#Hp comfort

[moonstruckme]

hi! i've been stalking your page for literal hours and i love how you write poly marauders so much!! could you write how they would react to the reader coming home from a night out with a black eye or something like that?? <33333

Thank you lovely! And thanks for being so patient while I took literal months to get to this request haha, love you! <3

cw: reader is drunk and has a black eye

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Hey, gorgeous,” Sirius says as you come in the door. Remus shushes him, and he lowers his voice. “How’re the girls?” 

“Good,” you reply, cautiously quiet as you kick off your shoes. 

Rounding the couch, you see James asleep on Remus’ shoulder, a small puddle of drool soaking into the material of the taller boy’s pajama shirt. They’re all in pajamas, actually. Envy strikes you through the heart. They look so unbearably cozy, better than you in your scratchy jeans and too-tight top. 

“I hope you didn’t wait up,” you say as Remus flips his book closed, and Sirius chuckles. You’ll learn later that you’d been slurring your words. 

“We don’t mind,” Remus confirms your suspicions. “You didn’t walk home by yourself, did you?” 

You shake your head, flopping into the spot beside James on the couch. Only you hadn’t quite thought that through, and Remus tuts as he starts to rouse. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Um, the girls dropped me off out front.” 

Sirius nods his approval. James hums as he picks his head up off Remus’ shoulder, spotting you. 

“Hey, lovie.” He transfers his affections to you, wrapping his arms around your neck and letting himself weigh heavily against your front. You giggle, your favorite monkey. “Did you just get home?” 

“Uh-huh. Oh, Jamie!” You gasp as a memory makes its way out of the fog of your brain. “I saw something you would have loved.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

“We came across a dog park, and I didn’t even know those could be open at night but—” 

“No, angel.” He’s stopped hugging you, an unpleasant development, one of his hands leaving your neck to hold your cheek. “What’s that on your face?” 

“Hm?” You don’t remember anything getting on your face. “I dunno. Jamie, I’m trying to tell you about the puppies.” 

“Just hold on, darling, sorry. Is that a bruise?” 

“What?” Sirius is in front of you before you know what’s happened. Vampire-fast, you think fascinatedly, wondering if he’d have been a streak across your vision had you bothered to look. Though, to be fair, your vision is generally streaky at the moment. He takes your chin in his hand, tilting it up and to the side. “Remus, point your light here.” 

There’s a low creaking as Remus adjusts his reading lamp, and then you’re squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Jesus, what the hell?” 

Remus curses softly, and you squint to see him leaning closer to you. Your boyfriends’ faces crowd your vision like a three-headed monster. 

“Baby,” Sirius says, sounding heartbroken, “what happened?” 

“I don’t—can you move the light away?” 

More creaking, and you can see again. You blink, eyes watery, and Sirius lays a painstakingly gentle thumb over the skin beneath your eye. 

“It must be bad if it’s already bruising,” he says. 

Remus stands. “Then we should put ice on it.” 

You pout as he disappears into the kitchen, but Sirius recaptures your attention by turning your face toward his. 

“I need you to think.” He fixes his stare on yours gravely. His eyes are the color of the moon reflecting off water. You try to tell him so, but his frown doesn’t abate. “Listen,” he says, “what happened to hurt your eye? You have to remember.” 

You purse your lips, shaking your head at him. “I feel like I’d know if something happened,” you say self-assuredly. “It’s probably just makeup. Can you get me a wipe?” 

“Angel.” James’ eyebrows have hooked upwards in the middle. He’s looking uncharacteristically serious, too. Your boyfriends are really not being a ton of fun tonight, you think. “It’s all red and purple. You can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt, babydoll.” 

You shrug. That may be so. But if it doesn’t hurt, who really cares? 

Sirius gets up just as Remus comes back with what looks like a balled-up dish towel. He passes it to you with a tender look on his face. 

“Put this on your eye, honey,” he says. Then, “Sirius, love, where are you going?” 

“To call Evans.” 

You touch the cloth to your eye, but it’s freezing cold, and you opt to let it rest in your lap instead.

“She won’t even be home yet,” Remus argues. “And what do you think you’ll accomplish if you do get ahold of her? She can’t tell us anything now that she won’t still know in the morning.” 

“What if somebody did this to her? If Evans saw, I want to know about it tonight.” 

“Don’t you think,” James says, “that if someone hit her, the girls would’ve come in and told us?” You lean against his side, and he wraps an arm around you automatically, rubbing your shoulder. He smells like strawberries and laundry detergent and something ineffably homey. “They wouldn’t have just dropped her off out front.” 

“What if no one saw?” 

“Then what do you think calling will do, love?” 

“I just…I feel like I have to do something. Don’t you?” 

You lean your head on James’ shoulder and snuggle into the familiar sounds of your boyfriends’ voices, overlapping and intermingling. You don’t realize they’ve gone quiet until Remus’ hand wraps around yours, and you open your eyes. 

“You’ve got to actually hold this on your eye,” he chides lovingly, taking the dish towel from you and pressing it to your face. 

The edge of something hard beneath the cloth digs into a tender spot beneath your eye, and you flinch. “Ow.” 

Remus’ forehead creases sympathetically. “Sorry.” 

But the pain brings another memory out of the fog. You pick your head up as you feel your good eye widen in realization, meeting Sirius’. 

He flicks up an eyebrow. “What’re you smiling about?” 

“I remember what happened,” you admit, a touch of embarrassment to your tone. And if you hadn’t had everyone’s attention before, you do now. 

“What was it?” James rubs your shoulder reassuringly. “You can tell us.” 

“It’s…when we were at the dog park, I got distracted.” 

Remus’ eyes narrow. “Go on.” 

You rub your lips together self-consciously. “I may have walked into a sign. About poop bags.” 

James leans away from you to see you better. “Like, a metal sign?” 

You nod, and he winces. 

“Ouch, lovie.” 

“Fucking hell.” Sirius covers his face with both hands, loosing a big breath through the cracks in his palms. Remus reaches back to pats his leg consolingly. “I was ready to go after whoever did that with a tire iron.” 

You shrink into the couch cushions. “Sorry.” 

“You could still take a tire iron to the sign, I suppose,” James says. 

Sirius ignores him, crouching in front of you and taking your face in both hands. Remus lets the cloth drop rather than maneuver around him. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, understand?” 

“Yeah,” James agrees, “if you injure yourself in the future, ask for a pen and make a note on your arm or something. Save us the worry.” 

You lean forward, pressing a lingering, heartfelt kiss to Sirius’ cheek. 

“Thanks for worrying,” you say, and where your lips touched him the skin glows pink. 

“You’re taking years of my life, you know,” he says quietly. 

Remus chuckles. “Don’t worry. It looks good on you.” 

[underoospeterparker]

okay i really hope this makes sense because i love your writing - shy!reader x remus <3

reader is in the wrong place at the wrong time and gets detention for something she didn’t do - too shy and nervous to speak up for herself. when reader doesn’t meet up on time with remus he begins to worry

thank you for requesting! writing in the actual harry potter universe is tough, but i really like how it turned out!

grumpy!remus lupin x shy!fem!reader, 0.7k words

Remus paced back and forth in the hallway, frantically trying to think of an excuse as to why you might be late. James and Sirius watched him, clearly amused at his antics.

"Moony," James spoke up, "might I remind you that she's only ten minutes late?"

He turned around with an annoyed look on his face, a frown turning the corner of his lips downward. "No, you may not."

Sirius burst into laughter, clutching at James's blazer to steady himself. When he took a look at Remus's face, he fell silent. "Sorry," he murmured, "that was not funny."

"She's never late," he said, mostly to himself rather than to his best friends, "maybe I should check her classroom?" He paused, then answered his own question. "Yes. I'll do that. See you later, guys," Remus added, before heading off in the opposite direction of the Great Hall for lunch.

James sighed in mock disappointment. "Now what'll we do?"

Sirius played along, grin wide on his face. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "we'll have to follow him. I mean, what else could we possibly do?

-

You sat, hands shaking, in front of your professor. The only sound was the clicking of his pen as he surveyed you. "I don't understand what I did wrong," you managed, looking at your lap because you could not meet his gaze.

Snape stared at you, an incredulous look on his face. "You don't understand what you did wrong?" He repeated your statement. "Well, let me remind you, (Y/N). A student told me that she saw you in the bathroom, attempting to perform an expulso curse."

You didn't say anything. You knew it was Pansy, but if you said anything, which you wouldn't have done anyway, she would do much worse to you. "I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice quiet.

He nodded, a stern look on his face. "Do not let me catch you doing that again," he said, then paused. "Detention, then. Two weeks, starting today. 6'o clock. Don't be late," he added, then motioned for you to leave.

Packing up your things, you left in a hurry. You bumped straight into Remus, who had been making his way to your classroom. He steadied you, setting a hand on your hip. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Hey, where've you been? I've been looking for you everywhere, I-"

He was cut off by you promptly bursting into tears, hiding your face in the crook of his blazer. "Oh," he murmured. He wrapped his arms around you, hand going up to soothingly scratch at your scalp. "Oh, angel, you're okay," he murmured softly. "It's okay."

You sniffled, and the sound made his chest hurt as you burrowed your head further into his jacket. Then, you pulled away, bringing your sleeve up to wipe at your eyes hastily.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. You tried to explain yourself. "I was in the bathroom at the wrong time," you said, and Remus raised an eyebrow. "Snape thought I was trying to do an expulso curse."

"But you weren't," Remus said slowly. "Of course you weren't. Must've been Pansy, the little git." When you nodded, he asked, "Why didn't you say anything?"

You shook your head. "I didn't want to get in more trouble."

You looked up at him, and his eyes softened. "I get it," he said, although if it had been up to him, he would have blamed it on her to get you out of trouble. Remus swung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you back into his chest, which you went into gladly. "So, how many days of detention?"

Wincing, you replied, "two weeks."

He groaned, then said, "how am I supposed to go that long without seeing my best girl?"

You laughed. "You'll see me at lunch, and at Charms."

He pressed a kiss to your head. "Nope. I gotta get into some sort of trouble so I can be in detention with you, sweetheart."

Your eyes widened when James and Sirius popped out from behind the corner, identical mischievous grins on their faces.

Sirius was the first to speak up. "Did someone say trouble?"

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Comfort Zone

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Sirius Black x James Potter x Remus Lupin x Reader, Marauders x Reader

Characters:  Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2751

Summary: You and the boys go out of your comfort zone.

Tags/Warnings: PolyMarauders, Marauders, F/M/M/M, Post Hogwarts, Maraduers Era, Poly, Kissing, Angst, Fluff, Arguing

Notes: I am trying to get the other evans girl finished but the ideas wont stop and I have no self control x

MASTERLISTS // TAG LIST

‘You know he’s going to say no right?’ Remus said, watching you as you pulled the pie from the oven and placed it on counter top. James looked up from where he was lounging on the sofa, laughing as you scowled.

‘You don’t know that,’ you countered, moving to grab the potatoes that were near spilling over.

‘I know Padfoot,’ Remus said, placing his book down. 

‘We all know Padfoot Moony,’ James said rolling his eyes before he clambered out of his seat and came towards you, his hand dancing along your waist as he watched you cook.

’Exactly,’ you said, ‘and I know that he can be persuaded.’

‘What by a good meal,’ Remus said with a raised eyebrow, coming towards you too, resting his elbows on the counter as he eyed the pair of you. 

‘By a good meal and dessert,’ you mused. James chuckled, ‘she might have a point there.’

‘All I’m saying is don’t get your hopes up,’ Remus said softly watching as your face fell in a frown, not relieved by James touch as he kissed your temple. 

‘Moonys right sweetheart,’ James said softly. You looked at him, worried that the hopes you’d pinned on this might’ve been in vain.

‘It’ll be fine,’ you said unsure who you were trying to convince, ‘I’ll make a good case for it you know me.’

The boys shared a look as you busied yourself obliviously thinking over the game plan as you finished dinner. You were just finishing up dolloping mash potatoes onto each of their plates when the fire in the living room glowed green, Sirius stepping out not a moment later. 

‘Hey,’ he said, shrugging his leather jacket off and coming towards you, placing a kiss on your temple as he said, ‘something smells good.’

‘I made your favourite,’ you said, gesturing to the steak and ale pie on the counter top, ‘pop it on the table will you. Dinner will only be a minute.’

‘How about that for service eh Pads?’ James ribbed, taking his seat at the table as did Remus with Sirius joining a moment later, placing the pie in the centre. 

‘Can’t complain,’ he mused as you placed their plates down, dropping into a seat yourself as Remus started to dish out the pie you’d made. 

It was quite the squeeze, your tiny kitchen feeling even tinier with the four of you around the table, but you loved it like this. It hadn’t been the plan of course; James and Sirius had moved in once leaving school and as your relationship developed you and Remus had sort of never left but you wouldn’t trade it. Even if it meant you had to run your wants and needs by everyone you loved, something you were building up to ask about but as Sirius looked at you your nerve went and instead you said ‘so how was work?’

‘Fine,’ Sirius said, ‘got a good case today.’

‘Yeah?’ you asked.

‘Yeah apparently there’s been quite a few dragon eggs smuggled into the country. Don’t know where from yet of course but should be interesting.’

‘That is interesting,’ you said, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back around.

‘What about you?’ Sirius asked, taking a bit of pie. 

‘Oh you know not much,’ you shrugged, ‘got the flat tidy.’

‘Just you?’ Sirius said looking at James who hadn’t been paying attention until then but glared at the inference. 

‘It’s my day off,’ James protested. 

‘Your day to be a lazy git,’ Sirius teased and though you knew he was joking there was an edge to it that you frowned at especially when James pretended to shrug it off. It was funny to you how your roles within this little thing could be defined so quickly. How even though Sirius had no more a claim over you than the others he was still so certain to make sure you weren’t being taken advantage of, the one you turned to when you needed help. How James was your relief, the one who kept your spirits up, who made you laugh even if he couldn’t make a bed or pick up a pair of socks to save his life. And Remus was the one you shared your worries with. The one who made you feel heard and seen in a house full of boys.  

‘Rem helped when he got back,’ you said reassuringly. 

‘See,’ James said,’ besides I thought you wanted practice looking after something I’m just giving you opportunity.’

‘Why would she want that?’ Sirius asked confused. 

‘No reason,’ you said far too quickly to ever be casual. You’d been gearing up to ask but seeing the conversation teetering on a row you’d decided to postpone until James opened his big mouth. Sirius’ eyes narrowed.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ you lied, ‘I mean I don’t know what he’s on about.’

‘Sweetheart,’ Sirius said, his voice low and daring. You looked to James and Remus to find them interested in their meals, no help to you even as Sirius said, ‘alright what’s going on?’

‘Well,’ you said nervously, ‘I wanted to ask you something.’

‘Why what’s wrong?’ Sirius asked worriedly.

‘Nothing bad,’ you said placing your hand on his reassuringly.

‘Jesus mate lighten up,’ James teased. Sirius rolled his eyes but elected to ignore him, his gaze falling on you as he said, ‘what is it love?’

‘It’s just well I’ve been thinking,’ you said.

‘What about?’ Sirius asked.

‘Well about us,’ you said bashfully, ‘about this little thing we’ve got going on.’

‘Right,’ Sirius said dubiously.

‘And I was just thinking that it might be nice if we expanded a little,’ you said meekly.

‘Expanded?’ he asked, thoughts whizzing visibly behind his eyes. 

‘Yeah,’ you said. 

‘Like someone else?’ Sirius asked glancing at James and Remus before back at you. 

‘No, no of course not. I don’t want anyone else but you lot you know that,’ you said, squeezing his hand. That appeared to trigger something as he said, ‘you’re pregnant?’

‘What?’ you and James baulked, with Remus inhaling a piece of broccoli at the same time which made him cough and splutter as you protested, ‘no of course not!’

‘Well what else could it be?’ Sirius protested, glancing at Remus to make sure he was okay before his eyes went back to you.

‘Not that Jesus,’ James huffed, thumping a still watery eyed Remus on the back to help dislodge the issue. 

‘Well excuse me for jumping to conclusions when you’re obviously all in on whatever this is,’ Sirius said irritably, gesturing between the three of you.

‘That’s cos we won’t say no,’ James countered.

‘I never said yes,’ Remus said, his voice still weak as he glugged down a drink of water.

‘Yes to?’ Sirius asked.

‘I want a kitten,’ you said quickly realising there was no point beating around the bush anymore given the anarchy that had already been caused. 

‘What?’ Sirius asked as if he hadn’t heard you.

‘A kitten,’ you reiterated, ‘I was thinking about it and don’t you think a little-’

‘No,’ Sirius said flatly.

‘But-’ you protested but he waved you off stating, ‘you know I hate cats.’

‘You don’t know that,’ you said.

‘Yes I do,’ he said firmly.

‘How do you know?’ you pressed, ‘I mean you might do.’

‘I don’t,’ Sirius said, his tone challenging you not to talk back to him. As if this was the end of the discussion, but you weren’t done.

‘You don’t know that you just think you do because-’

‘He’s a dog?’ James finished.

‘Because you’ve never been around them!’ you corrected, ‘but I think it’ll be really good-’

‘What to have it scratching everything up and shitting in a box in the corner?’ Sirius scoffed.

‘We can let it go outside,’ you offered.

‘In the middle of a city yeah right,’ he said shaking his head. 

‘Oh Pads please,’ you begged.

‘I said no,’ Sirius said firmly.

‘Oh go on mate,’ James sighed. Sirius glowered at him, as he started, ‘just because you’re bendable to whatever she wants-’

‘Because I want her to be happy,’ James challenged.

‘Because you like pissing me off and being her favourite,’ Sirius said making James scowl. 

‘Pads please,’ you pleaded. 

‘I said no,’ he said pulling his hand out from under yours as he started to eat again. Irritated you looked away from him, looking to Remus who’s remained quiet even though he had been watching.

‘Please Rem?’ you asked.

‘I don’t know love,’ he said.

‘Come on majority rules. James said yes-’

‘James would say yes to anything that would get your top off,’ Sirius muttered.

‘And you wouldn’t?’ James scoffed; Sirius’ digs seemingly having gone too far to be just light hearted teasing. A sentiment that was confirmed as Remus, the nominated peacemaker, said, ‘lads stop it.’

Unfortunately he hadn’t said anything about you and so you looked to Sirius and challenged him, ‘okay what about a baby then?’

‘What?’ Sirius gawped.

‘See kitten isn’t as mad as that,’ you challenged.

‘She’s got a point,’ James said, making you smile smugly that you still had him on side.

‘She doesn’t have any point she’s being ridiculous!’ Sirius snapped.

‘I’m being ridiculous? You’re the one who won’t even hear me out I mean did you even wonder why I want one?’ you challenged. As the boys looked at you silently you continued, ‘I want a kitten because I want something for me. Something that’s just mine that I don’t have to share with anyone. Now I’m not saying I hate what we have going I love you all you know that. I just like our little home; I think we make it really lovely and you take such good care of me I just want something to love besides you three.’

All three of them remained silent, staring at you. When none of them spoke the weight of your words started hitting you, your vulnerability and longing now feeling more like a weakness rather than strength, as if you were in the middle of the ocean surrounded by three sharks. 

‘Fine,’ you huffed as your embarrassment caught the better of you, slamming your fork down and standing up.

‘Oh come on don’t get in a strop,’ Sirius scoffed, throwing his own utensils down.

‘Babe come on,’ James said tugging at your sleeve though you yanked it from his grip.

‘Pads is right let’s not fall out over something silly,’ Remus said, and though his was the nicest tone of the three of them it was that which made you see red.

‘Oh so I’m being silly now?’ you snapped, ‘when you won’t even contemplate doing something a little out of your comfort zone.’ 

‘You know I don’t like them,’ Sirius reasoned weakly.

‘Yeah you’ve made that clear I just thought I’d mean enough to try something you don’t like,’ you said curtly, throwing him a glare as you added, ‘I mean haven’t we all gone out of our comfort zone.’

‘That’s not the same,’ Sirius scoffed.

‘Isn’t it?’ you challenged.

‘You know it isn’t,’ he replied darkly. 

‘Feels like it’s one rule for the boys one for me,’ you said firmly. 

‘Babe you it’s not like that you know it’s not,’ James said softly. Sirius however didn’t seem to be caving, his jaw clenched at the accusation. 

‘Look,’ he started.

‘You know what forget it,’ you snapped, pulling away from the table and slamming your chair under it no doubt knocking a couple of knees as you did not that anyone complained. In fact the other boys looked worried, Remus especially as he said, ‘aren’t you going to eat your dinner?’

 ‘I’m not hungry,’ you lied, storming off to your bedroom, the door slamming behind you.

As James and Remus looked towards Sirius they found him on his feet too, grabbing his coat from where he’d hung it and shrugging it on. 

‘Mate come on,’ Remus grumbled. Sirius ignored him, heading to the fireplace.

‘Where are you going?’ James asked, turning so that he could see him.

‘Out,’ Sirius said and before they could protest he disappeared through green flame. 

✵✵✵

‘I still don’t think they’re good together,’ James said, his voice rumbling against your belly where his head was resting, your fingers running through his messy locks soothingly.

‘I don’t mind them,’ you said, trying not to giggle and tease him about the fact he’d maintained he had no interest in watching the soap you were currently watching.

‘Hmm,’ he muttered neither in agreement nor rebuttal. 

Before you could say anything though the door clicked open, making him lift his head from your stomach, and Sirius appeared in the doorway. Though James had been on your side, telling you how he agreed Sirius was being unreasonable he straightened up, no doubt aiming to be peacemaker as he said, ‘hey mate.’

‘Hey,’ Sirius said hesitantly, frowning as you refused to look in his direction. Nevertheless he cleared his throat and continued, ‘can I borrow you for a minute?’

‘Uh yeah sure,’ James said scrambling off you though as Sirius threw him a look James said, ‘oh you don’t mean me.’

You glanced their way for a fraction of a second before turning your attention back to the screen, thankful neither of them saw it. Sirius sighed and leant on the door frame, ‘are you still not talking to me?’

‘Are you still being selfish?’ you replied, your eyes still ahead, arms folded across your chest.

‘Guys,’ James sighed.

‘No actually,’ Sirius said cutting him off and earning a scoff from you. With a sigh he walked forward towards the bed, sitting down on the edge of it as he said, ‘would you just come into the living room? Please?’

You watched him for a moment, his grey eyes pleading with you in a way that made your heart thump. It was enough to make you let your guard down as you sighed and said, ‘fine.’ 

He climbed up before you heading to the door with you and James following him out into the living room. You were still miffed at him but more annoyed at yourself for being so malleable when it came to any of them playing on your heart strings. 

‘Now I understand if you don’t like it but there wasn’t much I could do at this time of night,’ Sirius said, turning to face you. Your gaze skimmed the living room, clocking Remus who was sitting on the couch but nothing that gave you any clues as to what he was talking about. As he watched you his face grew nervous.

‘Well?’ he asked, still you weren’t sure but before you could ask him what the hell he was on about you heard a little mewling chirp. Your eyes immediately flew in the direction of the noise where you found a tiny kitten trotting around on Remus’ lap, tiny claws clinging from his jumper as it threw itself about.

‘Oh my god!’ you squealed, racing forward to scoop the tiny little thing off of Remus’ lap. It wriggled about in your arms as you fawned over it.

‘Hi sweetheart, oh my god, hi, hi,’ you cooed, cuddling it to you, ‘oh my god aren’t you cute!’

‘It’s a good job he is otherwise he’d be long gone given how many times he’s scratched me on the way over here,’ Sirius grumbled, making you look up from your fit of fawning.

‘Aw sweetie do you not like the big doggy,’ you teased, earning a mew from the tiny black kitten in your arms. 

‘And yet he’s been awful fond of the big bad wolf,’ Sirius joked earning a chuckle from you all. You smiled and decanted the kitten into Remus’ arms so that you could go to him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he held you to him, a smirk playing on his lips.  That was also the beauty of your relationship, whenever you did argue or disagree about something it never lasted long.

‘Hi,’ he said, moving a strand of hair from your face.

‘Hi,’ you replied.

‘Did I do alright?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘Sirius this is amazing,’ you whispered, ‘thank you so much.’

‘Yeah well it’s good to get out your comfort zone I suppose,’ he shrugged. 

‘You might be right,’ you said, leaning in to kiss him tenderly, ‘are you sure we just want one?’

‘Don’t push it,’ he mumbled into your lips. 

SIRIUS BLACK TAGS

@caitlin1996

[hd-hurtcomfort-fest]

***Announcing HD Hurt/Comfort Fest!***

HD Hurt/Comfort is an 18+ anonymous prompt-based fest that welcomes creations from both the angsty and fluffy ends of the trope spectrum.

This fest was born from the idea that with darkness comes light, and that with hurt comes comfort. We believe that to every yin there is a yang, that every Jekyll has a Hyde. And through this fest we hope to achieve contentment with that balance. To that end, we will encourage and accept the following submissions:

100% angst

100% fluff

A hurt/comfort combination 

The main pairing for all submissions is Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter. Participants may include any side-pairings, threesomes and/or original characters, as long as the final submission is still a Drarry-centric piece.

Follow us for fest information! Rules and detailed guidelines coming soon!

Important dates to add to your calendar:

Prompting: Apr 2 - 30 Claiming: May 4 - July 1 Submissions due: Aug 2 Posting begins: Aug 23 Reveals: September

Your HD/HC Mods,

@orangepellets, @peachpety, @vukovich banner art by @basiatlu

[dreamcubed]

lover | mattheo riddle x reader

song; lover [taylor swift] pairing; duke!mattheo riddle x fem!baronet's daughter!reader genre; marriage of convenience, s2l, fluff, angst, hurt comfort word count; 9,1k timeline; bridgerton au (again lol) warnings; abusive parents (verbal, neglect, psychological), implied anxiety, panic attacks, near death experience (illness) summary; born into a loveless family, you had been denied the opportunity to marry for many years. that was, until, a duke noticed your situation and gave your parents an offer that they simply couldn't refuse - but would it be a love match?

suggested by @fictionisjustbetter ! (sorry this took so long)

icl mattheo is just so perfect for period aus

masterlist

"all's well that ends well to end up with you."

———————————————

Sir Vincent Malton was a baronet and nothing more. Of course, while being a low title, it was still a part of the aristocracy, which was much better than the alternative. He took his role very seriously, as his father before him had, and his father before him.

So, when the first Lady Malton of his passed during childbirth having sired not an heir, but a daughter, he had arranged for a new wife to marry ready for his first day of it being considered acceptable to be out of mourning. The second Lady Malton of his was more successful in the heir department: during her first pregnancy, she sired twins, both a boy and a girl. And then after two more girls (of separate pregnancies), she had another boy. Sir Vincent Malton then finally felt safe in the security of his baronetcy lineage.

But he never spoke to any of his six children. He left them up to the second Lady Malton, including his firstborn, who was not her blood. Where other ladies would have accepted their stepchildren as their own, Lady Daria Malton did not. As far she was concerned, Y/N was not her child and thus not her problem. But Sir Vincent was a traditional man who saw the children as the mother's business, so she kept up appearances to continue her life of comfort.

Sir Vincent didn't even bother with the marriage mart, instructing his wife to simply inform him when a suitor (with a title) proposed to any one of his daughters. And Lady Malton had - with her own eldest daughter, Samantha, when a baron asked for her hand. He was twice her age, but Lady Malton (like her husband) cared about title more than anything. Samantha was quickly married off to her new life as a baroness.

One thing Sir Vincent didn't know was that Lady Malton had never officially debuted Y/N. She brought her along to more casual soirées that other non-debutantes attended to keep up appearances, but as far as the one-and-twenty-year-old's actual debut - well, it was significantly overdue. The thing was, Y/N had received callers after such events before, but callers were received by the baronetess and not the baronet, and she quickly sent them away. Thus, the actual stage of proposal was never reached, so Lady Malton was by all technicalities following her husband's instruction.

Y/N knew that it was unfair, that her stepmother's abuse was unjust. She didn't see why she couldn't just allow someone to propose and get her out of the home: Lady Malton clearly didn't like her, so why not be rid of her?

But, she supposed, someone like Lady Malton must quite enjoy having a scapegoat around to target their frustrations at.

***

"Last year was a tremendous success by all means," Lady Malton spoke as her lady's maid attended to her corset, "To have Samantha married off in her first year as a debutante was a splendid result."

Y/N subtly rolled her eyes: Samantha was eighteen and her husband almost forty, it really shouldn't have been a permitted pairing. But, her husband was a baron, and title was all Lord & Lady Malton cared for. They couldn't choose to be fussy as the lowest titleholders of the aristocracy.

"Thus, Y/N, I do not wish you to cause any interference," she explained further, glaring at you through her reflection in the mirror, "I am bringing you along to Lady Bridgerton's birthday soirée out of necessity, as she always includes young ladies of whom have not made their debut."

You knew that: you had attended Lady Bridgerton's birthday event the year prior for the same reason.

"Rumour has it the Duke of Covenshire has returned from his travels to the Americas and will be attending tonight," she proceeded, "And it would simply be marvellous if Grace could secure him as a match in her first year as a debutante."

You glanced over at Grace, sat at the dresser as her lady's maid applied her makeup. She was putting on a remarkably brave face, but you could tell that she was nervous: she was too young to debut. After Samantha's success, Lady Malton had felt confident enough to debut Grace at only seven-and-ten. It wasn't entirely uncommon, but typically Mamas waited until their daughters were at least one year older.

Meanwhile you were one-and-twenty and still yet to have your debut. At this rate you would be a spinster before you had even entered the marriage mart.

You looked to your other side at Tia, your youngest sister at fourteen, who was more than thrilled to be allowed to attend that night. You never saw your brothers, really: Vincent (creatively named after your father) was away at Cambridge, and Henry, the youngest of the lot, was away at Eton.

"Right, is the carriage ready?" Lady Malton snapped at one of the servants, who quickly nodded.

And then with a curt bob of her head, the baronetess proceeded over to the door - a silent instruction for her daughters to follow - and they all headed to the front of Malton House, the London lodgings of the family.

***

"Lady Bridgerton! How good to see you," Lady Malton beamed at the dowager viscountess, "Such a lovely soirée."

"Why thank you, Lady Malton," the kind woman replied, "Pleased to see all your daughters could make it."

"Oh, is Samantha here already?"

"I believe Lady Halterton is over there," Lady Bridgerton vaguely pointed in a direction, "But how are all the Miss Maltons?"

"Grace is excited to make a match this year," the poor girl was pushed forward, "With any luck, she shall follow in her sister's footsteps."

"And what of the oldest Miss Malton?"

You looked up and gave Lady Bridgerton a hesitant smile.

"You know how Y/N is - still doesn't want to debut," Lady Malton sighed, "At this rate she shall be a spinster before even trying for marriage. But, we love her and support her decisions."

You scoffed internally, wanting nothing more than to blaspheme at your stepmother in that moment.

The conversation with Lady Bridgerton wrapped up and the focus then became the considering of various potential suitors. It was the first social event that you had the privilege of attending since the year prior, so you fully planned to savour the moments you were free from the house.

And then the room hushed into whispers as the door opened, it being remarkably noticeable how all the ambitious eyes of the Mamas zoned in on one particular man gracing the room with his presence.

"That's him- that's the duke!" Lady Malton whispered, mainly to Grace, but anyone close by could have heard her.

"Gosh, he's handsome," Tia mumbled to your left, "Shame I'm too young."

You kept your eyes glued on to the pale man with curly brown hair gelled somewhat neatly. His eyes were narrowed like that of a cat's, and his very presence commanded authority - yet he was polite to every hopeful Mama who approached him. Dismissive, but polite.

"Ah, Lady Bridgerton," he spoke, near enough to you for you to hear his gruff monotone voice as he bent over to kiss the dowager viscountess's hand, "Thank you for the invitation, and happy birthday."

"It is an honour you attended, your grace."

The man nodded, chatting to her for a few moments longer as the noise and bustle returned to the room, so you couldn't hear the rest of it.

"Now is our chance," your stepmother said as the duke's conversation wrapped up. She quickly sped towards him. "Your grace!"

The duke paused, and half-turned so he was fully facing your brood.

"Lady Malton, Baronetess of Catury," she curtsied, "And this is my daughter, Grace," she gestured towards the girl.

When his eyes flicked to Tia, she hurried to introduce her, but when his eyes flicked to you, she remained silent.

"And you are?" he inquired.

Your eyes widened: you were rarely spoken to, "Y/N- Miss Y/N Malton," you corrected.

"Don't pay her any mind, your grace," your stepmother quickly said, pinching you in the side as subtly as she could which made you flinch - as it always did. You didn't notice the way the duke's beady eyes followed the interaction. "She isn't a debutante."

"She looks old enough to be." He was clearly referencing the fact you obviously had a few years on Grace.

"It is her own choice."

You couldn't help the scowl that itched at your eyebrows, and the duke couldn't help but notice it.

"Would you care for a dance with Grace?"

The duke's eyes flicked over your sister again, "I have no intentions of dancing this evening- if you excuse me."

And with that, he departed, just to be ambushed by yet another Mama.

Your stepmother turned and glared at you, "You ruined Grace's chances."

"I didn't do anything," you said simply.

"You spoke. You know you're not supposed to."

"He asked me a question."

"I respond to the questions about you."

"Mama," Grace interrupted, shooting you a sympathetic look, "Is that the Earl of Kilmartin over there?"

Lady Malton's head snapped in that direction, "So it is! He has returned from India."

You couldn't be more grateful to Grace for the distraction.

***

"Saunders," the duke, Mattheo, called from his work study in Riddle Manor, his London residence. It was merely a couple hours after he had returned from Lady Bridgerton's soirée.

The secretary hurried into the office, "Yes, your grace?"

"What do you know of the Malton family?"

Saunders paused, "Sir Vincent Malton?"

Mattheo nodded.

"He is married to Dame Daria Malton and has six children. He attended Eton and Cambridge, studying history."

"And of his children?"

"Two sons and four daughters, I believe."

"And what of Miss Y/N Malton?"

The secretary immediately recognised the name, "She is the oldest, your grace. She is one-and-twenty and well-known for not having debuted yet."

Mattheo frowned, leaning back in his chair, "Is there a way in which she is different from her siblings?"

"I-" the secretary thought for a moment, "I believe she has a different mother than her younger siblings, if that's what you mean."

"Lady Malton is not her mother?"

"Well, yes and no. The current Lady Malton is not her mother, but the Lady Malton before her was. She passed in childbirth, I believe."

Mattheo hummed, "I see."

"Is that all, your grace?"

"Prepare the carriage to journey to Malton House tomorrow morning, Saunders, and locate my mother's engagement ring."

Saunders' eyes widened, but he quickly nodded, "Of course, your grace."

Nothing made Mattheo angrier than cruel parents.

***

Lady Malton and Grace were up bright and early the next day, as all debutantes and their Mamas were after a social event. They were to dress in some of their nicer but not so fancy attire ready to sit in the upstairs drawing room in await for any callers they may receive in the downstairs drawing room. You, however, stayed tucked nicely into bed until a more reasonable hour, since your stepmother certainly wouldn't want to catch sight of you until lunchtime - if then.

Still, you rose from your slumber at around eleven o'clock and called for your lady's maid, getting dressed in a simple baby blue piece that you had purchased a few years ago. You rarely got new dresses under Lady Malton's reign.

"I'll take my breakfast in here, please, Melinda," you smiled.

***

The Duke of Covenshire had been up at an exceptionally early hour, having taken a ride on his favourite stallion at sunrise, to then return to his city house and retreat to his office for a few hours accompanied by some breakfast.

He was still there at eleven o'clock.

"Your grace," Saunders began after having knocked on the door, "The carriage is ready for you."

"And the ring?" the duke inquired.

"Here," the secretary presented it, "It was still safely in the dowager duchess's bed chamber."

Mattheo had seen no point in keeping it anywhere else since that room had remained unoccupied for quite some time now.

"Excellent," he murmured, "Now, let us make haste."

***

It wasn't a long journey to Malton House, so really it was no time at all by the time that the Covenshire carriage pulled up to the smaller but still grand home. There were two or three other carriages parked outside, likely belonging to other potential suitors.

Mattheo wasn't worried: he was a duke, after all, and the Maltons were merely baronets. They would jump at the opportunity to marry a daughter off to be a duchess.

After knocking on the door, he was greeted by a short balding man with a seemingly permanently curved eyebrow.

"Here for Miss Malton?" he asked.

"Yes," Mattheo replied, although he had a feeling they weren't referring to the same one.

"Name?"

"Mattheo Riddle, Duke of Covenshire."

The butler's eyes widened, "Right this way, your grace."

Mattheo was led through the hallway into the downstairs drawing room, where Lady Malton and Grace were perched on an orange settee. On the other side of Grace sat an older gentleman, meanwhile on the settee sat across from them were two others. One of them was roughly the same age as the first, whereas the other was much younger - closer to Grace's age.

"Your grace," Lady Malton instantly said, shooting up to curtsy.

"Lady Malton," Mattheo nodded, "May I speak with Sir Vincent?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the baronetess said with widened eyes, "I'll go fetch him at once."

Typically she would have sent a servant to complete such a task, but clearly the shock had consumed her to the point she sprung into action. Once she had departed the room, Mattheo turned his eyes to Grace and the other three gentlemen who were all staring at him curiously.

"Who are you gentlemen?" he asked.

"Edward Cann, Viscount of Sancourt," one of the older gentlemen introduced.

"Gareth Warner," the other older one spoke.

Mattheo couldn't help but question the audacity of an older man to pursue the hand of such a young woman when he didn't even possess a title. Still, his eyes turned to the youngest man.

"Sir Charles Robinson, Baronet of Rackney."

"And how old are you?" his eyes were still on Charles.

"Twenty, your grace."

Mattheo hummed, that was more appropriate for Grace. Unusual for a man to seek a wife at such an age, but not unheard of.

"Lord Cann and Mr Warner," he began, and they perked up at his address, "May I ask what the devil men of your age are doing pursuing such a young woman?"

They were clearly taken aback by his blunt honesty, as were the servants littered around the room.

"I certainly will have to rethink my family's business with your estates in light of such news."

And with apologies to Grace and Mattheo, the two older gentlemen quickly vanished from the room, moments before the Lord & Lady of the house made an appearance.

"Your grace," Sir Vincent spoke, holding out his hand, which Mattheo shook, "To what do I owe the honour?"

"May we proceed to a more private location?"

"Of course, right this way."

"Your presence won't be required any longer, Sir Charles," Lady Malton said, clearly confused at the absence of the two other gentlemen.

Mattheo interrupted, "Oh, I'm sure it will, Lady Malton. I wouldn't dismiss the young gentleman."

Before she could ask what he meant, he was being led out the drawing room and to the baronet's office.

"I believe you know what I am here for," Mattheo stated simply, after declining the offer of brandy.

"I shouldn't want to get my hopes up, your grace."

"I would like your daughter's hand in marriage."

Sir Vincent nodded, "Of course, I shall dower her fairly-"

"Unnecessary. I have no use for a dowry, no matter the size."

"Oh- okay," the baronet paused, "Which daughter is this?"

Mattheo almost frowned: was Sir Vincent not aware of his daughter's status in society? Perhaps he left such matters up to his wife.

"Miss Y/N Malton."

"You're the first suitor that we have received for her."

The duke's breath hitched.

"This is such a relief - of course, we will arrange the wedding right away."

"I would like to marry her quickly," Mattheo said, "We will need to procure a special license."

Sir Vincent nodded, "Whatever you wish, your grace. It is an honour to be your father-in-law."

Mattheo turned to leave after saying his thanks, but paused and faced the baronet again, "You should definitely consider Sir Charles Robinson to marry Miss Grace Malton, he is a fine young man."

The baronet was clearly confused at such a statement, but absently nodded nonetheless.

***

You had been shocked when your father called you down to the drawing room: you couldn't remember the last time that he had requested your presence. Not that he requested your sisters' presences either, you were pretty sure your brother Vincent was the only of his children he spoke to.

"Excellent news for our family," he began, with Lady Malton looking thrilled at what she expected him to say, "Excellent news indeed."

You almost rolled your eyes, expecting that you had simply been called down to receive the announcement of Grace's engagement.

"The Duke of Covenshire has proposed."

Lady Malton stood up, "This is fabulous news! Well done, Grace."

"No," Sir Vincent silenced his wife, "Well done, Y/N."

Your head snapped up.

What?

"Whatever do you mean, Father?"

"His grace has asked for your hand in marriage," you had never seen your father so happy, "And naturally I accepted."

Lady Malton stood in absolute horror.

"I was beginning to become worried about your lack of proposals," he continued, unaware of his wife's reaction, "But clearly God was holding out in await for this massive surprise."

"But- what about Grace?" Lady Malton finally spluttered out.

"I am in the process of discussing that matter with Sir Charles Robinson, the duke recommended him himself."

You noticed the way Grace smiled to herself at that and looked abashedly to the ground. Clearly she was happy with such an arrangement - had the duke known that and so used his influence to help her?

"His grace wishes to be married quickly."

And thus, at the end of the week, you were married.

***

You had no idea what a honeymoon night was supposed to entail. Typically, a Mama would give a bride-to-be 'the talk' the night before her wedding, but Lady Malton would never do such a motherly thing for you. Thus, you were left completely clueless.

Plus, apart from the exchange of your vows, you had hardly spoken to the duke before, so you really didn't know where the evening was going to take you as you stepped out of the carriage outside Riddle Manor. You were both to spend the night in his London home before beginning the three day journey to his countryside residence the next day. It was a typical agenda for newly weds.

You were introduced to the various staff, including your new lady's maids - you now had two of them, as opposed to one - before you were both led through to the dining room. Your eyes fell on the long dining table, with the two distanced ends laid and nothing more.

You grimaced.

"Is salmon not to your tastes?" your husband asked you.

"Tis a very formal set up," you explained simply, but said nothing more as you assumed one of the seats.

"I mostly take dinner in my work study, so this will be a rare occurrence."

You ate the entire meal in silence, and then it was time to be shown your bed chambers.

"This is the duchess' chamber," he gestured to the door, "You may redecorate it however you so wish."

You hummed.

"My chamber is next door - we have an adjoining door, of course."

You said nothing.

"Are you going to enter?"

"But what of our consummation?" you asked.

Mattheo paused - he hadn't expected you to be so blunt.

"Lady Malton did not give me a talk like she was supposed to," you explained, somewhat shyly, "I do not know what is meant to happen, but I know that something must."

"Right," he said slowly, "We will consummate."

***

You lay awake in bed next to the duke the next morning, unable to get the memories of the night prior out of your head. Never would you have guessed that that was how babies were made, something that felt so heavenly, so good. But, you were also confused, many women muttered about it in fear, as if their consummation was unenjoyable.

Perhaps it differed with each man. Regardless, with Mattheo, it was completely and entirely soul-consuming, and you wished to experience it a countless number of times over.

A knock sounded on the door, "Your graces, breakfast is ready."

Mattheo was still sound asleep, "We'll take it in here," you replied.

You weren't used to having power in a household.

Also, how did the servant know you weren't in the duchess' bed chamber?

Mattheo woke up once the servants had wheeled in the breakfast selection, and once you were both loosely dressed, you began eating. It was then that he began speaking.

"Now is as good a time as any to set out the details of this marriage," he said, making you look up from your eggs, "I married you because I can't stand when parents mistreat their children."

Your heart warmed at that: he had noticed how Lady Malton treated you?

"I do not intend for love, but obviously at some point there will need to be an heir," he said, "You may have conceived last night, but it is unlikely. In the probable case that you haven't, we can wait a couple years to produce one should you so wish."

You thought over what he was saying - perhaps part of you had hoped that he had fallen in love with you at first sight, but you knew that was childish. This was a marriage of convenience.

"I only have one condition when it comes to children," you said slowly.

"Which is?"

"That you are an involved father," you said, "Like the Bridgertons are known for being."

Memories flashed through Mattheo's mind of his childhood: his father's coldness and distance all throughout the years until he returned from Cambridge a grown man. Only then did the late duke want anything to do with his son.

"I shall be involved," he said.

***

You couldn't look Mattheo in the eyes, you soon realised. He scared you, not in the way that Lady Malton had, but in a way you didn't quite understand. He made you nervous, made you unable to speak more than a few words at a time. Not that you did speak much: the entire journey to Covenshire Hall had been very much one of silence. The only sound to accompany you was the wheels and hooves against the cobbled roads.

The nights were spent in inns, in separate bed chambers.

Covenshire Hall was enormous: far bigger than the Catury estate that you had spent half your childhood on. It made sense, obviously, you were no longer a mere baronet's daughter, but a duchess.

"Your graces," the butler greeted you as you stepped out the carriage, "Welcome."

"Dantle," Mattheo replied, "Gather all the servants in the entrance hall."

"Right away, your grace."

The man disappeared inside, and you soon had entered through the same doors that he had, to be greeted by the largest entry room that you had ever seen. Symmetrical stairs curved around the walls either side of you, carpeted in plush blue velvet. The walls were decorated in a branch-design, but the once deep maroon colour had faded over time: it was evident to you that there hadn't been a lady of the house in quite a few years.

And then, quite quickly, the room filled with lines of house staff - more than you had ever seen for one household before. You were introduced to them all, including the primary housekeeper, Ms Godley. She was an older woman, with mostly grey hair that still held evidence of her brunette days, and a lightly wrinkled face that seemed more to do with the permanent pursing of her lips rather than age. Her eyebrows were ghastly thin, much like the rest of her, which could only be described as bony. She wore a pleated black dress down to her ankles, suggesting that she was in mourning.

You smiled politely at her, but she did not return it.

"I will leave you in her capable hands," your husband said to you, "She will provide a tour of the grounds."

"Where are you going?" you couldn't help but ask.

"My office."

You watched as he left, before turning back to Ms Godley.

"Where shall we begin?" you asked, attempting to be friendly.

***

You didn't like Ms Godley - not one bit. She reminded you of your stepmother, except this time you didn't even have younger siblings to provide a distraction. It was quite evident that she wasn't particularly fond of you either, although you had no idea what you could have done.

"This is the nursery," the woman said tightly, "It has been empty for some years now."

Gazing around the room of faded yellows and purples, you were cast back to when you were in your nursery, though you always got the short end of the stick when it came to beds. Nonetheless, it had been a relatively pleasant time for you, back when your sisters were too young to notice that Lady Malton treated you differently, so you would all play together as children do.

You didn't want any of your children to feel left out.

"Your grace," Ms Godley said curtly, "We don't have all day."

You sighed, exiting the room.

***

Loneliness was a familiar emotion to you, so a week of solitude in Covenshire Hall wasn't all that much of a change from your old life, other than the fact you now had servants waiting on your hand and foot. Although, you were growing quite bored: at least with the Maltons, you were always distracted by gauging your stepmother's mood.

You decided that you needed a distraction, and since the prestigious house was in desperate need of a fresh lick of paint, you landed on redecorating.

"You called for me, your grace?" Ms Godley stood before you in the duchess' office that you had taken to using regularly.

"Yes," you stood up, walking around your desk, "I have a matter to discuss with you."

It took everything in you to act courageous in front of a woman so similar to Lady Malton.

"I wish to redecorate the house," you said simply.

By some miracle, Ms Godley's lips pursed even more.

"Starting with the entrance hall - since that is the first room guests see, then-"

"No."

You paused - was she allowed to say that to you? "No?"

"No. This estate is not a part of your lineage, you have no right to tamper with it."

The amount of bravery that it had taken for you to have this conversation with her, just for her to pull a line that sounded so eerily similar to Lady Malton's.

"I am the lady of the house," you said, but it was obvious you weren't speaking as surely of yourself as moments prior.

"The dowager duchess was never permitted to redecorate either," she said, "And I imagine that the late duke would especially not want somebody as measly as a baronet's daughter interfering with his heritage."

You stood in shock for a few moments, eventually managing to splutter out, "You are excused."

Once she was gone, you finally gave in to the panic consuming you, feeling your breath beginning to dramatically labour and push against your corset. You felt trapped, suffocated, like you had your entire childhood, and you didn't like it. You had to escape.

So, you did.

You weren't running away by any means: you just needed fresh air, and the woods on the Covenshire grounds seemed perfect to hide away for a while. Just a couple days ago, you had taken a walk through them. Of course, that was on one of the paths that navigated between the trees, this time you simply started running straight ahead once you breached the tree line.

But you could only go so far when you had to hitch up your thick heavy skirts to make progress, so it wasn't long before you collapsed against a tree, your lungs pounding against your rib cage which were in turn pounding against your corset.

It was then that floods poured out of your eyes and down your cheeks, leaving a sticky, puffy trail behind.

You should have known better.

Just because you were a duchess didn't mean you suddenly had control over your own life.

You failed to notice the looming grey clouds gathering above, up until the sky thundered, and the familiar trickle of heavy rain commenced.

***

Mattheo was sat in his office, going over estate finances, when a knock sounded on the door.

"Your grace?"

He hated being interrupted during work, but still said a grumbled, "Come in."

"I am so sorry to disturb you, your grace," Dantle said, bowing his head, "But the duchess appears to be missing."

Mattheo's head shot up, "Missing, you say?"

"Ms Godley was the last one to speak to her, approximately two hours ago."

"Where has she gone?" the duke was now standing up.

Dantle appeared uncomfortable, "I do not know, your grace. Apparently she ran down into the woods."

"Ran?" Mattheo felt his blood boil, "Have you gone out to look for her?"

"No, your grace, the storm-"

"The storm?" he saw red, "The bloody storm?" He then let out a sound somewhat adjacent to a growl before pushing past Dantle out his office.

He was going to find his wife.

***

You probably had pneumonia or something at this rate, you thought to yourself. Your body was completely freezing and soaked, and your lack of cloak was becoming apparent as a massive problem in terms of your well-being. You should have gone back inside the second the rain started, but that was when you were still in the depths of your upset. It wasn't until you were too cold to move did you calm down a bit more.

To be honest, you were about ready to accept your fate.

"Y/N!" a faint cry came from nearby, and as much as you wanted to call out and alert them of your location, your voice was weak.

By some miracle, the man - your husband - managed to locate you.

"Y/N, oh, God," he blasphemed, "Are you okay? What are you doing out here?"

You couldn't even reply.

Mattheo scooped you up into his arms and began making haste back towards the mansion that you shared.

"Stay with me," he murmured at irregular intervals, right up until you felt the warmth of a fireplace hit you on the cheeks. You were in your bed chamber, you realised, upon noticing the faded floral pink wall decor.

Your skin was so numb you hardly felt your husband begin to peel off all items of your clothing, including your undergarments. Typically, you would have felt embarrassed, but you were completely spent.

As he picked you up again and carried you through to the bathroom, where a bath had been prepared, you couldn't help but curl into him.

"I ordered it be run before I went to find you," he said softly - the softest you had ever heard him speak.

The warmth of the water felt heavenly.

"What happened, darling?"

You shivered, this time not because of the cold, but because of the nickname.

"Godley," you forced out between your blue lips.

"Ms Godley? What did she do?" he asked as he began to wet your hair.

"I wan- wanted to redecorate the house," your teeth were chattering, "She said I couldn't change anything."

Mattheo said nothing.

"It's- it's the way she said it," you clarified, not wanting him to think you were a brat who had simply been told 'no', "She was so mean."

"How did she say it?" you didn't miss the edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"She said it would upset the- the late duke - and that- that he especially wouldn't want a measly baronet's daughter to-" you choked on re-emerging sobs, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, my love," you felt him press a kiss to your forehead, "I will handle this."

***

After you had warmed up in the bath and been wrapped up in thick clothing, Mattheo gently escorted you to one of the larger drawing rooms, where, to your horror, every single staff member of the house was gathered. Including Ms Godley.

"It has come to my attention that the duchess is not receiving the respect she deserves in this household," your husband sent an icy glare in the housekeeper's direction, "As the lady of the house, it is her right to decorate our rooms however she so pleases."

Ms Godley's lips pursed.

"The redecoration that her grace desires will commence immediately," Mattheo gave a forced smile, "Follow her every instruction. Any questions?"

"What of the late duke?" Ms Godley asked.

"What of a man of whom is dead?"

"Surely you should respect his wishes."

"How I choose to treat my father's wishes is none of your concern, Ms Godley. You are overstepping."

The old woman opened her mouth to say something, but decidedly shut it before saying, "My apologies, your grace."

"Apologise to my wife as well."

"My apologies," Ms Godley gave a stiff curtsy.

You had been glancing nervously between your husband and the housekeeper throughout the entire exchange, feeling overwhelmingly put on the spot. It was the second after Ms Godley apologised to you that your chest tightened and you erupted in a coughing fit.

"Darling?" Mattheo asked worriedly as you fell forward.

"Can't- breathe-" you choked out.

You felt a hand press to your forehead.

"She's overheating," the duke said loudly, "Help me get her to bed. And call the doctor."

Murmurs of, "Right away, your grace," came in reply.

"You're going to be okay," Mattheo said softly to you as he picked you up for the millionth time that day, "You must be."

***

The doctors concluded that you were pneumonic, which had been what everyone suspected but were too scared to say in front of you. But, you weren't an idiot, and understood what your symptoms meant.

There was a good chance that you would die.

It was dark outside: it often was when you came to from your fever dream episodes, for a few minutes of painful consciousness. You lurched up in bed, quickly producing horrific gurgling coughs and splutters, unable to stop yourself from groaning in pain in between. Tears pricked at your eyes as you placed a hand on your chest, your blurred vision just about making out the duke running in from the door between your bed chambers.

Mattheo grabbed the cloth from your bedside table and dipped it into the pot of water placed for this occasion, hurrying to press it to your burning forehead. You let out a brief sigh of relief, before you began coughing again.

He rubbed your back, "You can get through this."

You weren't sure if you could, in fact, you felt deathly, as it were. But, your husband's words gave you a sense of strength and hope, and it was all you could do but nod after the coughing subsided.

"If- if I make it," you murmured, falling back on to the pillows. Your voice was low and cracked. "Please- may we go to London?"

"Whatever for?"

"I..." you trailed off, "I would like to make friends."

And before Mattheo could question you further, you drifted back into unconsciousness and shallow breathing.

***

It was three days later, on a chilly but sunny morning, when you awoke naturally instead of being forced awake by coughs. Your breathing felt stronger, and you weren't overheating, which was the best feeling you had felt in forever.

You heard voices outside your door.

"Is she doing any better, your grace?" who you assumed to be the doctor asked.

"We were about to check," your husband's familiar voice replied.

The door opened, and you blinked a few times to clear your vision as the two men approached you.

"Mattheo," you said softly, your words still sore to speak.

"You're awake," he said simply, pressing his hand to your forehead. The physical contact comforted you.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.

"Better."

He raised his eyebrows, "In what way?"

"Every way."

He performed a more thorough examination, and concluded that while you likely still had a couple more days of illness, you had pushed through the worst of it and were well on your way to recovery. You were relieved to hear that, but even more relieved to finally be able to take a bath and and cleanse yourself.

"You wanted to return to London," Mattheo said simply at dinner that night, as he was taking it in your room with you.

"I said that?" you asked. You knew that it was what you wished to do, you just couldn't recall mentioning it to your husband.

He hummed, "While you were feverish."

He had been taking care of you?

"Well, yes- I wish to finally have a social circle."

"You mentioned that also."

You said nothing.

"Once you are fully returned to health, we shall make the journey," he said simply.

You couldn't help but beam, "Really?"

"Really."

"Thank you- thank you so much."

He shook his head, as if to say 'don't thank me'.

"I'm so glad you're my husband."

Mattheo chuckled, "I'll take care of you no matter what, darling."

***

Two weeks later, and the doctor had determined that you were back to being healthy and thus your convalescence was able to come to an end. It was then arranged for you and Mattheo to return to London for the remainder of the season but three days later, once you would have passed an appropriate honeymoon duration. While you were terribly excited to be able to properly socialise, you were also nervous. For one, your stepmother would be there, and for two, you weren't that experienced with the correct customs for socialising. The only comforting factor was that your husband would be there with you: a man who you held a lot of adoration for, and felt an immense amount of comfort from.

After the pneumonia episode, he hadn't distanced himself quite so much. Granted, you still hadn't engaged in your wedding night type of intimacy again yet, but you ate meals together, and frequently found yourself wandering over to his bed chamber in the night. The first time you had done it, it had been most nerve-wracking.

It had been a few days since you had snapped out of the fever dream episode, and were feeling much more energetic. Unfortunately, you had also been dealing with bouts of insomnia, which you suspected had something to do with your fear of falling asleep and re-entering the fever dream. Like usual, you found yourself up at the early hours of the morning, only the exhaustion was catching up to you and you could feel your chest tighten as hysteric panic began to set in.

Before you completely freaked out, you forced yourself up and over to the adjoining door, aiming to seek comfort from Mattheo even if the prospect of doing so petrified you. He stirred the second that you entered the room, at least it appeared like he did from what you could make out in the shadows. "Y/N?" he murmured.

You let out a sob.

"Come here," he said without hesitation and you gladly obliged, finding that you could finally drift into a slumber once in his arms.

And, thus, you went to him whenever you couldn't sleep.

But, now, you were in the carriage back to London, with your hands folded neatly in your lap and your husband sat across from you. You weren't sure why, but there was an awkward silence present.

***

Mattheo was conflicted.

He didn't know why he cared so deeply for you, why he was so willing to aid you whenever you were in need.

A strangled, screaming part of himself deep inside knew exactly why he felt how he did, but the part of him that he listened to feigned ignorance and told him it was simply expected of him to take care of his wife.

But the thing that confused him the most was the fact he felt the urge to tell you about his childhood, about his father, and about the lack of family and love he had endured. Why would he want to tell you such personal information that didn't even matter any longer, since the cause of it was dead?

Why did you make him feel this way?

"Mattheo?" he looked up at you sat opposite him. Your voice sounded small and timid.

"Yes?"

"Are you mad at me?"

He could have sworn he actually felt the searing pain of his heart breaking at that moment. He wasn't sure he was capable of being mad at you. "Of course not, why ever would you think that?"

You gave a gentle shrug, "You're quieter than normal."

"I'm often quiet." It was true: he was often regarded as a grumpy and brooding individual.

"Yes," you said tightly, "But not like this."

It stunned him how easily you could read him, but, then again, maybe he had never been close enough to anyone for them to know him. Maybe his emotions were obvious to anyone who cared enough to try and figure them out.

"Do you not wish to return to London?"

Mattheo paused for a moment. He hadn't put any thought into whether or not he wanted to go back to the capital, but initially it seemed like an obvious answer since he had always despised the season. Overbearing Mamas and their brood of debutante daughters were his idea of hell, but now he felt different. He realised that he did in fact want to go to London, not just because he was now married and off the Mamas' radar, but because you wanted to go. Mattheo was faced with the overwhelming realisation that he simply wanted to do whatever you wanted to do.

"Oh, dear, you don't, do you? We can turn around," you said quickly, making him snap out of his thoughts.

"No," he rushed to say, "We shall go to London."

"But you don't want to go."

"I do."

"But-"

"We are going, and that's final."

You opened your mouth to say something more, but decided against it, and turned your gaze to out the window.

The rest of the journey was silent.

***

"We need to discuss the rules for our time here," Mattheo said once you had settled into Riddle Manor for some dinner.

"We do?"

He hummed, "I will not be attending every social event we are invited to."

"But- people will think our marriage is rocky if you're not with me. The ton will talk, they always do."

"I said not every social event," he reminded, "I will attend some."

"You have to attend the first one," you said, "That one is the most important."

Mattheo agreed, "Of course, but from then on, it will be events here and there. You are welcome to attend alone."

You deflated a bit, but nodded your head, "Maybe we can host a ball at some point."

His eyebrows raised. Riddle Manor hadn't been the location of a ball in almost thirty years - there had been no lady of the house to host it.

"Perhaps," he replied pensively.

***

The next social event, to Mattheo's great horror, was the infamous Smythe-Smith musicale. Otherwise known as a torturous cacophony of four tone-deaf girls of whom were trusted with instruments that should have undoubtably never been allowed within five feet of them. You had heard what the quartet were like, having never attended yourself, and - honestly - you were rather excited to finally be a part of an inside joke of the ton that you had been left out of. Your husband was not nearly so enthusiastic, having attended exactly twice before, but not for a good many years.

Unfortunately, as selfish a woman as Lady Malton was, she was more than willing to sacrifice her hearing in order to secure impressive marriages for all of her (biological) daughters. So, you weren't surprised to enter the Smythe-Smith ballroom and see her stood with Grace closely by her side.

"Introducing, the Duke and Duchess of Covenshire," the man stood by the door announced, making your half-sister and stepmother quickly turn their attentions in your direction.

You squeezed Mattheo's arm tightly, to which he patted your hand and nodded when your family members approached.

"Your grace," Lady Malton gave a gentle curtsy - to Mattheo, not you, "How fares your marriage?"

It was a question that bordered on the edge of improper for polite society. "Most excellent," the duke replied coolly, making you smile to yourself.

Lady Malton gave the politest smile her sour face could muster.

"What brings you here?" Mattheo asked, trying to gauge why Lady Malton would put herself through the Smythe-Smith musicale with no daughters on the marriage mart.

"Marriage prospects, of course."

"Is Miss Grace Malton not engaged to Sir Charles?" he asked.

"Well- uh- yes."

The duke raised an eyebrow at the woman, and you must say that you were thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

"They shall be married at the end of the week," she said reluctantly, "But until the vows are complete, things can change."

That was when you realised: Lady Malton was praying on securing a last-minute proposal from someone of a higher status than Sir Charles. If it meant marrying into more wealth and more powerful connections, surely your father would agree to it.

"You should come to the wedding," Grace blurted out, "We thought you would still be in the country, so we didn't send an invitation."

You knew the real reason that you hadn't received an invitation was because Lady Malton would have taken control of all the wedding arrangements, and you were most certainly not on her invite list. But, she couldn't revoke the invitation to the duke's face and in a public setting, so she forced herself to smile and agree.

"That would be lovely," you beamed, purposefully showing as much enthusiasm as possible, simply to upset your stepmother, "Now, if you excuse us, I wish to secure front row seats."

Multiple people around you stared at you like you were insane - they just wouldn't understand your motivations.

"Trust me, front row seats are never the ones that need to be fought for here," Mattheo whispered to you as you both moved over to the rows of chairs set up.

You shrugged, "You're sitting with me whether you like it or not."

"Ah, Lady Danbury," he spoke as you came face to face with the renowned old woman sat in the very central front seat.

"Your grace," she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Come to enjoy the musicale?" your husband asked, the sarcastic undertone impossible to miss - at least to you.

"But, of course," Lady Danbury smiled, "I attend every year."

You desperately wanted to enter the conversation, but you didn't know how.

"You're the eldest Miss Malton, aren't you?" she said towards you, making you freeze on the spot.

"Uh, yes - Lady Riddle now, actually."

She hummed, waving her cane around despite being sat, "Yes, Duchess of Covenshire. Quite grand, no?"

You awkwardly smiled.

The dowager countess turned her attentions back to Mattheo, "I must admit, I didn't think you would marry for quite some time, your grace."

"Nor did I," he simply replied, which for some reason, slightly hurt you. You had inconvenienced his life: you were a burden to him as a result of him being a good person.

"I fear that love does tend to have the effect of uprooting our lives," Lady Danbury said wistfully, a gentler emotion than you had ever witnessed on her from afar at the few social gatherings you had been allowed at.

Love.

"I only wish I had been so lucky as to have had it been with my husband."

You looked up in surprise. To be honest, you knew very little of the dowager countess' life: she had been a widow for as long as you had been alive, so it was hard to imagine her having a husband. All you knew was that she was widowed very young, and chose to never remarry. Part of you had assumed that it was because of how much she loved her husband, like the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. It was clear now that you were wrong, but you knew better than to pry.

"Alas, let us enjoy this musicale," she said with a glint in her eye, "It is meant to be a joyous occasion, after all."

You knew she said it sarcastically, but, for you, this was indeed a joyous occasion. You were more than thrilled to finally be a part of London society - the ton.

Sparing a glass in Mattheo's direction, you were surprised to see that he was already looking at you.

***

The duke did not attend another social event with you for the rest of the week, but almost every night you were out. It was strange, not needing to be chaperoned as a married woman, but you quite enjoyed it.

The first two events alone you spent as a wallflower - albeit a married one - which weren't so enjoyable. But, once people realised that the Duchess of Covenshire was present at the social events, you began attracting a lot of attention from fellow ladies who aspired to be friends with someone of such a powerful status. Soon, you were mingling with the ton as if you had always done so, although your social skills were still inept. Thankfully, most were willing to overlook this due to you being a duchess.

Then, your sister's wedding came around, and it meant that you would have your second outing with your husband accompanying you. That made you more excited than you were willing to admit.

"Blue is most becoming on you," Mattheo spoke from behind you, making you jump. You hadn't heard him enter your bed chamber.

"Thank you," you replied, "I had it tailored on Tuesday."

"How much?"

You blanched - it had been quite expensive. You had felt guilty at the time, but found it difficult to say no to the Madam who had been dressing you.

"Darling, you are free to spend my money, I am simply curious," he reassured you, "My wife deserves only the best, after all."

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. Was it normal - for you to feel this way towards your husband when it was merely a marriage of convenience? You were snapped out of your thoughts when he moved closer to you and began kissing along your neck.

"Mattheo," you murmured.

He hummed, "Shame you're already dressed," and then he reluctantly pulled back, "But, we must depart now anyway."

That was the first hint you had received that he wanted to repeat the intimacies of your consummation. And it made your skin feel hot and prickly.

***

Your half-sister was a gorgeous bride: her elegant dress matching her eye colour and making her glistening smile seem bright. It was obvious that she was elated to be with Sir Charles, the incredibly young baronet who hung off her every word. One could only describe it as a love match.

"Thank you," you said to Mattheo, who was stood next to you as you applauded the newly weds.

"For what?"

"For recommending Sir Charles - and for marrying me."

He chuckled, "There is no need to thank me, darling. I can hardly complain about having a breath-taking wife, can I?"

Yet again, butterflies, and the overwhelming sense of desire.

Soon, it was time for the first dance of the newly married couple, celebrated back at Sir Charles' London residence. After they danced the first number alone, more couples joined the dance floor for a waltz. You couldn't help but look up at your husband hopefully.

He sighed fondly and held out his hand, "My lady?"

"My lord," you murmured, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you on to the dance floor.

As you moved into position, you found yourself avoiding looking at Mattheo's face, as for some reason it scared you. Maybe it was the proximity, or the emotions you had been consistently feeling for the last few days. Regardless, you felt timid.

"Darling?" your stomach flipped, and you were forced to meet his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I prefer it when you look at me," Mattheo muttered before he could stop the words from tumbling out. Momentarily, he froze, unable to ignore the way his heart burned in his chest.

"Okay," you said breathlessly, now not being able to tear your eyes away from him.

"You're so perfect."

A lump formed in your throat, "No one's perfect."

"Perfect for me," he said so quietly you almost didn't hear, just as the dance came to an end.

You stood in silence for a few moments, unable to process his words.

Eventually, you spoke, "Mattheo, I- I..."

The look in his eyes beckoned you on.

"Heaven knows I know nothing of love nor what it's like to be loved, but- but I think I love you."

His expression was unreadable, and you felt as if you had said the wrong thing, right up until, "I think I love you too."

God, why were tears pricking in your eyes?

No one had ever said that to you before.

And then you shoved yourself into his arms, desperately seeking warmth and affection as if it were your life line. The other people at the wedding and propriety be damned.

Mattheo moved his head to whisper in your ear.

"All's well that ends well to end up with you."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 09/08/2023 —> 04/10/2023 published;05/10/2023 edited; —/—/——

[ellecdc]

Keep Growing

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

cw: friendship breakup, anxiety, emotional/mental growing pains, Remus being a supportive bf (obvi)

You let the door fall closed behind you as you entered your apartment. You felt as though your skin had been crawling all day, and even the comforting, familiar smell of yours and Remus' shared space did little to comfort you.

You unceremoniously set your work stuff down on the bench in your entryway and made for your bedroom. You were glad in a way that Remus wasn't home yet - you felt that if you had to vocalize anything at the moment that the air would leave your body for good.

You got into the shower and let the day pass through your brain. You couldn't get your friends' - or, ex-friend you supposed - words out of your head.

"I don't even recognize you anymore." She spat. "Who are you?".

Who were you? Did you recognize yourself anymore? Who were you without your best friend of five years. You'd been through so much together; finishing high school and starting at University together, helping each other move out of dormitories and shared flats.

It started off mild - you stopped enjoying spending your evenings at clubs with her and her boyfriend's friends, preferring a quiet night in. Then it became that she didn't like that you started hanging out with your childhood friends again. Then you started to notice the difference between how Remus and his/your friends spoke to you versus the way she and her boyfriend/friends spoke to you.

You thought it would be helpful to talk about it with her instead of letting it fester.

How wrong you'd been.

And now, you were best friendless. Now, you had to figure out who you were outside of that relationship.

How would that impact the rest of your life? The rest of your relationships? Where did you go from here?

You sat staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror, towel in your hair and another wrapped around your torso when you heard the front door open again. You recognized that a part of your body seemed to relax knowing that Remus was home, but tears welled in your eyes immediately realizing that you've done nothing but sit here and feel sorry for yourself.

"Hey Dove." He called from the hallway, still shedding his outer-layers off.

"Hey." You tried to call back happily, but your voice cracked. You cleared your throat and tried again.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started on supper or anything, but now you get to have a say in what we have tonight." You settled for as you pulled on your comfies.

Remus rounded the corner of your room and offered you a crooked smile as he leaned against the doorframe.

"How was your day, love?" He asks quietly.

"Fine, thank you. How was yours?" You asked as you kissed his cheek and headed for the kitchen, aiming for nonchalance.

"Dreadful." He says as he followed you.

"Awe, why?" You ask sympathetically, but he only chuckled at you.

"It was far too long spent without you, of course."

"Of course." You repeat with a soft smile.

You opened the pantry door and stared blankly. Nothing looked right, nothing felt right. What were you even doing? What were you looking for? Do you even have groceries? What things do you like to eat?

"Dove?"

You turned to look at your boyfriend who was watching you with cautious eyes.

"Hm? Sorry." You managed, looking away from him and back at the pantry when your sinuses started to sting.

"I can hear that beautiful brain of yours whirring. What's going on, my love?" He asked gently as he wrapped his arms around your middle and rested his head on top of yours.

"I don't know." You whispered, feeling a tear trail a wet path down your cheek.

"You don't know what's wrong?" He asked.

"No. I don't know anything." You huffed, sounding slightly more agitated then you had meant to. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know where to go, I don't know who I am. I don't know anything, I - I can't, I just."

Remus spun you and his hands landed gently on either side of your face as he told you to breathe.

"You're alright, my love, just keep breathing for me, okay? We can figure it out together."

"I just-" you tried again. "I feel so lost, like, I actually feel crazy - out of my mind I don't know."

Remus made a sympathetic sound as he rubbed tears from under your eyes with his thumbs. "A lot has been changing recently, hm?"

"Yes." You muttered pathetically.

"I know it doesn't feel good now, but you know that change is okay, right? You're allowed to change."

His sentence stopped you short. You didn't want to change, you wanted to be okay.

"It doesn't feel good now," he repeated, as if sensing where your mind had gone, "but sometimes changing and growing feels uncomfortable. You're gonna be okay."

You stood in his embrace for a few moments, letting his words wash over you.

"But, but what if I change so much that you don't know who I am anymore?" You whispered, finally realizing where this anxiety was coming from.

Your best friend, the person who had supposedly been there for you through thick and thin had left because you had supposedly changed. What if Remus felt the same? What if everyone decided that this new you wasn't worth it.

"Oh, my love." He cooed and began peppering your face with kisses. "Please do not worry about that."

You moaned miserably.

"Love," He said more seriously, turning your face gently to force you to look at him. "Grow as you please; if I get the privilege of getting to know you all over again, I'll do that."

An embarrassing laugh sob came out of you as you flung yourself into your boyfriends chest, still adorned with his button up from work.

It felt uncomfortable now, but you knew that Remus was right. And whichever way you grew, he’d be by your side.

[padfootswhiskers]

i know the circumstances are VASTLY different but do you think sirius watched molly grieving percy's desertion of the family and thought about how his mother would've felt...it's such a fucked up little piece of psychological torture on top of everything

[sneverussape]

i bloody well will and you know it

[life-at-hogwarts]

Crucio (Ominis x GN! reader) HURT/COMFORT

Pairing: Ominis x reader

Warnings: whump, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, alcohol

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: When you get trapped in Salazar Slytherin’s room of torture, Ominis is forced to relive past trauma. Not being able to bear hearing the sound of your screams he insists on taking your place. 

Authors note: This is the first fic I actually finished, hope you enjoy it. Might be a one shot, but I’m thinking about continuing the story.

Finally, Ominis turned around to face you. His expression softened, his mask melting away, revealing the hurricane of emotions he was struggling to hold back.

 “Please let me do it. I’d rather take the pain that hear you scream. Believe me, you’ll never forget these kinds of screams. I can’t take hearing you suffer. Please, „ he pleaded. It was an impossible choice, but when you looked at him you knew what to do.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Not my first time, remember?”

---

“This is where she died. This is where we’ll die! I shouldn’t have listened to either of you!”  Ominis cried out, his voice unusually shrill. While you were searching for comforting things to say, Sebastian, who had been studying the door finally broke his silence. “I’m sorry about your aunt, Ominis. But I know how to get us out of here. It’s going to be difficult,” he murmured absentmindedly. Unlike his friend, the tall brunette did not seem to be bothered by the situation at all, which could only mean he had already come up with a plan.

“What do you mean you know how to get us out of here?” you asked.

“Look around. Tortured faces on the door and ‘Crucio’ etched into the stone. My guess is if we cast the Cruciatus curse the door will open. That’s why Noctua died - she had no one to cast the curse on. Ominis has the most experience with this. He should cast it. You seem to be in Ominis’ favor. Will you ask him about this?”

Knowing how insensitive Sebastian could be, you agreed and carefully approached Ominis, who was still anxiously pacing on the other side of the room. Before you could say anything, he blurted out, “I overheard you and Sebastian, and I won’t do it. The Cruciatus curse is pure torture - I would know.”

“Sebastian told me a little of what happened when you were young. It sounded as if you had no choice,” you replied, hoping he wouldn’t mind his friend sharing this with you. You still vividly remembered how badly he reacted to finding out you knew about the Undercroft. To your surprise, this time he didn’t even mention it. If anything, he seemed glad that he didn’t have to explain it to you himself.  

“One always has a choice. I’m as guilty as the worst of my family. Unforgivable curses won’t work unless you really mean them. I had to want to cause pain and for that I shall never forgive myself. That spell is the reason I have no family left,” he exclaimed frantically.

“You’re not a bad person, Ominis. I know you. You are good. What happened was not your fault, do you hear me? You have to forgive yourself.”  

Ominis misty grey eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t make me do it. I can’t. I won’t,” he whimpered and covered his ears with his hands, as if to block out a noise only he could hear.  “I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”

Shocked by his reaction you immediately started apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t even have asked. We will figure out another way, I promise,” you assured him, softly placing your hand on his arm. Seeing him this upset rattled you, and you wanted nothing more than give him a hug, but he pulled away and sat down on the floor, cradling his head and rocking back and forth. Unsure what to do you looked at Sebastian for help. He gestured with his head to come to him. You felt awful leaving Ominis like this but obeyed his bidding.

“I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ from Ominis. It’s up to us then. I can teach you Crucio or I can cast it on you.”

“You know how to cast Crucio? Why did you have me ask Ominis in the first place? You know how badly that spell messed him up!” you snapped at him, pointing at his friend who clearly was not doing well.

“I’m not sure I do. But I think I can cast it if I have to. It sure is a better option than dying in here,” Sebastian replied calmly. His composure was truly remarkable, and you were glad that at least one of you was keeping a cool head. Now it was your turn to do your part. You had already made the decision.

“Alright. But you must cast it. I could never bring myself to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Sebastian nodded and you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to brace yourself for what was coming next. When you opened them again the two of you exchanged a solemn look, and he pulled out his wand. Before he could open his mouth, Ominis had crossed the room, moving with the stealth and swiftness of a cat and grabbed Sebastian’s arm, forcing him to lower his wand.

“Cast it on me,” he demanded, his face an impenetrable mask.

“Ominis, no. He’ll cast it on me,” you protested but the blonde ignored you, standing his ground.

“Didn’t know you’re all so eager to be tortured,” Sebastian remarked dryly.

Finally, Ominis turned around to face you. His expression softened, his mask melting away, revealing the hurricane of emotions he was struggling to hold back. “Please let me do it. I’d rather take the pain that hear you scream. Believe me, you’ll never forget these kinds of screams. I can’t take hearing you suffer. Please, „ he pleaded. It was an impossible choice, but when you looked at him you knew what to do.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Not my first time, remember?”

You recalled what Sebastian had told you earlier regarding Ominis’ experience with the curse. The thought of his family torturing him as a child, made your blood boil with anger, and now he had to go through it again.  Everything inside of you was screaming to take his place but you knew how stubborn he could be. You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but closed it again when you caught Sebastian quietly shaking his head to signal you that you should leave it alone. This way Ominis at least had some control over the situation. The tall brunette took the lead, by pointing his wand and preparing himself to cast the spell.

“Ready?” he asked, looking at Ominis grimly.

“I’m ready.”

Sebastian took a deep breath and his eyes darkened.

“Crucio.”

The second the spell hit him, Ominis groaned and doubled over in pain, his body twitching involuntarily as the curse shot through him in a bolt of cackling red light. The door seemed to feed off his pain, absorbing every single drop of it. You watched with tears in your eyes as he fell to his knees screaming out in agony. Ominis had been right. This was awful. The sounds he made vibrated through your entire body, making the hair on your neck stand up in terror.  Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop it, Sebastian.” you screamed hysterically, your voice breaking but he shook his head again. The door was not open yet. Not knowing what to do you threw yourself on the floor next to Ominis and took his hand, hoping it would give him some sort of comfort. His screaming had died down to a mere whimpering, which for some reason was even worse. You fought the urge to hold your ears to block out the awful sounds coming from the boy on the ground and held his hand even tighter. At last, the door started to melt away, giving way to the room behind it and Sebastian stopped the spell.

Ominis was on his side, his misty eyes staring into nothingness. “Ominis?” you asked carefully but he didn’t react. Sebastian joined you and kneeled next to his other side, checking on his friend. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?” When this too was met with silence you exchanged a worried look with Sebastian. You had both heard the horror stories of people being driven mad by the curse. “Ominis. Say something.” After another 30 seconds that felt like an eternity, he opened his mouth and whispered, “I’m fine.” Slowly, he sat up and a small sob escaped your lips. He was a mess. His face was wet with tears, his hair disheveled and robes covered in dirt. “Don’t scare us like that,” Sebastian grumbled and roughly patted his friend’s shoulder, before getting up and glancing through the doorway. “You have to see this! We made it. We found Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium.”

Still in shock, you watched Sebastian disappear into the other room, leaving you alone with Ominis. For a moment, you sat in silence, both trying to process what just happened. “Are you really alright?” you asked, even though you could already guess the answer. He most definitely did not look okay. In fact, you had never seen him in such a state before. He was there but not really present. The confident, sassy Slytherin you had gotten to know and love was gone, his body an empty shell. It was like he was trapped in his own dimension of hell, having to relive the torture he went through as a child. He flinched when your question brought him back to reality, then slowly turned his head to face you, “Not really. You?” “Not really.”

You fell into each other’s arms, desperately holding on to each other, trying to find comfort in the warmth of the embrace. You felt his body relax against yours and leaned into him, even more. A stifled sob escaped his mouth, and he buried his head in your shoulder. Following his example, you let your tears flow freely. The sound of his screams still rang in your ears. The sheer agony in his voice was the worst thing you’ve ever heard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your head. You needed him as much as he needed you. His arms wrapped around you, holding on to you as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

You let your fingers run through his hair and pressed your face into his neck, inhaling the sweet scent of his shampoo. Your touch seemed to have a calming effect on him, his breathing slowed down and his grip on you weakened. “You’re okay,” you murmured over and over again, like a mantra, unsure if you were saying this to soothe him or yourself. Slowly, the chaos in your head started to ebb down. It was impossible to tell if you stayed like this for minutes or hours but neither of you was ready to let go. Finally, Ominis tightened his grip on you once more before breaking away.

For a moment you looked at each other in awkward silence, both unsure what to say after the intimate moment you had just shared. “Ominis…” you started but he interrupted you. “I don’t want to talk about it. For now, let’s focus on getting out of here.”

With one swift movement he got up and elegantly offered you his hand. A gentleman as always. Glad, that he seemed to be back to his old self again, you let him help you up. After dusting himself off, he took the lead and walked towards the entrance of the scriptorium, with you following close behind. All of a sudden, your gaze fell on the pile of bones in the corner, and you froze. “What’s wrong?” Ominis asked, his voice full of concern. “Your aunt. Her…remains are right behind you.” “Oh.” You guided his hand towards the spot so that he could see it with his wand, watching his face closely for his reaction but he remained expressionless. Then he quietly asked, “Would you mind giving me a minute alone?” It broke your heart how much pain he had to endure in one single night, and you squeezed his arm reassuringly before stepping through the doorway.

When you entered the scriptorium, you were greeted by Sebastian, who seemed to be completely oblivious to what just happened. “What is taking you guys so long? Come take a look at what I found. Slytherin’s spell book. I have only browsed but it looks promising. I think this could be the key to curing Anne.” His eyes sparkled with excitement when he showed you the old dusty tome with Slytherin’s initials on the front.

“That’s great news Sebastian,” you replied, forcing yourself to give him a smile. Of course, you were happy that there was new hope for curing Anne, but the price for this book had been high and Ominis was the one who had had to pay it. Sebastian didn’t notice and enthusiastically continued talking while he showed you around the scriptorium.

“This room is amazing. I could spend hours and hours rummaging through all of these books.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s with the sour face? Ominis is fine, isn’t he?” he grumpily asked, as he turned around to look for his friend, who was nowhere to be seen.

“No. And neither am I. I want to leave. You got what you came here for.” It wasn’t your way to be so cross with him, but you were still on edge and desperately wanted to get away from this place, that was practically vibrating with dark magic.

Sebastian looked at you with a mixture of confusion and defiance. “You can’t be serious? There is still so much to explore.” You let out a deep sigh and prepared to argue, when Ominis appeared at the foot of the stairs, joining in on the conversation. “I agree. Let’s get out of here.” His voice was calm and authoritative, leaving no room for debate. In one hand, he held his wand, the other was clutching a gigantic vase. You furrowed your brows in confusion before you realized what he had been doing while you and Sebastian had been talking. “Is that…?”

“I am going to take her with me. Give her a proper burial.”

Finally, understanding dawned in Sebastian’s face and he gave in, waiting for you to take the vase from Ominis before gesturing to follow him. The exit was hidden in an eerie looking statue of Salazar Slytherin’s face with a snake coming out of its mouth. Sebastian stepped forward and tapped the snake’s head with his wand, causing the statue to rotate and reveal a platform of sorts. “After you.” A few minutes later, when all of you were back in the Slytherin dungeon, Sebastian spoke up. “About your aunt Ominis -”

“Please, Sebastian. All I want is for you to swear never to engage in anything to do with dark magic ever again. You almost got us all killed tonight, with your stupid obsession with the scriptorium.”

“We are so close to curing Anne. I found Slytherin’s spell book in the scriptorium, and I think I saw something that could be useful….”

Ominis face crumpled with pain and disappointment. His best friend truly did not care about anything other than his search for a cure. He turned away from Sebastian, who was still rambling on about some spell he had found. When he noticed that Ominis wasn’t listening he snapped at him, “Why are you not happy for me? I thought you cared about my sister.”

After a long, tiring night, you’d had enough of his selfish behavior and stepped in.

„I know how important finding a cure for Anne is to you, but right now this is about Ominis. We put him through hell tonight, do you understand that? He has every right to be angry at you. You keep putting yourself before everyone else and completely ignore the wreckage you leave in your path.”

Sebastian glared at you, ready to retaliate. “Why isn’t he angry at you then? After all, you convinced him to go in there.”

“I’m sure he is, and he is right to be. Tonight was a mistake. Now take this and find a place to hide it for tonight. It’s the least you can do. Tomorrow we will decide what to do with it. I’m taking Ominis home.” You handed him the vase with Noctua’s remains and held his angry gaze.

“He can find his own way back to the dorms you know. He’s not helpless.”

“Of course he can. I just don’t want him to be alone right now.”

With that you turned around and demonstratively took Ominis hand, interlocking your fingers with his. “Let’s go.” You felt his surprise, but he went along with it and didn’t pull away. Usually, he hated it when people tried to help him in any sort of way, and you almost expected him to snap at you but tonight he was tame as a kitten, letting you lead him down the corridor, away from a fuming Sebastian. He too seemed to be too tired to argue. The sound of your steps echoed through the empty corridors as you walked in silence. When you stopped in front of the entrance of the Slytherin dorms, you waited for him to take charge and decide whether or not he wanted to invite you into their common room. He didn’t let go of your hand when he spoke the password and the gigantic snake revealed the door. After a few seconds of hesitation, he stepped forward, gently pulling you with him and you followed.

You had been here quite a few times with Sebastian, still the elegance and grandeur of the Slytherin common room never ceased to amaze you. The room was filled with eerie greenish light leaking from the windows showing the depths of the black lake. The only sound was the gentle cackle of wood being devoured by the flames. You followed Ominis, or rather let him guide you, to a sofa right in front of the big windows that faced the water. Only then did he let go of your hand and slumped into the soft pillows. You awkwardly waited a few moments before sitting down yourself. Ominis rubbed his face and sighed wearily, “I don’t need you to stand up for me.”

“I know. I just wanted to make it clear to him how wrong his behavior was tonight. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I should have never asked you to show us the entrance. This is my fault.”

“I appreciate that. I have already forgiven you. Everybody makes mistakes.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that Ominis was usually not one to hold back his anger when someone screwed up. His tongue was as sharp as his wits and not something to be messed with, as you knew from firsthand experience. Tonight, he was oddly calm, it was almost unsettling.

“Yeah, but mine almost got us killed.”

“You know me. I’m a thrill seeker,” he replied dryly, making you snort with laughter. Amused by this, Ominis too started giggling and you laughed even harder. It probably was the adrenaline, but you could not stop laughing, both of you cackling hysterically like maniacs. It took you some time to calm down, but the laughter had helped dissolve some of the stress and you felt a little better.

“Glad you have your sense of humor back. Seriously though, are you going to be okay?” you asked solemnly.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you, silly. You have been through a lot tonight.”

“Please don’t. I can’t…I can’t talk about it,” he whispered, and his entire body stiffened. Trying to hide how much this affected him he dug his nails into the palms of his trembling hands and avoided your gaze.

“That’s alright. Just know, if you do need to talk, I’m here for you,” you replied softly and placed a hand on his outstretched leg. By now you understood that physical touch had a calming effect on him. It was odd, since he was a very withdrawn person, not like Sebastian, who was rather touchy and comfortable with physical proximity. Ominis was a proper gentleman, always keeping his distance, never intruding your personal space. Yet tonight he really seemed to need the intimacy of human touch.

“There should be some firewhiskey in the globe behind us, would you mind getting it?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I’m inviting you to join me for a nightcap.”

“Well, if you put it like that, how could I resist?” you chuckled and got up.

As promised, when you opened the globe, you found an almost full bottle of firewhiskey. You waved the bottle in the air letting the liquid slosh loudly against the glass, to let him know about your find and returned to the sofa, but it was empty. Ominis had made himself comfortable on the floor in front of it, resting his arms on the seat. Following his example, you sat down next to him on the soft carpet and handed him the bottle. He took a deep swig of the bronze liquid and passed it on to you. You took a small sip and coughed, quickly handing it back to Ominis. After another few sips he broke the silence.

“Why are you so kind to me?”

“Because I care about you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

Too tired to talk, you reached for his hand, and he took it. The way his fingers wrapped around yours ever so gently felt like the most natural thing in the world and you felt the urge to never let go of his hand again. For a while you sat in silence, quietly passing the whiskey back and forth, then Ominis spoke up again.

“You know why I like to sit here so much?” He paused for a moment to look at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze. For a moment you got lost in the reflection of the lake in his milky grey eyes. “Because I like the way, the water breaks the light. I can see light and shadow, you know? When I watch the lake, the light is dancing.”

“That sounds beautiful. Tell me about it.”

“It dances with the rhythm of the waves. It’s so soothing it’s like listening to a lullaby. Sometimes, when it’s stormy it gets really fast and erratic, it’s like I can see the thunderstorm.”

Slowly but surely the alcohol was taking effect and he was struggling to stay awake. He rested his head on your shoulder and asked, “Can we just sit here and watch them for a while?" already starting to slur his words a little.

“Ominis?”

“Mhm?”

“Never scare me like that again.”

Instead of answering he nestled his face into your neck and sighed. You rested your head on his and listened to his breathing slow down as he started to fall asleep, still not letting go of your hand. You smiled at his cute little snores before you too drifted off to sleep.

[naurimastaur]

Lovesick

TW: Aesthetic photo

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Fred comforts you while you’re sick, well at least he tries to.

Me? Writing fluff??? (I had a head cold & was delirious writing half of this)

———————————————————————

The morning birds hovering over diagon alley chirped in a harmonious melody of optimism and grace. Their song unfortunately becoming intwined in the sound of Y/N’s unwarranted retching.

“Good morning, darling,” Fred stretched, briefly regarding his partner’s state.

Her extremely curved spine and bent neck created a naturally alluring sight (to the blind).

Fred cringed at the mess she’d amassed on the floorboards below, patting her back rather discouragingly before prioritising his own comfort.

“Are you not going to work?” Y/n prodded, grabbing her wand and whispering a quick ‘scourgify’.

“No, I’m perfectly content watching you create your own moat around our bed,” he retorted, nestling against the outline of his dense head on his pillow.

“And I suppose, you’re incapable of looking after yourself,” he quickly added, after feeling her burning forehead, faking a ‘sizzle’ sound as he pressed his fingertips onto the mattress below.

“What if you get sick?” She muttered in return, eyes half closed. The tempting comfort of sleep soothing her ill state.

“What if you get sick?” He mocked, holding his nose shut in an impression of her ill voice. Being a lab rat to his own products, he had unintentionally built a form of immunity to illness.

Her weary eyes regarded him with faint amusement.

“Besides, cant get sick with all this muscle,” he bragged, flexing his arms in an embarrassing display of a masculine ego.

“Merlin, you’re worse than my headache,” she groaned, swatting his face away from hers.

“Hypochondriac,” he replied, brushing stray strands of hair away from her face.

“Ginger,” she said simply, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck.

He held her feverish body close to his, tucking her worries into the safety of his embrace. Admirably, he swallowed his horror each time her red, irritated nose scrunched with a sniffle. Usually it was partnered with a leaking fluid, grazing his woollen jumper.

Sometime later Fred awoke with a sneeze, eyes swollen and inflamed.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Indeed.”

———————————————————————

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I would die for a poly!marauders x reader where reader gets a bloody nose and almost passes out. This has happened to me and I wish I had the boys 😅 of course only if this sounds interesting!! 🫶🏼

Thanks for requesting love!

cw: blood, near fainting

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 642 words

You’re mid-story when Remus’ expression shifts. 

“And he didn’t even…ask…” You trail off as James’ eyes flare suddenly. Remus is scanning the room like he’s searching for something. “...what?” 

“I’m just looking for the tissues…” 

You feel your expression crease.

“Don’t worry,” says Sirius, in a no-nonsense tone you don’t hear often. “Just pinch your nose shut and close your eyes, okay?” 

“What…” You touch your fingertips to your nose, and the second the bright red pads come into your view you’re overcome by a wave of nausea. 

“Don’t, don’t.” James takes your hand, bloody fingers and all, hiding them away. Your head fills with cotton. Remus gets up and goes into the kitchen. “Baby, that’s what we’re trying to keep from happening.” 

The feel of something splattering on your thigh has you looking down on instinct. You barely process the bead of blood curving down your thigh before your vision starts to blacken. 

“Okay.” A hand cups the back of your head, cold fingers pressing into your scalp as it takes your weight, and another pinches your nostrils. “None of that, doll, c’mon. You’re okay.” 

You blink a couple of times before the fuzzy darkness clears enough for you to see Sirius in front of you. He’s the picture of calm, while James’ eyes are magnified cartoonishly wide by his glasses. It takes you a second to figure out you need to breathe through your mouth. 

Sirius nods as you inhale. “Good,” he says. “Just keep your eyes on me, doll.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” James quips, and Sirius’ lips quirk but he doesn’t take his eyes from yours. 

“It’s a happy consequence.” 

“Sorry,” you say, voice sounding whiny all stuffed up. 

“You’re good,” James reassures you. “Rem’s gonna get you cleaned up in just a second. It seems we’ve misplaced the tissues.” 

“Found them!” Remus announces from down the hall. “Who put them under the bed?” 

You and Sirius look to James. He shrugs, sheepish. “That’s my bad,” he admits. “My allergies were bothering me, and I didn’t feel like getting up.” 

“Hoarder,” Sirius accuses fondly, letting go of your nose briefly to allow Remus to swipe at the skin beneath it. 

“Close your eyes,” Remus warns softly, and this time you listen before you can see the tissue. You feel him blot at your nostrils and then wipe up the blood on your hand and leg, keeping your eyes squeezed shut tight. “Good girl.” The lid of the trash bin clangs shut. “You can open now.” 

You replace Sirius’ hand with your own, and he gives you a cautious look as he lets go slowly. “You sure you’ve got it?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “I don’t mind.” 

You smile at him, closed-lipped and trying not to think about what you’re staunching. “I’m good, thanks.” 

Remus sits back down with a heavy sigh. James nods his agreement heartily. 

“Since when do you get nosebleeds?” he asks you. 

“Since now, I guess,” you say. “It’s not my new favorite thing.” 

You’ve always fainted at the sight of blood, so spontaneous bleeding is probably one of the top ten worst things that can happen to you. 

“It’s a bit worrisome,” Remus agrees. “What happens if you’re driving and your nose starts bleeding again? You can’t very well pass out behind the wheel.” 

You level him with a deadpan look. “I’ll try to refrain.” 

“It won’t happen again,” Sirius says surely. He’s eyeing you in a peculiar way, somehow both assessing and decided at once. “We’ll figure out what caused it, and make sure it doesn’t.” 

You look to Remus for an eye roll, but both of your boyfriends look about as trusting in this plan as Sirius. 

“How?” you ask. 

He gives you an indulgent smile. “Don’t worry about it, baby. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you.”

[inkyarcturus]

HERES THE ANGST YALL ASKED FOR

I also posted it on my tiktok: @inkyarcturus :P

[underoospeterparker]

🐬 DOLPHIN “don’t apologize.” “sorry.” “name.” With Siri

join the celebration

sirius black x fem!reader, 0.56k words

"I'm home," Sirius sang happily from the front door, dropping his bag on the floor in favour of wrapping you up in his arms.

When he picked you up, you went gladly, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Siri!" You greeted, an excited squeal escaping your mouth as you pressed yourself closer to him.

He grinned in response, then kissed the top of your scalp, pressing his chin on top your hair. You sighed in happiness when he tugged you closer to him. "I missed you, lovely girl," he crooned, his voice sticky with the endearment.

You gave him a smile when he set you down and he mirrored it on his lips. "I missed you more," you said, suddenly shy. "Wait here, I baked you something!"

Sirius chuckled, a sound that you wanted to bury yourself in. "You did?" He called after you, an obvious smile in his voice.

The smile disappeared when he heard a scream and the sound of glass smashing to the ground. He was quick to make his way in the kitchen, finding you with tears in your eyes, staring at the mess you'd made on the floor.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, drawing your attention to him. He noticed your feet were bare, and he stepped over quickly to pick you up, setting you on the counter as gently as possible.

A tear fell from your waterline onto your cheek and Sirius frowned, reaching up to thumb it away. "I'm sorry," you murmured, voice barely audible.

"You didn't do anything wrong, baby. Accidents happen, alright?" When another tear escaped, Sirius let out a sympathetic noise and wrapped you back in his arms. He pulled away after a second to survey your face. "Just stay here, I'll clear it up in no time."

You interrupted, "but it's my mess, Siri, I can clear it up."

"That's okay," he said softly, a finger under your chin to tilt your teary gaze to meet his, "you're all good. Sit here and keep me company?"

You nodded while he got the broom, sweeping away at the flecks of glass and at your ruined brownies that you had made just for him as soon as you'd come home from work. The thought made you want to cry again.

Sirius checked up on you every so often while he cleaned up. Your bottom lip trembled and he felt his heart clench painfully. He made quick work of it, though, then picked you up lightly to set you on the sofa.

He sat next to you, and you placed your head in his lap while he scratched at your scalp lightly. "I'm really sorry," you murmured, and the corner of his lips tilted down.

Sirius looked down at you. He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, then said, "please don't apologise."

"Sorry."

"(Y/N)." His voice was stern. You giggled wetly, the sound brightening up Sirius's face.

"Sirius." You imitated him badly, and Sirius almost cackled in laughter. "No, but really, I'm sorry you didn't get to try my brownies. I even made them with extra chocolate in case Moony came over."

His face softened. "That's sweet of you," he acknowledged. "But I'm sure Moony will be fine. He can get his own girl to bake for him, as far as I'm concerned." Sirius pecked kisses all over your face. "Because you're all mine."

[spearmintsmut]

My own Mudblood CH6

This is my favourite part so far. A little hurt/comfort fluff and also smuttt ~ hope you love it

Every page you read was more intense than the last. You had figured witchcraft was not all potions and charms, but as you read the pages of the heavy book that Draco had lent you, you realised just how serious it could all be. Again your mind replayed the shake in his voice the day before as he stressed the unimportance of the spells you were practising - how they were no use, in the position he would have been in the year before you guessed. Behind his domineering and sarcastic tone you knew there was a scar likely made long before the war. Long before the dark lord recruited him. You didn’t have to read much on the Malfoys to know what kind of person, what kind of father Lucius would have been. No one seemed to want to bring his name up in the house, even the portraits on his library's wall were tight lipped about it even being his room when you had snuck in there. Narcissa seemed kind for a woman of her wealth and notoriety, and seemed to adore her son. When she wasn’t bragging about his accomplishments or looks, she was treating him as though he was the heir to a royal - which, you thought, he just about was in this world. He was her prize possession, her darling son. He can’t have become so damaged, so quick to to anger or righteous from his Mother’s love alone. You knew his father, and his place in Voldemort’s army must have left wounds you likely would never know completely. But you didn’t just want to know his wounds - you wanted to lick them clean. What Lucious must have put him through may be somewhat of a mystery to you, but the ache you felt in the way you never measured up to your fathers’ expectations, of never being what they wanted of you, you felt you shared with him. Though you hadn’t spilled even a single word to each other about it, you knew in that way, you were family.

As you read on, your eyes fell toward a spell you thought could be useful.

Stupefy - This spell will stun the target, and though this will not cause irreversible damage, it will temporarily render the target incapacitated.

You started to feel hopeful that in the large book of frankly terrifying spells, there were some you felt you were more comfortable in trying, and that Draco would hopefully not look down at you for bothering with. This was far beyond what you had expected your first week living with your father to be like. It was a worrying prospect that your first chance in practising this spell would be against Voldemort’s youngest hand days after learning your first spell, but you were determined not to let your anxiety ruin your first chance at a duel. You studied the chapter on the spell intently, taking mental notes and reading aloud to yourself.

You took note of a handful more spells after calculating their effectiveness and how much they would injure Draco. You had no doubt that he would have the ability to heal himself of most wounds inflicted by a beginner witch, but you didn’t want to overstep and cause the type of damage that Narcissa would curse you for causing her beloved heir. Besides, his seemingly untouched face, though forever donning a wrinkle between his furrowed brow, was far too angular and pretty to want to scar. You recalled wanting to hurt him the first days in the Manor, and he still managed to bring that anger out in you, but it would be a shame to ever have to carry out.

You had gotten into one fight in your life. Nothing compared to the fights that your stepbrother had fought, but you still remembered the crack of your fist to the face of a boy in your grade. The combined horror of what you had done and the pride you had felt in finally finding your backbone wasn’t lost to you all these years later. You hadn’t felt that anger bubble up at anyone but your father until you moved to the Manor. His continued ignorance to anything you did or felt under the same roof as your arrogant step-brother felt all too much. That was until he had spoken for you that night at dinner. Suddenly one of your battles fought the other. He hadn’t given you the time to think on it before his soothing touch became a teasing one, but now that you were alone, a strange feeling rose in your chest at the memory. Did he care about you, or was it a chance for him to exercise his dominance over an intruder in his home? It wasn’t something you could exactly ask him. He would either laugh in your face or ignore you all together - but overthinking it, mulling it over mentally until you sent yourself mad was not out of the question. He had such a way of stoking one fire and snuffing out another. He burned a flame in your stomach, and poured ice cold relief over the one in your mind. Whether it was for you or for his own sense of accomplishment and superiority you weren’t sure. You decided you’d take it either way. Without your friends or school to distract you anymore, the hollow pit in your chest would only grow if you didn’t take advantage of the comfort and company he provided, even if it wasn’t his intention.

-

A couple hours had crept by reading into spells and charms when you were interrupted by murmuring and giggles in the hall outside your room. You turned to see your Father and Narcissa embracing and you cringed at their closeness.

“Your father and I are visiting Italy for the weekend, love,” She said with a smile stretched across her face.

“But, you didn’t - what am I supposed to -” you started but she cut you off before you could argue.

“Don’t worry dear, Draco will take good care of you and the house elf will keep you fed.” Your face reddened and you felt left out once again. Of course Draco already knew before you were told anything. “Draco will take good care of you” you snickered mentally. He did that just fine last night. You had all but collapsed on him after he had done just that. You felt a flutter in your lower stomach at the memory.

They held a trunk each, dressed like they were going to meet the royal family. You figured it had something to do with their wedding planning, which you had intentionally avoided thinking about. You looked at your father, who was already staring back with a raised brow.

“You behave yourself, and be nice to Draco. Remember this is his house, you are just lucky enough to share it,” He warned and you scoffed in response. Share it? You were dragged here, you thought.

You said your brief and rudely last minute goodbyes and they left through floo in a whoosh.

You bit down the all too familiar feeling of emptiness and longing, your father leaving without an “I love you” for the umpteenth time. With eyes welling against your will, you made your way to the room beside yours, book and wand in hand. You knocked quietly, hoping he was up to the duel he had told you about. At least an extremely unqualified try and spells behind your expertise may distract from the hole in your heart your father has pried open once again. Wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath, you buried the feeling deep down as you had done time and time over.

You heard a groan and some rustling in the room before he opened it. You almost dropped your belongings as the tall boy before you stood only in boxers, hanging loosely below his hip bones. You couldn’t help your gaze trace down from his face to his chiselled chest and abdomen. The scars that peppered his skin added a layer of ruggedness to him that you still hadn’t gotten used to. As you looked up to finally meet his gaze, he smirked at you. Though you had shared more intimate moments with him in the last week than you had with anyone ever before, you still felt shy around him and cursed yourself for being caught staring.

“Are you quite done ogling?” He teased.

“I wasn’t ogling, you prat! I was just..” you trailed off, not convincing anyone, even yourself.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, looking down at you. He noticed the book and wand in your hand and looked back to your face with a raised brow.

“Finished studying already?” He asked, taking the book from you. You knew there was far more to read of it but you were at least half sure you had read as much as you needed for today.

“Uh yeah. I think so.”

“You think so? Does “thinking so” protect you if you’re attacked hmm?” He pressed and you knew fighting it wouldn’t be worth the mood it would put him in.

“No Draco, I don’t. But this is my first dueling practice and you’re gonna go easy on me aren’t you?” You asked with a devilish innocent, but deep down you did hope he would.

“You need to learn to protect yourself. What did you study?”

“It’s a surprise. But no hexes or curses. I don’t want to hurt you,” you said genuinely. His laugh bellowed through the room and you felt yourself shrink to half your size.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried. You’re cute though,” he said as he turned to walk back into his room. You followed him in as he placed the book back with the rest. You looked around the room, taking it all in. His bed was large like yours, but with black silk covers, with deep green trim along the edges. The bed head was large and engraved with a snake, with snakes also wrapping around the posts at the foot of the bed. There were trophies lining a shelf on the wall and you walked up to inspect it. He had won them for something called Quidditch, and you wondered what it was. Whatever it was, you assumed he was good at that too, but saved yourself the speech and didn’t ask.

He had long velvet curtains over the Windows that overlooked the hedge maze and lavish gardens in the courtyard outside. Though you had the same view from your room, you had hidden away and wallowed for days and never took it all in, or bothered to explore outside the manor. The property was unnecessarily big, and it would have been worth taking a walk outside rather than sulk in your room, you decided. His room alone was immensely extravagant. He had a walk in closet the size of your room back home, lined with black suit after black suit after yet another. He had a library of books lining the book case against the wall, and what seemed to be potion vials and a cauldron on his otherwise neat desk.

“We’ll be duelling outside. You’ll need something warm,”

You had packed your own jumpers but you accepted his silent offer. He gave you the jumper thrown in his bed, and shrugged on another from the closet himself. You pulled it over your head and his expensive scent engulfed you. You hid the smile you felt, as the jumper fell almost to your knees. You’d never had a boyfriend to give you their jumpers like your friends had, and though this was far from a boyfriend situation, something in you felt you had finally experienced what you’d always watched other girls have.

The courtyard outside was massive, with large hedges around the perimeter, and a paved walkway to a comically large yard. Even the grass felt expensive as you followed Draco out to the middle. Every step you took sent your heart rate up higher. When Draco turned to face you, he sensed your nerves.

“Nervous Mudblood?” He teased, but his face was pulled into a worried frown. Though you could feel your heart drumming in your ears, you gave him a confident smile, shaking your head. He saw right through you and rustled your hair in his hand.

“You’ll be right. You won’t beat me, but you’ll be right.”

He lifted his wand to face hight before dropping it back down and taking several steps back. You had no idea what you were doing and that was becoming increasingly apparent, but you did the same. As he pointed his wand at you, you ignored the sweaty palms holding your wand and mirrored his actions.

He started to count down from three,

“Three.” You could feel your chest tighten around your thrumming heart.

“Two,” his words sounded so far away compared to your own heart beat loud in your ear.

“One,” you pushed all the symptoms of an impending anxiety attack away and tried to remember the spells you had studied.

He threw his first spell at you before you could even open your mouth. You weren’t sure if he even said it out loud. The wind was knocked out of your lungs and you were sent flying through the air, tumbling around before you landed on your back on the soft grass. You coughed and groaned, rubbing your back. As he stepped closer to make sure you were alright, you leaped back to your feet. You weren’t going to let him beat you, at least not without at least trying. You pointed your wand back at him, and said the first spell you could remember from the book.

“Obscuro!” You yelled, temporarily blinding him. Before he knew what had hit him, you yelled another with as much confidence as you could muster,

“Expelliarmus.” Light shot out of your wand toward him and he flew back, dropping his wand in the process. Nothing could have prepared you for the comfidence, the pride and long awaited reassurance that bubbled up in your chest. Nothing in your life had ever made you feel like you were living up to your potential, like you were on the right path. You almost felt bad for Draco, being disarmed so early on, by you of all people, but it didn’t outway the smug pride that you felt, knowing you were capable of it. He had already reversed the blind fold you had magically put on him and he had started to sit up when you got to him. You held your hand out to help him up, but he grabbed it and pulled you down to him.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he said surprised and you blushed without a word. “And here I thought you’d try to use those blasted levitation spells on me,” he teased and you couldn’t help but laugh. He pulled you you closer and you straddled him, holding yourself up with a hand either side of him. Looking down at his face, you noticed a small cut on his tall cheekbone. You winced at the thought that you had hurt him, even in a duel. He wiped his finger over it and wiped the small spot of blood on his crisp white shirt like it cost nothing.

“I’m so sorry, I promise I was trying to only use spells that wouldn’t hurt. I was just tryi-“

He cut you off by pecking your lips. You weren’t expecting the sudden contact but he gripped the back of your head, deepening the kiss. You melted into him like you had craved him for a lifetime. He pulled you closer until your body went from hovering over him, to softly grinding against him. You moaned against his lips as you felt him harden against his pants. Suddenly, you remembered how public this was happening, how large the courtyard was. You had felt hidden the times before, as he’d kissed you against the wall of your bedroom, even his hand under the table at dinner. But here, he was kissing you like he owned you in the open of his back yard. You pulled away and tried to open your mouth to stop but he pulled you back down to him, kissing you passionately again. His tongue slipped between your lips and licked softly at your own. His hands roamed over your back before they settled at your hips. He pressed his fingers into them hard enough to bruise, and you whimpered into his mouth. He flipped you over so you were trapped under his body before pressing his leg between your thighs, causing you to let out another moan at the pressure. Though you knew that no one but the house elf was home, as he started to unbutton your shorts, you tried to stop him. He stared down into you with lust filled eyes and kept going. He dragged them down your soft legs before unbuckling his belt. He continued to kiss you, more roughly this time, before peppering sloppy kisses along your jawline and down your neck. The wet kisses and cool air felt like heaven on your skin.

You heard him undo the zip on his pants and the sound of him shoving them down with his boxers. Before you could even look down, you felt his hard cock rub the length of you, wiping your own slick over him.

“You’re always so wet for me aren’t you? Can’t help yourself,” he said with a smirk. He tapped it against your clit and you whimpered at the pleasure that rippled through you from your sensitive bud.

You had never gone this far with anyone, and never in your life did you imagine your first time would be outside, far less with your step brother you had only just met a week ago. The excitement and blind lust you felt fought with the reality of the situation. If you stopped him, or if you didn’t, you were fucked either way. You looked up into his intense grey eyes that were darkening by the minute.

“Draco. This is so wrong .. we can’t.. I’ve never even…”

“Tell me to stop then. Say the word and I’ll stop,” he breathed in your ear. He kept his impossibly large cock in his hand, still rubbing it against your clit. You knew you should tell him to stop, but you couldn’t. You were too far gone and you knew he was too. Instead, you wrapped your hands around his back, pulling him closer and spreading your legs for him. He pushed in half way slowly, and you felt yourself stretch around him, sending a new kind of pleasure through you. Though the pain wasn’t unbearable, it was apparent and you bit down on your lip. You had used your fingers before but this was new. He noticed you wince and kissed your forehead.

“Shhh I’ll go easy on you, I know this is new for you,” he reassured with a voice softer than he had ever shown you before. He pulled out almost completely and pushed further into you the second time, bottoming out. He let out a pleasured groan against your neck and looked into your eyes. Yours almost rolled to the back of your head as you felt him push in and out. “Fuck Draco my god sso good” you moaned out.

“That’s right. You need me don’t you?” You nodded, unable to form a sentence if you tried. “You need me to teach you. You need me to own you.” His low gravelly voice sent shivers down your spine as he started to pump in and out of you. He felt so good that you couldn’t help the unholy sounds coming from you already. Aware that you were outside and not in a muffled room, you bit down on his shoulder as he fucked you. Even he couldn’t contain the moans and pants that escaped his lips as he pulled out til only the tip breached you before crashing back down into you.

“Tell me,” pants, “tell me what you are. Tell me who you belong to,” he groaned as your nails scraped down his back. He held your face with one hand and rubbed circles over your clit with the other. You felt the pressure built in the pit of your stomach and you knew you were close.

“I’m yours Draco. Your filthy little mudblood,” you almost screamed. You couldn’t believe the words tumbling from your mouth but you didn’t care either. Something so wrong had never felt so right. His thrust became more erratic and his pants harder.

“Mmm that’s right baby. You’re mine. My own mudblood,” he whispered in your ear. His. His own mudblood. The word sent shivers down your spine and this time, the word wasn’t an insult. It was a prayer from his perfect pink lips. You felt him throb and twitch inside you, sending you over the edge. Your back arched off the grass and you tightened hard around his cock, as the biggest orgasm you had ever had ripped through you like a tsunami. The feeling of you tightening and twitching around him was too much for him. He let out a guttural, heavy moan against your neck and filled you with hot cum, coating your walls with him. He pushed two more sloppy thrusts before collapsing beside you. You both lay panting and shaking as your peak plateaued beside either other. He pulled you closer and you lay your head on his heaving, sweaty chest. He played with your hair as you both tried to catch your breath.

“All mine” he whispered against your hair and you felt yourself warm from the inside. You had given yourself to someone for the first time and no amount of reasoning could have stopped you, and you were glad. The sun shone down and warmed your skin, as you lay listening to Draco’s heart beat in his chest. He rested his arm around you and you held his hand up in yours. You saw the dark mark that contrasted so high against his milky white skin and gave it a kiss. You almost felt the vibration of the magic left in it against your lips. Draco started to jerk his arm away but when you held it tighter, he gave in and allowed you to give him more light kisses to the mark. You knew any words about it would be too much, so you thought of yourself comforting him - Being the person he needed when he got it, and now, hoping he would hear you. He hugged you tighter against his chest as you thought of it and that was enough to know he heard. He knew.

[reliand]

I really wanted to draw Draco in the babygirl midriff hoodie, but I’m also gifting this to @mxlfoydraco since they seemed enthusiastic to the idea <3

It was just going to be the hoodie, but then I wanted fishnets. And why not the imprint of his dick...and of course the look wouldn’t be complete without a blushing Harry.

[dreamcubed]

back to black | regulus black x reader

song; back to black [amy winehouse] pairing; regulus black x fem!gryffindor!half-blood!reader genre; s2l, angst, hurt comfort word count; 6,3k timeline; marauders' era warnings; swearing, implied child abuse, discrimination (of muggles and muggle-borns), references to war, references to death(s) summary; autumn was your favourite season of all time, and not even your lack of mother or friendships could ruin it for you. but, maybe a brooding boy in your year could

this took me fucking forever but here it is!! and a merry christmas to all who celebrate <33

masterlist

"you went back to what you knew."

————————————

Back to black.

Well, technically, as the first time you had only had black hair for a matter of hours before your mother scolded you for dyeing it and made you change it back. But, she was dead now, and you were about to enter the year of OWL exams at Hogwarts, so a change was well overdue.

You gazed down at your black-stained hands: the muggle way of hair dyeing had been the most spiteful way to do it. After all, your mother hated anything muggle, even though she was merely half-blood herself. Part of you suspected it was because your father was a muggle and broke her heart, but you would never be able to confirm that, since you knew nothing about the man.

With a sigh, you glanced into the mirror and observed the wet black mess on your head. It was certainly going to stain your forehead and neck.

"Fuckin' Azkaban," you murmured, noticing the stains all over the sink and floor. Maybe you should have just done it the magic way.

Well, the stains were nothing a little magic couldn't fix: you didn't care that you weren't seventeen yet, after all.

***

Quite honestly, you adored the fact that school started in Autumn, your absolute favourite season. Nothing hit the spot like a Jack O'Lantern spice latte, fresh from the kitchens of Hogwarts. You had discovered the secret entrance to it a few years back, and come by to make requests frequently.

You tightly held the warm drink as you hurried back to the Gryffindor common room before curfew hit, where no friends were waiting for you. You had always felt out of place in the red house, and had never successfully made a friend in it, let alone the other houses. They all had their distinctive groups, while you were simply an outcast. Nonetheless, you did love how Autumnal the Gryffindor colour scheme was.

Ignoring everyone who was still downstairs, you headed up to the dormitories, where you sat down on your bed and chewed on your lip for a few moments. You weren't sure what to do with yourself.

***

Regulus Black was the quiet and brooding boy in your potions, defence against the dark arts, transfiguration - and actually every class apart from divination. That didn't surprise you, as even though you had never spoken to him, he didn't strike you as a particularly spiritual man. All you really knew about him was that his older brother, the renowned Sirius Black, was in your house - and they did not get along.

He was the only person who you shared so many classes with, and that was the solitary reason that you had noticed him. Well, that and his strikingly powerful presence.

You wondered if he realised you shared so many classes together.

Probably not, though. To make up for your lack of friendships, you intensely observed the people around you, trying to pretend as if you knew them and could predict how a conversation would go with them. It was a fun game for someone so deprived as yourself, even more so when you somehow ended up in conversation with someone and got to find out how accurate in your predictions you were.

But you also loved when you were completely wrong about a person.

"A new hair colour, I see, Miss L/N," Professor McGonagall said to you as you entered the first transfiguration lesson of the year.

You nodded, "Felt I needed a change."

The witch gave you a pitiful look that made you sick to your stomach: you hated the fact that people felt the need to tread on egg shells around you because of your mother's death. You weren't upset about it - you hated the woman.

"Black suits you," she said simply, the very same second Regulus Black entered the room.

He looked up, clearly thinking his name had been called.

"Not you, Mr Black," McGonagall waved her hand dismissively, "I was referring to Miss L/N's new hair colour."

For the first time ever, you were pretty sure, Regulus Black looked in your direction and made eye contact with you. His cold grey eyes pierced through you, as if he suddenly knew every secret about you - which he didn't, you had read about legilimency and it didn't feel like that. Just as quickly as he looked at you, he looked away again, and took a seat at the back of the classroom.

You felt a shiver run up your spine - an itching, chilly sensation, that made you feel positively thrilled.

"Everyone, please take your seats," McGonagall said as the class filled up.

You looked around, noticing a few empty spots, but most prominently the space next to Regulus Black at the back of the room. Your feet were taking you towards it before your mind could kick into action, and even though you were convinced that he was glaring at you, you kept your eyes trained on to the professor as you sat down.

"This year in transfiguration, we will cover..."

McGonagall's voice faded into background noise as you became hyper aware of the boy's presence next you, whilst simultaneously doing everything in your power to make it seem like your attention was not on him but instead the lesson.

What had become of you?

***

Smudged eyeliner and a maroon knitted jumper, cold peppermint tea and torn parchment; your mind felt frantic yet empty, gazing out the window of the Gryffindor common room. Starless nights and rain against glass, blazing fire and crackling flames; you couldn't see anything outside, so you couldn't quite piece together why your eyes remained fixed on the blackness.

A sigh pushed through your lips, picking up the tea to take a sip - only for it to go down reluctantly, due to its chilly temperature. Had it really been that long since you zoned out?

Another sigh escaped you as you rose to your feet. You were the only person who remained in the Gryffindor common room, so you estimated that it was at least midnight. Definitely way too late to venture into the rest of the castle: if you cared about punishment, that was.

Pulling out your wand from your dark-washed jeans, you pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and muttered a soft, "Lumos," into the corridor. You anticipated the scream of the painted woman asking where you were headed at such an hour, but at the lack of you turned around and saw that she was presently vacated from her usual spot. Hopefully she would have returned by the time you got back.

You knew the way to the kitchens like the back of your hand, but you rarely took it so late, way past curfew. You were, of course, cautious. It would be insane not to be in an enchanted castle such as Hogwarts, which also happened to be haunted.

Your gut sensed another presence before any of your typical five senses did: lurching as it indicated that you were not alone. You quickly whispered, "Nox," and ducked into an alcove, focusing all your energy into your sense of hearing. Delicate - very delicate - footsteps. So faint you almost thought that you were hallucinating.

They stopped right by you, and you heard a soft breath.

Why did it sound so achingly familiar, yet not like any professor's?

"Who's there?"

Regulus Black.

You stepped out from the alcove and into the light of his wand, crossing your arms in the process. Regulus took one look at you and sighed.

"What do you want, Gryffindor?"

"I have a name," you muttered, "And I would like to think you know it."

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you scowled.

"I want nothing from you, Black, I merely thought you were a teacher."

He seemed to mull over your words for a few seconds, ultimately deciding that there was no way it was anything but the truth before saying, "Very well."

The question itched on your tongue. "What are you doing?"

In the dimmed light, you could only just make out the way he pressed his tongue into his cheek, a bit more aggressively than you would hope for.

"That's none of your concern."

You narrowed your eyes, "I'm pretty sure the last time someone said that, a girl ended up dead in the toilets."

"You-" Regulus cut himself off at the sound of loud, purposeful footsteps echoing down the hallway. He muttered, "Shit," before dimming his wand light and pulling you back into the alcove with him.

You held your breath as the footsteps increased in volume, almost unaware of your hand pressed against Regulus' abdomen, and his arm wrapped around your waist.

"Are you sure he was headed this way, Mrs Norris?" the unfortunate voice of Filch asked, followed by a scratchy meow.

You pursed your lips as the footsteps got quieter, only letting yourself breathe once there was complete silence again. Still, you and Regulus remained in position for a few more seconds.

"I think the coast is clear," you murmured.

"Hm? Oh, yeah," Regulus replied distractedly, slipping out of the alcove and letting his arm drop from your waist. You hadn't noticed the warmth that much, but you definitely noticed the lack of it.

"Guess Filch is on to you," you said, to fill the silence more than anything else - which was weird, as you had never been bothered by lack of conversation before.

"Bastard," Regulus replied. Maybe it wasn't a reply, but an unrelated yet relevant comment.

You lit your wand again, and turned to continue on your journey, "I'm going to the kitchens, in case you were wondering," you had hoped it would prompt him to admit to his activities, but he simply remained silent, "You can come if you want."

You had no explanation for adding that last part.

It was obvious that Regulus' first instinct had been to say no, but he must have come to the conclusion that there was really nowhere else to go while Filch was headed off on a rampage towards his original destination. So, he sighed instead, and began trailing behind you towards the fruit bowl portrait.

"Peppermint tea, Miss L/N?" the house elf nearest to you asked after you entered the magnificent kitchens, which were remarkably similar to the Great Hall.

"Actually, I think I'll take a hot chocolate, thank you," you replied, sitting down at the end of one of the four long tables. It was too late for your preferred latte, after all.

"And you, Mr Black?" another house elf asked.

It was evident that Regulus was startled that the creature knew his name, "Americano. Black, no sugar."

You weren't surprised at his request.

"Do you have a house elf?" you asked, as you knew that the Black family was pure-blooded and wealthy.

He gave a curt nod, which you took as a hint that he wasn't interested in conversation. Luckily, the house elves quickly whipped up the hot drinks and placed them in two forest green mugs in front of you.

To your surprise, he asked a question.

"How do you know about this place?"

You shrugged, "I followed the Marauders here one night."

Regulus drew back, and you realised then what a mistake mentioning the infamous quartet was: Sirius Black was clearly a sour topic.

Regardless, you still mumbled, "I think they knew I was there."

He chuckled dryly, "Probably."

"How are you gonna sleep?" you changed the subject, gesturing towards his steaming coffee.

"I won't."

You didn't press that matter further, either. But it was then that you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, sallow and zombie-like. Yet they suited him, enhanced his eery yet attractive looks, which was probably why you hadn't registered them before. They didn't appear out of place.

"Why don't you have a red mug?" Regulus asked, taking you by surprise. He was gazing at the wall display of mugs, sorted into the four house colours.

"Miss L/N doesn't like the red mugs," a house elf piped up, placing a tray of cookies in between the two of you.

"But it's your house colour."

You sipped slowly on your hot chocolate, stewing over the words you could potentially say. "I... don't like being a Gryffindor. I've never felt like I belonged."

"I don't like Gryffindors."

You scoffed, "Never would've guessed."

He raised an eyebrow.

"All Slytherins hate us."

"Yeah, because you're Dumbledore's favourite."

You shrugged.

"That and you allow mudbloods."

You paused in your movements, "So do Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, yet you don't go on a rampage against them."

"Point taken."

The school hot chocolate was delicious, you decided, and you should really have it more.

"What's your blood status?"

You shrugged, "Half-blood."

"I'm-"

"Pure-blood, I know," you sighed, "Even if the Black family weren't a so-called noble house, I would've guessed from your comments earlier."

He stared at you: a piercing, icy glare that almost made a shiver run up your spine. Almost.

"Do you really enjoy leading such a hateful life?"

His mouth parted, before he carefully swallowed and avoided eye contact, "It's not about hatred, it's about what's right."

"And what's right is abusing muggle-borns, even though they were born wizards and witches just like us?"

Regulus said nothing.

"I think that you need to stop taking Mummy and Daddy's word for what it is," you said mockingly, "You have your own brain, form your own opinions with it."

You watched his jaw clench.

"With that, I will bid you adieu," you said, picking up your hot chocolate and a few cookies, "See you tomorrow."

He didn't say goodbye to you as you left, and you didn't wait for him to.

***

Regulus watched you as you entered transfiguration the next day: you felt it before you saw his eyes glued on to you. You ignored his attentions, still sitting next to him but making no effort to engage in conversation. He made no effort either, eventually peeling his eyes away from you when McGonagall arrived to begin the lesson.

In fact, no words were exchanged between the two of you until the very end of the hour.

"I think you're wrong," he muttered.

You looked down at your parchment, furrowing your eyebrows at the answer that you were pretty sure was correct. "It's not animagi?"

"Not about that," he clarified, "About mudbloods."

You exhaled sharply through your nose.

"They aren't worthy."

"You're insufferable," you said quietly, "The existence of muggle-borns doesn't affect you, leave them alone."

"It affects the culture of wizards and witches, which affects me."

"Maybe the culture needs changing," you spat back, "Godric knows you do."

Regulus didn't reply, and you made no further attempt to talk to him.

Not for the rest of your time at Hogwarts.

***

APPROXIMATELY THREE YEARS LATER: 1979.

***

"I can't seem to face up to the facts..." you sung quietly along to the song as you gazed into the mirror of your bathroom.

"I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax..." it was playing from your record player in your bedroom, just through the open door to your right. Your graduation gift (to yourself) had been a record player, a very pleasant addition to the house that you had inherited from your mother. Especially as she hated all muggle items.

"I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire..." It was only three bedrooms, the third being so small it could hardly fit a twin bed in, but the master bedroom was decently sized and had an en suite. And, officially being the master of the house, that bedroom was now yours.

"Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire..." You were dyeing your hair black for the third time in your life.

After dyeing it before fifth year, you had maintained the roots up until Christmas before you went back to your natural colour, and had remained that way up until now. But, you decided that you wanted your raven locks back, and so had stopped by a muggle pharmacy for some black hair dye. There was something therapeutic in doing it manually.

"Psycho killer, qu'est-ce que c'est?" you continued to mumble, finishing up the touches of your hair, just when you heard a heavy knock on your door.

You stilled: nobody came knocking on your door. Your solitary existence remained very solitary.

Grabbing your wand off the counter, you moved into your bedroom and delicately removed the needle from the vinyl, before silently padding downstairs. You crept up to the maroon door and peered through the peephole, fully prepared to yell "stupefy" should you require.

It was the last person you expected - and considering you expected no one, that really said something.

Despite recognising the individual, you were hesitant to open the door, as you knew that said person was a renowned death eater: one of the Dark Lord's loyal followers.

"L/N, please, I know you're there," he croaked, his voice ragged and scratched.

Against your better judgement, you opened the door, only to catch sight of his ripped clothes and dripping wounds. There were bags under his eyes and his hair was longer and messy, and you had absolutely no idea what to do.

"Please, I didn't know where else to go."

You sighed, lowering your wand and stepping back to open the door wide. Godric knows that you would go to hell for helping a death eater like this.

"What happened to you?" you murmured, leading him through to your small galley kitchen. You dug through your cupboards until you found your first aid kit, and then grabbed a flannel and ran it under the hot tap.

Regulus watched you silently.

"Take off your clothes," you muttered, then added, "Except your underwear."

He obliged, and your breath hitched at the gory visuals in front of you.

"Fuckin' Azkaban."

You began cleaning him up, applying a healing potion as you went.

"I should've listened to you."

"Hm?"

"What you said about mud- muggle-borns," his eyes crinkled together, "You-Know-Who- he's... he's..."

"Batshit?" you raised an eyebrow, noting how Regulus avoided his name.

A scratched chuckle came out his throat, "Yeah."

"Did you challenge him to a duel or something?" you asked as you paused your care of him to fetch a glass of water for his throat.

"I'd be dead if I'd done that - no, I've been trying to find his Horcruxes."

"His what?"

Regulus gulped down all of the water before he replied. "There's a reason he's so fearless."

And then came his explanation and story, of how he found out about Voldemort's secret of immortality after realising that he was in the wrong, and had begun hunting down the pieces of his soul in order to destroy him for good. That led on to his explanation of how he ended up in the state he was currently in.

"The locket," he explained, "I went with Kreacher - my house elf - to this cave. I had to drink water that dehydrates you to get to the locket, and the only other water around was in this lake kind of thing. But, of course, it wasn't a normal lake. It was full of inferni."

You mindlessly continued tending to his wounds as you took all of this in.

"They started clawing at me and dragging me in - so I ordered Kreacher to leave with the locket, thinking I wouldn't survive," his voice faltered as he relived the memory, "I don't even know how I did - it's all a blur. But I couldn't go back home, or anywhere I normally go. You-Know-Who knows by now."

"So you came here?" you finally spoke.

"I- yes."

"Even though we hardly know each other."

He stared at you with darkened sorrow in his eyes, and you realised that this was far from the Regulus you knew in Hogwarts.

You sighed, pulling away from him as you finished up with the last of the injuries.

"You're the first person that came to mind," he murmured.

Your eyes flicked to the snake twisting on Regulus' wrist, the permanent sign of devotion to the Dark Lord.

"He's trying to reach me," he muttered, "Is your house well protected?"

You shook your head, "There's no reason they'd come here."

Regulus cursed under his breath, "I'm really sorry to put you in danger, please let me put some protective charms around the place."

You gestured for him to be your guest.

"Am I-"

"Yes, you can stay," you replied. You wouldn't have let him through your door if you hadn't seen the difference in his once cold eyes.

He said nothing, but gave you a look that screamed his thanks as he left through your kitchen door.

***

"He might think you're dead, you know," you said as he came back inside, while you were in the process of laying the table. He had been outside for so long that you had washed out the hair dye from your hair, which was now wet and a bit of a mess.

He didn't reply, so you looked up at his skinny and fatigued figure.

"He probably doesn't think anyone can escape his protective measures."

"Can't take any chances," he eventually murmured, taking a seat, "Thank you for the food."

You gave a small smile, sitting down opposite him. The two of you ate in a companionable silence until Regulus finally said something.

"I won't be here long. I have to continue my search."

You scowled, "No."

He paused, arching an eyebrow, "No?"

"You're in no state to do anything, Black," you said simply, "You'd be fucking useless out there right now."

You watched as Regulus digested your words, "But I can't do nothing."

You shrugged, "You haven't done nothing. I have."

"Yes, but you don't have mistakes to make up for."

The conversation once again flattened to nothing, the odd hint of tension in the air weighing down ever so slightly.

"Why did you do it the muggle way?"

"Hm?"

"Your hair."

"Oh," your eyes widened as you thought carefully, "Mainly to spite my mother."

He tilted his head in confusion.

"She wasn't a very nice woman," you explained, "Shit mother, and she also hated anything muggle. She's dead now, but I do a lot of muggle things to remind myself I'm nothing like her."

"Did she hate muggle-borns?"

You pursed your lips, "Not really, I don't think. Depends how muggle they acted. I've always theorised that my dad was a muggle and broke her heart."

"My parents were awful," Regulus murmured, "When Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor, they gave up on him. But in a way that also made things worse for me, because I was their last chance at the perfect Black heir."

You nodded.

"That's why I resent him so much."

"Maybe one day you two can get along."

He chuckled dryly, "When muggles can do magic."

***

The once sallowed dark aura around Regulus Black had morphed since Hogwarts. It wasn't brighter, that was for sure, you would describe it as a cloudy navy blue - rainy, but not thunderous. Something about him had been replaced and changed, something hard and uncaring, now softer and sympathetic. It wasn't until you were laying in your bed that night with the wind blowing against your window did you realise exactly what it was - he had been traumatised, and thus matured.

Guilt also crept into you from your darkest corners: you had stayed out of the brewing conflict from the death eaters, even though you disagreed with their values. Your cowardice had led you to self-isolate and refuse to fight, bathing in the safety of your half-blood status. Regulus Black showing up on your doorstep was karma if nothing else.

You pulled your maroon quilt further over you and nestled your head into your pillows, trying to crush the lingering sense that your life was only just beginning.

***

The whistle from your kettle blew, filling the kitchen with steam. You let out a yawn as you entered through the archway, and almost jumped when you saw Regulus stood there with two mugs before him. Living alone had been your situation for far too long.

"Good morning," he spoke, but by the strangled way he said it, it was clear that those two words had never left his mouth before, at least not as a pair.

"Morning," you raised an eyebrow, watching as he wandlessly guided the kettle through the air to pour water.

"Milk? Sugar?" he said in question.

"Milk, two sugars."

He hummed in reply, the black shirt that you had lent him clinging to his lean figure. He was skinnier than he should be, that much was obvious, but there was still muscle definition that made your stomach swarm with butterflies. You knew that you had fancied him briefly back in Hogwarts, but you had squandered those feelings when you learned of his political views.

Now he was a changed man, and he was even more attractive than he used to be, and it felt like every butterfly you had crushed had been resurrected all at once. It was overwhelming, and yet the most satisfying experience you had been a part of since the beginning of your dull adulthood.

"Here," he handed you a golden-yellow mug, "I hope it's to your satisfaction."

"Only time will tell," you replied, moving through to the living room.

You sat in a companionable quiet for a while, sipping on your tea and soaking in the ambiance of the morning.

It was when there was almost no liquid left in your mug, and your limbs were growing fidgety, that you felt words race out your mouth before you could think about them. A rushed, perhaps crossing-the-line, statement of, "Stay for a while."

You didn't know whether you meant hours or months.

***

Regulus took a turn for the worse the next day, overcome with vicious fever-like symptoms and ugly coughing fits. The mid-war conditions that you were in made it way too risky to seek professional help, especially as Regulus was a wanted death eater. So, you had no choice but to take care of him to the best of your ability: between herbal teas, homemade soups, leftover cough medicines and cold cloths pressed to his forehead, he seemed to be slowly improving. At least, he wasn't getting worse. But his body was already weakened, so his chances were worse than an average person dealing with whatever he was.

With your hair tied and sleeves pulled up, you ran the white flannel you had been using for Regulus under the cold tap, letting out an exhausted exhale. It had been approximately sixty hours since your guest was bedridden, and you had hardly slept in that time. It was quite difficult to when he would start screaming in the middle of the night during his fever dream episodes.

The pale moonlight slipped through the gaps in your vertical slit blinds, gently illuminating the white china of your bathroom sink, and probably the bags under your eyes as well. Just as you turned off the tap, you heard more screaming from your guest bedroom, so you quickly wrung out the flannel and ran back to Regulus.

"You're okay, you're okay," you murmured, pressing the cloth to his forehead, "You're safe."

His screaming stopped, and you could've sworn his eyes were slightly opened and staring at you through the darkness. "Y/N," he mumbled.

"Yes, Regulus, it's me, Y/N."

You felt his hand grip around the wrist of your hand that held the flannel in place.

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere," you spoke gently.

"In sickness and in health..." he muttered, making you chuckle slightly.

Not forgetting the butterflies, of course.

"Yes, Regulus, in sickness and in health."

"You're... amazing..." he sighed, drifting off again into a lax slumber, his hand falling from your wrist.

You softly stroked his cheek, "Get well soon."

***

You had lost track of the days, but you knew that many suns had set and risen by the time Regulus stumbled downstairs one morning, shirtless and still evidently delirious.

"Good morning," you said, observing the man fumbling to sit down in a chair, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

He grunted.

"Feeling better then?" you asked, moving through the archway into the kitchen and setting out two mugs on the counter.

Regulus raked his hands through his hair, grunting again.

"At least you're conscious," you said half to yourself, half to him.

"Date," he said in a scratchy voice, locking his shiny eyes on to yours.

"What's the date?"

He nodded.

You gazed over at the calendar on your wall, only to realise you hadn't been crossing off the days like you typically did ever since Regulus had fallen ill. Sheepishly, you shrugged, "I don't know."

Regulus sighed.

"Sorry, I've hardly slept."

He shook his head, "Don't apologise, it's not your fault."

You didn't bother refuting that. "On the bright side, I know it's been a good few days. I think You-Know-Who would've found you by now if he was looking for you," you said, adding a, "Touch wood," and touching one of your wooden cabinets afterward.

Regulus seemed to ponder that for a moment, "I guess. Thank you for taking care of me."

"I didn't really have a choice," you replied, placing a mug of steamy tea in front of him, "But I'd do it again."

He smiled at you - a tired, but genuine, smile.

"I need to take a long shower, if you don't mind," you sighed, holding your own warm mug, "I feel gross."

"Yeah, you kinda look it."

You went to whack him, "You're one to talk."

He started laughing, which quickly turned into a coughing fit.

"Whoa, whoa, be careful," you said through laughter, "Your lungs can't take much right now."

"I'm fine," he said through splutters, "I swear."

"You should shower after me," you said when he had calmed down, "In the nicest possible way, you need it."

He didn't argue.

***

Rain pounding against the window seemed almost symbolic of the state of the wizarding world as it was: pathetic fallacy, if you will. But, you must admit, your cowardly approach to the war had led you to lead quite a cosy lifestyle in your little cottage, tucked up by fires with hot cups of tea.

At times, you considered joining the resistance, and fighting for what was right. Realistically, though, you couldn't contribute much. Your duelling skills had always been subpar and despite your alleged Gryffindor identity, you lacked courage. Surely the Sorting Hat had made a mistake all those years ago, back when you were a nervous eleven-year-old stood in front of an audience full of older kids.

Never the matter - the past was the past, and as you didn't possess a timeturner, it would have to remain the way it was.

"Something doesn't feel right," Regulus' voice made you jump out of your skin.

Ignoring your surprise, he sat next to you on the sofa.

"You don't think?"

"No," he shook his head. It had been a couple months since he showed up at your door, and these days he came and went from your home. He was currently in search of his brother, Sirius, who he knew to be a part of the resistance. Regulus had explained to you how even though they had never gotten along, he would be more likely to listen to anything he had to say than other resistance members, who would probably arrest him on the spot.

You had crafted a port key for him - something that you were in fact good at - to access your house without revealing your location. This had led to him frequently jump scaring you by appearing in your living room out of nowhere, especially since he never showed up at the same time.

"Any news on Sirius?"

Regulus shook his head, leaning back into the plush pillows, "He's as good at hiding as I am."

"At least you have something in common."

He chuckled dryly, "I just can't escape the feeling that something is brewing tonight."

"Bad or good?" you furrowed your eyebrows, but secretly you knew what he meant. A new paranoia had been itching at you all day.

Regulus shrugged, "Both. Neither. Who knows?"

You followed his gaze to the thundering sky through the window.

"What day is it?" he asked.

You thought for a moment, "Halloween."

A thunderous boom echoed outside.

Regulus grimaced, "I'll source a newspaper tomorrow. Need to find out if I'm just being paranoid."

It was right then at that moment, as lightning flashed in the sky and lit up the whole room, that you knew he wasn't just being paranoid. A historical moment was taking place as you spoke: tragic, yet hopeful.

You felt a head drop on to your shoulder, and looked down in surprise to see that Regulus had drifted off quite peacefully next to you. Smiling to yourself, you adjusted your position so he could lie on you, unable to stop yourself from indulging in affection that filled your starving appetite for touch. He nuzzled his head into you, making a light and happy sound.

Sighing softly, you let your eyes drift shut.

***

He was gone when you woke up, as often was the case. While he slept at yours almost every night, he was prone to getting back late and leaving early, desperately searching for his elder brother.

Therefore, it was quite a surprise to see him burst through the dining room door at eleven o'clock in the morning, while you were frying eggs.

"Y/N," he said breathlessly as he approached the kitchen archway, a rolled newspaper crushed in one of his hands.

"What?"

"He's gone," he said, and if it wasn't for the smile on his face, you would have thought he was talking about his brother.

You barely had time to put the frying pan down before he continued.

"You-Know-Who," he said, throwing the paper on your kitchen counter, "They're saying he's dead - but I don't believe that - either way he's gone."

You moved to look at the newspaper of moving images and writing.

"He killed James and Lily Potter," he explained, "They were friends of my brother, but apparently he couldn't kill their son. Their one-year-old son."

Eyebrows furrowed, you ran your finger over the front page.

"I hope to Merlin that he never returns, wherever he is."

You chuckled.

"Salazar, I'm so happy I could kiss you," he said quite suddenly, making your head snap up.

Silence lingered between the two of you as you stared at each other with widened eyes, becoming hyper aware of your breathing. Then, his lips were on yours, and while it was a chaste kiss, it was passionate and intimate.

When you parted, Regulus rested his forehead against yours and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you flush against him.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he panted.

"Me too."

***

The second time you were gathered around a newspaper together was not too long later, after the arrest of Sirius Black for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and being a suspected death eater.

"At least you managed to find and talk to him before this."

Regulus sighed, "Yeah. I guess."

You said nothing.

"He was the only one who could vouch for me. I can never earn people's trust now."

"I think you'll just need to stay on the down-low."

Regulus sighed again, taking your hand into his, "Can I stay here for that long?"

You chuckled, pulling him into your embrace, "You can stay here forever."

He smiled, kissing your head.

***

APPROXIMATELY SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER: 1998.

***

"The verdict of the state versus Regulus Black is as follows..." the judge sat in the courtroom at the Ministry of Magic announced, making your breath hitch as you crossed your fingers behind your back.

You locked eyes with your long-time fiancé who was stood in the centre of the room within a mini-cell, and saw the way his Adam's apple moved in a gulp.

"Regulus Black is found guilty of serving You-Know-Who and the anti-muggle-born terrorist movement..."

You threw your hand over your mouth, tears pricking at your eyes.

"...but is hereby pardoned from punishment due to his immense aid in defeating You-Know-Who thereafter."

Never had such a large amount of air rushed out of your lungs, as your son hugged you from the side, likely not understanding the words the judge used, but understanding the look of elation on his father's face.

You didn't stop Sirius from detaching from your side and running down to the cell as they unlocked it: in fact, you ran after him, eager to hold your fiancé in your arms. You watched as Regulus picked up his son and hugged him tightly, before dropping him to take you into his arms.

Pecking his lips, you beamed up at him with joyful tears streaming down your cheeks.

"We can finally get married," he said, kissing you again.

You giggled, "Hopefully before my bump gets too big."

Regulus' eyes widened as he moved his hand to your abdomen, his smile somehow growing even wider than it was before.

"I love you," he said breathlessly.

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masterlist

written; 02/10/2023 —> 20/12/2023 published; 21/12/2023 edited; —/—/——