My Dirty Little Secret (My Fiancé)
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Harry/Ginny
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
8,691
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Harry/Ginny
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
8,691
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter or any part of the Potterverse. I do not make any profit from this.
My Dirty Little Secret (My Fiancé)
Title: My Dirty Little Secret (My Fiancé)
Summary: Inspired by Dirty Little Secret, by The All-American Rejects. Harry has a dirty little secret...
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not do this for profit. yadayadayada...
During my ten-minute-break I prompted myself to write something inspired by Dirty Little Secret, by The All-American Rejects. They hold up cards in the video, and they gave me several ideas. In the following dabble, the prompt is in bolds.
Hope you enjoy it!
---
Sometimes I think my fiancé isn’t the one.
Wouldn’t you?
Some mornings I wake up to see her lying beside me on our bed, and I can barely stop myself from running away.
She paints a sweet, peaceful image; her firey red hair cascading down onto the bed, spread around her like a halo; the pale, perfect expanse of skin that begs your caress; her closed eyes, short, dark lashes, the scaterring of frekles over her little button nose. Small, round breasts; slim, inviting waist; long, athletic-looking legs, ending in delicate feet, red-painted nails.
And that’s exacly the problem. Her skin is too smooth, completely free of scars. Young, innocent, unmarked. There’s no worried frown on her while she sleeps, unperturbed by the sacrifices of war. And if her eyes were to be open, you’d see there are no shadows in them, no dark knowledge, no strain at all.
How can I share my life, my soul, with such a childlish beeing? I feel like my soul is already a couple centuries old, and hers... hers is not. She is guileless, blind to the pains of war, of battle, of the last shreds of innocence we had to give up to Voldemort. She has led a life that, while not sheltered, wasn’t mine either; she hasn’t known torture, pain and death as intimately as I have. She hasn’t killed. Her hands were never covered in blood.
It was kind of ironic -that me, all by myself am the only one to blame for the distance between us. I had been the one, after all, to protect her from war, to keep her unknowing.
Where do our worlds meet?
The only thing we have in common anymore is the Weasley family.
The only thing keeping me here is the pain me leaving would cause them.
This would break them.
I don’t want to cause more pain, more grief.
And when she wakes, and smiles at me, I can almost pretend she makes me happy.
---
You can check how I'm doing with my fics on my profile. Cheers!
R&R? pretty please?
Summary: Inspired by Dirty Little Secret, by The All-American Rejects. Harry has a dirty little secret...
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not do this for profit. yadayadayada...
During my ten-minute-break I prompted myself to write something inspired by Dirty Little Secret, by The All-American Rejects. They hold up cards in the video, and they gave me several ideas. In the following dabble, the prompt is in bolds.
Hope you enjoy it!
---
Sometimes I think my fiancé isn’t the one.
Wouldn’t you?
Some mornings I wake up to see her lying beside me on our bed, and I can barely stop myself from running away.
She paints a sweet, peaceful image; her firey red hair cascading down onto the bed, spread around her like a halo; the pale, perfect expanse of skin that begs your caress; her closed eyes, short, dark lashes, the scaterring of frekles over her little button nose. Small, round breasts; slim, inviting waist; long, athletic-looking legs, ending in delicate feet, red-painted nails.
And that’s exacly the problem. Her skin is too smooth, completely free of scars. Young, innocent, unmarked. There’s no worried frown on her while she sleeps, unperturbed by the sacrifices of war. And if her eyes were to be open, you’d see there are no shadows in them, no dark knowledge, no strain at all.
How can I share my life, my soul, with such a childlish beeing? I feel like my soul is already a couple centuries old, and hers... hers is not. She is guileless, blind to the pains of war, of battle, of the last shreds of innocence we had to give up to Voldemort. She has led a life that, while not sheltered, wasn’t mine either; she hasn’t known torture, pain and death as intimately as I have. She hasn’t killed. Her hands were never covered in blood.
It was kind of ironic -that me, all by myself am the only one to blame for the distance between us. I had been the one, after all, to protect her from war, to keep her unknowing.
Where do our worlds meet?
The only thing we have in common anymore is the Weasley family.
The only thing keeping me here is the pain me leaving would cause them.
This would break them.
I don’t want to cause more pain, more grief.
And when she wakes, and smiles at me, I can almost pretend she makes me happy.
---
You can check how I'm doing with my fics on my profile. Cheers!
R&R? pretty please?