grow up fred. i’ve never done anything to you. you’re the one that pranks my friends and i! and fair enough some of my house mates are wankers but me and y/f/n haven’t done anything to you.”

he opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it immediately. “i think you need to let go of this petty hatred towards me.”

“i think he does too.” lee announced as he approached the table with two butterbeers in his hands. him and george sat on the other side of the booth from you and slid two glasses across the table.

“he’s not one to back down easy is my brother.” george said.

“very stubborn so he is.” lee added.

“right that’s enough you two.” fred groaned, taking a swig of his drink.

“anyway, did you listen to that record i gave you?” lee asked you.

“yep, i’ve been listening to it on repeat. my roommates hate me for it.” you replied, chuckling.

“you like muggle music?” fred questioned.

“yeah it’s actually how lee and i became friends, he heard me whistling a song by queen and began singing along. since then we’ve been giving each other albums to listen to.” you explained. you took a sip of your butterbeer.

“wicked, what album was it he gave you recently?” he asked. out of the corner of your eye you saw george and lee subtly high five each other and begin having their own conversation.

“it was parklife by blur, it came out last year.” you said.

“i think i remember lee playing that one. when you give it back i’ll make sure to listen to it.”

you and fred spent the next hour bonding over your love for muggle music. you were surprised that he listened to so much and you guys actually had a very similar taste in music.

“do you remember professor lupin?” you asked. fred glanced over to george and smiled lightly.

“uh yeah, vaguely.” he replied with a laugh.

“well one time i was going to ask him for help with my essay on vampires and he was listening to david bowie! i mean i knew he was my favourite teacher but that just made me love him even more.”

“bowie huh? i can see that.” he said, nodding in approval.

“oi you two.” george stated, catching both your attention. “we’re gonna head back.”

“do you want to go?” you asked.

“you two go on, we’ll stay here for a bit yeah?” he replied, turning to look at you for confirmation. you nodded with a smile which fred returned.

george chuckled and winked at fred who just rolled his eyes. you watched the pair leave the pub and turned your attention back to fred.

“it must be fun having so many siblings.”

“it is, they’re so much fun to prank.” he chuckled. “want to go for a walk?”

“you want to go for a walk with me?” you asked with feigned shock.

“shut it, come on.” he grabbed his glass and finished the leftover butterbeer at the bottom before pushing you slightly to get you out the booth.

you slid out and grabbed your coat that you had abandoned earlier, putting it back on.

the cold air hit your face as you opened the door, fred stepped out behind you. he sucked in a breath, “bloody hell it’s freezing out here.”

“good solve detective.” you joked.

“being a cheeky bugger is my job.”

“well now you’ve got some competition.” you laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as you walked down the main street. a comfortable silence fell over the two of you as the snow fell on the ground. the crunch of your shoes against the snow was all the could be heard.

questions began to flood your head, why was fred here with you? what made him change his mind? shouldn’t he hate you? surely talking about music wasn’t enough for him to get over whatever made him despise you?

“okay i have to ask.” you blurted. fred glanced at you and nodded, signalling for you to continue. “why are you here?”

he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“don’t you hate me? i feel like you shouldn’t be as nice to me as you are being right now, considering you avoided me like the plague from first year. i’m not sure what i did, but i’m just confused on how you seem to no longer hate my guts-“

suddenly his lips were on yours and you froze, he was kissing you? why? you pulled back in shock and looked up at him, glancing between both his eyes.

“why did you do that?” you asked.

“i don’t hate you. i never have. i was pissed off myself for liking you, for thinking you were beautiful.” he explained, “you are a slytherin and for some stupid reason that made me push you away.” he placed his hands on your arms, “i’ve been raised on the idea that slytherin’s are all evil and are all with them. but i know now, that’s not true. so i’m sorry.”

“merlin you are one soppy bastard aren’t you! i accept your apology don’t worry.” you said, “i knew you secretly didn’t hate me.” you smiled up at him.

“how could i? you’re a catch darling.” he replied with a smirk.

“anymore of that and my head will be bigger than yours.” you joked. “anyway, i believe i owe you something.”

“what?-“ you leaned up and kissed him before he got the chance to say anything else. he smiled against your lips and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. you lifted your arms up around his neck and laced your hands together.

fred pulled away first, breathing heavily. “wait till george hears about this. godric he’ll go mental.”

“he told me that you fancied me earlier, should’ve believed him.”

he chuckled and pressed his forehead against yours, “what’ll your family think when you tell them you’re dating a weasley?” he asked.

“woah, woah, woah. dating are we?” you teased.

“obviously, love. unless that’s not what you want.” he replied, placing his hand on your cheek and rubbing his thumb across your lips.

“i’ve wanted that since the moment you called me smart.”

“i wasn’t subtle at all was i?” he asked, cheeks going slightly red from embarrassment.

“not really now that i think about it. but i was oblivious.”

fred chuckled and pressed a soft kiss against your lips again, exhaling a laugh through his nose.

“can we continue this somewhere warm? i’m freezing out here.”

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #harry potter #fred weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #fred and goerge weasley

113 notes · View notes

leviachaan · 4 years

Note

would ask for a matchup but i decided to go w/ a headcannon request. how would the brothers or undateables (whichever you’re more experienced at writing ^^) react to MC taking them to ikea? apparently the furniture names are like demon summoning rituals if you try to pronounce them. 👀

//This is honestly so amusing to imagine siajdjks we need to somehow bring them all to IKEA for real

Lucifer 🎲

"MC, stay close to me so you don't get lost. It could be dangerous in this labyrinth" "Lucifer, honey, this is a furniture store" "oh"

You cannot change my mind that this man would be staring at the most gothic yet elegant pieces of furniture ever (I thought of lamps for some reason)

His eyes would be constantly glued on you. You never know what could come out from under those beds, MC.

He would do his best to stifle a laugh from your poor attempt of pronouncing a word.

"Take your time" remarks here and there to piss you off Lucifer you little shit

MC: "These words feel like I'm summoning a demon"

Lucifer: "????? excUSE-"

He ends up buying the gothic lamp. Another addition to his dungeon looking bedroom.

After his fascination for the lamp is over, he would mostly be focused on you and your cute little outbursts of excitement over random things.

"Lucifer, look at all those candles! Don't they look great??" "Of course, my dear"

Your room would be 90% candles the next morning.

And a matching lamp

Mammon💴

For the love of Diavolo

Don't. Leave. Him. Alone.

He will steal buy everything that he finds on his way the second you turn your head away.

The whole building is like a Mammon harem. He needs to buy everything. He needs it, MC.

"How many bucks if I fit this whole table in my pockets" "maMMON NO-"

You bet he would find a way to piss the employees off to the point you two would have to run and hide inside one of the closets.

"Y-you sure must be feeling grateful to be stuck with someone like me inside a closet, human" "Mammon, I swear to everything holy-"

The whole walk would be you having to babysit Mammon and sweet talk him out of buying every object in the bloody building and him criticising stuff.

Mammon: "Who would even buy a bed like that?"

MC: "I like that bed"

Mammon: "I love that bed"

He would end up getting lost and you would have to ask one of the employees to help you search for him.

"Sir, please follow me, your guardian is looking for you"

Leviathan 🐍

It would take l o t s and l o t s of convincing to even bring him out of his room. You had to promise him two nights of TSL binge watching as compensation.

Why go there when we can enjoy the online IKEA simulator?

Would 1000% stick to you like a lost puppy. He's not used to being outside and in such a huge building, please don't leave him alone.

He would shyly hold the hem of your shirt for comfort (would try to hold your hand as well, but if you mentioned it he would be like "ROTF how did my hand get there? LOL!"

At some point he saw you staring at a love seat.

MC, please no

You: >:)

MC, NO

You ended up pulling him down with you on the love seat. Congrats! You broke Leviathan!

He would bury his face inside his shirt like an ostrich, anything to avoid you seeing the ridiculously prominent blush on his face.

He felt pride swelling in him though once people looked at you sitting on the love seat together.

"They are mine. Take that, normies"

Satan📖

He would s p r i n t to every vintage bookcase that caught his eye.

Probably the only one of the brothers to actually look at the furniture.

You would turn away for 0.1 seconds and you would find him sitting on one of the chairs for display already having read 3 of the books meant for props.

"Dear, do you know where an employee is? I want to borrow this book-"

Will definitely try to buy the book

It was an accident, but you got really excited by a small plant and wandered around, leaving Satan behind as a result.

Needless to say, you would find him soon enough as he would be punching through every fake door in his way and yeeting chairs to the Gods thinking that someone kidnapped you.

"DID YOU TAKE THEM???" *insert terrified employee*

You would have to literally tackle him to prevent him from murdering everyone on sight.

You would have to explain his demon form to everyone as part of a Halloween themed party

Even if it's August

Asmodeus👛

If you think this man would do anything else but stare at the mirrors, you are wrong.

"Darling, look how amazing this mirror looks! Oh wait, it's just me~"

If you are interested in actually buying something, he's your demon.

People would actually ask him things, because they would think he works there.

You are in for a 2 hour long presentation for the reasons the pale pink chair fits the shade of your bedroom wall more than the pastel orange one.

He would insist on you two taking pictures in front of absolutely every mirror on display.

He maintains that he did it because he wants to decide which one to get later back at home, but in reality he really wants his phone to be full of pictures of you.

You are the most beautiful thing in his eyes and he wants to stare at you all the time 💖

Beelzebub🍔

Food detected

This hungry boi would locate the cafeteria as soon as you two stepped inside the building.

MC: "We could eat lunch here! But it takes a while to get to the cafeteria and to find it-"

Beel: "Found it "

He's really hungry, but he doesn't want to ruin your date so he will follow you around everywhere you go and patiently wait for you to say it's time to eat.

Poor boi will feel his heart pounding louder than his stomach once you show him a small hamburger plushie with a smile on it and told him it reminds you of him.

MC: "It's cute, just like you!" Beel: 🥺

He bought the plushie and is now officially sleeping with it every night and if anyone dares to touch it, he will eat their hands.

He has to hold back from eating it, but it reminds him of you and he holds it close to his chest every night so he won't have nightmares.

His smile could beat heaven itself once you two sit to eat.

Belphegor 💤

You thought persuading Levi was hard? Take a look at this fool.

You would have to literally b e g this damn cow to get out of his bed and come with you.

You promised him cuddles and naps when you come back so you better stick to your word.

As soon as he locates the beds, you are done.

Not even the three realms together could make this man stand back up.

MC: "Belphie, please, get up"

Belphie: "Make me"

Fun fact: you couldn't make him.

This demon grabbed your hand and pulled you down on the bed with him.

He clang to you like a koala and wouldn't let go no matter what.

You would softly try to remind him that there are people watching.

He would straight up growl at anyone that looked at you or tried to make you two get up.

You were eventually kicked out and Belphie couldn't be happier.

Time to go home and cuddle you.

Diavolo 👑

"So this is how humans spend their time! So intriguing!"

He would act like an excited puppy the whole time. Yes, this man is the prince of hell.

He would be thrilled by e v e r y t h i n g and I mean e v e r y t h i n g.

You two would end up playing hide and seek and he would easily find you every time.

He's a demon, he can smell your scent from 1 kilometer away. That's the only reason he would let you roam around like that without being worried about your well-being.

He can't really hide from you either considering how tall and buff he is.

You would pretend not to see him so you could see that beautiful grin on his face thinking that he hid well. Protect him.

Mentally writes down anything you seem to like so he can buy it for you.

He wants you to feel safe and accepted in the Devildom so he will get you anything he can to make you feel like home 🥺

You wake up the next day with your room fully redecorated and a heartwarming letter from Diavolo thanking you for taking him with you and him hoping you had fun as well with a small smily face at the end.

I'm weak for this man

This took me a while to write, but it was so fun! I hope you enjoyed it! I will try to practise more on writing for Simeon and Solomon and make sure to write about them too next time! Thank you for the request 💖

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo

461 notes · View notes

innocent-malfoy-slut · 3 years

Text

Coward

Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor!reader

Word Count: 3,2k

Type: mid fluff and mid smut

Summary: you and Draco are in your fifth year and you are both appointed prefects of your own houses. One night you have to inspect the halls together and your rivalry soon shows up.

Characters: Draco Malfoy, Reader (y/n)

Warning(s): maybe some cursing

Author’s Note: I’ll probably write the second part, tell me what you think about it

You had been appointed prefect at the beginning of the year.

It was fresh in your mind the memory of that day of July when your letter from Hogwarts had been delivered to you and you discovered Principal Dumbledore had wanted you as prefect of your house. You cried and your parents, who had never attended Hogwarts, were just as happy as you were. On the train you sat together with the prefects of all the houses -well, the Slytherins were missing-, before meeting your friends in your usual carriage. You were having a great time; the year couldn’t have had started better.

Then you became aware that your fierce rival was prefect too.

Draco Malfoy walked with such an arrogance and disdain for all the students around him that you found it very difficult not to punch him in the face when you accidentally met him once got down from the train, “I didn’t know Mud-Bloods could become Prefects. This is so pathetic”, he scoffed at you while staring intensely at the pin on your black cloak, “My father will want me to leave the school after hearing this”.

“Maybe this is our lucky day”, you murmured -not so lowly- to your friends while the four of you turned your backs at Draco and his arse-kissers and started made your way to the carriages -which will have brought you up to the castle.

The night of your first shift patrolling the hallways of the seventh floor you found out that you were supposed to share your job with none other than Draco Malfoy himself.

That year it seemed like he had made his only purpose to insult you and his insults were becoming crueller as the days passed. You had never answered him, neither did you wanted to play his game and maybe risking of getting caught by one of your Professors arguing with Mr “My-Father-Will-Hear-About-This”.

Then one day he dared insulting your parents and at that moment you lost it.

You were walking down the hallways, almost running as you didn’t want to be late for Transfiguration with McGonagall. You saw the door of her classroom still open -sign that probably the lesson hadn’t started yet- so you hurried, but about six feet before the doorstep of the room three people blocked right in front of you.

You didn’t have to raise your gaze as you recognised the boy in the middle by his expensive, made-in-Italy, black shoes. You huffed and looked dead straight in his eyes, without caring of the other two at his sides.

“Look who’s here” Draco Malfoy smirked, giving you an amused look as he took out a jotter from the pocket of his cloak, “Dearest Y/N Y/L/N is late for her lesson. As a prefect I should you to the director of m-“

“Malfoy, have you forgotten I’m a prefect too?” you pinched your nose and took a deep breath, “This isn’t in your power so, if you move, I won’t be actually late for my Transfiguration lesson”.

Crabble and Goyle oohed and turned to look at him. Meanwhile the Slytherin Prince was staring at you at loss of words; in fact, that was the first time you ever spoke up to him. In the previous years you could barely hold his stares, let alone reply to his mean jokes. And you didn’t think you would have been able to do it, until it happened.

There you were, in front of Draco Malfoy -probably the person you hated the most-, raised chid, your back straight, and eyes fixed on his own.

“Tell me one thing”, he started with an inscrutable expression on his face, “do your parents recognise you when you go vising them at St. Mungo?” he stopped exchanging a smirk with his friends, who still hadn’t dropped their shocked faces, and then added: “Wait…do go visiting them, right?”

All of a sudden McGonagall’s lesson didn’t matter anymore, what you wanted to do was to remove that smirk from Draco’s face. It all happened within a couple of seconds; you quickly approached him, and your knuckles collided with his perfect nose.

You tried to avoid him the best you could or the following days, but on Saturday night the news of guarding the hallways with him got to your ear and you hated the idea of spending with him an entire hour.

However, that night, you got out of your dorm and crossed the silent Gryffindor common room, only to find yourself at eight o’clock before the Fat Lady painting. The lights were a bit softer than that afternoon, but it was still clearly visible in the hallways. Your turn would have begun in less than five minutes and you were supposed to meet up with Draco at the edge of the stairs.

When you reached the stairs, the platinum-headed boy was already there, back-resting against the cold marble.

“Weren’t you eager to see me tonight, Malfoy”, you pointed out succeeding in remaining serious. You didn’t glace towards him either; he didn’t reply to you immediately, but you were sure he would have made a joke about your looking later that night.

You kept walking before him, never turning to give him a look or to make sure he was still following your steps. In turn, you carefully inspected every room, assuring there was nobody inside them, and so nobody outside their dorms. Once you were done on the seventh floor, you both agreed on going downstairs and helping the two prefects from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

“We were supposed to inspect the dungeons, too. Can you inspect them?” the Hufflepuff boy kindly asked us, looking dead straight at your direction, without even acknowledging Malfoy’s presence next to you.

You nodded and without any further questions you left them and walked towards the stairs.

“Cowards”, it was nothing more than a whisper, but it came straight to you ears -since there wasn’t anyone else in the hallways. Draco saw you turning your head around and focused your attention on him, “What? That’s what they are”.

“They’re not better than you, Malfoy”, you said in a cynical tone, keeping your eyes on the end of the staircase. Once you took the last step, you suddenly came to a stop when you realised you didn’t know which way to go.

Draco watched as you turned your head towards him and with your eyes you asked him to take the lead, “Not much of a know-it-all are you now?” his typical smirk quickly found its way on his face, while he guided you towards the dungeons.

The situation seemed to be inverted by the time you were patrolling the hallways in the dungeons. You remained silent as you switched your head right and left, having a quick look here and there as you kept peace with Draco.

“You see, Slytherins do respect the rules, especially when we know with who we are dealing with”, the platinum-headed boy observed, not looking towards your direction as he spoke, “You, Gryffindor, instead, don’t know when to stop”, he said in a scornful tone.

“That’s why you’ve got sorted into Slytherin in the first place”, you whispered more to yourself than to anyone else, but, as it happened more than half an hour before, your partner heard you -since you were the only two in the hallways.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Draco halted his walking and turned his attention to you, still behind his back, “D’you think you’re better than me and why? Because you’re a fucking Gryffindor?” his tone had increasingly lowered in the last few minutes, up to the point that he was no longer whispering but he was full shouting at your direction.

Everybody at Hogwarts knew how moody Draco Malfoy could be sometimes. No news.

“You’re wrong Malfoy. I don’t think I’m better than you. I know I am better than you, even if I would have been sorted into Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff, maybe also Slytherin.”

“Oh, really?” he was now approaching you, step by step, his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips curled in an arrogant smirk, “So, you know you are better than me”, he forced you to take a few steps back as he wasn’t showing signs of giving up on the topic, “How can you state that? When you got to know me so well?”

“Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin Prince, who’s also daddy’s boy. ‘My father will hear about this!’ Isn’t this your phrase?” you perfectly replied his voice, mocking him. You laughed slightly as he kept you pushing in the hallways.

You were turning your back at the door of the Potions class, so you couldn’t imagine where Draco was knowingly taking you. You hit your thigh against a cold and hard object, which you recognise being a chair only after acknowledging your surroundings.

In a swift motion, Draco had you locked inside the classroom, “Now, we have all the time to talk about me...and you”, he put his wand back in the pocket of his trousers and sat down with legs astride on the nearest chair he had found.

There were a few seconds of silence between the two of you –during which you took a sea right in front of him, your right leg crossed over your left.

“What do you want me to ask you, Malfoy?”

“I am sure there are a lot of fantastic things that can come out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

You parted your lips, left without words after what he had said, because certainly he wasn’t referring to words. You could never think of finding yourself in such a situation with Draco Malfoy –one of the people you despised the most within the walls of Hogwarts.

“Be careful, Y/L/N, if you keep your mouth open, I will close it. One way or another”, he rested his chin on his crossed arms over the seatback. His grey eyes were fixed on you and followed each movement of yours, never really letting his guard down.

“Oh yeah, and how would you do that?” you perfectly knew where your question would have led you, but at that moment there was something inside your brain telling you to ask him that damn question.

“I have several ideas, though I can’t put into practise the half of those”, Draco said running a hand through his hair, and, after that gesture –which you found extremely seductive-, some platinum locks fell onto his forehead. By the time he went back staring at you, his signature smirk was again on his face.

“Dear Draco”, for the first time since you’d even known him, you called him by his name and, although the boy wasn’t showing it, he was amazed by the way you pronounced it, “You aren’t brave enough to put them into practise”, you challenged him. You took advantage of him being confused and quickly got up from your chair, “Now, excuse me, but I think I will head back to my dor-” you were giving him your back while you talked, so you couldn’t foresee him getting up and reaching out for your wrist.

Draco had you pinned against the door of the classroom within only one motion. Your back sticked completely at the hard, wooden-made door, and your breathing froze almost immediately. Each time you breathed, you inhaled Draco’s expensive cologne and his green-apple scent, right in your nostrils.

“Insult me one more time…” Draco left the sentence unfinished and his piercing grey eyes moved from your own eyes to your lips, meanwhile you kept your eyes on his face, “…and I will no longer respond of my own actions”.

You tried to keep it together, but his expression and his voice tone made it impossible for you to remain serious, so you broke into laughs and closed your eyes in the meantime, “S-sorry”, you tried to say in-between the giggles, “B-but I can’t take you seriously”, and you chuckled. Again.

Draco lowered his gaze on his shoes and let himself go to a snigger, which shook his entire body, “You really like troubles, don’t you, Y/N?”

“And you think you are trouble, don’t you?” you mocked him holding his gaze, as you ignored -not so well- the shivers which went down your spine as he pronounced your name, “I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell this to you, but you’re far away from being an outlaw, Draco Malfoy”, you didn’t have to add anything else, because you made it clear earlier why you didn’t think he was the first of the ‘criminals’.

There was a moment of silence, during which Draco considered on freeing you from his pressing grasp, yet there was a part of him that had wanted you pinned against a wall, at his mercy, for so long and it make it harder for him to just let you go.

Your pink lips -still parted- seemed so tempting and your hot breath crushing against his neck decided for him, and against the part of him which suggested him to behave as a man and release you. He stepped closer, now no more inches separating the two of you, and laid his fee hand on your waist.

Your breath stuck in your throat as you watched him fill up the remaining space between the two of you. His lips crushed against yours and his strong scent flooded your nostrils almost at the same time his hands went grabbing your thighs. You could no longer feel the floor under your feet, and only then you realised Draco had picked you up and he was now walking towards the other end of the classroom.

His kiss was harsher than when you’d started, it was rough and wet, and you spotted a hint of hunger in it. It wasn’t like anything you had experienced before. Draco Malfoy wasn’t like anyone you had met before.

You moaned into the kiss when he took you bottom lip between his teeth and dunked them into your flesh, even if without make you feel actual pain. Your fingers quickly found their way to the hair at the back of his neck and pulled them a little. Your lips separated only for seconds, just enough time to look into each other’s eyes and you heard him saying: “Now, I’m not that much of a trouble, am I?”

You huffed in response and rolled your eyes, before going back staring at him, “I’ve never said I don’t like troubles, have I?” you tilted your head to the left and smirked, “You aren’t that smart, Malfoy”.

“Quite the contrary, actually”, Draco moved his hands lower on your legs with a gentle touch which had you shiver and rested them on both your knees, before wrapping them under his fingers and pushing them around his waist. Now you were completely adhering to him; your most inner parts close to his -the closest they had ever been. “I perfectly acknowledge the way I make you feel”, he placed his lips on the base of your neck, after having unbuttoned the highest part of your blouse, “The things you feel, and where you feel them”, he whispered to your ear, his hot breath again against your cheeks made you let out a moan. He put a little distance between the two of you and smirked, “Look at your body, craving for me to play with it, hoping for me to pay even the slightest attention to it”, Draco’s ring brushed against your skin and he enjoyed you squirming your eyes as the cold hit you, “You cannot hide it from me, darling. You want me as much as I do want you”.

You opened your eyes wide as the words left his mouth, your body became tense, and all you did was just stand there in silence looking straight in front of you.

You couldn’t deny the fact he had stated the truth: you wanted him. Since you came back at Hogwarts in September, you found it hard not to focus on his platinum head, rather than his grey, piercing eyes, or his

pinkish, juicy-looking lips as they curled up in a grin or folded in a smirk. Therefore, it was impossible for you to tear your eyes away from the young Malfoy. And he harassed you not only during the day, but mostly at night when you dreamt of him doing things -a lot of beautiful, yet sinful things- to you. Though him being Slytherin and you being Gryffindor, undeniably there was something very attractive of him that made your stomach writhe whenever his eyes laid on you or, like in that moment, his hands were on your body.

What you could have never imagined was Draco reciprocate your feelings.

Could those be considered feelings as well?

“W-what?” you mumbled while his lips kept working on that particular spot on your shoulders, which happened to be your soft spot. You grabbed him by his arms and put a sizeable distance between you and him, “Draco, what did you just said?”

The platinum-haired boy tilted his head to the side, mocking your action of no longer than minutes ago, and said: ”You heard it right, love”, he grinned at you biting you bottom lip when he used that nickname for you, “I want you so badly”, he came back whispering next to your ear, “And I know you want me as well. Do you think I’ve never noticed your eyes on me, or how your cheek would become red every time I give you a quick look?” he left a trail of kisses on your jawline up to the collar of your skirt. He stared at your red-and-gold tie and wrapped it around his fingers, “I can stop”, he seemed to let it go as soon as he had taken it between his hands, but then he continued: “Or I can go on. For hours. But…only if you want”, his hands went for grabbing the furthest end of the desk you were currently sitting on, and he violently bumped your legs with his pelvis.

You weren’t wearing any tights to keep you warm, so you could feel his growing boner rubbing against your inner tight, and you moaned at that gesture, throwing your head backwards.

“Did the cat got your tongue, honey?” he moved one of his hands to your face and rubbed his thumb over your lower lip, kissing it shortly after, “Tell me; what do you want?”

“You, Draco. I want you”, you said out of breath and whimpering under his touch, craving for him to give you more of it. Draco was right: you wanted him very badly.

“And how do you want me?” he knew better than anyone else which buttons to press in order to tear answers away from you.

You swallowed with difficulty and stared into his grey eyes: “I want all of you, Draco. Please, fuck me”.

Tag List (still open):

@iam-fucking-batgirl

#Draco Malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco x reader #draco x y/n #Draco #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x you #draco Malfoy x female!reader #Gryffindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #gryffindor!reader #draco malfoy imagine #Harry Potter

105 notes · View notes

hphmmatthewluther · 3 years

Text

Merula Snyde and the Letter from Someone

To Dear To Merula,

The sound of scrunching up paper is heard, followed by a quiet thump as the ball of scrap is thrown into the bin.

Merula,

I don’t know if this’ll get to you before Christmas, but I wanted to send this to you anyway as a present. In the parcel is a Walkman, which allows you to listen to music wherever you want, as well as a tape with some of my favourite songs on it. Also in there is a list of all the corridors and areas I managed to charm so they could allow muggle devices to work (I don’t know if it’ll work in the Dungeons- Snape caught me while I was doing the spell and told me to leave - sorry.)

I hope you’re having an okay time, I imagine the castle is a fair bit quieter now, which should be nice. I know that Chiara and Talbott are staying at Hogwarts over the summer, and so maybe it would be nice to spend time with them...well, maybe with Chiara, Talbott likes to keep to himself really.

Well, The Celestial Ball was amazing, Merula, as I knew it would be from the moment I asked you to go with me. I know I’m not that good with words, which is sort of why I’ve sent you that tape. As crazy as it sounds, I couldn’t really see myself going with anyone other than you. I still enjoy our rivalry, of course, but I can’t deny how what happened there made me feel.

I can’t wait to see you again,

Matthew.

***

Trembling pale hands with slightly faded nail varnish held the letter over a sofa, as their owner’s pink eyes read its contents. Then she read it again. And again. And a fourth time. Merula took a deep breath. Her mind was, to put it mildly, a bit of a mess right now. It was the day before Christmas Eve (Matthew had once called it Christmas Eve Eve, which even Merula found pretty funny) and she had been sitting in her room when the most evil-looking owl in history had flown into the Dungeons to deliver her a smallish parcel and a letter. She had been even more surprised to learn that this Owl belonged to Matthew Luther, who she had, as the letter reminded her, went with to the Celestial Ball just a week ago. Merula sighed. He’d written to her. He couldn’t wait to see her again. Merula didn’t notice herself giggling. She’d sat down in the corridor, with the walkman on her lap, and Matthew’s owl giving her the evil eye. She traced her finger over the final paragraph again, glad that nobody else was in the Common Room.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone standing in the doorway in a purple hoodie. Merula’s eyes widened as Night Rhea merely grinned at her.

“Eep!” Merula exclaimed, clutching the letter close to her chest, “Wh-what is it?! What do you want?!”

Merula’s fear only grew at the sound of more Slytherins entering the common room. Night looked at Merula, at the letter, at Matthew’s Owl, and at the pink on her cheeks. Merula gulped as they grinned an almost sinister grin.

“Hey look! Matthew sent Merula something!” they exclaimed. At once there was a sound of “ooh!”s as the group moved into the Common Room. Merula recognised Cres Aragon, Ismelda, Liz and Barnaby in the crowd. Uh oh.

“Ooh Matthew’s written to you!” Cres exclaimed, stepping forward. “Told you he would.”

“I...” Merula began. She took a breath. She was not going to be dragged into one of these simpering gossip circles. “Of course he did. This is Matthew we’re talking about.” She looked over at Matthew’s owl, which squinted at her.

“I didn’t expect him to have such a cool owl.” Ismelda admitted. “Dark. Brooding. Evil. Like my soul.”

“Matthew sent you a letter?!” Barnaby asked, “What did he say? Was it about how you two-'' he stopped suddenly looking at Merula’s face. “...um, how you went to the Celestial Ball together?”

“None of your business!” she snapped. “What Luther may or may not have written to me about does not concern any of you!”

“I think it does, Snyde...” Night said, leaning forward. “In fact I - Expelliarmus!”

The letter went flying, and Night moved forward to catching, smirking as they succeeded. Turning to the others, and ignoring Merula’s pleas, they read over the letter. And smiled once again.

“Aww...what a romantic.” Night sighed, pretending to wipe away a tear. “You’ve found yourself a keeper, Snyde.”

Merula went a deep red. “I...uh...”

“Go on, Night, read it!” Cres said, sitting down in front of the large window overlooking the floor of the Lake.

Night looked at Merula. She didn’t seem to be enjoying this one bit. They sighed, and passed the letter back to Merula. “She can read it if she wants to.”

Merula nodded, taking the paper back. She looked around at the others, and sighed. “D-don’t tell anyone about this, ok?”

The group nodded. Merula sighed, and read Matthew’s words aloud. As she did, she found it very hard to keep her face in a scowl. By the time she had finished, she had a small but visible smile on her face.

The group instantly erupted into conversation.

“Way to go, Merula!” laughed Cres.

“Who’d have thought Matthew’d have it in him to write that?” Night pondered aloud.

“Hmph. Muggle music is...isn’t bad...” Ismelda admitted.

“Where’s this man meant to be walking to?” Barnaby asked, gazing at the strange device.

“So what are you going to say back?” Liz asked her, feeding the owl a treat from her pocket.

“N-None of your business, Lizard!” Merula snapped, “I..I...I dunno, okay! I’m not used to letter-writing, I...look, I wanted to just send him some chocolate or something, you know, but now he’s sent me this and...”

“Why don’t you just send a small message,” suggested Cres, “you could put it on the tag or something, couldn’t you?”

Merula grinned wildly for a moment, before racing off into the girls’ dormitories. When she returned, she had a christmas present with red wrapping, as well as a large owl following her. She put the present down on the table, and Merula’s owl sat beside Matthew’s, both immediately starting to stare each other down.

“Okaaay...” Merula began, Night noticing that she was using a pen, “What do I put?”

Barnaby raised an eyebrow. “You’re...asking us?”

“I thought you said it was ‘none of our business’, Merula...” sneered Ismelda. Merula ignored her.

“Okay…’Matthew’...’comma’” she muttered.

“Good start, Snyde.” chuckled Night.

“Hush, Rhea.” Merula snarled. “Where was I…’Thank-’”

“No, don’t start with the thank you, you’ll run out of things to say.” Liz said sagely.

“Fine. ‘The music is great. Thank you for the present and for your letter...’”without saying it aloud, she then wrote ‘I eagerly await your return to Hogwarts...it’s rather dull without you.’

“...Thanks again, Merula.” she finished, putting the pen back into her pocket. She then moved past Night over to her and Matthew’s owl.

“Just follow him, okay?” she asked. Her owl nodded. Matthew’s owl audibly scoffed at her, an impressive achievement for an owl. Merula then left with the two owls for the Owlery. When she got there, she was slightly surprised to see Talbott Winger there, feeding the owls.

“Can...I help you?” he asked, not looking away from the owls in front of him.

“I’m....just sending a letter to M-...to Luther,” she explained, wincing at her minor slip-up…”What about you?”

“Being alone...or at least I was.” Talbott sighed, getting up, “Is that a present for him?”

“None of your business, birdbrain!” Merula yelled, before looking down at the present. “...sorry. It’s just...I’m new to this, and want to go at my own pace, you know?”

Talbott stared at her, this other Merula which until now only Matthew and maybe Tulip had been able to see. “...he’s really started to rub off on you, you know that?”

Merula chuckled as the owls left with Matthew’s present in tow. She looked down at the walkman, put one headphone up to her ear, and pressed play. It worked.

“Yeah...” Merula said, as if just remembering then that Talbott was still there, “Maybe you’re right.”

(Night Rhea belongs to @night-rhea and Cres Aragon belongs to @cres-aragon !)

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm fic #merula snyde #luthersnyde #ismelda murk #barnaby lee #liz tuttle #night rhea #cres aragon #talbott winger

21 notes · View notes

seokjinsdisciple · 3 years

Text

Riddikulus - fifteen

jungkook x reader, hogwarts!au, enemies to lovers!au

Warnings: language, memory loss, talks of break ups, bullying lowkey, kinda fluffy at the end

Word Count: 1.7k

this update is trash and i hate it

THIS IS UNEDITED

series masterlist

taglist: @nellaphine @elixirguks @softfluffgirl @sensiblebutch, @deolly, @zeharilisharaban, @jungshookmeup, @elliegrace1999tvd, @mybiasforsure, @minsugapie, @betysotelo18, @purpleheartsfortae, @annoyingpessimist

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ON THE TAGLIST SEND ME A DM OR AN ASK

“So here’s the deal,” Tae started, sitting on the couch in the Room of Requirement, “As far as I can tell, we can’t undo the spell without seriously fucking up her brain.”

“Like how badly?” Namjoon groaned, burying his head in his hands.

“Like mush,” Tae said, shrugging as Hobi elbowed him.

“So we can’t do anything?” Yoongi said, letting his head hit the back of the couch.

“Not that I could find,” Tae said quietly, a sigh leaving his mouth as Jungkook walked in.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, walking over to a nearby arm chair, “When I told Madame Pomfrey what happened she made me talk to the headmaster.”

“And what’d he say?” Hobi perked up.

“Well good news is that Seonghwa is being expelled,” he started, watching as some of the tension in the room was lessened, “Jin lost Gryffindor 150 house points though!”

“Seriously Kook? That’s what you’re worried about?” Jimin asked.

“Sorry, it’s just,” He started, running a nervous hand through his hair, “Gryffindor hasn’t lost the house cup since I’ve been in school.”

“Can we focus please?” Namjoon asked, shooting an irritated glare to Jungkook., “What did he say about the memory charm?”

“He said if any one of us tries to remove it he’ll take our wands and make sure we never practice magic again,” Jungkook grimaced, “He said its impossible to undo, and if she really wanted that memory gone, it was none of our business.”

“So we just sit here and pretend everything’s fine?” Yoongi asked, an incredulous look on his face.

“At least he’s getting expelled,” Hobi said, leaning against Yoongi’s side.

“I think I’d kill him myself if he wasn’t,” Namjoon muttered, giving Tae an appreciative smile as he leaned over and started rubbing his shoulders.

“Jin’s a mess, Joon,” Hobi added, “You should really talk to him.”

“I just can’t right now,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, “I can’t believe he would do something like this without even telling me she was thinking about it. I just need some space from him for a while.”

“We can respect that,” Yoongi spoke up, “But don’t forget that you’re madly in love with each other and literally soulmates. One mistake doesn’t change that.”

The boys huddled around Namjoon as his shoulders shook, the feelings of the day finally catching up with him as he let his tears fall freely. The boys stayed like that for a while, comforting each other as worries and concerns kept coming up. When they finally called it a night, they all went their separate ways, no one noticing Jungkook heading in the direction of the hospital wing.

You woke up in time for your first class, thanks to Jungkook tossing one of your shirts at your head.

“Get up,” he said, running his hands through his extremely unkempt hair.

“Did you sleep here?” you asked with a yawn, stretching your arms before sliding out of the bed.

“Yeah, I didn’t want Seonghwa messing with you while you slept,” he said, throwing off his dirty shirt and pulling a clean one out of his bag. You couldn’t help but gulp as you set eyes on his abs, eyes roaming the expanse of his bare skin, “Stop staring at me and get dressed.”

You shot him a glare as you spun around, heat filling your body at his laugh. You threw your shirt off, your bare back on display as you shimmied your pants off. You smiled a little to yourself as his breath hitched from behind you, a strained cough leaving his lips as you pulled on your shirt. Two could play at that game.

You turned to face him, an innocent look replacing your smile, “Jungkookie can you hand me a skirt?”

“Um, I-, what?”

“Do you mind handing me my skirt?” you repeated, smiling widely now at his flushed face. His eyes looking at everything else in the room but you.

“I-uh yeah. I can definitely do that. Skirt,” he blushed harder, quickly reaching into the bag beside him and handing you the skirt that was in there, his head turned the other way.

“Thanks, Kook,” you laughed, pulling on your skirt. You slipped your shoes on, throwing your hair into a bun before turning back to where he stood.

“Ready?” he asked, hand scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you said, “Let’s do this.”

Jungkook escorted you to your classes, along with Jimin, for the rest of the day. Whispers following you wherever you went. You half expected your classmates to be understanding about this whole thing, but based on the whispers you had been hearing, it seemed like whatever happened was getting blamed on you. You shouldn’t have been that shocked.

“How did they even find out about this?” Jimin hissed, shooting a glare at a third year Gryffindor who had said some pretty shitty things.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook said, “No one else knew about this besides the 7 of us and Seonghwa. And since he got kicked out this morning I doubt he told anyone.”

The three of you kept walking towards the library, silently pondering how the hell the whole school found out about your erased memory.

“This is giving me a headache,” you groaned, pushing the doors open.

“Don’t hurt your brain, please,” Jungkook said, “I need it for when we study potions.”

“I’ll try to figure this all out while you guys study,” Jimin said, waving you two into the library and hurrying down the hallway.

“Well, there’s no point in wasting time then,” you said, “we’ve been slacking off, Kook.”

“I know,” he sighed, sitting down at your usual table, “and exams are only two weeks away.”

“You’ll do ok,” You said, smiling reassuringly at him, “You have me as a tutor, how could you fail?”

His nose scrunched, fake disgusted face as he snorted at you, “That doesn’t reassure me at all, princess.”

You kicked him under the table, a smile growing on your face as he laughed. You started pulling your books out, quill and ink soon following. Glancing at Jungkook as he bent down to do the same.

He looked as handsome as he normally did, hair messy in all of the perfect ways. Your heartbeat sped up the more you looked at him, and how far the two of you had come. A few months ago you would have never been caught dead sitting across from him in the library three days of the week. But now you were starting to enjoy his company, and honestly, you considered him a friend.

“Are you gonna teach me potions or just stare at me today?” his voice drew you from your thoughts, cocky grin back on his face as he shot you a wink.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, directing him to turn his book to a certain page, and the two of you got to work.

It was a comfortable silence, only talking when Jungkook asked you a question about the work or when the two of you took breaks. With tired, ink covered hands scrawling the last words of your homework you sagged in your seat. You let out a big yawn, glancing at where Jungkook still sat, hard at work. Looking through his potions notes.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, “I think that’s enough for the night.”

“Mh,” he hummed noncommittally, eyes never leaving his notes.

“You’re not listening to me!” you exclaimed, mouth pulling into a smirk, “You’re the worst quidditch player I’ve ever seen.”

You paused, waiting for him to have some sort of reaction, but he sat still reading, scratching his forehead.

“You have a tiny dick,” you said, pouting as he sat with a blank face, “You’re not half bad,” you said, last ditch effort to get him to respond in any way.

Jungkook just smiled, putting his notes down before looking at you, “I’m the best quidditch player at Hogwarts, you wouldn’t know anything about my dick, and you’re not half bad yourself, snake princess. Now if you’re done trying to get my attention, we really should get going.”

You scowled at him, putting your materials away as he teased you.

“How was I supposed to know you could hear me?” you whined, pouting as Jungkook tugged your bag into his arms.

“I responded to you the first time!” Jungkook laughed, holding the library door open for you.

“You hummed! That’s totally not an answer!”

“Maybe not to you,” he grinned, ignoring the pout the was firmly set on your face, “Ah, c’mon, Princess. Who would I be if I didn’t mess with you at least a little bit?”

“A decent human being,” you grumbled, ignoring his laugh as you turned the corner to the dungeons, not even realizing Jungkook had walked you back, “You didn’t have to walk me back.”

“It’s no big deal,” he said, handing you your bag and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I know I don’t remember everything that happened,” you started, his doe eyes softening, “but I really feel safe around you, Kookie. I was thinking we could try to be friends?”

“Just friends?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, “But what if I want to be more than just friends, princess?”

You swear your heart stopped in the moment, his cocky grin enough to stop it beat in its tracks. Your eyes fluttering shut as he started leaning in.

“Goodnight, princess,” He whispered, voice ghosting on the shell of your ear. You jumped at his voice, eyes opening quickly at the realization that he was not about to kiss you.

When he leaned back, you could’ve slapped the smug grin he had on his face right off, hand coming out to give you a wave as he spun on his heels.

You trudged into the common room, ignoring the taunts of your classmates and walking right past Jimin and Yoongi. Giddy smile never leaving your lips even as your head hit your pillow.

It was the best you had slept in weeks.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook hogwarts au #gryffindor!jungkook #jungkook #bts hogwarts au #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts

116 notes · View notes

ygo-is-gayer-than-i-remember · 3 years

Text

Yugioctober Day 26: Jounouchi Should Wear Crocs

(Prompt list) (Read it here on Ao3!)

Summary: When Jounouchi moves out, Shizuka enjoys watching his new roommates descend into madness over his choice of shoe.

Shizuka adored her older brother.

If anyone asked, she would tell them Jounouchi was the kindest, most thoughtful person she had ever known. He had been there for her her entire life, and even after their parents divorced, he always found a way to support her through good times and bad. He was her best friend, her rock, and her knight in shining armor all wrapped up into one. She wouldn’t trade him in for anyone else in the world.

Shizuka adored her older brother, but she was thrilled he was moving out.

He had gotten an apartment downtown with Otogi and Honda over the summer to move in when fall came. Honda was attending Domino University with Yugi and Ryou and working at a mechanics shop on days he didn’t have class. Meanwhile, both Jounouchi and Otogi had decided to moonlight at the cafe owned by Otogi’s father while Jounouchi focused on his dueling career and Otogi continued expanding the world of Dungeon Dice Monsters. The location of the apartment suited all of their needs, and they figured it would be much easier if they all roomed together and pitched in on the rent. It was a good idea. Otogi and Honda knew Jounouchi well.

But they didn’t know him like Shizuka did.

For one, she knew he was going into this arrangement harboring feelings for both of them. She found it ironic that while they had been flirting with her constantly (to no avail, she might add), her brother was the one who was interested. Still, she wasn’t an idiot. As they got closer to graduation, she would notice how Otogi and Honda would send glances Jounouchi’s way whenever they hit on her to see if he was paying attention. The amount of romantic tension between the three of them was palpable. She wondered how Jounouchi would react to the two of them competing for his affection and Shizuka being the one playing the protective sibling. Not that she would get in the way of his love life if that’s what everyone wanted. It was a funny image though.

She was also in tune with all of Jounouchi’s household quirks, things Honda and Otogi would have had little to no exposure to. He wouldn’t do the dishes unless he was either forced to or there was no room left in the sink, and his definition of “no room” was far different from most people’s. If stacking dirty dishes were an Olympic sport, Shizuka was sure her brother would take home gold. She also swore he had some kind of selective blindness that made it impossible for him to see laundry baskets since his clothes would somehow end up everywhere except the basket. He was terrible about wearing clothes too. She had learned to always text him when she was having company over after she and her study group walked in on him watching TV in his boxers and crocs.

Oh god, the crocs.

It was three days into the move when Shizuka got her first call about the crocs situation. She was fishing around in her backpack for her keys when her phone started vibrating in a different pocket. Silently cursing her disorganization and the lack of pockets in her jeans, she dug her phone out from under several multicolored highlighters to answer the call.

“Hey Honda! How are you? How’s the apartment?”

“How many pairs of crocs does Jou own?!”

Shizuka bit her lip to keep herself from laughing at the all-too-familiar squeaking in the background. “That’s like asking how many grains of sand there are in the sea, but I know what you’re thinking and I wouldn’t try it. Whenever you get rid of one pair, two more appear.”

Various text conversations about Jounouchi’s devil shoes were exchanged before the second call came a week later, this time from Otogi.

Squeak squeak squeak--“Shizuka, how did you live like this? I’m about ready to have the inventor of crocs tried for crimes against humanity.”

Shizuka grinned to herself, pressing the phone against her ear with her shoulder while she finished painting her nails. “Years of practice and a lot of loud music.”

The third came a few days after that, and she was surprised to hear Seto Kaiba on the other end of the line.

“I’ve been receiving calls from several different numbers asking me to invent a pair of silent crocs. Something to do with that idiot brother of yours. It’s clogging up my network and I don’t have time to deal with this bullshit.”

That call had been followed by a very long talk with Otogi and Honda about using throwaway numbers to harass Kaiba over Jounouchi’s crocs during business hours.

Then, suddenly, the complaints stopped. Shizuka hadn’t given it too much thought, but in the back of her mind, she wondered what had changed to make everyone alright with the incessant noise produced by Jounouchi’s rubber menaces.

She got her answer when she visited the apartment herself. Honda had picked her up on his way back from class so they could all have dinner for the first time since they moved in. She was excited to see how everything looked all put together. They walked in and kicked off their shoes before Jounouchi and Otogi descended on her with hugs and greetings. When Jounouchi stepped back from his hug, she glanced down to see him wearing a pair of white socks underneath his bright red crocs.

Socks.

He was wearing socks.

Shizuka smacked herself on the forehead, startling all three of her hosts. “Why didn’t I think of that?!”

#this is actually so stupid but I loved writing it anyway lasjflaskfsd #shizuka kawai #serenity wheeler #katsuya jounouchi #joey wheeler #hiroto honda #tristan taylor #ryuji otogi #duke devlin #kickshipping #technically pre-kickshipping but whatever #snareshipping #buddyshipping #yugi muto #ryou bakura #writing #my writing #yugioctober #yugioctober 2021

17 notes · View notes

lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

An Art of Balance #30

Orion Amari x MC

A/N: Lovely Julian Bennett belongs to the even more lovely @slytherindisaster

Word Count: ~ 4.000

___________________________________________

Chapter 30: Making Amends

The conversations with Orion and Skye kept gnawing at Lizzie over the next few days. In their own ways, both of them had made it clear to her how important it was to get back on track; not only for herself, but for the general good of their team as well.

Thinking about what they had said, Lizzie realised how much of an open door they had been pushing; there was nothing she wanted more than things to return to their normal state, so she could have all of her friends back. And if making amends would help increase her performance, all the better.

There wasn’t much she could do about either Rowan or Orion at this point, so Lizzie had started thinking about how to get back into Charlie's good books.

Skye had suggested a gesture of goodwill to make him listen to her and after contemplating her advice for a few days, an idea had started to form in Lizzie’s mind.

After sending a few owls back and forth, she now found herself in the hallway of the Eastern Tower. She had been standing in front of the portrait hole hiding the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room for quite some time now, engaged in a heated discussion with the Fat Lady, the occupant of the picture guarding the portrait hole.

“I really don’t see the problem,” Lizzie rolled her eyes; she had forgotten just how many times she had done this in the last half hour. “I don’t even know if he’s in. Can’t you just go inside and have a look? Or ask another portrait for all that it’s worth?”

The Fat Lady huffed indignantly, fluffing herself up to an even greater volume than she held anyway. “And leave my post unguarded? No way, young lady. I still don’t understand what a Hufflepuff is doing here in the first place.”

She gestured at Lizzie’s attire dismissively. It was the evening before the match and the pre-match party was scheduled to start immediately after dinner. Lizzie was already dressed in her yellow jersey from last season and a black letterman jacket bearing her name and number on the back; it had been a combined birthday gift from her friends back in November.

Lizzie buried her hands in the pocket of her jacket now, feeling the rough parchment of the letter she was carrying. “I told you, I’m looking for Charlie.”

“From what I hear, you have a match against my House tomorrow,” the Fat Lady squinted down at her suspiciously, “you have no business here.”

“Your House?” Lizzie asked with an amused undertone. “You’re a portrait, you are just guarding the entrance.”

“Careful missy,” the portrait puffed and slung her pink feather boa over her shoulder; it made her look like an inflated bird of paradise. “I’ve guarded this Common Room a lot longer than you are around; these are basically my children!”

Knowing that a fight wouldn’t help her much, Lizzie hung her head and sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” she tried a different approach. “I really just want to apologise to my friend.”

Lizzie pinched the bridge of her nose; this was taking a lot longer than she had anticipated. The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention; Percy was walking down the corridor towards them, his arms stacked with way more books than what looked comfortable to carry.

“What are you doing here?” he barked at her haughtily; Lizzie had to stifle a laugh at the show the little boy she’d known for ages by now was putting on. He had always been a little bit more stuck up than his brothers, but this new persona he was putting on since coming to Hogwarts certainly wasn’t the most pleasant one.

“Hey Perce,” she greeted him sardonically. “You’ve been to the library?”

“I asked you a question,” Percy insisted. The way he was acting up was too comical for Lizzie not to chuckle; angry red spots appeared on the boy’s pale cheeks.

“This is the Gryffindor Common Room,” he pointed out unnecessarily. “Last time I looked, the Hufflepuff Common Room was down in the dungeons.”

Shaking her head, Lizzie rolled her eyes at Percy. “You don’t say, Percy. Do you know if Charlie’s in there?” She pointed her thumb towards the entrance.

Percy sniffled at being laughed at by her. “No, I don’t know if my brother is in the Common Room.”

Slowly but surely, Lizzie was getting annoyed by the constant delay. “Well, could you go and have a look please?”

“What business do you have with him anyway? I don’t think he wants to talk to you.”

Lizzie crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at Charlie’s younger brother. “Don’t you think that’s best for him to decide?”

Percy opened his mouth to shoot back but got cut off by the familiar figure of Julian Bennett approaching them. The Gryffindor Beater raised his eyebrows at the unusual gathering in front of him.

“Hey, Lizzie,” he greeted her with a pat on the back. “I didn’t expect to see you here; isn’t the pre-match party going down soon?”

Julian’s casual demeanour felt awkward to Lizzie; they hadn’t really talked to each other since her falling out with Charlie, but she was glad for it all the same. It was nice to see a friendly face that was wearing crimson-and-gold for a change.

“Julian, thank Godric you’re here; finally someone with a bit of sense.” Her eyes were shooting daggers at Percy, who shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I’ve been looking for Charlie for some time now; do you know where he is?”

“What do you want from him?”

“There’s some things I wanted to get out of the way before tomorrow.” She ran her finger along the edge of the letter in her pocket.

Julian nodded. “I see; let me see if I can round him up.”

He turned to the Fat Lady. “Gryphon,” he told her the password, much to the dismay of Percy. But Julian simply ignored his complaints and vanished behind the portrait.

“Was that so hard?” Lizzie couldn’t help but mutter under her breath.

Only a few moments later, the portrait swung aside again and Julian emerged with a scowling Charlie in tow.

Still miffed at the situation, Percy made no move to leave, so Julian simply shoved him back into the Common Room to give Lizzie and Charlie some space.

When they were alone, Charlie looked her up and down dismissively. He raised his chin defiantly. “What do you want?”

Lizzie glanced at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who seemed to be awfully interested in her fingernails all of a sudden. “Could we go someplace more private?”

But Charlie merely crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No,” he brushed her off brusquely. “Listen, I’ve got to prepare for tomorrow; say what you came to say or leave me alone.”

Lizzie tried not to be discouraged by his resentment; she couldn’t even blame him for it. If she were in his place, she probably would have acted the same way.

“Tomorrow is what I want to talk to you about, in a way,” she sighed, inherently hoping he would listen to her apology. “We’ve never faced each other on the pitch while fighting, we were always seeing eye to eye. I don’t want to start this now.”

Charlie’s arms were still crossed but Lizzie could see a bit of tension leave his shoulders; maybe there was a bit of hope to set things right.

“So?”

She drew a deep breath. “I know I acted like a total idiot and I want to apologise; I should never have doubted you and your intentions and it was very wrong of me to lash out at you for trying to cheer me up when I didn’t even tell you how upset I really was. I was hurt and confused and none of this is your fault and for the record, I’d happily play with all of the magical creatures for the rest of our time here with you because without you, it’s not the same.”

The words had stumbled out of her mouth in a quick rush without giving her the opportunity to breathe in between her sentences; she was too afraid to forget something.

After she was done, Charlie just stood there with an unmoving expression on his face. The longer he didn’t say anything, the more scared Lizzie got that he wouldn’t accept her apology.

But then, the smallest of smiles tugged at Charlie’s lips. “Did you rehearse that?”

Lizzie blushed slightly as relief that he didn’t dismiss her right away washed over her. “Maybe,” she admitted sheepishly. “Listen, Charlie, I’m sorry for how I behaved; I miss you. I miss spending time with you, I miss all your random dragon facts you’re throwing at me and I miss you setting my head straight when I need you to. I don’t want to go out and play against you tomorrow when we can’t look each other in the eye.”

Charlie’s freckled features went soft at her admission. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I know you’d never use me or my feelings for your own advantage; it was wrong to assume that.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you for saying that.” He looked at her for a moment, contemplating. “I can’t say what I said was a lie, though. You did change a lot this year. But that’s not what rubbed me the wrong way,” he quickly added as she winced.

“What stung was the fact that you were trying to hide these changes,” he explained. “You didn’t trust me enough to be honest with me.”

“I was scared to tell you because you know me better than anyone else does,” Lizzie replied quietly. “I was afraid you’d call me out and tell me all the stuff I didn’t want to hear.”

“Oh, I certainly would have,” Charlie confirmed matter-of-factly.

“Of course you would have,” Lizzie sighed. “Who knows, maybe the outcome would’ve been better if I had been honest with myself in the first place.”

Charlie shrugged. “Maybe, but we’re not going to find out now. What’s done is done; no use fretting over the past, like my mum always says. But in any case, I’m glad you plucked up the courage to acknowledge your mistakes. Perhaps there’s still more of the old Lizzie in there than I thought after all,” he said with a small grin.

It lessened a little as he continued, “Just don’t lie to me again, please. If you can’t even trust your friends, you’re truly in a really bad place.”

Her eyes were serious as she placed her hand on his forearm. “I promise, no more lies; you can trust me, I’m done running from my problems.”

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and procured the letter she had kept hidden. Smoothing the slightly crinkled envelope for a second, she held it out to Charlie.

“See, I even brought you a present.”

Charlie took it from her with a surprised face. He turned the heavy envelope around, raising one eyebrow as he discovered the logo of the Ministry of Magic printed on the back of it.

“What is that?”

“That,” Lizzie grinned broadly, “is my official offer of peace.”

Charlie looked at her sceptically.

“That was Skye’s idea,” Lizzie added with a shrug. “She thought you’d might give me a chance if I bribed you with something nice.”

Charlie shook his head as he broke the red wax seal. “Just when I thought I’d seen it all… “

His voice trailed off as he started reading the contents of the letter. Eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open, he read the letter two more times.

“Is that… “ he started croaking before clearing his throat. “Is that what I think it is?”

Lizzie tried her best not to look smug but she couldn’t help the wide grin that had appeared on her face watching Charlie read the letter.

“It is,” she confirmed. “Fresh from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It arrived this morning.”

One of the Christmas presents she had gotten from her father this year had been a special one; working for the Ministry, he had gotten wind of an internship place being open with some of the Ministry’s dragonologists; they were supposed to conduct a study on the mating behaviour of Welsh Greens over the summer and were looking for helping hands.

Knowing her interest in Care of Magical Creatures, her father had put her name down without telling her, presenting her with the acceptance letter on Christmas Day.

Lizzie knew she owed her father big time for helping her realise her plan in such a short span of time; he had moved heaven and hell and deployed all of his Ministry contacts to make sure the name on the internship letter had gotten changed.

Charlie was still in a bit of a shock as he looked from the letter to her and back again.

“But this is your internship,” he whispered hoarsely, “you have been talking about this for months. These spots are so rare; are you sure you really want to give it to me?”

Lizzie nodded in confirmation. “Yes, I am. This is my way of saying sorry; and you deserve this spot a thousand times more than I do.” The way she smiled at him was uncharacteristically shy for her somehow. “Besides, after the career advice session I’m not sure I want to go down the magizoologist route anyway.”

“You don’t?”

A blush spread on Lizzie’s face; admitting her career plans out loud for the first time sounded foolish to her ears. “I thought, I might perhaps want to try going for a professional Quidditch career.” She strongly hoped Charlie wouldn’t laugh.

But he only winked at her with an encouraging grin. “As far as I can say, you’d definitely have what it takes, chipmunk.”

As he heard the stupid little nickname leaves his mouth, Lizzie’s mouth curved into a brilliant, hopeful smile. “So you officially accept my apology?”

He waved the letter in her face. “You bet I do. I might even take you out for dinner now.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, making Lizzie giggle.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I found this amazing new place the other day. It’s called ‘The Great Hall’; it’s usually a bit crowded this time of the day, but I hear they have amazing sandwiches.”

Lizzie felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders as they both started laughing at the same time. All the resentment that had been brewing between them had vanished in an instant and it just felt normal again; it was the best feeling Lizzie could have imagined.

“Do I get a hug now, or what?” Charlie laughed and opened his arms for her.

Without hesitation, Lizzie stepped into them and let herself be enveloped by one of Charlie’s bear hugs she had missed so much.

“Good to have you back,” he whispered against her hair, making her smile broaden until her cheeks hurt.

“Aw, look at the two of you,” the dreamy voice of the Fat Lady, they had completely forgotten about, suddenly broke the atmosphere. “Young love, finally reunited again.”

Charlie let go of Lizzie and they both stared at her reproachfully. “We’re only friends!” they spoke out in perfect unison. Sharing another glance, they both exploded with laughter. Lizzie would say this sentence a thousand times and more if it only meant she had her friend back at her side.

The traces of laughter still hanging onto his face, Charlie stepped towards her and offered her his arm like a gentleman would to his lady; still chuckling, Lizzie took it.

“Now, milady, let’s go get some food.”

The Great Hall was already packed with students when they arrived. Lizzie’s arm was still linked with Charlie’s as they were laughing and joking with each like nothing had happened. She could have let go of him, of course, but she just enjoyed being back in his company way too much.

As they entered the Great Hall side by side, Lizzie didn’t fail to notice the whispers and sideways glances they were drawing from several of their peers. Although the rumours had stopped when the frosty atmosphere between them had become public knowledge, they hadn’t been set right either.

But Lizzie chose to ignore the raised eyebrows and scowls directed at them this time around; she straightened her back subconsciously as they walked through the space between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables and let it all wash over her. She was done bothering with what people who didn’t even really know her would think; the ones she cared for knew the truth and that was all that matters. She had been worrying about other people’s opinions far too much these last few weeks.

When they reached where the rest of the Gryffindor team was sitting, Charlie sat down with them, gesturing for her to join them, but Lizzie declined the offer. She was glad their fight was over, but she didn’t want to push her luck; sitting with the players of the opposing team on the evening before the match maybe would have been a bit too much.

“Alright,” he shrugged as he sat down in between his team mates. “See you tomorrow on the pitch then.”

Lizzie smiled broadly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Let’s see if you still think so after I’ve caught the snitch,” Charlie smirked. “But don’t worry, you can have it afterwards, as a consolation prize.”

The other Gryffindors snickered as Lizzie raised her chin defiantly. “Careful Weasley, pride comes before the fall.” But her eyes were sparkling in anticipation of the challenge.

Leaving the Gryffindor table behind, she walked over to her own House Table. She had seen Penny and Rowan sitting a bit further ahead; Lizzie hadn’t really sat with them during dinner in the last couple of days, especially not without Skye joining them, but her dark haired friend was nowhere to be seen.

Walking up to the two girls, her eyes drifted to the head of the table where Orion was sitting with McNully. She had seen him watching her when she’d entered the Great Hall with Charlie; she knew the fluttery feeling inside her stomach didn’t solely come from the anticipation of tomorrow’s match.

He and Murphy were undoubtedly discussing the last details for tomorrow, but as their eyes met for a split second, Lizzie offered him a small smile. It was gone almost too quickly to see, but she knew he’d caught it by the way the corners of his own mouth curved slightly upwards. He gave her the hint of an acknowledging nod before he turned his attention back on his and Murphy’s tactical discussion.

Lizzie was glad he had encouraged her to make amends with her friends; not only because she wanted them back, but also because it made her feel closer to him again.

She braced herself for the next part; Charlie was done, so now onto the next.

Approaching Rowan and Penny, Lizzie put on a markedly cheerful smile, trying to mask the touch of apprehensiveness she felt at her next task. “May I sit with you?”

Rowan just looked at her silently, her eyes unreadable behind her glasses.

Penny however, immediately moved over to make room for her on the bench. “Sure, go ahead,” she beamed up at her. Inwardly, Lizzie sighed thankfully; at least Penny seemed to be as eager to return to their normal state before the year was done than she was.

“We were just discussing if we might need something else for the pre-match party later,” she explained, pointing to a checklist spread out between their plates. “You’re coming, aren’t you?” she asked somewhat hopefully.

“Of course I am,” Lizzie smiled in return. “I’ve never missed one so far, have I?”

In truth, nothing was further from her mind than attending a party right now; the thought about being in a crowd that was working itself up in their excitement for the season finale made her stomach churn. But in a way, popping in to the pre-match parties had somehow become part of her own pre-match ritual; Lizzie wasn’t really superstitious, but figured this maybe wasn’t the best time to meddle with established routines.

Trying to take her mind off the prospect of the party, she poured herself some pumpkin juice. “Sounds like you’re excited for tomorrow.”

“You bet!” Penny beamed at her. “I can’t wait for the match to start! Hufflepuff is playing for the Cup the second year in a row, it’s time to bring it back where it belongs. Gryffindor is a really tough opponent, though; it will be a tough match, but you’ve trained so hard, I’m sure you’ll come out on top…”

When Penny noticed her rambling, she blushed slightly and shut up. Lizzie watched Rowan from across the table; she had been remarkably silent since Lizzie had joined them.

“What about you, Rowan?” Lizzie asked quietly.

Rowan quickly looked up from her dinner. “What about me?”

“You’re coming to the match, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know yet,” Rowan mumbled evasively, pushing her food around her plate while avoiding Lizzie’s eyes. “The O.W.L.s are so close now and I’ve still got so much more to study and revise.”

But both of them knew, this was only partly true. The two of them had lived in some sort of tentative truce the last couple of weeks, each keeping her distance from the other in a way. But the Quidditch pitch was Lizzie’s terrain; Rowan coming along would be a step back into a normality that Lizzie wasn’t sure they would achieve again; but she sure was hoping so.

“Listen,” she sighed. “I know it’s been weird between us ever since… you know.” Lizzie was struggling for words; she just couldn’t bring herself to actually ‘you caught me and Orion making out’ out loud. It was a thought she’d probably never get used to.

“What I want to say is, it would mean a great deal to me if I knew you’d be there tomorrow. You never missed a single match, you were always there to cheer me on.” She offered Rowan a weak smile. “I’m only half as good without you.”

To her surprise, for the first time in ages, Rowan smiled back at her. “That’s nonsense and you know it; you’ll be brilliant no matter who is watching.”

Lizzie grimaced, but secretly, Rowan’s kind words felt like balm for her soul. “Please don’t try to prove me wrong by not coming.”

“Alright, I’ll be there. But be damned if Gryffindor wins and my precious study turns out to be wasted,” she added with a joking threat.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you down!” A wide, relieved grin spread on Lizzie’s face; she instantly felt a lot lighter. “Skye and I have been practising some new moves, the lions have no chance at all.”

“Where’s Skye anyway?” Penny now piped up. “I haven’t seen her for some time now; I thought she was with you.”

Lizzie’s brow furrowed. “No, I haven’t seen her since class, why?”

“She got a letter earlier and seemed really rattled while reading it. She went all pale and ran off before I had a chance to ask what’s wrong; no one has seen her since.”

Lizzie didn’t like the sound of that at all. She was nervous enough as it was herself, Skye freaking out at the last minute was the last thing they needed. If she had been missing for quite some time now, there was no way to tell if she had worked herself into one of her states again and Lizzie had the very distinct feeling she should go and check on her friend immediately.

Luckily, she had a very good idea on exactly where to find her.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #charlie weasley #lizzie jameson #aob #art of balance #the quidditch squad #it's the homestretch everybody!!!!#we're slowly wrapping things up #feels so weird though :(#not that much longer to go #sad or happy?#both I guess

21 notes · View notes